#also how easy it is for him to clench his jaw. well. thinking thoughts.

[rabotimagines]

Okay so my brain has officially short circuited after reading your Jazz x Reader fic… So good…

May I request a prompt somewhat similar? Like a Decepticon reader who has been captured by the Autobots and puts their cute frame to use to flirt, canoodle… (maybe something more? 👀) their self out of their situation? Maybe with Bumblebee or Prowl? :3

I don't think either of them would go for it, but it would certainly be fun to sexually harass them a bit as a Con.

"Shameless" Gn BOT Reader x Bumblebee, Prowl [Smut Scenario]

Summary: Flirty con reader sexually harasses Bumblebee and Prowl.

G1 characters: Bumblebee, Prowl, (Ironhide has some little moments too.)

Genre/Theme: smut scenario 🔞

Warnings: Sexual harassment, Con Reader cranks it in the middle of the Autobot brig, Ironhide threatening reader at the start

Pronouns: You, Your, Yours, them, they, their

Notes: Shameless flirty con Reader, Readers playful and a bit of a slag starter, Reader calls Bumblebee "Honeybee", Made as a Part 2 of this in mind

"Where's the artifact?" Ironhides hard unmoving expression met yours. His digit pads clenching your jaw so hard they risked imprinting their marks.

Your servos hovered over the electrified bars of the Autobot brig. Ironhides grip, forcing your faceplate almost right against them. You could feel the heat of the high voltage electricity ghosting along the metal of your face. But you still just worried your expression alongside your smile. Knowing sparkdamn well how mad Ironhide would get from just the little look alone. "Sorry, but I don't have a clue what my fellow cons decided to do with it. Maybe dial up ol' Megatron and ask if he's up to share?"

Ironhide's engine growls, and you can't help smiling just a touch more over the reaction. Which only makes Ironhides expression darken further. He's so easy to play with that you can't help your em field wanting to flex out and taunt him even further.

"Ironhide, release them." Prowls voice cuts through your staring contest and makes you both glance at the tactician. The Honeybee trailing along behind him as he walks over to you two. Prowl's servos are behind his own back and he seems very unconcerned about the entire thing. Ironhide makes optical contact with Prowl, and he still does not release you.

They hold their gazes like that until Ironhide finally scoffs and throws you back a touch, his digits finally leaving your frame. "Fine. Better have a good interrogation method ready for them."

You just massage the metal of your jaw, your digits rubbing over the slightly indented marks Ironhide left behind. "Aw, big bad Autobot passing the responsibility of the prisoner? Ironhide, I'm hurt. I thought we had something." Ironhide whips around, rage now reignited on his faceplate. His mouth opens, no doubt about to rip into you again, his plating tightening down on his own frame. But you also notice how his optics are just a smidgen brighter. For an old mech, Ironhide really can be quite cute. Especially when he's all flustered like that.

"Ironhide." Prowl's voice cuts through again, and Ironhide stops himself short.

Ironhide shuts his mouth with an audible clunk and points a digit through the electrified bars. "You better behave your sorry sparkdamn self or I'll come back in here and put you back in your fragging place, con."

You only wrapped your arms around yourself in an exaggerated fashion. "I'm shaking in my plating."

Delight curls in you when Ironhides gaze sharpens even further. But he finally just huffs and turns to march out of the brig.

Once he's gone, Prowl evaluates you with a critical gaze. You only impassively meet his stare before he broke it to look at the Honeybee. "Bumblebee." The scout jumped and snapped his gaze from you to his superior. "Report any instances of the prisoner acting up."

"I'm on it, Prowl." With that, Prowl gave one last glance towards you and then turned to leave.

Your gaze moved from Prowls doorwings to the Honeybee when the door automatically closed behind him. He jumped a second time when your optics met for a nano-klick. He then stood up straighter and broke his gaze to glare at the wall. Trying very hard to look tough and uninterested.

His optics already brighter than they should be and his servos almost as tight as his plating.

Oh... this would be fun.

Maybe you could convince the scout of a little... exchange. Or at least you might be able to scare him off of his post.

-

Bumblebee drummed his digits on his own gauntlet, trying very hard not to let himself focus on you. He just managed to acknowledge the fact he thought you were hot. He didn't need to be guarding you right now. Bumblebee was already embarrassed enough being attracted to a Decepticon. He didn't wanna be in charge of exactly that Decepticon prisoner. It had been a few klicks, and you hadn't said anything, so Bumblebee thought just maybe you'd keep quiet through his shift.

"Hey, Honeybee." Your voice immediately shatters that hope. Bumblebee's plating that had relaxed clamped back down on itself at the sound of your voice. Bumblebee tries to steel himself so he can prepare for whatever you were gonna say to him.

"Honeybee." You hummed, your tone so much sweeter than Bumblebee knew you were. "I know your audials work. Don't ignore me now."

Bumblebee finally looks up at you and sees you close to the bars staring right at him. "What?" He asks purposely keeping his words short.

You are completely unbothered by his curt attitude. You actually smile a bit more when he responds, and Bumblebee has to tamper down his engine so it doesn't start softly purring. "Wanna make my stay and your boring shift a little bit more... interesting?" Bumblebee cycles his optics at the question.

Did you want to... actually talk to him?

Bumblebee frowns at the thought, not letting himself get caught up in his own cyberpuppy crush. There was no telling what you were actually doing this for. Bumblebee knew what kind of bot you were first- and that was a Decepticon. So he cautiously picks his words and doesn't let his optics leave your frame. "What kind of interesting?"

You smile and uncross your arms, one of your servos reaching down and- "Wanna interface?" Your digits dragged over the cusp of your modesty panel.

Bumblebee's optics rapidly cycle multiple times as he stares at you, still dragging digits over your own modesty panel teasingly- Bumblebee rather violently snaps out of his daze when your servo full on cups your closed panel. "No- no! You're our prisoner! I'm not gonna- No!" Bumblebee can't stop his vocalizor from pitching higher even when you obviously find his reaction funny.

Bumblebee forcibly clears his vocalizot and gets himself back together. "No." He repeats and hardens his expression to glare at you impassively. This was a trick. You were messing with him. Messing with him because you thought it was funny! So Bumblebee stands firm while he meets your gaze, daring you to say something else...

And you do "Alright fine, suit yourself, Honeybee. I'll just take care of myself then." You turn on your pede and make your way to the brigs uncomfortable recharge slab and sit down on it.

Bumblebee huffs a bit.

He was kind of proud he didn't break away from your gaze first.

Bumblebee's optics snap open wide when he watches you casually spread your legs out and snap your modesty panel back in one motion. "Uh-!" Bumblebee starts, and he can't finish because he's now suddenly stuck staring right at your valve.

"Enjoy the show then, Honeybee." Bumblebee's optics snap back up, and he watches as your servos drag along the grooves of your own plating. Your digits now dragging along the sensitive inner dips were your plating meets. A soft set of sighs dragging out of you every continued touch you'd feel of yourself.

Bumblebee watches mouth agape when your servos slowly dragged from your collar all the way down to your array.

Bumblebee's jaw clamps shut when he sees your now active array.

Your spikes pressurized and twitching heavy on your own frame. Your digits then rub over the mesh of your own valve tentatively. "You can still join if you want to Honeybee." Bumblebees optics snap back up to your faceplate- and he has the break away first this time when you smile at him. His gaze unwillingly shoots back down to your array when he catches movement, and he watches you start by immediately sliding two of your digits into yourself. Your valve obediently opens under your own prodding- the rim of your hole stretching around your own digits. And Bumblebee's mouth goes utterly dry.

Your other servo wraps around your spike, and you indifferently start to stroke yourself off. Pace unbothered but digit pads making sure drag along the girth and shape of your own spike every continued stroke up and down. You groan loudly under the stimulation and Bumblebee's own array starts twinging with obvious sudden interest.

Your thighs spread farther apart, and Bumblebee watches when your digits sink down to your knuckle. The wet sound of your own lubricant punctuated the act, and Bumblebee has to swallow down the needy sound that almost escapes his vocalizor. You huff a laugh and let your frame stretch out even further. Your plating laxing more makes the sensitive seams peak out even further for Bumblebee to look at. Your open thighs very much a clear invitation for Bumblebee to cozy himself between them-

No- no no no! Bumblebee shakes his helm and has to force his gaze away from you. He wouldn't-! Bumblebee needed to leave. No, he couldn't- he's supposed to be your guard and just watch you!

So Bumblebee slack jawed watches as your pelvis arches off of the recharge slab into your own servos. Your spike is starting to leak pre lubricant all over your own plating. You moan openly, and the sound is followed by Bumblebee's spike hitting the front of his modesty panel.

Bumblebee was supposed to report you acting up- he could report you acting up! Yup! Bumblebee was doing that! Right fragging now-! Bumblebee physically puts his servo up so he won't feel tempted to steal another glance while he rapidly dials Prowls Com.

-

Prowl answers Bumblebee's com call with an impassive nod. His optics are still trailing along his datapad. "Bumblebee."

"Prowl! Uh-!" The noticeably higher pitch in Bumblebees' voice immediately has all of Prowl's attention turning towards the conversation. "Um- the prisoner! They're uh-" Prowl quickly stands at the mention of you coupled with Bumblebee's obviously flustered state. He's opening Red Alerts Com in his backlog, noting how there was no message about you escaping or acting up. Prowl moves to start heading towards the brig preemptively. "They're um-!"

"Bumblebee, have they made any attempt to escape?" Prowl prods as he makes his way out of his office.

"Prowl they're self servicing-!" Prowl stops in his place, his sensor panels flicking upwards when he processes the statement.

Prowl resists the urge to sigh and quickens his pace. "I'll be right there, Bumblebee."

...

Prowl did not believe you would still be doing exactly what Bumblebee said you were when he actually got there. But low and behold you were.

Prowl has to suppress his optical ridge twitching at the sight of your thighs spread wide and your very active array out on open display. "Prowl!" Bumblebee exclaims at the sight of him, and Prowl can only note how bright Bumblebee's optics were. If Bumblebee had door wings, Prowl imagined they would be hiked up as far as they possibly could go.

"Bumblebee, you're relieved of the rest of your shift."

A look of surprise passes over Bumblebee's faceplate before he glances at you when you make a rather loud noise. "Ah- ha right- bye!" With that, Bumblebee rushes out of the door, leaving you and Prowl alone in the brig.

The sound of the door shutting behind Bumblebee makes your helm raise and your servos pull away from your array. You make optic contact with Prowl, and he does not bother to hide the unimpressed expression on his faceplate. "Aw, Honeybee got scared away?" You smiled clearly amused. "Even when I offered him the chance to join..." Prowl's wings twitch at the casual admission.

Prowl sighed and clicked his glossia. "Your abhorrent behavior is bothering our Autobots. Cease immediately."

Like he'd expected your derma just quirked upwards at his demand. "Or what, pudding?" You're servos trail down the dips of your hips till they were resting on your array. "Gonna come in here and punish me, maybe? Oh no... whatever shall I do...?" One of your servos finds your spike again, and you begun stroking up and down your own length.

Prowl can feel his annoyance flair and become genuine anger for a nano-klick, and he half imagines doing just that. And when his logic center tries to calculate the easiest way he could get a hold of you, he dismisses the numbers, and he smothers it back down. '

Prowl's optics flick down at your hard spike that's spilling pre lubricant all over your own fist. Then, towards your valve, which you currently weren't touching but was definitely lubricating under your own administrations.

His optics flick back up and your smile sharpens a touch. Prowl's plating tightens slightly on himself, having been caught leering for the quick moment. However Prowl holds his gaze with your own.

Prowl wouldn't allow you to get to him.

"What? Too shy to come in and join? I didn't take you for the type, Prowl."

"You're our prisoner, and no type of fraternizing will take place while you're in our care." Prowl's tone is clipped and short. He can feel the urge to say more on the tip of his glossia. But he also knew better than to give into your obvious attempts to off kilter and anger him.

"What? Not much of a spike mech?" Your servos both dip low, and the movement makes him glance- and Prowl wordlessly watches you spread your own valve mesh. Prowl has to resist the urge to swallow when he physically sees you clench down on nothing. Prowl lately registers his door wings raising a bit higher, and he forces them back downwards immediately. Unfortunately, you'd noticed the slight reaction before he had. "Oh, so you are more of a valve, mech. Noted."

Prowl ignored your remark for the sake of his own sanity. "I will ask you again to cease your inappropriate behavior while in our brig."

"What? C'mon, I'm dripping over here. Come in here and spike me, Prowl." You pushed two digits into your valve with a wet sound. Your other servo still on the side of your valve and still parting your mesh. Showing Prowl how you would clench down on your own digits. "I'll even let you overload inside me if you let me out afterwards. You were an enforcer before, right? I doubt this would be the first time you've ever traded an overload for a softer sentence."

The very bold assessment you'd made of Prowl's character snaps him out of his thoughts and drags his temper back to the forefront of his processor.

You were trying to escape. Not only escape, you were trying to offer sexual favors to get yourself out of your imprisonment. And you would accuse Prowl of- extorting those he's arrested for sexual gratification? Prowl's door wings slant, and his frown deepened into a scowl. "I have done no such thing, and I will never do any such thing as the gross miss use of power you are describing."

"You expect me to believe that? Really? A dirty enforcer like yourself?" You fisted your spike again and started stroking yourself while thrusting your digits into your own valve. "I bet you even fantasize about using those stasis cuffs of yours on cons like me! Ha, while imagining yourself punishing us like the dirty criminals we are." Prowl's mouth goes dry, and disbelieving outrage floods his system alongside the hot burn of shame. Prowl didn't know how you guessed his sins correctly, but frankly, he does not care.

Prowl's wings slant further, and he can't stop himself from disparaging you at least a bit. "You are a filthy pervert. Self-servicing in front of Bumblebee with no regard to anyone else around you. You have no dignity, and it's a wonder how none of your allies have killed you yet for your personality alone."

"Oh yeah?" The amusement in your tone only makes Prowl's anger flicker higher. Your servos are still working your array, and Prowl can feel the current heat in his chassis try and burn in a different way. The utterly immoral emotion easily wants to join Prowl's rage and settle in like it was meant to be there.

Prowl's optics narrow, and he can't stop his own glare or his glossia. "You're nothing more than a sexual deviant-! A deprived criminal who can only derive joy from the most dissolute forms of interaction." Prowl's engine tappers off a rev and he forces it to still as he continues. "You are unprincipled, selfish, abhorrent, and-"

"Keep going! I'm almost there-!" You urge Prowl on a smug satisfied smile curling at your derma. Prowl's door wings snap high, and his optics widened when he processed what you'd just said.

Arousal trickled up Prowl's chassis swift to settle in alongside his immediate disgust.

Prowl was compromised by his attraction towards you.

He's leaving. Prowl was leaving right at this very moment.

Without giving you another word, Prowl turns on a pede and makes his way out of brig. "Aw, Prowl, you're no fun-!" The door shutting behind him cuts your words off. Prowl had to allow himself a moment to vent. The frustration and the sexual energy fizzling down further and further in the back of his own frame.

Prowl instinctively checks his com when he gets a message.

Ironhide had messaged Prowls com saying if he needed to come teach you a lesson, Ironhide would do it at Prowl's command. Prowl promptly dismissed the message. Prowl knew Ironhide of all mechs was not who he wanted in charge of you in the brig right now. He'd seen you get into it with one another recently on the battlefield. And frankly, your encounters could be so sexually charged nowadays, Prowl was surprised that Ironhide hadn't broken code already.

No, Prowl needed someone who would not fall prey to your flirtatious advances and / or fall for your goading comments.

... it may take him a few klicks to find who he's going to subjugate you onto and also swap schedules around to give whoever that is the time to do that.

-

Red Alert cycled his optics and stared slack jawed at the monitor in front of him. You-! this was a trick- it had to be a trick-! But the longer he watched you self-service in the brig even after Prowl left had him uncertain. Red Alert then wordlessly watches you overload all over yourself with a loud groan. Transfluid spilling out of your spike and your own thighs closing around your own servo.

