#in the sense that it was enough for me and to make me feel this way
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An Oral Agreement
QWER Magenta x male reader
Masterlist word count: 3,008 Kofi(donations/commissions)
She's equal parts infuriating and fascinating.
Magenta.
No last name. Or maybe that is her last name. Either way, that's all it said on the rental agreement and her bedroom door when you first moved in: Magenta. The letters were all lowercase like she was too cool for proper grammar. You know Magenta, in the Biblical sense (and it didnât take long).
She's always in her room streaming or recording or...doing whatever it is social media influencers do when they aren't online. But she likes candles, fried rice and catcore aesthetics. She thinks pumpkin spice season starts September 1st and she loves reality TV. Not exactly the makings of a deep and spiritual connection.
Now, living with Magenta, well, it has its ups and downs.
There are some things that never get done around here without you doing them; she rarely cooks, which wouldn't bother you so much if she at least did dishes once in a while. It doesn't help that she takes long hot showers. In a house with only one bathroom, this can really put a cramp in your morning routine.
Magenta doesn't clean the place very often either. At first, you just let it go because everybody has their own ways of doing things, right? But after a few weeks of living together, you realised that she's just...not going to do it. Like ever. So then there's nothing for it but to either live in a constant state of messiness or bite the bullet yourself.
Sometimes you feel like you're not living with a roommate so much as providing lodging for some kind of freeloading spirit that passes through periodically.
When you first moved in, you were worried about what your roommate might think of you: would they be weirded out by your habits? Would they judge your taste in decorations? Would you get along? Would you have enough space for both of you?
Those fears melted away pretty quickly once you met her. You could tell from the moment she opened the door that day (and didn't even look up from her phone) that she didnât care.
You soon learned that Magenta is messy but friendly. She stays up all night and sleeps during the day. She's everywhere online: Instagrammer, Tiktokker (is that what they call it?), live streamer or these days sheâs even on the radio and TV. She doing something for one of those things right now, with her bedroom door closed and music playing faintly behind it.
You're standing in the kitchen, staring down her latest infringement. Now, these empty take-out boxes were here this morning when you left. They were also here last night, and yesterday afternoon, and...you get where this is going.
"Hey, you awake in there?!" you shout towards her bedroom but get no response.
With a sigh, you walk over to her door and knock. Twice. Then again, louder when you still get no response. Finally, you resort to pounding on it repeatedly until it suddenly swings open to reveal your roommate shouting, "What!?" You step back, slightly taken aback by how loudly she said that single word. Her eyes soften instantly, though when they land on you.
She looks good. Not even just in a 'good for someone who hasn't slept yet today' kind of way. Just straight-up hot. Magenta wears a faded pink crop top emblazoned with an anime character and little cut-off cotton shorts covered in cookie prints. The low waistband of the shorts hangs off her hips, exposing the start of a light purple thong that cuts diagonally across her hip bones.
"I think our apartment might get condemned if you don't clean sometime soon."
Your roommate leans against the door frame. She pushes some dark brown hair behind her ear as she says, "Can't you do it for me? Just this once?"
"Just this once?" you repeat, crossing your arms. Your lips curl into a smile as you ask back to her, "Can't you do it just this once?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm always reminding you to clean, and you never do it. So guess who does it? It's not the magical cleaning fairyâit's me."
Her eyes roll skyward so forcefully you imagine you can hear them squeaking in their sockets.
"Why are you giving me such a hard time about this?" she says. "This seems really petty."
"It's not petty," you protest. "I have stuff to do and I shouldn't have to keep picking up after my adult roommate." You say the word 'adult' laden with implications. She gets your meaning immediately. Her lips twist.
"oh, I get it," she says with a smirk. "I guess it's been a while since I gave you a little thank you. Well, I need to get this video finished, so could you maybe clean it up and come back here after?"
So there's the perks. Two of them actually, as she pulls up her pink crop top and flashes you what's beneath. A pair of purple lace bra cups strain to contain your roommate's ample endowment. Pale skin pours out from beneath them, flesh squeezing together into a deep cleavage that entices you closer even as you shake your head.
"You can't keep pulling tricks like this, Magenta," you say, trying desperately to hold onto your train of thought while also enjoying the view. It helps that you know those breasts intimately. Hell, you've worshipped those breasts. They've spilt around your hands, smothered your face and laid upon your thighs. You know what the soft warmth inside each cup feels like. And, God, they feel really fucking good.
"I really appreciate your help and everything," she says, her bottom lip suddenly pushing out into a cute pout that goes well beyond suggestive. "And I'd like to show you just how much I appreciate it..."
Your resolve lasts right up until Magenta runs a finger down one of her tits to tease along the edge of the lacy purple material. That's when you give up. There's no point in fighting anymoreâshe has won this battle (just like all others).
"Just go finish your work already," you finally say, letting out a sigh.
Magenta smiles and giggles, lowering her shirt. "Thanks. Love ya!"
With a wink, she slips back into her room. You stand alone for several seconds before shaking your head. Back to cleaning, then.
-
It's not exactly easy to focus on sorting the recycling into the correct bins when your roommate has just reminded you how nice her tits are. They're on your mind a lot, to be honest. More than they should be probably. Sometimes they're on your cock, though not as often as they should be. Probably.
You're counting your blessings that none of the neighbours are doing late-night recycling because then you'd have to explain why your face is red and your pants are bulging.
That doesn't stop the occasional glance towards your neighbour's house, where Mrs Kim likes to smoke on her front porch some nights. You think she smokes more than she should, but that's really none of your business. Her watching you from across the street, however, is very much your business, so you peek over your shoulder once in a while to check if she's spying. Again. Or still. Whatever.
One last box. The light outside is fading rapidly, but you can just barely make out that it comes from...the Greek place you love?
Oh. Oh no. Did she eat gyros and not bring you any? Damn, that girl knows how to be cruel!
When the recycling is finally squared away you dust off your hands. It's a symbolic gesture since all you've done is shove cardboard and glass into the right bins, but it makes you feel accomplished nonetheless.
Back in the apartment and lock the door behind you.
"There you are. Where have you been?"
"The bins, have you ever seen them before?" You mock while still fiddling with the lock chain.
"That was quick," comes her response. Your eyes follow the sound of her voice. Magenta is lying upside-down on the couch. She swings her feet lazily in the air while looking at something on her phone. Her dark hair cascades nearly to the floor. Those short shorts mean you can see most of her long legs. Then there's the curve of her hip, the crease of her thigh... "Get over here."
It's a rare occasion that Magenta voluntarily puts her phone down, yet she does just that as you walk over. The closer you get, the more enticing her position becomes: laying across the couch, head tipped backwards off the cushions to watch you approach her.
"So," she says. Her fingertips brush over the exposed skin of her belly. The fingers trace lines up and across her abdomen, moving between the edge of her shorts and her top. The motion catches your eyeâand she knows it. "I owe you, don't I?" Her eyelids flutter innocently. Or rather, far less than innocently.
"For today? Yeah. Definitely." You clear your throat and try again, "For quite a few days, actually."
"Quite a few," she echoes in agreement. Her hand continues to crawl upward until it reaches the peak of her breasts rising beneath her faded pink crop top. The movement presses the supple skin together in a way that has you standing right in front of her before you even realize you've walked over.
She pushes them hard together before letting them settle back to normal. Gravity spreads them apart, flesh pouring across her chest from the tightly gathered fabric keeping them barely contained. She reaches out over her head, to you, and grabs you by the belt buckle. Pulls you forward until you are stood over her. Even though she's upside down, she makes such effortless work of unbuckling the leather strap that you barely notice. One second it's on; the next it's flapping loose.
It takes only two sharp tugs to force your pants and boxers down past your knees. Magenta doesn't waste any time reaching out to touch your cock, gently running her hands over it until she can wrap her entire hand around the warm shaft and pull you until you fall to your knees. Her head hangs right in front your your length, and you see the teasing sparkle in her eye even upside down.
Her hot breath hits the skin of your bare cock. Lips press a series of soft, wet kisses down from your tip towards your balls. Then back up again, trailing even more tiny pecks that leave your skin tingling. You let your cock nudge against her cheek, feeling it slide along the smooth skin.
With both hands wrapped around your cock, Magenta holds your tip right in front of her mouth. Her tongue sticks out from between her lips, slowly, methodically lapping circles around the crown of your cock.
"Oh, God," you mutter, and you need to hold onto something, anything. First, it's the couch, then it's her tits.
Your hand lands heavily atop the nearest swell of flesh and squeezes tight, pushing it further out of her crop top. She hums approvingly at the groping and wraps her lips around your cockhead. Suckles sweetly. Slurps noisily until spit pools at the corner of her stretched lips.
She lets gravity help guide your cock into her waiting mouth. The further you slip inside, the more she relaxes her jaw to accept you. But then she reaches up and pulls on your hips. You glide up against her grateful tongue. Until her nose meets your stomach. She gags. It's so fucking lewd.
The whole thing makes you squeeze her chest harder. So big in your palm and yet somehow always bigger than you remember. You forget sometimes just how incredible these tits are. When they bounce in a video she's recorded, you rememberâbut never quite how heavy they are when you hold them; the way they give to your grasp in exactly the right amount; or the way her nipple puckers just slightly as it stiffens beneath your kneading grip.
"You're so sexy like this," you say.
The compliment elicits an appreciative groan from Magenta. Her head moves with your hips now, bobbing to meet each thrust, spit dripping down her cheeks. The messiness of the sloppy blowjob matches her other personality traits frighteningly well.
With her head pinned and her arms on you, you're free to pull up her shirt and expose her. The dirty minx has taken off her bra, so the expanse of her milky skin greets you. You cup them in each palm, feeling the heft of them, squeezing them greedily. They push back, moulding into the shape of your desire, and she moans, a low guttural note vibrating right through your length.
Her body writhes beneath your attention. Her thighs spread outwards, feet rolling at the ankle in time with each gently guided thrust into her throat. Fingers squeeze you, scratching lightly at the skin above your ass to encourage you deeper inside her hungry maw. Deeper into her throat until she chokesâ
You let up, panting, admiring the sight of her stretched out for your viewing pleasure. Her eyes flutter open, looking up at you from her upside-down position. The intensity in them draws you in again.
"Oh shit," you groan as you drive into her, plunging your cock balls deep until her purple-painted nails dig into the small of your back. You pump faster, lost in the warm embrace of her greedy sucking.
Magenta squirms beneath you, whining and groaning and bucking, begging you for more. Her cunt must be throbbing with anticipation. Poor thing wants your cum. You can tell.
You want her tits.
She gasps when you fully withdraw from her mouth. Her face is a fucking mess of saliva and smudged makeup. Before she can question you, you reposition yourself in front of her, straddling her beautiful face as you lower your rigid length between her breasts.
She's quick to pick up what you're putting down. With both hands pressing the creamy flesh of her boobs inward, she creates a tunnel for you to slide your dick into.
It feels as good as it looks. Soft pressure envelops your slick length, wrapping around the sensitive skin and creating a delightful sleeve for you to hump into. You can't get enough.
As soon as you hit a good pace, fucking your roommate's chest hard and fast, she starts giggling.
"What?" you ask.
"It tickles." Her laugh is breathy but not as loud as it usually is. "Keep going."
So you do. Thrust after thrust you plunge deeper, drawing more and more of yourself into the valley between her perfect tits. The more you use her, the further she parts her legs that run up the back of the sofa. Soft thighs splayed for nothing but display. Then, just as you start to admire them, she clenches them together. Your eyes trace down the pale skin until they arrive at her crotch where the bottoms of her cookie-patterned shorts have ridden up against her wet slit. She's gyrating her hips in all sorts of directions and rubbing herself against the material in some attempt to satiate her growing needs.
The soft flesh of her midriff jiggles between the thrusting into her tits and the twisting of her hips below. You can't stop staring. Fuck. How does this girl have every single curve?
At first, you try holding backâyou want this to last longer. But after a few seconds, you realize you can't fight this feeling. Not when you've got such a good view. And certainly not with her nipples so hard under the press of your thumbs. She arches up when you pinch them, and you know you're done for.
And then, as if she can feel it by the way you're thrusting, she begins to coo and beg under you. She knows she's getting you close, and she wants it. Bad.
"Cum on me," she coaxes sweetly, the words barely audible over the slapping sounds. "I've been so bad, baby. You deserve to paint my body."
That's all it takes. That final little plea. Your eyes roll back, your hips snap forward and your cock explodes. Thick ropes over her body, the first reaching her thighs before you adjust your aim and finish across the plane of her belly. Soft curves take your load while she encourages you through soft, little pleasured mewls. You may have got some on her shorts, but you paint her stomach white before pulling up and jerking the final drops onto her chest.
"Mmmm, messy boy," Magenta laughs breathlessly as your cum drips down her curves. She lays there beneath you, her smile wide and wickedly innocent, one hand slowly running circles over the sticky mess on her tummy, smearing it across her skin.
After a few seconds of panting and trying to gather yourself, you climb off of her and sit back against the couch. She turns so her head rests in your lap, facing your spent and dripping length. Magenta teases you still by using her own fingertip to collect your seed and place it across her lips, then licking them clean while making sure you're watching. And fuck are you ever.
"So, about my room," she purrs, eyes twinkling mischievously up at you.
"What about it?"
"Well... It needs cleaning, and I was thinkingâ"
"No," you feign protest, knowing you've already agreed. "Just clean it yourself." Her negotiation will come next. You can see it on her lips. "I'm not doing it."
Magenta leans up and whispers, "But you might change your mind if you find out what's waiting for you beneath my shorts."
That damn purple thong, still visible at her waistband, calls you toward her like a beacon. "What's beneath your shorts?"
Her laugh is playful. A little shrug as her fingers toy at the hem of the garment in question. "Agree to clean my room and youâll find out."
#Magenta smut#qwer smut#male reader#kpop smut#m reader#Magenta x reader#smut#kpop fanfic#kpop fanfiction#streamer smut
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Emmrich actually IS the suave and charismatic gentleman we've all been waiting for. Forget your Alistairs and your Cullens. Emmrich says dear and darling and has enough Big Dick Energy that you sense him coming from three rooms away. What's that shift in the air? Emmrich's natural necromantic aura touching the Fade? Well yes but also the sound of his monster cock swinging in his perfectly tailored trousers.
Emmrich talks to Rook like there's a love letter addressed to them specifically lodged in his voice box. He touches them like he paid money for the privilege. Emmrich uses his wealth to help others, he is NOT a person who desires power, and he expects the same of others. One time he looked at Rook and said, "The only good noble is a dead one," and even though Rook knew he was talking about the residents of the Necropolis, or perhaps because of that, it made Rook so wet they had to go sit down against a tree and bang their head a little to calm down.
Sometimes Rook shows up in Emmrich's room of an evening and without even missing a beat Emmrich says, "Come have a seat, darling," and Rook sits next to him only for him to tut and pat his knee. Immediately, Rook is perched there like he's Santa Claus.
"The things one can sense when truly in tune with the fade are inspiring," Emmrich says, and other such nonsense as his touch finds the path of least resistance to Rook's skin without hesitation. His fingers are cool and kind and they trace up the side of Rook's ribs like they might slot perfectly between them, like Rook was built as a home for his hand.
"You're killing me," Rook says, because he is, because Rook could actually choke and die from how badly they want to feel Emmrich's mustache on their thighs.
"Yes, but only a little death," Emmrich says. He smiles and his bangles jingle merrily away as he plays with Rook's chest. "Every time I touch your body, I'm already longing for the moment I'll touch it again."
"Guh," says Rook. "Hrng. Hunh."
"I quite agree. I find that words fail me when it comes to...how you make me feel, dearest." This is what Emmrich says, but fails utterly to demonstrate as he leans in and delicately bites Rook's earlobe, whispering seventeen of the twenty filthiest things Rook has ever heard. Things like I'll eat you like a cake, though you're more delicious and the Fade sings your name when I'm in you and--
"If I have to hear ONE MORE THING about that necromancer's cock," seethes Solas, who did NOT know that he was signing up for nightly pornographic lullabies when he decided to kick it in the back of Rook's head. This is the fourth time he's said that this week. He will hear many, many more things about that necromancer's cock.
"YES EMMRICH," echoes through the Fade, "Gods YES, harder! Give it to me!"
The spirits of the Fade, who like Emmrich a whole helluva lot more than they like Solas right now, twirl and giggle.
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*à©â©â§âË requiem of a cringe
did something embarrassing last night and was like "I need to go crawl in a hole and die. OR I could write"
type of post: blurbs characters: cater, rook, jack, vil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral (the term "damsel in distress" is used in vil's part, but it's meant to be teasing and not indicative of the reader's gender), reader is yuu, rook is rook
I. Talks Too Much
It's not that you're trying to be annoying.
Your mouth simply moves faster than your mind, and before you know it, you've been talking for twenty uninterrupted minutes about... well... nothing.
You always notice that uncomfortable, irritated look on their face just after you're done. And then you keep rambling in an attempt to make it less awkward (it never does).
And now you're here, hiding in the hedge maze outside Heartslabyul, thinking about getting lost and never coming out of it.
Of course, if anyone were to find you now, it'd be him.
"Hey, hon~ you busy?"
"Please, not now, Cater," you mutter.
The boy stills, looking a little taken aback by how miserable you sound.
"Are you still upset about that thing at the Unbirthday Party? That was hours ago, babe! I bet no one even remembers,"
You physically cringe. The faces of your uncomfortable tablemates won't seem to leave your memory...
"I remember it," you murmur, burying your face in your hands. "I'm so annoying."
For once, Cater is quiet. A minute goes by, and you think he may have left, until you hear the grass crunching under his knees as he kneels down and pulls you into a hug.
"You are not annoying. And even if you were, it'd only make me like you more," he mutters, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
"Understand?"
Your surprise at his change in tone doesn't stop you from hugging back. "Understood,"
You hadn't meant to say all of that.
You just spilled a potion you'd been working on for hours, and amidst your frustrated floor-scrubbing, you had vented about your entire week to your poor lab partner, a person you had been trying to impress all semester.
He had, gracefully, let you finish your rant, and then let you sit in it, just like the harmless potion now coating your knees as you cleaned up the floor.
Then, he awkwardly said: "That... sucks. I guess. I don't know what to say,"
There had probably never, in your whole life, been a person who looked more unhappy to be around you.
Afterwards, you found a nice spot in the woods behind campus to die.
You lie there, hoping nature would reclaim you before next alchemy class, when some purposefully loud rustling in the bushes catches your eye.
"Ah, Trickster! You really should not lie like that- a predator will take that as weakness, non? Are you injured?"
"Only my pride,"
"Talking about it will make you feel better," Rook says. It's more of a demand than a question.
You sigh. "I think I've done enough talking for... ever, actually,"
"Nonsense," he suddenly straddles your waist and pins your wrists to the earth. "I will not move until you tell me the problem, mon cĆur."
You're like an animal in a snare. Once Rook has made up his mind, that's it. He will find out.
And so, with a sigh, you let him take the kill- that is, you tell him everything. Your whole, terrible week, the potion incident, the look on your lab partner's face...
When you're done, he's just. Smiling. "I see now. You are embarrassed,"
"Well... yes. You don't think that's embarrassing?"
He beams. "You are simply overflowing with beautiful emotion and passion for la vie! How could I ever find that embarrassing? You and I are not so different,"
In a weird way, that makes sense. Rook is never one to let shame hold him back from expressing his feelings.
He smiles at your pensive expression, and gives you a kiss on the head.
"Mais, next time you are upset, maybe you should come to me first, non?"
II. Clumsy
Forgetful, scatterbrained, oblivious, dimwitted are all words you've become used to hearing.
As well as a few colorful swears.
You have two left feet, even when you're not dancing- you're used to walking into walls, tripping, and dropping things- it just sucks that you have an audience now.
The first years that had gathered around the mess you made- tripping over your own feet and spilling the papers you were meant to deliver to Ace and Deuce all over the floor- are watching with grins and phones out.
You pretend they're not there, even with their taunts and whistles and laughter.
