#it’s a reminder also to be gentle with people who don’t always have the right vocab but are willing to have the right discussions | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writella · 5 months ago

Text

Reckless Romantics

Synopsis: Can be read as a stand alone or part two to getting ready for me; a return to innocent, inexperienced!reader and her relationship with Rick Grimes; two weeks after their first time together there has been some distance, but now Rick wants to make up for how hasty he was when he touched her last.

Details: Rick Grimes x fem!reader, smut: oral (f receiving) and teaching reader how to give a handjob, unspecified (of age) age gap, sweetness + kissing + a little mutual pining maybe, probably cliche, and leaning more into Rick as the dutiful leader and gentle lover (I feel this is just as in character as dom!Rick). Reader is a music lover— any kind of music you like— but she also likes a specific band only because I watched a documentary about them at the theater in July so it made its way into the story. Slightly proofread— will be corrected more later. wc: 5-7k (I lost track after finishing it on tumblr).

A/N: I wrote this message before I returned for the summer, but I still want you to read it: Been spending time outside this summer, trying to reach some goals— time got away from me. I don’t think I’ll ever stop saying I miss you, but please know it’s always true.

— with love from writella, my beautiful reader. ♡

Rick Grimes was not a man to give in to temptation.

My mercy prevails over my wrath, he’d say— his secret keepsake phrase. The one he whispers to himself in moments of hardship; the one he uses when he needs to make decisions only a leader would. Rick was a man of discipline; honor. He never boasted about how seriously he took these qualities, but when others did— admired, applauded, stuck by him for it— it would be a lie to say that he didn’t take note and use their pride to keep him going. This is how he knows he is strong-willed, why he wouldn’t fall for foolish, forbidden things. He was better than that. The safety and prosperity he brought to Alexandria proved it, reaffirmed it.

So why couldn’t someone remind him of that two weeks ago before he touched you?

As for you, you believed yourself to be a girl who wouldn’t fall so easily for the first man who showed you any kind of affection.

From an adolescence of peers who never seemed to take notice of you to one filled with walkers and adults who were either dead or seldom your age, you learned how hard love, let alone any connection, is to come by. It has made you quite the perpetual daydreamer because of it. One with a heart and mind filled with fantasy worlds, creating what you lacked externally. It often made you see yourself as much younger than you were despite all you’ve been through. No regular person your age in the old world has probably escaped as many deaths and wannabe cowboy dictators as you have. Still, they probably knew what it was like to have a high school romance, or at least go to the movies with friends, and have graduated from well, anything. You were simply born too late and shoved into this new world too early to experience even half of it.

This upbringing has brought you up to believe yourself precocious, although— maybe you were already too old for that word now. No, you were, so maybe– sensible, realistic despite the overactive imagination; you could decipher between right and wrong, real versus fake. This is why, for as long as you could, you did not entertain any thoughts of Rick Grimes.

Other people would though, women mostly. But you did have your suspicions of others who thought the same— they just weren't as shameless. Those who were, could be found during lunch breaks from work on house porches; or laughing and whispering at community gatherings and at the back of town hall meetings. Basically any time or place they could turn into a gossip session, which was often. And it didn’t always have to do with Rick. It could be about any one of the men in town; or retelling funny moments to their friends or complaining about their co-workers. But anything of true, great interest always had to do with the community leaders. You wish you could say you were the exception to this interest, but hypocritically, you loved a good inside scoop, and luckily for you, you had a trustworthy way about you. Almost everyone who spoke to you or allowed you to sit with them and their friends for meals agreed: you were a intent, quiet listener making you the best kind of person to say things to without judgment; and people assumed you as shy, yet you loved to laugh which was great for boosting egos. They often treated you as a little sister in that way, as if the pleasure was all yours to get to hear their ramblings because they were either older or perceived themselves to be more sociable and experienced than you. You tried not to care too much about what they took you for. It was nice to feel trusted, even if people could be a little too mean or weird for your liking because no matter who it was, they made you feel as if you were watching television, and you missed television. They told you things from period mishaps– (it’s the apocalypse, there are a lot of free bleeding queens okay)— to which people in their workstations annoyed them most with very detailed explanations as to why and, of course, rumors or general talk about the leaders: who they thought each of them has slept with, if there seemed to be any fighting between them and what side they were taking, and obviously, anything that had to do with one of the guys. Some were downright obvious that one or the other was their type, while others might try to be more sly about it, always bringing whichever man it was up more than the others. But unless they were diehard Daryl girls, wanted to dominate Glenn, or had some military man, hot priest, or doctor kink for Abraham, Gabriel, or Siddiq, most of them apparently felt that Rick was the love of their lives. He was like a local celebrity. A band’s frontman.

“So, what about you?” One of your scavenging partners asked on the ride home. “Which one do you like?”

“They’re all attractive guys,” you say, keeping your eyes on the road. “But I don’t really think about them like that.” You feel a flush coming on. Crushes, or anything romantic, is a part of your internal world, not something you discuss aloud.

“Come on,” she prods. “You never join in. You just laugh at us for being delusional.”

“Whose us?” Rosita asks, her voice sharp, humorous, and not without judgment. “I don’t talk about that shit.” But secretly, she loved the drama as much as you and would have many questions for you later tonight about why you have yet to tell her of the town obsession of treating her friends like the cast of a reality show.

“I don’t laugh at you! I like it when you guys talk about that stuff.”

“But what I’m saying is that I didn’t let you ride shotgun this time so you can hold out again,” the girl jokes half-heartedly.

“What do you mean this time? I get to ride shotgun because I’m the one with the CDs.”

And it’s true, the only thing that cancelled out the silence of drive in moments where conversation ceased was your Oasis album playing in the background. Learning about the band was your new obsession. Much like listening to the crazy imaginations of the girls in town, you found the Gallagher brother rivalry riveting even if you only knew pieces of the story from the music, scraps of magazine articles, and by asking whoever in town happened to be a teen in the 90s. Thankfully you had hit the jackpot today though. One of the houses you visited was once occupied by a dad and daughter with an insane music collection in the living room and a smaller, more curated one in the girl’s room. After gathering what new music you wanted to try from downstairs, you also found some old issues of QuizFest in the girl’s room, filled with activities that were themed with shows you remember from when you were a kid, but the most important discovery— the find of all finds— was one of those Ultimate Guide, Complete Life Story magazines of none other than the band Oasis.

You would now probably know all of the drama between the brothers to tell a coherent story about the band’s history to anyone who wanted an escape from walker related events and farming talk. When you weren’t listening, that’s what people would come to you for: to borrow music, get recommendations, or to tell them a story. In all, you were getting the reputation of being the town’s music historian, meaning you usually used your knowledge to avoid talking about yourself. And it mostly worked.

Except for now.

“Well, if I had to guess,” the girl persists despite your silence, “I think it would be Rick.”

“What?” Noticing the incredulity in your tone, you calm your voice. Shrugging you say, “Why Rick? Everyone likes him.”

Rosita sends a look your way. It’s innocent enough, probably just showing that she is still listening on as she drives but you were refusing to look at anyone now to know for sure.

“Exactly,” the girl says. “He’s a classic knight in shining armor type. I feel like he’d talk you through it, which I think would be good for— someone like you.”

Your face is on fire, you can’t even speak properly. “I- first of all, what do you know about my experience?” you ask, the incredulous tone returning. But all you get as an answer is knowing snorts and chortles from the two women. Ouch. Nonetheless, you continue, “Second, you think shooting a guy in the head in front of his wife and the whole town is chivalrous?”

Oh—

That makes car goes quiet.

You know you made a mistake.

You didn’t mean it as crassly as you said it, and you did feel bad for saying it knowing that the situation was more difficult than you summed it up to be, but you didn’t apologize. All this talk about crushes and especially Rick made you embarrassed. It’s not that you didn't see what others saw anyway. Of course you noticed how nice Rick’s curls are, how he doesn’t have to use any product for them to look as they do; or those blue eyes and how when you get closer, they become that much more stark and crisp; or how good he was at talking to people, convincing them of things or simply just reassuring them as a friend; and that southern drawl that still sometimes catches you by surprise by sounding so pronounced at the end of certain words, making his voice that much more intoxicating. Of course you saw the appeal, but that didn’t mean you had a crush on him.

Right?

Maybe it doesn’t matter. You just felt you knew better. He was like a president. You know of them, and you believe in them, but you don’t get close to them. And it didn’t matter that he told Carl to personally deliver you a stereo he and Daryl found while out once. How he remembered how you liked music. How he told Carl to tell you this one was probably better than the old one you had, that it was louder. You only showed him your old stereo that once when he was helping you move. He was just a perceptive guy with a good memory. All leaders are like that.

Right?

Anyway, let’s get back to your crass… joke.

“Hilarious.” Rosita says and you hear the low contempt in her voice at your insensitivity.

“That was ages ago though,” the girl chimes in, saving you just a little, “and he did it to help her. He didn’t care about the mess he made. He save her. I’d say that’s pretty romantic.”

“Let’s not call that romantic,” Rosita scoffs, and despite the slight frustration, there was a quiet sadness in her voice at the memory. “That wasn’t love.”

“That was reckless, not romantic.” You agree. Partly because you truly do, but also in attempt to win back favor from your friend. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

But after that day, it was all you could think about.

The idea of a knight; a romantic; someone that would do anything for you, ruin his reputation for you; find gifts from the outside that he’d send is son to give to you. Maybe you did find it charming, idyllic.

These thoughts soared in your mind so much so that on one night when thinking about boys from books or your favorite artists wasn't enough during moments under your sheets when your back arched and your fingers trailed up your thighs, your mind switched from people you would never meet to him, to Rick. Your eyes scrunched tighter, and you tried to shake it away, telling yourself it was just the women in town and the talk in the car getting to you. But then you thought about how rich and hot pink his lips looked on a bright sun-burning day and how it would feel like flames firing inside of you if he kissed you with them.

Ideas like these went on for nearly a year now. You even started questioned if maybe you had always liked him, maybe you were always just like the other girls even though tried to not be. You had thought it made you respectful, realistic; after all, how could Rick be the love of your life if he was everyone’s? Wonderings like this became even worse and more confusing when Rosita had asked if you’d like to move in with her. Becoming closer with her meant being around the leaders more often, which meant coincidental encounters and conversations with Rick as well. Quickly, he wasn’t just that president or celebrity anymore who talked to you sometimes and got you that stereo that once. He was becoming a peer— at least in some ways. One who was curious about your interests as much as your opinions. But it’s not exactly like you were in the in-crowd now as some people assumed. You didn’t get to go to leader meetings, and as much as you knew Rosita must have been telling you more than others know, she couldn’t have been telling you everything. But you did see him more than other people now, when he and the leaders came over to the house or when Rosita was invited over to theirs and she’s tell you to come too. And now, with these thoughts spiraling, you can’t help but to look back at the at the times where Rick approached you, gave you all his attention no matter how small it was and asked you about what you were listening to or reading that week, letting you ramble. He was an older guy, yes, but he cared, he actually listened, and he didn’t make you feel like the childish little sister others do.

Sadly, you did become the fawn like you had told yourself you wouldn’t be. But you couldn’t stop picturing him when you closed your eyes, and in fact, it was nice to imagine someone to fall asleep with, to wake up to. It was just going be your secret. Part of your fantasy world. But then— it all caught up to you.

Through the sliver of the open door he saw you, fingers between folds, goading yourself on as you chanted his name in whispers.

And to your surprise, he encouraged it. No, he did so much more than that— he helped you, made you come; gave you your first orgasm and made you his like no one has before.

You loved it. You gave into it. Even if it was just one secret moment. It made you give into the idea that this would continue but of course, it didn’t. He hasn’t spoken to you in almost three weeks until—

“Woah-” you gasp, almost crashing into just the person as you exit your room.

“Sorry,” you both say in unison, holding onto each other's forearms before quickly letting go. Your arms cross over into your chest before dropping as you enter your room again, clearing the hallway, and his hands go behind his back. He’s still as unsteady as you are, his mouth is slightly open, thinking of what to say.

“Hi,” you whisper tentatively.

“Good morning,” he politely replies. His eyes now smile slightly as he nods to you. You don’t miss how the light emanating from your bright room makes them shine. And he doesn’t miss how the light shining behind your figure makes you, in your white cotton sundress, look like an absolute angel.

“Good morning,” you repeat, giggling slightly, not knowing what else to say.

“Good morning,” he says again, lost and as giddy as you are.

“Oh wait— is the leader’s meeting here today?” Rick starts to nod and answers yes as you continue to speak, “I totally forgot! I’m sorry. I know I should be gone by now.”

He shakes his head, “It’s fine. I was just going to the bathroom.”

“Here? Was someone in the one downstairs?”

“Just wanted to be away from everyone when they came. Daryl and I came early so we started talking and I just- we didn’t see eye to eye on something. I needed a minute.”

You nod. That seems to be your signature when to talk to him. You hated it honestly. Often over-analyzing your words, worrying you’ll sound immature or stutter in front of him. “I'm sorry,” you tell him sympathetically. For a moment there is only silence which makes you worry he will go away, so without thinking, you ask: “I know you’re busy but, if you need a moment, maybe you would like to come in here instead?”

Rick freezes but then, inevitably agrees. As he enters, you close the door and quickly go to shut off the low playing stereo and rehang some of the dresses on your chair in the closet— you had been getting ready for the day. Rick goes to sit on the chair after you empty it but you stop him. You sit on the vertical side of your bed and guesture Rick to sit in the spot next to you, closer to the headboard. You wanted to sit next to him.

Rick doesn’t question this, maybe he wanted to be as close to you as you had, so as he sits, your thighs touch. You try not to move too much at the first contact. Still, the heat that starts to burn inside you makes you realize how much you’ve craved this. Can two weeks feel like a lifetime? It’s like you haven’t felt him in ages.

“What were you playing today?” He asks and you realize you eyes went straight to the area where yours and Rick’s legs touched. You know he noticed but still you try to answer normally.

“Selena. Rosita loves her. It’s one of her most famous songs: Amor Prohibido.”

He nods. “I probably wouldn’t understand a bit of it,” he laughs.

He would probably remember the singer from the news if you gave more context but you don’t. There is a silence that follows until you ask, “So,” starting slowly, “what’s wrong? Is Daryl aright?”

He doesn’t answer. His mouth is open as if he’s deciding what to say, but nothing comes out, so you continue, “You know, nothing is ever right in the world when Rick and Daryl fight. It makes me sad.”

The joke makes those lines at the sides of his eyes appear— a quiet laugh. “Well you know I’d never want to make you sad. Especially not you.” You two exchange a light smile while that heat rises fast to your heart. “We’ll be fine,” he finally says, but then he goes quiet again. Rick seems unsure if he wants to continue. He even looks at the door, wonders if the others have shown up yet, but— he knows he doesn’t want to leave. And even more, he knows he shouldn’t after ignoring you like some teenage boy. He decides to tell you what’s happening: “Daryl wants us to bring new people in. You know how he’s always going out there. But I think it’s way too soon.”

You hum agreeingly, but at the same time, you understand Daryl. “I think he just likes to give people what he never used to have,” you suggest.

“I know,” he nods a bit annoyedly; “and that’s a nice way to put it, but you know him, when he has his mind set on somethin’ he can be so damn stubborn. It’s frustrating. He won’t compromise or listen to anything.”

Endearingly, you try to withhold a laugh, your lisp pursing. Not only because when he says anything, it actually sounds like anythang, but because Rick sounds like he’s describing himself and he doesn’t even realize it.

“And,” he adds, pausing for a moment before he continues, scratching his beard. It looks as if maybe he shouldn’t tell you what he’s about to. His head hangs low to say: This is not information for everyone to know, okay? But the last time he went out there with Glenn, the reason Glenn’s arm is in a sling right now, is because they met a group, tried to bring them back and before they could make it even close to home, the group fought ‘em, tried to steal what they scavenged, and almost kill Glenn.”

You widen your eyes at the statement. You actually already knew this from Rosita, but that will stay between you two. All you feel is humbled that he felt he share it with you, despite it being a dark thing. It was a close call. Rick was right for being very cautious right now. “Wow,” is all you can get in before he speaks again.

“Imagine if we lost him. Fought this war with his wife and unborn baby at the time for nothing? So he couldn’t even meet him?” Rick shakes his head, and you notice his foot tapping lightly, making his knee bounce. This had happened a month ago now but it was obviously affecting him. “It was reckless and I told him that. That right now we need to be focusing on what’s inside these walls. People have only just started getting back to being comfortable now; to feeling like this is a home.”

Your eyes remain wide, “We did so much rebuilding you.”

“We did complete rebuilding.” He corrects, though not rudely. Shaking his head, he goes back to talking about Daryl: “I think I made it seem like what happened to Glenn was his fault. So not only were we arguing but I must’ve hurt him,” Rick realizes, “and now he definitely won’t be back today— maybe not even until next week.”

A silence hangs in the air after this; it seems he finished. Now, you know you should speak, but as the silence continues, you grow more unsure of what to say. Issues like these are things you’ve never dealt with. You didn’t want to say something stereotypical.

“I’m sorry I’m putting all this on you.”

“No, no,” you quickly console, trying to think. “Um, well,” you say, starting unsteadily, “this is probably going to sound stupid and not helpful. I don’t even remember the exact context or what was truly said so it might not make any sense either but, do you remember when I had my Oasis obsession? Earlier this year?”

“I do,” he laughs, turning his head over to your music table. His eyes scan any of the visible album titles to see if he can find it, but the print on most of them are too small. He turns back to you as you continue:

“This is going to sound a little far off but I think you and Daryl are like Liam and Noel.”

His eyebrows furrow, “Didn’t those two hate each other?”

“I mean, yes— but it’s much more complicated than that to me— but no, I don’t mean in that way. It just that there is this quote Noel says that I don’t remember exactly, but I really liked: he said that even though he wrote the music and Liam did the singing that Liam meant the words just as much as Noel did because they’re brothers and he wrote them. I thought that was beautiful, but…” you trail off.

He stays silent, trying to give you space to find your words but you feel like you’ve gone too far. It’s all pretty convoluted and not a true comparison to what’s going on that you’re even confusing yourself a little. “I think what I mean is that even though they have their different roles, they still feel very similar things and believe in the same purpose. I think that’s like you and Daryl. You two are so similar yet so different. But there’s still a binding force that always brings the two of you together. So, like I’m sure you already know and I didn’t even need to tell you, but you two will be okay. You two have different ways of doing things, but the music or the life you’re trying to create in Alexandria still has the same meaning to the both of you.” You laugh small and breathily as you end. “That probably didn’t make sense.”

Rick smiles to himself. “I didn’t get that first bit, with the quote, but no… that made a lot of sense to me.” He nods toward you and you return his smile. “You’re so bright. You know that? Not everyone knows how to stitch things together like that the way you do.”

This makes you feel good. Rick thought you were smart. You know you should say thank you, but instead, something else comes out: “May I, may I kiss you?”

“Yes,” he answers, almost stuttering it out, a hint of hesitation before he did, but he nods so kindly, so reassuringly as he tells you again: “yes.”

Your fingers touch his lower cheeks lightly, feeling the bristles of his beard. You’re slow, and careful, and scared. Your fingers linger on his jaw for a moment until they completely caress his right cheek and then you move in, swiftly— worried you’ll lose your confidence, worried he’ll change his mind. You catch his lower lip and seal the kiss. Your lips are locked for a few seconds until you retreat. It was nice, and exciting, but short. You knew you could have put your tongue in his mouth. You believe he would have let you because you remember when he did it last time, but you didn’t want to embarrass yourself by doing it wrong and once again reminding him how much you don’t know. But you’re sure giving him a grade school kiss like this one was enough of a reminder.

Your eyes roll down, chin low. Your cheeks are on fire and your hands do not know where to go so you start fiddling with the hem of your dress and then you laugh. You were trying to be courageous this time, and you were, but you also weren’t.

Rick grabs your left hand, holding it at the end of your thigh, “I liked that,” he says softly.

“You did?” You ask as softly as he, eyes meeting his.

A short, airy snicker comes out, “Mhm,” he hums, giving you a closed-mouth smile. He found you simply adorable.

“Can I… try it again?”

Rick pulls on your forearm, attempting to bring you closer to him. “Yeah,” he nods, voice gentle. “Do you want me to help?”

You nod before you speak, happily accepting, “Yes.”

He puts your hands on his shoulders. One of his grabs onto your waist and the other holds you lightly under your chin, adjusting your head to meet his lips. The first kiss he places holds just for a couple of moments as the one you gave him did, gentle but packed with longing. The next two are slow, pretty pecks that already have you melting at his touch, lips agape waiting for the next one. The fourth is the one where he brings his tongue into your mouth, carefully bringing it in quarter by quarter. He tastes the top of your mouth and tongue and you feel him as he slowly starts to explore how far you may like to go, but truly you become stagnant other than your hands that press into his shoulder. Luckily, Rick either doesn’t notice your hesitation or is already silently helping you as he takes the lead, pulling you closer by the hips and slipping his tongue in and out of your mouth to kiss you more. It makes you smile— the excitement of your first make-out session. You giggle, and then it makes him smile too and your teeth slightly bump into each other. Accidently you nip his lip because of it, making you pull back.

Your fingers hover over your lips as you impart a quiet apology but Rick just shakes his head giving you another quick kiss instead. He starts to move back on your bed, back pressed again the headboard and he tells you quietly, “Come here.”

You get up and sit higher up on the bed as well, calves folded under your thighs. He takes one of your legs and starts to put it over his as he asks, “Is this okay?”

You nod, vigor growing as you do it now, thrilled to sit on his lap. Your dress bunches around your hips and the tops of your thighs. You move closer to press your chest into his and you kiss him first again, another small one but with intent as you look at him afterward, feeling the scratch of his beard on your fingertips as you smile at him, in awe that this is happening.

“You want to try this time?”

“Uh,” he means you put your tongue in his mouth this time, but you’re afraid to do it wrong but you know you want to say yes so you do, “Yes, okay.”

So he brings you in again and you kiss him. He mouth opens a little and you try to bring your tongue in slightly but you teeth clash. “Sorry,” and quickly he responds that it’s okay and rubs your cheek, telling you to just open your mouth a little wider, no teeth, let your tongue go on top of his.

You try it. Your tongues meet again, licking each other tips before you slowing press in more, your chest touching his as you try to close the gap.

Rick starts slowly rocking your hips against his and he takes control of the kiss again. It helps you not think, you like it. And you like the feeling of that incoming tight bulge starting to form under his jeans, but then you let go. “Wait,” you say, “I like this.” You pause for a moment, confusing him more as to why you stopped. “But… there is something I wanted to ask you.”

“Okay,” his hand stay fixed on your hips and waist, rubbing soothily, “What it is?”

Another pause. “I feel nervous,” you whisper.

“You have no reason to be, sweetheart. You can ask me anything.”

You laugh, smiling as you look off to the side. Anythang.

He smiles too, although unknowingly to what you found funny. His head tilts as he tries to find your gaze and turn it towards him again.

“Well, the last time we were together here you taught me how to do something. You taught me how to pleasure myself better so,” you stutter, “I want to pleasure you. If that’s okay. And I was wondering if you’d teach me how- to touch you here.” You remove yourself from straddling him and point in the direction of his cock.

Instantly he feels a stir of his already hardening dick.

This is not how he expected things to go this time. Or truly, he didn’t expect any of this at all, but when you asked to kiss him he decided he would be gentle, more giving. It felt like you wanted him to take again, the exact thing he was trying not to do. “I feel like I took advantage of you last time.”

“Rick…” you shake your head. “I’m the one who didn’t close the door all the way. You asked if it was okay and then you asked if you could go faster. I said yes to everything…” You start to worry— is he second guessing everything now?—“I feel maybe we remember this differently.” You bow your head again now. Feeling ashamed, wondering if he did.

Rick places one hand on your knee to comfort you although he still says, “It’s just that I’ve never done something like this before.” His thumb sways on your skin. “I just don’t want you to end up feeling like you’re wasting your time. Your first times.”

You’re surprised, “It’s so funny how you can be so self-assured in front of a crowd and now you don’t think you’re good enough.” You take his hand and press it towards your chest. Your heart was racing. “I like you. So much.” You swallow as he says your name softly, realizing how fast your heart was going. “No one in town is truly ever mean to me or anything, and Rosita has been so kind with letting me move in with her and we talk and its nice but, you know— she has her flings and her friendships that are separate from mine and everyone just always seems like they have their person and I just don’t. I don’t have my person, or any person.” You remove your hands from your chest but Rick still holds onto it, squeezing your hand as you start speaking again. “You’re kind, Rick, and you make me excited, and you remember things about me… “ If your face could get any hotter, it does, “And, well, you’re very handsome. If you could teach me again, I would like that.”

God… Rick was trying to be a romantic yet you were so adamant on getting him off. He laughed inwardly, shaking his head, deciding that the best way to handle this situation— and make up for some of his guilt as he was trying to— would be to give you the thing you say you want and not what he thinks you want. Suppose that’s one for widower’s wisdom.

Decidedly, Rick gets up from the bed, giving you a once over, still admiring how adorable, and how sexy, you look to him with your feet under your lap, hands on your knees as you look up at him from the bed and your white dress. He starts undoing his shirt buttons. “Remember when I did this the first time?”

A smirk came on, there’s the Rick you remember. Blue eyes intense, and voice getting cocky as he gets ready to give you what you need, what he knows you only want from him.

“Yes,” you say quiet yet with budding excitement. You start going for the hem of your dress, “Should I start taking this off too?”

“Mm, stay like that.” He’s taking off his belt. “Thought you looked beautiful in it right when I saw you.”

Your thighs squeeze together slightly. Rick Grimes was undressing before you, for you, and calling you smart and beautiful all the while.

As Rick lowers his boxers, his cock springs up. He returns to his spot on the bed, back leaning against the headboard. All of a sudden he seems to truly recognize that he is the only one exposed. He would tell you what to do, guide you, but in a small way, in a way you probably didn’t realize, you were in control. It seems that each time this happens— although it’s only been twice— and each time he talks to you— which has been plenty— you steal a little more of Rick’s heart and he just can’t stop it.

“So,” he clears his throat, your eager eyes on his cock making him twitch, “you usually just wrap your hand around, start from the base and keep pumping up.” He shakes his head, “there’s not too much too it but it’s best to keep your hand light at the start, you—”

You nod quickly, “May I?”

As he nods back you, “Yes.” And as he says it you’re already licking your hand.

“Is it okay if I spit? That helps right? Or is that nasty to you?”

He’s caught off guard, “No, no, that helps.”

So you do and you place your hand lightly at the base as he said and you start to pump. Instantly, he lets out a gasp, and the next noises that follow are repressed grunts and groans. You want to ask him to stop doing that but you’re a little scared to speak up that way just yet and you’re too engrossed in how you can see the light veins of green and blue on him and how he’s so red at the tip. It was honestly exciting. Just this, touching him with your hand, staring at his member and watching him twitch as his mouth opens to pant lightly. It still felt unreal but you liked it and you were happy to learn. You start to pump him more towards the top, placing your thumb on his slit- pressing in. His abs clench at that. You push in a little harder and you squeeze your fist around him a little— testing it out to see what happens—and he groans, unadulterated this time, “oh, fuck.”