And then his jaw clamps shut when you move to continue touching yourself.

"Again!?" Red alert jumped out of his chair with a panicked shout at the voice to his right suddenly speaking. Red Alert's optics burned, and his helm is sparking when he makes frazzled optic contact with Trailbreaker.

"Red, I ain't exactly against the voyeurism, but you might wanna turn the volume down." Inferno on his left makes Red Alert whip his helm around. "I think anyone in the hallway can hear them from the monitor."

"Voyeurism!? It's not-! no its-" Red Alert fumbled and stared back at the screen of you working yourself to yet another overload. Trailbreaker and Inferno were both staring at the visual of you alongside him.

Oh, this was-! Frag! Red Alert turned the monitor off with a curse. The camera feed was still recording just- if you were up to something, he could review it later, Primus! Red Alert scrubbed his servos over his faceplate, his helm sensors still spitting static. Trailbreaker laughed softly on his right, and Inferno awkwardly patted his pauldron on his left.

-

You smirked when Soundwave pinged your com to tell you he shut the camera feed off. You pulled your servos off of yourself and stood up from the slab. You slipped your servo into one of the hidden physical storage areas you had on your frame and pulled out the human gem you'd been hiding from the Autobots. You pinged Soundwave and told him you were ready to hand it off.

The far away vent in the brig rattled and opened, and Ravage dropped down onto the floor with a barely audible noise. He stalked forward and stopped dead in his tracks, staring at you.

Oh, right, your spike and valve were still just out.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. I needed a way to get them to leave and turn the cameras off. They're such prudes- don't y'know?" Ravage made a chuffed sound that you couldn't take as anything else but a scoff. You bent down and stuck your servo through the bars, letting Ravage take the gem in his jaws before standing back up. "Tell Soundwave he's not gonna be able to black mail me on this. I do not care." You didn't bother trying to cover up since Ravage already had enough of an optic full that there was frankly no point.

Ravage raised his helm and continued to leer at you. You arched a brow and smirked. "Pervert."

Your com pinging with a message again makes you glance at it.

> Takes one to know one.

You huffed a laugh.

He had a point. "Touche."

As Ravage made his way back out of the brig, you made yours back to the slab. Wondering if you should fantasize about the Honeybee or that sour Enforcer of yours.

...

Maybe you could think about them both. No harm in that little fantasy now was there?

[yrsonpurpose]

#nicholas galitzine the actor that you are

[pythonmoth]

cw: implied torture. body harm mentioned. reader thinks of price as a father figure. reader is unreliable and inconsistent. military inaccuracies.

» conviniences bc this is a fanfic. unimportant oc, don't ask me background. oc is a plot device, never mentioned again, probably. it's just for fun.

simon x f!reader. poly tf141. father figure price.

First part | Last | Next

Surely, if you asked him, he wouldn't even blink and would tell you it was an order. He couldn't do anything. Had his hands tied. He's sorry it happened to you.

Because it was easier.

In this line of work, he's seen half of his teammates die because they were reckless, because there was an idiot who thought knew best and ended up getting killed, or decided to sell out the others for money. Also killed, or in jail.

There's no such thing as a good or bad side when the guns and the bombs go off for both. There's only dead or alive, and you must kill whoever is against you for you to survive. That's how it's always been.

You don't matter in the battlefield if innocents are in danger back home. You do that for them.

Price fought fiercely for his nation. He had passion, he loved defending it with his blood and sweat, but he was nothing. Just another number in the end.

What he could do was try to be someone for his team. These men needed him. And he couldn't fail them.

After so many years in this world, he realized it's easier to just accept orders.

So when the higher ups sent him information and evidence, he clenched his jaw and spent the whole night going through it.

You've been part of the team for years. Nearly a whole decade he's worked with you, saved your ass, and you've saved his. He remembered every single one.

He didn't want to believe it, but the order had been given, and he couldn't refute the evidence. Not when it was slapped to his face like this and he had nothing but his instinct.

For the first two hours, he'd been pissed to his core. You've been everybody's confidant since day one, always listening. You knew secrets.

When he found out you were dating Ghost, he couldn't deny that he thought you wouldn't last, that it would be messy. Ghost's a troubled man, filled with secrets not even you could unveil, but Ghost was completely smitten by you; not that you were any better. He didn't even want to think how Johnny was added to the mix.

He'd seen so many things already, that it just made him blink and nod. It was nobody's business, anyway.

And it was an entertaining pleasure to witness.

However, now it just felt like he's been a fucking idiot. Opening up to somebody wasn't a good idea, he knew this, but if he couldn't trust his team, who the hell was he supposed to trust, then?

His cigar wasted away while he stared at the evidence in front of him. It was too easy, too... fitting, but it was impossible to ignore.

"Make sure she confesses. That's your order" they told Price. Just that. Simple as that.

According to the evidence, you've been selling information on other teams' missions, making copies of documents and entire files. They had your fingerprints somehow, but he couldn't buy it. Price had insisted they continued the investigation at first, because why were you the only person involved? Where were the people that definitely helped you? Why not sell information on your team as well?

"Shut the fuck up and do as we say" they ordered. "Your career is in our hands".

Pretty much.

He genuinely despised the higher ups, taking shitty decisions from behind their desks and fancy suits. Still, orders are orders. He couldn't ignore them or the whole team would suffer from it one way or another.

Price had to think.

If he couldn't just ask you, because, goddammit, he's not stupid, he would have to force it out of you.

How the hell was he supposed to do that?

He couldn't possibly cut your fingers off, or cover your body with permanent scars, because he really didn't believe you were a traitor.

But he could not be accused of insubordination.

And you could very well be lying. You could be making a fool out of everybody.

With a heavy sigh, he rubbed his face, exhaustion making his shoulders slump. He grabbed his cigar from the ashtray and took a long, deep drag from it. His lungs burning, he made up his mind.

Nails grow.

They would be raw for months, but it would not make you lose your normal mobility forever and, if he was right and there was something else going on, he could give you a temporary discharge so you could recover. Away from them.

Or you would be rotting in jail. One or the other.

Price put his cigar down again and stood up from his chair, tapping the desk with his fingertips; a big plan was forming in his mind and he didn't like it.

If you were truly a traitor, he was following orders. If you weren't, he was also following orders. Still, he had something he'd learned a few years ago, when Johnny first started hanging out with Ghost and you.

Johnny had a big mouth when drunk, and he had told Price you were scared of the ocean after a few drinks. He didn't mention a reason, but that didn't matter. He would have to use that.

He couldn't take risks.

He was fond of you, but if there was evidence that could be used against you, he could not afford to hesitate. Not for you. Not for anybody.

For the team's sake, he had to do as he was told.

Price prepared the basement himself.

It made his stomach wrench with guilt, but he kept reminding himself he had no right to ignore orders. He knew you, but...

Obey orders.

That's been drilled into his mind. And he had given an oath.

He knew you could understand that. Every soldier could.

The salty water, the disgusting rags and that bloody chair was ready by the time the sky turned of dark ink. Soon the sun would come out, but he had yet another decision to take.

He knew what had to be done. He knew the best option for you. Still, it was not going to be even a little bit pretty.

All or nothing. They would have to understand.

He came out from the basement, the stairs seemingly infinite for a moment, and quickly ordered Ghost and Johnny to be called in to his office.

He forced himself to imagine it wasn't you. He pictured a different face, a different person begging and screaming in the chair.

He knew Ghost would ignore his command. He was smart enough to ignore his ridiculous order of making you suffer longer than necessary. He was counting on it.

Price couldn't tell Ghost, and he couldn't tell Johnny. No matter what he did, he couldn't put them at risk.

If this went wrong for him, he would be the only one paying the consequences. Nobody else would be involved but himself.

He regretted kicking you the day before, but he got too into his own head, into the character he forced on himself, that only when he was back in his office did he realize what he'd done.

To see you passed out on the chair after enduring so much pain was really just a breaking point for him. He had stormed out and gone straight to his office.

Just as he reached out to grab the phone and call the higher ups, to yell at them to do a fucking proper investigation, to do their job and leave his team alone, someone opened his door without knocking. He was so upset that he actually flinched in surprise.

"Sergeant Garrick" Price said, his eyebrows furrowing, standing up from his chair.

Kyle's face was visibly angry, expression hard. It took Price a moment to realize the sergeant was dragging someone unconscious by their ankle like a sack of potatoes.

"What's the meaning of this? Who the hell is that?" Price questioned, walking over to Kyle, staring down at the man on the floor. "Weren't you supposed to be back tomorrow?"

"Finished earlier. Got here like five minutes ago" Kyle explained, waving his free hand as if to dismiss Price's questions. "He was sneaking out from the storage room. I asked him what he was doing, and he tried to gut me so I put him down. Interesting things in his backpack" he said, letting go of the man's leg. Kyle crossed his arms and looked at Price.

"What things?" he asked, moving to take the backpack from the passed out man, and quickly torn it open. A scoff left his chest. Copies of documents.

"I was gone for five days and all I heard on my way here is that you're going insane and that the Lieutenant wants to gut you. What the hell is happening?"

It had been a goddamn mess.

The man confessed when he woke up, no resistance at all. A soldier Price hadn't seen much before because he wasn't under his command, but as soon as he heard his last name, he knew they were absolutely fucked.

All it took was a call not even five minutes later and Price had to let him go.

Of course the higher ups wanted you to confess. Of course they ordered Price to make you confess, not bring out names of buyers nor more traitors.

That's why there wasn't a proper investigation.

Price stood there as the soldier raised an eyebrow at them, amused, and walked past Price and Kyle, soldiers from another team escolting him away.

Deployment. To South Korea.

A slap on the wrist for the son of one of the higher ups.

It wouldn't take a day for the rumors to fly, so they announced his deployment quickly. The fact that he had tried to gut Kyle apparently wasn't important, either.

Price didn't receive a single call after that. He understood the order to be silent and pretend that never happened.

Couldn't they have done that since the beginning, instead of making you go through this? Maybe it was time to retire.

This only left him with a much bigger problem, though.

He felt guilty for making Kyle work when he had just gotten back, but he asked him to go and make sure the medics were prepared to receive you, while he gave himself a little pat on the back as encouragement, and told Ghost and Johnny to come on up to his office.

He didn't stop Ghost from punching him. He knew he deserved that punch.

It had been his fault to be so careless. If he hadn't thought you could be the traitor, he would've continued with the rags and the gagging instead of hurting you. He had orders and he let them get to his head. And that was his mess to deal with.

"Garrick caught him trying to escape" Price raised his voice again, doing his best to be heard over their yelling. "He's been detained and already confessed. The problem is that—"

"I don't fucking care!" Simon snapped, gripping his desk hard enough to break it in two. "Bring him here, goddammit. I'll put a bullet through his brain".

Johnny was quiet, staring daggers into his head. Price growled deeply, rubbing his face tiredly. "I'm trying to explain why I fucking can't do—"

"The fuck am I here for, then? I'm done with this fucking shit hole" he yelled, not interested in whatever Price had to say anymore.

Johnny and him rushed downstairs, leaving him alone. He didn't leave his office, the heels of his hands digging into his eyes.

In his need to protect the team, he'd fucked up. If Ghost didn't want to listen to him, if Johnny was so angry he seemed ready to stab his guts, he could only rely on you.

It was unfair, he knew. But it was his best shot.

The rumor of the son of an important man causing trouble for Price's team quickly spread, but nobody would dare saying anything out loud. Not properly, at least.

As far as Price knew, it didn't leave the base.

For the whole two days it took you to wake up, Price let the men cool off. He knew it would be useless to try and talk to them when they wouldn't leave your side, and visiting you was out of the question with the two of them guarding you so jealously.

Besides, you weren't awake yet.

He heard the commotion from his office. He knew you had woken up, if Ghost and Johnny's hurried footsteps was anything to go by, so he got up and walked directly to the infirmary, his arms crossed as he waited outside.

He heard Ghost trying to talk to you, your laughter, then your sobs, and he didn't miss the way Johnny was staring at him. As if waiting for a moment to strike.

"Spit it, MacTavish" Price said, sighing deeply. He didn't turn to him, didn't want to meet Johnny's eyes.

"You fucked up, Capt'n. This wouldn't have happened if you—"

"It's not an excuse, but I had orders. You know damn well how this works" Price reminded him, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll explain everything later".

"Fuck this, I'm going in" Johnny mumbled, moving towards the door, but they both froze as Ghost came out.

Ghost looked defeated. His shoulders slumping, his eyes downcast, his balaclava hastily pulled over his head. The wet spots on the mask were easy to catch, but Price decided he would never mention that.

"Simon? How's she?" Johnny whispered, reaching out to grab his arm.

Price gave them a little moment and looked inside the room. He noticed you were on the floor and the sight made him close his eyes tightly for a moment. He didn't give himself a moment to think and walked in.

Ghost didn't try to stop him.

You flinched when you saw him, your eyes wide as he gently shut the door behind him. You didn't start sobbing as you did when Ghost was inside, so he took that as a good sign.

"Morning, lass" he mumbled, speaking softly. Not wanting to scare you, he slowly sat down in front of you, a respectful distance between the two of you. "Isn't the floor cold?"

"No".

"Are you hungry?"

"No".

"Do they hurt?" he asked, nodding at your hands.

"Yes" you mumbled, looking down at your bandaged fingers, then your feet. "Both".

"I know, lass. How about we get you to the bed then, hm? The floor is cold".

He didn't move until you looked up at him and nodded. He made slow, big moves. Price gripped your arms and managed to get you to sit down on the bed without much but a hiss from you. He grabbed a chair and sat in front of you so you could look down at him.

He's had his share of dealing with traumatized soldiers, so he decided to let his soft, parental side take the lead.

"Are you scared of Simon?" he asked you gently. Your shoulders tensed but you shook your head. "Of Ghost?"

"Yes".

"Are you scared of Soap?"

"... Yes".

"Are you scared of me?"

"Yes".

No "John", no "Captain Price". Him. As a whole.

"Do you want me to leave?"

You didn't answer. You looked at him, as if torn between saying yes or not, swallowing thickly. Price sighed and leaned back, giving you space.

"I'm gonna explain what happened, won't miss a single thing. Then, you'll decide. Deal?"

"Okay".

Explaining how he'd fucked up, how he'd followed orders he didn't want, blaming himself for the situation and owning it up, was not something he learned from his superiors. Before, his superiors would stand in front of him and wouldn't even blink, would tell him it was an order. They couldn't do anything. Had their hands tied. Would tell you they were sorry it happened to you, if you were lucky.

When he became a captain to the team, he refused to be like that. Even if he knew it would be easier, even if he lied to himself and promised he'd be ruthless and tough... this was his team. In a way, they were his kids.

Ghost was just ten years younger than he was, but fuck, that reckless, stupid idiot was like a son to him. And he failed him.

He'd failed them all.

By the time Price was done explaining, up to the point of that cocky bastard walking out free, now getting his little things to go on a little trip to South Korea, his throat was dry.

You were silent as he explained how he had to force Ghost and Soap's hands, how Simon and Johnny were completely against it and how Simon had punched Price for making Ghost and Soap hurt you.

They all had orders, and even if they didn't want to hurt you, they did.

His eyes didn't leave yours for a moment, barely blinking, not paying attention to the way his eyes would water from time to time, and was heavily aware of the way you just sat there, staring at him.

"What now?" you questioned after a few minutes of being silent.

"I'll see that you get a discharge for temporary disability. You need to heal first" he assured you. "That's what matters right now".

You nodded.

For a long moment, there was silence again, but he realized it wasn't so bad. You were calm, so he didn't push you. He sat there for nearly half an hour, both of you just processing it all. Until the grumbling in your stomach made him look up at you.

"Hungry now?"

"Yes. A little" you mumbled, sighing as you used the heel of your hands to rub your face.