"Hey! Loitering is a waste of time!" someone barks. Literally.
You look up to see Jack moving through the crowd, scolding the other first years for blocking the hall.
When he sees you in the eye of the storm, on your hands and knees picking up your spilled papers, something upset takes his usually-stoic demeanor.
"What's the matter with you?!" he snarls at the boys. "Didn't anyone teach you any manners?! It's rude to stare- and laugh!"
His ears are flattened against his head when he kneels down beside you to help, collecting the papers, and putting them in your hands.
"Come on, we'll be late if you keep 'sittin there,"
Jack pulls you to your feet and gives one final snarl to the other first years before walking you off.
"...Thanks,"
"Eh? Don't mention it," he says. "Leona woulda had my tail if I just walked by..."
You know there's more to it than that, but you don't push. You're just happy he's forgotten to take his hand out of yours.
You can't handle being the center of attention.
For good reason, too- you're awkward, clumsy, and about the least graceful a person can get.
A true Ugly Duckling at a place like NRC. But Vil Schoenheit sees the swan in you. Perhaps that's why he's always been so patient and sweet.
It's a little distracting.
So much is obvious when he waves at you in the hall and, distracted by his smile, you walk right into a wall.
Though you can't see anything but stars after falling on your butt, the stares and snickers of everyone else are hard to miss.
Vil glares them away with a look that could kill twice over, and then stands over you as you lay on the floor.
"Come on," he says, holding out a hand. "I'll check you for concussion."
He brings you to Pomefiore and sits you down, shooing off a few curious underclassmen as he checks your pupils. "Do you feel nauseous?"
"Not really,"
"Then you'll be fine. Just a bump. You really should be more careful, though,"
You've heard that one before. Vil smiles at your dazed expression, and presses a cold compress against your head.
"This will help with the swelling,"
"Thanks," you mutter, still a little out of it. "You're my hero."
His eyebrows raise in true surprise, and then he chuckles. "And that makes you a damsel in distress?"
He doesn't give you a chance to respond before taking away the compress and kissing the red mark on your head.
"Don't think that being so cute is going to distract me. I'll make some time for lessons on poise this weekend,"
III. Unsociable
You'd think that being quiet and staying out of people's ways would get them to leave you alone, but it really just attracts more attention.
And after a grueling period of your tablemates making you the butt of every joke ("wow, I didn't know you could even talk!" "are you quiet because you hate us? come onnn, you can tell me!") you were ready to bury yourself alive.
"I don't ever want to leave," You mumble into the bundle of sheets and blankets on Idia's unmade bed.
"You could stay, y'know," Idia says from his desk, mindlessly scrolling through some gaming forum. "I should blackmail Crowley into letting you stay down here at least half the year."
"Couldn't it be the whole?"
"Nah. You need like, sunlight and stuff,"
"And you don't?!"
Idia snickers. "I'm built different. You know that. I get all my nutrients from blue light... You could at least stay for the weekend, though,"
You roll your eyes.
"...And I'll leak those normies' data. I'm sure I could get into their browser histories and have that emailed to their parents,"
Hm. You genuinely consider it for a moment, but eventually decide to give mercy. You're basically a saint.
"I think I just wanna pretend like I don't exist right now,"
Idia nods in understanding and pushes his gaming chair over to the edge of the bed, before crawling in and wrapping himself around you.
"That can be done. Pancakes tomorrow?"
Sure, there were people who talked to you, but you didn't talk back.
You just don't know how, you suppose. Every time you try, you end up saying the wrong thing, or are accidentally rude, or do something embarrassing.
You don't understand the references people make. You don't get social cues or hints. You have the social skills of an oyster.
Four months at Night Raven College, and you didn't have a single friend.
Well- except for him.
"How are you enjoying your tea?" Malleus asks, polite and curt as ever.
You take another sip- it's tangy, sweet, with a hint of bitterness. Some sort of Briar Valley blend that Malleus had imported just for you.
"I really like it,"
He smiles. "I'm pleased,"
One of the things you find so agreeable about Malleus is his simplicity. He often says exactly what he means; albeit, in a sort of 13th century Lord sort of way.
There's less stress with him. You don't have to pretend to be interesting, or outgoing, or cool. You can just be... you.
Because he likes you.
"You know," you say with a faint smile. "You're so nice to me. Sometimes I think that you're the only person I need. I could be happy with just you for the rest of my life."
You had meant that casually, but when you look back up from your cup, Malleus has this... look.
Wide-eyed, his lips pressed firmly together. There's even a dusting of color on his cheeks.
"Oh," you internally panic. Was that too much? Was that weird? Did you make things awkward again? Crap, you should have just acted normal, what's wrong with you?! "S-sorry, I-"
"Do you truly mean that?"
You go quiet, looking back at him with wide eyes. Your heart is pounding against your chest.
"...Yes,"
Malleus hums, his expression becoming more... pensive, and then...
He smiles. "I feel the same. Shall we go for a walk while the night is still young?"
#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#cater diamond x reader#rook hunt x reader#jack howl x reader#vil schoenheit x reader#idia shroud x reader#malleus draconia x reader
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ââŽïžËïœĄâSTUDY BREAK (FT. GOJO)
ê°Â synopsis. being in the same class as gojo satoru was bad enough; having him as the professorâs insufferably smug assistant made it worse. content. college au. nsfw. (teasing. slight praise kınk. fıngering. orĂ€l. p in v. multiple Ćrgasms.) wc. 5.3k. an. to clear up any confusion đ.. satoruâs a senior student + the professorâs assistant in the course youâre both taking. (fic is kinda all over the place so idk if this works but letâs pretend like it does).
thereâs something about gojo satoru that drives you insane. not in the fun, heart-fluttering way that comes with a secret crush or the thrill of banter. noâthis is the kind of insane where you want to hurl something, preferably at his stupidly smug face.
âclass,â he drawls, leaning lazily against the desk at the front of the room, his shirt slightly rumpled like he doesnât give a damnâand he doesnât. âthese papers? a mixed bag. some of you really impressed me. others⊠well.â his lips curve into a smirk. âletâs just say the recycling bin was hungry.â
you groan inwardly, already sensing where this is going. heâs done this before, holding your work hostage like itâs part of his routine entertainment.
âand here,â he continues, brandishing a paper like a prop. your paper. âis a prime example of someone⊠almost getting there. strong ideas, decent execution, but the conclusion? oof. fell harder than my GPA sophomore year.â
a few students laugh. your jaw tightens, the heat in your chest bubbling up into something sharp and biting. he doesnât have to name you; everyone knows exactly whose paper heâs waving around.
âanyway,â he finishes with a shrug, tossing the paper onto the desk like itâs disposable. âthereâs potential. keep at it.â
you donât even wait for class to end before your resolve solidifies: youâre going to kill him. maybe not literally, but metaphorically? absolutely.
you donât plan on storming to his dorm room. it just⊠happens. one moment, youâre replaying his smug grin and the way his eyes gleamed when he mocked your paper, and the next, youâre standing outside his door, your fist raised to knock.
he answers quickly, and the sight of him makes you falter. his hair is damp, sticking out in soft tufts like he just got out of the shower, and his plain white t-shirt clings to him in a way thatâs almostâno. you shake the thought away.
âwell, this is unexpected,â he says, leaning against the doorframe with a grin thatâs all teeth. âif you wanted private tutoring, you couldâve just asked.â
âdonât flatter yourself,â you snap, brushing past him into the room without waiting for an invitation.
he whistles low under his breath. âfeisty tonight. to what do I owe the pleasure?â
you spin to face him, your hands clenched at your sides. âwhat is your problem with me?â
he blinks, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second before returning full force. âproblem? sweetheart, i donât have a problem with you.â
âyou humiliate me in class,â you say, your voice rising. âyou make these comments, you single me outâwhat, are you that bored with your life?â
âhumiliate?â he echoes, feigning a wounded look. âi think you mean âmotivate.â youâre one of the smartest people in that class. if i donât push you, who will?â
âthatâs bullshit,â you fire back, stepping closer. âyou donât âpushâ anyone else.â
âbecause no one else is as fun,â he replies easily, his grin tilting into something sharper. âthe way you react, the fire in your eyesâitâs addictive.â
your breath catches, the heat in your chest spreading to your cheeks. âyouâre insufferable.â
âand yet, here you are,â he says, his voice dropping just enough to make the air between you feel heavier. âin my room. alone.â
âbecause you drive me crazy,â you snap, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.
his eyebrows lift slightly, as if heâs genuinely intrigued by your outburst. âgood crazy or bad crazy?â
he takes a step closer, too close. the kind of close that makes your pulse stutter and your instincts scream at you to step backâbut you donât. instead, you stand your ground, your jaw clenched as he waits for your answer, his gaze steady and almost daring.
âwhat does it matter?â you mutter, your voice quieter now, the heat of your earlier anger ebbing into something more uncertain.
âit matters,â he says, his voice low as his eyes flicker to your lips. âbecause I need to know if I can do this.â
before you can ask what he means, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours like heâs giving you the chance to pull away. but you donât. his hand finds your waist, tugging you closer as the kiss deepens, his mouth hot and insistent against yours.
itâs like a dam breaking. weeksâmonthsâof tension and unspoken words all come crashing down in a rush of heat and urgency. his other hand slides into your hair, tilting your head to kiss you deeper, and the sound you make in response is embarrassing and needy, but you canât bring yourself to care.
you should stop this. you should push him away, tell him heâs crossed a line. but the way his thumb brushes against your waist, the way he tilts his head just right, the way he kisses like heâs been waiting for this moment as long as you haveâitâs addictive. you canât stop. you donât want to.
but then reality slams into you like a cold gust of wind. what are you doing? your chest tightens as the weight of it crashes down all at once, the heat between you dissolving into something sharper, more terrifying.
you pull back abruptly, your breathing uneven. âi canât.â
he blinks, his expression softening from one of heat to confusion. âwhat?â
âthisâthis is a mistake,â you stammer, backing away. your hands feel clumsy as they fumble behind you for the door. âi shouldnât have come here.â
âwait.â his hand reaches out, almost instinctively, but youâre already opening the door, your chest tight and your mind racing as you step out into the hall. you donât look back, even as the warmth of his touch lingers on your skin.
ââââ
you avoid him after that. in class, you sit as far from him as possible, claiming a seat in the back corner, close to the door. the usual tension he brought to the roomâhis teasing remarks, his piercing gaze when he caught you rolling your eyesâfeels conspicuously absent. he doesnât call on you, doesnât glance your way, doesnât even acknowledge you.
itâs been weeks since that night in his dorm, and as the semester nears its end, the distance feels heavier with every passing class. his silence, once the thing you desperately wanted, now presses on your chest like a weight. you wonder if he regrets it, if heâs just as caught in the what-ifs as you areâor if heâs already forgotten.
the final project looms, deadlines creeping closer, but the distraction isnât enough to stop the quiet ache thatâs settled in your chest. you remind yourself itâs for the best. boundaries were crossed, a line you know you shouldnât have stepped over. it doesnât matter how he made you feel, how his kisses left you breathless and yearning. none of it matters.
and yet, every time you leave class, you rush, head down, praying he wonât stop you. and every time he doesnât, the ache grows.
when class ends today, the air feels heavier than usual. your peers chatter around you, their voices blending into background noise as you pack your things quickly, eyes fixed on the door. if you can just slip out unnoticed, avoid another day of walking the tightrope youâve been balancing on since that nightâ
but then a hand wraps gently around your wrist, warm and familiar.
âyouâre avoiding me,â he says, his voice low and steady. thereâs no edge to it, no teasing grin or smug undertone. just quiet certainty, like heâs stating a fact.
you freeze, your heart thudding in your chest. itâs been so long since heâs said anything to you that the sound of his voice directed at you feels foreign.
âiâm late,â you mumble, tugging your wrist weakly in an attempt to free yourself. âlet me go.â
âyou donât have any classes after this,â he says, his grip loosening but not letting go. his eyes meet yours, calm but resolute. âi checked your schedule.â
your jaw tightens, irritation flashing through you. âyou shouldnât have access to my schedule.â
âprobably not,â he admits with a shrug, a hint of the old satoru creeping into his voice, âbut iâm me.â
you open your mouth to snap at him, to tell him to back off, but he cuts you off first. âcome have coffee with me.â
you blink, caught off guard by the casual offer. âwhat?â
âcoffee,â he repeats, his tone light, as if this is perfectly normal. âyou like coffee, donât you?â
âthatâs not the point,â you snap, yanking your wrist free from his grasp. âwhat is this, some weird apology?â
âitâs not weird,â he says, his smirk faltering slightly now, his expression open and strangely earnest. âitâs just coffee. with me.â
you stare at him, struggling to find the right words. âgojo,â you begin, your voice heavy, âyou and i are not friends.â
his face falls, the shift so quick and unexpected that it makes your stomach twist. you see the way his shoulders tense, the way his gaze drops for just a moment, but you force yourself to look away. without giving him a chance to reply, you turn and push past him, your steps quick and unsteady as you leave the classroom.
the ache in your chest grows with every step, and even as you round the corner, out of sight, the image of his expression lingers. thereâs no relief this time. only guilt.
ââââ
you donât know why youâre here. no, thatâs a lieâyou know exactly why youâre here. the memory of his expression, the slight drop of his shoulders at your retort, has been looping in your mind, making it impossible to focus on anything else.
your feet carry you down the familiar path to his dorm, the ache in your chest twisting tighter with every step. before you can talk yourself out of it, your fist is already knocking on the door.
it opens almost immediately, and the sight of him steals the breath from your lungs. his white hair is a mess, sticking up in chaotic directions, and his glasses are perched crookedly on his nose. thereâs a faint crease on his cheek, like heâd been leaning against a book, and his shirt hangs loosely off one shoulder, rumpled from sleep or hours spent working. he looks⊠soft. disarming. almost painfully cute.
âcoffee,â you say, holding up the cups like a white flag. âcan i come in?â
his lips twitch, a hint of a smile breaking through the haze of surprise as he steps aside. âbribery, huh? didnât think you had it in you.â
his dorm is as cluttered as you rememberâpapers and notebooks sprawled across his desk, a blinking laptop shoved precariously to one side. you set the coffee down on the edge of the desk, your gaze catching on the scrawled notes and dense blocks of text.
âgrading?â you ask.
âresearch,â he replies, dropping onto the edge of his bed with a tired sigh. his hand rakes through his already-messy hair, making it stick up even more. âfinals prep. you know, glamorous TA things.â
you hand him a cup, your fingers brushing against his as he takes it. the simple contact sends a jolt up your arm that you stubbornly ignore. âthought you could use it.â
he hums as he takes a sip, his lashes fluttering briefly before he lets out a quiet sound of approval. the noise is so low, so soft, it makes your stomach twist. you glance away quickly, your grip tightening on your own cup.
âabout the other day,â you start, the words quiet and tentative.
he glances up, the coffee still in his hands. his expression is unreadable, but his fingers still against the cup, like heâs waiting for the other shoe to drop. âyou donât have to explain,â he says, setting his cup down on the desk. âif you donât want thisâif i got it wrongâjust say so.â
âitâs not that,â you blurt, the words tumbling out too fast, too raw. warmth floods your cheeks, creeping down to your chest. âi just⊠i donât know what this is.â
he doesnât respond immediately, doesnât fall into his usual teasing deflection. instead, he stands, crossing the small space between you with deliberate steps. his gaze holds yours, steady and unguarded, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you canât control.
âlet me show you,â he says softly, his voice low, uncharacteristically serious.
heâs so close now, his hand brushing against yours, his touch light, almost hesitant. and then his lips are on yours, and everything else fades away.
this kiss is nothing like the first. thereâs no uncertainty, no restraint. his hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him as his mouth moves against yours, hot and insistent. your grip on the coffee slips, the cup hitting the floor with a dull thud as your hands find his shoulders, clutching at the fabric of his shirt.
when his hands slide under your shirt, the roughness of his palms against your bare skin makes you shudder. he guides you backward, his body pressing into yours until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. you sink down, the weight of him grounding you as he follows, his lips trailing fire along your jaw and down your neck.
his hands are everywhereâtracing the curve of your waist, brushing the underside of your ribs, exploring like heâs memorizing every inch of you. when he pulls back to look at you, his lips are curved in a wicked, breath-stealing grin.
âyouâre infuriating,â he murmurs, his voice low and rough as his eyes rake over you, drinking in every detail.
âyouâre worse,â you manage, though your voice is barely more than a whisper.
his grin widens, and his laugh is warm against your skin as he dips his head, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. âyouâre already so worked up. itâs cute.â
âshut up,â you snap, though the way your hips arch into his touch betrays you.
âmake me,â he challenges, his lips brushing against yours before descending lower, kissing down your collarbone and tugging your shirt higher with every inch. his hands roam greedily, tugging the fabric over your head and tossing it somewhere behind him without a second thought.
his mouth is back on you immediately, nipping and kissing along the swell of your breasts as his hands work the clasp of your bra. when it comes free, his lips part in a satisfied hum, his hands kneading your soft skin like heâs savoring every second of this.
âso fucking perfect,â he mutters, his voice husky as he leans back slightly to take in the sight of you. his gaze is heavy, filled with something dark and hungry that makes your stomach twist in the best way.
âstop staring,â you grumble, though the heat in your cheeks betrays the sharpness of your words.
âcanât help it,â he says, his grin tilting into something softer, more genuine. âyouâre gorgeous.â
before you can respond, his mouth is back on you, his tongue flicking over your nipple as his other hand trails down your stomach, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband of your pants. your breath hitches as he pauses, his gaze flicking up to meet yours.
âcan i?â he asks, his voice quieter now, his expression serious.
you nod, and he wastes no time. his fingers hook under the fabric, tugging your pants and underwear down in one swift motion. the cool air against your bare skin makes you shiver, but the warmth of his hands is there immediately, coaxing you to relax under his touch.
âlook at you,â he murmurs, his voice low and thick as his hands part your thighs, his gaze drinking in every inch of you. âso fucking pretty.â
your cheeks flush, and you try to turn your head away, but his hand cups your chin, gently coaxing you to meet his eyes. âdonât hide from me,â he says, his thumb brushing against your cheek. ânot tonight.â
his other hand slides between your thighs, his touch featherlight at first, teasing. when his thumb brushes over your clit, a jolt of heat shoots through you, and your hips buck involuntarily.
âsensitive,â he murmurs, his lips curving into a wicked grin. âi barely touched you, and youâre already squirming.â
âshut up,â you snap, your voice shaky as your fingers clutch at the sheets beneath you. but the way your body reactsâarching into his touch, chasing the pressureâmakes it clear that his teasing isnât far from the truth.
âyou donât really want me to, do you?â his voice is low, almost a growl, and the sound of it sends a shiver down your spine. âi think you like when i talk to you like this. when i tell you how good youâre doing, how fucking beautiful you look right now.â
your chest heaves as his fingers dip lower, sliding through your slick folds with infuriating slowness. every movement feels deliberate, calculated, like heâs savoring every second. when his fingers finally slip inside you, the stretch makes your head fall back, a gasp tumbling from your lips.
âthatâs it,â he murmurs, his thumb circling your clit as his fingers begin to move, slow and deliberate at first. âyou feel so fucking good, baby. so perfect.â
your hands fly to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he curls his fingers, hitting a spot that makes your vision blur. âoh my godâgojoââ
he tuts sharply, his fingers pausing inside you, his thumb stalling its maddening rhythm. your head snaps up, breathless and confused, to find him staring down at you with a dark look, his lips curving into a smirk that doesnât quite reach his eyes.
âno,â he says firmly, his voice low and commanding as he tilts his head. âsay satoru.â
âw-what?â you stammer, your heart racing as his fingers remain perfectly still, the tension building with every passing second.
ânot âgojo,ââ he says again, his free hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his. his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, his grin sharpening. âsay satoru.â
you hesitate, your breath hitching as your body trembles beneath him. he presses his fingers deeper, curling them just enough to make your toes curl, and your resolve shatters.