The heel of your foot that’s under your lap pushes into your center at that.

You start pumping faster. “Am I doing good, Rick?”

Hearing your voice sets him off, “Fuck, sweetheart. Yes.” He’s honestly choking out each of his words, he didn’t expect to get so turned on by all of this. He realizes the last time he had sex was with you that first time, and before that… he can’t even remember. “You’re doing an amazing job.”

As you pump, you start to slow down, only doing it shallowly towards his base. You’re feeling confident and you kiss the side of him, licking a fat stripe up to the top and then you pump him fully again.

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” he breathes out. He wants to tell you to slow down but it comes out of nowhere, he stutters before he can even speak. An unintelligible groan mixed with a moan comes out abrupt and louder than he intends and white spurts of liquid come out.

You go faster for a few moments, then start to slow down, a little unsure of what is best to do, but you notice when you start squeezing him a little more as you continue to pump up and more whiteness fall out from inside of him.

“Did I, make you come?”

“Yeah,” he says, huffing.

“I did?” your cheekbones rise as you ask with awe— it was another first for the books.

Rick’s tries to let his embarrassment fade, he can tell you were just excited about it, but still, he looks down and to the side, avoiding direct eye contact— almost like you typically would. You peer at him, almost nervously because of it. Rick is usually the confident one. “Doesn’t always happen that fast,” he explains.

“Well before a month ago I didn’t know how to make myself come so I wouldn’t know,” you say with self-deprecating assurance. You had heard from the girls in town that it was easier to make men orgasm. You already had it in your head as something not to judge. You wonder how hard he must have been restraining himself the first time he placed himself inside you, or if it just happened to be easier for him that time around. “I didn’t expect I could do it or anything really. I thought it was…” you smile while giggling, “interesting.”

“A good interesting I hope.”

“Very,” you assure. “I liked it.” You kiss his cheek as you take some wipes that are by your night stand and you start cleaning him up. He doesn’t tell you that you don’t have to; he helps along with you.

“You sure you’ve never done any of this before?”

You shake your head. “I just read fiction books.”

He smiles to himself, a quiet snort of laughter leaving his nose. You always surprise him.

When you two are done cleaning, he puts his boxers back on. Quickly, he is on the bed again and starts to kissing you. Rick holds your shoulder and pushes you down. Finally, it’s time for his redemption, he feels. It was your turn to be pleasured. Just like he wanted to do from the beginning.

Rick kisses down your neck to your collarbone, and the parts of your exposed chest and he pushes your dress up past your hips. His lips move back up to yours, kissing you more before saying, “I really wanna show you something sweetheart.” He presses his thumb into your clit over your underwear. “Can I kiss you down there? Have you ever had that before?”

You shake your head slowly, eyes wide. “I-” you start nodding your head, “-I would really like that.” And in such a small voice you add, “Please.”

Rick kisses your cheek. Deep and softly he breathlessly tells you, “I would love to.”

Rick moves his head lower and gives you slow kisses over your underwear from your mound to the end of your lips. He starts to drag your panties over your legs and once they’re gone he kisses up your thighs. Then his nose rubs and sways ever so lightly on your lips. He breathes in and it makes you shutter. Your heart is going crazy again. Finally, he licks upward. One long and languid stripe ending with a kiss to your clit and then he truly begins.

Tongues are wet and sticky and everything you ever dreamed of. Your eyes roll back instantly from that first lick and kiss. You remember a time when you started touching yourself that you used to never think of receiving oral. You thought it was scary, nasty, that you wouldn’t like it until the moment you thought about it as a million kisses on your most sensitive lips, or someone liking you so much that they’d get drenched by your wetness just to touch you, to taste you. After that, you thought about it all the time and now it was finally happening– someone needing you so much they just had to know what you taste like. Here he was: kissing, licking, sucking, not caring about how he looks but only how you feel— you now knew what it was like to be desired.

Rick presses his tongue flat on your clit, rubbing deep circles. His eyes are open, looking up at how your mouth opens wider and wider. You let out little whimpers, enamored by his tongue, still deciding if you like the scratch of his beard, but your eyes stay glued to the ceiling, scared to look at the scene below.

He gives you kitten licks in between speaking, “Look down. Don’t miss your first time.”

Your eyes go down slowly, watching as he gives open mouth kisses to your clit and right lip, tilting his head. He stays there for a moment, hearing your short and breathy pants, kissing and licking your clit and lower lips like they were the ones above your chin. His eye contact sends bursts of sticky wet fluid down your hole and you release a whimpered moan, they’re always sp short and soft and high pitched. He can tell you like it but he can also see you’re nervous. You don’t trust yourself, you know it, and he’s starting to realize it too. You’re scared of completely letting go.

He peppers kisses to your clit before moving upward, his tongue rolling and mouth kissing from your lower stomach to your breasts till his face reaches yours again. “No one’s here,” he tells you. He then kisses your lips allowing you to taste yourself for the first time. “Relax,” he whispers, rolling out each syllable. He holds your chin with one hand while he inserts a finger into your hole with the other, his pointer is instantly drenched and you shudder at the feeling. His single calloused finger reminds you of the time he was last inside you. He pumps slowly, looking into your eyes as he speaks, “Don’t think about who could come downstairs.”

“What if Rosita or Daryl come back?”

“What if?” He says it so simply as if he’s ready for everyone to know. Truly, that would be an issue, but right now it was not about him and it was completely about you; he wanted to give. It was short-sighted, reckless, yes, but… you were just so pretty, so bright, so insightful, and he felt like he needed to make up for all the taking he did last time, of your first time. Rosita had went to run after Daryl, hopefully no one was here anyway. But again, he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. “Lay back,” he gently commands, “forget what I said before- close your eyes. Just give in to it. Like I’m the only one who's here.”

Rick licks zig zag stripes down your slit and then he decides to insert his tongue in your hole. He goes as deep as his tongue allows, collecting your wetness and trying to swallow it in moments when he turns back to kissing. He his nose is brushing and rubbing up against your clit as he sucks wetness from down below and you start letting out stringy moans you can’t control. Soft, pretty, and continuous, “uh, ah, uh, uh” that turn into “sorry, I’m sorry.” You’re still self-conscious about your own noises. This was still only the second time you’ve heard the sounds you make when someone else is fucking you.

But Rick shushes you. Giving small kisses to your clit as he looks up at you, seeing your scrunched eyes and open mouth. “I like knowing you like it, pretty girl. I like all those pretty sounds you’re making.”

Your pussy tightens around nothing at that phrase.

“Keep going. You don’t have to be shy.” He grabs your chin and you look down at him. His beard is wet. “We’ve already made a mess anyway.”

He starts kissing your labias, licking up wetness when you decide to ask, nervously, “Can you make sounds too?”

Instantly, Rick goes again to kiss your clit, humming into it as he sucks. Breathing against you he says, “Want me to tell you I like it, sweetheart?” His tongue slides down again, tongue reaching into your hole and he moans into your pussy.

Your back arches and you mewl, you could almost scream.

That’s it, he thinks. Rick keeps humming and groaning into you now. His voice is so seductive. “I love tasting your pussy, baby.”

You couldn’t breathe.

Rick starts rubbing your clit with his thumb and going fast with his tongue in your hole “My bright, pretty girl gonna come for me? Hm?”

“Oh, Rick, I want to. Please, Rick.”

Rick starts to go faster and your brain turns to mush. Only noises coming out and when he stops his tongue movements to say something more you push his head down. “Sorry,” you say. You’ve never been forceful before but he says nothing, just continues going down on you and taking his free hand to place it over his, gesturing that he wants your hands in his hair. You tug on his curls and he grunts into you. You start chanting his name and then he switches to placing his lips on your clit and putting two fingers in your pussy. It reminded you of the first time but instead of your three fingers they were two of his and it felt so much better than you ever knew before, better than you could ever do it yourself. It sets you off. Your eyes shut tighter if they could. “Rick! Oh my god,” you moan and then again and again and then you come.

Rick laps at your cunt, vigorously trying to wipe you clean. He makes it look like it will be the last and only time. It makes you worry but at the same time he looks so sexy like that; needy for you even after you finished.

He takes your wipes and cleans his lips before cleaning you up as you did for him. He kisses you thighs and your lips and your cheeks as he continues. “You did such a good job,” he says. “You always do.”

You’re filled with pride at that. “Thank you.” Then worry sets in. You realize how public you’ve made everything. “Did I just ruin your life?”

He laughs while caressing your thigh. That anxious expression of yours that he just got rid of returns after all the work he did.

“I’m gonna check downstairs. Okay? If they’re there, they’re there.” You nod. We already made a mess anyway, you remember him saying. “They might want to start the meeting when I go down so, whatever happens, happens alright? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your eyes are still nervous, but it’s all too late anyway. “Okay,” you respond.

“Okay,” he says back, kissing you once more. As he dresses himself again, he tells you, “I promise I won’t wait two weeks to see you again.”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too,” he says as a send off and goes into the bathroom to clean his face.

When he reaches the living room, there is no one. Rick is thankful but confused.

As he nears the coffee table there is a sheet of yellow lined legal pad with a talkie next to it.

Call when you’re done, it reads.

“Rosita?” He questions into the device. Who else could it have been, right?

He can almost hear the grin on her face. “They should start calling you Reckless Rick for all the agony you put these Alexandria girls through.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “There’s just something about that stupid hair cowboy accent, I guess.”

Before he can respond, telling her that it’s absurd to think of him as a playboy, that he was far from it, she continues:

“So, fucking my roommate? You’re glad Glenn and Maggie called everyone over to theirs instead. Hershel took his first steps while you were teaching someone else how to take theirs.”

She unpressed the button to suppress her laughter. “Just get over here,” she concludes, putting down the walkie and going back to meet the rest of the group with a perfect poker face. She tells everyone Rick will be here shortly.

Oh, Alexandria’s leader and her new little best friend who has been hearing the townswomen’s fantasies of him for years: Reckless Rick and his reckless romantic girl.

Rosita would give you so much shit for this when she gets home.

#rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x reader smut #rick grimes x fem!reader #rick grimes x female reader #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x y/n smut #rick grimes x you #rick grimes smut #rick grimes fic #rick grimes fluff #twd fanfiction #twd smut #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead smut #the walking dead fic #the walking dead fanfic

1K notes · View notes

fleurriee · 8 months ago

Note

oh my god i need a-z alphabet of aemond or whatever it is. foaming at the mouth for this man fr

inspired by @moralesluvr & their a-z

again, more than likely ooc aemond but aren't most fics of him??

this was written over a period of months at sporadic times & i haven't read it through so...

affection — how affection are they? do they show affection?

aemond is not an affection person - i mean, do you know how he was brought up? the only affection he's ever really been shown is when his mother stood up for him that night he lost his eye. so, it's definitely safe to say that affection & aemond do not go together. until he met you, at least.

you're not overly affectionate yourself, but there were certain things you'd do that would make him tense up a little - like, stroking his arm, touching his hand, giving him little compliments, etc. at first, when you'd do these to him, he'd want nothing more than to run away and forget it ever happened... but, the more you did it, the more he got used to it, and the more he craved it.

of course, when you finally get to a point in your relationship where aemond started showing affection back to you, he would only ever do so in the privacy of your chambers, when only those in view were the two of you. it wasn't that he was worried he would come across as weak - he didn't want people to know you were his upmost weakness.

eventually, too, both his mother and heleana are allowed to see these little special moments between the two of you, but that’s all.

bye — what do they do when they need to leave? how are they feeling?

aemond is a busy man, especially when his older brother takes the throne. so, more often than not, the two of you need to part, which is something he hates. he hates not knowing where you’ll be, what you’ll be doing, who you’ll be with — and it’s not a possessive thing, it’s a worried thing. he always worries something bad might happen to you, someone might do something to get back at him.

the first thing he does is reassure you that he’ll back as soon as he possibly can, worded in a way that doesn’t allow him to promise that he won’t be long, because he knows he will be. he takes your face in his hands when he utters these promises to you, looking straight at your eyes so you can see the sincerity. he places gentle kisses all across your face, smiling a little to himself when he hears your giggles. that sounds alone is enough for him to go on.

cuddles — do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?

aemond cuddles in a way that keeps you safe. when you’re in bed, he’ll lie on his back with you lay right next to him, arm draped on his front whilst his goes behind your head. he likes to way he can play with your hair between his fingers, combing it through and soothing you; he likes that he can feel you moving with his every breath as you lay upon his chest. it constantly reminds him that you’re there, that you’re real.

there’s also the times when the two of you have a somewhat free day, spending it together in the silence of your chambers reading your separate books. more often than not, you’re sat apart, trying to concentrate, but then there’s the moments when aemond just needs you that little bit closer. he’ll be sat in his chair, unable to focus with his mind constantly drifting back to you, so he gestures you over. the position isn’t exactly a completely comfortable one, but you’re close, and that’s all you care about. you’ll be sat on his lap, both arms around your middle as he carries on reading, you head on his shoulder. it just makes the silence all the more beautiful for him.

domestic — how domestic are they? do they want to settle down?

aemond can come across quite domestic, but maybe that’s just because he knows eventually, the two of you will have no choice but to be so. and, he tries, at least more than his brother did with heleana. it’s always the little things — holding your hand in a gentle grip when leaving a carriage, making sure you don’t lose your step; pulling out the chair for you and pushing you back in at feasts.

like i said, it’s his duty, so he knows he wants to settle down. but, there was a time when he never thought he would because he couldn’t find anyone who would want to settle down with him, something he attributed to his missing eye. and then, he met you, and you didn’t care he had something missing. in that moment, he knew he was ready to finally begin his duties.

equal — how much effort do they put into the relationship?

aemond likes to give back as much to you as he can possibly try. of course, at first, he didn’t know how to properly do what you do to him — how is it that you’re able to make him blush when he’s never done so before; how is it that you’re capable of causing his heart to beat at rapid pulses?

aemond simply wanted to make you feel as loved as you made him feel. what type of husband would he be if he couldn’t do that for his very own wife? so, until he could finally figure out what got your heart racing, he’s definitely thinking of different ways to make you fall more impossibly in love with him.

fiancé — how are they in an engagement?

when aemond finally warms up to the idea of possibly being in a marriage alliance that could make him happy, he somehow turns it into the perfect betrothal.

he makes sure to spend as much time with you as he possibly can whenever he’s free, learning all your likes and dislikes, what your favourite hobbies are, etc. not only does he want to know everything he can about you, but it also helps to know how to best make you smile.

if he learns that you like to read, best believe he’s spending time with you in the library, the both of you talking about your favourite books; if you like to embroider, he’s definitely asking heleana if you can join her, making even sitting in silence with you as you converse with his sister.

aemond wants to make your life as easy as he can, and he knows that by reassuring you during your engagement that you’ll be safe and even potentially happy with him is just the first step.

gentle — how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?

how is it that aemond can be both gentle and aggressive? to anyone looking in from the outside, he’s a rock, as hard as stone and the only expression you’ll find on his face is a smirk. he’s willing to prove himself to anyone — show how much of a warrior he is now that he’s practiced almost as much as he’s breathed.

but to you, behind the privacy of your chamber doors? it’s almost like he’s trying to handle a butterfly. he’s so nervous that maybe his rough, calloused hands will be too harsh on you, that his attempt at a smile might look a little too like a smirk. but, he tries, and that’s all you can ask of him.

hugs — do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?

aemond is not a hugger. he finds it almost too intimate, too uncomfortable. when you first tried to hug him, all he felt was tense and stiff. none of it felt right.

now, he’ll give in to a hug on certain occasions, like when you’re upset — especially when you’re upset. the moment he sees your teary eyes and quivering lips, he’s instantly wrapping you in his embrace, forgetting all about the fact that on a normal day, he’d hate it. but, he knows you need comforting, and he’s willingly to do just about anything to make you feel better.

aemond’s hugs, despite not being used to them, feel like a protective circle, more so when you’re in need of comforting and he’s using the tightest grip he has on you. it’s like he needs you to know that he’s there, that he’s close by, that his body is always going to be entwined with yours.

i love you — how fast do they say the words?

it takes aemond forever — i’m talking years. again, though, can you really blame him when he’s not even sure what love actually is? he wasn’t shown barely even a smidge growing up — how’s he supposed to know that’s what he’s feeling every time he looks at you?

but, even when he finally figures it out, you best believe he’s keeping that secret to himself for a while longer. the idea of you not feeling the same way, of you feeling repulsed, of you laughing at his face for even thinking such a way is such a terrifying thought for him, he’d be to worried to ever confess.

when he eventually does, however, he’s not even aware he’s saying the words until his mind fully focuses on the expression you’re giving him. the two of you were in bed, you lay on top of him, your finger mindlessly running circles on his chest after spending your time intimately together. you were telling him about your day, how happy you’d been to spend it with heleana and how she always manages to make you feel young again, when the words just flew through him mouth.

needless to say, after that moment and the way you so lovingly reacted to it, aemond loves to whisper it in your ear.

jealousy — how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?

aemond doesn’t like to admit, but he gets jealous more often than not. he’s fallen far and hard, and the idea of you ever falling for someone else, or someone trying to, it scares him.

he keeps his cool as best as he can, clenching both his jaw and his fists, hoping that the lord who offered you to dance at the feast won’t try to pull anything that will make him want to break his neck.

and, he’ll just stew in his jealousy until the whole things over. he’ll never take it out on you, because he knows you couldn’t exactly say no when a lord asks you to dance. and, he knows he’ll never have to courage to do what they can — he can’t dance with you in front of everybody, but he sure as hell can when your in your chambers, and you’re always there to reassure him that you’d take him over any lord for the rest of your life.

kisses — what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?

for the longest time, aemond’s kisses are just pecks, and only across the back of your hand. when he started to get bolder the closer your relationship became, he’d peck your cheeks, your forehead. he was scared when he first kissed your lips, again just a peck, but after that first time, his hands cupping your face in such an intimate way, he couldn’t help himself. his kisses are still soft, but there’s a greediness to it, one that shows how starving he is for more of you.

aemond fucking loves it when you kiss his scar — he’s never felt so much love in his entire life. the way you never try to pressure him to take the patch off, your thumbs stroking soothingly against the white mark before placing such a gentle caress of a kiss against it? god, he’d do anything for you when you do that to him.

little ones — how are they around children? how many do they want?

aemond isn’t the best around children, never really know how best to act, or what to say, or worried he might come across as some monster just from the sight of him alone. but, when heleana had the twins, something in him changed. he cared for them unconditionally, allowing them to pull on his hair and climb on him just because they were bored. being an uncle made him realise that maybe one day he could do the same with his own children.

he would want as many kids as you would allow him — he’d definitely want to be the next jaehaerys when it comes to all his heirs. he couldn’t think of anything better than having a big family with you, uncaring as to whether they were all boys, all girls or a mixture of both. aemond would want boys for the longest time, teach to be fierce warriors and have them protect your family, but as the time got closer, he’d secretly start wanting a girl, who he’d raise the same and love all the more.

morning — how are mornings spent with them?

mornings with aemond are rare. more often than not, he’s unfortunately called for some business or counsel meeting he really couldn’t be bothered for, having to leave your warm embrace for a cold welcome somewhere else.

but, on the rare occasions where he somehow managed both the old gods and the new to allow him a free morning, you spend it stuck against one another, allowing yourselves more time to sleep in.

night — how are nights spent with them?

nights with aemond are either spent with the two of you wrapped in bed, on the chairs by the fire — but, either way, the two of you are full of conversation. it can be spent with whatever you’ve done during that day, or how you’re thinking of spending the next one.

aemond always makes sure someone has your fire going and a bath reading before either of you arrive there. he likes it when you have baths together, facing the window as you just look out at the sky. you could be spending it in silence for all he cares, as long as it’s just the two of you, he doesn’t care.

open — when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait to reveal things slowly?

it would take aemond so long to open himself up to you, even when it came to the little things about him.

in order to do so, he felt as though he needed to know more about you first — about whether you would even be worthy of nothing all the ins and outs of him. and even then, when he finally understood you completely, it was nerve wracking for him, coming clean and being vulnerable with anyone.

aemond definitely took his time opening himself up, too, in the sense that he wouldn’t unload everything onto you at once. he would just subtly mention something he hadn’t told you before whenever it felt right in the middle of a conversation — and one thing he loved about you, was that you never made a big deal out of it. you just took the information in with a small smile on your face and carried on.

patience — how easily angered are they?

like i said before, this man gets jealous easy, and the same goes for his anger.

we all know what aemond is like and the shit he's been through, so is it really any surprise?

but he's good at hiding it - he does that smirk of his and his eyes narrow dangerously. to anyone else but you, they'd just think that was his resting expression.

however, when others take it just a little too far?? with you?? yeah, they're dead, the blood of the dragon comes out in him for sure.

he tries not to maim them too much for your sake, but he's definitely fed a few people to vhagar because they insulted you.

quizzes — how much would they remember about you? do they remember every little detail you mention in passing or forget everything?

aemond remembers everything.

he doesn't talk much; her prefers to listen, so he's very attentive with you. during your courting days, when you were getting to know one another more properly, he'd learned everything about you and made sure to keep it all locked within a little safe in his mind.

he'll remember all dates you consider important so he can do something special for you; he'll remember your favourite book so he can make sure you always have a spare with you; he'll remember your favourite flowers so he can spoil you rotten with them.

the list is simply endless with this man.

remember — what is their favourite memory of your relationship?

the day he finally revealed his sapphire to you.

it was one of his biggest worries; you'd not long been married, and you were getting along so well, he was terrified that the moment you laid eyes on it, you were going to run.

he couldn't stand the idea of you leaving him, of thinking him less than because of his scars.

but, it happened in the spur of a moment type of way - you'd wanted to see all of him for a while now but you didn't want to push him, and whilst the two of you were kissing heatedly in your rooms, one of your hands repeatedly got stuck between his eye patch and his hair. without even realising what he was doing, aemond took it off.

the silence was deafening as you gazed upon him, all of him, and aemond swore he could feel his heart in his throat.

all of that changed when you smiled at him as you always had done, filled with such love and admiration, and you carried on like nothing happened.

aemond knew from that moment on there was no other explanation other than you were put on this world just for him.

security — how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?

aemond targaryen? protective? they're basically synonyms.

fr though, all aemond is thinking about is where you are and whether you're safe, but not in an overbearing, possessive way. he just knows that you're his biggest weakness, and it's probably painfully obvious to everyone else.

when you're apart, aemond always makes sure you have at least 3 of his most trusted guards with you at all times, even if you're only spending the day in the library.

when you're together, aemond's protective in the little ways. it's important to him that you're always on his good side, allowing him to see where you are and who else is nearby in case they try anything; if you're a little bit in front of him, he'll have his hand on the small of your back, for his sake more than yours, but if you're standing next to one another, he asks you to put his arm through his, the comfort of your presence giving him ease.

aemond knows you're not an overly protective person, but he absolutely adores it when you stand up for him, defending his honour when you hear someone slander him, be it for his looks or his demeanour. he loves how angry and protective you get over him, and he wouldn't want you to do anymore than that.

try — how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts?

aemond's a 50/50 guy when it comes to stuff like this.

you mean a lot to him, and he'll do almost anything to put a smile on your face, so long as it's just between the two of you.

he won't want to do anything too extravagant or adventurous; the most it's gone has been when he took you flying on vhager for the first time.

he likes to keep it kind of low key. he make sure you have several bouquets of your favourite flowers in your rooms for you; the cooks have prepared your favourite breakfast, dinner and deserts; and he'll make sure he spends the entire day with you, clearing off anything else he needs to do and shoving it away for another day.

ugly — what are some bad habits of theirs?

aemond is big on silent treatment.

he didn't talk about any of his feelings when he was younger, and unfortunately, it's something he ended up taking with him as he grew older.

you know he tries his absolute hardest to not give you the silent treatment, but when it's been engrained within your brain your entire life, it's easier said than done. he knows you hate it, and it's something he's definitely trying to work on for you.

another thing would be his anger towards others. with you, he never gets angry, because how could he ever get angry at his sweet little wife? but with others, he's brutal.

it's another thing you hate when he does, the way he so callously beats and maims others for something you wouldn't think deserve such a punishment.

vanity — how concerned are they with their looks?

aemond's not exactly concerned, but he is cautious.

when he looks at you, all he sees are the stars in your eyes and the goddess far above within your features. and standing next to him, he knows it has to be such a sight.

he's always been one to take care of his hair - it's just his eye.

he doesn't like the way it stands out so brutishly against your shining figure, dark and cruel.

of course, the start to changing his way of thinking happens after he reveals his eye to you, and he realises that it only matters what you think, no one else.

whole — would they feel incomplete without you?

oh, yes.

beforehand, aemond never wanted a wife, he never wanted a family, he just simply wanted to protect his family like the dutiful son he was.

but once you've fallen into his dark embrace and he's finally gotten a taste of what marriage life is supposed to be like, aemond can't imagine anything any other way.

xtra — a random headcannon for them!!

aemond loves it when you take care/pamper him.

it's something he struggled to admit to himself, let alone to you, but once you're past that barrier, it's one of the things he looks forward to at the end of his day.

you'll have a bath prepared for him, dismissing the maids because no one takes care of him like you do, and you'll help wash him sensually, cleaning his hair and massaging his shoulder of all the knots built up.

he loves it when you play with his hair - washing it, brushing it, stroking it, you name it.

it just makes aemond feel so loved.

yuck — what are some things they wouldn’t like, in general or in a partner?

when your courting started, one of the most important things to aemond was that you got on with his sister, heleana.

he wasn't entirely bothered if you didn't get on with his mother because he knows she can be intimidating sometimes, and he definitely didn't care when it came to aegon.

but with heleana, he needed it to happen.

for aemond, it spoke a lot about the other person. if they didn't like heleana, for whatever excuse they may come up with, there had to be something wrong with him, they had to have been a bad person somewhere inside.

definitely off-putting for him.

zzz — what are their sleep habits?

he's a light sleeper in every sense.

he feels the wind coming through the open window? he's awake. he hears a rustle from outside his doors? he's awake. he feels you move slightly against him in your sleep? he's awake.

aemond is never really fully asleep, but it does get better once you start to sleep next to him.

he's always made sure you sleep the furthest away from the door, a habit he'll never get rid of for your safety.

he likes to have you as close to him as possible, wanting to feel your skin against his own for his comfort, no matter if it's the hottest summer known to man.

#𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐔𝐑𝐑’s work ── ✎#hotd #house of the dragon #aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond fluff #aemond smut #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #dad aemond #aemond x pregnant reader #aemond headcannons #aemond targaryen headcannons

587 notes · View notes

ahqkas · 8 months ago

Note

Theodore with gf!reader who’s eyes are easily teary. For example she’s laying down and the side of her eye just tears up. Like her eyes just get teary for no reason and she’s trying to tell someone she isn’t crying. It’s very embarrassing for her as Theodore get protective of it seems like she’s crying.