"I'll ask Dr. Wilson to bring you something" Price offered, standing up from the chair. He didn't miss the little flinch in your shoulders, but you didn't move away so he decided not to mention it.

He turned around, his hands on his sides at all times. As he gripped the door handle, he turned back to you. "Listen, I... can't ask you to give Ghost and Soap a chance, but I can promise you they will do anything you ask. You like cats, right? Tell them to bring you one. They'll make sure to sneak one in, Wilson be damned".

You cracked a small smile, looking down at your hands. After a heartbeat, you looked up at him. "I'm angry, John".

Price turned properly, giving you his full attention again. It took all of him not to flinch at the way you said his name. No teasing, no smile.

"I feel like... I can't trust any of you. I don't know if I can keep on working with you".

He understood. He really did. Still, it would be easier to bear if you were screaming at him instead of looking at him as if there was nothing. As if you hadn't accidentally called him dad more than once, for fucks sake.

In the back of his mind, his eyes burned.

"Do you want to be transferred?" he asked anyway, not voicing his discomfort. "I can't promise you the request will go through, considering they were using you to cover their arses, but there should be something I can do, if that's what you want".

You looked down at your hands, staring at your bandaged fingers. "I don't know yet".

Price hoped you'd stay. He didn't want to lose someone who added so much to the team, and someone so dear. He'd rather go to hell than try and convince you to stay if you couldn't trust them anymore, but he wanted you to stay.

"That's okay" he reassured you. "Tell you what. I'll tell Garrick to bring you something to eat, and I'll work on getting you that discharge, for now. Deal?"

"Deal".

Price saw your lips trembling slightly, moving as if you had something else to say so he waited. Then, you sighed.

"When I get better, I'm gonna wipe the floor clean with you. I'm pissed at you and I'm tempted to kill you myself. I can't believe you put me through that shit, and didn't trust your instincts. Could've talked to me" you snapped, the words flowing from you.

Maybe it was because it was easier to swallow down the misery than to keep on dwelling on it, but you looked relieved after all the explanation he did.

Price's lips trembled slightly, but he didn't interrupt.

"I've been in this long enough to know the higher ups are bastards, but your decisions were poor, and if you try to convince me to forgive those idiots I swear I'm gonna stab you in your— are you fucking smiling?"

Price couldn't help himself, his eyes nearly falling shut with how big he was smiling. He raised his hand gently, not wanting to startle you, and placed it on top of your head.

"You have to forgive no one, sweetheart. I will live with this for the rest of my life, and it will be something that's gon' keep me up at night, same with the other two" Price mumbled, his smile slowly dimming down into a soft glare. "But this is, unfortunately, something you'll have to heal on your own".

Your eyes were wide, your lips tightly shut. Price was struck once again with how much he genuinely cared for this team.

"You don't owe us anything. Not your forgiveness towards us, nor the situation being forgotten in general" he added, his hand gently gripping your head, his eyes warm. "You have my explicit consent to stab me, even if that doesn't change how you feel".

"Deal".

Price couldn't help but laugh, glad to see you crack another smile.

He gripped your shoulder firmly and walked out of your room. Ghost, Johnny and Gaz were there, the three of them standing up immediately.

"Sergeant Garrick" he called, surprised to hear how actually happy his voice was. "She's hungry. Would you mind bringing something? She's okay with you being there".

Garrick nodded and gave the other two a sympathetic pat on their backs before rushing to find you something to eat.

Price turned to them and sighed again, scratching his mustache. "Well... give her time. I explained the whole situation, and I'll give her a discharge for temporary disability".

"Why is she okay with you, and not me?" Ghost asked directly, his voice rough. Johnny was silent, probably going through a few things in his mind.

"My guess? I didn't actually physically hurt her" Price told them, his face suddenly serious. "She said she's scared of Ghost, and Soap. But not Simon, or Johnny".

"What?" Johnny asked, his expression falling.

"It's a trauma response, you know this" Price reminded them, rubbing the back of his head. "Give her time. She's gonna be okay".

"But what am I supposed to do then?" Ghost grumbled, his eyes tormented behind the mask.

"Leave her alone" Price ordered. "You need to leave her alone".

-ˋˏ✄——————————————————

am I projecting my own needs on Price bc I have a rocky relationship w my father? mhm. if you cry, let me know.

» where was gaz? on a secret mission. do I know what he was doing? no. it was v secret. /lh

» we're back to reader's pov in the next part. ♡

taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @dorothy-rainbird @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @remus-holt @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821

[orangeblossomsintheair]

DAD SIMON THOUGHTS!!

im also in this fandom now ;>

simon’s fingers tapped restlessly against the edge of the table as you placed your mug down and sat across from him. he avoided your gaze, staring at a spot on the wall instead. his silence was deafening, stretching long enough to make you sigh.

“spit it out, simon,” you said gently, leaning forward.

“there’s nothing to spit out,” he muttered, but his clenched jaw betrayed him.

you tilted your head, watching him with that knowing look that always unnerved him. “you’re acting like the world’s about to end.”

he huffed a humorless laugh. “maybe it is.”

your brows knitted together, but there was no anger, only a concern that made his skin itch. “simon, talk to me.”

he nearly laughed at your face. you made it sound so easy.

how could he put that fear into words, knowing it might hurt you, knowing it might break something in you too?

“i can’t,” he finally admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “it’s not… i don’t want to say something I can’t take back.”

your lips pressed into a thin line as you reached out, taking his hand in yours. “you’re scared.”

“i’m not scared,” he shot back too quickly, tone defensive.

“you’re terrified,” you corrected softly, squeezing his hand. “and that’s okay.”

you tilted your head, trying to catch his eyes. “now, seriously. talk to me.”

he shook his head. “what if I’m not…good enough? what if I fail you? or our baby?”

your hand tightened around his, and you moved closer, your eyes unwavering. “you won’t. because you care too much to fail. and because you don’t have to do this alone.”

“i don’t know how to be…” he trailed off, his voice cracking.

“a father?” you finished for him, your voice warm.

he nodded, staring at your joined hands.

“you’re already doing it,” you said softly. “you’re here, si. that’s what matters most. the rest, we figure out as we go.”

simon leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

he hadn’t said anything for a while now, the air between them heavy with unspoken words. you sat beside him, watching the way his shoulders tensed, his body a coiled spring ready to snap.

“i know you don’t believe me,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “no matter what I say, you’ve got it in your head that you’re not good enough.”

he didn’t respond, but his hands flexed slightly, like he was gripping onto some invisible weight he just couldn’t drop.

you exhaled, leaning closer, voice steady. “simon, I didn’t marry you because I thought you were perfect.”

he looked away, jaw tightening, but you pressed on.

“do you really think i didn’t know what i was getting into? i knew. and i still love you. i’ll always love you.” your hand rested on his, grounding him. “not because you’re perfect but because you show up. because you try, even when you’re scared. because you care, even when it hurts.”

his breath hitched, and for a moment, he didn’t move.

then he looked at you, his voice cracking as he whispered, “i don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

“you don’t get to decide that,” you replied, smile soft but firm.

his lips twitched, almost like he wanted to smile but didn’t quite know how. “bit bossy, aren’t you?”

you smirked, tilting your head playfully. “someone has to be, with you moping around like this.”

“moping?” his eyebrows lifted, the faintest hint of amusement creeping into his tone. “i don’t mope.”

“oh, you do,” you shot back, leaning back slightly but keeping your hands on his. “it’s very broody, very dramatic. could give shakespeare a run for his money.”

a dry laugh rumbled in his chest, and the sound warmed you more than you cared to admit. “didn’t know i married a comedian.”

“well, i didn’t marry a ray of sunshine, so i guess we’re even.” you grinned, poking him lightly in the ribs.

he caught your hand before you could do it again, holding it tightly but not enough to hurt. “careful,” he said, his voice low but teasing. “i’m dangerous, remember?”

your laughter bubbled out before you could stop it. “oh, please. you’re about as dangerous as a kitten when you’re sulking.”

he huffed, shaking his head, but the ghost of a smile finally broke through. “you’re impossible, you know that?”

“and yet, here we are,” you cooed, leaning closer until your forehead was almost touching his. “you stuck with me, riley. for better or worse.”

he let out a long breath, finally letting the tension drain from his shoulders. “guess i can live with that,” he said, his voice soft, his gaze warm in a way that made your heart ache.

“you better,” you quipped, grin returning full force. “because i’m not going anywhere.”

his lips finally curved into a small, genuine smile. “good,” he murmured, pulling you closer into his arms. “i’d be lost without you.”

[starsenha]

CHALLENGE / N.R

Pairing ◊ reader x bf!riki

Genre ◊ established relationship, suggestive

Warnings ◊ kinda heavy make out sesh, marking, lots of cursing, lowk dom riki

Word count ◊ around 2k

Summary ◊ you saw a challenge on tiktok and wanted to try with your boyfriend

a/n: literally saw someone doing that on tiktok and thought of riki immediately. not proofread, enjoy!

You had been dating Riki for a few months now, and to say he was confident would be an understatement. Riki was cocky, always walking with that proud smirk plastered on his face, the kind that could make anyone fall for him. He was also playful—a tease in every way possible, constantly challenging you, whether it was playful banter, jokes, or that look in his eyes that always seemed to suggest he had something up his sleeve.

One lazy afternoon, you were scrolling through TikTok when you came across a viral trend that caught your attention. The challenge was simple: couples stared at each other, their faces close enough that they could kiss—but they didn’t. You couldn't help but smirk to yourself as you imagined Riki’s reaction. This challenge had him written all over it. You could already picture how smug he’d be, certain he wouldn’t give in.

You lifted your phone and called out to him. "Riki."

He was sitting on the couch, lazily flipping through channels. His sharp eyes flicked up to meet yours. "Hmm?" His voice was deep, casual, almost bored, but the way he looked at you made your heart flutter.

"I want to try something." You walked over and sat next to him, holding up your phone. His brows raised slightly in curiosity.

"Oh?" he asked, that familiar cocky grin spreading across his lips. "What is it this time? Another dance challenge?" His tone was teasing, like he was ready to poke fun at you.

"Not exactly," you replied, leaning closer. "It's a challenge where we stare at each other, faces close, but we don’t kiss. You think you can handle it?"

Riki’s grin widened. He laughed softly, shaking his head. "You really think I can’t hold back?" His tone was full of confidence, and he leaned back on the couch, spreading his arms lazily.

"You up for it, or are you scared?" you teased, knowing full well he’d never back down from any challenge.

He narrowed his eyes, then straightened up and leaned in closer, eyes flicking to your lips for a brief second. "I’m never scared. You’re on."

You positioned your phone to record, setting it on the coffee table. The camera captured both of you as you leaned in, faces inches apart. The air between you felt charged, thick with the tension of anticipation.

At first, Riki was calm, relaxed, his eyes locking with yours with ease. His usual smirk lingered, as if he was already claiming victory. "This is too easy," he muttered, voice dripping with arrogance.

But as the seconds passed, his gaze slowly changed. His eyes darkened, and his smirk faltered just a little. You could see the flicker in his gaze—the way it wavered slightly before it dropped to your lips. You raised an eyebrow, daring him to give in.

"You’re staring, Riki," you whispered playfully, a soft challenge in your tone.

His jaw clenched, that confidence suddenly faltering. "I’m just looking," he retorted, voice a little huskier than before. You could feel the shift in the air between you. What started as a game had quickly turned into something else. His breaths were getting shallow, and you could see the tension building in his muscles as he fought the urge to close the gap.

"You sure?" you asked softly, your voice almost teasing as you leaned in just a fraction closer. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your lips, and you swore you saw his eyes darken even more, his pupils blown wide.

Riki’s eyes flicked up from your lips to meet yours again. His smirk was gone now. He licked his lips, his composure cracking. Finally. "You’re fucking with me," he muttered, his voice rough.

"That’s the point," you whispered, barely holding back a grin.

And then, just as you thought he might break, his hand shot out, grabbing your phone. Without even glancing away from you, he stopped the recording, tossing the phone aside with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

"Fuck the challenge," he growled, and before you could even process his words, he crashed his lips against yours.

The kiss was intense, desperate. His lips were hard and demanding, like he had been holding back for far too long. You gasped against his mouth, your hands instinctively reaching out to grip his shirt as his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer.

He wasn’t gentle, not in the slightest. His kisses were rough, full of need, as if he was trying to claim you, to erase the teasing tension you had built up between the two of you. His tongue parted your lips, and you couldn’t help but moan softly, overwhelmed by the heat of the moment.

"Fuck," he muttered between kisses, his voice low and laced with a kind of frustration that made your heart race. "You’re such a tease, you know that?"

You barely had time to respond before his lips were on yours again, his hand tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer, deeper into the kiss. His other hand slid down your waist, gripping your hip tightly, possessively.

"All this time," he growled, breaking away just enough to speak, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke, "acting all innocent, and you think you can play with me like that?"

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but before you could respond, he kissed you again, harder this time, his tongue sliding against yours, sending a rush of heat through your body. Every kiss felt desperate, like he was trying to make up for the restraint he had shown just moments before.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, and his eyes were dark with desire. He stared at you, his breath ragged, and you could see the way he was barely holding himself back from diving in again.

Without warning, his hands gripped your hips firmly, his strong fingers digging into your sides as he guided you over him. His movements were fluid, confident. In one swift motion, he pulled you onto his lap, and you could feel his strength beneath you as he settled you across his thighs. His hands didn’t let go, though—they held you there, tight, possessive.

"Come here," he muttered, voice thick with desire. His tone left no room for argument. His eyes bore into yours as he pulled you in closer, his legs spreading slightly beneath you so he could adjust your position, making sure you were right where he wanted you—straddling him, your knees pressed into the couch on either side of his hips.

Your body reacted instinctively, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance. His eyes flicked down to your lips again, lingering, but this time there was no hesitation, no teasing restraint. He reached up, his fingers brushing your jaw before tangling in your hair, guiding your face closer until your lips met his.

The kiss was fierce—more intense than before. It was as though pulling you into his lap had unleashed something in him. His lips moved against yours with a kind of desperation, his tongue sweeping past your lips, claiming you fully. You couldn’t hold back the soft moan that escaped, the sensation overwhelming as his hands roamed up and down your sides, pulling you impossibly closer.

Riki’s grip tightened as he deepened the kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, sending a shock of heat through your body. "Fuck," he groaned against your lips, breaking away just for a second to catch his breath, but his forehead remained pressed against yours. His hands slid down to your waist, fingers digging in as if he couldn’t get enough of the feeling of you in his lap.

"You feel so damn good," he muttered, voice low and rough, almost as if he was speaking more to himself than to you. But you heard him clearly, and the raw need in his voice sent a thrill rushing through you.

Your hands slid from his shoulders to his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breathing, his heartbeat pounding beneath your palms. You leaned in again, capturing his lips with yours, this time with just as much intensity, your body pressing against him fully as you kissed him deeply. The taste of him was intoxicating, and the way he responded to every touch only made the heat between you grow.

Riki's hands roamed your body freely now, one hand slipping under the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your waist. His touch was firm, yet the way his thumb lazily caressed your skin sent shivers down your spine. He pulled you tighter against him, guiding your hips to press against his. You could feel how much he wanted you, you could feel it underneath you.

"You're driving me fucking insane," he breathed against your mouth before capturing your lips again in a kiss that was nothing short of hungry. His hand slipped further up your back, under your shirt, his fingertips trailing over your skin in a way that made you arch into him.

"Riki," you gasped softly as his lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, leaving a trail of heated kisses along your skin. He chuckled against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear before biting down gently, enough to make you gasp.

"You like that?" he whispered, his voice rough and teasing. His lips ghosted over your skin as he continued to kiss his way down your neck, his hands never stopping their slow exploration of your body.

You nodded, biting your lip as you tugged at his shirt, wanting to feel more of him. Your hips shifted instinctively in his lap, and the low groan that rumbled from his chest sent a shockwave of heat through you.