âsatoru,â you gasp, your voice breaking on the syllables.
his smirk widens, something dark and triumphant flickering in his eyes. âgood girl,â he murmurs, his thumb resuming its slow, torturous circles on your clit as his fingers pick up their rhythm again, harder this time, deeper.
your head falls back against the mattress, your body arching into his touch as the pleasure builds again, higher and hotter than before. his name tumbles from your lips like a mantra, breathless and needy as he drives you closer to the edge.
âthatâs it,â he coaxes, his voice dripping with praise as his free hand slides down your body, his touch possessive. âjust like that, baby. let go for me.â
the coil in your stomach tightens to the breaking point, and when he curls his fingers just right, pressing against the perfect spot, it snaps. your orgasm crashes over you, white-hot and overwhelming, and his name spills from your lips in a broken moan.
âsatoruâfuckââ
âthatâs my girl,â he murmurs, his voice rough with approval as he works you through the waves of pleasure, his movements slowing but never stopping until your body goes slack beneath him, trembling and spent.
he pulls his hand away slowly, his gaze fixed on you as he brings his fingers to his lips, licking them clean with a deliberate, satisfied hum. âeven better than i imagined,â he says, his voice dripping with arrogance, his eyes gleaming as they roam over your flushed, trembling body.
you blink, your breath still uneven as his words settle over you. âwaitââ you say, your voice catching slightly. âyouâve thought about this?â
his grin widens, slow and deliberate, and he leans down, bracing himself on his forearms so his face is just inches from yours. âoh, sweetheart,â he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, âyou really think i havenât?â
your cheeks flush even hotter, your pulse racing as his words sink in. âyouâreââ you stammer, at a rare loss for words. âyouâre ridiculous.â
âridiculous?â he repeats, feigning offense, though the wicked glint in his eyes never falters. âiâd say iâm a man of focus. youâve been in my head for weeks, driving me insane with that sharp mouth and the way you look at me when you think i donât notice.â
âi donâtââ you begin, but his lips curve into a knowing smirk, cutting you off.
âyou do,â he insists, his tone softening just slightly. âand every time you glared at me, every time you rolled your eyes or bit back some little retort, all i could think about was how much i wanted to shut you up. like this.â
his lips capture yours again, and this kiss is slower, heavier, laced with an intensity that makes your toes curl. his hands roam, sliding over your bare skin with a reverence that feels almost out of place against his words.
when he finally pulls back, his gaze is still on you, his expression uncharacteristically serious. âand now that iâve got you,â he says, his voice dipping into something darker, âi donât think iâll ever get enough.â
the weight of his confession leaves you breathless, and before you can respond, his lips are trailing down your body again, his hands parting your thighs as he settles between them.
âwhat are youââ you start, but his eyes flick up to meet yours, and the look in them steals the rest of your words.
ârelax,â he murmurs, his lips curving into a soft, almost mischievous smile. âiâm not done tasting you yet.â
his hands slide to grip your thighs, pulling you apart with ease as his lips descend, brushing over your inner thighs, teasingly slow. his tongue flicks out, hot and wet against your skin, and when his mouth finally finds you again, you feel your body arch instinctively, your breath leaving in a sharp, unrestrained gasp.
heâs relentless. his tongue drags up your folds in a languid stroke before circling your clit with maddening precision. his mouth is hot, the slick, wet sounds mingling with your soft moans, and his breathâwarm and unevenâfans against your skin with every movement.
his hair brushes against your thighs, soft and messy, and your fingers thread through it again, tugging sharply enough to make him groan against you. the vibration of it sends a jolt of pleasure straight through your core, and your hips buck against his mouth.
âsatoru,â you gasp, but itâs barely coherent, your voice breaking as he latches onto your clit, sucking just enough to make your toes curl. âoh myââ
the cold press of something against your inner thigh pulls you out of the haze, just barely. itâs sharp, unfamiliar, and you glance downâhis glasses. theyâre still perched on his nose, slightly crooked, the metal frame fogging faintly from the heat of his breath. heâs so lost in the moment, so focused on the way his tongue works against you, that he hasnât even noticed.
your hand drifts down, brushing against the cool frame, and you slip them off without a word. the absurdity of itâthe way heâs been eating you out with his glasses still onâmakes you want to laugh. the corners of your mouth twitch, and a soft sound bubbles up in your throat, but then his tongue presses flat against your folds, dragging up in one slow, deliberate motion, and the laugh dissolves into a sharp moan.
your head falls back against the pillow, your hand tangling back in his hair as you toss the glasses onto the bed with the other. the noise they make as they hit the mattress is faint, drowned out by the obscene wet sounds of his mouth, the low hums of satisfaction he lets out as he devours you.
âfuck,â you whimper, your thighs trembling as his tongue flicks against your clit again, faster now, more insistent. your body arches instinctively, chasing the pressure, and his hands tighten on your thighs, pulling you even closer to his mouth.
he growls against you, the sound low and rough, vibrating through you in a way that makes your toes curl. his tongue dips lower, teasing your entrance before sliding back up, and the sharp scrape of his teeth against your swollen clit has you seeing stars.
âso fucking sweet,â he mutters, his voice muffled against your slick skin. âcanât get enough of you, baby.â
you canât respond, canât think. the only thing you can focus on is the way his tongue works against you, precise and relentless, building the heat in your stomach until itâs unbearable. your fingers twist in his hair, pulling harder, and the groan he lets out in response sends you spiraling.
âsatoruââ his name falls from your lips like a prayer, breathless and broken. he doesnât stop, doesnât let up, his mouth dragging you closer and closer to the edge until you canât hold on any longer.
your orgasm hits you hard, ripping through you in waves that leave your entire body trembling. your hips jerk against his hold, your moans loud and unrestrained as you ride it out. his tongue slows, working you through every aftershock until youâre left panting, boneless against the bed.
when he finally pulls back, his chest is heaving, his lips and chin glistening with your slick. his hair is a mess, strands sticking up where your fingers had tugged, and his eyesâthose impossibly bright bluesâflick up to meet yours, gleaming with satisfaction.
âtwice,â he says, his voice low and teasing as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
he sits back on his knees, his hands smoothing over your trembling thighs as he takes in the sight of youâflushed, panting, your chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath. his grin is lazy, self-satisfied, like he knows exactly what heâs done to you.
âyouâre staring,â you mutter weakly, your voice barely above a whisper.
âhard not to,â he replies, his tone low and full of amusement. his fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, his touch soft, teasing. âyou look so fucking good when you come.â
your cheeks burn, and you want to glare at him, to tell him to shut up, but the words catch in your throat as he reaches for the hem of his shirt. in one fluid motion, he pulls it over his head and tosses it to the side, the movement effortless and maddeningly confident.
your eyes follow the shift of his muscles, the way they ripple under his skin, lean and defined. a faint sheen of sweat glistens across his chest, catching the dim light, highlighting every sharp line and curve. your gaze drifts lower, down to the sharp ridges of his abdomen. the faint trail of white hair starting just below his navel draws your attention, leading your eyes further, until his hands move to the waistband of his boxers.
he doesnât rush. he hooks his thumbs under the fabric, dragging it down slowly, deliberately, letting the anticipation coil tighter in your stomach. as the fabric falls away, your breath hitches.
heâs fully bare now, and your mouth goes dry.
his cock is⊠breathtaking. thick and flushed a deep pink at the tip, already leaking beads of precum that catch the light as they drip down the length. itâs long, the kind of length that makes your thighs press together instinctively, wondering how heâll fit, but the heat pooling low in your stomach burns hotter, overriding any hesitation.
his hand wraps around it, and he strokes himself slowly, his thumb swiping over the head to collect the wetness there. the motion is deliberate, almost lazy, and the soft groan he lets out sends a shiver down your spine.
youâre staringâyou know you areâand he notices, his lips curving into a wicked grin as his eyes flick up to meet yours.
âdonât worry, baby,â he murmurs, his voice low and teasing as he leans forward, the head of his cock brushing against your folds, slick and hot. âiâll make it fit.â
his words send a shiver through you, his voice low and dripping with confidence. the weight of his cock against your folds, hot and heavy, is enough to make your hips twitch instinctively, chasing the friction. but he doesnât push in right awayâof course he doesnât. instead, he drags the head up and down your slick, letting it catch on your clit with every pass, teasing you until youâre squirming beneath him.
âsatoru,â you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. youâre not above begging at this point. âplease.â
his grin widens, his head dipping to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. âwhatâs the rush, baby? weâve got all night.â
âsatoru,â you repeat, more insistently this time, and he groans at the sound of his name on your lips, his cock twitching against you.
âfuck,â he mutters, his voice tight now, losing some of that smug edge. âyou sound so pretty when you beg.â
he lines himself up, his hand still wrapped around the base as he presses the head against your entrance. the stretch is immediate, a sharp, overwhelming mix of pleasure and pressure as he pushes in slowly, inch by inch.
âholy shit,â he breathes, his voice rough as his head falls forward, his hair brushing against your cheek. âyouâre so fucking tight.â
your fingers clutch at his shoulders, your breath catching as he sinks deeper, the fullness stealing every coherent thought from your mind. he pauses halfway, his free hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his.
âyou okay?â he asks, and thereâs something softer in his voice now, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort.
you nod, your voice shaky as you answer. âyeah. justâkeep going.â
his jaw tightens, and he exhales slowly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before he starts to move again. every inch feels impossibly deep, your walls stretching around him, and when he finally bottoms out, you both pause, your breaths mingling as you try to adjust.
âfuck,â he groans again, his voice strained as his hips twitch against yours. âyou feel so good. better than i everââ he cuts himself off with a shaky laugh, shaking his head. âshit, youâre perfect.â
you can barely respond, the stretch and fullness leaving you trembling. but then he starts to move, pulling out almost entirely before sliding back in with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips. the drag of his cock against your walls is enough to have you moaning, your head falling back against the pillow.
âthatâs it,â he murmurs, his voice rough and approving as he sets a steady rhythm. âgood girl. taking me so well.â
your hands trail down his back, your nails scraping lightly against his skin, and the groan he lets out sends a fresh wave of heat through you. his movements quicken, the sound of skin against skin filling the room, and every thrust has him hitting that perfect spot deep inside you, making you cry out.
âsatoruââ his name falls from your lips again, and he leans down, his teeth grazing your neck as he thrusts harder, deeper.
âyouâre gonna make me lose my fucking mind,â he growls, his hands gripping your hips tighter, holding you in place as he drives into you. âyou feel so goodâso fucking perfect for me.â
the coil in your stomach tightens with every roll of his hips, the pressure building higher and higher until itâs unbearable. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing in tight circles that make your vision blur, and your moans grow louder, more desperate.
âcome for me,â he demands, his voice rough and low in your ear. âlet me feel you.â
the command sends you over the edge. your orgasm rips through you, your body arching into his as you cry out, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. your walls clench around him, and the sensation makes him groan, his thrusts growing erratic as he chases his own release.
âfuckââ he gasps, burying himself as deep as he can go as he comes, the heat of him spilling into you, thick and warm. his head falls to your shoulder, his breath ragged against your skin as he rides out the last waves of pleasure.
the room is quiet except for the sound of your heavy breathing, the air thick and charged as he finally pulls back, his weight pressing into you as he collapses onto the bed beside you. his arm slides around your waist, pulling you against his chest as he presses a soft, lazy kiss to your temple.
âtold you iâd make it fit,â he murmurs, his voice still rough, but thereâs a hint of smugness there, his lips curving into a small grin.
you canât help the laugh that escapes you, your body still trembling against his. âyouâre such an asshole.â
âyeah,â he agrees, his tone light, teasing, as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. âbut you like it.â
you roll your eyes, but thereâs no heat to it, your lips curving into a faint smile as you bury your face against his chest. âshut up, satoru.â
ânever,â he replies, and the warmth of his laughter vibrates through you, grounding you as your breaths slowly even out.
an. gojo with glasses... *hnnggghh*
DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK ON OTHER PLATFORMS!
#â luna.writes#jjk imagines#gojo x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#satoru gojo x reader#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen smut#gojo x reader smut#gojo satoru x reader#jjk x reader smut#anime smut#gojo x reader#jjk fic#jujutsu kaisen x you#gojo satoru smut#gojo x y/n#jjk x reader#jujustsu kaisen x reader#gojo smut#gojo x female reader#satoru gojo smut
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ââ đđđđ đđđđ : VI.
content: 2k words ! fem reader, pit fighter!vi, fwb dynamic. this is obviously sapphic. vi tops and she has a strap, rough sΔx, cunnilingus, spit, slapping (not on the face), usage of petnames like 'princess' and 'baby', a lil angsty and tense, mentions of sΔx work, p<3rn with plot!!
â . ïœĄË âĄ turns out, vi needed a rebound too.
vi is rougher and quieter than usual tonight.
shedding her clothes and pulling on the strap you've left on the bedside table for her, she climbs wordlessly onto your creaky mattress to get to you. you've been laying in bed for hours, all dolled up for her, and she doesn't really even look at youâ it makes your heart sink a little.
you wrap your arms around her anyway, allowing her to touch you, and with a soft sigh, she gives the swell of your chest a kiss, 'hello'.
the pallid light coming through your window outlines her body in pale blue, and her smell invades your senses as she leans into your body, pressing her weight on you.Â
gripping the soft underside of your thighs harshly, digging her nails into your tender skin, she pushes your knees to your chest. "you missed me, princess?"
"mmm, i did." you're looking at her with the most innocent gaze you can muster, eyes wet and lips pouty, and she leans in to give them a kiss just like you want her to. her mouth tastes sour enough of sweat and cheap alcohol to make you winceâ but when she pulls back, you feel a twinge of disappointment that it doesn't last long enough.
fresh out of a fight, she's still full of adrenaline â and wastes no time on foreplay. hooking your legs over those broad shoulders of hers, she spits onto your cunt and gets right to it.Â
her eyes roll halfway back into her head as she slips the strap into your cunt, like she can feel the way your pussy grips it. throwing her head back, she moans hoarsely, in sync with the sweet whine that comes out of your mouth as she rolls her hips into yours, sliding the strap all the way in. "that's a good girl, fuck."
yes. you are a good girl. her good girl.
vi has been coming to you every night or so, for a few months now â and at first it was just a good deal of sex for you both. but lately, you've found yourself less interested in the sex she offers you, and more interested in the woman herself.
your room is dark, like it always is when she comes over, and the harsh pleasure she gives you always turns your mind cloudy â but nothing can sway the watchful gaze you fix onto vi whenever you're in her arms. through half-closed eyes, you count the nicks and bruises that line the base of her throat and her shoulders and arms. the scratches and cuts, redder because she's flushed, drunk and exerting herself.
twelve new marks since last time. you wonder if she won tonight's fight or if she lost. the way she fucks you doesn't make a difference, so you can't tell â what you do know is that she comes to you seeking an escape from frustrations that stem from something unrelated to the fights entirely.Â
and whatever it is, it frustrates her a lot.
she seems especially bothered tonight. you try to hold onto her, nails scratching at her muscled back as you struggle to maintain your grip. her pace is dizzying, and her grip on your body doesn't get lighter. she fucks you nearly like she wants you dead. "vi, viâ"
"you're doin' good, baby." she hisses, eyes shut. "g'nna make you cum in a bit, kay? just let me see you take my strap first. pretty thing."
and you take it â like a good girl. how could you not? when she acts like she's ravenous about you? when, with how she puts those dead eyes and calloused hands and busted lips on you, she makes you feel something no one else ever has?
she looks so good, too â so hot, with the dark hair, the ashy streaks running down her face, the lipstick smudged down her bottom lip that's just slightly fuller than her top lip â and the muscles, god.
her tits aren't nearly big enough to hang in your face while she's on top, but they bounce a little with each snap of her hips, and the sight mesmerizes you. she laughs softly when your pussy squelches for her â and it makes your heart flutter. fuck. you might just be in love with this ghost of a woman. "vi, please."
"you like that?" she hums, landing a kiss on the side of your knee that leaves a bit of lipstick stained on your skin. "y'like it when i fuck you to bits?"
"mhm," you choke out, keeping your eyes on her so you don't miss it when she looks at you. "wanna cum, make me cum, please."
the strap slides out of you as smoothly as it slid in â and heat rises to your cheeks when vi stares at how your cunt clenches around nothing. "can't say no to you when you ask so nicely." she reaches up to brush a stray strand of hair out of your face, giving you that half-smile that makes your heart twist just as much as your gut.
"look at you." she lowers her face to your chest, lips tracing kisses downward. one hand comes up to squeeze at your tits, soft and sharp at the same time, index finger and thumb teasing your nipple and making you keen. "pretty, pretty thing."
she nudges your legs apart, getting comfortable between them. her other hand toys with your cunt, middle and ring finger slowly coaxing their way into your hole like she's learning to be gentle now. your body tenses with anticipation, feeling the way her lips get closer and closer to where you want them to go. "ngh. justâplease."
the first flick of her tongue on your clit makes you gasp, body rocking in reactionâ and vi slaps your thigh. "shhh," is all she says, but it makes you behave. she spreads your pussy open with her fingers like it's a flower, and takes you whole.
the wet sounds of a mouth on a cunt fill your shoddy little room, and you moan and shudder in vi's arms, caged in her hold as she draws the orgasm out of you.
and she does it so quickly, having learned what touches of her tongue your clit likes best, how you like having her fingers, when to add the extra tug to your nipples. she makes you go insane so easily.
like she took the time to figure out how to do it. like she cared enough to do that. like she might just lâ
the white-hot rush of pleasure hits you, and all your thoughts dissipate. you grab vi's hair, digging your fingers into the dyed locks, keeping her face where you want it. "mmm, fuck, just like thatâvi, just like that, pleaseâ"
she slaps your thigh again, but you relent only slightly. she licks up your slick, adjusting her position so she can fuck you better with her fingers, and you tremble under her as she curls her digits into your sweetest spots, wave after wave of bliss washing over you with each touch. the bed creaks like the weak boards under your mattress might snap, but you don't even hear it. "god."
once you're not shaking so much anymore, the high peaking and falling past, she comes up and kisses you â and you know your face and body are full of inky lipstick marks by now. it's almost romantic.
then, it's over.
vi pulls away, letting go of you and sitting up.
"ugh." you slump into the bed, hiding the pang of hurt that fills you. "you . . . don't want me to do you? or . . get you a drink?"
"not tonight. think i'm wasted enough." vi wipes her mouth off, stretching her neck to one side till there's a pop â and gets off the bed. you notice how her lips are entirely clean of the onyx that they were. "hey, you sure you don't want me to pay you?"
and there it is. the moment of intimacy dissolves like a grain of sugar into the vastness of the sea. it's home time.
"no, it's fine." you wave her off, turning away. you watch discreetly through your mirror as she looks around at the little box you live in.
"are you sure? . . i can cough something up." she asks again, and though you're slightly offended, you know what she means. your place is a single room that's barely a six by ten, small rickety bed and a desk with the mirror, a rack for the few clothes you own, and nothing else really. you share a bathroom and kitchen with two other girls across the street. and you have vi each night.
you need nothing else. "yeah, i'm good. and i don't do that anymore, anyway." you tell her.
"alright." vi pulls her clothes back on, and you're just a little sad to see her body covered away again. you did love getting your eyefuls of those slight curves and sleek muscles, and the tatts. "why'd you stop, though? working, i mean."
you think of how you used to feel, seeing clients and letting them fawn over you for the night. handing you a wad of cash and walking out at the end of it. back then, it was what you neededâ but the moment you didn't need it anymore, youâd signed out.
you'd only agreed to hook up with vi because it seemed harmless enough. made your nights a little less lonelier, gave you some company. you hadnât expected money or to catch feelings.
the answer to her question rises up your throat, but you find it a bit ironic â and you know vi is a good person. if she finds out that you're yearning for more than what's between you two at the moment, she may just see herself out of your life, so as to not hurt you. and you didn't want that. you wanted vi, even if it was only like this.
the real answer to her question rests at the base of your throat like an ache, throbbing a little along with the parts of your body vi had gripped a little too harshly. i didn't like to feel used.
but you shrug your shoulders and say, "well, i just didn't need it anymore."
vi doesn't answer, only turns to leave. "will you come tomorrow?" you ask, trying not to sound like you want her to come.