STRAY TEARS ; theodore nott

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

YOU WERE LYING ON ONE OF THE PLUSH COUCHES IN THE SLYTHERIN COMMON ROOM, NESTLED UNDER A SOFT, WOOLEN BLANKET. The day's stress had left you feeling drained, and you found comfort in the gentle murmur of the crackling fire. As you lay there, staring at the ceiling, you felt an all-too-familiar feeling: a single tear slipping from the corner of your eye and trailing down the side of your face.

It wasn’t unusual for your eyes to water without any particular reason. They had a mind of their own, and tears often came without your permission to do so, a simple quirk of your physiology. Yet, every time it happened, you felt a wave of embarrassment. People often misinterpreted your teary eyes as a sign of distress, and explaining that you weren’t actually crying became a tiresome routine.

As you brushed the tear away, you heard the familiar sound of footsteps approaching. Your boyfriend’s presence was unmistakable — there was a certain quiet confidence in the way he moved. He entered the room, his eyes immediately finding you on the couch. His brow furrowed slightly as he noticed the tear-streak on your face.

“Hey,” Theo said softly, coming to sit beside you. The concern in his eyes was visible, a deep-seated protectiveness that made your heart ache with both gratitude and frustration. “What’s wrong?”

You quickly wiped at your eyes, a weak attempt to stop the tears that weren’t really there for any particular reason. “Nothing,” you replied, your voice steady but tinged with a hint of exasperation. “It’s just my eyes. They do this sometimes.”

Theo’s frown deepened, his protective instincts flaring. “Are you sure?” he asked, gently lifting your chin to get a better look at your face. His thumb brushed away a stray tear with a tenderness that sent shivers down your spine.

Trying to reassure him, you offered the boy a nod. “I promise, Theo. It’s just how my eyes are. They get teary for no reason.”

Despite your words, you could see the concern lingering in his gaze. Theo had always been fiercely protective of you, his natural inclination to shield you from any discomfort or harm. It was one of the things you loved most about him, but in moments like these, it also made you feel a bit self-conscious.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Even if it’s nothing serious, I don’t like the thought of you being upset.”

You reached out, placing a hand on his. The warmth of his skin against yours was a grounding presence, a reminder that he was there for you, no matter what. “I know, and I appreciate it,” you said softly. “But really, it’s nothing to worry about. My eyes just have a mind of their own.”

Theo’s expression softened, a small, rueful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I guess I’ll have to get used to it,” he said, his tone lightening. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t worry.”

You laughed softly, the sound easing the tension in the room. “I wouldn’t expect anything less,” you teased gently, squeezing his hand.

As the evening wore on, you both settled into a comfortable silence, Theo’s protective presence a constant reassurance. He stayed close, his hand never leaving yours, a silent promise that he would always be there, ready to offer support and comfort whenever you needed it.

And as you drifted off to sleep, your head resting on his shoulder, you felt a profound sense of peace. With Theo by your side, you knew you could face anything — even the inexplicable tears that sometimes fell from your eyes.

642 notes · View notes

loganhowlettshousewife · 2 months ago

Text

animal

chapter 5.5

friendly reminder that i am not a writer, i'm just a girl who loves logan howlett and wanted to write something exploring his animalistic side since i so rarely see it done. my first language is also not english, so please do not be rude when giving me any feedback.

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, introspection

series masterlist │my masterlist

“did you mean it? when you said you would want me even if i was more like,” a pause, “like an animal?”

you hum, cuddling further into his side, chasing the warmth of shared body heat. “of course. i kind of miss it, actually. there’s something weirdly attractive about you acting on just pure instinct, you know?”

he doesn’t know, actually. his entire life he’s been told to behave in a certain way - there were those who wanted him to be an animal, a violent killer with no human morals or thoughts to interfere with his orders, and those who told him he needed to reign in the feral aspects of his mutation, who called him a monster for the way he was born.

even amongst mutants he wasn’t always treated well. they had interesting abilities, beautiful things that belonged in movies or books or fairytale stories. they could control the elements and create things from practically nothing, while he only knew how to destroy. he brought chaos and bloodshed everywhere he went.

he was the kind of mutant that made people uncomfortable, the kind of mutant people saw as a freak of nature, a mistake. people like him were the reason mutants would never be accepted within society. he was too violent, too dangerous, too much of a threat.

they would fight for mutant rights, but turn right around and tell him to hide who he was, to be gentle or kind or better, whatever they decided that meant. because his nature made everyone uncomfortable.

and he understood that. because logan hated himself as much, if not more, than they all seemed to hate him. he’s always hated his instincts, hated how it made him feel, hated the way he felt that he couldn’t always control himself, hated what they made him.

so he’s always hidden parts of himself, never fully revealing who he is to anyone. in return, he finds people who love him, or at least who claim that they do, and the need for acceptance that presses down on his heart lessens into a bearable weight.

it was why he’d been so ashamed when he’d started to regain his memories, flashes of his past showing up in his dreams. for months he’d acted on his natural instincts with you, every lesson he’s ever been taught temporarily erased from his mind. he’d allowed himself to be wild, feral, a disgusting beast that doesn’t qualify as human. a monster.

and yet here you are, telling him that you find it attractive, smiling at him as if he hasn’t spent his entire life running from himself, being hunted down for his mutation for one reason or another, either to kill or to use. he’s a weapon to some, an uncontrollable animal to others, a mutant to be trained for a new purpose every time someone new finds him.

but to you, he’s just logan.

you don’t run or hide from what he is, you accept him with open arms. and that’s terrifying, the trust that you’ve placed in him, because all he’s ever done is hurt people, and you have absolutely no defences, nothing to protect you when he inevitably fucks up again.

he doesn’t think he’ll be able to let go of everything he’s taught himself just like that, let go of the control he’s spent centuries honing and perfecting to allow his instincts to crawl to the forefront of his mind. not after so long. but it physically hurts him to hold back at times, and the thought that maybe he’s finally found a place where he doesn’t need to deal with that pain, a place where he doesn’t need to hide - it makes the constant ache in his chest lessen just the slightest bit.

he’s still traumatised and plagued with horrible memories, anger still runs in his veins like blood, but all of that feels easier to cope with when he kisses and bites at your neck, scenting you, claiming you. and you let him, giggling with your hands in his hair.

your scent is happy, bright and warm like a sunny afternoon. he’s making you happy like this, the animal in him is making you happy like this.

taglist: @mystiquesvendetta @raeinyourdreams @babey-fruit-bat @meetmypointlessaddiction @kneelforloki @deaky-with-a-c @hypermarvellove @littlepeanut03 @the-ruler-of-death @aliengutzstuff @misscrissfemmefatale @mynamesstevenwithav @teaganthemorningstar @blackkatzz @leryg0 @fries11 @forksloree @i5uckersblog @dragovegogrimborn @quillycrow @melday0105 @just-a-little-cellist @scorpiosaintt @akasha157-blog @insanesosciopath @eridektbh @trickstergabriel69 @lord-bingus666

212 notes · View notes

koiiiji · 3 months ago

Text

random nsfw headcanons

tw ; nsfw, maybe a little ooc (esp with Jonggun, but idc we need to comfort him after shiro oni arc 🤓🙂‍↕️)

starring ; Jonggun, Gongseop, Jinseong

Jonggun is a really passionate lover. as soon as he fall in love he doesn’t let it go. he is fervent and a little too persistent. as he had you in his hands in his bed don’t expect him to let you go. he is passionate and ardent during sex. his hands wander over your body, from your ribs, sliding higher, forcing you let go of blankets, interlacing his fingers with yours, making his bigger palm press your hands into mattress. he catches your every sigh, moan and squeak, giving you sloppy kisses, so a thin thread of saliva connects your mouths. Jonggun is giving you your time to adjust to his rough hands, to his harsh touches — he is not used to soft and delicate skin like yours. his hands are for distraction and fights, so he would pause when he feels you flinch under his hands. he always starts from being gentleman like this, but it always ends up with both of you being cock and pussy drunk, already over enough orgasms but you two just can’t have enough of each other! Jonggun is passionate and warm lover, but god bless you if you are just one night stand…

Gongseop not only fake monk, but also pervert monk. you and him used to know each other for quite awhile. not like your relationship was the warmest, and you never was frequent guest in his temple, you still had your things to do, but every time you happened to be in his bed things became more and more hot. just like the last time, when you saddled his hips, and your own body was moving so smoothly, like snake, searching for more friction, pursuing only your own pleasure. your hands roving over his chest, running his hair through your fingers, lightly moving up to his neck and the back of his bald head, digging your claws into his skin, and hissing softly when his own hands squeezed your firm ass too tightly. Gongseop could try to convince people that he had changed since the first generation, but you could recognize the same nasty smirk when you nipped at his bottom lip in response to his slap. you could recognize it just by his look, a little pitiful, when his lips were open, and hoarse grunts spread throughout the room, and you pulled another orgasm out of him. yes, he could convince people that he had changed, as much as he wanted, but you knew him and his body better than you would like.

who is sexually concerned? Lee Jinseong. the amount of unreleased adrenaline and arousal after his box trainings are insane. and his hormones are not playing on his side too. he is ready to fuck almost 24/7, yet he have his romantic side so he desperately trying to take his time with preparing and making out, but his cock is aching so badly and his balls are just too heavy so he needs your help as soon as possible. you understand his state right? you won’t say no to this desperate puppy, right? but don’t tease him or think he is wrapped around your finger. sure Jinseong is gentle, but during the sex, especially when he is spurred on, he won’t tolerate your brat behavior, and will turn you on your tummy just to mercilessly pound you into his bed, murmuring dirty words (he will turn red if you remind him about this in the morning)

218 notes · View notes

criticallyinneedofadar · 2 months ago

Text

The Price of Compassion

Here is another part of A Flower Among Stone- about two years have passed since the first part of the story, elves court at a glacial pace since time moves differently for them. Disa is sick of it at this point

Pairing: Elrond x F!Reader

Warnings: None

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

The tension in Durin’s chambers was thick as stone, the fire in the hearth crackling softly, the only sound breaking the heavy silence. The glow of the flames cast long shadows against the carved stone walls, illuminating the rich tapestries and intricate carvings of Khazad dûm’s proud history. Yet tonight, no amount of warmth could soften the sharp edge in Durin’s voice.

Elrond stood across from him, tall and composed, though a trace of weariness marred his otherwise serene expression. “Durin, I ask this not for myself,” Elrond said, his voice measured, but firm. “The Mithril is necessary—not for greed or wealth, but for survival.”

Durin’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He stood tall, his broad shoulders tense, and beside him, Disa rested a steadying hand on his arm. She remained silent, but her presence was a quiet force, a reminder of Durin’s strength and the unity they shared. “Survival for whom?” Durin snapped, his voice a low rumble. “For the elves, aye, but what of us? How deep will you ask us to dig, Peredhel? Until we break stone? Until we break ourselves? My father has forbidden the mining of mithril- and for good reason”

You stood between them, feeling the weight of their words pressing on your heart. You had watched these two slowly rebuild their friendship over the last two years, and to see it falter over this, brought you a great deal of worry.

“Elrond,” you said softly, drawing his attention. “Durin has reason to be wary. The deeper they mine, the greater the danger. It would be wiser to leave decisions of stone to the dwarves. Surely, you must see this?”

He turned to you, his eyes softening as they met yours. “I do,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with regret. “But what I ask is not a whim. It is a matter of great need—for all of Middle-earth.”

Durin let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “Need or not, you have no right to come here and make demands. This mountain is our home, not a treasure to be plundered.”

You placed a gentle hand on Durin’s arm, feeling the tension beneath your fingers. “Durin,” you said, your voice steady, “Elrond is not your enemy. He does not ask lightly. Perhaps there is a way to balance caution and need.”

Durin sighed as he looked at you, grasping your hand in his, though the frustration remained. “You’ve lived among us long enough to know what mining deeper could mean.”

“I do,” you admitted, glancing between him and Elrond. “And I would never ask you to endanger your people. But I also know that sometimes the greatest strength is found in working together.”

Disa, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, her voice gentle but firm. “She speaks wisely, Durin. We are stronger with allies than without.”

Durin grunted, his expression conflicted, but he did not push her hand away. Instead, he turned his gaze back to Elrond. “And what will you do, Peredhel, if our mountain cracks? If our people suffer for this Mithril?”

Elrond met his gaze evenly, the weight of centuries in his eyes. “Then I will bear the responsibility, as will all my kin. I give you my word, no harm will come without answer.”

Durin narrowed his eyes but finally nodded, a reluctant but significant gesture. “We’ll talk more of this later,” he said gruffly. “But don’t think this is settled. Should I decide to search for more mithril, it will be an act of treason against my father.”

He strode from the room, leaving you and Elrond alone with Disa. She cast you a knowing look, her lips curling into a faint smile. “You’ve always had a way with words,” she said softly, before following Durin out.

When the door closed behind her, Elrond exhaled slowly, his posture relaxing. “You would take the side of the dwarves over your own kind?”

Though Elrond’s acquisition irritated you, you gave him a small smile. “I owe them much. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I spoke on your behalf as well if you recall.”

He studied you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “And that is why your counsel matters so greatly. You have the ear of the Prince of Khazad Dum. Surely you can persuade him-”

You raised your hand, silencing the elf before you “I must stop you there, Elrond. I refuse to be a pawn in your political games. Should you need a friend or an ear to listen, I will always be there. But, I will not put my friendship with Durin and his family at risk.”

“I owe you an apology,” Elrond said, grasping your hand in his, lightly brushing his thumb across your knuckles. “I should not have drawn you into this conflict. It was wrong of me to ask you to influence Durin. Your loyalty to him and his people is clear, and I had no right to press you.”

You offered him a small smile, stepping closer. “You were desperate. I understand that.” You folded your hands in front of you. “But I won’t choose sides—not when it comes to something that could cost so much.”

Elrond’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded. “And yet you always find a way to bring calm to the storm.” His voice softened further. “I admire that.”

A silence settled between you, not uncomfortable, but thoughtful. Then, after a moment, Elrond spoke again, his voice low and inviting. “Come with me to Eregion.”

You looked up sharply, startled by the sudden offer, though it wasn’t unfamiliar. “Elrond…”

He held up a hand, offering a faint smile. “I know. This is not the first time I’ve asked, and I know your answer before you give it. But I still wish for you to see what we are working on. To understand why Mithril is vital.”

You exhaled slowly, your heart tightening at the sincerity in his voice. “I am grateful for your invitation, truly. But my place is here. These halls have been my home for years now. I belong to the mountain, to the people who saved me.”

He took a step closer, his expression unreadable. “And you are happy here?”

You hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded. “I am.”

A flicker of something—was it disappointment?—crossed his face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He inclined his head gracefully. “Then I will not press you further. But if ever you change your mind, know that Eregion’s gates will always be open to you.”

You smiled softly, touched by the sentiment. “And if ever you find yourself weary of the open sky, you know where to find me.”

He chuckled at that, a quiet, warm sound. “I suppose I do.”

The fire crackled again, filling the space between you with its gentle warmth. Neither of you spoke for a long moment, the silence comfortable now, the weight of earlier tensions fully lifted. And as you stood there, watching the flames dance, you couldn’t help but wonder if the bond you had forged, so unexpected and enduring, was a gift from the mountain itself—or something far more fleeting.

Elrond left shortly after your conversation, leaving you standing in the dining room of Durin’s chambers.

You were about to retreat to your thoughts when the door creaked open, and Disa entered, her expression both curious and amused.

“Well,” she said, folding her arms as she leaned against the doorframe, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “Do I need to teach you about courting braids yet?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you sank into a chair near the hearth. “Elrond does not see me that way, Disa. And even if he did, he wouldn’t know what a courting braid is.”

Disa strode into the room, her presence as warm and steady as the mountain itself, and settled into the chair across from you. “Oh, is that what you think?” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “You underestimate him—and yourself.”

You tilted your head, a smile playing at your lips. “And what makes you so certain?”

She leaned forward, her voice low and conspiratorial. “Because it’s not Durin’s soft gaze and sweet words that keep drawing the herald of the High King back to Khazad-dûm.”

The laughter that bubbled up from you was genuine, though it carried a hint of embarrassment. “He comes for the Mithril, Disa.”

Disa waved a hand dismissively. “Mithril,” she scoffed. “He can talk all he likes about politics and need, but I see how he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching. And if you’re honest, so do you.”

You felt heat rising to your cheeks, and you turned your gaze toward the dying fire. “He’s an elf of high station. I’m just—”

“A treasure of Khazad-dûm,” Disa interrupted, her voice gentle now. “One who has given him more than you realize. You’ve shown him a world he would never have known without you. That’s more valuable than any Mithril.”

You shook your head, though her words stirred something deep inside you. “He has responsibilities, Disa. A life outside these mountains.”

“And yet he keeps returning.” Disa’s smile softened. “If that’s not worth a courting braid, I don’t know what is.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, though this time, the sound was softer, more thoughtful. “You’re incorrigible.”

She grinned, leaning back in her chair. “I’ve been called worse.”

You stood, patting Disa on her shoulder as you walked towards the door and offering a saccharine smile, “I thank you for your council, princess. I will take it under consideration.”

Disa snorted “Pfft. Princess. You sound more like a politician every day.”

You laughed as you walked out the door only to hear Disa shout behind you.

“Write to him at least! For Durin’s sake, it’s like watching two snails circle each other!”

#elrond x reader #elrond peredhel #the rings of power #fanfiction #elrond

125 notes · View notes

pedroscowgirl · 4 months ago

Text

Under the spotlight

hugh jackman x fem!reader

this is the last part of the series from my masterlist "a younger revelation"

warnings: smut! minors dni! p in v (wrap it up) , age gap (reader is in her 20s and hugh is 55), established relationship, creampie, public teasing, reader has hair, lmk if i forgot something!

wc: 7.9k

a/n: hi everyone thank you for waiting such a long time for this but i had a massive writers block for this series but i hope yall like it! and i also wanna thank everyone for the support and love that yall have given to this series <3 also my cat was sitting on my hands so i couldn't post this earlier

It’s one of those perfect mornings where time seems to stretch, slowing down to match the easy rhythm of your breathing. The bedroom is bathed in soft light, the pale autumn sun filtering through the curtains, casting a gentle golden hue over the room. Everything feels serene. The world outside is still, quiet. It’s just you and Hugh, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of a lazy Sunday.

You’re lying on your side, your face nestled into the pillow as you feel Hugh’s warm body pressed up against yours, his arm loosely draped around your waist. His slow, steady breathing sends a comforting warmth along your back, the soft rise and fall of his chest against you a grounding reminder that this—right here, right now—is real. It’s always the little things that get to you, the way his hand absentmindedly traces small circles on your hip, or the way his hair is still slightly mussed from sleep.

His phone is in his hand, the occasional soft click of the screen illuminating in the dim room. You glance over at him, curious but too comfortable to move much, letting the sheets envelop you both in a cocoon of comfort.

“Checking your fan messages already?” you tease, your voice still a little husky from sleep.

He smiles without looking up, that lazy, playful grin of his that always makes your stomach flip. “Something like that,” he murmurs, his deep voice still carrying the warmth of sleep.

You can feel him scrolling, his thumb moving over the screen in that familiar swipe, probably going through memes or replying to texts. But then you notice the distinct sound of the camera clicking. Your senses sharpen slightly, but you remain still, watching him through heavy eyelids.

“Hugh,” you say, a warning laced in your tone, but you don’t move.

“Hmm?” He turns his head towards you, trying—and failing—to look innocent, though that mischievous glint in his eyes betrays him.

Before you can ask, he’s already snapped a photo, quick and subtle. You barely register the motion until it’s done, and he’s grinning like a cat that’s just caught a bird.

“Did you just take a picture?” you ask, amused but also intrigued.

“Maybe,” he replies, smirking.

You roll over slightly to face him, your eyebrow arched, though you’re far too comfortable to pretend to be mad. “What are you planning?”

Instead of answering directly, he turns the phone screen towards you. It’s a photo of the two of you, or rather, a hint of you. The image is almost artful in its subtlety. The sheets are tangled, the lighting soft and warm, but it only shows a small part of your arm resting on the bed and a faint glimpse of Hugh’s face in the far corner, just enough of his tousled hair and stubble to be unmistakable. The focus is deliberately vague, making it impossible to tell who is with him unless you already knew.

“Are you really going to post that?” you ask, half laughing, half groaning at how much chaos this one image will stir up.

His grin widens as his thumb hovers over the “Post” button on Instagram. “Why not? Just a little tease.”

“A little tease?” you repeat, incredulous. “You know exactly what you’re doing. People are going to lose their minds.”

“That’s part of the fun,” he says with a chuckle, that deep, playful sound you can feel reverberate through his chest.

You watch as he writes out the caption, short and vague: “Sunday mornings be like... 😌 #justchilling”

It’s perfect, deliberately vague and enough to send the internet into a frenzy. No name, no tags, just an intimate glimpse into his life, and the fans will eat it up. You can already imagine the whirlwind of theories and speculation that will follow, fans dissecting every pixel, trying to figure out who he’s with, if this means he’s seeing someone, or if it’s just a clever trick to keep them guessing.

“You’re evil,” you say with a laugh, watching as he hits ‘post.’

The phone buzzes almost instantly with notifications, the comments flooding in before either of you can even react.

“See?” he says, pulling you closer to him, his voice laced with amusement. “They love it.”

You lean over, resting your head against his shoulder, unable to hide your own smile. The comments are exactly what you’d expected. Fans are already speculating—some convinced it’s just a casual, fun post, others absolutely certain this is proof Hugh is off the market. A few are even analyzing the details of the photo, trying to match up the bedspread to any previous photos he might’ve posted.

“Is Hugh teasing us or is this legit?!”

“Who’s the mystery person? 😍”

“This better be a joke, because I’m not ready for Hugh to be taken.”

“Okay, but does anyone else think this means something more?”

“Look at them go,” Hugh says, scrolling through the comments with a grin, clearly enjoying every second of it.

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you snuggle back into him. “You really love to mess with people, don’t you?”

“Only a little,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His tone shifts slightly, more sincere now as he adds, “But it’s also nice having something just for us, you know? Something that only we understand.”

Your heart swells at that, knowing what he means. The photo is out there, shared with millions, but the truth behind it—this quiet, peaceful moment between the two of you—belongs solely to you. No matter how much they speculate, how many wild theories they come up with, only the two of you know what it’s really like, tangled up in each other’s warmth on a lazy Sunday morning.

Hugh chuckles again as another flood of notifications rolls in. “Should we tell them the truth?” he asks, though you know he’s not serious.

You shake your head, smiling against his chest. “Nah, let them wonder.”

And with that, you settle back into the sheets, your hand resting lightly on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers. The world may be buzzing with questions, but in here, in this moment, it’s just you and Hugh, perfectly content to keep your little secret just a while longer.

As you scroll through the flood of comments on Hugh’s Instagram post, a sense of pride swells in your chest. Each message filled with speculation, jealousy, and admiration only adds to the thrill. You’re the one lying beside him, tangled in his arms, enjoying these quiet mornings. You’re the one he reaches for when the world isn’t looking. It might be a little evil, but there’s a certain satisfaction in watching the world try to guess, knowing that it’s you who gets to be with him, hold him, laugh with him, and experience the parts of him no one else gets to see.

You toss your phone aside before you turn back to Hugh. He’s still lounging on his back, his arm propped behind his head, his phone forgotten beside him. He’s only wearing his underwear, the fabric resting low on his hips, and the sight makes your pulse quicken. His sculpted chest rises and falls with his slow breaths, and your gaze drifts over the contours of his muscles, the familiar curve of his collarbone, the light dusting of hair across his chest. It’s impossible to resist him, especially when he’s like this, completely relaxed, utterly unguarded, and all yours.

Without a word, you shift, straddling his waist, your thighs bracketing his hips as you settle yourself on top of him. Hugh raises an eyebrow, his expression teasing as his hands instinctively come to rest on your hips.

“Well, hi there,” he says, his voice deep and playful. “What are you up to?”

You just smile down at him, your fingers already tracing slow patterns across his chest. The feel of his skin, warm and smooth beneath your touch, sends a ripple of heat through your body. You let your hands roam, sliding over the hard planes of his pecs, down the ridges of his abs, before coming back up again. You’re deliberately slow, savoring the way his breath catches, how his muscles tense ever so slightly under your caress.

“Nothing,” you say, the innocence in your voice a stark contrast to the way your hands are moving over him. You lean down, capturing his lips in a slow, lingering kiss, your fingers curling into his chest as his hands grip your waist a little tighter. His lips move against yours with an ease born from countless kisses, his stubble rough against your skin in a way that makes you want more, makes you crave the feeling of him against you.

Just as you pull back, your hips start to move, a subtle grind against him that makes a low groan escape his lips. The sound sends a shiver of pleasure through you, and you press down a little harder, feeling the way his body reacts to yours.

Hugh chuckles, though his voice is rougher now, laced with desire. “Hmm, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his hands sliding up your sides, holding you in place but not stopping your movements, “don’t forget, we have to go to that award show tonight.”

You roll your eyes, not breaking your rhythm. “Yes, tonight,” you echo, your voice soft but edged with playful defiance. You lean down, brushing your lips against his ear, letting your breath fan over his skin. “Or… are you planning on fucking me all day?” you whisper, the words a teasing challenge as your hips roll again, pressing against him just right.

A sharp breath escapes him at your words, and his grip on you tightens. His fingers dig into your hips, his body reacting to the way you’re moving against him, to the teasing promise in your voice. His eyes meet yours, dark and full of heat as he smirks.

“Maybe yes,” he answers, his voice low and husky, full of that teasing edge that always drives you wild.

His hands slide up your back, pulling you down to him as his lips find yours again. This time the kiss is deeper, more urgent. There’s nothing gentle about it now, nothing slow. His mouth moves against yours with a need that matches the way your body is pressing against his, the way your hips are grinding down on him, making both of you groan into each other’s mouths.

You can feel the tension building between you, the heat of his skin against yours, the way his body is responding to your every movement. The award show is hours away, and for now, the world outside doesn’t matter. Right now, it’s just you and Hugh, the only sound in the room the soft rustle of sheets and the quiet moans you’re both trying to keep from getting too loud.

You can’t help but grin against his lips, feeling the delicious pull of tension in the air, the way his hands are roaming your body with an increasing urgency. "Maybe we could skip the show," you murmur, your voice a little breathless as you pull back just enough to look into his eyes.

Hugh raises an eyebrow, his smile full of heat as his hands slide down your sides again, resting firmly on your hips. "Tempting," he admits, his voice rough and teasing, “but you’ll look so damn good tonight, I want everyone to see.”

His words send a thrill through you, the promise in them just as enticing as the feeling of him beneath you. But you can’t resist teasing him just a little more. “Well, if we’re going to make it,” you whisper, your lips brushing his ear again, “we better get started on something now, don’t you think?”

A low growl escapes him, his hands tightening on your waist as he rolls you over, pinning you beneath him with a playful grin that makes your heart race. "Oh, I think we’ve got time,” he says, his voice full of that confident, teasing charm that only he can pull off. “Plenty of time.”