His hand slipped back down to your hip, his grip tightening as he guided your movements, pressing you harder against him. "Fuck," he groaned, his breath hot against your skin. "You're such a fucking tease, and you don’t even know it."

You couldn't hold back your response, your voice coming out in a breathy whisper. "I think you’re the one teasing."

He paused for just a second, pulling back to look at you, his lips curled into a wicked grin. "Oh, I’m just getting started." His eyes were dark. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against yours, but this time he didn’t kiss you immediately.

Instead, he whispered, "I could kiss you like this all night." His voice was a low growl, full of raw need, and the way he spoke sent shivers down your spine. "But you know what I want even more?"

You swallowed hard, breathless as you stared into his eyes, feeling the weight of his words. "What?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as he growled softly, "I want to hear you beg for it."

His words sent a shock through you, and you couldn’t help the way your body responded, pressing harder against him. The heat between you was overwhelming now, and your mind was spinning, caught up in the intensity of the moment. But Riki didn’t stop. He tilted your head slightly, his lips returning to your neck as he nipped at your skin, leaving a trail of marks down your throat, each one making you gasp.

"Come on, baby," he muttered against your skin. "Say it."

Your breath hitched, your mind racing as his hands continued their slow, torturous exploration of your body, his lips never leaving your neck. "Riki," you gasped, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone the words he wanted to hear.

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "That’s not what I asked for."

Finally, you broke, your voice breathy and desperate as you whispered, "Please, just… kiss me."

In that instant, his lips were back on yours, kissing you fiercely, as if he had been waiting for those words. His hands tightened their grip on your hips, guiding your movements as you ground against him, his lips never leaving yours.

"That’s my girl," he muttered against your mouth before kissing you harder, deeper, pulling you completely into him as the heat between you built to a fever pitch.

[radawaycunt]

Imperator

Also on AO3

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 6.7k words

Summary: Once, you only had the memory of the curious barbarian poet, entertaining guests at a party with both violence and verse. But it's not until you see him again, now as emperor, that you get to know the man underneath the titles.

Warnings: Minors DNI this fic is 18+, power imbalance (emperor/servant to freedwoman), mutual pining, slow-ish burn, sort of forbidden love?, lots and lots of fluff good lord, some jealousy, some angst, lovey dovey smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), maybe some historical inaccuracies lol (I care a lot okay), and iii think that's it but lmk if anything else!

--------------

"Love will enter cloaked in friendship's name."

– Ovid.

-------------

“The gates of hell are open night and day. Smooth the descent, and easy is the way. But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labor lies.”

That was the first time you had ever heard him speak, the deep timbre of his voice riddled with contempt. Moments before, he had killed another gladiator, his blood spattered on him like a gruesome adornment. But there was no savagery in his fierce eyes, no mere bloodthirst in the sneer directed at Emperor Geta, your Dominus. His glare was even, like a cold, blue flame that promised not just violence, but retribution as well.

You’d recognized the poem immediately, just as taken aback as everyone else. Nobody moved, the room’s collective breath held in anticipation of the inevitable repercussions of such an offense. Emperor Geta made the slightest move to raise his sword and you gripped the decanter of wine tighter, but your face remained impassive.

“Virgil,” supplied Macrinus, trying to placate him with a broad smile. “He was taught poetry just to amuse you, Imperators.”

There was another momentary pause in which neither twin was sure if they should believe him. But then, Caracalla snorted, standing up to clap the taller man’s shoulder.

“A poet,” He said, laughing. “That’s genius, Macrinus.”

“Yes, certainly very amusing,” Geta said begrudgingly, his jaw clenched. 

He and the gladiator had not stopped staring at each other for one moment, like two vipers poised to strike. 

“Good, I thought you’d like that,” Macrinus said, approaching his fighter to grasp his shoulder, perhaps in warning. “We live to serve you both.”

“Well, I look forward to seeing your poet at the upcoming games in the Colosseum,” he spits out, throwing the sword aside with a loud clatter. “Let’s see how his verses work for him then.”

Macrinus nodded at his steward to take the gladiator away. He was smiling, seemingly amused, as the steward approached him. As he was being shoved back to the atrium, his eyes took one last baleful look around the room. For the briefest second, you thought his eyes met yours, striking you like a piercing arrow, but then he was gone. 

You had no time to dwell on it though, as Emperor Geta returned to his seat and raised his glass to be refilled. But that didn’t mean you would forget so easily, even if your paths might never cross again. All you could do was offer a prayer to the Gods for him. 

—--------------------------

The next time you saw him, he was no longer a barbarian gladiator hailed from a distant land, but the new – and rightful – Emperor of Rome. His name was not Hanno, but Lucius Verus Aurelius, and he was the son of the recently passed Queen Lucilla, whom Rome still mourned. 

He was not cruel like the twins had been, rarely raising his voice, much less his hand. His demeanor was usually calm, but sometimes he stalked the halls restlessly, as if unsure what he should be doing. He still rose with the sun and trained for a couple of hours in the morning, already used to the routine he’d had as a gladiator, but after that, it was all politics. Endless scrolls of parchment to pore over, meetings to hold with the senate, and lending a patient ear to the populace’s needs. The weight of an empire was on his shoulders, and yet he didn’t bow under it. 

During the day, you served his wine and silently hovered around for anything else he might need. At night, you drew his baths, kept his torches lit, and prepared his bed. You would have helped him disrobe too, already used to it from your days of serving Geta, but he chose to do so himself. He was not quite used to his every need being attended to, self-sufficiency deeply ingrained in his being. Mostly, he waved away other servants, leaving you instead to care for him personally. 

There were times when you caught him looking at you as if you seemed vaguely familiar, a furrow in his brow when he couldn’t place you. You couldn’t fault him for not remembering you from Senator Thraex’s party, but there was a certain thrill at having piqued his curiosity regardless. Still, you kept your head down and offered no hints, as was your place. 

Until one night, while he watched you add aromatic oils and test the bath’s temperature, he finally asked the question that had been on his mind for days.

“What is your name?”

You were startled at first, not having expected him to address you at all. You told him your given Roman name, Domicia, and bowed your head respectfully. He pushed himself off the doorway and stepped into the bathroom, humming thoughtfully.

“Of the home,” he said, referring to the name’s meaning. “Are you Roman? Is that your real name?”

You shook your head in answer to both questions. “I have been in Rome for many years now, though.”

“I have not,” he said, a note of melancholy in his voice. “Yet I grew up here, in these very halls…”

He trailed off, looking around absently, lost in his memories. You could not begin to imagine what he had been through, what he had seen. You had heard of his being sent away as a child, with absolutely no choice in the matter, and could empathize with him. 

All you had ever known was a humble life in your native country, until you were stripped of your freedom and brought to the capital of Rome. Neither place felt like home, just the past and the present, and perhaps he was viewing things the same way. You could imagine, even understand, the bittersweetness of returning to a place one thought they might never see again. 

“We are honored and grateful to have you back, Dominus,” you said. “I hope things have been to your satisfaction.”

“I have no complaints,” he said, yet he sighed. “Though becoming accustomed to being here, in my current position, is going to take some more time.”

“If there is anything I can do to make it easier for you, please let me know.”

He inclined his head gratefully, your eyes meeting for a moment. “Thank you, Domicia.”

He had the barest of smiles on his handsome face, but you could tell it was genuine. You felt one corner of your lips tugging upwards, but you looked away out of propriety. Even if you were in the same room, you were leagues apart, and it would do you no good to try to imagine otherwise.

You stood up, grabbing the decanter from a nearby table to have it refilled. “Your bath is ready now. Would you like refreshments other than wine?”

He nodded and you bowed, making your way out. By the time you returned with more wine and a platter of olives, bread, and cheese, he was already in the bathtub, leaning back with his eyes closed. Your feet padded softly on the mosaic floor to avoid  disturbing him, and you left his refreshments on the table near the tub.

You settled at one side of the room just in case he might need anything, staring off into the middle distance and letting your mind drift. He glanced at you sidelong, his curiosity having only grown after your brief conversation. He still had that nagging feeling that he had seen you somewhere before, but he didn’t want to ask outright.

You felt his gaze on you but pretended not to, keeping your eyes averted. You thought again of the poem he’d recited, how different his demeanor had been then. You wondered what other verses he’d been taught, and if you might ever hear him recite anything again. He had a voice for poetry, somehow turning the words into a sort of enchantment, keeping one entranced.

“Doesn’t it feel… strange sometimes?” he said suddenly, staring up at the ceiling. “When things settle and you realize how far you have come? How much you’ve had to sacrifice for it?”

You hummed in agreement, waiting for him to say more. 

“Sometimes, I even wonder if it was all worth it.”

Still lost in a haze of verses, you spoke before you could even think it through.

“Fortunate is he whose mind has the power to probe the causes of things and trample underfoot all terrors and inexorable fate.”

He sat up, surprised. “You know Virgil.” Recognition finally dawned on him. “You were at that party, weren’t you?”

You nodded. “Your words then were just as sharp as your blade.”

He huffed, leaning against the edge of the tub as he remembered his barely contained hatred. “Were you taught poetry to amuse, as well?”

“No, I used to read it with my mother when I was younger.”

“Who else have you read?”

“Ovid, Sappho, Horace…” You became a little flustered as he raised his eyebrows. “My mother was a bit of a romantic.”

“And you?”

It was your turn to huff with amusement, looking down at your hands. “I don’t believe I inherited that trait, no.”

The truth was that in a place such as Rome, love was quite hard to come by. You didn’t actively search for it, its ephemeral nature making you less inclined to, but you were no complete stranger to it. You’d never let it take root, though, for it was not something you could afford to have. 

“What about you, Dominus?”

“Me?” he said. “I suppose… I’m not entirely sure anymore. I used to be, at one point.”

His haunted expression told you not to press him for details, so you just nodded sympathetically. The two of you lapsed into silence, the weight of tragedy hanging between you. You’d had a lot more time to become numb to your circumstances, but it was clear the pain he was experiencing was still fresh. 

“I will be forced to remarry eventually.” He sighed heavily. “Produce heirs to carry out the lineage, show Rome a unified front.”

“Well, whoever you marry shall be the most fortunate woman in the empire.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, looking over at you. “You really believe so? You’re not just flattering me?”

“Of course,” you said, giving him a cryptic smile that made him laugh again. “I’m perfectly serious.”

“Oh, I am sure you are.”

After some time, he rose with a small splash, prompting you to immediately approach with an outstretched towel. His nudity barely registered in your mind, having already glimpsed him a few times. You wouldn’t dare to look at him directly, even if you were more than a little curious. You tensed as his fingers barely brushed yours in the exchange, but you quickly stepped back to give him more room.

He wrapped the towel around his waist, water dripping down his sculpted arms and chest. You went to start tidying up, studiously keeping your eyes on your task. He watched as you picked up the refreshments to take to the main chamber, a part of him wishing you would look at him instead. 

“One more thing,” he said and you immediately turned around. “Please, I want you to call me Lucius.”

Your face heated up at the mere thought of it. “I could never be so bold…”

“I insist,” he said, holding up a hand as you began to stammer again. “Perhaps only when it is just the two of us, if you’d prefer.”

“I will certainly try my best,” you said with an awkward grin, trying to keep your composure.

He chuckled. “Good enough for me.”

—-----------------

Weeks passed, and while Lucius still hadn’t managed to get you to call him by name, he had certainly gotten you to open up more. In the evenings, the two of you swapped more poetry, often sharing your own interpretations of the verses. At some point, he even had scrolls fetched from the library for you to read to him. He enjoyed the mellifluous sound of your voice, so at odds with your serious expression when you were concentrating. To have him as your sole audience was already titillating,  but the fact that he paid close attention was even more of a rush.

During the day, you anxiously looked forward to those handful of hours in which everything else disappeared. No speak of Rome, politics, or bitter memories, content with being each other’s brief escape. You still held yourself at a certain distance, though, always aware of the chasm between you. Yet he never made you feel inferior, often encouraging you to share your thoughts and opinions with him despite your reticence. You would even dare to say he cared, or at least that’s what you wanted to believe.

You wouldn’t necessarily say you were getting attached, for that would be too unrealistic of a fantasy, but you could not deny the butterflies in your stomach that often appeared while around him. His easy, handsome smile, the kindness in his eyes, his patient indulgence when listening to you, and the effort he put into making you laugh…

But the spell was abruptly broken the day he received a visit from his friend Ravi, who had brought someone for him to meet – a respectable Roman lady. A widow, as it happened, just like Lucius. Her hair was perfectly styled, falling in ringlets that framed her lovely face. She wore a lavender-colored dress with a matching veil, much fancier than anything you’d ever owned, and was adorned with golden jewelry. More importantly, she was freeborn, and thus a perfectly good candidate for marriage.

You swallowed hard, otherwise keeping your expression neutral. You hadn’t thought he would start meeting potential brides so soon, and you certainly hadn’t expected how it would make you feel. At least, Lucius also seemed surprised, not expecting his friend to try to set him up without consulting him first. Still, he assumed the role of gracious host and welcomed them warmly, leading them out to the gardens. He glanced over his shoulder at you as you silently trailed behind them, but you didn’t meet his gaze.

The three of them reclined on the couches of the outdoor dining area, shaded by a wooden pergola. It was a beautiful sunny day, the birds singing accompanied by the gurgle of the large fountain at the center of the garden. A gentle breeze stirred the foliage, carrying the faint, sweet smell of a dozen different flowers. 

You served them wine and hovered close by as another servant brought them food to snack on. Lucius had deliberately sat across from where you stood just so he could keep an eye on you. You’d withdrawn into yourself, trying your hardest to remain indifferent instead of worrying about whether the meeting went well or not. If it did, then you had to be happy for him, but if it didn’t… Well, at least that would buy you a little more time, if nothing else.

“Such a lovely garden,” the lady, Ilaria, said as she looked around. “One could never tire of such a view.”

Lucius nodded absently but said nothing, as if he hadn’t heard her.

“I could see you fitting in perfectly with all the other flowers here,” Ravi cut in, smiling with as much charm as he could muster to make up for it.

Ilaria inclined her head, modestly waving off the compliment. “Oh, you flatter me, Ravi.”

He gave Lucius a subtle, pointed look to encourage him to follow his lead. Lucius sat up and cleared his throat, only just focusing on the conversation. He had been trying to get your attention as subtly as possible, but he hadn’t been successful. 

“Er, yes, it’s always a treat to spend time out here. Certainly helps to clear the mind.”

Ravi shook his head a little and tried not to snort with amusement, thinking he was a lost case. Ilaria smiled, unbothered, taking a handful of grapes from a platter and popping one into her mouth. 

“I’d wager there is much on your plate, Imperator,” she said. “And having to manage the household staff on top of everything else… Must be a little overwhelming for you, no?”

“Well, I am a very busy man, yes, but it hasn’t been all that bad,” Lucius said. “I’ve certainly had a great deal of support to see me through.”

His words managed to reach you, softening you up infinitesimally. This time, when he glanced at you, you finally looked back. The ghost of a smile was on your face, but you quickly looked away before it could actually manifest.

“I see. Well, I’m very glad to hear that,” Ilaria said, sharing a curious glance with Ravi, who looked slightly apologetic. “Though perhaps you have considered that having someone run the house for you would take a big burden off your shoulders. I would be more than happy to lend a hand if you’d consider it.”

His eyebrows raised slightly at her boldness, not missing the eagerness in her gaze, poorly concealed behind her innocently helpful demeanor. He certainly did not want to get her hopes up, but he smiled graciously to soften the blow.

“Ah, perhaps in the future, when I have more time to worry about such things,” he said, politely noncommittal. “But I appreciate the offer.”

Her smile wavered and then froze, not wanting to seem too disappointed. “Of course, Imperator.”