"probably." vi answers, out of the door already. "stay safe, princess." then she's gone, and you're alone again.
the dreary darkness of your room surrounds you once more, and you feel hot and sticky. ignoring the discomfort, you slump into your bed again, realizing how painfully little you know about vi. yes, she's jinx's older sister. yes, she's nothing like her. yes, she's beautiful â handsome; ghost-pale, dark red roots showing through the dyed black hair, sad eyes lit up with need.
you loved those nights when she would let you reciprocate and make her feel good. when she would ask for a drink or two. when she would ask to stay the night, and you'd let her sleep on your chest. she wrapped her arms around your body then, holding you both like she's protecting you and like she wants you to keep her safe. and you'd hold her, stroke her hair, and stay awake praying the morning comes late.
and then there are nights like tonight â where she's quieter and more distant. where she leaves too soon. like she's holding herself back. it infuriates you, almost. you want to ask her what she wants. you want to tell her what you want.
shifting your stare from the ceiling to your door that hangs ajar, you let out a heavy sigh. next time, maybe you'll ask her. maybe you'll tell her. maybe. if the surge of body-and-mind desperation to make the moment last long enough doesn't overthrow everything else, you will. but you know it'll be easier said than done.
vi melts you like shaved ice in the sun. she softens you, turns you sweet. you feel alive with those dead eyes, calloused hands and busted lips on you. being wanted by her gives you a sense of meaning. and you'll do anything if it means holding her a little longer.Â
if that meant this, simply getting to be her good girl for a night and nothing more â then so be it.
a/n: part two, anyone? lmk if you want it, might turn this into a series :Pđ
#âËàŹȘâč REKHAâą.#âËàŹȘâč NYCHTA.#howw do i tag this#arcane x reader#arcane smut#vi arcane#vi x reader#vi smut#vi arcane smut#vi arcane x reader#vi x you#vi x y/n#vi x fem reader#vi league of legends#arcane league of legends#arcane#arcane fanfic#arcane s2#arcane season 2#arcane fanfiction#league of legends smut#league of legends x reader
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Determined heroes and the villains obsessed with them are my absolute weakness, esp when the hero is absolutely at their mercy. You write protagonist/antagonist so well, thank you for sharing!! Once life stuff settles I want to be a patron again!
"You simply don't give up, do you?"
The hero panted for breath, but still couldn't seem to draw enough air into their heaving chest to reply. They doubled over, bracing one hand against the wall. At least, currently, it looked like a wall. They mustered a glare for the villain.
"You're in my domain, sweetness," the villain said, unbothered. "The only exit you have is the one I give you. You could run five marathons and still not find the way out."
"Then give me an exit!"
"When I get bored, of course."
Abruptly, the wall beneath the hero's hand shimmered and shifted, reality bending nauseatingly to something else. Instead of the endless fancy hotel corridors that the hero had started with, they were suddenly stumbling off-balance into a big squashy armchair. Its softness enveloped the hero on every side, whispering reprieve, a relief for their aching muscles.
They were in an old-fashioned library, filled with dark winding bookcases and honeyed light flowing still and golden through enormous windows. A roaring fireplace sprung to life, filling the room with a welcoming crackle.
"Or would you prefer outside?" The villain raised a hand to snap their fingers, in offer. "Are we feeling more brisk, fresh autumn air or sunny beach vibes?"
"I'd prefer you let me go."
"Well, we both know that, but in the absence of me granting that particular wish, you may wish to play along. Unless you'd prefer I get cross about you trying to run? Maybe create something to actually chase you while you're all tuckered out? All labyrinths have their minotaurs, my dear. Would you like to meet mine?"
No. No, absolutely not.
The hero swallowed. They considered their options for a moment, trying to decide if any particular setting would give them an advantage when reality itself seemed so smittenly under the villain's control.
"...outside would be nice," they said. "What's the best view you've got?"
The villain smiled and snapped their fingers.
The armchair stayed, as did the library shelves, but the walls around them fell flat like an unpacked box and crumbled, transforming into a sweeping bio-luminescent ocean. It was unlike anything the hero had ever seen. It barely seemed like something that could be seen on earth! They glanced up to find an expansive swirl of aurora shading a perfectly clear starry night with bright pinks and greens. The stars, themselves, were nonsense. Nothing like the formations of the world the hero knew.
The hero's breath caught, eyes going wide.
A steaming cup-and-saucer of hot cocoa popped into existence by their left elbow. They could smell the chocolate, sweet as it mixed with the salt of the water around them. A dizzying display of casual power.
"Okay, that's good," the hero allowed. "I'll give you that."
"Only the best for my honoured guest."
The villain sat themselves down opposite, though instead of a squashy armchair they had an elaborate but comfortable looking throne.
"How long does it usually take you to get bored?" the hero asked. "Because, you know, I've learned my lesson."
"Oh?"
"It's ridiculous to try and fight you."
"You're fighting me right now, in your way. Trying to convince a god to give you what you want. Trying your luck."
"You're not a god."
"No, gods are a cute mortal inventions. But I thought the comparison might make sense to you."
The hero's stomach squeezed. Another glance at the sky, at the calm waters of an eternally stretching sea, had them gathering more details. Namely that if this entire universe had an orbit, a centre of gravity, it was the hero's unassuming armchair. Or, worse, the hero themselves.
They turned their attention back to the villain, as if everything around them wasn't in some way the villain.
"Okay," the hero said. "Then surely gods, for want of a better word, have better things to do than sitting with me. Isn't this a bit like having hot chocolate with an ant?"
"But a very charming ant."
"We're more charming outside of captivity. Could do dinner."
"See," the villain cooed. "You just don't give up! This is why I knew I simply had to meet you. And I know you wanted to meet me. You've been trying so hard to find me, out in your little world."
"Is that a no to dinner?"
An elaborate banquet table replaced the library shelves.
"That's not real food," the hero said, with as much surety as they could muster. "You know I can't live on air and fairytales, yeah? If you keep me here forever, or until you get bored, I'll starve."
"Which do you think will happen first?"
"Excuse me?"
"Forever. Or me getting bored of you. Which will come first?"
"Forever, probably, is the vibe I'm currently getting."
The villain laughed, so the hero assumed they'd given the correct answer. It was...it was terrifying. More terrifying was the fact that a small part of the hero wanted to be flattered. They'd never had a universe literally revolve around them before.
The hero took a sip of the cocoa, out of some dangerous, dubious curiosity. It tasted like a childhood memory. Safety as the nights drew in. There was no safety from the abyss they were talking to, though, was there? Not really.
"If this is your domain, then this is...you," the hero said. "Which means if I were to find a way to beat you, it would be here. Seems risky to let me so close."
The villain's smile grew, like they knew something that the hero didn't.
"And you're probably not going to let me die," the hero reasoned, "no matter what I do. Even if you set a minotaur on me, or whatever."
The villain shrugged. "Why kill you when I could stretch your entrails like strawberry laces and hang you up in my study like Christmas lights?"
"Wouldn't that kill me?"
"Not here. Not if I don't want it to. It would hurt, though."
"Most people stomp ants. Especially the biting kind."
"Do you want me to kill you?"
"No. I'm just trying to understand what this...is."
"I believe humans call it 'seduction.'"
The hero nearly choked on the cocoa. They carefully set their drink aside, noting the little clink it made despite themselves. Real. Disturbingly real.
"Seduction is trapping me in your domain?" the hero asked.
"Many of the great love stories start with forced proximity."
"Less start with Stockholm Syndrome."
"And less still involve the two of us," the villain said cheerily. "But isn't the novelty exciting? You like what I can do. You said it was good."
"I meant that it was impressive."
"I am. As are you. A perfect fit."
"Are ants impressive?"
"You made the ant comparison, not me."
The hero studied them.
"Drink your cocoa," the villain said, rolling their eyes, oh so indulgent. "I'll let you go eventually. Unharmed."
"When you get bored."
"Before you starve to death. That would be far too mundane an end to our game."
That was...something. Even if it seemed too easy. Even if it seemed like no promise whatsoever that the villain wouldn't end up drawing them into their domain again. In the real world, surely, the hero could win. They could fight cultists. But that still left this. Them.
"Do you promise? That you'll let me go?"
"Promises," the villain mused. "That's almost as cute an invocation as gods. Very well." They leaned in, eyes bright, smile turning to a grin revealing dozens upon dozens of sharp teeth. "I promise."
Surrounded by sea and stars on every side, with no conceivable way to run, the hero could only hope they meant it.
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i moved from a city i loved and had found community in to where i live now, six years ago. i have friends here that i love and see often, but i miss the sense of feeling rooted to a place, knowing whatâs going on around me, having regular places i go, having those connections with strangers that arenât friendships but youâre not in separate bubbles, either.
my plan for next year is to join groups: one for fitness, one for community service, and one for a hobby.
for fitness, thereâs an archery place near me that i want to try, and if that doesnât turn out to be very social, iâve also encountered LGBTQ+ hiking groups in the area, so i may sign up for one of those
for community service, iâm looking at some organizations that do food pantries and homelessness advocacy. iâm not able-bodied enough to do a lot of labor, but one place requires minimum one shift per month, so that could be a good start. also on the lookout for mutual aid groups i could help, get to know neighbors better
for hobby, maybe a writing group, maybe some painting thing. thereâs a craft shop that seems to have some cool social stuff going on, if its location isnât a complete no-go with traffic. weâll see!
iâm not doing it to make friends, necessarily. (though it would be nice to.) i used to run this magazine for a specific community in my old city, and it really made me see how much connective tissue holds a place together, circulates knowledge and resources around, and overall gives people a sense of belonging instead of isolation. i havenât had that, in those six years that zoomed by like a train, and i miss it.
Thanks, Anon!
-submit your poll!-
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Desperately seeking something more with you
a short drabble
featuring. Silco x brothel worker!reader
requested. by anon
Silco sat in the booth, his presence commanding, as always. One hand lazily cradled a cigarette, the ember glowing faintly as he took a drag, the smoke curling from his lips like a seductive whisper in the quiet. The other hand was resting casually against the edge of the table, his fingers tapping lightly on the worn wood. His mismatched eyes glinted in the low light, constantly surveying his surroundings but it always came back to you.
You were seated next to him, close enough that the heat of his body seemed to radiate toward you, but not so close that you couldnât feel the space between you, the challenge hanging in the air. The dress you wore was a small thing, little more than fabric that barely covered you. But it wasnât just the revealing nature of the dress that made you feel the tension. Maybe it was the way you could feel his eyes on you, watching every movement with that unsettlingly calm intensity.
Taking a sip of your drink, you leaned back slightly, letting the alcohol burn its way down your throat. You knew his gaze never left you. He liked watching you. More than he probably wanted to admit. And you enjoyed it just as much, teasing him with every little movement. Slowly, you traced your fingers up his arm, the touch light, lingering, until your fingertips brushed his skin just above the cuff of his sleeve. The movement was deliberate, almost like a challenge, and you could feel the faintest tension building in him, though he didnât move. He didnât need to.
âYouâre awfully quiet tonight,â you remarked, your voice soft but playful. You set your glass down, your fingers lingering just a moment longer on the edge of the table. âNot the usual Silco Iâm used to.â
He took another slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke that curled toward your face. You leaned into it, savoring the sensation of the smoke swirling around you. It was strange and ntoxicating like everything about him.
âIâd prefer to listen,â Silco replied, his voice low, almost a growl. It was a voice meant for the shadows, a voice that demanded attention without needing to raise itself.
âTo what?â you asked, curiosity making your voice teasing. You leaned in just a little, letting your breath tickle his ear as you did.
His lips curled upward, the smallest of smirks forming. âTo see how far youâll go,â he said, his words calculated, laced with an undertone that was almost⊠dangerous. But you were never one to shy away from danger.
You smirked back, your fingers tracing along the edge of the table until you reached his cigarette. Without breaking eye contact, you reached for it, stealing it from his fingers with a practiced grace. Bringing it to your lips, you took a slow drag, the smoke filling your lungs, adding a heady weight to the already thick air between you. The sharp taste of it filled your senses, heightened the unspoken sensations. You could see the slight shift in his expression as he watched you, the faint glimmer of approval mixed with something darker.
You exhaled, a cloud of smoke rising between you as you leaned in, close enough that your lips almost brushed against his ear. âI can go as far as you like me too,â you whispered, the words barely a breath.
There was a flicker in his mismatched eyes, a challenge of his own. Without another word, he shifted, his hand finding your waist with the precision of someone used to taking control. But there was no force in the movement, just the weight of his hand as he gently guided you to straddle his lap. You felt the shift in the air, the change in his posture as he settled beneath you, his body tensing beneath yours. His hands were firm on your hips, guiding you in a way that made your pulse quicken.
You could feel him. All of him. His body pressed against yours, hard and unmistakable, one that simmered beneath the surface. It made your heart race and your skin flush.
His hand slid slowly from your waist to your back, pulling you closer as you shifted on his lap, feeling the bulge beneath you. He didnât try to hide it, didnât seem to care. Instead, he simply watched you with those dark eyes of his, amusement flashing across his face as you continued to tease.
And then you did something unexpected. Without warning, you lifted yourself off him slightly, still straddling him but giving just enough space to make the tension thicker, heavier. Your legs stayed on either side of his hips, your hands sliding up his neck to tangle in his hair. He inhaled sharply, the breath caught in his throat.
âBold,â he said, his voice rougher now, laced with something darker. âI like that.â
And you smirked, the taste of smoke still lingering on your tongue. âDonât act surprised now,â you replied, leaning down just enough that your lips brushed against his jaw, teasing the skin there.
He growled low in his throat, the sound sending a shiver through you. His hands gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into the soft fabric of your dress, but you could feel the way his entire body reacted to the proximity. His breath came a little faster, his pulse quickening. But he didnât let go of the control he had towards himself.
âYouâre a lot of things, but youâre never predictable,â he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin, sending a ripple of electricity through you.
âI sure am full of surprises,â you said, your lips hovering just a fraction away from his, teasing him with the promise of something more. You could feel his breath on your skin, the warmth of his body pressing against you, but neither of you made a move just yet. The space between you was filled with desire, each moment stretched thin, vibrating with anticipation. And then you leaned in, brushing your lips lightly against his, a kiss that was sweet but far too brief.
His hands slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and the kiss deepened. His lips were insistent, hungry even, as he tugged you against him. His touch was bruising, but it was exactly what you wanted, exactly what you have been craving for.
note. any mistakes let me know and iâll fix it! thanks đ
banner. @anitalenia
#arcane silco#silco x reader#silco fanfic#silco x you#silco x y/n#silco fluff#silco smut#silco imagine#silco drabbles#arcane masterlist#arcane season one#arcane x female reader#arcane x gender neutral reader#arcane x y/n#arcane x you#arcane x reader#arcane fic#arcane drabbles#arcane imagine#arcane#arcane characters#reader insert
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đ đŹđđđ« đđđđ°đđđ§ đĄđđ§đđŹ | đŁđđŠđđŹ đ©đšđđđđ«
six | chapter list
Finding out youâre a princess isnât half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and canât seem to stop flirting with you.Â
bodyguard!james, fem!reader, implied chubby!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au, all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance, slowburn, background wolfstar
ËËË âĄ ËËË
âWhy arenât you hitting me?â James asks.Â
The safety mat under your feet does little to assuage your fears. James Potter is perhaps the last person on earth youâd expect to hurt you, and yet you canât shake the image of him deflecting your punch and sending you reeling.Â
With his lovely curls slicked away from his face, his nice mouth, the curve of it where heâs smiling encouragingly, you donât really want to hit him.Â
âI canât,â you say.Â
âYes, you can. One day you might have to, and I need to know you can do it without breaking your own hand.â The no nonsense tone heâd tended to sport when you first met barely three weeks ago is seemingly gone, replaced by a friendly, almost cavalier tone. Like this is fun. âIt wonât hurt you much, I swear. And you should get your revenge. I hit you pretty hard.âÂ
âYou didnât hit me,â you say. âThe door did.âÂ
âIt was my fault.â He smiles, readjusting his stance with feet planted firmly against the mat.Â
âJamesâŠâÂ
âJust hit me,â he says.Â
You tense your fist around your thumb and hit him square in the chest. Itâs not a punch by any means, a weak landing of your knuckles that doesnât move him. Still, youâre surprised with yourself, checking his face for a sign that youâd done any damage.Â
âThere are so many people whoâd love to punch me,â he laughs, nodding to your hand, âyou can do better than that, if only to do what they couldnât.âÂ
âI donât want to hit you, James.âÂ
âI know, you have to. Come on, itâs easier than you think. You bring your first back to your shoulder and you move into it, okay? Use your weight to do the work. Youâll never hurt anyone if you donât.âÂ
âIâd rather not, though.âÂ
âI know that, too, but you might need to. God forbid you be in a situation where Iâm not there to protect you,â âhere he does something strange with his eyebrows youâve yet to encounter, sending a straight shot of butterflies through you, their wings fluttering in the soft part of your throatâ âbut you donât have to be defenceless if Iâm not. Give me a good swing and Iâll make sure Marlene has that pear ice cream at dinner tonight.âÂ
âMarlene would make it if I asked,â you say unsurely.
âBut if you hit me, Iâll ask for you.âÂ
âYou can be very manipulative.â
âSometimes. Alright, hit me. Or Iâll tackle you again. You didnât like that last time.âÂ
Obviously you hadnât enjoyed being tackled, because James hadnât hurt you, heâd simply overpowered you. In one sense, it had been panicky to realise you were at someoneâs mercy. James had grabbed you simply behind the back with your chests pressed together and hooked his calf behind your legs, taking them from under you, and following you to the ground. You didnât like it because he didnât hurt you, heâd pressed his weight into yours with an arm tight across your chest, just under your throat, and you could smell his hair. Smell almond or jojoba orâ or something warm.Â
It isnât that you have feelings for James. You donât know him well enough. But having someone like James pressing down on you was impossible to ignore, consciously and subliminally.