Hugh’s grin is slow and wicked, a knowing glint in his eyes as he hovers over you, his hands planted on either side of your head, holding himself up effortlessly. His chest rises and falls in slow, measured breaths, but you can feel the tension in his muscles, the way his body is coiled with desire. His face is close to yours, and you can’t help but be mesmerized by the way his eyes roam over your features, taking in every detail like it’s the first time he’s seeing you like this.

“Plenty of time,” he repeats, his voice dropping even lower, a rough edge to it that makes heat pool in your stomach.

His lips brush against yours in a teasing ghost of a kiss, and you arch your back, instinctively pressing yourself closer to him. But he doesn’t kiss you right away; instead, his mouth hovers over yours, so close you can feel the warmth of his breath but not close enough to close the gap. It’s deliberate, and the way he holds back only makes you want him more.

“Hugh…” you breathe, your hands sliding up his arms, feeling the hard muscles beneath your fingers as you try to pull him closer, but he doesn’t budge. His smile grows, enjoying the way you’re squirming beneath him.

“What’s the rush?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your jaw, his stubble grazing your skin in a way that sends little sparks of pleasure racing through you. He kisses down your neck slowly, his mouth soft and warm, the contrast between his rough jaw and tender lips driving you wild. His hands, large and warm, skim down the sides of your body, tracing the curve of your waist, before coming to rest on your hips, holding you in place as his mouth continues to trail lower.

You can barely form a response, too focused on the way his touch ignites every nerve in your body. You arch into him, wanting more, needing more, but he keeps that slow, deliberate pace, savoring every inch of you.

“Hugh…” you say again, this time more pleading, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging gently.

He chuckles softly against your skin, his voice deep and thick with amusement. “Patience, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his breath hot against the sensitive skin of your collarbone. “We’ve got all day.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, and the low heat between your thighs intensifies, the idea of spending hours tangled up with him sending a flush of anticipation through your body. You tilt your head back, giving him more access, and he takes it, his mouth trailing along the curve of your neck, down to your chest.

He finally moves lower, his lips skimming over your breasts, just barely grazing the sensitive skin there before he shifts, pressing his body down against yours. You can feel the hard length of him through the thin fabric of his boxers, and the sensation makes your hips instinctively buck up against him, seeking friction.

Hugh groans, low and deep in his throat, his hands tightening on your hips as he rocks against you once, slow but firm, sending a bolt of pleasure straight through you.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your head tilting back as the heat between you builds.

You’re lost in the feel of him, the way he’s teasing you with slow, deliberate movements, making you want more, driving you closer to the edge with every roll of his hips. You press up against him again, your body moving in sync with his, seeking more, desperate for the friction that will send you both over the edge.

Hugh’s breathing is heavy now, and his restraint is starting to slip. You can see it in the way his muscles tense, the way his control wavers as he presses harder against you, his movements becoming less measured and more urgent. His lips find yours again, this time with no hesitation. He kisses you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he grinds against you, making you both groan into each other’s mouths.

The heat between you is electric, the room filled with nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths, the quiet moans you can’t hold back, and the soft rustle of the sheets beneath you. Every touch, every kiss, feels like it’s setting your skin on fire, the intensity of the moment wrapping around you both, pulling you in deeper.

As your hips move together, the friction building with each roll of your bodies, you can feel the tightness coiling in your core, the pressure mounting as you both get closer. Hugh pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he fights to keep control.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and full of awe, like he still can’t believe he has you here, like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. His words make your heart flutter, and you reach up, cupping his face in your hands, pulling him down into another kiss.

“Hugh…” you murmur against his lips, your voice breathless and desperate, “I need you.”

He groans, the sound deep and full of desire, and in one swift motion, he flips you both again, pulling you back on top of him, his hands guiding your hips as you go down on him. The shift in position only amplifies the friction, and you both moan as you start to move against him, your bodies perfectly in sync.

You’re lost in the moment, the world outside forgotten as you focus solely on him—on the way he feels beneath you, the way his hands grip your waist, urging you on. The award show, the fans, the comments it all fades away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped up in each other.

Hugh’s hands slide up your thighs, gripping them firmly as he gazes up at you, his eyes dark with want. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need.

You lean down, capturing his lips in another searing kiss as you move your hips down harder against him, and you can feel the tight coil of pleasure in your core begin to unravel.

Hugh came first and you felt his thick hot cum inside you and finished soon after. You got off him and laid next to him panting. “Let’s get ready” Hugh said, and you looked up at him with wide eyes. “Damn already?” you asked and he laughed “next time you should go to the gym with me.” “no thanks, I’d rather work out like this” you replied and laid back down as Hugh got up to get ready.

As you slip into your stunning black gown, a mix of nerves and excitement stirs within you. The dress is a masterpiece: form-fitting with a low, open back that grazes the curve of your spine, the fabric smooth and sleek against your skin. Delicate gold accents line the edges of the dress, shimmering subtly as you move. The slit, daringly high, runs up the side of your thigh, revealing just enough skin to turn heads without being too provocative. It’s a statement dress, designed to be remembered.

As you stand in front of the mirror, the reality of the evening sinks in. Tonight, you’ll be walking beside Hugh, the world’s eyes watching every step you take, every gesture, every look exchanged between you two. And it isn’t just any event it’s the first time you’ll be seen in public as his girlfriend.

The age difference has always been something you and Hugh took in stride privately, but you know it will draw attention tonight. Thirty years younger than him, you can already picture the headlines, the gossip columns buzzing with whispers. You feel your heart rate quicken, the nerves tightening in your stomach as you imagine what people might say.

But then, you remember the way Hugh looks at you, like you’re the only person in the room, the only one who matters. That thought alone is enough to steady your breathing, even as you glance at the clock and realize it’s almost time to leave.

You decide, at the last minute, to skip wearing any underwear beneath the gown. It’s an impulsive decision, one spurred on by the teasing and intimacy you shared earlier. A secret only the two of you will know about as you face the cameras, the flashing lights, and the scrutiny. The thought of telling him right in the middle of the chaos makes your lips curl into a sly smile. You know how much it will drive him crazy, especially with so many eyes watching.

By the time you’re finished with your makeup and hair, sleek waves that cascade over your shoulders, highlighting the open back of your dress, you hear a knock at the door. Your heart skips a beat, and you feel that familiar thrill of anticipation.

Hugh stands at the doorway, looking effortlessly handsome in his tailored black tuxedo. The suit fits him perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and lean frame, the crisp white shirt beneath highlighting the strong lines of his chest. His hair is slightly tousled, adding to his rugged charm, and the smoldering look in his eyes when he sees you makes your pulse race.

“Wow,” he murmurs, taking a step toward you, his gaze sweeping over you with obvious admiration. “You look… breathtaking.”

You blush, biting your lip as you take him in. “You don’t look too bad yourself,” you reply, your voice soft but playful.

Hugh steps closer, his hands gently resting on your waist as he pulls you into a slow kiss. His lips are warm, soft, lingering just long enough to make you wish you had more time before facing the world outside. But the car is waiting, and the event beckons.

As you break apart, he looks at you with a mix of pride and affection, sensing the nerves beneath your calm exterior. “You ready?” he asks, his tone gentle but encouraging.

You nod, though your heart pounds a little faster with each passing second. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The ride to the event is filled with quiet conversation and stolen glances, the two of you sitting close in the backseat of the car. Hugh’s hand rests on your thigh, a reassuring presence, his thumb tracing soft circles on your skin as you stare out the window, watching the city lights blur by.

As you get closer to the venue, you can already see the flash of cameras in the distance, hear the excited murmur of the crowd gathered around the red carpet. Your heart hammers in your chest, the enormity of the night fully hitting you as the car pulls up to the entrance.

This is it.

When the door opens, Hugh steps out first, offering you his hand as he helps you out of the car. The second your heels touch the pavement, the cameras go wild, the sound of flashing shutters and photographers shouting Hugh’s name filling the air. The energy is electric, overwhelming, and for a brief moment, the nerves spike.

Hugh’s arm slides around your waist, pulling you close as you walk toward the carpet together. His touch is grounding, and with him by your side, you feel a surge of confidence. But as you near the photographers, your heart races for an entirely different reason.

Now is the moment.

You lean in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear above the chaos. “By the way, I’m not wearing any underwear.”

You feel Hugh tense, just slightly, his fingers tightening on your waist as your words register. His eyes widen for a split second, and he gives you a look, one filled with surprise, disbelief, and the unmistakable spark of desire. You can practically hear the breath he sucks in, though he’s quick to compose himself, his expression transforming into a smile for the cameras.

The photographers call out his name, but Hugh’s gaze is fixed on you, a smoldering heat in his eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago. His smile, now, is different—darker, knowing.

“You’re going to drive me insane,” he murmurs under his breath, his voice low and rough, only for you to hear. The way he says it, though, makes your stomach flip with excitement.

You let out a soft laugh, your hand resting lightly on his chest as the two of you pause for photos. The cameras continue to flash, capturing every moment, the way his hand rests protectively on the small of your back, the way your bodies fit perfectly together. But only you can feel the tension building between you, the unspoken thrill of the secret you share.

“Now how am I supposed to focus tonight, knowing that?” Hugh whispers again, his lips barely moving as he smiles for the cameras. His voice is laced with frustration and amusement, but there’s no mistaking the heat behind his words.

You glance up at him, your own smile playful. “You’ll just have to manage,” you tease, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anticipation.

The rest of the red carpet feels like a whirlwind. Hugh keeps you close, his arm never leaving your waist, guiding you through the chaos of photographers, reporters, and flashing lights. You can feel the eyes of the world on you, people whispering, wondering, speculating about who you are, about the age difference, about how you landed the heart of one of Hollywood’s biggest stars. But all of that melts away, because in these moments, it’s just you and Hugh. The world may be watching, but your secret, the way his hand grips your waist just a little tighter whenever you move, keeps your focus on him.

As you pose together for one final round of photos before heading into the venue, you lean in once more, your voice soft but filled with mischief. “Just think of tonight’s after-party.”

Hugh’s eyes darken, a low chuckle escaping him. “You’re impossible,” he whispers, but there’s no denying the glint of excitement in his eyes.

“Let’s get through this first,” he adds, his voice filled with both a promise and the hint of a challenge, “and then we’ll see what happens.”

As you both step into the venue, the chaos of the red carpet slowly fades behind you. The sound of the cameras, the shouts from fans, and the flashing lights are replaced by the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of champagne glasses. The air inside the grand ballroom is cool, a stark contrast to the heat of the moment you just shared outside.

But even here, in the elegant, dimly lit atmosphere of the award show, you can feel the weight of the attention. People glance in your direction, some with curiosity, others with envy, and a few with knowing looks as they connect the dots. You keep your head high, leaning into Hugh's side as he guides you through the crowd with a quiet confidence, his hand still resting firmly on your waist.

The room is filled with some of Hollywood’s biggest names—actors, directors, producers, all dressed in their finest, mingling and laughing beneath the glittering chandeliers. The soft glow of the lights reflects off the gold accents of your dress, casting a warm shimmer over your skin. You’re hyperaware of everything—how closely Hugh’s body is pressed to yours, how his thumb occasionally rubs soothing circles on your lower back, as if reminding you that he’s right there, with you.

Despite the luxurious surroundings, your mind keeps drifting back to the moment on the red carpet—the way Hugh’s breath hitched when you told him your secret, the heat that flared between you in the middle of all that chaos. You feel a flush rise in your cheeks, your pulse quickening as you remember the dark look in his eyes, the promise that lingered in the air between you.

But now, the evening stretches before you, full of formalities, speeches, and socializing. Hugh stops to talk to a few colleagues, introducing you with pride in his voice, his arm never leaving you. You smile politely, exchanging pleasantries, though part of you is still buzzing from the thrill of what’s to come later.

At one point, as you make your way toward your table, Hugh leans in close, his lips brushing your ear in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate, “you’re making it very hard for me to focus on anything tonight.”

You bite your lip, your heart skipping a beat as you look up at him, your eyes meeting his. “Am I?” you reply innocently, though the teasing glint in your eyes betrays you.

Hugh chuckles softly, the sound deep and rich. “You know exactly what you’re doing.” His hand slides down your back, resting just above the curve of your hip, his touch firm and possessive. “But two can play at that game.”

Before you can respond, the lights dim, signaling that the show is about to begin. You’re led to your seats, a prime spot near the front, surrounded by other actors and filmmakers. The anticipation in the room builds as the host takes the stage, the crowd settling into their seats for the start of the ceremony.

You try to focus on the event, on the speeches and awards being presented, but every time Hugh’s fingers brush against your skin, your thoughts wander. The subtle, almost imperceptible way he keeps his hand on your thigh under the table, his thumb occasionally tracing light patterns, has your heart racing in ways that have nothing to do with the glamorous evening. You shift slightly in your seat, the smooth fabric of your dress sliding against your bare skin, a reminder of the secret only the two of you share.

Hugh’s attention is divided between the stage and you, and you can feel the tension building, the way his hand lingers just a moment too long, his grip tightening when he thinks no one is watching. He leans over every now and then, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers little comments about the show, but there’s always an underlying edge to his voice, a reminder that he’s still thinking about what you told him earlier.

As the ceremony continues, you feel your own excitement rising, fueled not just by the atmosphere but by the knowledge that, once the formalities are over, the two of you will be alone again. Every glance Hugh gives you, every soft touch, is a promise of what’s to come. And each time his eyes meet yours, you can see the fire smoldering there, barely contained.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the ceremony comes to a close. The applause rings out as the final award is presented, and the crowd begins to rise from their seats, conversations buzzing as people prepare to head to the after-parties or return home.

Hugh turns to you, his eyes dark with desire, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. “How are you holding up?” he asks, his voice low and filled with meaning.

You meet his gaze, feeling the anticipation build between you. “Barely,” you whisper, your pulse quickening as you realize the moment you’ve been waiting for all night is finally here.

Hugh’s hand slides up your thigh, a slow, deliberate movement that has you sucking in a breath. His touch is warm, his fingers firm as they graze the sensitive skin just below the high slit of your dress. “Good,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks. “Because I’ve been thinking about you all night.”

The weight of his words sends a shiver through you, your heart pounding in your chest as he pulls back slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. The room around you seems to blur, the noise of the crowd fading into the background as the two of you stand, moving toward the exit together.

The moment you’re alone in the car, away from the prying eyes of the cameras and the crowd, the atmosphere between you shifts. The tension that’s been simmering all night finally snaps, and Hugh wastes no time, pulling you into his arms with a hunger that takes your breath away. His lips crash against yours, hot and insistent, his hands roaming over your body in a way that makes your head spin.

You gasp against his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair as you return the kiss with equal fervor. The car ride is a blur of heated touches and stolen breaths, your bodies pressed together as if you can’t get close enough.

When the car finally pulls up to your hotel, Hugh doesn’t even wait for the driver to open the door before he’s leading you inside, his hand tight around yours as he pulls you through the lobby and up toward the elevator.

The second the elevator doors close behind you, Hugh’s hands are on you again, his lips trailing down your neck as his fingers trace the line of your dress, teasing the edge of the fabric. “You’re going to pay for that little stunt tonight,” he growls against your skin, his voice thick with desire.

You can only manage a breathless laugh as your body presses against his, your heart racing with anticipation for what’s to come. “I hope so.”

As the elevator doors open, you barely make it down the hall before Hugh has you pressed against the door of your suite.

The door clicks shut behind you, the sound barely registering over the rush of blood in your ears. Hugh’s hands are on you in an instant, his fingers gripping your waist as he spins you around and presses your back against the cool wall. The contrast between the cold surface and the heat radiating off his body sends a shiver down your spine, igniting every nerve ending.

His lips crash into yours, all urgency and hunger. The kiss is deeper this time, more intense, as if the restraint he’s shown throughout the night is finally breaking apart. You moan softly into his mouth, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the fabric of his tuxedo. You tug impatiently at his jacket, and Hugh pulls back just long enough to shrug it off and toss it aside.

“I’ve been waiting all night to do this,” he growls, his voice low and rough, filled with a kind of need that makes your stomach tighten with anticipation. His hands move to your hips, his thumbs brushing the sensitive skin where the slit of your dress reveals the curve of your thigh. His touch is teasing, deliberate, making you ache for more.

You bite your lip, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, your chest rising and falling rapidly as the tension between you simmers to a boiling point. “Then stop waiting,” you whisper, your voice breathless, a challenge laced in your words.

Hugh’s eyes darken with desire, and in one swift motion, his hands are on the zipper of your dress, pulling it down with a smooth, deliberate motion. The fabric slides down your body, pooling at your feet, leaving you standing there in nothing but your heels, completely bare beneath the gown.

He pauses for a moment, his gaze sweeping over you, taking in every inch of your exposed skin. The intensity of his stare sends a flush of heat through your body, and you can see the way his jaw clenches, how hard he’s trying to keep himself in check.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice thick with admiration and desire. His hand reaches out, fingers brushing lightly over your bare waist, trailing up toward your breast, his touch slow and reverent, as if he’s savoring every second.

The sensation of his hands on you, after hours of anticipation, is almost too much to bear. You arch into his touch, your skin tingling where his fingers graze, every nerve on fire. “Hugh…” you breathe out, your voice a soft plea.

His eyes flicker up to meet yours, and in that moment, any pretense of restraint vanishes. Hugh’s hands are suddenly everywhere, on your waist, sliding down to grip your hips, pulling you closer until your bodies are pressed tightly together. His mouth moves to your neck, lips tracing a hot, searing path along your throat as his hands continue to roam over your bare skin, igniting a trail of heat wherever he touches.

You gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as you tilt your head back, giving him more access. The feel of his lips, his hands, the sheer weight of his body against yours, is overwhelming in the best possible way. Every touch, every kiss, every breath makes your heart race faster, the heat between you building with every passing second.

Hugh’s mouth moves lower, his lips skimming over your collarbone before trailing down to your chest. His hands cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that makes you moan softly, your body arching into his touch. He groans against your skin, clearly as affected as you are, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as he worships every inch of you.

But it isn’t enough, not for you, not after the teasing and the buildup. You need more.

Your hands move to the front of his pants, your fingers deftly unbuttoning them as you tug at the waistband. Hugh pulls back just enough to shrug out of his shirt, his muscles flexing as he does, and you can’t help but admire the sight of him, the sharp lines of his abs, the broad expanse of his chest, the way his body seems to glow under the soft lighting of the room.

But you don’t have time to dwell on the sight for long, because the second his pants are off, Hugh pulls you into his arms again, lifting you effortlessly as your legs wrap around his waist. The feel of his skin against yours, the warmth and strength of him surrounding you, sends a jolt of electricity through your body.

He carries you to the bed, laying you down with surprising gentleness despite the urgency burning between you. His body hovers over yours, his eyes locked on yours.

Hugh lowers himself onto you, his mouth claiming yours once again, and this time the kiss is slower, deeper, as if he’s savoring the feel of your lips against his. His hands roam over your body, caressing, exploring, while your own hands trail down his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath your fingers.

You can feel the heat radiating off him, the tension in his body as he presses himself against you. Every movement, every touch is deliberate, driving you both closer to the edge with a slow, agonizing precision.

“Hugh, please,” you gasp, your body aching for more, the need building to an unbearable level.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes dark and intense as he looks down at you. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers, his voice rough and filled with desire, his breath hot against your skin.

You meet his gaze, your chest heaving with each ragged breath. “I want you,again”

That’s all it takes. Hugh’s restraint snaps, and he captures your lips in a searing kiss as he finally gives you what you’ve been aching for all night.

Hugh’s fingers slide between your thighs with a deliberate, teasing slowness, the pads of his fingers brushing lightly over your already soaked core. The anticipation that had built up all night is now electric, and you arch into his touch, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he pushes one finger inside you, then another. He moves with expert precision, finding that sensitive spot deep inside you almost immediately, his fingers curling in a way that sends a shockwave of pleasure through your entire body.

“Oh, Hugh…” you moan, your hands gripping his shoulders as your body reacts to the overwhelming sensations. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow, steady circles while his fingers work you deeper, hitting that perfect spot that has you seeing stars. Each thrust of his hand is deliberate, measured, but relentless, building your pleasure in layers, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“You’re so wet for me,” Hugh growls, his voice low and rough with desire as he watches you fall apart beneath him. “I’ve been thinking about this all night… watching you in that dress, knowing no one else knew what I was going to do to you.”

His words make your pulse quicken, the heat between your thighs intensifying with every thrust of his fingers. You can’t speak, can’t form a coherent thought as pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your belly. All you can do is cling to him, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts as your body races toward its peak.

Hugh’s fingers press deeper, and he hits that spot again, harder this time. The sensation is overwhelming, and your body reacts instinctively, arching into his touch as a rush of pleasure explodes through you. You cry out, your hips bucking against his hand as you come, the intensity of it stealing the breath from your lungs. Your entire body trembles, your muscles tightening around his fingers as he rides you through the wave, his eyes locked on yours, dark and intense.

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do that since the award show,” Hugh groans, his voice thick with desire as he pulls his fingers from you, glistening with your release.

You’re still catching your breath, your body shaking from the aftermath of your orgasm, but his words send a new thrill through you. “Why didn’t you?” you ask, your voice breathless, teasing, as your hands slide down his chest, eager for more.

Hugh leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Next time, baby girl.”

“Promise?” you ask again, your voice barely a whisper, your eyes searching his, a playful challenge in your gaze.

His lips crash against yours in a deep, possessive kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth with a heat that reignites the fire between you. “Promise,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot and heavy with the promise of what’s to come.

Before you can respond, Hugh shifts, positioning himself between your thighs, his cock pressing against your entrance. You’re still sensitive, your body still humming from your first orgasm, but the feel of him against you sends a fresh wave of arousal surging through your veins. He teases you for a moment, rubbing himself along your slick folds, making you squirm beneath him, desperate for more.

“Hugh… please…” you whimper, your voice a desperate plea as your hips rise to meet him, seeking the release you already crave again.

Hugh groans softly, the sound deep and guttural, as he finally thrusts into you with one smooth, powerful stroke. You gasp, your body arching into his as he fills you completely, stretching you in a way that feels both overwhelming and perfect. He pauses for a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your lips as he lets you adjust to the feel of him inside you.

“You feel so fucking good,” he breathes, his voice filled with raw, unfiltered desire. His hips pull back slowly, and then he thrusts into you again, harder this time, and you cry out, your fingers digging into his shoulders as the pleasure crashes over you in waves.

Hugh sets a brutal pace, each thrust deep and forceful, driving into you with a precision that has you gasping for air. Your body responds instinctively, your hips rising to meet his with every powerful movement, your nails scraping down his back as you cling to him for dear life. The bed shakes beneath you with the force of his thrusts, and you find yourself gripping the headboard, steadying yourself so you don’t hit your head against the bedframe.

“Hugh… oh God…” you gasp, your voice ragged and breathless as he fucks you harder, his body pressing you deeper into the mattress with every thrust. The sounds of skin against skin, of your shared moans and gasps, fill the room, mingling with the raw heat of your bodies moving in perfect rhythm.

His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he pounds into you, his pace unrelenting, driving you closer and closer to the edge once again. The pressure builds inside you, faster and more intense this time, and you know you won’t last long. Every thrust pushes you higher, every movement driving you deeper into the overwhelming pleasure that threatens to consume you entirely.

Hugh’s head dips down, his mouth finding the soft spot on your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he groans against you. “Come for me, baby,” he growls, his voice thick with lust as his hips slam into yours with unyielding force. “I want to feel you come around me.”

His words are all it takes to send you spiralling over the edge. Your body tenses, your muscles tightening around him as a powerful orgasm crashes over you, your vision blurring as you cry out his name. Your body trembles beneath him, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you cling to him, lost in the overwhelming pleasure that consumes you completely.

Hugh groans loudly, his hips stuttering as he follows you over the edge, his body shuddering as he comes deep inside you. The sensation of him filling you sends another shiver down your spine, your body still trembling from the intensity of your release. He collapses on top of you, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath, his body warm and heavy against yours.

For a long moment, the two of you lay there, your bodies still entwined, your breaths coming in short, ragged bursts. The room is quiet now, save for the sound of your heartbeats, still racing from the intensity of it all.

Hugh rolls onto his back, pulling you into his arms, and you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as it slowly returns to normal. His fingers trail lightly up and down your arm, a soft, soothing touch that makes you feel safe, cherished.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers, his voice soft, filled with a mix of awe and affection.

You smile, your lips brushing lightly against his skin as you snuggle closer. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tease, your voice playful but warm.

Hugh chuckles softly, his chest rumbling beneath your cheek. “I’m serious,” he murmurs, his hand gently tilting your chin up so you can meet his gaze. “You’re everything.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your heart swell, and you can’t help but smile, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I could say the same about you.”

For the first time that night, the world feels perfectly still, as if nothing else exists outside this moment. It’s just you and Hugh, wrapped up in each other, the intensity of your connection stronger than ever. And as you lay there in his arms, you realize that no matter what happens outside this room, no matter what the world says, what the headlines write, you’ve found something real, something worth holding onto.

taglist (dm if u wanna be added): @ermlady @elloredef @haytchee @melaninjoys @megangovier @blue2jay @hearts4suri @narniabusinessbitch @jadenlyday25 @getmeoutofhell @rockytheluver @stark-ironman @shellbilee @kurcoswife @ru-kru @corvusmorte @devilslittlehelper @theoraekenslover

#hugh jackman #hugh jackman smut #wolverine smut #wolverine #marvel smut #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #wolverine and deadpool

141 notes · View notes

lilmisshellfireswritingblog · 30 days ago

Text

The Prophecy Chapter 2: Even Statues Crumble

Summary: Aurelia prepares for her wedding to Lucius Verus and marries him to save her own life.

A/N: Thank you for reading this little idea of mine. It literally came to me as I was listening to The Prophecy in the car on the way to work. If you have any requests as to like blurbs or one shots that happen within this universe, please let me know. I also don't do tag lists but, I appreciate the support! Warnings: 18+, arranged marriage, forced marriage, talks of death, second guessing, weddings, Geta being an a-hole, use of flashbacks, talking about wanting to die, emotions., and as always, let me know if I missed any.

Flashbacks are labeled as such.

Separator banner credit to: sweetmelodygraphics.

Aurelia’s gaze flitted to the reflection of the gown on the bed, her heart sinking. The fabric seemed to mock her. Every thread, every seam, a reminder of the future she never wanted. She felt suffocated by her obligations—by the weight of what was expected of her. Her father, her mother, the Senate, the people—they had all decided for her. They had all played their parts in crafting her destiny, and now she was nothing more than a pawn in a game of politics.

The door opened behind her with a soft creak, but she didn’t turn. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this—not tonight. Not before the wedding.

Her servant, Flavia, stepped in cautiously, her voice gentle as she spoke. "Your Highness, everything is prepared. The gown... the feast… everything is ready for tomorrow.."

Aurelia stood still for a long moment, her hands gripping the windowsill. The breeze from the open window fluttered her hair around her face, but she didn’t feel the coolness of it. She barely felt anything at all. She was numb.

“Aurelia?” Flavia’s voice was concerned now, soft but insistent.

Aurelia slowly turned toward her, her face unreadable, her eyes tired but defiant. “You were right to be excited for me,” she said bitterly, her words sharper than she intended. "But I’m not." She felt the sting of tears rising in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She would not cry in front of anyone—not now.