For the remainder of their visit, Lucius let them do most of the talking, any remarks he made were studiously polite and yet still a little aloof. Finally, after a few hours, he excused himself, needing to return to his duties. Ravi seemed hesitant, like he wanted to stay behind and speak to him privately, but he would have to wait for another day. He escorted them both out, thanking them for visiting, but he did not exactly invite Ilaria to return to the palace. Her disappointment was more palpable then, but she hid it with as much grace as she could muster.

When they were gone, he turned to you with a shake of his head and a sigh, grinning with bewilderment.

“I do not enjoy being ambushed,” he said as if he felt the need to explain himself. “Decent enough as she seemed.”

You bowed your head in agreement, more relieved than you would like to admit. You had no real reason to have been upset earlier, given that there was nothing between you except for a certain kinship. Even so, it was clear he had not wanted you to be hurt, and you were very thankful for that. You offered him a small smile and some tension seemed to leave his shoulders.

He inclined his head towards the eastern hallway leading to his study. “Come, I would like you to read some documents to me. I can get work done faster that way.”

The tablinum was spacious but cozy, with a door to one side that led to a smaller patio. Before, the twin emperors had never used the room, but now it seemed well lived in. There was a mess of scrolls and wax tablets all over his desk that he still hadn’t let you organize. On the wall behind, there was a recently completed fresco of a gladiator riding a chariot pulled by two horses. For another wall, he had commissioned a portrait of Vesta, goddess of the home and the hearth, but it was still a work in progress. He was particularly proud of that one, an unspoken gift for you, his muse.

You lit the oil lamps in their alcoves, bathing the room in warm light. Lucius sat at his desk with a heavy exhale and scanned his notes to remember where he had left off the previous day. You sat on a stool beside him, unfurling the scroll he handed you and resting it on your knees. The texts you read didn’t always make sense to you, but you understood their importance. The fact that he was entrusting you with such work was an honor you did not take for granted.

“Start in that middle section. There is some stuff I would like to revisit,” he said, taking up his stylus. 

You nodded, finding what he was referring to and starting right away. You read to him for the next couple of hours, only stopping if he needed you to repeat something or in case he needed more time to make his notes. A few times during the latter, you glanced up to take in the focused furrow of his brow, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he pondered. You wondered what he might be thinking about, wishing he would impart some more knowledge on you. 

Outside, the sun was beginning to set, shadows deepening in the corners of the room. Another servant brought him dinner, but he didn’t seem too hungry yet. He handed you his cup of water when he heard you clear your throat a few times, insisting when you were reluctant to take it. 

When he was done for the day, he stretched his arms over his head with a groan and slumped in his seat. You neatly rolled the parchment back up and stood so you could stretch your legs. 

“I hope I haven’t tired you too much,” he said, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back. “You can take the rest of the evening off from reading if you’d like, but I would still appreciate some company.”

“Well, I still need to draw your bath and…”

“Somebody else can take care of it,” he cut in with a shrug, not preoccupied.

You hesitated. “What would you have me do instead, then?”

“Just sit back down, relax for a moment,” he said, getting up. “Here, you can have my chair. Much more comfortable.”

You were about to protest, but he gave you a look that said it was not up for discussion. You pursed your lips, uncomfortable at the idea of being idle, especially while taking up his seat. Still, you obeyed and sat down, hands folded on your lap. Feeling a little bold, you looked at him as if to say ‘satisfied?’ and he huffed in amusement.

“Wait, stay still,” he murmured suddenly, leaning down.

You froze as his face hovered mere inches away from yours, his breath fanning over your cupid’s bow. Delicately, he removed a stray eyelash that had been resting on your cheekbone, and he pulled back a little so you could see it on the pad of his finger.

“Make a wish,” he said.

All you could do was stare at him for another breathless moment that seemed to stretch on infinitely. You licked your lips nervously, drawing his eyes there before they returned to hold your gaze. Your heart was like a nervous bird fluttering wildly in your ribcage. Your mind was mostly blank, but the one thought that popped up was ‘I wish he would close the distance right now.’

You gently blew the eyelash away, your wish scattering into the air alongside it. The Gods must have decided to grant it immediately, for he did not pull away, instead slowly leaning in. His lips brushed yours tentatively and you closed your eyes, rejoicing for the barest second before you forced your face to turn away.

“We shouldn’t…” you murmured, the words hard to utter when a desperate want clung to your throat like honey.

“Why not?” He whispered.

“It’s not– I’m not…” You vaguely gestured towards yourself, unsure of what the right words were. 

He pulled back to look at you better. “Was I too presumptuous?”

You shook your head. “Not at all.”

“Then what is it?” He pressed.

“Dominus, please.”

“Lucius,” he pleaded, loathing the title. “Say it, please.”

“Lucius,” you said finally, though your eyes still spelled defiance when you glanced at him. “Is it not obvious? We both know it’s impossible.” Your lower lip trembled slightly. “I have a heart, too, you know? I don’t want it to be broken.”

“I know that, of course I know that!” He said, placing his hands on your shoulders and crouching in front of you. “I have no intention of breaking your heart.”

“Surely you understand where I am coming from, though.” You sniffed, keeping tears at bay. “I am not wife material, like the lady Ilaria. I have nothing to offer, no dowry, no family name, or even an inkling of Patrician blood. ”

“I do not care for such things. I would never demand them of you. Even if we cannot marry, I will not marry anyone else that isn’t you,” he said with a firm, determined shake of his head. “But I can still give you my name, along with your freedom. That’s all that matters to me.”

You gasped, the shock of his words akin to a bucket of ice water being dumped over you. Now you let the tears spill over, like a dam had finally burst. He kissed them away, his hands cupping your face gently.

“I have been thinking of nothing else since I met you. I’ve already made the arrangements… I suppose I just didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“You honor me,” you said, smiling despite the tears. “You always have.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” He asked. “You have given me more than you think. You brought me the peace I have been so desperately seeking for a long time.”

“I-I don’t even know how to thank you.” You placed a hand over his. “If you desire to give me your name, then I shall give you mine in return.”

You told him your name, the real one, which you had been hiding ever since your Roman name was given to you. He had never asked you for it, knowing that one’s name was the only thing one could truly own in this world. And now for you to give it freely… He repeated it, testing its shape on his tongue, and smiled radiantly.

“Pairs rather well with Lucia Veria, if I do say so myself,” he said with a proud chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “If you’ll have it, that is.”

You knew by the disarming earnestness in his eyes he wasn’t just offering the name, but himself, as well. His whole heart in the palm of your hand, should you choose to care for it. You felt as if you had already made that choice a while ago, when you first recited Virgil back to him.

“I will,” you said with an elated chuckle. “Of course I will.”

He took your hands in his, kissing both of them. “Then first thing tomorrow, we will make it official.”

More tears flowed as a result of an overwhelming rush of both gratitude and love. You had tried to ignore your feelings, not uprooting them but instead silently letting them grow unacknowledged. For once, it had seemed worth the risk of heartbreak. After all, the love hadn’t stemmed from something as fleeting as lust, but a mutual understanding and respect. It was more than you could ever ask for, and yet everything you desired.

You leaned your forehead against his, your noses brushing as he tilted his head back. This time, it was you who brought your lips to his with a tentative sort of tenderness, propriety still at the back of your mind. He responded in kind, letting you set the pace so as not to scare you off. If you weren’t shaking so much, you might have noticed he was shaking, too. 

In that kiss, there was the promise of mutual devotion, sweet and sincere. You were still holding each other’s hands, as if afraid you might drift apart if you let go. You understood then why odes were written about this feeling, as all-consuming as the churning waves of the sea. All those verses had never resonated with you more. 

Perhaps you had inherited the romanticism, after all. 

—------------------

The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine, the fresh sweetness of it bringing you a sense of tranquility. You leaned against the windowsill, looking up at the stars and trying to piece together constellations. The world seemed drastically different now that you had your freedom, so vivid, so open, so alive. You even noticed it in your posture and the lightness with which you walked, as if you were floating. Lucius had said you were radiant with it.

He’d insisted on taking care of you the same way you’d cared for him, eager to show you his gratitude. You had been hesitant at first, but at his unwavering conviction, you relented, curious how it might feel to be spoiled. All that day, he had served you reverently, taking time off from his duties to focus solely on you.

You couldn’t help getting flustered at all the attention, his ardent gaze like a caress every time it met yours. His touch had so far been entirely chaste, but even the smallest, most innocuous contact was heightened with anticipation. The brush of his fingers over yours when he handed you something, a guiding hand on your lower back, even a touch on your shoulder to make you aware of his presence.

There were a few sneaked kisses in both the garden and the tablinum, each one of them leaving an undercurrent of warmth under your skin that promised more. It was like a slow, drawn-out game of chase, neither of you in a rush to reach its conclusion. If anything, it only made you want each other more. 

After the sun had set, when the two of you drifted along as if in a drunken stupor, Lucius went to prepare a bath for you in his chambers. You were nervous and exhilarated, every moment spent waiting for him to be done an exquisite agony. Until finally, he poked his head around the bathroom door.

“It’s ready now,” he said, beckoning you with a smile.

You followed him into the bathroom, hands wringing anxiously. Flower petals were scattered on the mosaic floor, leading towards the steaming tub. Flickering candles bathed the room in a warm glow, making your shadows dance on the wall. You looked at each other, both knowing what the next step was but hesitant to initiate it. He averted his gaze first, gesturing towards the door.

“Would you like me to give you some privacy?”

You shook your head, desire making you a little more brave. “I… I would love some help undressing, though.”

His spine straightened, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “With pleasure.”

He crouched to slowly pull the hem of your long tunic upwards, rising with it. You lifted your arms so he could get it over your head, the fabric falling to the floor unceremoniously. Your eyes were fixed on his face, drinking in his expression as he took a step back to get a better look at you. The bare expanse of your skin robbed him of breath, his eyes roaming over every curve and plane of your figure. He wanted to sink to his knees again and lay his forehead at your feet in worship, but he stood still, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“The evening star is the most beautiful of all stars,”  he said in a low voice, quoting Sappho.

Warmth spread from your chest to your face, and you smiled coyly as another verse came to mind. “Come to me once more, and abate my torment…”

You offered him your hand, which he took, and he led you to the tub. You daintily stepped in, sighing contentedly as you sank into the water’s enveloping warmth. He knelt next to the tub, leaning against it with one arm propped on the edge. 

“Have I told you enough times that you are beautiful?” He said. “I don’t think it has been enough.”

You huffed with amusement, looking down as you fought a geeky grin. “Well, about a hundred times with just your eyes. A few times out loud, though.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I’ll have to show you in other ways, too… If I may.”

You nodded, silently granting him permission. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your lips before standing up. He took it upon himself to bathe you, starting out by scrubbing your scalp. You leaned into his touch, eyes closing in bliss. He smiled at your soft, pleasured hum, and vowed to elicit as many more as he could. 

Things took on an almost ritualistic quality, with him focused entirely on his task. You were loose limbed, letting him move you about as he used a cloth to scrub your skin. He didn’t try anything that might be deemed unsavory, though you let his tender, reverential touch reach places no one had touched in a very, very long time. But he didn’t linger, to your slight frustration, not wanting to jump into things too quickly. The flames of your desire were stoked slowly, warmth running through you like sweet wine. 

When he was done, he helped you step out of the tub and immediately got to drying you off with a towel. You caught his eye for a moment, his pupils blown wide with equally fervent desire. You stopped yourself from clutching his arm, wanting to anchor yourself to him, but he could still tell you were growing restless. He kissed your shoulder, tapping the tip of your nose playfully with his finger.

“Not done quite yet,” he murmured, not missing the way you involuntarily pressed your thighs together. “You’ve always been very patient.”

“For the first time, I fear it might be running thin…” you said, to which he smiled. 

He grabbed a small glass bottle of rose oil and lathered some in his hands. He anointed your body with it, the heady scent of one of Venus’s favorite flowers permeating the air. As he reached your chest, you took hold of his wrist and brought his palm to rest over your heart. He felt it beating rapidly, your chest rising and falling with each panting breath.

His eyes fell to your lips, slightly parted with want. He grasped your chin with his free hand, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“I have been thinking about this for a long time,” he said, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. “But I hadn’t wanted to touch you until now, when you actually felt like you had a choice in the matter.”

You clutched his wrist tighter, his thoughtfulness only making you want him more. All those hours he must have spent yearning, unaware that you were stuck thinking of him too. As emperor, he had the right to take whatever he wanted, but having previously been a gladiator, he understood the monumental importance of bodily autonomy. Very few people in Rome had such a privilege and he couldn’t bear the thought of being the one to rob you of it. 

You kissed him in response, much fiercer, hungrier, than all the other kisses you had shared so far. A desperate sound escaped his throat and he clasped you against him tightly. Swiftly, he scooped you up into his strong arms and carried you out to the bedchamber as he would a bride.

Gently, he set you down on the bed and pulled away to remove his tunic. This time, you were not meek about his nakedness. You brazenly stared at him, eyes mapping out the lines of his muscles, the pink, raised skin of his scars, and the soft trail of hair on his abdomen that seemed to suggestively point downwards. 

His shoulders were squared with pride at your ogling, a sly smile on his face. He’d had an inkling before of your attraction, but to see it on full display was narcotic, and he felt himself pulse with an aching need.

“Come closer,” you said softly.

He did, climbing over you, his warmth immediately enveloping you. You hid your face on the junction between his neck and shoulder, embarrassed at all the thoughts rushing through your mind.

“What is it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with amusement.

“Nothing,” you said, voice muffled against his skin. “I just… I do not think you realize how badly I wanted this, too. I-I don’t want to ever stop.”

He chuckled indulgently, nudging your head so you’d look at him. “Neither do I.”

He kissed you again, and again, and again. You were so close to him that the lines of your bodies became indivisible, but it still didn’t seem like enough. Your knees hiked up to his hips in a silent plea, but he did not give in quite yet, wanting to prolong things for as long as he could.

Still, unable to resist a little bit of mutual torment, he slid upwards until his hips were aligned with yours. You gasped as you felt the velvety underside of his erection against your slick folds, each small movement making you tremble. Your brows furrowed and your lips parted in a wanton expression, your eyes shiny and half lidded as you looked at him.

“Lucius,” you whimpered. 

“I know,” he murmured soothingly, kissing your neck. “I know.”

Neither of you were willing to break apart from your embrace, so there wasn’t actually much of a preamble. Feverish, he sank into you slowly, your nails digging into his biceps as he stretched you open. That first round was frantic, almost animalistic, all the pent up longing finally being released. His body rolled over yours with the power of the sea’s waves, leaving you awash in ecstasy.

Neither of you lasted very long, but it didn’t matter, as you were nowhere near spent. Lucius, still in the afterglow of his orgasm, lazily began to kiss you all over, wanting to discover every mole and freckle, every tender spot that made you squirm, and every other little detail that made you you. 

He settled between your thighs, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive bundle of nerves. You tried to prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, but he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you closer. 

“What are you– Oh,” you gasped at the first flick of his tongue, the entirely new sensation disarming you. 

He tasted his essence mixed with yours, a groan rumbling in his chest. You tightly grasped the sheets under you, arching against his face. You bit your lip to stop yourself from making the most undignified sounds, but it was hard to focus, especially as his fingers were added into the mix. Your body burned brighter than any brazier, his arms pinning you down as he conquered you with his mouth. You shattered once more, crying out as he helped you ride it all the way through. 

After, you lied side by side, facing each other. You’d still not had your fill of him, but you needed to gather your strength for the long night ahead. You shared a breathy chuckle, as if still in disbelief it had finally happened, and he kissed your sweat-slick forehead.

“Now that was poetry,” you said jokingly, making him laugh again. 

“You put every verse to shame, my love,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You kissed his palm, adoring, and tangled your legs with his. A swell of emotion unlike anything you had ever felt rose within you. It was as if he had awakened a new part of you that you hadn’t known was dormant, bringing you back from an existence that consisted solely of drifting through days that blended into one another.