You really donât want to do this, drawing your arm back, tightening your first two fingers. Jamesâ eyes widen, his lips falling open as you hit him hard enough to bruise a half inch from his heart. He stumbles and you follow, before flinching back hard, tucking shameful arms to your chest.Â
âSorry!â you burst. âFuck, sorry! I thought you were ready!âÂ
âI was ready.â James grins widely. âAwesome. Do that again, yeah? Letâs have one on the cheek this time.âÂ
âI am not punching you in the face.âÂ
âYou could always aim somewhere softer. The point is to incapacitate me. Hitting me in the chest wonât do that.â He rubs a hand into his shirt, the dark compression material barely moving. âYou might have bruised me, though. Iâm a good teacher.âÂ
âI donât want to do this anymore,â you say.Â
James deliberates. He tips his head back, showing you the rather nice point of his chin and his neck. A beauty mark sits nestled atop his Adam's apple.Â
âAlright. Sorry. No more hitting. Maybe weâll give the offensive a break for a while and go back to defence again in a few days?â he suggests.Â
You relax.Â
Youâre wearing clothes youâre not used to, a compression shirt like Jamesâ, a pair of dark trousers of a similar material with loose ends. Sirius had done some online shopping with you, not worrying as your elbows brushed. He pointed at things and youâd given weak yesses or resolute nos. The total had climbed and climbed, and Sirius had taken your choking for self-preservation. âNot to worry,â heâd said, grinning, âthe royal coffers will pay for this lot.âÂ
It doesnât feel real. Endless money with no limit nor reason. Heâd opened Curryâs swiftly after and asked you what laptop you wanted for uni. Heâd attempted to goad you into two.Â
Itâs alien. All of it, even James across from you where heâs sitting now to put his trainers back on. He doesnât feel anymore real than the day you met, this handsome, tall boy tasked with keeping you safe. Youâve never been someoneâs number one priority.Â
âCome and put your shoes on, lovely.âÂ
Youâre not sure how to cope with that, either. He and Sirius both seem quick to coddle when youâre distracted, and youâre distracted often. You shrug away your thoughts, relaxing your tight shoulders as you cross the empty gym to sit next to him. Your trainers are new, too, a sporty pair that cost more money than your last three pairs combined.Â
âItâs nice to have new things,â you confess, âbut odd.âÂ
âYeah?âÂ
âI⊠Iâve been wearing the same pair of converse for two years. I had one pair of proper shoes, and one bag. One purse. And I didnât mind it, just⊠just, it makes you feel sick sometimes when you want stuff. Itâs embarrassing.â
If James is surprised at your sudden admission, he doesnât show it. âThereâs nothing to be ashamed of in wanting things,â he says, hands braced on his knees, âbut I can guess why you mightâve felt like that. We try not to think about the things we want because that can make not having it worse.âÂ
What couldnât you have? you think, searching his expression for a hint.Â
âIâm glad itâs nice,â he furthers, tapping his heel against yours. âThey look good. Are they comfortable?âÂ
âThey feel like Iâm wearing socks half the time.âÂ
James nods appreciatively. âWell, get them on. Weâll nip into the pharmacist before we go home, do you have your sunglasses?âÂ
âItâs too grey outside for sunglasses, we look ridiculous.ïżœïżœïżœÂ
âYou look like the front page of every newspaper. Ever. In the entire western world. Here, put your hoodie on.âÂ
You and James leave the gym with a wave to the women at the front desk and begin down the street. James hates the city obviously, wrinkling his nose at the grey cobbled streets and all of its sooty puddles. He walks from place to place rigid as a tentpole, swerving in front of you the second that someone looks at you too long. You wonder if this is what having a boyfriend is like. James is constantly making sure youâre safe, that youâre on the right side of the pavement, that youâre warm and fed and smiling. But you donât suppose a boyfriend gets paid to spend time with you, nor do they spend nights on the lumpy sofa in the living room when theyâre too tired to drive home at the end of a long shift.Â
You think without wanting to of James climbing into bed with you, a split second of his warm arm over your back, and shake it away as he pulls you into the pharmacy.Â
âCan you look at something else?â you ask, turning to him as you pull off your silly sunglasses.Â
James raises his eyebrows. âWhatever for?âÂ
âI need stuff.âÂ
âI know you need stuff. You asked me if we could come here. Which, by the way, you donât need to do. Youâre supposed to boss me around.âÂ
You look over a shelf of shampoos and deodorants and begin reading their labels. James took you shopping the day after you got back, but youâd been stuck in your old ways and what you didnât skimp on, you forgot. You eye a large bottle of shampoo that brags deep moisture for your hair type and take it from the shelf, then the matching conditioner, and then its hair mask. Your shoulders curl forward, worried James will think you greedy or sad or something in between, but he just says, âPass them here, Princess.âÂ
âItâs fine, I canââ
âIâll have them. Iâll go get a basket.â
He scoops everything into big hands and walks back to the pharmacyâs entrance.Â
Itâs a big pharmacy, modern, with white walls and bright fluorescent lights behind shelves. You catch yourself in a mirror next to a stand of cosmetics and wince. You look odd in these sporty clothes. Your nose is shiny.Â
You wipe your face with your sleeve and stare at the cosmetics with no clue what to get. Shouldâve asked Sirius to come. Or better yet, someone who regularly wears makeup. Only thing is, you donât really know anybody who does.Â
âYou donât have to rush,â James says, joining you at the makeup section, such a long walk from the shampoos. âDid you sprint down here?âÂ
Youâd speed-walked past the sexual health aisle actually, but James doesnât need to be privy to that information. âYou donât want to be here all day.âÂ
âI want to be exactly where you are. If thatâs looking at lip gloss, then so be it.âÂ
You smile, a little shy, a little rueful, and turn your attention back to the lip glosses in question. Thereâs browns and pinks, blush-rose red and moodier cherries. âI donâtâŠâÂ
âThat one,â James says, poking a barrel with confidence, âwould suit you. And this one, too. Youâll look lovely.â
You donât know what to say. The colours heâs chosen get added to your basket without comment, after youâve wrestled it out of his unwilling hands. You spend a few minutes spready tester shades of concealer against the back of your hand, where James again recommends the one that matches your skin tone best. He leans behind you, and he does his job, sweeping the aisles and giving the shop a long up and down every once in a while, but for the most part he acts like heâs there to be there.Â
You get to the bit of the pharmacy youâd come for initially, the shorter but well-stocked supplement and vitamin aisle. Realistically, you arenât going to take ten different vitamins a day, and with Marleneâs cooking it isnât as though you need them, but there are things youâve always craved. Biotin and collagen, for healthier hair and nails. Multi-nutrient sachets for every day, the good stuff, and so expensive your eyes initially skip over them.Â
Your hand hesitates in front of a box and James makes a warm humming noise.Â
âThey look promising.â
âIâve never had them before.â
âI have a killer magnesium deficiency,â James says. âI usually take the magnesium and zinc, but that throws my copper out of whack.âÂ
You canât tell if heâs messing with you. You smile at him, not quite stickily but getting there, your cheeks appled with it. âNot your copper.âÂ
âItâs not funny, Princess. It makes me want to sleep all day.âÂ
âNot funny,â you agree, grabbing the box of sachets and placing them atop the new electric toothbrush youâd fancied. You feel gluttonous and weird with it, because you donât suppose you really need one, but James had only said Thatâs a nice colour.Â
âJames,â you say, meandering with him toward the tills, âyou didnât need anything, did you?âÂ
He grins at you like youâve said something different. âI have everything I need, donât worry.âÂ
âYou sure?âÂ
His eyes seem lighter, then. Amber flecks in the browned honey of his irises. âPromise.âÂ
He tries to get you to visit the perfume counter, but the basket is getting heavy and youâve spent enough as it is. Not even a tenth, a hundredth, a thousandth of what you have now at your disposal, but so much more than you ever wouldâve before.Â
The lady at the till eyes James behind you. She beams when James opens his wallet and passes you the card you were given by Sirius for expenses, and laughs when you refuse to take it. âI have mine,â you say, âthis is all for me, I can pay.âÂ
âTechnically itâs your upkeep,â James argues.Â
âJames.â You pass the cashier your card as James frowns.Â
âI wish my boyfriend offered so quickly,â the cashier says.Â
You go hot all over, but before you can tell her James isnât your boyfriend, heâs laughing and taking the handles of your heavy pink carrier, pulling it toward him as the cashier sorts your receipt. âI shouldnât have tried, really.âÂ
âItâs the thought that counts.â She hands you your receipt. âYou should to let him pay, chick, especially if heâs offering.âÂ
âMaybe next time,â you appease.Â
Youâre still flushed when you and James break outside again, the cold a blessed relief. James lets your pink bag rest in the crook of his arm, while the other hovers behind you, looking around the street unhurried. âAnywhere else you want to go, chick?â he asks.Â
You laugh. âShe was nice.âÂ
âVery motherly.âÂ
âI want to go home, I think. Did you need anything else?âÂ
âI do all my shopping when Iâm not working.âÂ
âWhen arenât you working?â you ask genuinely. âYou spend more than half the day at my flat, and when you leaveâ if you leave, itâs night time.â You give him a sideways glance. âI have nothing else to do today.âÂ
James contemplates this. âIâ Iâve been meaning to get Sirius a gift. Itâs his birthday next week, did you know?âÂ
âNo! When?âÂ
âThe third.âÂ
âWhat does he like?âÂ
James beckons toward a neon signed music shop. âHe loves music. Music and the macabre, you know, like, horror movies. And he reads, despite what he might have you believe.âÂ
You fall into step. âAlright. Youâll have to tell me what to buy.âÂ
Again, he gives you a look like youâve said something different, like youâve said something lovely.Â
âI can do that,â James says. âI wonât steer you wrong.â
â
Later that evening, after another tentative hour in the car with Jamesâ patient coaching, you return home to shower. Itâs luxurious and strenuous simultaneously. The new hair mask is fragrant and silky between your fingers, leaving the bathroom thick with its smell, the warm air clouding the windows. You hurry between the bathroom and your bedroom in a bath sheet and pretend you donât notice Jamesâ head tipping in your direction.Â
âEverything alright?â he calls to your bedroom door.Â
You spy on him through the gap. âIâm fine. Sorry I took so long.âÂ
âRemus has asked if he can come early and have dinner with us.âÂ
âHe doesnât need to ask!â you call, closing the door soundly.Â
It will be nice to have Remus for dinner. He doesnât have to tell you what fork to use here, you only have one kind, but he explains the heritage or main flavours of each dish and doesnât make you feel embarrassed when you donât know the Genovian Marlene uses. Honestly, you hadnât even realised Genovia had a language, a hodge podge, Remus says, of Italian and French. And Remus has a steady voice that feels evidence of his more humble background âheâs like you, youâve found out, working class and humbly brought up. He attended their boarding school on a scholarship of academic prowess, and served as a prefect for all seven years.Â
âHow exhausting,â youâd said.Â
âWith those two? You wouldnât believe it.âÂ
His disdain was feigned, mostly. Itâs why youâre excited to have him for dinner. When the boys are together, they end up telling you stories about their hijinks at school, and you get to peek into the window of their lives, see their fondness for one another in praises and shoulder squeezes and their ridiculous nicknames.Â
You havenât managed to ask about them yet. They slip out every once in a while, and in multiple variations. Moony, Moons, Moon and Pads, Pad, Padfoot. Remusâ youâve deduced from a story they told, how Remus could be oh so moody when he wasnât very well, like a wolf, a werewolf. Isnât that clever for a gang of twelve year olds? Lupin, the wolf boy. You have a feeling it didnât start out as a particularly kind nickname, but it morphed into a loving moniker later on. Siriusâ nickname, however, youâve no chance at working out. Padfoot?Â
And Prongs? You assume James had a nasty run in with a fork.Â
You dress in soft, new clothes. Prongs, you think, doesnât suit him at all. The James you know is only ever prickly when youâre at risk. He doesnât flinch when you panic, never hardens. He has a soft hand for your back whenever you need a pat.Â
Your socks slide on the living room tiles as you make your way in. James is clicking away on his phone, a dark business phone with many, many buttons. Itâs dwarfed by his hand. He swears under his breath.Â
âEverything okay?â you ask softly.Â
James looks up and his gaze snags on you, his head tilted to his phone and his eyes steadfast where they look you over. âFine. Nice shower?âÂ
Youâre rich now. Every shower is nice, the boiler turned to a high six, hot water neverending.Â
âIt was good. Whereâs Sirius?âÂ
âIâm actually not sure.âÂ
âIsnât that your job?âÂ
âNo. And if it were I wouldnât know anyways.â He turns back to his phone. âHeâs a slippery one, Pads,â he murmurs, âI couldnât really keep track of him if I tried.âÂ
You feel as though youâve caught him at a bad time. Restless, you turn away from him and head for your small kitchen, unsurprised to find Marlene still cooking and the continued remodelling of your kitchen. Old countertops find themselves housing new oiled cutting boards. Your grody cooker seems small beneath a HexClad Dutch oven, where oil bubbles and spits lightly, dough cuts set on a baking sheet beside it.Â
âHi, Marlene. What are you making?â you ask curiously.Â
She grins at you from over her shoulder. âApple cider doughnuts. Iâve made cinnamon sugar, do you mind it?âÂ
âWhatâs the thermometer?â you ask.Â
She laughs at you lightly. Sheâs used to you dodging questions. âJust making sure I donât set your house alight. At home I can do this by eye, but itâs finicky with your oven. Sheâs temperamental.âÂ
âSorry.âÂ
Marlene waves a hand. âYou want to try?âÂ
âIâll just be in your way.âÂ
âNo, you wonât. Frying doughnuts is fun, here. Iâve put each of them on a bit of greaseproof paper. They slide right off.âÂ
Marlene doesnât usually take no for an answer. Sheâs not bossy, but decisive. Youâre hesitant at first of the boiling oil and the greaseproof paper doesnât cooperate when you try it, but eventually youâve freed a crispy bit of paper from the dough, watching patiently as Marlene turns the doughnuts. She tells you about the dark colour youâre searching for, âIâve put apples in the dough, see, so theyâll come to a brilliant dark colour without burning. Weâll have them with ice cream or whatever you like.âÂ
âJames told you I wanted it?â you ask shyly.Â
âJames didnât mention you at all, he just begged a bit for it. He can be quite pathetic when he needs to be.â Â
âI resent that!â James calls.Â
Sirius and Remus arrive in their usual pair, Remus tall and light to Siriusâ tighter darkness. Remus wears glasses today, black thin frames perched atop a scar on his nose. Sirius is being himself, poking at them and reminding Remus that just because he is an insufferable swat doesnât mean he has to look like one.Â
âYouâre worse than insufferable,â Remus says. When he sees you, he brightens. âAh, Princess. James hasnât injured you, thatâs brilliant.âÂ
âAnd you clearly havenât killed him in a motor vehicular disaster,â Sirius says cheerfully. âPraise be.âÂ
âWeâre both fine,â you say.Â
âWere you worried about us?â James asks.Â
âI wasnât worried about you, James,â Remus says with a smirk.Â
You eat as you have every day for the week since youâve been home: around the coffee table, five plates and drinks rearing to get knocked over and ruin it all. Your knees press into Remusâ on the left and Marleneâs on the right. James sits across from you now that Frankâs shown up for his night shift, digging in with vigour, beaming around his fork as Sirius gives him a good nudge. So many people in your crammed flat. It doesnât seem real. Half the time, theyâre just here to keep you company.Â
Paid to keep me company, you think, biting your tongue as you do. This isnât⊠real.Â
Something taps you under the table. Jamesâ hand, you find, long fingers pressing soft into your kneecap. You quickly lift your head again to find him frowning at you mildly. Okay? he mouths.Â
âBit my tongue,â you say.Â
âOuch,â Remus says.Â
James pokes his lip with his tongue. âBe careful,â he says eventually.Â
You ignore whatever it is heâs not saying and pick at your food instead. For dinner, Marlene has made a traditional Genovian pasta dish heavy with red pesto and steak. It isnât what youâre expecting, used to the paler whites and greens of the last week's worth of dinner. James couldnât be enjoying it more, and Sirius has pledged his undying love to Marlene three or four times since you sat down.Â
âJesus, I barely miss Genovia when you cook like this,â he says. âI will happily serve my country.âÂ
âUnlike before, when you were here unhappily,â Remus teased.Â
Sirius looks you dead in the eye. âPrincess, I would follow you anywhere. Marlene is an added bonus.âÂ
âIâ I really wish you guys wouldnât call me that.âÂ
Sirius looks gently chastened. âSorry, sorry. Itâs muscle memory at this point. If I called Princess Julianna by anything but her title, she wouldâve had me drawn and quartered in the royal courtyards, is all.âÂ
âAnd the rest,â James snorts.Â
âI try not to address her at all,â Remus says to himself.Â
Everyone laughs. You join in a second later, wondering about your unknown cousin. âShe was rather spoiled, wasnât she?â you ask.Â
âYouâd think sheâd tone it down some. Her royal status is rather tenuous, you know.âÂ
James gives Sirius a look. Careful, it says.Â
âWhat do you mean?â you ask.Â
âWell, sheâs a royal by marriage, not blood. We explained that, didnât we?âÂ
James had said it was complicated. Youâd been too startled about your own royal status to inspect it any further. âSheâs not a Renaldi?â you ask.Â
As itâs explained, your uncle (uncle! who is indeed royal by blood, and the eldest son) forwent the throne when it became clear he wouldnât be allowed to marry a divorced lover otherwise (reminiscent of certain British scandals). Said divorced lover already had a daughter, a young Julianna. And so your uncle remained a prince but not a king, and Julianna became a princess, to the ire of half the country.Â
Traditions have changed in time, but Julianna still lacks Renaldi blood.Â
âIt drives her mad,â James says. Heâs leaning back against the armchair now, dinner finished, a big glass of apple cider in his hands.Â
âThat doesnât surprise me,â you say. âSorry, I sound horrible, just. She wasnât super friendly.âÂ
âIt wouldâve been better for everyone if she was,â Sirius says.Â
You wait for him to continue. Marlene prompts him, âYou think so?âÂ
âWell, yes, I suppose. Anything is better than a country ruled by Baron Riddle. Evil, loathsome man. He thinks that nobody knows heâs had a nose job, you know.âÂ
âWhoâs Baron Riddle?â you ask.Â
A hush falls around the table. You look down at your plate, eyes on the red shine of pesto and olive oil where itâs grown cold on your plate. A hunk of soft bread is discarded beside it. You poke at it with your nail until crumbs flake away, lips parted, not sure what to say. âIs heâ?â
âHeâs a bad man, Y/N,â Sirius says. His voice has turned soft but not thin. âHeâs prejudiced and cruel. If nobody of Renaldi blood takes the throne when your grandmother steps down, heâll rule Genovia. And heâll run it into the ground.âÂ
James isnât looking at you when you drag your head up. He downs the last of his cider and stands up, murmuring about clearing the table as he carries his and Siriusâ plate to the kitchen.Â
âI didnât know,â you say. Well, youâd known someone would ascend to the throne if you didnât. But you didnât know about Riddle. A guilty heat builds in your throat. âI had no idea.âÂ
âJames asked us not to tell you,â Remus says pointedly.Â
âShe has a right to know,â Sirius says. They glare at each other, but the heat in Siriusâ voice doesnât rescind. âWhat? She does. Sheâs a grown up.âÂ
You shake your head. âThank you, um, for telling me. Iâll just take these out, should I?â You gesture to the plates and stand up quickly. You canât escape the feeling that Sirius is very angry with you, and you donât want to face it, so you escape the room instead.Â
Jamesâ shoulders are tense in the kitchen. He scrapes his plate clean into the food recycling bin, offering his hand without looking for your own.Â
âThank you,â you say quietly.Â
âOf course.âÂ
Silence blossoms like an achy bruise.Â
âJamesââ
âThank you for having me for dinner, but I really should be going now. I promised my mum an overdue call.âÂ
Heâs angry.Â
You cringe away from him. âOkay. Yeah, no problem.âÂ
âOkay. Stay safe while Iâm gone, yes? Remember your panic button.âÂ
Your hand inches up to the opposite wrist, where your tennis bracelet of sapphires sits tightly. Youâd forgotten all about the panic button embedded in disguise under one of the gemstones.Â
He smiles at you briefly, and in a minute or two heâs gone. Sirius goes out after him, leaving you and Remus and Marlene to the heap of dishes, a bad taste lingering on your tongue that has nothing to do with dinner.Â
#james potter#james potter x reader#james potter x fem!reader#james potter x y/n#james potter x you#james potter fic#james potter fluff#james potter blurb#james potter drabble#james potter imagine#james potter fanfic#james potter fanfiction#james potter scenario#james potter oneshot#the marauders#marauders era#marauders
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canât swim // rafe cameron
a / n : rafe cameron thoughts. btw this was actually an anonymous ask i sent to a writer, i donât know if sheâll write it but im sure if she does, itâll turn out amazing. @rafeysbunny iâm đ§ anon, hehe.
fun fact, i cannot swim.
synopsis : in which, rafe overhears that you canât swim and during a party out on the docks, some of the kooks push you into the ocean to loosen you up.
warnings : reader canât swim. kelce being an ass, peer pressure, etc.
âare you serious, [Name]?â
The raised tone of her voice causes you to shush her as you tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear and purse your lips faintly. âNot so loud, sare..â You let out a small breath and frown, leaning back against the headboard of her bed.
Sarah nods in understanding, lowering her tone as she sighs softly and crosses her legs on the bed in front of you. âThatâs crazy- i mean, everyone here in Outer Banks are either surfers or decent swimmers.â
âExcept me..â You trail off, shutting your eyes as you bring your hands up to your face. âItâs pretty humiliating, you know.. Seeing everyone in their swimsuits and able to swim in the ocean or go surfing, without the fear of drowning.â
âWow, no wonder you wouldnât ever go into the pool or go swimming with us during the boat parties on the dock..â
Unbeknownst to you two, Sarahâs door was open and a passing Rafe Cameron was on his way downstairs when he overhears your conversation.