Flavia hesitated, her brow furrowing with worry. “You don’t have to go through with this. You know that, right? You can—”

“No,” Aurelia interrupted sharply, stepping away from the window, her voice suddenly hoarse. “I have no choice. I am to be the Emperor’s wife, whether I want to be or not. It’s this or die.”

Her words cut through the air, thick with the weight of resignation. She hated them. She hated the fact that her life was no longer hers to control. She had no say in who she married, no say in what her future would be. Her marriage to Geta had been forced upon her, too, but at least she had known him, had grown accustomed to his cruelty. This marriage—this union with Lucius Verus—felt like a strange cruelty of its own.

Flavia opened her mouth to protest again, but Aurelia cut her off with a soft, bitter laugh.

“You don’t understand, Flavia,” she whispered, her hands trembling at her sides. “Geta and Caracalla are dead. The empire is in the hands of men who would never think twice about tearing me apart. I am a puppet. A trophy wife. Tomorrow, I’ll stand before the Senate, and they’ll pretend to care, while they all gawk at the new Empress. And Lucius…” She paused, her voice thick with disdain, “He doesn’t want me. He’s just another part of the game. Another ruler who’ll sit beside me in the throne room and we’ll both pretend to love each other.”

Flavia moved closer, placing a gentle hand on Aurelia’s arm. “He’s not like the others, Aurelia. Lucius—he’s different. He was a gladiator. He knows what it means to fight, to survive. He’s not like the men who’ve ruled before.”

Aurelia’s lips trembled at the words. She wanted to believe her. She wanted to believe that Lucius, this gladiator-turned-emperor, was different. That maybe, through some strange twist of fate, he might understand her pain. But the truth was more complicated than that.

She stepped away from Flavia’s touch, pacing slowly toward the edge of the room. Her fingers lightly brushed against the fabric of the wedding gown once more, the weight of it pulling her down. "I don’t want to marry him,” she said quietly, more to herself than anyone else. “I don’t want this life. I don’t want any of it."

The words hung in the air, thick with the despair she had not allowed herself to feel until now. There was a part of her, a small, fragile part, that wanted to scream at the heavens. Why me? Why is it always me who has to bear the weight of the empire’s cruelty?

Flavia, sensing the depth of her distress, approached her once more, her voice softer this time, filled with empathy. "You don’t have to marry him if you don’t want to. You are strong, Aurelia. You can walk away from this. There are other ways."

Aurelia looked at her, her eyes clouded with pain. “What other ways, Flavia? Do you think the Senate would let me walk away? Do you think I could just... disappear?” Her voice cracked, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, her composure shattered. "I am nothing but a political pawn in their game. If I don't marry Lucius, I’ll be executed. They’ll kill me and then they’ll put someone else on the throne."

Flavia’s heart broke at the words, but she stood still, not knowing how to comfort her. There was no escape, not really. Not for Aurelia. Not for the woman who had already lost everything.

“I have nothing,” Aurelia whispered, her voice hollow. “Nothing left. Nothing to give. Nothing to hope for. This marriage... this wedding... it’s all a lie.”

Tears filled Aurelia’s eyes, but she quickly wiped them away, turning away from Flavia. “I wish I could die before tomorrow. Just to be free of all of this.”

Flavia’s breath hitched, panic rising in her chest. She grabbed Aurelia by the shoulders, turning her to face her. “Don’t say that, Aurelia. Don’t even think it! You’re strong. You have so much to live for.”

Aurelia pulled away gently, her voice strained and broken. “What do I have to live for? This empire? This crown?” She gestured helplessly to the room, to the gown she would wear tomorrow, to the life that awaited her. “I never asked for any of this. I didn’t want this.”

She sank into a chair, her head buried in her hands as she trembled. Flavia stood helplessly nearby, watching the woman she had served for so long unravel before her eyes.

And for a moment, the silence between them was unbearable, filled only with the weight of unspoken sorrow.

Aurelia’s thoughts were a whirl of darkness and pain but in the quiet, with the wedding gown looming in the distance, she knew—deep down—that she had to keep moving forward, whether she wanted to or not.

It was marriage or death.

For tomorrow, whether she accepted it or not, she would marry Lucius Verus and she would be Empress once more.

Flashback ~ Before Her Marriage to Geta

The night before her wedding to Emperor Geta, Aurelia lay in her bed, the cool sheets tangled around her legs, but it was the storm in her mind that kept her awake. She stared up at the high, vaulted ceiling, the shadows of the room stretching long and dark, as if the very walls were closing in on her.

She had barely eaten at dinner. She had hardly spoken. The weight of the marriage, of the future that awaited her, hung like a shroud. Tomorrow, she would walk down the aisle in a gown of white and gold, and before the Senate and the people of Rome, she would become Empress Aurelia, the wife of a man she barely knew, a man she had been told to marry to secure her family's place in the empire.

But Aurelia did not want this. Not this life. Not with him. She never wanted the titles or the riches.

A thousand thoughts raced through her mind, but one was clear: she could not go through with it. She would not. If there was any way to escape, to avoid this fate, she would find it. She had to.

She slipped out of bed, her bare feet cold against the marble floor. She had worn the finest silken gown, but now she felt it like a weight—a symbol of the chains that bound her to this life she had not chosen. Moving quickly, she crept to the door, her heart hammering in her chest. The guards would be outside, she knew. They always were. But what if she could slip past them? What if she could leave the palace unnoticed?

Aurelia moved silently through the darkened corridors, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she pressed herself into the shadows, listening carefully for any signs of movement. The stone walls of the palace seemed oppressive in their silence, like the very architecture was conspiring against her.

She reached the door that led to the garden, the place where she used to play as a child, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like a distant memory. The scent of roses filled the air, the sound of the night insects buzzing faintly in the distance. She stepped outside, the cool night air hitting her skin, and felt a fleeting sense of freedom.

But just as she began to move toward the edge of the gardens, a voice sliced through the silence.

“Aurelia.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. She froze. Slowly, she turned to find Marcus Cassius, her father, standing in the shadows, his face unreadable but stern. He had been watching her. Of course he had. The guards would never have let her slip by without reporting it.

“You should be in bed,” he said, his voice soft but firm, like the press of a blade against her throat.

“I—” Aurelia began, but her words faltered. She had no excuse. No lie would work.

She was tired of lying.

“I can’t do this, Father,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I can’t marry him. I can’t marry Geta.”

Marcus took a slow step forward, his face illuminated by the moonlight, and Aurelia saw the flicker of something in his eyes—concern, perhaps, or disappointment. It was hard to tell. His features were always so controlled.

“I know this isn’t what you want,” he said, his tone gentle, but there was an undercurrent of something darker, something unyielding. “But it is what you must do.”

Aurelia’s chest tightened, her breath coming faster as the weight of his words crushed her. “I don’t care about what I must do!” she snapped, her voice rising. “I care about what I want, what I need. And I need to be free. Free from this. I don’t belong with Geta. I don’t love him. How can you ask me to marry a man I barely know, someone I’ve heard only whispers of? How can you force me into this life?”

Her father’s eyes softened, but the hardness in his face never wavered. “It’s not about love, Aurelia,” he said, his voice almost too calm. “This is about Rome. This is about securing the future of our family. Your marriage to Geta will ensure that we remain in power, that our name remains in the annals of history. You were born to be a part of this.”

Aurelia stepped back, shaking her head in disbelief. “I never asked for this. You’ve always made choices for me, Father, but I’m not a child anymore. I’m not some pawn for you to place in a marriage bed just to secure alliances. I want my own life. I want to choose my own path.”

Marcus’s gaze hardened, his jaw tightening. “You’ve never had a choice, Aurelia. You’ve always known that. The empire does not offer choice to women like you. You are a Cassia, and that means you have a duty. Do you think your mother didn’t know this when she married me? Do you think she didn’t understand that duty? That she didn’t make sacrifices for it?”

Aurelia recoiled, her breath catching in her throat. She had never heard her father speak of her mother with such coldness. It was as if the warmth of her mother’s memory—of her kindness and devotion—was gone, swept away by the weight of duty and power.

“I don’t want to be like her,” Aurelia said, her voice barely above a whisper, her hands trembling at her sides. “I don’t want to give up everything for the empire. I don’t want to be controlled.”

Her father’s expression faltered, just for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. “You have no choice. Neither does Geta. The Senate has already approved this marriage. The people will expect it. If you do not comply, there will be consequences for us both.”

Aurelia’s world felt like it was collapsing around her. The walls of the palace, the stone and marble, seemed to close in on her, suffocating her. “I don’t care about their consequences!” she cried, her voice breaking, but even as she said it, she knew she was lying. She cared about the consequences—she cared deeply. A refusal would mean disgrace, dishonor, and ruin for her family. And for herself.

“You must go through with it,” Marcus said quietly, his voice final. “You will meet Geta tomorrow. You will marry him. And you will do it for Rome. For us. For your future.”

Aurelia’s knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the stone bench in the garden, her hands pressing against her face. The tears she had been holding back for so long finally spilled over, and for the first time in years, she felt utterly, completely powerless.

Her father’s gaze lingered on her, but there was no sympathy in it. Only the cold, unyielding expectation of a Roman nobleman.

“You will learn to accept it,” he said quietly, before turning and walking back toward the palace.

Aurelia was left alone, the sound of his footsteps fading as the weight of her reality set in. She could run. She could scream. But she knew, deep down, that there was no escape. Not for her. Not from the life her father had chosen for her.

Aurelia stood in front of the full-length mirror, her reflection hazy in the soft light of the candle-lit chamber. Her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted the silk robe that clung to her skin. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of fabric and the occasional clink of jewelry being prepared by her attendants. The noise from outside—laughter, music, the murmur of the Senate gathering for the ceremony—seemed distant, almost foreign to her in this moment of solitude.

Her wedding day. It should have been a day of joy, of hope for a future that could be built in the light of love and partnership. But for her, it felt like the closing of a door she had never intended to open.

The door to the chamber opened slowly, and one of her handmaidens entered, holding the delicate wedding gown in her arms. Aurelia’s eyes flickered toward it for a moment before returning to her own reflection. The gown was a brilliant red, trimmed with gold thread, the fabric soft and weightless like a dream. The delicate embroidery along the hem and neckline sparkled faintly in the light—symbols of Rome's glory, of the empire's future that was now her responsibility, and her burden.

"Aurelia?" The handmaid's voice was gentle, tentative, as if unsure whether to interrupt her mistress's thoughts.

Aurelia turned, giving her a tight, thin-lipped smile. "Yes, Flavia?"

"The gown is ready to don, Empress. Shall I help you?" The woman’s gaze was respectful, but there was something else there too—a flicker of sympathy that Aurelia couldn’t bear to acknowledge.

Aurelia swallowed the lump in her throat. She didn’t want sympathy. She didn’t want pity. She wanted to scream, to break something, to tear off this crown of thorns that Rome had placed on her head. But she did none of that. She simply nodded.

"Yes," she said softly, turning her back to the mirror so Antonia could help her slip out of the robe and into the wedding gown.

The cold air of the room pricked at her skin as she stood there, exposed, while her handmaiden adjusted the dress. The fabric felt like it was suffocating her, the layers of fine silk pressing against her ribs, wrapping around her like a prison. Every movement she made seemed to tighten the knot in her chest, that feeling of being trapped.

“Do you want to wear your crown?” Antonia asked quietly as she fastened the gown with a delicate clasp at the back.

Aurelia’s eyes closed for a moment, the thought of the crown heavy in her mind. It was an ancient piece, crafted with intricate gold filigree and precious stones, a symbol of imperial power. It had once been worn by the great empresses of Rome, and now it would sit atop her head—whether she liked it or not.

But no. Not today.

“Not yet,” Aurelia replied with a sigh, her voice flat. She didn’t need the crown to feel the weight of this marriage. The crown would only serve as a reminder of the chains that now bound her to Lucius.

The handmaiden gave a small nod and moved to prepare the rest of the ensemble. Aurelia looked back at her reflection, her eyes scanning her face, her chestnut brown hair, now expertly arranged in a complicated updo, twisted with strands of gold. The gold accents in her gown glinted, catching the light like cruel promises.

Her heart thudded in her chest. It was not fear that made her body tense, nor anxiety over the marriage itself. It was the overwhelming weight of her own complicity. She was walking into this union with her eyes wide open. She knew what this would mean for her. For her future. For her identity.

"I should be happy," she murmured to herself. "I should be proud."

But she wasn’t.

She wasn’t anything but resigned.

She had spent her life surrounded by men who used their power for their own gain—first Geta, then Father, and now Lucius. Each had taken something from her. Her love. Her trust. Her belief in what a marriage could be. Now, this marriage would be no different. Lucius was no Geta, certainly, but the coldness that resided between them was something that neither of them could escape. He may have been the son of Lucilla, the true heir to the throne, but she knew him only as a gladiator—someone who had fought his way to power, someone who had been shaped by violence and bloodshed.

The door creaked again, and another handmaiden entered, this one carrying the veil that would cover her face. Aurelia stood still as it was gently placed over her head. She let the fabric fall into place, the lace soft against her skin. It was beautiful, but suffocating.

“You look stunning, Empress,” Antonia whispered, as if her words would somehow erase the tension in the room.

Aurelia didn’t respond immediately. She couldn’t bring herself to speak, to pretend for even a moment that this day was anything other than the beginning of something that she had not chosen.

The heavy silence settled between them, the air thick with the weight of her decision. The marriage would proceed. The ceremony would go on. She would stand by Lucius’s side. She would wear the crown, and she would endure.

In a fleeting moment, as the last of the attendants left the room to give her space, Aurelia allowed herself one last thought: Perhaps, somewhere in the depths of her heart, she still longed for a different life. A life where she was not bound by duty, not made to be the symbol of an empire, not forced into a marriage for the sake of political alliances.

But as the clock ticked, the reality of her situation gripped her again, cold and unyielding.

This was not her choice. Not really.

She was an empress and empresses did not have the luxury of choice.

Aurelia stepped toward the door, the faint sound of the wedding procession echoing in the halls of the palace. She walked down the corridors, her heels clicking softly against the marble floors, her breath steady. Her hands, now trembling once more, gripped the edges of her gown. She could feel her heart race. But she kept her face neutral, resolute.

The doors to the grand hall opened, and before her, in the vastness of the room, stood Lucius—waiting for her. The air buzzed with anticipation.

And she, Aurelia, stood at the threshold, ready to step into her new life.

The price of power. The price of survival.

And, most of all, the price of being an empress.

The grand hall of the imperial palace was bathed in golden light, its columns adorned with rich purple tapestries and intricate carvings that had witnessed countless ceremonies of wealth and power. But today, this sacred space seemed to pulse with an air of something darker—something forged by the sword, blood, and vengeance.

Aurelia Carina Cassia stood near the altar, her breath shallow and her body stiff with anger, her eyes dark and haunted as she gazed out over the sea of guests. Senators, generals, and various figures of power from across the Empire filled the space, their murmurs low and expectant. It was meant to be a celebration of Rome’s new era, but for her, it felt like a bitter mockery.

Her heart still ached for Geta, her late husband. Cruel though he had been, she had found a way to love him—a love that had never been returned but existed all the same. Now, the man who had taken his place as Emperor, Lucius Verus, stood in front of her.

Lucius Verus. He was unlike anything she had imagined. A gladiator. A slave. And yet, he bore the blood of the true Imperial line. He was her captor and her future husband, thrust into this role by the whims of power. He had murdered Macrinus, the usurper who had orchestrated the deaths of her first husband and his brother Caracalla, but in his victory, there was no joy—only a quiet fury that matched her own.

He stood tall and commanding, his piercing blue eyes scanning her face with an intensity that unsettled her. He was dressed in the traditional garb of an emperor, but his bearing—the broad shoulders, the ruggedness, the battle-worn look—betrayed his humble origins. He had spent most of his time in Rome now in the blood-soaked sands, fighting for survival, earning his freedom through the same violence that had stolen his childhood.

He was, in a sense, a mirror to her own loss. She, too, had been forced to survive in a world she could never control.

And now they were to be joined in marriage, a union that was born not of love, but of survival.

The officiant, a high-ranking priestess, gestured for them to stand at the center of the room, her voice smooth and practiced as she spoke the traditional words of union. Her gaze flickered between the two, noting the tension in their posture, the unwillingness that clung to them like a dark cloud.

Aurelia’s hands trembled as she reached out to take the hand of her new husband. His palm was rough and calloused, the grip firm but not comforting. She could feel the history of his life in his touch—years of hardship, bloodshed, and struggle. His thumb brushed against the back of her hand in a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture, but it was enough to remind her that despite all that had happened, they were bound by something now. A shared future of power, of control, and of the very Empire that had destroyed their lives.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she nodded, the ceremony continuing in its formalities, yet her mind was far from the words being spoken. She thought of the fateful choice she had been given: marry Lucius Verus or face execution. It was a choice she had made out of necessity, but every fiber of her being screamed in defiance. She had loved Geta, and in that love, she had found a strange semblance of purpose, even if it had been a hollow one. Now, that love had been torn from her, and she was left with a man she neither knew nor cared to know.

Lucius, for his part, said nothing. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of something that mirrored her own anger. Perhaps it was the knowledge that neither of them had been given the luxury of choice, that their fates had been decided by forces greater than themselves.

The priestess continued with the vows, each word falling like the sound of a hammer on stone. As Lucius Verus spoke his vows, his voice was steady, though there was a quiet intensity beneath it, as if he were speaking not just to Aurelia but to the Empire itself, declaring his authority, his claim to this throne. He had killed Macrinus for the very right to stand where he was now. And she was his symbol of legitimacy, the last link to the imperial bloodline of the old regime.

Her turn came, and for a moment, she hesitated. The weight of what this marriage meant pressed down on her, the reality of her new life settling in. There was no love to offer him. No affection. Just the remnants of a broken loyalty to a man who had never truly loved her.

“I vow,” she said, her voice cold, “to stand by your side, as is my duty. I vow to give you the Empire that you now rule, for what it is worth. But know this, Lucius Verus—there will be no affection, no love between us. Only power. Only ambition.”

For a heartbeat, there was silence. The room held its breath.

Lucius’s blue eyes bored into hers, and for a long moment, she thought he might challenge her words, perhaps even reject her defiance. Instead, he simply nodded, as if he had already anticipated it.

“We will rule together,” he said, his voice steady and unwavering. “There is no room for weakness in Rome.”

And with that, the ceremony was complete.

As they turned to face the assembled guests, the crowd erupted into applause, their faces masks of politeness, their hands clapping with enthusiasm. The new emperor and his empress stood together, united in a marriage that neither had chosen but both were bound by. Aurelia could feel the coldness of her own heart as she stood there beside him, the weight of the imperial crown now heavy on her brow.

Her life, her future, was now irrevocably linked to this man, this gladiator-turned-emperor, whose blue eyes hid more secrets than she would ever be able to unravel. But as they walked down the aisle, side by side, she knew one thing for certain: in the world of power, there could be no true love. Only survival. Only Empire. Only Rome. Only duty.

Flashback ~ The Wedding To Geta

The sun was setting over Rome, casting a soft golden glow over the city that stretched out below the Palatine Hill. Aurelia stood before a tall mirror, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the folds of her wedding dress—a gown of delicate silk and rich embroidery that shimmered in the fading light. The dress, fit for an empress, was crafted from the finest materials, but it felt heavy against her skin. Every stitch, every detail, reminded her of the weight of the day, of the promise she was about to make, and the life she was about to step into.

Her reflection stared back at her, but she barely recognized the woman in the mirror. Gone was the spirited young woman she had been before her marriage was arranged. Gone was the girl who had dreamed of love and adventure. In her place stood a woman bound by duty—her fate sealed by the politics of empire, her future written in the cold, unfeeling hand of power.

Aurelia closed her eyes for a moment, taking in a steadying breath. She would have preferred to wait, to delay this moment, to take time to come to terms with the reality of her marriage. But there was no time. The people expected it. The Senate demanded it. And her father, always the pragmatist, had seen the union as an opportunity for political gain—an alliance that would strengthen the family name.

"Are you ready?" came a voice, breaking her reverie. It was her father, standing in the doorway of her chamber. His expression was unreadable, as it always was, but there was something behind his eyes—a flicker of concern, perhaps, or maybe guilt. He had done what was necessary. But Aurelia knew it had not been his choice either.

She forced a smile, the kind of smile she had perfected long ago when she was a child trying to please her father. "As ready as I’ll ever be."

Her father’s eyes softened for just a moment before he nodded. "You will be Empress. You know what that means, Aurelia. It’s a responsibility to Rome. To the future. Remember all that your mother and I have taught you."

Aurelia nodded, her throat tightening. Her future was already laid out for her, and it was not a future she had chosen. But she had always known that in the Roman world, duty outweighed personal desire. She was a woman of privilege, yes, but she was also a pawn in a game of power and politics.

The doors to the chamber opened, and Aurelia’s attendants entered, guiding her to the grand hall where the wedding would take place. The hall was massive, filled with marble columns and the scent of fresh flowers, the long tables draped in crimson cloths. Guests had already arrived, dressed in their finest to witness the union of the Emperor and the daughter of a noble family. But none of it felt real to Aurelia. It all felt distant, a pageant for the empire’s elite, a performance where she was expected to play her role.

Her heart beat in her chest, faster than it had been moments ago. Not from excitement, but from a deep, gnawing apprehension. This man— Emperor Geta—would be her husband. A man who had already shown her nothing but coldness and indifference. Their marriage, she knew, was not one built on affection or love but on the weight of imperial necessity.

As she entered the hall, she could feel the eyes of the guests on her, their gazes heavy, judging. The high-ranking senators, the nobles of Rome, all gathered to witness the consolidation of power that this marriage represented. But Aurelia’s mind was elsewhere, focused on the figure at the end of the long aisle.

Emperor Geta stood there, his back straight, his expression impassive. His dark hair was neatly combed, and his tunic was rich with gold embroidery, the imperial seal shining brightly on his chest. His eyes, dark and unreadable, met hers briefly as she walked toward him. For a moment, there was a flicker—an almost imperceptible shift in his gaze—but it was gone before Aurelia could understand it.

His presence was like a shadow, looming over her, a reminder of what was to come. He was not cruel—at least, not outwardly—but there was a coldness in him, an emotional distance that made her uneasy. The idea of this man being her husband was foreign, unsettling. And yet, as the ceremony began, she knew there was no turning back.

The high priest stepped forward, his voice solemn as he began the traditional rites. Aurelia’s gaze remained fixed on Geta, but he was unmoved. His lips were set in a firm line, his expression a mask of indifference. He did not seem to care for the ceremony, nor did he seem to care for her.

"Do you, Emperor Geta, take Aurelia Carina Cassia to be your wife, to rule beside you in both marriage and in empire, in joy and in hardship, in life and in death?" the priest asked.

Geta’s voice was low, almost detached. "I do."

Aurelia’s heart skipped a beat. He spoke the words with no passion, no conviction, as though the act was nothing more than a formality to be checked off the list. A formality for the empire.

Then it was her turn.

"Aurelia Carina Cassia," the priest said, turning his gaze to her. "Do you take Emperor Geta, to be your husband, to join with him in marriage, in rule, in life, and in death?"

Her lips parted, but for a long moment, no sound came out. Her mind swirled with conflicting thoughts—fear, doubt, and resignation. She had no choice. There was no turning back. The empire was watching her.

"I do," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.

The ceremony continued, the exchange of vows, the binding of rings, the symbolic gestures of unity. But even as the final prayers were spoken and the crowd cheered, Aurelia felt nothing but an overwhelming sense of emptiness. She was a wife, yes, but not in the way she had imagined. She was a wife in name, a wife to a man who would never truly love her.

As the final blessing was given, Geta turned to her, offering her his arm as he led her from the altar. His eyes met hers for a moment, and in the fleeting seconds, Aurelia saw something there—something cold, something distant. But she couldn’t place it. She wasn’t sure if it was pity, disdain, or something else entirely. But it didn’t matter.

They were married now. The empire will have its heirs. The empire had its future.

They walked together, side by side, but it felt as though they were walking in separate worlds, worlds that had collided for the sake of duty, of power, of an empire that demanded much and offered little in return.

As Aurelia took her place at his side, she couldn’t help but wonder what the future would hold for her in this cold, loveless marriage. Would she ever find warmth in his eyes? Or would she forever remain a figure beside him, a silent witness to the empire’s unyielding march?

In the end, she knew one thing for certain: the wedding had been the beginning of a new life, but it had not been the beginning of love.

The grand dining hall of the imperial palace was a breathtaking sight, adorned with lavish tapestries depicting the heroic deeds of the emperor's past. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, honeyed wine, and exotic spices, while gilded chandeliers cast their warm glow over the guests, whose laughter and chatter echoed off the marble walls. The feast had begun in earnest, but for Aurelia, it felt like an insufferable pageantry, an endless display of opulence that was as hollow as her own heart.

The high table, where she and Lucius Verus now sat side by side, was elevated above the sea of guests, an uncomfortable reminder of the power that now bound them together. At one end of the table sat the new Emperor of Rome, his piercing blue eyes cold and distant, as if he were already surveying the entire Empire with an authority that didn’t need to be spoken. At the other end, Aurelia sat stiffly, her hands clenched in her lap beneath the rich folds of her gown, unable to fully appreciate the luxury that surrounded her. She had been made Empress again, yes, but it was a title that seemed to mock her more than anything else. She had no love for Lucius Verus—her husband only in name—yet here she was, forced to play the part, to smile and pretend that this was all as it should be.

Her gown shimmered beneath the flickering candlelight. It was the color of Rome’s old blood—the blood of emperors, of gladiators, and of countless men and women who had fought for survival. She hated the irony of it all.

Lucius, for his part, barely spoke. His jaw was set, his expression unreadable. He lifted his goblet of wine to his lips and took a long drink, his eyes briefly meeting hers, but only for a second. The tension between them was palpable, like an invisible thread pulling them further apart with every passing moment.

The servants moved around the table with practiced efficiency, placing golden platters of roasted boar, venison, and lamb, their skins crackling with crisp fat, alongside bowls of fresh fruits—pomegranates, figs, and clusters of grapes—and loaves of freshly baked bread. An assortment of cheeses and honeyed pastries were brought in, and the scent of wine—sweet, tart, and heady—filled the air. Flutists played softly in the background, and a troupe of dancers from the East began a slow, sensuous dance, their silks flowing as they moved in perfect harmony with the music.

But despite the abundance of food and drink, despite the spectacle unfolding before her, Aurelia could not enjoy a single moment. Her mind swam with bitter thoughts: memories of Geta, the brutal coldness of his reign, his violence—yet, within that cruelty, she had found something to hold on to, something that had made him hers, even if only in the darkest corners of her heart.

She was brought back to the present by a low voice beside her.

"Not hungry?" Lucius Verus’s voice was quieter than before, his words heavy with something unreadable. It was not a question of concern, but one of curiosity, or perhaps challenge.

Aurelia turned toward him, meeting his gaze. His blue eyes were sharp and intent, as though he were studying her, as though she were the next opponent to be defeated in his personal arena.