He was just as grateful to have found you, his peace, his solace, the woman who would always guard his heart. He murmured your name reverently, a reminder that you were his, and he was yours. You drew closer to him, like a moth to flame, and pushed him onto his back, straddling him. His hands came to rest on your hips and your eyes were full of mirth as you held his gaze.

“As it happens, I find myself compelled to compose some more with you.” You grinned playfully, hands sliding up his chest. 

He mirrored your grin, not minding the idea one bit. “Relentless, just like the great muse Calliope.”

“Well, when inspiration strikes… It can’t be helped, can it?”

“No,” he said. “Not when it comes to you.”

------

[devdozes]

ACCIDENTALLY KIDNAPPING A MAFIA BOSS?!

silly idea :3 should i make this into a series? was listening to bring me to life while making this lmao (also more phainon fanart at the end of the post)

It started with a simple friendship—one that no one really questioned. You and Phainon were practically inseparable, an odd yet perfect duo that made everyone wonder how the universe aligned so well to bring you together.

Phainon was the golden retriever of your life, all bright smiles, mischievous grins, and boundless energy that made it impossible to be in a bad mood around him. He was always there—whether you wanted him to be or not.

Like that time when you had a late-night craving for bubble tea, and he showed up at your doorstep five minutes after your text, holding two cups like he had been waiting for the opportunity all night. Or when you got sick and insisted you were fine, only for him to barge into your apartment with an entire care package—complete with soup, blankets, and a ridiculously oversized hoodie that smelled like him.

“You don’t take care of yourself, so I gotta do it for you,” he had said, grinning as he forced a spoonful of soup into your mouth. “If I wasn’t around, who’d be your personal nurse, huh?”

You had rolled your eyes, but truthfully, you loved having him around.

Phainon was also a menace in the best way possible. He made it his personal mission to embarrass you in public, whether that meant dramatically fake-proposing to you in the middle of a grocery store or loudly announcing that you were his “number one best friend” every time he saw you in class.

“[NAME]!” he had once yelled across the university campus, sprinting toward you like a lunatic while students turned to stare. “I haven’t seen you in two hours! Did you miss me?”

You had barely dodged him, tackling you in front of everyone. “Phainon, oh my god, please calm down.”

He was never calm. He never was and never will be.

But that was what you loved about him—his relentless energy, his unwavering presence. No matter what, he was always there, like a constant, bright force in your life.

And yet, beneath the sunshine exterior, there were times when his blue eyes darkened, moments where his grip on your wrist would linger just a second too long, where his playful teasing held an edge of something deeper. Something..terrifying?

Phainon wasn’t just close to you—he revolved around you. Every little thing you did, every fleeting expression, every shift in your tone, he noticed. He memorized your favorite drinks, your quirks, the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about something you loved. He lived for those moments.

There were nights he stayed up scrolling through your old messages, rereading your texts like they were sacred scripture. He had a folder on his phone filled with candid pictures of you—laughing, sleeping, lost in thought. Some you had sent him. Some you hadn't.

If anyone got too close, if anyone dared to make you laugh the way he did, his jaw would clench, his grip on his drink tightening. He knew you were his. Even if you didn’t realize it yet.

And when you weren’t looking, when you weren’t aware of the way he watched you, the way his entire world narrowed down to just you—his smile would fade, his cheerful mask slipping, revealing the raw, unfiltered obsession lurking beneath.

On his wrist, always, was a simple black hair tie—yours. You had probably forgotten about it, left it on his wrist one day without a second thought, but to him, it was a sacred token, a symbol of ownership. He never took it off. It was stretched and worn from his constant fidgeting, his fingers absently tugging at it whenever you spoke, whenever you so much as smiled at someone else.

You had asked about it once, laughing, “Why do you always wear that? Do you even have long enough hair to need it?”

His grin was quick, easy. “It’s lucky,” he had replied, flicking it with his fingers. “And it reminds me of someone important.”

You had shrugged, not thinking much of it. But if you had paid closer attention, you would have noticed the way his fingers curled over the hair tie protectively, as if he were afraid someone would take it from him. As if losing it meant losing you.

Phainon was careful. He never let his obsession slip too far, never let you see the depths of his devotion. You thought he was just a clingy best friend, a lovable idiot who adored you. You didn’t know about the people who had gotten too close, only to suddenly lose interest, to quietly disappear from your life.

You didn’t know about the nights he watched you through the reflection of a window, keeping an eye on you from the shadows when you thought you were alone. You didn’t know about the things he had done, the people he had silenced, all to keep you safe—to keep you his.

And then, there were the little things. The way he always knew where you had been, even when you hadn’t told him. The way he always seemed to show up at just the right time, as if he had been tracking your schedule down to the second. He was always prepared—whether it was having your favorite drink ready before you even asked, or subtly steering you away from conversations with people he didn’t like. He never said it outright, never made his possessiveness obvious, but the hints were there. The intensity in his eyes when he watched you, the way his fingers tightened around your wrist when he pulled you away from a stranger, the way he always seemed to whisper, half-joking but dead serious, “You belong with me.”

It was a quiet evening when you curled up on your couch, flipping through channels absentmindedly, sipping on your favorite drink. The warm glow of the TV cast soft shadows across your living room, your eyelids drooping from exhaustion. That was, until the flashing "BREAKING NEWS" banner jolted you awake.

"Another victim of the infamous Flamereaver has been discovered in the city’s industrial district," the news anchor reported, their tone grim. "Authorities believe this is the latest in a string of calculated eliminations carried out by the elusive mafia leader. The identity of the Flamereaver remains unknown, but their signature brutality and precision leave no doubt—this was an execution."

You blinked, the weight of the report settling in your chest. The Flamereaver. You had heard the name before—who hadn’t? The ghostly swordmaster who had left entire organizations in ruin, a name spoken in hushed whispers, feared by even the most powerful figures in the underground world.

The news station flashed grainy images of the crime scene—police cars, body bags, shaken witnesses. You shivered, setting your drink down.

Another one? This was happening too often.

Your mind wandered, a passing thought striking you. Phainon had mentioned going out earlier, hadn’t he? Something about meeting an old friend.

You shook your head, dismissing the ridiculous idea that had briefly surfaced. No way. Not Phainon. He was too much of a goofball, too softhearted to be involved in something this violent.

Still, you couldn't help but feel an eerie chill run down your spine as you turned the volume down, trying to push away the unease settling deep within your bones as if someone or something was watching you.

Outside, hidden beneath the cover of darkness, Phainon stood motionless.

Draped in a black cloak and hoodie, his face concealed by the shadows, he watched you through your window, blue eyes burning with something indescribable. Admiration. Love.

You had no idea how beautiful you looked in this moment—so peaceful, so unaware. So his.

A gloved hand brushed against the black hair tie on his wrist, a slow, possessive motion. He never took it off. Just like he would never let you go.

Soon, he thought. Soon, you would understand.

Soon, you would be his completely.

And as the cold night pressed in, Phainon allowed a small, knowing smirk to curl at his lips. The world might fear the Flamereaver—but you? You would never have to.

Because he would do anything to keep you safe.

Even if it meant making sure no one else could ever have you. . . . . Minutes passed. Perhaps an hour. Only when the house lights dimmed, signaling you to retreat to bed, only then did Phainon finally move. He let out a slow exhale, fogging up the cold air before turning away, his steps eerily silent against the pavement.

And then, his expression changed.

His once cheerful blue eyes turned glacial, devoid of emotion. The warmth drained from his features as he tilted his head downward, staring at the lifeless body sprawled at his feet. A fresh corpse, still warm. Blood pooled beneath it, seeping into the cracks of the pavement, glistening under the dim glow of a streetlamp. The man’s face was twisted in frozen terror, eyes wide and vacant, his lips still parted as if in a final, unfinished plea for mercy.

Phainon had granted him none.

A golden blade protruded from the man’s chest, its edge gleaming even through the thick coat of crimson that dripped from its surface. Phainon knelt, completely unaffected, and with a practiced, almost lazy motion, he wiped the blade clean against the dead man’s own shirt. The metal shone again, immaculate, as if it had never been tainted with the act of ending a life.

His fingers moved to his face, smearing away a thin line of blood that had splattered across his cheek. The expression he wore now was unreadable—detached, mechanical. This was not the same Phainon who grinned and cracked jokes, who draped himself over your shoulders with a playful whine, who gazed at you like she was the very sun in his sky.

This was the Flamereaver.

His gaze flicked down at the corpse once more, unimpressed, before he stepped over it without hesitation, leaving only the scent of blood and death in his wake. His black hoodie rustled slightly in the night breeze, his golden blade disappearing into the folds of his cloak. As he walked, his fingers briefly brushed against the black hair tie wrapped securely around his wrist—the only tether left to the warmth he allowed himself to feel.

For her, he would remain the Phainon she knew.

For the rest of the world, he was a nightmare in human skin.

Meanwhile, inside your room, you sat on your bed, the faint hum of the television still lingering in the silence. You had retreated into your space, but your mind was far from tired. Instead, it buzzed with the same consuming thoughts that had plagued you for months—Phainon.

Your walls were a testament to your obsession, though no one else would ever see. A large corkboard hung above your desk, filled with drawings of him—his laughing expression, the soft tilt of his head, the way his golden blade gleamed when he trained. Your fingers absentmindedly traced the edges of one of the sketches before you turned your gaze to the digital clock beside your bed.

12:30 AM.

Like clockwork, your head snapped toward your window. You knew Phainon's schedule down to the minute. He always returned home at this hour, no later, no sooner. You had memorized the sound of his footsteps, the rhythm of his habits, the way he sometimes hummed to himself under his breath when he thought no one was listening. The way he would smile, the way his oh so beautiful cerulean eyes would glimmer under the moonlight.

Slipping quietly to your window, you peered through the curtains, your pulse quickening with anticipation. Your eyes locked onto the street below, searching, waiting.

Because just like Phainon watched you, you had been watching him all along. . . . . . . Something was wrong.

Instead of Phainon casually strolling up to his house, there was another figure—taller, clothed in dark black robes with a hood obscuring their face. Your breath hitched as you noticed the faint glint of a weapon in their grip—a golden blade, slick with fresh blood. Your stomach twisted at the sight.

A murderer. Right outside Phainon’s house.

Your fingers clenched around the windowsill as you watched, heart pounding. The figure stood motionless for a moment before casually wiping the blade against their sleeve, as if the act of killing meant nothing to them. Then, with eerie calmness, they sheathed the weapon beneath their cloak and turned slightly, revealing just enough for you to see their towering frame—easily around 6'3.

Panic flared through you. Whoever they were, they were close. Too close. Had they been watching Phainon? Had they come to kill him? Or worse—were they waiting for him?

You swallowed hard, eyes darting between the figure and Phainon’s front door. He still wasn’t home. He was late. He was never late. A creeping dread coiled in your chest as you gripped your phone, debating whether to call him, to warn him. But would he believe you? Would you even be able to explain this?

Your gaze flicked back to the figure just as they simply stood in front of Phainon's house, looking left and right as if he was searching for something.

But something was wrong.

Instead of Phainon casually strolling up to his house, there was another figure—taller, clothed in dark robes with a hood obscuring their face. Your breath hitched as you noticed the faint glint of a weapon in their grip—a golden blade, slick with fresh blood. Your stomach twisted at the sight.

A murderer. Right outside Phainon’s house.

Your fingers clenched around the windowsill as you watched, heart pounding. The figure stood motionless for a moment before casually wiping the blade against their sleeve, as if the act of killing meant nothing to them. Then, with eerie calmness, they sheathed the weapon beneath their cloak and turned slightly, revealing just enough for you to see their towering frame—easily around 6'3.

Panic flared through you. Whoever they were, they were close. Too close. Had they been watching Phainon? Had they come to kill him? Or worse—were they waiting for him?

You swallowed hard, eyes darting between the figure and Phainon’s front door. He still wasn’t home. He was late. He was never late. A creeping dread coiled in your chest as you gripped your phone, debating whether to call him, to warn him. But would he believe you? Would you even be able to explain this?

Your gaze flicked back to the figure just standing their eerily in front of your best friend's house, looking left and right as if they were searching for something or someone. . . . . Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

Your heart pounded in your chest as you sprinted down the stairs, your thoughts racing just as fast. Who the hell was that outside Phainon's house? A murderer? A thief? Some lunatic waiting for Phainon to come home?

You didn’t stop to think. Your body moved on instinct.

Grabbing the cold, heavy metal baseball bat from beside the shoe rack, you tightened your grip, your knuckles turning white. As you shoved your hands into the worn leather knuckle gloves Phainon had given you—his little “gift” after you won a sparring match against him—you took a deep breath to steady yourself.

Stay calm. Stay sharp.

You flung open your front door and stormed outside, your breath misting in the night air. The distant hum of streetlights and the soft rustling of tree leaves did nothing to ease the sheer unease creeping up your spine.

And there he was.

The figure stood still—eerily, unnaturally still—right in front of Phainon’s house. His tall frame loomed at around 6’3, making him tower over most people. A long, black cloak with patterns of a crescent moon billowed slightly in the cold wind, its hood casting a deep shadow over his face. But what really made your blood run cold was the weapon in his hand.

A golden blade. Its edge gleamed faintly under the moonlight, marred by something dark, something wet. Blood.

Your grip on the bat tightened as your stomach twisted.

He wasn’t moving. He was just... standing there. Watching.

Was he waiting for Phainon? Did he already—No. You refused to finish that thought.

Without hesitation, you stormed forward, heart hammering against your ribs.

“Hey!” Your voice rang out in the dead of night, sharp and unwavering. “Oi bastard what the fuck are you doing outside his house?”

No response.

The man didn’t even flinch. Didn’t turn. Didn’t acknowledge you.

Your body tensed. Every instinct screamed danger. But you weren’t about to back down.

“Oi, asshole! I’m talking to you!” You took another step forward, raising the bat slightly. “I don’t know what creepy shit you’re trying to pull, but you better step the fuck away from Phainon’s house before I break that fancy little sword of yours over my knee.”

Still, nothing. The figure remained silent, his presence as cold and unmoving as a statue.

The only shift was the subtle tilt of his head—just slightly—like he was regarding you.

Something about that small movement made your skin crawl.

Why did it feel so familiar?

But you had no time to second-guess yourself.

You tightened your stance, shifting your weight, ready to swing if you had to. This bastard wasn’t about to get past you.

The figure finally moved.

With slow, deliberate precision, he tilted his head downward—as if looking at the bloodied golden blade in his grasp. Then, with an eerily casual flick of his wrist, he wiped the blood off its edge with his gloved fingers.

The movement was practiced. Effortless. Like he had done this a thousand times before.

Your breath hitched.

He wasn’t just some random thug.

This man was a killer.

And yet… he still didn’t strike.

He simply stood there, staring at his weapon, his face obscured by the cloak’s deep hood. The silence between you stretched, suffocating and unnerving.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

For a split second, you considered your next move. Should you charge at him? Should you call someone? Should you—

You stood frozen in place, gripping your bat so tightly your hands ached.

The golden weapon. The black cloak. The blood. The way he moved. The way he didn’t attack you.

Your stomach churned.

Who the hell was that?

And why… did something about him feel so unsettlingly familiar?

. . . .

The moment he turned his back on you, something inside snapped.

Oh, hell no.

You weren’t about to let some bloodstained creep just walk away after standing in front of Phainon’s house like some horror movie stalker. What if he was waiting for Phainon to come home? What if he had already done something?

You didn’t even think. You ran.

Your feet pounded against the pavement as you rushed forward, closing the distance between you and the cloaked bastard in seconds.

And then—

CRACK.

Your fist slammed into the side of his face, the impact so strong you felt his jaw shift beneath your knuckles.

The force of your punch sent him staggering back, but you weren’t done. Not even close.

You pivoted on your heel, twisting your body for momentum, before swinging again.

BAM!

Your second punch landed hard on the opposite side of his face, his hood shifting slightly from the sheer impact.