âItâs not like I havenât tried, but each time, I feel my body sinking and it terrifies me. Plus, yâknow, with the whole nearly drowning as a kid trauma and shit.â you force a laugh while Sarah shares a bittersweet smile.
âItâs alright, stay by me tonight and Iâll keep an eye out for you.â
âThanks, Sarah, I appreciate it.. and you canât tell anyone either, okay, especially not Rafe.â You warn pleadingly and she chuckles and nods. âwait, why specifically him?â
You feel your cheeks warm at her question as you turn away. âYour brother just seems like the type to make fun of me for it, and besides, itâs just embarrassing to have a guy i think is hot, to know that about me.â
Sarah scrunches her nose and shudders. âI think your crush on my brother is more embarrassing than you being unable to swim.â she teases and you playfully push her away from you as she breaks into a laugh.
Rafe peeks into the room and thinks for a moment as his eyes examine and take in your form. He has already known long ago of your developed crush on him, and to say he has a mutual infatuation with you may be an understatement.
Every time you come over, Rafe finds every excuse to be in the house, sometimes even in the same room, just to get a look at you.
The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you feel shy, the way your eyes light up when you laugh, everything entices him, intrigues him. You were just so perfect.
Rafe quickly pulls away when he hears movement and leans against the wall beside the doorframe for a moment.
Despite being a little surprised at the newfound information, it brought a little smile to his face. You canât swim? How cute.
âCome on, we should get ready for Topperâs party tonight.â Sarah says and you sigh softly, but get up anyways with her as she heads over to her closet. âItâll be fun, come on.â
Rafe lingers for a second longer as he imagines what youâll be wearing before taking his leave downstairs.
Itâs around ten at night when the two of you arrive at the docks, the night sky surrounding the area with only the lights of Topperâs large boat illuminating the place.
âI donât know, maybe i shouldnât be here..â You go to turn around but Sarah stops you, pulling you to her side. âCome on, itâll be okay, i promise. Besides, you look super cute, so flaunt it, okay?â She winks and you huff a breath before following after her.
The closer you get, the louder the partygoers become and the music blasting is enough to stimulate the senses.
Once you get on board, Sarah is engulfed by her friends, while you remain on the sideline with a weak smile and awkwardly hugging your arms. Despite being a kook, you werenât among the popular ones but that wasnât enough to get you on their bad side at least.
You rub your arms, the thin fabric of your cardigan doing nothing but add to Sarahâs fashion sense of your outfit tonight. In her baby blue, cropped cardigan, a matching spaghetti strapped solid colored tank and dark washed, high waisted denim shorts.
You help yourself to the bar, grabbing a red solo cup and letting the bartender fill the plastic cup with some beer before bringing it to your lips, hoping it would do some good to alleviate some anxiety, while you keep an eye on Sarah from nearby, whoâs talking with her friends.
The scene brings a smile to your lips when you recall her saying she would keep an eye on you earlier in the day but you were happy to see her enjoy herself.
However, you didnât get to enjoy much time alone as Topper and his friends make his way over to you.
âHey, [Name]. All alone again?â Kelce smirks and you merely offer a small smile in return. âNot much of a party kinda girl.. but itâs nice.â you mention the last part to Topper who dismisses you, understanding you meant no offense.
âWhereâs Sarah?â Topper asks, looking around the area and you gesture over a little ways nearby.
âSheâs talking with some friends.â You reply, tapping my fingers against my cup as you shift your footing, feeling the anxiety come back, causing you to take another sip of your drink.
You let your eyes wander around the group, briefly catching Rafeâs, who let his eyes trail up and down your form for a moment, taking in your appearance. The way the baby blue color popped against your skin, the way your hair was styled for tonightâs party. Even the way you shyly held your cup to your chest, fingers still tapping against the sides.
Feeling your cheeks warm from Rafeâs intense gaze, you turn away and look back to Kelce.
Kelce and some of the other guys step closer and you give a small smile to them. âIs there something I can help you with?â
âCome on, [Name]. We notice you always come to these parties but you donât do anything,â Kelce mentions and you force a chuckle. âIâm an observer.â but some of the other guys donât take that answer. âAll weâre saying is, you should loosen up a little. Come on, some of the girls are taking dives off the tail, you should join.â
Your eyes widen slightly and you wave off the idea. âNo, i think im good tonight, im actually pretty tired..â You say and Kelce scoffs lightly as his hand goes down to grab your wrist. âDonât be a buzzkill, [Name], the water will wake you right up.â
âKelce, iâm not really in the mood to-â Rafe places a hand on Kelceâs shoulder, stopping him. âLet go, dude, letâs just leave her alone.â But Kelce doesnât listen as he drags you along to where the other girls are, and the commotion causes all the partygoers to look over, Sarah looking your way.
Your eyes meet Rafeâs and he notices a look of fear and anxiety in them as Kelce brings you over and you try to pull away, the other guys surrounding you all, cheering Kelce and You.
âYeah!â
âCome on, loosen up, girly.â
âKelce, I really donâtââ Despite your futile attempts, Kelce just takes the cup from your hands while Sarah pushes her way through the crowd. âHey, Kelce, leave her alone!â
Rafe purses his lips and pulls Kelce away. âHey, seriously, thatâs enough.â He warns, pushing Kelce back, who just furrows his brows and scoffs. âWhat the hell? Why are you getting in the way, man?â
Sarah manages to get to your side, standing over you protectively. But the other girls now get in the way.
âCome on, Sarah, let [Name] do it.â
âitâs not scary.â
You shake your head again, as the girls pull Sarah away, leaving you alone with the kook surrounding you.
Rafe is pushing Kelce away, whoâs confused and pushing Rafe back in retaliation. Meanwhile this leaves the other Kooks to act freely and the guys seem to share the same idea and go over to your body.
âHey, hold onââ
But itâs too late, as the guys pick you up with ease and toss you overboard, a wave of laughter and cheers erupting from them.
â[Name]!â Sarah shouts from the girls hold and Rafe widens his eyes as he whirls around at the sound of your scream and a splash from the impact.
âShit-â Rafe curses as he roughly shoves Kelce into Topper as he rips off his shirt before taking a leap off the deck and into the water with you.
You flail, panic surging into you as you begin to hyperventilate. âS-Sa-Sarahâ!â
âWhat the hell?!â Kelce scoffs with furrowed brows while Sarah feels tears brimming her eyes. â[Name] canât swim!â she cries out as she rips away from the girls and shoves two of the guys out of her way before leaning over the railing. â[Name]!â
Topperâs, Kelceâs and the other kooksâ eyes widen in shock at the revelation. âWhat?â
They all rush over the rail to peer into the ocean as Rafe is diving under to find you.
Rafe manages to find your sinking body, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you up to the surface, your body already unconscious due to the lack of air and your panic flailing.
â[Name], [Name], are you okay?â He gasps as he reaches the surface and uses a hand to caress your cheek while the other props you up under your back. âNo, no, come on, [Name], wake up.â
Sarah rushes around down the boat and on the boardwalk and leans down. âRafe, Rafe! Come on, bring her over here!â
Rafe clenches his jaw when you still donât respond and swims his way over towards Sarah as quickly as he can, panting before lifting your body up, Sarah doing her best to help you onto the wooden docks, laying you flat on your back.
â[Name], please! please wake up!â Sarah cries as she jostles you, Rafe climbing onto the dock next to her and looking down at you. She begins doing chest compressions, tears streaming down her cheeks faster. By this time, everyone on the boat is out on the boardwalk surrounding you body on the ground.
Rafe stands up straight, his clothes soaking and dripping but he doesnât pay it any mind as he tries to catch his breath, staring down at his sister trying to wake you.
He contemplated for just a minuscule of a second, about beating the shit out of Kelce, but he prioritized your wellbeing first.
âRafe- sheâs not waking up.â
Sarah inhales sharply, trying not to think the worst and her older brother kneels down, pinching your nose closed before bringing his lips down to yours.
The kooks are whispering amongst each other, surprised by Rafeâs sudden leadership actions.
Rafe pulls away, continuing Sarahâs chest compressions before going back to pressing his lips against yours, providing CPR.
Please, not like this. wake up, wake up for me, [Name].
Suddenly a choked noise erupts from your lips as you turn to your side and spew out bits of water. Your throat becomes sore as you cough roughly.
Sarah immediately breaks into a smile, a gasp of relief coming from her and Rafe pulls back, a sigh coming from him. âH-Hey, take it easy, youâre alright..â
You look around, feeling dizzy and nauseous as you spit up the last of the water you nearly drowned in, as Sarah pulls you to her chest, engulfing you in a tight hug. â[Name], iâm so glad youâre okay!â
Meanwhile, Rafe stands upright, looking up at the sky, trying to relax his rapidly beating heart, as he takes slow steps to turn around.
âH-Hey, look, I didnât know-â
Kelce, already knowing what was coming, raises his hands in defense as he backs up.
However, Rafe doesnât hesitate his fist swinging into Kelceâs cheek, succeeding in knocking him down. âYou son of a bitch!â
Rafe clenches his jaw tight as he looks to the other kooks. âParty is fucking over, get the fuck away!â
Topper tries to talk some sense into Rafe but Rafe shoves him. âYou hear me? I said get away! go fucking home, now!â
Everyone is stunned into silence as they share looks, before quickly scrambling away and off the dock, not wanting to argue with the Kook King.
Sarah sniffles as she pulls away and looks up at Rafe, who kneels down and tucks an arm under your legs and the other under your back, before lifting you up carefully, bridal style.
âR-Rafe?âŠâ Your hoarse voice calls out, hands pressed to his firm chest but Rafe hushes you. âShh.. itâs alright, just get some rest.. youâll be fine.â
Sarah watches her brother carry you towards his truck, wiping her tears as she follows after them, exhaling gently.
Tears brim your eyes as your chest swells with warmth, despite your freezing body.
You stare up at Rafe weakly, feeling your chest grow weak as your eyes flutter close and you press your head into his chest more. âThank you.. Rafe.. You saved me..â
Rafeâs hold on you tightens, securing you in his arms.
â..Iâm so glad youâre okay⊠iâm so sorry..â
a/n: welp, this couldâve been sooo much better but i rushed this at work hehe. outerbanks is playing on the tv at work so i thought id get a little smth out :3 this is sooo bad though đ
not proofread or edited. iâll go back and edit some other time.
synvilâąïž.
#rafe cameron one shot#rafe cameron fluff#obx rafe cameron#obx rafe#outer banks rafe#rafe cameron x you#rafe obx#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron#rafe x reader#outer banks x reader#outerbanks#outer banks#obx x reader#obx#rc x reader#outer banks rafe cameron#outerbanks rafe#outerbanks rafe cameron#rafe cameron scenarios#x reader#syd writes !#synvil
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Hi there!
I have been rewatching MHA and came across many accounts that support bkdk. So i wanted to ask you the following:
Bakugo wanted to kill Izuku on their first day and during the bomb test. He tormented him for over 10 years, insulted him, bullied him, tortured him. Because he has "promise" Aizawa never called him out on his toxic behavior, but threatened Izuku with expulsion all the tims, labeling him as "problem child". All Might never did anything, even after Bakugo states, that he wanted to kill Izuku. Bakugo never faced a consequence for his oppressive behavior, he even bullied his so-called BakuSquad. (He got himself captured by the league and only denied their offer becUse they were "losers") Meanwhile, Izuku clearly shows signs of PTSD, wincing everytime when Bakugo was near him. Bakugo used so many explosions on him, he should be covered in scars. It's clear that he is Hori's favorite. The MHA fandom is pretty toxic, we all know this. Bakugo's "character evolution" didn't make him a better person. He never really changed or helped Izuku. When he "moved out of instinct" he did so because it's "instinct", because he trained so much. He didn't care that it was Izuku, he didn't think about it. After the second/ third season, the other characters just didn't care anymore about his behavior towars Izuku. Aoyama's parents wanted Aoyama to have a quirk to prevent him from being left out of society, so basically to protect him from people like Bakugo. He was the most privileged person (hit the genetic lottery, intelligent and rich parents). But still, MHA clearly shows that if you feel insecure you can bully and torture and there will be no consequences. I love Todoroki and Izuku much more, because they at least help and support each other. Shoto had a terrible childhood, but he never turned into an abuser. He never turned into his father. Bakugo's "excuse" towards Izuku was just laughable (makes the whole Sasuke/ Naruto episode after their big last fight look like true cinema). In the end, the fandom (and Hori) support an abuser/victim relationship.
Why do you support bkdk?
Their relationship gives people a false sense of what a victim of abuse should do. MHA never took Izuku's pain and past seriously. They portrayed Bakugo as "tsundere" instead of showing the real consequences of being the abuser for over a decade. Kirishima showed how to behave if you feel "unmanly" or "inadequate". Bakugo in the MHA world was a racist the minute he found out that Izuku didn't have a quirk. He victimized himself and tortured Izuku because he thinks that the world revolves around him. Shouta from "A silent voice" shows how to seek redemption and forgiveness. Bakugo just wanted to be Nr1 hero, but never a good one who saves people.
MHA clearly shows that you can bully someone, torture someone, torment someone- and you will never have to face consequences. A spit-out "sorry" after 10+ years of bullying and right after insulting someone's mental state is enough to be forgiven.
jesus christ lmao
See I could rebute your long ass essay and give my reasons for liking the ship, but you donât actually care about what I have to say. Iâm not going to spend my time defending myself to someone whoâs arguing in bad faith. I spent years defending the ship, getting hate comments and death threats, and Iâm not ever doing that shit again.
If you want to goad me into defending a dumb shonen ship, pay me $50. Until then, fuck off. Go find like-minded people under the âbakugou faces consequencesâ tag on ao3
#just fyi this is really not worth reading#itâs so fucking stupid and lacking in media literacy so donât even bother#deleting later cause holy fuck thatâs a huge wall of text#long post
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HOW THE MOON SIGNS ACT WHEN THEY LOVE YOU pt. 1
disclaimer: forgive me if the series doesnât cover all twelve signs, but i donât think iâve known enough people to speak about everyoneâs way of loving. please be patientđ€
aries moon/1H
ooooh those little devilsđ„đ you can see the mischievous twinkle in their eyes. theyâre children of Ares - the god of war! when they speak of their loved ones it feels as though theyâre ready to kill for them any minute, only waiting for the right (or anyđ) reason.
(just my observation, please donât come at me) i believe that these natives are prone to being more loyal, less selfish and flaky than aries venus. aries is known to be 'the baby' of the zodiac, valuing independence and self-fulfilment greatly. however, iâve noticed aries moons to be devoted af!! you will never catch them bad mouthing a friend or a partner.
also, from my experience, both placements like to fight, however aries venus often does it for own enjoyment, the initial chase turns them on. as for aries moons, theyâre more steady. they would go to great lengths for friends and partners. you can call them in the middle of the night and ask the craziest favor, they WILL come and help.
(please keep in mind that i mean unevolved aries venuses that still have a lesson or two to learn!)
PS. they love to be treated like the center of your world, please give them attentionđ
taurus moon/2H
hmmmm how do i put it⊠đđđđđđđ! i will say that i am biased bc my boyfriend is one and the way heâs attentive, always asks about the details of my day, pays attention to my routines and shows love through acts of serviceïżœïżœïżœ youâve probably heard the rumours and theyâre true. taurus moons make the best cooks ever. and i donât mean putting together a couple of cheap pancakes, nuh uh. their sharp senses only let them buy the best quality ingredients and cook with great care. bonus points if they prepare a dish that they know is your favourite!
i will say though, they are not the most verbal lovers. but when theyâre in, they mean it. when they say they love you, it becomes a fact so obvious that they donât feel the need to repeat it over and over. they like to settle into a routine, so donât expect them to be flaky, send mixed signals and stir things up just to feel something/for fun (sag moons cough coughđ
đ
).
they also seem brutal sometimes. but i believe itâs because they see honesty as the highest form of trust. they want to feel comfortable with you. they value silence, too. theyâre the type to show you their appreciation not by telling you how perfect you are but by actually putting in the work to show you your value and show that theyâre worthy of being by your side.
lastly, their homes are their sanctuaries, a reflection of their feelings. usually beautiful and they look for someone worthy of letting in, to match their belongings. they get a rep for being possessive and stubborn, nevertheless with the right person they can make a sacrifice and at least try to change their waysđđ
virgo moon/6H
okay so i know theyâre said to be critical, demanding, neurotic etc but hear me out. virgo is a mutable sign, ruled by mercury and in true mutable fashion they DO get wild, fun and unhinged lol. as a virgo moon myself i am well aware of the fact that i often act like iâve got a stick up my ass. but when i get closer to you i want it all: karaoke nights, fast car rides, spontaneous trips! sometimes i even take those things to the extreme!
theyâre also said to have the highest standards. and while i imagine itâs partly true, i believe that this placement is all about accepting the biggest, weirdest quirks of your s/o (as well as 6th house synastry!).
besides, i think that we get more so insecure and self-critical in relationships, analyzing the f outta our partners, wondering whether weâre meeting their demands! weâre about the overall quality of the partnership and just want it to be perfectđ„ș weâre also quite anxious and require lots of reassurance.
lastly, everyone knows it: virgo moons are like the final boss of small acts of service lol. vacuuming your flat, folding your clothes. they notice the smallest things that could improve your life and happily do them for you!
capricorn moon/10H
this one is tricky. they remind me a bit of taurus but more rough in a sense that they probably wonât pamper you with luxurious baths and gourmet food but they will do things like pay your rent, get you a job or buy a carđ. iâve noticed them to be a bit grumpy sometimes, definitely not the softest lovers.
theyâre up to giving some tough love. pushing you into a scary path that they know will be rewarding in the end. teaching you that even in the hardest lessons of saturn there is light. theyâre not the most cheerful on a daily basis but - surprisingly- they are the ones that keep calm in the face of crises. theyâre like okay we canât do anything about it now letâs appreciate what we do have and focus on what we can change.
itâs because they know all to well how karma is. they had to learn it the hard way which made them so strong and resilient.
what iâve personally noticed: they will stick by your side no. matter. what. this isnât always a good thing as sometimes itâs best to walk away but if youâre expecting a cap moon to give up on you, donât.
i also feel like theyâre used to being the oldest sibling, the mom friend etc. please take care of them from time to time!
that is all i have for you! thank you for readingđ i wish all of you lots and lots of loveđ see ya
~Michelle
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Where Do You End? Where Do I Begin?
Warnings: Fluff, Soft Smut, 18+
Word Count: 2.2k
Summary: After a long day, all you want is to feel Alexia.
Request
ib: âmeltâ by kehlani
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Today had been utterly exhausting, a marathon of meetings filled with droning voices and meaningless jargon, business calls that drained your patience, and men who seemed barely competent in their roles. They lacked the simplest common sense, and by the time you walked through the door of your shared home, you felt the weight of the day pressing against your shoulders. All you wanted was Alexia. The comfort of her presence, the grounding of her touch, the release of tension only she could provide. You wanted to hold her, to feel her warmth against you, to pour yourself into pleasing her â because in doing so, youâd find solace too.
Now, you lay sprawled across the bed, your body draped over hers as if you could fuse into one being. Her skin glows faintly, her chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm that soothes the restless ache inside you. Her eyes are closed, her expression serene, still lost in the aftershocks of the pleasure youâd just given her. Your hair, a tangled mess, mingles with hers in a way that blurs the lines between you.Â
Your fingers trace the tattoo on her inner left arm, moving in absent, reverent patterns. The inked design feels almost as familiar as your own skin. You and Alexia are so attuned to each other, so deeply entwined in every sense of the word that itâs hard to remember that youâre two separate people. Itâs as though the world doesnât recognise one without the other. You wonder fleetingly if others see it too; when they think of her, do they picture you somewhere close by? The thought makes your heart swell.
Your touch shifts, fingers gliding from the soft skin of her arm to the curve of her shoulder and up to the delicate ridge of her collarbone. Your caress is featherlight, intimate, a silent declaration of love meant only for her to feel. Her breaths are deep and even, and you unconsciously sync your own to hers, your chests rising and falling together as though tethered by some invisible thread.