"I’m not hungry," she replied, her voice cool, and for a moment, their eyes locked, the silence between them thick and heavy.

Lucius’s lips tightened, though it wasn’t in anger. It was more a quiet acknowledgment of the tension between them. He turned his gaze back to the feast and picked up a roasted fig, placing it delicately in his mouth. There was something almost calculated about his movements, as if every action were part of a larger strategy.

Around them, the feast continued with laughter and revelry. A senator cracked a joke, a group of soldiers clinked their goblets together in a celebratory toast, and a young noblewoman tried to engage Lucius in conversation about the new laws he would enact. Yet, despite the outward merriment, there was an underlying current of unease. The guests were not so naïve as to ignore the strange and uneasy marriage that had just been sealed in the hall behind them.

Lucius shifted slightly in his seat, as though feeling the weight of the eyes that turned toward him.

"You don’t have to pretend," he said, breaking the silence again, his voice low and almost resigned. "I know why you’re here. You don’t have to like it."

Aurelia’s lips tightened at his words, but there was no anger in them. It was merely truth, blunt and direct, as always. She looked down at her hands, unwilling to meet his gaze again.

"I don’t pretend," she replied softly, though she knew the truth of her own hypocrisy. She was pretending, of course. Pretending that she didn’t care. Pretending that this was all something she could endure.

"Then why sit through this?" Lucius asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why endure this charade?"

Aurelia raised her eyes to his once more, meeting his gaze squarely. For a moment, she wanted to say because it’s all I have left, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she said only, “Because I have no choice, just as you have no choice.”

For a heartbeat, Lucius said nothing. He stared at her, as though seeing her for the first time—truly seeing her. His gaze was piercing, intense, yet something flickered in those deep blue eyes. Perhaps it was understanding, perhaps it was something more, but Aurelia could not bring herself to interpret it.

A loud cheer broke the silence, and Aurelia turned toward the noise. The guests were raising their cups in a toast, celebrating the new Emperor and Empress, raising their voices in the name of Roman glory. It was an exultant sound, but it grated on her nerves, like the clanging of swords against stone.

"To Lucius Verus, Emperor of Rome!" a voice cried from the crowd.

"And to Aurelia Carina Cassia, Empress of Rome!" another echoed.

The room erupted in applause, and for a moment, the noise drowned out everything else. Aurelia didn’t raise her glass. Instead, she simply sat there, her hands folded in her lap, her thoughts swirling in dark circles.

Lucius raised his goblet, the flickering light from the candles catching in the deep blue of his eyes, but he did not look at her when he spoke.

"To Rome," he said simply, his voice carrying authority that silenced even the loudest of voices.

The crowd echoed his words, and for the briefest of moments, Aurelia felt the weight of the empire—its triumphs, its cruelties, and its endless hunger for power. It was the weight she had inherited, and it was a weight that would forever bind her to Lucius Verus.

For better or for worse, she was now his. And he was hers.

The feast continued around them, but for both of them, it had already ended.

The grand banquet hall was alive with the sounds of music, laughter, and the clinking of goblets, but amid the festivity, there was a tension that seemed to weave itself into the very air. The feast had stretched on for hours, but now the guests were beginning to murmur in anticipation as the next part of the evening approached. The moment that every wedding in Rome demanded—the first dance.

Aurelia Carina Cassia stood frozen at the edge of the hall, her gown heavy around her, the rich crimson fabric swishing as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She could feel the weight of every eye in the room, the glances that flicked between her and Lucius Verus, the new Emperor of Rome, her husband by forced choice. He was already standing at the center of the room, his posture perfect, his jaw set in that all-too-familiar way of someone who had long since learned to suppress any sign of weakness.

They were supposed to dance. They were supposed to take the center of the room and spin in graceful circles, the crowd watching and applauding as if this were a storybook wedding. But Aurelia didn’t feel like a princess or a queen. She felt like a prisoner.

Her eyes flicked nervously to the musicians at the far end of the room, their instruments ready, their gazes expectant. They were waiting for her to take the first step, to move toward Lucius and begin the ritual. Her chest tightened with the weight of it. She couldn’t do this. Not with him. Not when every inch of her body wanted to scream in defiance.

Lucius turned toward her, his gaze cool but unreadable, like a glacier that had been worn smooth by the passage of time. He was not nervous. Of course, he wasn’t. A gladiator, a warrior forged in blood, who had danced with death more times than he could count. What was a simple waltz to a man who had survived arenas and emperors’ plots?

"You’re stalling," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the growing hum of the room.

Aurelia didn’t respond immediately. She couldn’t. She simply stared at him, that same gnawing bitterness rising within her. She was trapped, caught in the unrelenting gears of this machine—this Empire, this marriage. And there was nothing she could do to escape it.

His eyes softened just the slightest bit, but it wasn’t with warmth. It was a recognition of the struggle she was facing, though he would never voice it aloud. Lucius knew what it was to be trapped in chains, though his were made of blood and iron, not silk and ceremony.

When he spoke again, his words were measured, as though he were giving her a final choice.

"You don’t have to like it. But we have to do this, for Rome." His words weren’t a command; they were simply a fact, one that neither of them could escape.

Aurelia took a sharp breath and glanced back at the crowd. She could feel their eyes on her, the heat of their stares burning into her skin. They were waiting for their Empress to play her part, to show the world that Rome was strong, unified under the rule of its new Emperor. She had no choice. She could feel the weight of it in the pit of her stomach.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened her back, trying to summon whatever dignity she had left, and began to walk toward Lucius. Each step felt like an eternity. Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor, the sound strangely amplified in the stillness that had fallen over the room. Lucius didn’t move, didn’t step forward to meet her. He simply waited, his posture as commanding as ever.

When she reached him, there was a brief, uncomfortable pause. He regarded her with those piercing blue eyes, his expression unreadable. Aurelia wanted to say something—anything—to break the silence. To tell him that she would never be the obedient bride he expected her to be. But instead, she lifted her chin, her jaw set in defiance, and placed her hand on his shoulder, offering him the coldest, most formal smile she could muster.

Lucius’s hand slid around her waist, the touch firm but not intimate. It was a touch that spoke of duty, not desire. He began to guide her into the first slow steps of the dance, his movements practiced and smooth, as though he had done this a thousand times before. Aurelia resisted the instinct to pull away, to lash out, but it was harder than she anticipated.

The music swirled around them, the sounds of the flutes and strings filling the room with a kind of ethereal, haunting beauty. The guests began to murmur, some of them leaning in to catch a glimpse of their new rulers, while others smiled and whispered praises. Aurelia could feel their eyes, their judgments, and it made her skin crawl. This was their moment, a moment they had all been waiting for.

Lucius’s grip tightened just slightly around her waist as they moved in time with the music. The movement was mechanical, almost rehearsed. She could feel the tension between them—an invisible barrier neither of them had the will or the desire to cross. Neither of them spoke. The only sound between them was the soft rustle of her gown as they moved in an intricate, slow circle.

Aurelia’s breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t the dance itself that bothered her—it was the feeling of being so close to him, so exposed. His scent, sharp and masculine, filled her senses, and she had to fight not to recoil. The proximity, the enforced intimacy, made her stomach churn.

Lucius seemed to sense her discomfort, but he didn’t falter. Instead, he gave a small, barely perceptible nod, as though acknowledging the weight of the situation. Aurelia couldn’t tell if it was sympathy, amusement, or something else entirely.

The music shifted, becoming faster, more energetic, but still they danced—two figures moving through the motions, a king and queen of an empire built on blood, sweat, and lies. Their feet moved in perfect time, yet there was a palpable distance between them, a gulf that no amount of waltzing could bridge. It wasn’t the graceful, romantic affair the guests had expected. It was a dance of survival. A dance of power.

Aurelia’s mind raced with thoughts of the life she had lost, the man she had loved, and the empire that had torn it all apart. She fought the urge to pull away from Lucius, but there was no escaping this moment. They were bound by more than the silk of her gown or the glittering jewels in her hair. They were bound by the expectations of Rome, by the empire that had demanded this union, this performance.

And so they danced. Neither of them truly present, both lost in the performance. And the crowd watched, applauded, and whispered their approval, as the two of them continued the endless charade that had begun with a marriage forged in blood.

When the dance finally ended, and the last notes of the music drifted into silence, Aurelia was left breathless. Her chest rose and fell with the exertion of holding herself together, and she quickly stepped back, her hand falling from his shoulder. The applause was polite, distant, but it was nothing compared to the silence between them now.

Lucius’s eyes met hers for a brief moment, his expression unreadable. His lips parted as though he might say something, but then he simply nodded.

"Thank you," he said, his voice quiet, though the words seemed hollow to her ears.

Aurelia didn’t answer. She simply gave him a stiff nod in return, the weight of the crown upon her head heavier than ever before.

Then, she turned and walked away, the crowd parting for her like water parting for a stone, their whispers now louder, more insistent but she didn’t care. All that mattered now was the emptiness she felt inside and the weight of the empire that bound her to a man she would never love.

#fanfiction #gladiator ii #gladiator ii fanfiction #emperor geta x oc #emperor geta #x reader #lucius verus x reader #lucius verus x oc #hanno/lucius virus #lucius verus #gladiator 2 #gladiator movie

87 notes · View notes

contentloadingandstuff · 8 months ago

Text

Nilou x Veteran!Warrior!Male!Reader

A/N: Here's something light and hopefully fun to read. Enjoy! CW: None.

When Nilou’s fans come up to her for autographs, they can’t help but cast worried glances at the man next to her. Despite officially being only a bodyguard, the warm smiles and kind looks you exchange with each other have made your love obvious to the people of Sumeru. Nobody mentions it in her, let alone your presence though - they know you’re not someone to be messed with.

Nobody really knows where you fought, but your more-than-professional demeanor, your grizzled eyes, speaking of experience, make it more than obvious that you’ve seen your share. Your handling of weapons makes you a commanding presence - you hardly ever have to speak to make sure Nilou has as much space as she needs to feel comfortable.

For your adorable lover, however, your presence is quite the opposite - you’re a guarantee of comfort and safety, and such a cute one at that! She finds it positively heartwarming how you compare to her. You’re a big, strong and scary guy while she’s a tiny and innocent girl.

Nilou: Hey sweetie, can you… pick me up, please? Y/N: Hm? Oh, of course. Nilou: W-whoah! Hehe~ It’s like in those fairytales, isn’t it?

You’re her knight in shining armor, and she’s your princess in need of keeping safe and sound. It always gets her heart racing when you remind her just how fragile and gentle she is - as a flower, needing strong hands to protect her from the cold winds.

Speaking of digits, she really enjoys holding hands with you. Your hands, just like your whole person, are the precise opposites of her. They are big, rough, full of little scratches, scars and other wear-and-tear from your days of campaigns and fighting. They were and still are capable of feats of great strength and violence - she saw how tightly you grip the sword, just as she saw your enemies staggering under your blows. And yet, despite that, you are as gentle with her as can be when you stroke her hair or touch her cheek.

With your body being as it is, you make for a very safe shelter for her. Nilou would like nothing else than to curl up in your strong, masculine arms, safely away from the threats and dangers of the world. Your body is also very good at heating her up on cold days with how big it is. A perfect pillow, a perfect ladder, a perfect vehicle, a perfect jar opener - she enjoys it thoroughly, and isn’t afraid to show her appreciation of you.

Whenever you’re shirtless, expect Nilou to always show respect to your scars. They are marks of a warrior, a courageous man who endured wounds and stood tall through adversity. She’ll kiss them gently, and if you allow her, trace her fingers along them with featherlight touches. Nilou would love to learn their stories, but will understand when you don’t want to share them. She knows that these particular ones might have scarred more than your body.

Nilou enjoys taking care of her big, strong man. She will cook for you whenever there’s a chance, even if you insist otherwise.

Nilou: Here you go honey! Enjoy~ Y/N: This is wonderful… But you didn’t have to go all this way, you know? I have a pair of hands… Nilou: Hey, don’t mention it. It’s my obligation and my pleasure as your woman to keep you just as healthy and happy as you keep me, right? I think it's just fair, sweetie.

Nilou is very aware that her anxiety regarding leaving Sumeru City is a result of her sheltered life. She’s never really left it - the wilderness is teeming with bandits, Fatui and monsters who would all gladly have a piece of her if the opportunity came. She might have a Vision, but Nilou’s no warrior - she never practiced using it for combat, never had the need to fight, nor is she a very strong girl. With you by her side, however, she feels safe. She knows you’ll keep her way out of danger - she saw you fight, so trust isn’t the sole thing backing up her belief in your capabilities. Nilou truly enjoys walks out in the forest without a care in the world as well as picnics with you. Still, she insists on getting back before it gets dark, and if evening catches you by surprise, you’ll find her gripping your hand and sticking very close to you.

Kindness speaks through your eyes, but they also betray years of experience and proficiency at fighting. This is the exact reason that Nilou’s manager decided that you’d make a perfect bodyguard for Nilou. Sure, Sumeru wasn’t really known for violent incidents, but you never know. The simple fact that you happen to be her husband is an added benefit as well. Nilou is more motivated, feels safer and is generally happier when you’re nearby. Besides, she only agrees to leave for Port Ormos if you accompany her, which by itself is a big step up from before when she was confined to Sumeru City. Still, other locations are for the future only for the time being.

Y/N: I’m sorry miss, but this is a staff only area. Woman: I am allowed to pass. Nilou: Is everything alright? Y/N: Yes, Nilou. Turns back May I see proof of this then? Woman: I don’t need to show a grunt like you anything. Do you know who I am? Y/N: No and, frankly, I do not care. Please step back. Woman: I have my methods for types like you! Y/N: leans in And I have my methods of making you into a headstone or a vegetable. You may take your pick.

Due to the nature of your past job, some may see a killer in you, but Nilou doesn’t share their outlook. She might be young, optimistic and innocent by nature, but it doesn’t mean she’s oblivious to what war is. Your stories, as dark and upsetting as they are, only furthered her disdain towards conflict, but not towards you.

Nilou knows that you cannot expect someone to act humane in an inhuman situation. She knows that the people and creatures you had killed were not killed for your own amusement, but because it was a simple choice between you and them. She does not hate you - she never will. You are just like the thousands of other young men, sent to the frontlines and made to kill monsters or their fellow man without much choice in the matter.

She does appreciate that the war made you the man of today - a rugged, attractive beast of a fearless man - but she won't ever as much as think of suggesting that the war had a positive effect on you. Saying this wouldn't only be insensitive, but also, sadly, untrue.

Your experiences left a permanent mark on you. They scarred both your body and your mind. She can see it in your eyes. You haven't fully left the battlefield, left the army, and it is plain to see. You have a set daily schedule, for example. You also keep a sword by your bedside and a dagger under your pillow. “Just in case” you promise, but she knows better than that.

You have dreams about your past that might come and go, as you reassure her, but seeing you in distress breaks her heart. Nilou was always waking you up whenever a nightmare haunted you, calmly reassuring you that it's okay, that it's all a dream. She grounds you with gentle touches and soft words, expertly bringing you back to reality. At home, you dislike talking about the war, just as you dislike noise, especially metallic in nature. Nilou understands that, and makes sure to avoid rattling kitchen equipment and the like when she's preparing you food, for example.

Speaking of cooking, and taking care of you in general, it doesn’t bother her at all, partly because of what you experienced. In the last, you have been forced out of your home and into a life of violence and approved murder where every day could be your last. But now you're home - with her. She is your wife, your home, your safe refuge. It's only natural for her to find fulfillment and pleasure in creating a loving retreat for you to rest your weary soul in.

She is thrilled to help you and care for you, for just one, simple reason. She loves you.

Thanks for reading!

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #genshin impact x male reader #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #fluff #genshin impact nilou #nilou #nilou x reader #nilou x y/n #nilou x male reader #nilou x you #nilou fluff

212 notes · View notes

odezsmi · 11 months ago

Text

good n plenty

pairing: rin okumura + reader

warnings: light angst, hurt w/comfort

now playing 🎶 : good & plenty by alex isley, masego, + jack dine

an: hello !! this is my first time writing fics on tumblr ! while written elsewhere, i thought it would be amazing to try this out here now bc now or never lolol.

“You know you really don’t have to be here, right? feels like you’re monitoring me at this point.”

“Monitoring you? I can’t simply spend time with my boyfriend?”

The words came off as playful, but while his tone mirrored yours, you knew what he meant.

See, Rin Okumura eventually had come to terms with who he was. While it took a bit longer than he had wanted, he knew who he was inside and out.

Being Satan’s son was the heaviest burden anyone could carry, and Rin had fallen victim to that.

With every event that had transpired so far in his life, from the Blue Night to Kyoto and other following events he accepted the fact that he was Satan’s son.

Satan. A fallen angel, once radiant and powerful, who defied divine authority and was casted out of Heaven. A symbol of evil, human frailty even and the enemy of God. A being who sought to destroy God’s children and bring nothing but destruction.

But Rin Okumura?

Oh, nothing hurt more than to see how wrong people could be about this careful being.

Rin was anything but destructive. If anything, he’s more gentle than anyone you’ve ever met.

With the kindest words and the gentlest of gazes towards you, you never understood what it was about you that caught his eyes.

And each time you asked whether it be a joke or not, you were always met with his softness and light words.

“Because you see me.”

And that, made him more human and less of a spawn.

You saw him for his eccentric self, whether it’s over his cooking for him and his brother. Or how Kuro slept the previous night and he’s showing the 45 pictures he took.

Whether it be how he’s excited he’s invited out of a simple game of baseball with the other ex wires or an older woman took time out of her day to chat with him, you saw him for who he was.

Not what he was forced to be.

Sometimes though, the reminders of who he is catch up to him and he’s left shaken up with fear and doubt. The fear of his friends leaving him for good, of losing Yukio, or even losing you.

You received a call at 3 am and now you’re snuck into the dorms, not caring that he’s seeing you with crazed hair and your athletic-based pajamas.

“Plus it sounded like you realllllly wanted me here. Didn’t we just have a date? Didn’t know you’d miss me that much.” The cheesy grin was enough to make the boy scoff.

“Hey- I have a cat I can also talk to-“

“Who I can’t understand-“

“And go back into my super comfortable twin bed by myself. Well. With him too.”

It wasn’t long before you were laughing gently at his banter, reminding yourself Yukio was asleep down the hall.

If he were awake he’d certainly scold you two for being up so late.

“Well, can Kuro enjoy some nice chamomile tea and spend time with you like this?”

It was unfortunately also a late night with heavy storms, the drops pattering against the windows. It was loud and clear for the two of you, and you had managed to distract Rin for a bit from it (in case he felt guilty for making you come here).

As he glances over at a window from the empty cafeteria, you stare at his features for a bit and exhale through your nostrils.

What you would give to ease his troubles, to take away all of his fears and insecurities. It was a late night and he clearly had a nightmare, one which his friends had shunned and demeaned him for his heritage.

While not possible with all you guys have been through as exwires, who are you to dismiss that?

You’ll never understand the full extent of it, but you’ll be there as much as you can for him.

“Rin?”

His head turns from the window to look at you, a puzzled look on his features.

His expression was precious enough you’re already smiling, eyes crinkled and teeth showing. Thumb drawing patterns on the back of his hand, you hum.

“You’re… you’re so good. You’re just… a beautiful being.”

The words caught him off guard, and both of you sat in a moment of silence.

Him? Good?

Are you sure you’re talking about him?

“But-“

“You’re a gift from the universe, a blessing to many. You’re choosing a life for yourself, and defying anyone else who disagrees. Who tells you what you should be and what you are. Except…” You frown, and that worries him for a moment.

“I wish you saw how wonderful you are from my eyes.”

Wonderful.

Wonderful? All he can remember being called is aggressive, a brute, hell even a thug.

But a blessing? Wonderful? Satan would be laughing if he heard the formal.

But…

Hands withdrawing from him, you chuckle to yourself out of meekness. “Maybe that’s a bit much. Sorry if it was weird-“

Your words died in your throat when his arms engulfed you, yelping a little from the force. Your arms hung in the air uselessly as you tried to look at your boyfriend.

“Rin?”

“Stay the night with me.”

“Huh? But-“

“Please.”

The word is forced out, in a way which you understand in a snap. His hug was tight, body trembling and voice strained.

Brushing his locks down for comfort, you stand from your chair and nod. “Okay.”

With you in his arms, his soul was able to find a little bit more peace. The tranquility of the rain and him holding you close to his chest brought on sleep to him.

For so long, he had been haunted by the echoes of his past, the weight of his bloodline threatening to drown him in despair.

But in your arms, he found sanctuary — a haven where his flaws were not condemned, but embraced with love and understanding.

And just like that, he fell asleep and remained asleep throughout the rest of the night.

Until of course, a very hungry cat woke him up and an irritated younger brother scolded you both for this recklessness.

It was all worth it in the end for Rin.

(teehee I didn’t proofread so sorry for any mistakes; I wrote this at 2 am.)

#ao no exorcist #blue exorcist #rin okumura #yukio okumura #rin okumura x reader #blue exorcist x reader #aoex x reader #aoex fluff #rin okumura fluff #Kuro #I hope u guys like it !

291 notes · View notes

blessedbucky · 2 months ago

Text

we tried the world, good god, it wasn't for us! (part 5.1)

pairing: autistic!satoru x suguru x autistic!reader

word count: 12.5k (why do i yap so much)

summary: a bunch of traumatized teenagers try their best to keep their world from collapsing.

tags: autistic!reader, autistic!satoru, bisexual!reader, bisexual!suguru, bisexual!satoru, mayhaps some poor coping mechanisms, maybe some codependency, loss of virginity, fingering, vaginal sex

beautiful people who asked to be tagged 💕: @ichikanu, @iceheartsice, @anders-is-being-a-simp-again, @honeydew-cheesecake

author note: JUST BEFORE PREMATURE DEATH ARC WHO READY! like the summary says, this is just a bunch of dumb teenagers making reckless decisions because they're also traumatized as fuck and mentally ill. there some really messy and complicated feelings reader has for Satoru and Suguru that's trying to be processed.

chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4.1, 4.2, AO3

[YEAR THREE]

[PART ONE]

A cherry blossom slowly flutters down from a branch and lands square in the center of Suguru’s forehead. Not that he knows this because he sprawled out on the picnic blanket and was asleep not even ten minutes later. And yet, despite how much he sleeps, the place under his eyes seems to be getting darker and darker. You pluck the blossom from his forehead, careful not to touch and wake him up accidentally. You’re worried about him. Sometimes, in the dead of night when you’re alone, you’ll worry yourself sick.

Something cold and wet presses your forehead.

“Plum Fanta,” Satoru announces. After you take the bottle from him, he shuffles to plop down on the blanket next to you. “Eh? Is he seriously still asleep?”

You nod slowly. “It seems like all he’s been swallowing lately are high grade. You know those are the hardest on him.”

“Just on his stomach, though, right?”

Until last year, you naively thought that, too. Back in your village, when he swallowed them, he would nap after, but he always told you that it was to sleep off the stomachache. Maybe that was true. Now…it’s different. Everything is different. You naively thought that your lives would settle after Zen’in Toji. You knew it would never be the same, yes, but you thought it would level out.

You were wrong.

“I don’t know, Satoru. If I had to spend almost every single day swallowing something fouler than words can describe, that might take a toll on me, too.”

“Sorry,” Satoru mumbles dejectedly.

You sigh. “It’s not your fault, Satoru.”

“I feel like I could be doing more. Maybe I can volunteer to take on more assignments so there are less on his plate.”

“That’s not your responsibility, Satoru.” You take a deep breath, resisting the urge to get snippy. You shouldn’t take your bad mood out on everyone else. “You’re human, too. The truth is that you’re both stretched thin.” The grip you have around the bottle tightens. “I just…wish things would change. It shouldn’t be like this.”

Satoru tilts over until his head is knocking against yours. “How else would it be?”

“I don’t know. Not this, though.” Absentmindedly, you pick at the label of your soda. “This just isn’t a sustainable system. I wonder how many Special Grade sorcerers there have actually been, but they just couldn’t reach their full potential because old men sent them off to die.”

“Maybe you’re just not cut out for this line of work, Sketch,” Satoru poses.

The sting of that reality is lessened by his flippant tone. It was meant to be a tease. But a sting is a sting. “Everyone doesn’t need to keep reminding me of how weak I am. I get it, alright? I know I’m useless, but I’m trying to—”

“Give it a few years and you’ll literally be able to control minds. It’s never been an issue of strength with you, Sketch. It’s just that you’re…soft.” He pauses. “Gentle.” Then, he hooks his pinky around yours. Turns his head ever so slightly so his lips brush against your temple on every word. “You’re so worried about everyone else that you’re not taking care of yourself. How much sleep have you been getting?”

“I haven’t given it much thought,” you lie. You’re averaging about four hours a night, probably. “No sleep isn’t a new thing for me, though. I’ve always had trouble with sleeping.”

“Oh? Me, too.” He pokes you hard in the side making you squeak and flinch away. “Why are you on my case, then?”

Feeling petty today, you sink your claws into his sensitive spot which is to say that you dig your fingers right into the nape of his neck. “Because I’m not the one frying my brain twenty-four seven with my cursed technique,” you hiss.

Satoru hisses back at you, the two of you like a couple of feral alley cats. Neither of your drinks are open yet, so they end up rolling off somewhere on the blanket while you two start tussling. Trying to get hands on the other’s most sensitive spots. You have a height disadvantage, but you have sharp teeth, damn it. There’s an outraged squawk from Satoru when you first bite him, but it gives him permission to get dirtier with his tricks. So, the bastard rolls you both over off the blanket, pinning you under him, right on top of the grass.

“No,” you whine pathetically when he holds your cheek against it. “Satoru, bugs can get in my hair! It’s like thousands of tiny needles stabbing me!” A little dramatic. It’s more poking and itchier than anything else, but you still hate it. “If you don’t let me up, I’ll throw all your melon soda stash in a pond!”

“Oh, yeah? Well, I’ll return those oil pastels that I got you!”

“Idiot, you can’t return those! You got them last year and they’re almost used up!”

He blinks. “Oh.” In the blink of an eye, his expression is very serious and concerned. “Do you need new ones?”

And have him spend that much money on art supplies again? Absolutely not. You’ll use those things until they’re specks and then never speak of it again. But you don’t tell him this because you take advantage of the distraction. With a powerful buck of the hips, you manage to throw him off to the side, rolling over with him so you’re straddling his waist and quickly reaching for his neck. He grabs your wrists before you can, worry replaced by outrage at the presumed cheating—or so you think he sees it that way, but honestly, it’s Satoru.

“Satoru? Squid?”

Both you and Satoru freeze, turning your heads, staring wide-eyed at Suguru. His legs are crisscrossed and he’s rubbing at his eyes, scowling. His hair is almost completely out of the bun which only makes him grumpier because it’s probably sticking to his skin now. It’s actually a really warm day for spring, an omen of the summer to come, and you’re under the sun. All of you have thrown off blazers and you even took off your leggings—making the sin of the grass even more unforgiveable in your eyes, but you have a grumpy Suguru to deal with now.