The bastard stumbled further, nearly losing his balance.

But you didn’t give him a second to recover.

Your hands gripped the bat tightly—muscles coiling like a spring—before you swung with everything you had.

WHAM!

The bat slammed into his head with full force.

A sickening thud echoed through the empty street as the figure’s entire body jerked from the impact.

His legs gave out instantly.

His body collapsed to the ground, unmoving.

The once-imposing figure—shrouded in mystery, with a golden weapon still faintly glinting in his grip—now lay sprawled out at your feet.

Knocked out cold.

You took a deep breath, wiping the sweat from your brow with the back of your gloved hand, before glancing down at him.

And then…

You grinned.

A slow, faint smile curled at your lips as you admired your handiwork.

There was something thrilling about seeing this so-called intimidating figure sprawled out, helpless, after you had beaten him down.

“Tch.” You scoffed, tilting your head slightly as you inspected his unconscious form. “What, that’s it? No fight back? No last words? Kinda disappointing, really.”

You nudged his side with your foot, testing for any movement.

Nothing.

Your smirk widened.

This idiot seriously underestimated you.

Big mistake.

The golden weapon lay loosely in his grip now, the blood along its edge darkening under the moonlight. You eyed it for a moment, debating whether to take it—or at least break it—but then your gaze flickered back to the figure’s half-uncovered face.

And for a split second, something nagged at you.

Something felt… off.

That jawline… that build…

Why did he look so—

You shook the thought away. Who cares?

Right now, you needed to figure out what to do next.

This bastard clearly wasn’t some random mugger. Murderer? Maybe. Either way, you weren’t about to leave him lying here without some answers.

Maybe… you should drag him somewhere and question him when he wakes up.

Your grin turned sharper.

Yeah. That sounded like a fun idea.

You exhaled sharply, gripping the unconscious figure by his arm as you dragged his heavy, lifeless body across the pavement.

His golden weapon gleamed faintly under the streetlights, the bloodstains dark and fresh along its edge. You had it clutched tightly in your other hand, fingers curling around the hilt as you stole a glance at its intricate design.

This was no ordinary blade.

No mugger or common thug carried something this finely crafted.

Your grip tightened.

Who the hell was this guy?

Even unconscious, his presence felt off—too eerily still, too controlled, even in this state. It almost pissed you off.

No fear. No desperation. Just… silence.

You dragged him up the porch of your house, gritting your teeth at his weight before kicking open the door.

THUD.

His body hit the floorboards with a dull noise, limbs sprawled like a broken puppet.

Without wasting a second, you grabbed a chair, shoved it into the center of the room, and hauled him onto it.

His black cloak rustled as you forced his arms behind his back, tying them up tightly with thick rope. You did the same to his legs, making sure he couldn’t move an inch.

But the most unsettling part?

Even as you worked, his face remained hidden beneath that black metal mask—its golden vine-like engravings catching the dim light of the room.

You stepped back, crossing your arms as you inspected your handiwork.

He looked… oddly regal like this. A fallen king, tied up and waiting for judgment.

You tilted your head.

Something about this moment—about him sitting there, unmoving, under your control—sent a sharp thrill down your spine.

You stared.

Now… all you had to do was wait.

You stepped forward, tapping the flat edge of his own golden weapon against your palm, staring at him with amusement.

“Alright, mystery man,” you muttered under your breath, eyes gleaming. “Let’s see who the hell you really are.”

And with that, you settled onto the couch across from him—watching.

Waiting. . . . . .

You sat on the couch, idly twirling the golden weapon in your grip, its weight heavier than you expected. The craftsmanship was exquisite—each detail carved with precision, the sharp gleam of the blade still slick with drying blood.

Your fingers traced the intricate patterns along the hilt, a mix of black and gold, before your gaze drifted lower…

And then you saw it.

A small engraving near the base of the blade.

A crescent moon.

Your brows furrowed as you leaned in, squinting at the faint lettering just beneath it—so subtle, it was almost impossible to notice unless you were looking closely.

“Flame—”

Your stomach dropped.

“—Reaver.”

Your breath hitched.

Your grip on the sword tightened, pulse hammering in your ears as realization slammed into you like a freight train.

No. No, no, no—this had to be some sick joke.

Flame Reaver wasn’t just some low-level criminal—he was a fucking legend. A nameless swordmaster, a phantom of the underworld, responsible for massacres that tore entire syndicates apart.

Nobody knew who he was. Nobody even had a confirmed sighting.

But every victim—every last one—had been ripped apart with a blade.

And you just… tied him up.

In your own house.

Fuck.

A low groan echoed from across the room.

You froze.

The sound sent a cold shiver crawling down your spine.

Your head snapped toward the chair.

The figure—Flame Reaver—shifted slightly, his bound form tensing as he started to regain consciousness.

Your fingers instinctively curled around the weapon tighter, but your palms felt sweaty now.

Shit.

Your mind raced.

What were you supposed to do? Run? Kill him? Hope he has amnesia?!

Before you could even decide—

His head lifted slightly.

His chest rose and fell steadily.

And then—

The black metal mask tilted up, ever so slightly…

And you could feel it.

Even without seeing his eyes, you could feel his gaze locking onto you.

A quiet, low chuckle rasped through the air.

Oh, you were so fucking dead.

A dull, throbbing pain bloomed at the back of his skull. His senses were sluggish, slow to return, like wading through thick water. For a few moments, there was nothing but darkness, a heavy weight pressing down on him, his body sluggish and foreign. Then, piece by piece, it all began to come back.

The night. The streets. Blood.

A fight. A sharp pain bursting at the side of his head.

And then—

His consciousness snapped into place like a whip.

His muscles tensed.

Bound.

His arms wouldn’t move.

Neither would his legs.

The air was stale. The scent of the room was faintly familiar—wood, a trace of perfume, something warm yet utterly foreign in this moment. But none of it compared to the sudden, gut-wrenching realization that he was restrained.

A cold blade of tension ran up his spine.

He knew better than anyone that being tied up meant being vulnerable. He was never the one on this end of the rope. Never.

Where the fuck was he?

Slowly, deliberately, he cracked his eyes open behind the black metal mask.

And the moment he did—

His breath caught in his throat.

There, seated in front of him, holding his own golden blade, was 𝙮𝙤𝙪.

But it wasn’t you. Not the way he knew you. Not the way he had memorized you—every expression, every playful glint in your eyes, every ridiculous joke you cracked at his expense. The warmth, the laughter, the way you made his obsessive devotion feel justified.

No.

The person sitting in front of him now—this was different.

You were looking at him wrong.

Your expression was cold.

Your fingers gripped his weapon with a force that made your knuckles go white.

And worst of all—

You were looking at him with pure burning hatred.

Not mild irritation, not the usual exasperation you had when he stole your food or teased you too much—real, burning hatred.

Why? What Happened? Why..why were you..

His breath came slow and measured, but his mind raced violently. Everything was wrong. Everything was out of place.

And then it hit him.

You didn't know.

You didn't realize.

You didn’t know it was him. You didn't know that he was flamereaver You didn't know that he killed for you for years. He felt something deep and ugly twist inside his chest, but he remained utterly still. If he spoke now—if his voice slipped, if his tone wavered even slightly—you would realize. And he wasn't ready for that.

The second you moved closer, heart pounding in your chest, your fingers reached for the black and gold metal mask covering his face.

But before you could even brush against it—

SNAP.

The ropes shattered like they were made of paper.

Your eyes widened.

What the fuck—?!

Before you could even react, before you could take a single step back, a sharp golden clawed hand shot up and grasped your wrist.

Not tightly. Not enough to hurt.

But enough to stop you in your tracks.

Your breath hitched as you stared at the sharp, deadly claws glinting in the dim light. They were curved like talons, polished gold reflecting your startled expression. They could have pierced your skin. Could have ripped through flesh effortlessly.

But they didn’t.

He wasn’t hurting you.

He wasn’t even squeezing your wrist.

He was just… holding it.

Stopping you.

Slowly, your gaze trailed up from the golden claws to his mask.

It was still intact. Still covering his entire face. That damn mask—black with intricate golden vine-like patterns etched into it, elegant yet eerily haunting.

And then, he moved.

Not roughly. Not aggressively. But with a deliberateness that sent shivers down your spine.

He tilted his head.

His free hand, the one that had just torn through the restraints like they were nothing, reached up towards his mask but stopped.

Like he was considering something.

Like he was debating.

Your breath felt uneven. Your pulse pounded in your ears.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t move any further.

He just… held your wrist in place. Why isn't he hurting you?? Why isn't he trying to kill you?? What fucking game is he playing.

A sharp tension filled the room, thick and suffocating.

Your fingers twitched, still aching to rip that mask off.

To see who the hell he really was.

But his claws remained firm on your wrist—gentle, yet unyielding.

He was stopping you.

But he wasn’t hurting you.

And that was somehow worse.

Who the fuck was he?

Your fingers tightened. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, a deafening rhythm of adrenaline and disbelief.

He wasn’t speaking. He wasn’t trying to stop you any further, only holding your wrist in that maddeningly gentle yet firm grip.

But it didn’t matter.

Because you didn’t hesitate.

With a sharp inhale, you yanked your hand free from his grasp and lunged forward.

Your fingers caught the edges of the black metal mask, and before he could react—

Rip.

You tore it off his face.

The mask clattered onto the wooden floor with a loud, echoing clang.

And for a split second—

You still had no idea who he was.

Because your eyes weren’t on his face yet.

They were on his hands—his claws. They were trembling, the golden tips slick with faint traces of blood.

And then—

Then you saw it.

The moment your gaze snapped up to meet his—

You stopped breathing.

Your stomach twisted into a thousand knots.

Because staring back at you—

Was a pair of wide, terrified, cerulean blue eyes.

A face framed by fluffy white hair.

A face you had seen every single day.

This can't be fucking real.

“P—Phainon?”

But you didn't even get a chance to speak the words in your mind.

Because in the next second—

Your back hit the floor.

He pinned you down against the cold wooden floor.

Your wrists were trapped beneath his claws, his weight pressing down against you. His breath was uneven, a mixture of fear, adrenaline, and something unreadable swimming in those now-exposed, once-gentle blue eyes.

Now they were shaken.

Now they were desperate.

But the worst part?

There was blood on his face.

Small splatters of blood on the corner of his jaw and cheek.

And it wasn’t his.

No, no, no, no.

Your brain couldn’t process it.

Couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

Because this was Phainon.

Your best friend.

The cheerful idiot who always smiled at you, laughed with you, annoyed you.

He couldn't be—

The Flamereaver.

But the golden blade lying beside you on the floor—

The bloodstains on his face, his hands, his claws—

The fact that he had been standing outside his own house, alone, covered in blood, wearing a mask.

The fact that he hadn't said a single word.

It all made sense.

HI GANG !! this is the fanart I did for phainon. i am so down bad for him if you like this , please like, follow, reblog and comment :D

LONG HAIR PHAINON AAAA

[arbitrarykiwi]

Hiiii I was wondering if you had any thoughts about mean nam gyu :3 holding your head down into the pillows and plowing you from behind even when you cry!!! And like trying to reach behind you to slow him down and he just grabs your arm 😵‍💫 sheesh I just know he can fuck someone through the mf mattresss I’m like going insane

You Can Take It

do I have any thoughts about mean namgyu??? OH BOY DO I!!!! Lemme tell you when I got this request I was jumping for JOY!!! I could not stop thinking about it. I just know, I FEEL IT IN MY SOULLLLL, that this man could fuck you dumb into the mattress EASY!! He definitely also has a huge thing for fucking you until you cry

Warnings: smut (18+), in the squid games, rough sex, fucked dumb!Reader, exhibitionism (fucks you in the main room) choking, spitting, oral (m and f recieving), deepthroating, name calling (slut/whore), dirty talking, dacryphilia (he fucks you till you’re crying), read at your own risk

You found yourself pulled into a group with Thanos, Nam-gyu, Semi, and Min-su. It wasn’t really your idea, you remember after the first game, and after you voted to continue playing, Nam-gyu had approached you.

Well approached isn’t very fitting. He had grabbed your wrist as you were passing by, pulling you back to him. He simply said, “You’re sticking with me. You’re mine.” And you weirdly agreed.

You hung around him and the rest of the group from then on out. He was super touchy- always wanting to be near you but…he was also mean. He would scoff at anything you said. Try to argue with you over the smallest things. But then he would ruffle your hair, rub his thumb against your cheek to calm you down after the second game. It was weird. But hey, you needed all the people in your corner you could get.

During the game of Mingle, after multiple rounds and the players getting increasingly frantic as tensions rise, the group number was 3. When Thanos grabbed Min-su and Nam-gyu into his side you were sure you were going to die.

You were pulled away by a stray group of two men, rushing you to a door. You never got to see how Nam-gyu was fighting out of Thanos’ grasp to try and team up with you.

When the game was said and done you found yourself hurrying back to the purple hair you caught in the crowd- because where Thanos was, Nam-gyu would also be. After the game all you found yourself wanting was to be near him. It was weird. You figure the trauma of this hellhole made you bond to him in some odd way.

He was colder than usual, he allowed you to be near him, to lean on him. It was embarrassing, really. All you wanted was some sort of comfort or attention, a hand on your shoulder or even a him ruffling your hair like he normally did…but nothing.

So eventually when lights out came around, you made your way to your bunk. You sat down on the edge of it, looking down at the concrete and your white shoes- well used to be white now they are a sick red color. Dried blood. You stand up and begin kick off your shoes, stretching once done to try and ease the ache in your bones.

You straighten up when footsteps approach. The lights dim but you can make out the bold white ‘124’ of the jacket patch. “Nam-gyu?!” You ask in a whisper, surprised.

“You really are dumb aren’t you?” He growls, taking steps closer to you. His gaze is dark, angry. It’s also mixed with something you can’t pin point. Your face turns into a scowl, moving to back up with each step he takes towards you. “I’m not dumb.” You retort, “What the fuck are you even on about??” You say in a hushed voice.

“That stunt you pulled at the game today.” He says through clenched teeth, backing you against your bed, the back’s of your knees hitting the sides of the metal frame, nearly making you fall down. “What part of sticking with me do you not understand?” He growls, his face a few inches from yours.

Before you can even think to move one of his hands grabs your face in a bruising grip. It hurts, you’re sure he could break your jaw if he wanted to. You suck in a shaky breath, he’s so close, the metal of his rings sting your skin in an ice cold bite, was he always this hot?

What the fuck are you thinking??

You shake your head of the thought and furrow your eyebrows, realizing what he meant. “It was 3 to a room. You and Thanos had Min-su.” You hiss out, “I was also grabbed- pulled away. I wasn’t about to fight it and get myself fucking shot.” You growl out, was he really that serious?!

Ever since you he pulled you into their odd group he wasn’t the friendliest to you. It was weird, he was oddly protective but he would only ever scoff or mock anything you said. Sure he said ‘you’re sticking with me, you’re mine’, but with how he treats you, like you’re an annoyance for joining the group- why the fuck would he care if you went another group during Mingle.

“I told you…” he growls out in a low hushed rumble, tilting his head to look at you better. In the light that seeps through the windows of the doors at the front of the room you can see him taking in every bit of your face, his lower lip caught in his teeth as he breaths in a breath. “…to stay with me. ‘N I would have thought you were smarter, could follow directions…” he whispers, coming closer so as he speaks his lips brush against yours.

You chock it up to the days of carnage around you changing you into a different person- because you have no idea why you’re not slapping him, you didn’t usually take shit like this and you’ve gotten into plenty of fights, you could fight him off. But you don’t.

Instead you find yourself feeling so very hot, a warmth beginning to blossom deep inside you; a feeling you know all too well. To say you’re a little ashamed is an understatement…but fuck, you might die tomorrow. That thought of death looming over your shoulder throws most of your dignity out the window. And you succumb to the delicious feeling in your lower stomach that you’ve been trying to fight.