These sacred pockets of time where itâs just the two of you are rare. Her demanding schedule and your equally relentless job often keep you apart. But when you have her here, like this, the world fades. You cling to it, knowing itâs fleeting yet wishing it could stretch on forever.
Her head shifts slightly, her cheek pressing against the top of your head as she plants a gentle kiss on your forehead. Her fingers brush away a few stray strands of hair from your face, her touch as tender as her voice when she whispers, âAre you tired?â
You shake your head, nuzzling closer before pressing a soft kiss to her chest. âAre you?â
Her lips curve into a lazy, satisfied smile. You canât help but giggle, the sound light and full of affection, knowing exactly how drained she must feel after what youâd done for her.
Leaning up, you press a lingering kiss to her lips. When you pull back, she surprises you by cupping the back of your head, holding you in place. Her lips press more firmly against yours, her kiss deepening as if she wants to draw every bit of your soul into her. Before you know it, sheâs rolling you onto your back with an ease that takes your breath away, her body hovering over yours.
Her knee slides between your legs, pressing against your core just enough to draw a soft moan from your lips. The sound is caught by her, swallowed into the kiss as she applies more pressure, coaxing another from you. You try to lift yourself onto your elbows, craving the closeness, but she pushes you back down, her palm gentle yet firm on your shoulder.
âLet me do this for you,â she murmurs. Her gaze locks onto yours, her smile soft yet commanding in its tenderness. âYouâve had a long day. Just relax, mi amor.â
With a sigh, you nod, surrendering completely to her as you sink deeper into the bed, allowing her to take the reins.
She starts with a soft kiss to your cheek, her lips warm and lingering as if savouring the first touch. Then her head dips lower, her breath brushing against your neck before her mouth begins its delicate work. Her kisses are tender at first, a gentle pressure against your skin, but they quickly deepen. She sucks softly, her tongue darting out to trace invisible patterns, followed by the slightest graze of her teeth.
You can feel her love in every movement, itâs raw, intimate, and utterly consuming. Itâs something youâll never grow tired of.
Her kisses wander lower until her mouth reaches your chest. She places a lingering kiss over your heart before moving to take your nipple into her mouth. Her free hand moves to your other breast, her fingers kneading gently, sending ripples of pleasure through your body. Your hand instinctively threads through her hair, your fingertips brushing against her scalp as you look down at her.
Her hand begins a slow descent, fingers brushing down your sides and then over your upper thigh. She traces circles there, her touch maddeningly light as she inches closer to the spot where you ache for her most. You shift beneath her, your thighs parting in silent invitation, but she takes her time, relishing the journey as much as the destination.
Eventually, she lowers herself fully, her body stretching out between your legs. Her arms wrap around your thighs, holding them open with an ease that makes you feel exposed and cherished all at once. Her lips find the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, placing soft kisses there. Each one feels like a promise, her devotion spelled out in every touch. She moves slowly, torturously, until finally, her mouth reaches your clit. She presses three soft pecks before taking it into her mouth and sucking with a perfect rhythm.
A gasp escapes you, your head falling back onto the pillow as the pleasure starts to build. Her tongue and lips work in perfect harmony, slow and intentional, her movements designed to drive you higher. âThat feels so good, Ale,â you whisper, your voice breathless.
She hums in response, the vibration resonating through you, amplifying the sensations. Your fingers tighten in her hair, needing more of her. Her tongue moves lower, teasing at your entrance, and you pull her head closer.
You feel her smirk against you, a small, knowing curve of her lips that sends a flush of heat through you. Itâs that same teasing smile she gives when she knows sheâs driving you wild, when she knows youâre at her mercy. âPatience, amor,â she rasps, her voice a husky whisper against your skin. The sound alone makes your breath hitch, and you bite your lip, forcing yourself to obey her, to let her take control.
When her tongue finally plunges inside you, itâs as if every nerve in your body ignites at once. She moves with precision, devouring you in a way that leaves you helpless, lost to the overwhelming pleasure sheâs giving you. Your back arches off the bed, a soft cry of her name spilling from your lips. It becomes a chant, breathy and desperate, a prayer offered only to her.
Her thumb joins in, rubbing firm circles over your clit in perfect sync with her tongue. The added sensation sends you spiralling, the pleasure building until itâs too much to contain. âFuck, Alexia. Donât stop,â you beg, your voice breaking with need.
And she doesnât. She keeps her pace steady, unrelenting, driving you higher until you shatter beneath her touch. Your legs clamp around her head, holding her there as waves of pleasure crash over you, your entire body trembling with the force of your climax. She stays with you, guiding you through it, her tongue and thumb working until the sensations become too much. You nudge her away, your body oversensitive and trembling.
Alexia places soft, grounding kisses along your thighs as you come down, her touch gentle, reassuring. Slowly, your breathing evens out, the haze of pleasure fading just enough for you to open your eyes and meet her gaze. She smiles at you, a soft, satisfied curve of her lips, before crawling up your body.
âStrap?â she asks hesitantly.
âOkay, but be gentle,â you reply.
âVale, gentle,â she promises with a soft smile, leaning in to give you a lingering kiss. She stays for a moment before she rises and you watch as she grabs the harness, the way she adjusts it around her hips, her eyes flickering to meet yours.
When she crawls back onto the bed, her weight presses the mattress just enough to snap your focus back to her presence. She situates herself between your legs, her hands finding your thighs and beginning a slow caress. Her fingers trace over your skin, her eyes trained between your legs, dark with thought. You can see her considering every movement sheâs about to make, every touch sheâll deliver.
âReady?â Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper, as she looks up at you, searching your face for any hesitation.
You nod, your heart pounding as you give her your trust. âReady.â
Her lips curve into a smile thatâs as reassuring as it is alluring. She shifts slightly, positioning the toy against your slit. The initial contact sends a shiver through you, her movement of coating the toy in your essence. Her eyes never leave you, watching the subtle changes in your expression as she begins to press it inside.
The stretch is slow and steady. Your teeth catch your bottom lip as your eyes flutter shut, then open again to find her watching you. Sheâs always watching, making sure youâre okay, making sure you feel good.
Her hands settle on either side of your waist as she leans over you, her body close enough that you feel her warmth. She starts with a gentle rhythm, sliding the toy in and out of you, her movements measured and precise. You both glance down, watching the space where your bodies connect, the intimacy of it all heightening the moment.
She keeps her word, her thrusts firm but unhurried. It doesnât take long for the pleasure to build, your earlier arousal intensifying every sensation. She knows your body so well, knows exactly how and where to touch to bring you the most pleasure. Itâs like sheâs mapped you out in her mind, memorised every reaction, every gasp.
Her head dips to your neck, her nose brushing your skin as she nuzzles into you. Her breath is warm and uneven, and you feel the subtle increase in her pace as her movements grow more intentional. You kiss her temple, wrapping your arms around her shoulders, pulling her closer. Your legs hook around her waist, holding her in place while still giving her room to move.
Her lips find your jaw, trailing soft kisses upwards before returning to your neck. Each press of her mouth feels like a declaration, a silent claim that you are hers as much as she is yours. The pressure builds as she begins to thrust harder, your whispered, almost desperate, âHarder,â urging her on.
âHarder?â she asks, her voice husky and teasing. You hum your affirmation, and she obeys, increasing the intensity of her movements. The change makes you cry out, your nails digging into her back as she hits a spot that makes your entire body tremble.
The sound she makes â a heavy exhale thatâs more a groan than a sigh â only spurs you on. Her teeth sink into your shoulder in response, a mix of pleasure and possession that makes you shudder beneath her.
You hear her moan softly as the base of the strap presses against her clit with every thrust, bringing her closer to her own release. Her breathing grows heavier, more laboured. âFuck, Iâm close,â she admits, her voice breaking slightly.
You pull her even tighter against you, your hands roaming over her back, needing to feel her as she reaches her peak. Her thrusts become erratic, desperate, her hips rocking into you with an intensity that leaves you breathless. Her body begins to shake, and her moans grow louder.
When she finally comes, her moans spill into your ear, her teeth sinking deeper into your shoulder as she rides out her climax. The mixture of pain and pleasure makes your head spin, but you try your best to focus on her â the way her body tenses and then relaxes, the way she clings to you in her most vulnerable moment.
Her movements slow but donât stop entirely, her focus shifting back to you. The pleasure sheâs been building within you crests, and your body trembles as you reach your own release. Your hands clutch at her, your face buried in her shoulder as the waves of your orgasm crash over you.
Eventually, her hips still, and the two of you lay tangled together, breathing heavily, your bodies slick with sweat and glowing with satisfaction. She brushes soft kisses along the mark she left on your shoulder, her lips featherlight and filled with apology and affection. She trails kisses up your neck and finally captures your lips in a sweet, lingering kiss.
When she pulls back, her eyes meet yours, full of love. âI love you, mi amor,â she whispers, her voice soft and sincere.
You smile, your fingers threading into her hair as you reply, âI love you too, Ale.â
#alexia putellas#alexia putellas smut#alexia putellas x reader#alexia x reader#woso x reader#woso#woso fanfics#woso one shot#barca femeni#barca femini x reader#espwnt x reader#espwnt
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Thanks for the tag @f-oighear!
I'm going to use my two semi-OCs from Scarlet Cross (genderbent characters from canon) and see.
Heh. I can see this.
Cyrus: ââ âż ââ Why are you all singing? And may I join you?
Hmm. Depending on the crime, Talia might. I feel like she's aiming to be the Wizard King so she'll try and follow the rules until the rules either don't make sense, or if the rules are "clearly unfair" (in her words as a moron with two brain cells).
Talia: HEY! THAT'S ILLEGAL, WHY'D YOU HAVE TO DO THAT? YOU'RE GONNA GET IN TROUBLE IF YOU DON'T BURY THAT BODY DEEP ENOUGH! WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE TIRED? HERE LET ME HELP YOU DIG DEEPER, MY BIG SWORD MAKES A GREAT SHOVEL!
I'll tag... *scrolls through the big chain of reblogs* @vilandel @hybridanafrost and @mamavino!
Tag game time baby
Ok here are the rules:
1: Go to Character Headcanon Generator
2: Type the name of your current #1 kin character/comfort character
3: Press the "Create Headcanon" button
4: Take a screenshot of the headcanon that it generated and post it in your reblog
5: Tag some moots
Here I'll go first :3
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Tags:
@drizzlemoth @lunozapp @hey-imma-fangirl @awakentrashpanda @aintan0driscollnomore @mylivingend @orangeleftyart @flower--ghoul @selora-florients @n-atsu @ol1verdrawsyt @skullgirlrawr @stitcheds-sewing-box @carnationstars @dat1jamesandthegiantpeach @worldsbiggestnerd101 @fanoffandoms23 @foulfictkin @chaosbug-png @sillyjesters @datotota @catinabeartrap
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đđĄđ đđđ„đ„đđ§ đđ«đźđąđ || đđđ«đđźđŹ đđđđđąđźđŹ đ± đđđŠ!đ«đđđđđ« đ± đđźđđąđźđŹ đđđ«đźđŹ
summary_ having an affair with General Acacius overseas while conquering lands turned into a problem after coming back to Rome, when you fell for a gladiator that turned out to be a missing prince.
warnings_ CRINGE, girthy age gap (legal) (Iâm 20, sorry) historical inaccuracy, angst, violence, gore, animal death, sexism and misogyny, fluff but angst, a lot of canon divergence bc I said so. NO PROOFREAD, BEWARE!
note_ i canât remember if Denzelâs character was named Macrino, I canât remember which year the movie is set in, I canât remember many things but let me know if I fucked up too much. And listen to fallen fruit from Lorde while reading.
âȘ â« Pedro playlist | â° Index (+ fics here)
đŠč°âËïœĄâ đđžâïœĄđŠč°âËïœĄâ đđžâïœĄđŠč°âËïœĄâ đđž
The sea was a free land. Nobody could conquer it because there wasnât anything valuable floating around. Perhaps at the bottom of the ocean, a treasure may lay, but no man had shown the desire to dive into the deep.
The screams of the innocents are loud enough to make you feel empathy for them. But Acacius had trained you to put a mask of neutrality when leading war.
Loving the most effective soldier of Rome was your little secret. He married the daughter of an old emperor and he fought to get her privileges and prevent her from danger.
Always the insane little girl running around the palace, rambling about plants, the stars, a dream of Rome in flames. It was enough to be secretly sent to a scribe's university in Egypt for some time.
Upon your return, not much had changed, only that your father, once lead of the council, then the wise of Rome had died. Consequently, your evil stepbrothers were crowned emperors. They named you a soldier and made sure you were at every battlefront, hoping for your death.
But your general trained you well, and with months of practice, you ended up tangled up with him on his sheets in Greece.
Adultery was considered a crime in Rome and youâd give the perfect reason to your brothers to burn you like a witch. Or worse, to send you to fight at the arena of the Colosseum.
But the people who accompanied you and Acacius overseas were loyal and couldnât care less if you had an older man fucking you each night. They only cared about you being a good soldier on the battlefront and being a good princess in Rome.
With a couple of hours left to be home again, you had your wounds checked. Conquering Numidia was one of the last African cities to be marked by the Romans and your brothers desperately wanted to own it. Only a few burns scattered across your leg and your shoulder needed stitches were the price to pay.
The wooden floor creaked and the general turned around alert but as soon as he saw you, he seemed to calm down.
Your arms wrapped around him and he immediately had to lean and kiss you. His lips tasted like devotion, peace, and lust. Acacius always grabbed your hips first. Then he moved to your waist, only to end up caressing your cheeks as his lips kept marking you his.
âWhat did the doctor say?â asked Acacius as he gasped for air.
âNothing to worry aboutâŠâ You nodded at him and he turned his back to you again, looking at his open windows, to the sea.
âWhat about yours? How is the scar on your nose?â
âItâs fine. Couldâve been worseâ You walked towards him, sensing he had bathed like you as well, his hair looked perfectly curly and you couldnât help but smile.
You could stay looking at the horizon forever, just because he was by your side. The sound of the waves calmed your mind after another day of calamities brought by war.
âFor those who chose the sea, greatness waits at the end of the rainbow,â you said smiley. But the general remained stood silent.
âThose are ludicrous tells, the truth is that even war has infected the sea as well.â
âBecause we chose to fight, then yes, the sea is also an arena. But if we chose not to, the way will not depict warâ his eyes kept looking at you, completely fixated and even threatening, like Acacius was trying to understand how much you were judging him.
âWe do this because we donât have any other choice, princess y/n,â Acacius said, finally turning to look at you.
âWe could run away, to the south, the islands of the Tyrrhenian Sea are empty, nobody wants to live thereâ your voice trembling, nervous and waiting for his response. He stared at nothing, probably thinking. And that made you uneasy.
âI canât leave Rome, I have to go back toâŠâ he said coldly.
âYour wifeâŠ.Rightâ
Silence. Even the sea seized the sound of the waves.
âHavenât you told her?â
âWhatâs there to be told? I said this was only a thing of passion and lustâ You bit your tongue at his harsh words.
âWas it? Would you say that all those nights you shared your past with me meant nothing, Marcus?â
There it was. His most personal name, that one nobody used. The general got closer to you, paying attention to your face. Princesses did not have scars, but you did. He wanted to say so much, but he couldnât. You noticed how his fingers were about to trace the pink scar on your chin but he moved away.
âI was drunk most of the nights, doping the painâ Finally your eyes crystallized.
âDo you love Lucilla, General?â His steps stopped then turned around to face you one last time.
His eyes looked doubtful but soon landed on his feet.
â⊠I do love herâ you nodded, holding the tears and bursting out of his room in anger.
âOf course you doâ
Your disappointment was so evident that Acacius was able to look at your face reddening and tears falling freely. He could only sigh and go back to pack his things and get ready to arrive in Rome again.
If only you knewâŠ
âŠ
The crowds of Rome couldnât stop screaming your name. It was âPRINCESS Y/N!â and âACACIUS!â everywhere.
You were no hero, you just wanted a peaceful life in a free Rome with the man you loved. And you can feel his hand brushing yours while his left salutes the parade of people chanting both of your names. The truth is you have no purpose but to serve your brothers and pretend that is your life.
The twins always hated you. Their mother was a wealthy woman but yours was the emperorâs true love. The twins used to pull your hair and always picked poisonous berries to give you as a meal while being toddlers. It got worse as everyone noticed you were your fatherâs favorite. And with him gone, you were utterly alone in the world.
Your clumsy steps made you arrive later. There was no crown for you waiting like it had been for Acacius. Geta and Caracalla were talking to him. And when you noticed the sword in the generalâs neck, your face went serious.
âDo not forget the privileges weâve made for your wifeâ you heard Geta saying.
âSame benefits weâre making for your whores, fraterâ The twins turned to look at you, quickly releasing Acacius and going straight to you. Their golden armors were a mere matter of display. They could barely wield a sword. They were bad with the bow and arrow and their reflections were poor too. They were good with numbers and shapes, but that wasnât much in the city they shaped. One full of segregation and violence.
âDear, soror⊠youâre backâŠâ you think Geta gets closer to hug you, but his hand has raised and he gives you a sharp slap across the cheek.
âDazzling and with such a big mouth as alwaysâ he added while you looked down, your cold hand against the reddening skin and sending him the worst look you had.
âLeave the princess alone, emperor. We should be focusing on the games ahead. We brought many slaves that some of them could fit as gladiatorsâ Acacius said, looking affectionately at you, with disguise.
Caracalla only laughs in your face and his monkey reaches you for some seconds, but your brother pulls him away quickly. You wonder how far his disease has spread. Before leaving Rome, he was completely against seeing a doctor.
âAcacius is right, Geta. Letâs focus on the gamesâ the twins agreed but sure, they had to humiliate you one last time.
âAlright then. But the next time I see you, dear y/n⊠I donât want to see your hair down freely. You look like a whore and not the princess of Romeâ he whispered loud enough to make everyone hear. But finally, the twins were gone.
âAre you alright?â The general asked but you rolled your eyes.
âI donât need your help, Acacius. Iâve dealt with Geta and Caracalla since the day I was born. Which was before we met youâ he sighed, understanding you were still mad from your last conversation. He appreciated your free hair, long and healthy despite the fires you went through while in combat.
âI just donât want to see you hurt. Itâs enough they sent you to serve in the war when you should be here, safe from the horrorsâ
âGo home to your wife, Acacius. Your dinner will be coldâŠâ you spit out with a bitter tone before walking away, disappearing through the walls of the palace.
âŠ
Standing naked, dripping, and waiting for servants to dry you up, you stare at the dress hanging in your room. It had been months since you wore a dress, used to armor and tight braids, and the sensation of the fabric felt odd.
As a kid, you wished to befriend your servants, but they remained professional and apologetically brushed away your questions. Which made you feel even more lonely while they dressed you up; placing gold jewelry and rings with quartz, spraying perfume, and cleaning your teeth. Geta and Caracalla always stole the sweets from you as kids, you thanked them because instead, it was Caracalla who ended up with a decayed tooth and a gold one as a replacement.
âYouâre ready, princess,â said one of the servants and you smiled at her as a thank you.
The whole time while you and your brothers awaited to arrive at the Colosseum, you ignored them. You sneaked away as soon as you arrived. Knowing the place like the palm of your hand, you took a secret passage, in hopes to go and tend your horse to delay the entertainment as long as you could.
Gladiator fights were of no interest to you. But the people loved it. Their ignorance made you understand why they hadnât tried to throw your brothers from the thrones.
But being months away made you forgetful of the architecture of the Colosseum, forgetful enough to end up in the cells of gladiators. Looking perplexed, you gulped nervously. There were indeed many slaves brought.
Being the only woman there made you the center of attention. Even worse when you looked exactly like a princess would do.
âPrincess y/n, What are you doing here?â Asked one of the high-rank soldiers, running towards you.
âI wanted to tend my horse. It was brought here by accidentâ you replied, eyes wandering through the cells, noticing the people inside them were full of new people, probably from Numidia. You wonder if they recognized you.