Suguru, annoyed, goes on to ask, “What are you doing?” His eyes drop lower, to something behind you. There’s a look in his eyes. Angrier than simple annoyance. Then, he tells you, “Your ass is out, Squid.”

Oh. Right. Skirt.

No wonder Suguru is so mad. You’re probably embarrassing him. Face hot with shame, you try to move away, but Satoru digs his fingers into your thighs.

“Don’t let him embarrass you, Sketch! You’ve got a nice ass!”

You knock Satoru right in the stomach.

When you make it back to campus, you announce that you’re going back to your room to take a nap. Yu wanted to eat at an actual restaurant instead of konbini snacks and none of his upperclassmen can say no to him, so you’re mentally exhausted already. Suguru said the same. Shockingly, Satoru didn’t follow after you two, but he has a lot of energy today, so it sort of makes sense. Anyway, Suguru follows after you to your room.

Suguru picks up the book he’s currently reading off your desk, opting to just keep them here now. He says that there’s never enough peace in the boys’ dorm to focus on reading. As soon as his back is against the headboard and he’s settled, you crawl in next to him to put your head in his lap.

“I’m sorry for embarrassing you like that earlier,” you apologize quietly. Suguru hasn’t even opened his book yet, but it’s been on your mind since earlier. He stares down at you, puzzled. “You were angry when I was wrestling with Satoru, right? I know it’s probably a hassle—me not knowing how to act in public, even after all this time.”

“What? No. That’s not—” he takes a deep breath. Presses a thumb to the center of his forehead. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t care about things like that? I wasn’t mad. I just woke up and you know how I can be. I’m sorry for giving the wrong impression.”

Suguru is lying. You may not be able to read people well, but you’ve had Suguru by your side since you were six. You know his tells like the back of your hand. Doesn’t he know that? No. The bigger question is why he’s even lying to you in the first place. Is it because he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings? That might be it. You’re sensitive. You cry. You…maybe Satoru was right, after all.

“Should I quit being a sorcerer?”

He puts the book down on the mattress, a little harder than necessary. “What did Satoru say to you?”

“Why are you assuming that Satoru had anything to do with it? Are we first years again?”

Suguru says your name harshly.

You turn your head away, glaring at the wall. “We were worrying about you. I said I wished this stupid system would change and he…I know he was joking, but he asked if I was cut out for this line of work and…” You trail off, bottom lip wobbling. That, that reaction, makes you angry at yourself. Crying? And for what? “I don’t think he’s wrong.”

He repeats your name, quieter now, less aggressive. When he places a palm across your forehead, you look up at him. “Do you want to quit?”

“I…I like that I help people. It’s more than I’ve ever thought I was capable of.”

“Do you want to quit?” Suguru repeats. “Remember what we promised. Wherever you go, I’ll go.”

You close your eyes, sighing shakily. “You can’t keep letting me hold you back.”

“I’m not letting you do anything. I want you by my side.”

“I know you do, Suguru,” you whisper sadly as the tears finally fall, slipping from the corners of your eyes and leaving a trail down your temples. “You really would fall behind if it meant staying with me.” You open your eyes, meeting his gaze as you have a horrifying epiphany. “Are you sure you’re not just holding onto me because you’re afraid of change?”

“I’m not Satoru!” Suguru shouts. He squeezes his eyes shut, hands moving to clutch at the blankets. Quieter, he goes on to say, “I don’t care about strength. I don’t.”

You lean up from the mattress, scoffing bitterly. “Yes, you do. The stronger you are, the further from our shitty hometown you get. Don’t act like it’s just out of duty that you’re here. We’re here,” you correct quietly. “We want to be more than our parents told us we’d be.”

“My parents have nothing to do with this.”

Yeah, sure they don’t. Maybe Suguru isn’t even consciously aware of it, but you see it. All those little details add up. The way that no matter how furious he is, he’ll never raise his voice or hand. The way he shouted just now is the loudest that he’s ever been. Meanwhile, his father was boisterous and explosive. His appearance is as neat and clean as he keeps his room, the opposite of how his mother kept their home. He has a sense of duty that his parents never had.

“Well, mine do,” you mumble miserably. “I wanted to prove that I wasn’t the simple, stupid girl that’d never be able to take care of herself without help. And where am I now? All I did was trade my parents for you. The only difference between here and home is you don’t complain about taking care of me.”

“You’re definitely right about being stupid.” He runs a hand through his hair, more agitated than you’ve seen him in a really long time. “It’s amazing, how you see things in such a…transactional way. How can someone be so empathetic yet apathetic at the exact same time? Is it really that hard for you to believe that you’re the most important thing in my life?”

Before you’ve even had a chance to process, Suguru is up and storming out the door.

You burst out into tears after Suguru left. When you got it all out, it left you numb and physically exhausted. Your mind, though, would not settle. So, you’ve been curled up under your blankets all throughout the day. As the sun is setting, there’s a tap against your window, but you don’t move. You can sense who it is, anyway.

Since your back is to the window, you don’t see him, but you hear the thump as he kicks his shoes off and the clatter of his sunglasses against your desk. Just wanting to be held as soon as possible, you skip the questioning if you’re good to be touched stage and roll over on your other side when he slides into bed. You meet him by wrapping your arms around him and bury your face against his chest.

“Oh, man, it must’ve been super bad if you’re this cuddly,” Satoru teases, trying to bring levity to the situation. “Wanna tell me why you and Suguru are fighting and how I got roped into it because he was mad at me, too.”

Ugh. Leave it to Suguru to be like that. Either drop something so fucking profound like he did to you or throw up a wall between himself and everyone else like with Satoru. You really don’t want to talk about this more because you’ll be forced to admit that what Satoru said hit a little too close to home and potentially hurt his feelings. But you know Satoru and he won’t let it go, so it’s either let him hear it from you or Suguru.

“I asked him if I should quit being a sorcerer and it got out of control.”

“Aw, Sketch, seriously?” See? Exactly what you wanted to avoid. “I was joking.”

“I know you were, Satoru. I’m sorry that my brain is stupid and runs the wrong way with things.”

“Oi. Don’t call yourself stupid. It’s not stupid. I get it.”

You huff. “No, you don’t, Satoru. Thanks for trying, anyway.”

He laughs in such a carefree way, so completely at odds with what he says next. “What? You don’t think I feel left behind? Just because I’m the strongest physically doesn’t mean I’m strong in any other way that counts. I’m as jealous of you as much as I look up to you, y’know?”

You lean away from him abruptly, blinking in shock. “Jealous? Of me?”

“Yeah! I mean, everyone loves you, Sketch. Well, they love Suguru, too, but he doesn’t struggle with the same stuff that you and I do, so that’s why I’m more jealous of you than him in that way. You can connect with people, even if you don’t understand how they work. You’re really kind and caring. You know how to talk to people and, yeah, yeah, I know you said it’s because you just learned to study and copy people, but so have I and I still suck. You’re sad right now and all I can do is talk about myself. I don’t know how to comfort anyone. I don’t know how to reach out to Suguru after what happened. I’ve been selfish and leaving it up to you.”

Leaning up on an elbow, you push some hair away from his forehead, trying not to let your eyes linger on the little scar off to the side. “It’s not for nothing, Satoru. Some people aren’t good with talking, but you make up for it in other ways. Sometimes, being here physically is more than enough.”

Briefly, he looks away from your gaze, cheeks getting dark. “You’re doing it right now. Comforting me when it should be the other way around. Maybe Sensei is right. Maybe you do coddle us too much.” But his expression softens and that makes you feel a little better. Jeez, maybe making people happy is your comfort. “Sketch, I don’t know what to do with you. I constantly move back and forth between wanting to tell you to leave so you’re safe but wanting to keep you close by my side because I don’t know what life would be like without you in it.”

You smack your face against his sternum, not wanting him to see you cry. You’re on the verge of it. After trying to swallow down the lump in your throat, you grumble, “Why are you and Suguru dropping such heavy things so casually?”

“Eh? What did he say?”

“That I’m the most important thing in his life…”

“Oh. Yeah, okay, that’s true. You’re the most important person in my life, too.”

“What about Suguru? Shoko? The underclassmen?”

“You’d think you’d have learned how I think by now. When I say you, I mean you and Suguru. You’re like a package deal inside my brain. You’re both equally the most important people in my life.”

There must be something terribly wrong with you because hearing something like that isn’t supposed to be breaking your heart.

***

I’m sorry for hurting you.

You’re the most important thing in my life, too.

You had physically written down your apology and slipped the note under his door the next morning. It felt cold to send it as a text. You left it at that, too. It was your olive branch, and he would act on it when he was ready is what you told yourself. You didn’t want to pester him, as much as it killed you to not have any contact with him at all.

It’s been a week now, and Suguru still hasn’t talked to you.

And, yes, you respect his privacy, but…you’re leaving for the Kamo clan compound. The higher-ups decided that it’s finally time for you to work with seals. For the last two weeks, they’ve had an expert working with you on learning them. This wasn’t part of the deal, but what are you supposed to do? Tell them to fuck off? You stamp down your irritation by reminding yourself that this prevents the strengthening of cursed spirits or outright outbreaks. It means less work in the future for fellow sorcerers.

So, you head to the smoking area that you’ve been avoiding the last week. A text to your new partner, Kento, informed you that Suguru wasn’t in his room, so there’s only one other place that he’ll most likely be. And, sure enough, Suguru is there. Hunched over a little, taking long drags of his cigarette, staring out at nothing.

“Suguru?”

Blinking back to awareness, he turns his cautious gaze on you. “Hey.” It’s not exactly a cold welcome, but definitely not a warm one, either. That’s fine. You won’t take long.

“I’m leaving for my special assignment now,” you tell him as you fiddle nervously with the aglet of your sweatshirt. Suguru doesn’t immediately respond. He ducks his head down instead. What else could that be but a dismissal? But you did what you came here to do. “Okay,” you whisper. “I’m going now.”

Suguru doesn’t let you get far. He suddenly lashes out, snatching your wrist and yanking you back so suddenly that you almost trip over your feet. You stumble back, spinning around to try and get your bearings, and catch yourself on his shoulders. Your face is very close to his and his amethyst eyes are…the best you can come up with is that they’re sad.

Instinctively, you stroke a thumb over the dark circles under his eyes. “What’s wrong, Suguru?”

“Squid,” he starts quietly and cups your cheek. “If I was selfish and asked you to stay a sorcerer, stay with me on this path, would you?”

You sigh. “Forget what I said. I was being stupid—”

“Stop,” he interrupts. “It’s not…don’t say that about yourself. I know this is hard on you. I worry about you as much as you do about me. Not because you’re weak, but because you have a gentle heart.” It’s intense, the way he’s looking at you, and you have to dart your eyes away. “But I need to do this, and the only thing that’s keeping me sane is you. This is a lot to drop on you, I know, but it’s how I feel. So…will you stay?”

“I’ll stay,” you mumble while reaching out to touch his face, too. “It’s not selfish. I understand. This is something we both need to do. I just haven’t found my place in the world yet, but I will.” You smile softly as a reassurance. “I think things will be easier when we graduate.”

“Yes,” Suguru agrees. “When we graduate.”

***

“Leave it to you to cry during a horror movie.” Satoru is laughing as he keeps stroking your cheeks with his thumbs, trying to catch all your stray tears.

Through your sniffling, you tearfully defend yourself, “I didn’t expect the mother to sacrifice herself like that! And then…then, her spirit was stuck in that building!” He’s still laughing, the asshole. “Stop it! You’re being mean! I can’t help what does and doesn’t make me cry!”

“No more Sketch. Only Crybaby.”

You give him a wobbly scowl before you lean forward to smack your forehead against his sternum. His laughter dies down to snickers, and he shoves you away by your forehead. When you’re looking him in the eye, you pout and demand, “I’m sad. Let me have your last Pocky.”

“What? No way! It’s choco banana and I don’t have any boxes left around here!”

That has you pouting more. “Just buy more.”

“I don’t wanna go all the way to the konbini!”

“You can literally teleport now, Satoru.”

“I’m not that exact with my locations yet!”

“This is not how you treat a lady. I’m in emotional distress.”

“No, you’re manipulating me now.”

Oh, to hell with this. You throw yourself to the side to snatch the box with one single Pocky stick left inside. Satoru dives after you with a cry of outrage, his fingers closing around yours at the exact moment that you get a hand around the box. You try to yank yourself out of his grasp, but he won’t let go. You manage to roll over without losing your hold on the box and try to shove your knee up in his stomach as a dirty trick.

“Yeah, you’re so upset!” Satoru snaps while trying to squirm away from your knee as much as he can. “You’re a dirty liar—” he dodges a knee to the groin with a yelp. “A cheater, too! What happened to my innocent Sketch?”

“You emotionally devastated her with a sad horror movie! This is the price you pay!” He’s right, though. You’re not as sad anymore because you’re grinning. Giggling as you two roll around on his bed, trying to get control over the box. It must be an infectious thing since Satoru’s pouting slowly makes way for his own smile.

Things get a little too rough, though. Both of you skirt too close to the edge of the mattress and you go rolling off. Satoru isn’t winning any awards for gentleman of the year since you’re the one that ends up slamming against the floor. His sunglasses are askew, his hair is a mess, but he’s straddling you while proudly shaking the box. Little does he know that it’s crushed to the point where the plastic package is poking out and you can catch a glimpse of yellow.

You lash out, stealing the package from the box and quickly ripping out the Pocky stick. Satoru squawks, scrambling too late to yank it away, and then stares down at you in disbelief after you shove the end coated in candy in your mouth, smirking smugly around it.

“Cheater!” Satoru accuses again.

Your only answer is to tilt your chin in challenge. This is Gojo Satoru, of course, and he can’t not take that bait. The stick nearly slips from your mouth that goes slack when he hunches over to snatch the other end of the stick between his own teeth. He gives a savage grin.

Someone clears their throat.

Both of you turn your heads, but there’s enough of a delay that the Pocky stick finally snaps, and you end up with most of the good part. Satoru leans back on his haunches, crossing his arms over his chest while munching grumpily. “Nanamin,” he whines loudly and more annoyingly than usual. “I lost the last Pocky because of you!”

Kento is looking as stiff and uncomfortable as he did in his first year, something that you thought he was past with you, at the very least. “Pardon my interruption,” he says directly to you. “Sensei is asking for you, Senpai.”

“Ugh,” you and Satoru groan in unison.

“Did you turn the report in after our assignment at the Kamo clan?”

You open your mouth to confirm because, yes, you did…but maybe you didn’t? Shit. That’s right. You were trying to figure out how to word it without implicating your weird attachment to cursed energy. So, you snap your mouth shut, teeth clacking. Kento frowns in disappointment. “Senpai, that’s very unlike you. Are you sure you’re not being negatively influenced by Gojo?”

“Rude!” Satoru huffs. “Sketch was probably so eager to get back to Suguru that she forgot. They got over their little lover’s quarrel right before you guys left.”

“A quarrel that you caused,” you mutter under your breath. Then, your brain processes, and you sputter. “Damn it, Satoru, it wasn’t a lover’s quarrel! Don’t give Kento the wrong impression!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Finally, Satoru rolls away from you, dropping on his ass so you can freely move. “Get going. It’s about time you get a lecture from the old man.”

Kento watches you and Satoru with a weird expression on his face before he walks away.

***

The second that the bulge has slipped down his throat, you’re holding out a stick of cinnamon gum to Suguru. He takes it, trying to smile in thanks, but it comes out as a grimace. You don’t ask him if he’s okay because you know the answer already. The only thing that hasn’t changed is your immediate wishing that you could take some of this blowback for him. Wishing that he didn’t have to taste them the way he does.

When it’s you two on the case, you don’t need to use a veil. That cursed spirit wasn’t going anywhere. Besides, it was using an old department store as a hideout, and the only people who snuck inside the building were fellow teenagers on dares. You see their names in graffiti as you two head toward the staircase.

“Is sneaking into haunted houses romantic?”

Couples were the curse’s preferred prey. For a higher graded curse, it becomes a better hunter, becomes pickier. You can understand the appeal that a spirit might have in couples. It’s double the fear to feed on—a human’s fear for their own life and for their lover’s. What you don’t understand is why a couple would put themselves in that situation in the first place.

Suguru chuckles. “Not particularly, but romance is subjective, I suppose.”

Still skeptic, you lowly agree, “I suppose…”

Your tone isn’t lost on him. “I know you don’t have much experience in the way of it, but you have to know that much. Why do you sound so suspicious?” With his longer legs, he’s automatically in front of you. So, he stops at the top of the staircase, forcing you to do the same. “Were you being romantic when you did whatever it was to make Nanami ask me if you and Satoru are dating?”

You hum. “I didn’t think Kento was one to make assumptions like that.” Also, why did he go to Suguru to ask that? Weird. “It wasn’t anything like that, jeez. We were fighting over the last Pocky stick.” You pause then admit, “Well, I guess it could’ve looked like a compromising position. He was on top of me and was trying to take the Pocky with his mouth. I think it might’ve been like a weird game of chicken.”

He snorts. “Or it was Satoru trying to get you to kiss him.”

And then it…slips out. “I doubt he’s interested in doing it again.”

In the silence of the building, you can hear Suguru stop breathing. Just for a moment. There’s no emotion on his face when he quietly asks, “Do what again?”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. There was a reason why you didn’t want to talk about this with Suguru. You didn’t want to make things weird between the three of you. Suguru’s kneejerk reaction is to be protective. Who knows what he’ll do to protect your virtue or whatever. You can’t imagine how he’ll react when he hears that Satoru hasn’t brought it up because Suguru knows you well enough to figure out that it makes you…upset or…confused or…you don’t know.

Stomach tying itself in knots, you try to figure out the best way to put this. “It…it’s not a big deal! He, um, maybe sort of kissed me—” Suguru’s face twists. You start scrambling. “It was that day when we agreed he was high! So, yeah, he probably doesn’t even remember! That’s why I’ve never brought it up to anyone! I don’t want to make things awkward! None of us want to deal with me acting like…like a needy girlfriend or something! Not like we’re boyfriend and girlfriend or anything!”

Then, Suguru asks a question that hits you like a punch to the gut. “And…how do you feel about Satoru?”

How do you answer that? Seriously? How do you answer that? The idea of trying to compress your enormous feelings for them into a neat package is…overwhelming. It makes you want to cry. Or it might be this confrontation that’s making you panic. You have been actively avoiding this conversation. There’s a place in your neatly organized mind that’s wild and unmarked. It’s too daunting, always making you turn back in defeat before you even start to think about it.

“The same way I feel about you,” is your answer. Simultaneously enough of an answer and not. They are equal in your heart and mind, but what they are is unidentifiable.

Suguru doesn’t believe you and tries to call you out on it, “So, what? You’d let me kiss you?”

“Yes,” you blurt automatically. You’re afraid to back down. If you do, you’ll be forced to think about this more. You want this awful conversation to be over already.

Suguru, eyes narrowed, takes a step toward you. “Really?”

There’s a lump in your throat that you try to swallow down, but you stand your ground. “Really.”

Another step. “Right now?”

“Right now,” you confirm breathlessly because he’s so close to you now that a deep breath would brush your chest against his.

Another game of chicken, you can’t help but think as he cups your cheek. Those eyes that stare down at you are challenging you, but there’s also more. Something wild. Desperate. You wonder how he can be so calm, but when he hunches over, and his face inches towards yours, you can feel his quick, shallow breaths against your skin. You briefly clutch at the front of his blazer before splaying out a hand, desperate to feel the rapid thump of his heartbeat under your fingers. His other hand reaches down to wrap around your wrist—maybe for the same reason.

Dazedly, moronically, you point out, “There’s…you have gum…”

His throat bobs. You think it’s nerves, but then he sticks out his tongue to show the gum is now gone. Right. Okay. Okay, okay, okay. He’s serious about this. You’re serious about this, you suddenly realize. Because he touches your cheek, and you lean into it. Your eyes have never left his mouth.

And it’s you that closes the distance.

It’s so similar and it’s also not. You know to tilt your head to the side a little when your noses bump, and then they’re slotting together like what happened with Satoru. Heat rushes throughout your body again, too. But Suguru’s hand feels so much bigger and skitters down to the side of your neck, taking up so much space that a finger is behind your ear. Cinnamon explodes across your taste buds when his tongue slips past your lips.

Someone’s ringtone echoes.

The two of you tear yourselves apart. Suguru looks beyond irritated, leaving you self-conscious, but he’s pissed at his phone because that is what he glowers down at when he pulls it out of his pocket. He actually snaps when he answers his cellphone with a harsh, rude, “What?” Blood is rushing in your ears, and you press your hands against your scalding hot cheeks. You can’t hear what’s being said on the other end. “Yes, it’s been taken care of. We apologize. We thought there was another spirit,” he lies in a clipped tone. He presses his thumb to the center of his forehead. “Okay. We’ll be there shortly.”

Oh. That must’ve been the manager. You forgot that you texted her that you were done. Has it really been long enough for the manager to get worried? You don’t even want to check. You know you’ll get all flustered, thinking about how you spent all that time kissing Suguru.

Holy shit, you kissed Suguru.

Holy shit, you kissed Satoru.

Holy shit, you kissed them both.

***

“Holy shit, you kissed them both.”

“Gojo, of all people,” Utahime adds with no small amount of disgust.

You knock your head against the table, sighing heavily. If you tried to brain yourself right now, would they stop you? “Very helpful commentary, Senpai.”

“I just thought you had better taste, is all,” she mumbles in response.

Shoko laughs—relishing in your misery, most likely. “You told us, so now what? Are you wanting advice? Need help picking between them? Because I’ll also say you shouldn’t choose either of them.” You straighten up, sighing again, putting a thumb to the center of your forehead. “Hey, who did it first? You or Geto?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“The forehead thing.” She demonstrates by pressing a thumb to her forehead and pulling an exaggerated angry face. “Are you just now realizing that you do it, too?”

“Oh.” You stare down at your hand, genuinely shocked. You’ve never been consciously aware of it, but, yeah, you do actually dothe same thing as him. When did it even start? Which one of you started it? Was it you or was it him? “Um…no. It’s…I think it’s been this way since we were kids.”

Utahime’s nose is scrunched in distaste when she asks, “So, are you in love with them?”

“How would I even know?”

“How would you not?”

Shoko clucks her tongue, visibly irritated with Utahime. “Don’t make her feel bad. It’s not like you’ve ever been in love.” To have Shoko take that tone with Utahime is a shock. Your eyes dart to Utahime whose jaw is clenched and grip tightened around the coffee cup. This…tension between them…that’s new, right? You’re not imagining it, are you? But then Shoko turns back to you, gaze softening, as if nothing just happened. “Do you feel differently about them than anyone else?”

“I…” You know the answer. Deep down, you know it’s different with them. So…why can’t you admit that? There’s something that’s blocking you from accepting the truth, that has you skirting away from that place in your heart. For some reason, it seems unfair. You don’t know to who or why. Maybe you’re mistaking unfairness for wrongness. Shoko said it was okay to love more than one person, but there’s still that mental block in your head. You’ve been conditioned to love only one.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep thinking that hard. Calm down. You don’t need all the answers now,” Shoko tries to assure you. “There doesn’t even have to be an answer, either. This doesn’t have to mean anything at all. Just because they were your first, you don’t have to make these important. I didn’t.”

“Oh. You kissed someone?” That’s new. Definitely new. The last time you checked, when the school year first started and you two were catching up, she said that nothing happened in the way of her love life. She’s never admitted to it outright, but she’s been crazy pining for Utahime.

“Yeah.”

“How come you didn’t tell me?” It’s been busy, you haven’t seen each other much, but you’re a little hurt that neither she nor Utahime told you. Because it had to be Utahime, right? Then again, why is Shoko being so callous when discussing the kiss? She cares a lot for Utahime.

“Because, like I said, it doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

Utahime’s head is ducked down, but you can see her profile. If she glares any harder at that cup, it might shatter. Shoko, putting her elbow on the table and settling her chin in the palm of her hand, is feigning indifference. But there’s an air about her that tells you she’s anything but apathetic right now. Also, she’s now watching Utahime carefully.

The tension has you cringing. This is a delicate subject for everyone, so you’ll be the one to put a stop to it. “Maybe we shouldn’t keep talking about this—”

“Aren’t you gonna ask me who it was, Duck?”

“Why don’t we wait until we’re back on campus—”

“Mei was my first.”

It all comes crashing down. Literally. Because everything on the table clatters and tumbles over when Utahime lashes out to snatch Shoko’s wrist, her knee bumping against the underside as she moves. Her eyes are wide with panic. “Your first kiss, right?” Shoko’s mouth thins. “Right?” Still no response from Shoko. She’s resolute in her silence. Utahime’s anxiety is so palpable that your rises along with hers with every passing second that her question goes unanswered. “Right?”

Shoko snaps and yanks her wrist back from Utahime. “What does it matter to you?”

“It matters if you did this just to get back at me because I didn’t do what you wanted when you were drunk!” Um. You…feel like this has suddenly become a private conversation that you should not be hearing. You sink down in your seat a little. “Were you drunk when you went to her, too?”

“I’m not a slut, Utahime.”

“I wasn’t implying—”

“Not everything is about you!” Shoko shouts, the loudest you’ve ever heard her be. It startles you and Utahime. And Utahime drops down in her seat, shrinking as Shoko slams her hands against the table and rises to her feet. “You rejected me! You made it clear you don’t think about me the same way! Why do you care about what I do with who? And you’re so self-centered that you think I did it to get back at you! Give me a break!” Shoko storms away, grabbing your wrist and tugging you along as she snarls, “Let’s go, Duck.”

For the entire trek back to campus, Shoko hasn’t spoken. Neither have you. You’re not sure how to talk about it. So, you’ve watched her work through two cigarettes. You’ve also seen her blink back tears or scrub at her eyes with a sleeve. It’s when you’re on the way up the stone path that you finally decide to speak.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?”

Shoko barks out a laugh. “And fight with one of them? No thanks.”

Heat crawls up the back of your neck. You should’ve known better than to think Shoko wouldn’t figure it out. “They don’t spend the night with me when they’re both on campus. They sleep with each other instead. Suguru has an extra futon in his room.”

“Yeah. I can’t imagine both of those giants fitting on a bed together.”

You fiddle with some lint in the pocket of your hoodie. Do you want to talk about it is on the tip of your tongue, but you bite it back. Instead, you press her with, “So…sleepover?”

“Sure.”

“No alcohol, though.”

“Such a dutiful citizen.”

“Because I don’t have a technique to heal the suffering that I put my body through. Just because you can do these things doesn’t mean you should.”

“You can look away from the corpses. I can’t. Sorry that I wanna have some fun to forget about the fact that, one day, it’ll be one of you on my table next.” She curses, drops her cigarette to the ground, and smashes it with her shoe. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” She rubs her forehead. “That went too far.”

It’s true, though, isn’t it? You’ve never thought about it, but with her technique…she could heal any ailment. She can’t reverse aging, but everything else is free game. She doesn’t throw herself into danger like the rest of you. She can live a long life. Time is a luxury for most sorcerers. It’s a dauting reality to face so young. Still, when you die, that’s it. One day, Shoko will be left behind.