Your eyes met the ocean-blue ones of a man, he certainly recognized you as he looked at you with anger. You gulped once again, looking away from him. But his gaze had been so strong that you didnât hear a servant come running from the end of the hallway.
âA TIGER ESCAPED! A TIGER ESCAPED! CLOSE THE DOORS!â he screamed and soon everyone went into panic mode. You didnât have enough time to process what he said and do anything. You stood there confused for some seconds. The violent roars of the animal could be heard closer. You looked around trying to find a weapon.
âStay behind me, princess,â said the same soldier but you didnât trust him so you went to grab a bow and arrow. The prisoners yelled and quickly you understood they were having a private show. They hated you for being Roman, and they thought they would see you dying.
But you wouldnât give them that satisfaction as much as you sympathized with them.
The tiger appeared, big and imposing. The animal was angry, visibly distressed, and ready to attack.
You had killed men, but an animal was different. There was no exact description of what to do. Just pure instinct. So you try to calm yourself before the tiger spots you and the soldier, who are the only ones that remain vulnerable. The guards closed the entrances as protocol, unbeknownst that you were there. And it had been too late to use the secret passage.
You felt the same manâs eyes on you and indeed, he looked carefully at you, probably wondering what would be your next move.
âPRINCESS, STAY AWAY!â The soldier screamed when the tiger came running towards you two.
The tiger jumped and threw the soldier, roaring as it tried to kill him. So you ran away in hopes of aiming at the eye of the animal to gain time. Your hands shaking and you could feel your legs get tangled up in the fabric of your dress. But your nervousness isnât visible as your hands work on getting ready for the arrow. You donât have time to calculate, the tiger has already bitten the soldierâs fingers.
You hit it very near the eye and the animal roared even louder, in pain. Thatâs when you spotted the sword the soldier had left behind, where you threw yourself to, as the tiger had tried to attack you again. The man with blue eyes pushed the sword towards you from inside the cell and you didnât even look to thank him, you only grabbed the weapon and rolled to the right before the animal could scratch your face and kill you.
You heard the soldier cry out in pain but you couldnât help him. Thinking you could end the beast chasing you, you failed, sinking the sword in the ribs of the animal. You felt a deep scratch in your arm and you cried out. Anger quickly builds up as you know you had to get out of there before everyone at the coliseum found out. The tiger roared one last time and before it could throw you to the sandy ground you grabbed another arrow and directly pierced the eye of the animal. Blood starts pouring and before the tiger can try to bite and break your neck, your hands end up in its mouth.
The fangs were dangerously digging into your hands and more blood started coming. Scarlet droplets fell all over your face and you didnât care. You screamed in pain and pulled all the strength in your body to put the pressure on your arms and hands. The men inside the cells cheered and made you even more angered. Until you had torn open the tigerâs mouth, breaking its jaw and killing the animal.
BreatheâŠ.
Pushing the dead animal aside, you sighed, resting on the dirty floor for a couple of seconds before taking a long breath and standing up.
Every man inside each cell looked at you quietly. Whatâs there to say?
Five guards open the main entrance and look confused at the mess, then at you tending the heavily injured soldier.
âBring a doctor,â you tell them and they nod without asking more questions. Only one comes to your side.
âThe games are about to begin, princess. I must escort you back to where you should beâ Trying to catch your breath, you nodded.
âDo not say a word about this messâ The guard only bowed his head in agreement.
The least you could do was to put some bandages around the bloody hand of the soldier. Then you cleaned yourself and noticed you were a mess.
Giving that soon-to-be gladiator one last look, you tried to thank him with your eyes for what he had done to help you. He understood, giving you a cold nod.
And as you walked towards the royal platea, you wondered if that was the slave your brothers mentioned. A poetâŠ
âOh heavens! What happened to you?â Asked Lucilla as soon as you tried to take a seat beside Geta. Then everyone turned to look at you in horror. You noticed Acacius looked worried and he couldnât keep his eyes away from the blood in your dress and bandaged arm.
âAn accidentâ you replied politely at the woman, not in the mood to face the wife of your ex-lover.
âYou look horrible,â said Caracalla.
âIt wonât; happen again, fraterâ you tiredly answered, sinking onto the chair, ignoring Acaciusâ eyes on you.
Soon you are surprised to see the gladiator who helped you in the arena. You donât face him when he ends up winning and he looks at you. But you do notice Lucillaâs behavior and quickly you have connected the dots.
What an odd coincidenceâŠ
âŠ
This time, you checked the animals first, then you made sure nobody had seen you entering the cells, but you went where the mysterious gladiator of blue eyes rested.
âBarbarian, monkey eater, slave, gladiatorâŠ. Prince of Rome, How may I call you? Hanno or Lucius?â Soon you had him inches away from your face. At that moment, you had time to appreciate his features. He was handsome and looked pretty much like he belonged to Roman royalty. But his gaze was fueled by anger and pain.
âWhat do you want?â
âI know Lucilla came before me. She had been waiting for you ever since I can rememberâ he looked at you with cold eyes and unbothered. But you knew he was curious about you too.
âWhat do you care? Youâre the princess, you support all of thisâ his anger was palpable, it was part of his way of fighting you had noticed.
âWho did you lose?â You asked.
âMy wifeâ he replied after a little silence, you nodded apologetically. He didnât believe you.
âMy father was a friend of your grandfather, part of the council. Now I realize that when he was elected emperor, he started hunting you down. Iâm sorryâ
âYou donât. You joined their cause and you fight proudly on the battlefront. I saw youâŠâ you chuckle sarcastically.
âThe twins you met the other day are my half-brothers. And they have tried to kill me since I was born. They sent me to war as punishment, but Acacius trained me well enough to survive each battleâ
âSo what? Should I pity you?â
âNo, please donât. But I donât support any of this. I want to be a free woman and be with the man I love but I donât think Iâll live enough to make it happenâ he seemed interested in your words but pretended he wasnât. Either way, you kept talking.
âYou canât kill Acacius. Heâs leading a rebellion against my brothersâ he stood quiet, trying to taste the lies in your words. But you seemed very truthful.
âInteresting that you want his head when all Iâve wanted is his heartâ Through the cell his eyes sparkled and looked tentatively at you, for some seconds you got too attached to them.
âWhat about Macrino?â The old man had been trying to gain your brotherâs trust and you thought that was suspicious.
âDonât trust him. Stop sharing any detail that could tell him what you want or fearâ
âI donât trust you eitherâ
âYou shouldnât,â you said, a little smile unconsciously appearing on your face. And to your surprise, Lucius smiled too. There was something about you that he found lovely. You seemed honest, but he couldnât trust you yet. So he cursed once you had left, you had him looking forward to meet you again.
âŠ
Across the room runs a large table filled with food. A variety of fruits, bread, lamb, duck, pork, and lots of wine. Your hands float around the punch though, reminding you of the first time you tried Egyptian beer. You ended up drunk with Marcus Acacius, laughing on the sand and soon both ended up naked. You frown, trying to forget that messy night.
âYouâve been oddly quiet these past days,â said Lucilla appearing by your side, grabbing more fruits and placing them on her plate.
âIâve been busyâ
âHave you met Macrino?â She said pointing in disguise at the man who laughs with some senators and your brothers.
âHeâs been around for some time. But I donât like himâ you confessed.
âIâve also met his poet gladiatorâ you added, opting to not look at her eyes because she responded very shocked.
âWhat?â
âHe wants to kill Acacius for the death of his late wife, avenge his homeland, etcĂ©tera etcĂ©tera. I told him not to because we plan to free the city. You canât proceed with the nonsense of taking him out of the Colosseum. Your son canât be the alibi to start a revolution, Lucillaâ you said whispering. She gasped in shock, wondering how you knew already. All while you carefully watched if any of your brothers or that nosy man were looking. Not even Acacius was looking.
You sigh, shrugging and looking at the woman.
âAs soon as he came out wielding that sword in the arena, your face said everything. Then just by hearing his mysterious backstory. It was obvious, Lucillaâ She didnât say anything else, so you continued.
âI shall repeat myself once again. You wonât encourage Acacius to get your boy out of the Colosseum.â
âWhy not?â you chuckled at the woman.
She was very pretty, sweet and caring. No wonder why the general loved her.
âYou and your husband were lucky that I found out one of your maids heard everything and was about to spill itâ
âWhat did you do, y/n?â She asked tired, thinking destiny was so meticulous and how you had ended up in such a position to hear and stop the maid before chaos unleashed.
âLetâs say I granted her eternal silence,â you said, Lucilla sighed, understanding. And before she could thank you, you spoke again.
âWait till Lucius is in the arena to save him. And stop looping Acacius into this madness, youâll make him get killedâ She understood everything by the way your eyes looked at her. It shocked her, but she remained calm as you left to sit at the table. Only a woman in love spoke with a mix of venom and sweetness like that.
Taking a seat beside the General, he turned to look at you.
âWhat were you talking about there with Lucilla?â He asked in a very low but deep tone.
âJust gossiping about Senator Brutus and his new wifeâŠâ he knew you were lying but tried to act normal.
âPrincess y/n⊠How true are those rumors about you breaking the jaw of a tiger?â asked a scribe, making you look away from Acacius, Lucilla returned to the table and your brother was already laughing at you for something you couldnât hear.
âWell⊠itâs true, domine.â The table burst into laughter. Only the general and his wife remained silent.
âYou did what?â Asked Acacius looking at you in horror.
âA princess shouldnât be in combatâ added Macrino, making you set your eyes on him.
âOh I am a princess but Iâm also a soldier, domine. And I have to thank my brothers because they made me a woman capable of wielding more than one weapon by sending me to warâ The twins stopped laughing. Geta sipped from his wine and returned to you.
âThatâs true. While you were there getting battle scars, Caracalla and I focused on diplomacy, ensuring we gained more landâ You want to laugh at his face. The council did that, not the twins.
âDid you ensure the poor were stable by cutting from the rich? Did you do the math to financially cover each branch Rome rules, Geta? Or did you and Caracalla just point at lands on a map to get like prizes?â
ây/nâŠâ Acacius whispered your name, trying to make you stop. The tension has risen very quickly.
âYou have one task, soror. To give us India. A woman shouldnât even be speaking on the tableâ Caracalla said when you were about to stand up and burst out. Marcus grabbed your hand under the table.
And immediately calmed you down.
âIâm only saying you should wisely rule this great empire. Do not let it fallâŠâ
Soon the chatting turned into drinking after the awkward moment. When most of the men were getting drunk you returned to the table, cautiously grabbing food again. When you looked up, you encountered the image of Acacius kissing Lucilla. And it made your blood boil.
In a thick piece of fabric, you placed bread, some fruits, cheeses, and a small piece of lamb.
âWhat are you doing?â you nearly screamed when you noticed Acacius standing by your side.
âIâm grabbing foodâ
âIsnât it a little late to eat again?â He wasnât judging you, he never would, but he was very curious.
You would start up a little fire after seeing the painful image of him kissing his wife.
âItâs not for meâŠâ before he could ask you you sprinted away. His blood boiled too, his hand firmly grabbed your wrist to stop you.
âWhat are you playing?â He asked.
âPlaying? Iâm definitely notâ
âIs this some kind of punishment for what I told you days ago?â You sighed.
âI didnât mean to say it was nothing. But⊠you have to wait, y/nâ Acacius whispered and you chuckled.
âIâve waited long enough to realize you will always be trapped in a marriage with two different kinds of love. And Lucilla will never love you like you want because her heart will always beat for that gladiator whose name was carved from the Colosseumâ
You had raised your voice, Lucilla was looking at you two, and everyone else was drunk. So you violently flinched away from the man, who looked at you with a mix of pain and rage.
You leave and he immediately sends a guard to follow you in disguise.
âWe must talk,â Lucilla said to Acacius, taking his hand.
He nodded.
âŠ
What did that man have that made you feel safe? He didnât protest when you walked inside his cell. He didnât demand you to go away. He quietly lets you inside, talk, and explain yourself.
Two visits filled with food from your dinners were enough to let him know you had no intention of killing him. Your curiosity mustâve been too big, his eyes too attractive, and an odd vibration that warmed your chest.
To be honest, you had no idea why you came back to him. You just felt something. And you hated to admit it.
âIf the emperors have made your life so difficult, Why didnât you leave?â Lucius asked. He had eaten everything you gave him and was sitting beside you on the dirty floor.
âEvery time I tried to escape, I couldnât make it far enough. So I stayed and accepted my fate. To serve them will keep me alive â he nodded, finally understanding why you hadnât revealed yourself against the evil emperors.
âYou didnât come down here just to talkâ
âI didnât. I- I guess I just want to believe youâll do something greater than I have always tried. Everyone talks about your rage but I think you quite act like a prospect hero⊠with honorâ you revealed and wanted to cut your thong like you did with that old maid. You hated oversharing. But instead, Lucius chuckled and you frowned confused, expecting him to talk.
âYou reminded me of my wifeâŠâ
âHow so?â
âShe said similar things to youâ Most unexpectedly, you blushed. Thankfully the darkness of the cell made it unnoticeable.
âIâm trying to find a way to get you out of here before your mother does something rushedâ
âI was very harsh with herâ
âHow couldnât you? I would have behaved the same way. But she loves you and she doesnât want to let you go just when she found youâ Lucius smiled once again, making you remain still, unsure of what to do next. Soon you realized the sun was very close to coming up again.
How many hours had you spent talking with the rightful Prince of Rome?
âI must go, Geta and Caracalla will know I spent the night away,â you said standing up, trying to clean the mess your dress had become.
âWill I see you again before that revolution happens?â You smiled, walking back near him.
He was tall, you had to completely raise your head to face him.
âThe final day of the games is closer. Iâll bring you more food and Iâll try to see what will the next encounters look likeâ
âThank you. I judged you too fastâŠâ he said and you chuckled.
âYou still have time to change your mindâ
You didnât notice when he closed the distance. Just when his face had been inches away from yours, you gasped.
But neither of you two protested, your lips touched his at the same time.
Tasting the wine you brought him made you feel intoxicated. No intrusive thoughts appeared while you kissed him.
You could only taste his passion, his need to take control. But all his hidden softness too. One of his hand caressed with softness your cheek and the other grasped your neck.
âStay safe, Lucius,â you said as you moved away from him.
âŠ
The whole day was lost because you spent it sleeping. Only when you woke up for dinner, did you learn you had missed the games of the day. But Lucius was alive at least. You dreamt of his kiss but when you woke up you had an odd sensation in your stomach. Confusion filled you and then⊠ache.
As you brushed your hair, you got lost looking at a red candle. It had been a present from your father some years ago. A red candle to be lit whenever you felt like you needed to feel love, he had said.
The wise emperor had wished to see his daughter with her true love. Just like had always wanted but couldnât.
There was a broad shadow that you spotted through the mirror. It made you pull out a silver knife and point a the figure.
Soon the cape was removed and you sighed but also gasped shocked to see Acacius standing in the middle of your room.
âWhat are you doing here?â You asked worriedly, standing up and hurrying to close your windows.
âYou had spent all these past nights in the Colosseum,â he said, sounding a little angered.
âNow youâre spying on me, Acacius?â He sighed exasperated.
âWhat are you doing with that gladiator?â
âWhat do you care?â You asked with defiance.
âHeâs going to get you in trouble, princess y/nâ Your eyes pierced his, but you decided to move away, leaning against the towers of your bed.
âHe deserves more. And not only him, but every slave we brought and all those we left in ruinsâ you admitted, looking at the fire of the candle.
âThey do, but itâs not our duty, at least not yet. We need to focus on the plan we haveâŠâ you wanted to roll your eyes and yell at him, his wife couldâve ruined everything and he was only paying attention to you.
Only paying attention to you?
âStop going to see that manâ
âHis name is Hanno and Iâll visit whenever I desireâ you spit out with bitterness and you knew he was angry. Acacius clenched his jaw and sighed once again. Under his cape rested his armor, his hair messy, and his scars fading.
âWhy? Because he makes you feel things?â
You remained quiet. As simple as it was, his question took you by surprise.
âI-⊠I donât know. I had no reason to go back to him, but I did it anywayâ
âOh heavens, y/n. Donât you see that Iâve always told you to wait? Because Iâm counting every golden coin I have to give you that house on the island you always point at. To leave Rome with youâŠâ
It took you on a curve. You didnât know what to say, only the tears wanted to be present.
His hands found your hips and his lips seek yours. Sometimes, while being overseas, you two would argue. And the only cure was to be silent and kiss after a day of ignoring each other.
This time feels different. You feel so confused.
His forehead softly bumped yours and you two stayed like that for some time.
âIf you had those ideas to fulfill with me. Why do you remain married, Marcus?â He smiled.
âThatâs different, satis. I was set to marry when you were very young. I just canât undo it.â
âWhy do I feel like youâre only doing this because you feel pressured?â
âItâs not like thatâ
âEither way you wouldnât tell me that you love me. So itâs in vaneâŠâ
âBUT I DO LOVE YOU!â
You frowned, biting the inside of your cheek. For a moment you thought you could only hear how your heartbeats slowly thumped. What you wanted to hear for years had been delivered. It felt good, even right to hear it. And when you were about to believe it, something clicked.
âNo, Marcus. You just realized you hate the idea of me falling in love with someone else. Even worse when itâs the son of your wifeâ
Without the strength to say anything else, you moved away. Your feet quickly dragged you out of your room, and then out of the palace.
You walked through the streets of Rome, seeing all the hunger, poverty, the lack of love from the government.
By midnight you arrived at the shore. The warm sand cured your bolting mind.
There was an imminent battle coming up. You had a place in the rebellion. And yet you had to be only thinking in two men. Who had made a mess of you in a matter of days.
You had nothing with any of them. It was just the causality of what they made you feel.
Lucius made you feel like the woman you wouldâve been if you had escaped Rome years ago.
Acacius made you feel adored like the woman you turned into wasnât as bad as you thought. He believed in you.
But it wasnât enough. None of them were enough. Your mind was spiraling and you realized you were sobbing in the middle of the dark. You can hear and faintly distinguish the sea. You had cracked, like the fallen fruit every poet and philosopher always mentioned.
And even when you knew you had to only focus on the war, you still didnât know what to do. You barely knew the men that had you losing it.
_________________________
Taglist: @stargirl-mayaa @willowpains @nicolebarnes
I donât love the ending but I genuinely donât know who should reader end up with. PLEASE SEND IDEAS!!
#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal#gladiator ii#gladiator 2#gladiator x reader#lucius verus x reader#lucius verus#paul mescal x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal smut#marcus acacius x reader#marcus acacius
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Have you seen Rook sleepwear!! The freckles! He still have them!! We all were right he do sleep in what we imagined and that hat too lol I can't it's so funny and cute ahahaha!
LMAO I was right about the long sleeves and the night cap đ and all the memes were right too⊠Rookâs dressed in grandpa-ass pajamas just like Scrooge (so is Vilâs card about to be him dressed in a luxuriously fluffy nightgown??)
bcjdbdiwnxksks Rook in this outfit makes me think of the wolf in granny clothes⊠lying in bed, pretending to be the woman he just swallowed whole to deceive Little Red Riding Hood đ which is ironic, since heâs supposed to be the huntsman (and is depicted as that in my Little Red Riding Hood Twst retelling). His large hands donât help, they make me feel a little nervous đŠ Really makes me think of âWhat big eyes you have, what large teeth you have,â etc.
No frizzy hair though! Did he have it permanently straightened, maybeâŠ? But it makes sense that his freckles remained! Iâve heard that some kinds of freckles can fade away with time or with continuous sun protection, but either there hasnât been enough time passed for Rook or he has the permanent type of freckles. Either way, itâs cute. This might imply that Rook typically covers the freckles up with makeup though. Iâm sure heâs wearing sunscreen tooâgotta protect that skin!
#twisted wonderland#twst#disney twisted wonderland#disney twst#Rook Hunt#notes from the writing raven#jp spoilers#little red riding hood#book 7 spoilers#book 6 spoilers#Vil Schoenheit#Scrooge
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