How lonely must that be?

“You could be a normal doctor,” you whisper as you take one of her hands in yours. “You can walk away from this life after we graduate. You can save people instead.”

“I appreciate the concern, Mama Duck, but it’s okay. If I wasn’t around, you’d be dead already from a brain bleed. I want to keep all you idiots alive as long as possible.” She squeezes your hand back, grip unbearably tight. “I think I’ll actually take you up on that sleepover invitation. I wanna be the little spoon.”

“Ugh, fine.”

***

In the seiza position on a cushion that’s probably worth more than your childhood home, you and Kento wait to meet with your escort today. The room you’re in is beautiful, decorated with a mural of a pond with elaborately detailed dragonflies. You itch for your sketchbook. You never had the chance to see this the last time you were here. The party was held somewhere else.

“It’s still so hard to reconcile the fact that he came from such a serious and distinguished clan.”

You bite back a smile. “Kento,” you try to scold.

Kento simply shrugs in response. For someone that lectures Satoru so much about the blunt way he speaks to people, Kento can be pretty ruthless in his own assessments. He’s of the mindset that sugarcoating words is unproductive, especially when it’s in regard to jujutsu. It can get people killed, in his opinion. You agree wholeheartedly which might be why you get along so well with him.

The sound of footsteps approaching has you straightening up. Three people enter the room, all with matching white hair and blue eyes. Duller than Satoru’s sparkling eyes, you notice. At the front of them is the current head of the clan. Satoru’s…great-uncle, you think he told you and Suguru? What was his name again? Did Satoru even tell you? Satoru spent more time gossiping than actually introducing.

His great-uncle was the strongest in the clan until Satoru came into the picture. He’s more obsessed with strength than even the Zen’in clan—which is a lot, Satoru said. Before Satoru’s birth, his great-uncle went behind his wife’s back, knocking up mistress after mistress, desperate to produce a child with the Six Eyes. So, when his brother’s bloodline was the blessed one, he grew more and more bitter.

Same thing happened with the Zen’in recently, actually, Satoru had mentioned that night of his birthday party. Or so the rumor mill says, anyway. Someone got knocked off the throne when they had some non-sorcerer kids. Our clans hate each other, but we suffered the same fate. Well, it was a blessing in disguise for my clan because they get me, but my great-uncle probably wouldn’t agree.

Satoru’s great-uncle might remember you because he coldly says, “You came all the way here for nothing. I did not authorize this. We don’t need some girl poking around in our personal collection as an experiment. I tried to call Gakuganji, but he didn’t answer. Tell him that the next time he makes decisions on our behalf, there will be consequences.”

“Big talk from someone that’s running on borrowed time!”

Everyone else in the room—Kento included—sighs in aggravation at the sound of Satoru’s voice. You, however, perk up when you watch him stroll into the room. He sprawls out next to you rather than his fellow clansmen, casual as can be. It’s infectious, because you find that the tension in your body is slowly bleeding away.

“Satoru,” his great-uncle starts through gritted teeth, “did you know about this?”

“Yeah,” Satoru answers boredly. “You geezers keep yapping about how I need to be more involved in clan business if I’m gonna be the head soon. So, I handled it for you.” A vein throbs on his great-uncle’s temple. Satoru zeroes in on it. “What’s got you so cranky, old man? My gramps says it’s been years since anyone’s been in our stash, so who knows what shape all those seals are in?”

Ah. His great-uncle has been posturing. You don’t know how the hell Satoru has been able to handle all these complicated rules and customs and interpersonal relationships. And you thought it’d been bad with the Kamo. You’ve heard of the Gojo ego, but the Zen’in are supposedly worse. You’re not sure you have the mental fortitude to deal with all this.

“You should remember your place,” his great-uncle hisses. “You’re not of age yet. You have no authority—”

“Nah, old timer, you need to remember yours.” Satoru rudely points a finger, clearly mocking the man. “What are you gonna do, huh? Fight me? We know who’ll win that. You’re just keeping the seat warm for me.”

Right. This is getting out of hand. “Satoru,” you speak up. “You’re being very rude right now.”

Satoru turns his head to pout at you. “Aw, c’mon, are you seriously taking his side?”

“You’re being rude,” you repeat because, no, you’re not taking his great-uncle’s side. This is just getting uncomfortable. All you want is for this to be over with as soon as possible.

Satoru groans loudly, like the drama queen that he is. “Fine. You’re lucky that I like you so much.” To his great-uncle, he declares, “I’ll escort them around the place. If anything goes wrong, the strongest sorcerer will be there. It won’t, though. My Sketch knows what she’s doing.”

My Sketch.

Did he have to say it like that? And in front of his family, no less?

The Gojo keep their collection deep inside the estate, in the basement. When you visited the Kamo clan, it took a lot to convince Kento to leave you alone. In the end, you succeeded when you told him that you can’t mask his presence so it would only agitate the few fly heads locked inside a cage. You assured him that if something went wrong, he’d sense a surge in cursed energy, and that you’d be okay because, as previously stated, you can hide yourself.

Kento stays at the top of the staircase that leads down to the basement. Satoru is suspiciously agreeable to staying behind and hands the key over without a word of complaint. Even Kento is skeptical, eyeing Satoru with the same wariness that you know is on your face.

You should’ve known he was only biding his time.

You’re distracted when he slips inside the room with you. The caged fly heads are off to the side of the room. You don’t need them. Never have. Their agitation is a warning sign that somethingis leaking inside here, though. Actually, it might be more than one something with how much cursed energy is festering in here. None of the seals are quite at their breaking points yet, but it’s enough that someone should worry.

Frowning to yourself, you mutter, “Does no one check in here?”

“No, not really.”

Something…very weird happens.

This ability of yours, you’re still testing out. You never thought of it as something to be aimed until Satoru forces your attention on him. There’s no other explanation for why you didn’t notice his overwhelming cursed energy before. And when you do, you get smacked in the face by nervousness. But it’s not…yours. Oh, this is weird. Because, somehow, you intrinsically know that this doesn’t belong to the fly heads, either. It’s diluted, not as potent as if it were your own, but it’s…cleaner than if it came from a cursed spirit.

“Why are you nervous?”

Satoru’s mouth parts and the smirk falls from his face. Suddenly, he yanks his sunglasses off, staring at you so intensely that you know he’s using the Six Eyes on you. His eyes widen before he rushes forward to take you by the shoulders. “Stop before you give yourself another brain bleed, idiot!”

Oh. Yes. Closing your eyes, you become increasingly aware of your body. Not only is your head throbbing, but blood is dripping from your nose. Definitely not as bad as that day on campus when you broke that old man’s hip, but still bad. Satoru’s hands on your shoulders are quickly becoming the only thing keeping you upright. He steadies you when you wobble dangerously.

“Hey,” he mumbles after a few silent moments of you catching your breath. You blink owlishly. “Are you resonating with cursed energy now?”

You wipe blood away from your nose with the hem of your sleeve. “If by resonating, you mean I can feel it then, yes, I can.”

“Thought it was weird when I watched you put the fly heads down,” he remarks while tapping his chin in thought. “Also, makes sense why you were all shifty when you told us about Ryomen Sukuna’s finger, too.” As with all new things, he’s immediately intensely interested, so he hunches over to lean his face in close to yours. “What does it feel like?”

“Sure, ask the person new to this.” You roll your eyes before taking a step back. Your heart is already about to burst from his scare. You don’t need your brain overthinking the closeness by wanting to kiss you again. Ugh, great, now you’re thinking about that. “It’s…emotions. I don’t know if that’s what it actually is or if that’s what my brain is translating it to, but that’s the only way I can describe it.”

“How does it feel?”

“What? For the seals about to break?” He nods. You shrug. “Depends, but mostly…giddy. No, that’s too positive. These are cursed objects. It’s that kind of excited that you get when…when someone that you don’t like gets what’s coming to them. Some of them are angry, like they’re pissed that they’re sealed and are waiting to make everyone’s life hell.” You turn to look at one of said objects. “Most of the ones in here are angry, by the way.”

“Eh. Everyone’s a hater.”

“Satoru,” you start with a deepening frown. “I’m going to strengthen these seals, but you really need to talk with your clan about checking on these more often. There’s no excuse for the shape these are in. I know most of your relatives have Infinity, but not all of them, right? And what about the little kids that I saw running around earlier? Seriously. This isn’t safe.”

Satoru picks up on your seriousness and, for once, doesn’t try to brush it off. “I didn’t know they were this bad,” he mumbles.

“I know. You do have an excuse because you’re in Tokyo.” You scrub a hand across your face. “Forget it. I already got a lecture from Principal Gakuganji about keeping my opinions to myself. Apparently, the Kamo clan was offended when I left. They said that I, and I quote, shouldn’t meddle in the affairs of clans.”

“Well, as I’ve already established today, I am the Gojo clan. I’ll bully the geezers until they assign someone to check in on this place more often.”

You shake your head. “You’re so lucky that you have the bite to back up your bark. If not, your clan would overthrow you in a heartbeat because of your shitty attitude.”

“That’s so mean!” Satoru whines.

“It’s what they call tough love. You need to take things more seriously—”

“I did!”

“Partially, but you’re still down here, distracting me from doing what I came here to do.” You cross your arms over your chest, shooting him an unamused look. “Unless you have something serious to talk to me about, will you leave me alone so I can work on these seals? I don’t need a babysitter. Is that why you were so nervous?”

Satoru’s face scrunches up briefly before he smooths it out by forcing a smile. “Heh. Yeah. Sorry. I’ll…just…” He points over his shoulder toward the door. Your brows furrow, confused by his behavior, but you’ll have to ask him later when you’re done with this. He turns, takes a few steps toward the door, but then stops.

“Satoru?”

Satoru takes a deep breath before he whirls around and stomps back over to stand right in front of you again. “Why’d you tell Suguru that I didn’t remember it?”

Okay, you’re just genuinely baffled now. “Uh…what?”

“I remember the kiss.”

Wait. Why does he look so betrayed? Is he seriously about to pin this on you? No. Absolutely not. Offended that he’s offended, you hiss, “You never said anything to me! What was I supposed to think?”

“I didn’t say anything because you didn’t say anything! You’re supposed to be the one that’s smart about emotions and stuff!”

“Huh? I’m sorry, but do you know who you’re talking to? Suguru is the smart one when it comes to that, idiot! Besides, when was I supposed to bring it up? As soon as you came back from the dead didn’t seem like the best time! And I hardly ever see you anymore! And…and how do I even bring that up?”

Satoru scowls. “I don’t know! We don’t even have to talk at all!”

“Then, why are you so upset?”

“No! I mean—” he groans loudly, frustrated by his inability to express himself. “I liked the kiss! I want to do it again!”

The confession comes at you like a sucker punch. You don’t expect it, and it leaves you wide-eyed and breathless. Your body is still burning up, yes, but it’s not because you’re pissed anymore. No, this asshole has you all flustered now, to the point that your mouth opens and closes because you can’t figure out what to say.

Weirdly, what ends up coming out of your mouth is a sheepish, “I liked it, too.”

It’s amazing, how much Satoru perks up. You can almost imagine the dog ears raised high and tail wagging excitedly. His cheeks are flushed, but he grins. “So…can we? Again?”

“Um. Sure. But—”

Satoru doesn’t wait to hear whatever it is you have to say. As soon as you give him permission, he’s reaching out for your face, and hunching over to smash his lips against yours. In his eagerness, your teeth catch his lip the wrong way, and his blood smears across your bottom lip. You can’t help but laugh, a little delighted that he’s so excited to kiss you again. The thought of finishing up in here with the seals floats away when he starts kissing you right.

Just a few kisses, you swear to yourself.

It ends up taking thirty minutes to pull away from him.

***

July is sweltering.

“I’m melting,” you announce to the room morosely. Suguru, a fellow starfish that’s sprawled out on the floor in front of the box fan, grunts in acknowledgement. You fling your hand over, lightly smacking it against his chest. “Get my pencil. It’s on the bed,” you demand.

Suguru snorts. “Excuse me? Where’s my Squid with her good manners?”

“The manner part of Squid’s brain fried from the heat. You get needy Squid now. And Squid wants to draw but needs her pencil to do that. I’ll draw whatever you want. No commission fee, either.”

“How benevolent,” he drawls sarcastically. “You have hands. Get it yourself.”

“Please?”

“Seriously? It’s right there. You’re closer to the bed.”

“But I’m melting.”

“Squid.”

“I’m a squid puddle.”

Suguru is laughing quietly, a beautiful sound that seems so rare these days. “I spoil you too much.” And yet, he rolls over on his hands and knees, so seems like you’re the real winner here. “Too hot to move but not too hot to draw,” he continues to playfully complain.

Suguru clambers over, hovering above you. His knees bracket yours in, he has one arm next to your head and uses the other to fumble around on the mattress for your pencil. You smile apologetically when he scowls at you, coming up empty. Even with his long arms, the pencil must be further away than he can reach like this, and he’s disgruntled about it. You can’t blame him. It is pretty hot. So, Suguru gets on his knees totally, sitting back on his haunches.

The thing is…the thing is…that when he moves around, he sets one knee between your thighs. Oh, this is familiar, you think to yourself with no small amount of panic. Before you can move, though, his knee is already moving higher to press right against your core.

It’s an instinctive thing, pushing back against his knee, chasing that feeling. Just as you lowly whimper, your brain catches up to what you’re doing, and you cover your mouth but it’s too late. That sound is already lost to the ether. Above you, Suguru freezes, eyes slowly widening, arm hovering there in the air.

Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it, your brain screams in some desperate hope that he’s become telekinetic and can pick it up. You are, of course, not lucky like that. And, slowly, Suguru drops the task of getting your pencil completely and moves down to hover over you on his hands and knees. You can’t quite hold back the flinch when his hands drop on either side of your head, keeping you pinned there with no way to escape without resorting to violence.

You might have to resort to violence.

“Squid,” he sings in that sickly sweet tone that he always uses before he teases you. Is he really going to make this worse? Shoko was so wrong. Suguru doesn’t have a crush on you and now he’s probably disgusted by your reaction. If not disgust then he’s, at the very least, feeling awkward. “What was that?”

You resist the urge to cover your face. That’d make you look guilty. You can get away with no eye contact, though. After all, that’s not out of the ordinary for you. “Nothing!” Oh, yes, that was so smooth. You’re a moron.

He raises a brow. “Really? It didn’t sound like nothing to me.”

“I…um…my back hurts from being on the floor for so long!” Yes, yes, that sounds like a reasonable excuse. You can run with this. “Here. I will get the pencil. Then, I’ll get the futon! Because y’know, my back is killing me, but I still want to stay low to the ground with the fan and where all the cold air is,” you rant nervously.

Shockingly, Suguru allows you to squirm out from underneath him. You might not completely be out of the clear yet, though, since he’s watching you so intently that you even feel his gaze on your back when it’s turned to him. You do what you said you would—grabbing the pencil and dropping it on the floor by your sketchbook before you go to his closet to grab the futon sitting on the top shelf.

As soon as you settle down on the futon, you sprawl out on your stomach, and nervously start to scribble in your sketchbook. Just little doodles and random patterns. Anything to make you look busy. You’re desperately hoping that the shift back to something normal will make him forget what just happened.

You know better than that, though.

Geto Suguru is like a dog with a bone when he wants something.

It doesn’t matter that you’re on your stomach now. Suguru crawls on the futon and moves back over you once again. There’s no point of contact, technically, other than his hands that grasp your wrists to stop you from sketching.

“Suguru,” you complain with a huff. “Get off me.”

“Not until you tell me the truth,” he declares.

You turn your head to the side, glaring at him with one eye. “I did. Now, can you stop being weird?”

Then, Suguru is shooting you one of those…stupidly handsome and infuriating cocky smirks. “Oh, so I’m the one that’s being weird? That’s rich coming from the person that tried humping my leg.”

Jerking your head back around so he can’t see your face, you give an outraged shout of, “I was not doing that!”

“You weren’t, huh? So, you wouldn’t mind if I…”

It gets suspiciously quiet, then. You’re on edge, waiting for an opening that doesn’t come. What does happen is that Suguru shifts around and, horrifyingly, his knee starts to slide up between your parted thighs. You try to snap them shut too late and it just ends up sending his knee bumping against your pussy yet again. You’re prepared for it in that you can bite your lip to hold back any noises, but not so much for the way he’s actively rocking it against you now.

“Suguru, stop!”

When his response comes, it’s right by your ear, and you’re seriously shivering now. “Not until you tell me the truth.”

“You know what it really is! Why do you need me to say it?!”

He’s grinning, you just know it. “I don’t want to presume…”

“It’s turning me on, okay? Are you happy now? You’re such an asshole! Why are you teasing me about something that my body does? This is a completely normal reaction! What if I started rubbing up against your dick, huh?”

“Who said anything about teasing, hmm?” Suguru’s mouth brushes against the shell of your ear. “And you don’t even have to do that much to make it hard. It is right now. Just from hearing you moan like that.”

…eh?

“Do you want to feel, Squid?”

The gears in your brain spun so hard that they blew up. They’re melting away. Nothing is left in your skull. That must be why you nod. It’s a simple thing, when he presses his weight down and that hard thing touches your ass, but the breath rushes out of you regardless. You fist the fabric of the futon, warming up, waiting for him to do something more. He doesn’t. You’re not sure what you expected since he just asked if you wanted to feel, not if you wanted him to start humping you.

“See? Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

It’s out of you without a thought. “What are we doing right now?”

Suguru doesn’t say anything immediately. He lifts away enough to grab your hip, squeeze, and then nudge as a silent order to roll over. You think about not doing, about running away, but…he…he’s turned on, too. So, you relent to his silent request and move to lay flat on your back. You blink up at him owlishly, waiting.

“Ever since that talk, the one where you told me to hold out until graduation so things can get better…I’ve been thinking.” This thing he has to say is making him nervous. His eyes skitter away, his cheeks are darkening, and his voice has the tiniest wobble to it. “Do you remember what we swore to each other after we graduated middle school? We were skipping stones.”

It takes you a few minutes to remember something from what feels like a lifetime ago. He rudely doesn’t say anything else to help your memory along, either. Finally, you remember it since there was really only one noteworthy conversation from around that time, right before you came to Tokyo.

Hey, if we’re still virgins by the end of high school, want to take each other’s virginities?

Surely not…that isn’t what he’s talking about, is it? Just the thought of it has your stomach twisting and heartbeat kicking up a little higher. To verify that that’s really what he’s referring to, you remind him, “We haven’t graduated yet.”

“As good as,” he whispers.

Ah. So…yeah. You guys are really having this discussion. Right. Okay. That’s…fine. But because you are how you are, you get boggled up in the details. “We have seven more months left.”

Suguru leans down, face hovering over yours. His long, dark hair that he didn’t bother to put in the usual neat bun falls like a curtain on either side of your faces. Almost as if you’re both being hidden away from the world. “Are you planning on losing your virginity to anyone else?”

Your throat clicks as you swallow. This conversation suddenly seems very…weighted. “No,” you whisper. F

“What’s the problem, then?” Amethyst eyes sweep over your face, heated in a way that you’ve never seen before. It’s a contrast with the almost hesitant way that he reaches up to hover next to your cheek in question. “This isn’t meant to pressure you,” he adds solemnly.

With a tilt of your head, you bump your cheek against his hand in silent permission to touch. “I know it’s not.” You do, truly. No lie. You’re a little overwhelmed, but it’s not necessarily bad. It’s…unfamiliar. “If anyone was pressuring, it was me. That was a weird thing to force a promise over.” Your brows knit together. For some reason, Satoru flashes across your mind, but interest in kissing isn’t the same as interest in having sex. Which is why you’re shocked that Suguru is bringing this up. “You’d seriously be okay with losing your virginity to me?”

Suguru smiles, small but genuine, and says your name and then, “It’s you.”

It’s you.

There is so much trust in that. Simple yet enough to shift the world ever-so-slightly. Things aren’t going to ever be the same, you realize, before recognizing that things have never been the same since last year. It’s you, he declares, and it’s true but so much more than that for you. It was always going to be you.

Curiously, you reach up to touch his cheek, as he does yours. Your thumb brushes the darkness under his eyes. The angles of his face are sharper, as obvious as the fact that he’s losing weight.

“Will this make you happy?”

Suguru’s gaze brightens with the impending mischievous comment. “Well, if you’ve had an orgasm, I’m pretty sure the answer to that question is obvious, Squid.”

“Not many, actually,” you casually admit. “They’re kinda lackluster.”

“That’s…really sad.” Then, he smirks smugly. “I’ll make your orgasms amazing.”

“That’s a pretty bold declaration for a virgin to make.”

“You have some nerve using virgin as an insult like that when you’re a virgin, too.” His eyes narrow playfully. “I’ll know my way around your body better than you’ll know mine.” You raise a brow, curious where that confidence comes from. “I’ve seen a JAV or two.”

“Pervert,” you intone.

Suguru doesn’t take the obvious bait meant to throw him into a tizzy. “I’m being honest with you. You’ve never had an issue with that before. What don’t we know about each other, hmm?” Yeah, okay, he’s got you there. “So, do you want to do this? It’s okay if you don’t. This doesn’t have to change anything between us.”

“You never answered my question. Will it make you happy?”

“Doing anything with you makes me happy.”

“Okay. If it makes you happy then it makes me happy, too.”

Then, for a long time, there’s no words spoken.

In a way, you think that this was always going to happen. For the last ten years, you’ve shared everything with each other, so why would you not give your bodies to each other? There’s no judgement as you slowly strip down. There never has been. When you’ve borne your heart and soul to someone, seen the darkest parts of them and shown yours in return, nakedness seems like such a trivial thing to fuss over.

Between the kissing and leaving marks along one another’s necks and shoulders, your hands slide lower. At some point, you think he whispers something like, it’ll hurt less if you’re wet. And like that very first time that you felt true desire, this is so wildly different from when you touch yourself. He’s clumsy, unable to stick to one place in his curiosity, fingers gliding over your clit and then dipping down to slip inside you.

It’s a stretch. Stinging and painful with how much larger and longer his fingers are compared to your own. But the constant pressure on your clit has pleasure winning the war against pain. You fumble to keep your hand wrapped around his stupidly big dick, but the thoughts are quickly flittering away.

You’re not even sure how you manage to rub enough brain cells together to breathlessly ask, “Do you have a condom?”

Suguru freezes. “Uh…”

Ugh. No wonder Utahime says that men only think with their dicks. What does that make you, though? Because the halt of his fingers makes you whine and scramble to keep this pleasure going as long as you can. “Just…make sure to pull out before you come. Okay?”

He nods enthusiastically. “Okay.”

Something interesting builds inside you. Not an orgasm, but an ache. A gnawing hunger to fill the emptiness inside you. It must be inside him, too, because he murmurs, “I’m putting it in now, okay?” You nod as eagerly as he did. He kisses the place behind your ear. “Tell me if it hurts too much. I mean it, Squid. We can stop whenever you want.”

“I know,” you reply quietly. Then, you gently yank on one of his bangs, making him lean away a little to look down at you with a raised brow. “The same goes for you, too. If you want to stop, say so.”

Suguru’s expression softens so much that it makes you a little shy again. You try to turn your head away, but he tilts it back with a hand on your cheek and kisses you again. With all the things that you two have done so far, this is what makes you the most breathless. Kissing him always does. And just because you can, you place your hand over his heart, reassured to feel that his heart is beating as fast as yours is.

Fingers, you figure out, are nothing compared to that thing between his legs. It hurts, you’ll admit it. More than the twinges from before. It’s an easier glide than any of the times you’ve tried fingering yourself and you think that might be because you’re so wet, exactly like Suguru said. You bear down on instinct when he starts to press in. He hisses through his teeth, immediately pulling out.

You blink open your eyes. “Huh?”

Suguru’s cheeks are so red. He refuses to meet your gaze which is a rare thing indeed. “Sorry. You’re…you were squeezing me really tight. And…um…it’s…hot inside. And…wet…”

You giggle nervously, understanding that he was about to come. “It’s okay. You’re big, I’m tight, so this is good. It’s good for both of us if you go slow, right?”

“Right.”

For most of the time that he’s pushing inside, you’re kissing. Suguru will inch inside you a little further each time before abruptly pulling out. Each time he does this, he lasts a little longer, and you relax a little further. It starts as a painful stretch, shifts to more of a pinching, and then gets sore. The soreness, though, slowly becomes dulled against the blossoming pleasure.

By the time his pelvis is pressed to yours, you’re slipping your arms under his, clinging to him and begging, “Please don’t pull out this time.” Both of you are breathing heavily, soaked with sweat. “Please, Suguru. I know you’re not trying to tease me, but that’s how it feels now. I can’t stand how empty I feel when you leave.”

Face buried in the crook of your neck, Suguru breathes a sigh of relief. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? I’ve been going slow for you.”

“You didn’t catch on from the noise?”

“Did we not establish how important communication is here?”

That was meant to be a reprimand, but it sounds like there’s a smile in his voice. You won’t be able to maintain the eye contact long, you think, but you want to see his face. Just for a little while. So, you grab a fistful of his hair, giving a slight tug. Suguru reacts in a way that you definitely don’t expect. He moans and maybe unintentionally bucks his hips. Your grip gets tighter and the nails of your other hand dig into his back.

Suguru leans on one elbow, avoiding looking at you while he gently grasps your wrist, pulling it away from his hair. “Let’s not do that again,” he suggests hoarsely.

“You’re really struggling with this.” He scowls and you shake your head to it. “It’s…kind of a compliment. Am I that hot?”

He laughs quietly and strokes the high of your cheekbone with his thumb, suddenly looking so unbearably soft. “Squid, I’ve dreamed about this since we made that deal at the river. You’re beautiful. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen since I was six years old.”

This unknown emotion in your chest swells to the point where it’s unbearable. It’s a confession that you can’t handle. “Please,” you whisper, unsure what it is that you’re begging for.

Suguru takes the plea as one to move. He does. A tentative, unsure rolling of his hips. Your forehead lolls forward, pressing against his shoulder. It feels as if you’re about to burst out of your skin. The heat and pressure building inside you like a bomb. It all adds up, the little things. The brushing of fingers over nipples, the digging of nails into skin, the intertwining of your limbs, the breaths you feed each other when you kiss.

On the precipice of orgasm, Suguru moans loudly in your ear. Then, he pulls out, the warm ropes of his release coating your pussy and inner thighs. He doesn’t even catch his breath before his fingers roughly stroke your clit, throwing you over the edge with an arch of your back and fingers clutching at the fabric of the futon.

Suguru collapses on top of you, both of you giving an oomph. Your nerves are like livewires, so when he rests his cheek above your heart, it’s like you can feel his breath wash over your skin. You feel the need to say something, but he rests an arm over your bare waist, grips you tight, and kisses the spot above your breast. With a tilt of your head, you see his eyes are closed. His face is flushed, skin shining, but he looks…peaceful.

Yes, this is peaceful enough.

#jjk #jjk fic #jjk smut #satosugu x reader #my fic #gojo x reader #geto x reader #gojo smut #geto smut #autistic reader #autistic gojo #jjk geto #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #anime

58 notes · View notes