“That being said I came to teach you a lesson.” He says, pulling back from you the slightest bit to look down at your lips- admiring how they’re slightly parted, allowing him to feel your shuddering breath against his skin. “I don’t like sharing what’s mine…and I’d say I’d made a good claim on you, told you, you were mine from the get go, yes?” He hisses in a hushed tone through his teeth. The tone of his voice, one you have never heard when you were around him before. It’s deeper, rougher, desperate even.

It has you speechless, thighs squeezing together without you even thinking about it. When you don’t respond his hand connects with your cheek. It’s not hard, it’s quick and sharp, a light sting to get you to focus. And as fast as his hand connects with the flesh of your cheek, it’s back to jaw in the same bruising grip as before.

“Y-yes you did.” You choke out, and he grins in response. “Thaatssss riiighhttt.” He draws out in a heinous, mocking tone. “So I think ‘s only fair that I teach you a lesson on how to properly fucking listen right?” His smile widens, his hand not on your jaw comes to settle on your lower back, pulling you against him.

You only bite your lip and nod, your hands grounding yourself on his chest. “Good.” He laughs, and then he’s on you in an instant. His lips collide with yours in a rushed, nearly frenzied motion. It’s involuntary, but you whine into the kiss.

His hand drops from your jaw, both hands moving under your jacket and shirt to grab at your waist. His hands were warm against your cold skin. You could feel the multiple silver rings, the metal nipping coldly at your skin.

He was unforgiving to say the least, the kiss had you incredibly hot. His tongue snaked its way into your mouth expertly, tasting all your mouth had to offer. You don’t even realize one of his hands has removed itself from your hip and has attached itself to your throat.

It’s a rough grip, enough to make you let out a choked gasp, eyes shooting open as he pulls away from the kiss. He can see the way your pupils are dilated from the way the dim light catches your eyes. He scoffs, “So pathetic…you enjoy this. You’ve been wanting this haven’t you?”

You open your mouth to speak but he interrupts, his other hand gliding across your waist and moving down your stomach, fingers dancing along the waistband of his sweatpants. “Mhm…” he lets out in a low growl, fingers untying the knot of your sweatpants stings.

“‘S all you needed, someone to set you straight. Probably so worked up because no one’s fucked you like the whore you really are…” his grin widens, his eyes never leaving yours, his hand on your neck squeezing; the other hand is dipping under the material of your track suit sweats and under your panties.

His hand splays across your pubic bone before running his long slender fingers through your folds. His eyes widen when he feels just how wet you already are. “Yeahhh….” He drawls out, almost in a hushed coo, “‘S exactly what you need, ain’t it?” His fingers rub against your entrance, playing with your folds for a couple seconds before gliding his fingers up and against your clit as he draws his fingers out of your pants.

He pulls his fingers up in front of your face, spreading them out so you can see your arousal web between your fingers in thick, sticky strings. You let out a strangled moan, it’s a silently sound due to the pressure on your neck.

He chuckles softly, bringing his fingers up to your open mouth and shoving them against your tongue- forcing you to taste yourself. Your lips instinctively wrap around his ringed fingers, sucking the digits into his mouth, tongue swirling around to clean his fingers off.

He hums in approval, “Trying to win me over, huh, sweet thing? Tryna be good…” he laughs, his fingers shoving themselves further down your throat. You gag around them, making him let out a low moan. “But it doesn’t work like that…no….you still have to be punished sweetheart….needa show you that I meant it when I said you are mine.” He rasps, a hungry, lustful look in his eye.

In a second he’s pulling his fingers from your mount and picking you up, tossing you onto the bed. He’s onto of you in a second, straddling over your form. His hand presses against your throat, just admiring how his hand look against you. It trails down your sternum, over the swell of your breast before gripping at it harshly through the material of your shirt and bra.

It has you arching up into him, a soft moan falling from your lips as a plea for more. He’s lifting his hand, grabbing the hem of your shirt and bunching it up, lifting it up above your bra. He sits back on your thighs, looking down to admire you.

“Prettiest set of tits I’ve ever seen..” he growls, hand not holding your shirt up working to pull down your bra. When your tits are out on full display he sucks in a breath, head diving down to capture a nipple into his mouth. He’s biting and sucking relentlessly, his other hand on your other breast kneading the flesh in his large hands.

It was a while since you felt any sort of attention like this and with the situation you’ve been stuck in the past couple days, it’s like an itch that’s finally being scratched. It’s like a massive weight has been lifted off your shoulders. You let out a large sigh, arching into him.

Your hands come up to entangle in his hair, trying to press him even further into him. His teeth and tongue are relentless, lathing over your hard nipple and working around suck bright red marks into your skin.

He pulls back with a wet ‘pop’, smiling down at you with the same wicked grin he’s had since this whole thing started. Like only he knows just how truly ruing you were about to be.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you…” he says scoffing down at you. “Going to fuck you dumb so all you remember is my god damn name.” He growls. Suddenly he’s moving off of you settling at the foot of your bed, kneeling, and as he moves he’s pulling you up into a kneeling position to mirror him.

“But can’t fuck you right now…” he growls, hands gripping your face, squishing your cheeks together. “No… that would be a reward not a punishment…” he chuckles, his hands drop to push down on your shoulders. You know what he’s trying to insinuate, you comply, sinking down onto all fours, facing towards him so his hard, clothed cock is directly in front of your face.

You look up to him, the look in your eyes making him laugh in a low, degrading tone. He’s gripping the back of your head and pressing your face into his erection. It’s filthy. He’s smushing your cheek against his cock, rubbing it up and down, the fabric of his pants feeling abrasive against your cheek.

“Just needed someone to set ya straight….no one’s ever put you in your place.” He hums down at you, you’re looking up at him with an angry glare but you’re not pulling away. “Awh…what’s that look for?” He laughs, “you’re jus’ provin’ my point sweetheart, you’re nothing but a brat who needs the attitude fucked out of ‘er.”

He’s pulling your head back far enough for him to grip at his pants and underwear pulling them down. His cock springs out, falling against your face with a hearty ‘plap’. You can’t help the gasp that you let out, both feeling it and seeing it for the first time.

His hand moves to the top of your head as he holds you still, his other hand on your cheek, using thumb to hold his cock on your face. He’s thrusting back and forth, dragging his thick length along your face. You hate that it makes you all the more hotter. You can feel the way your panties stick uncomfortably to your cunt, your arousal surly begging to soak through your track suit pants.

Yet you still look up at him with the same defiant expression, like you hated him. But he knew you didn’t. “Keep that expression, girlie. Just makes me harder.” He growls pulling his hips back. His hand that’s not holding your head grips the base of his dick, rubbing the leaking red tip over your lips. “Actin’ so mean and angry when you’re just achin’ to suck my cock ain’t ya?” And in response, you part your lips.

“Heh…yeah you are.” He muses lowly, pushing the head of his cock into your warm lips. He removes his hand from the base of his cock, grabbing the hem of his shirt in his hands and pulling it up out of the way. You keep staring up at him, watching as his head throws back and his chest heaves as he draws in a large breath.

He pushes his cock deeper, letting out a low groan as he draws his hips back the smallest bit to only sink back into the heaven that is your mouth. Your tongue flattens out, taking more of him in, relishing in the taste of him on your tongue. His hand that rests on the top of your head wastes no time to push you down the length of his cock. You let out a choked sound of surprise that only makes him laugh.

“You really thought I was gonna go easy on you? Are you that dumb?” He scolds, grinning down at you wickedly, your eyebrows furrow at his words, letting our muffled sounds of protest as you look up at him with a scowl- or the best one you can make with his cock shoved in your mouth. “Yeaaahhh…” he drawls out, “keep looking at me just like that…” he continues through gritted teeth as he pushes his cock further into your mouth, the bulbous tip beginning to press at the back of your throat.

You let out a muffled gag around his cock, the movement of your throat only allowing him to sink further in. Yet, he realizes your hands are still by your side- you’re not even bracing against him or trying to jerk off the length that’s not in your mouth.

“Ahh look at that. Maybe you are good for something if you can’t listen. Good fucking cock sucker ain’t ya?” He laughs, rocking his hips a couple times before pushing the back of your head hard- sinking your mouth all the way to the base of his cock, your nose pressed against his pelvic bone.

You gag around him, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth, your eyes screwing shut. His hand that’s not on your head comes in contact with your cheek in a few quick, sharp, taps. “Oh no, open your fucking eyes and look at me.” He orders. You obey, your eyes opening, glaring at him from tear soaked lashes.

He tilts his head, beginning to pull you up and down his cock, making sure every time he sinks into your mouth, he’s sinking balls deep. His heavy balls hit against your chin with every thrust. “That’s it, looking at me so angry when you’re gladly taking my cock down your throat” He mocks, pushing you down so your nose brushes the dark hairs that surround his cock. You choke around him, muffled gags of protest just causing more spit to bubble up and escape your mouth.

He pulls you completely off of him, you’re turning away and coughing, spitting, using the back of your hand to wipe your mouth. His hand in your hair roughly jerks your head back to look at him. “Did I say you can get clean? You really don’t know how to fuckin’ listen.” He growls, before you can react, he’s spit directly on your face and shoved you back down on his cock.

You moan out around his cock, it pains you how much being used like this turns you on, but fuck does it feel so good. When you look up at him this time, your eyebrows aren’t furrowed in anger- but upturned in a desperate look as if you wanted to do nothing but please him.

“Thaatss it..” he growls, his words slurred, eyes trained on you as he fucks his dick impossibly deeper into your tight throat. “You just like being’ used, fucking slut.” He says chucking, pressing your face all the way to the base of his dick to make you choke again. “Say it, say you like it.” He says lowly, drawing his cock put your throat ever so slightly.

With watery eyes you try to speak around his cock, responding with an ‘I like it.’ But it just comes out as garbled chokes, the words hardly able to be made out but it’s exactly what he wanted. “Yeahhh you do, fucking bitch.” He says, thrusting his cock in and out of your throat in a brutal pace.

And you just take it. You can feel your cunt dripping in your pants, the sticky arousal that weeps out of you coating your inner thighs.

You’re sure the other players around you can hear the debauched, wet, sloppy sounds you were making as you suck his cock, taking him in so greedily despite the tears welling up in your eyes and the lack of breath available to you that his cock in your throat causes.

He reaches the hand that’s not in your hair down to cup your jaw, chuckling darkly has he hooks his thumb in the corner of your mouth. It makes you so embarrassed. It causes even more drool to slip out of your mouth and your mouth to ache even more than it does. “See, now you’re not looking up at me all pissy, just needed a cock in your throat to calm ya down.” He laughs, shaking your head side to side on his cock by the thumb that’s hooked into your cheek.

You whine out around his cock, your drool beginning to cover your shirt, the white fabric becoming visibly darker and beginning to stick to your skin. He pulls his thick length out of your throat, a large amount of bubbly spit being pulled away with it. You gasp, catching your breath.

“Bet you’re fucking soaked you slut. I just know choking on some cock gets ya’ all nice n’ sloppy.” You bite your lip and whine silently, you don’t want to agree but you know it’s true. Your panties are stuck so uncomfortably to your cunt, your arousal now soaking through your track suit completely- leaving a dark wet patch all over the crotch and inner thighs of the fabric.

He’s quickly turning you back around away from him and pushing you to all fours once again, his hand is pressing on your back forcing you into an arch. You can feel his hand run up your spine and grip at your hair.

Your face is shoved into the mattress, it’s rough, causing you to fall over with a choked whine ripping through your throat. He’s leaning over you, his thick cock grinding itself up and down the valley of your ass, his head right next to your ear. “I knew a whore like you would love to be manhandled, isn’t that right?” His words are a mocking, almost evil titter, hissing into your ear as his hips rock against your ass. You can feel his erection through his pants.

You’re infinitely glad that your bunk was one in the far corner of the large room, the shadows of the other bunks and the dark room shrouding what you know was surely about to happen. You know you’re horrible for even thinking this- but you’re also thankful that the many bunks around you weren’t all full, a large number of the people who used to surround you were killed off by the second game.

And he knew that. When lights out came, and he knew he had to teach you a lesson. He took his opportunity.

He’s hovering behind you, his hands running down your back, to your waist, and then your ass. His hands quickly move back up to the waistband of the tracksuit and pulling the material down your legs to be bunched around your ankles.

You try to turn your head to look at him but his grip on your hair tightens, it’s relentless and mean- you’re sure some strands of hair were ripped out. But it only causes your cunt to weep desperately, arousal only beading and dropping in thick, gooey strings onto the sheets.

“Nuh-uh..” he growls “you’re not calling the shots here.” He emphasizes his words has his hand pushes you deeper into the plush pillows. “You’re going to sit there, like the compliant slut you are. N’ you’re gonna let me use this sweet cunt, isn’t that right?”

The fingers on his other hand that wasn’t in your hair run softly over your ass, it’s a strange soothing motion. As his hand runs lower though, it’s soon apparent that the feather light, almost delicate motion was just to throw you off. His hand comes in contact with your pussy, giving it a hard slap.

You cry out, body jerking forward. His palm grinds into your clit, a delicious pleasure awarded after the sharp sting of the slap. “Fucking answer me.” He growls, his hand that’s manipulating your face to pull it out of the pillows some, allowing you to look at him.

“Y-yes, mhmm.” You whine out desperately, your head trying its best to nod despite his hold on your scalp. He lets out a low chuckle, feeling your hips push back into his hand. He got you exactly how he wants you. No more of that bratty attitude. No more talking back to him.

“No fuckin’ shame…just desperate to be touched” he chuckles out, sitting back up, his hand pulls back from your pussy, sticky ropes of your arousal stringing his hand to your cunt. “Haven’t even done anything and you’re drenched. That’s how much of a slut you are? Hm? Just so needy for some cock.” He mocks, his fingers running through your folds.

He’s simply addicted to the sight of your swollen cunt, desperate to take whatever he gives and just continuously spilling milky white arousal. The sheets below you are stained a darker color, a pool of evidence doing nothing to help your case.

You can only whine, “P-please, p-please.” You chant out and he only laughs. “You poor thing..” he chides, sitting up and leaning over you to smile wickedly at you. “You want it bad? Huh, sweet thing.” He says, his voice oddly softer, his hand gently brushing your hair back out of your face.

He looks at you tenderly, mirroring your pout. You nod, tears starting to build up in your lashes having been needing him inside you for so long. “Mhmm.” You hum out, rocking your hips against his palm that cups your pussy. “Want it so bad… wan’ you.” You mumbled out, looking up at him like some kind of doe eyed prey.

“Should have thought about that before you decided to be a fucking bitch.” And the wicked grin is back, he’s going to take his time with you.

His hands grip at the globes of your ass, letting out a low growl. He pushes forward, spreading you open nice and wide for him. You can’t help but to shiver when the cold air of the room hits your pussy. It’s embarrassing, you can’t see him but you know he’s just staring at your weeping hole.

“Such a cute lil’ pussy…” he hums out, making sure you can hear his words. Two of his fingers run up and down your cunt, lightly petting at your clit. You bite your lip, a muffled ‘mhmm’ coming out of your mouth as you feel his fingers touch exactly where you needed him.

“Doesn’t take much to get you dripping does it?” He says with a laugh. “Just running my fingers over your clit and being mean to you..” he says, pausing to spread his two fingers, moving your lips aside to show your clit fully. “..makes your little cunt cry f’me…” he says watching with a trained eye as a new thick, white drop of your arousal pushes out your entrants and runs down, collecting on your clit.

He hunches back over your arched form so his mouth is right by your ear. “How filthy can you be? I mean really, letting me use you like this…here? Sobering all over my cock and whining like a bitch in heat when my fingers are touching your pussy…do you not have any shame?” He rambles in a low gravely tone as his fingers just play with your puffy cunt.

It’s feather light touches that have you gripping the pillow and trying to push your hips back into his fingers for more. He just laughs at your desperation, pulling his hand back and siting back up so he can have a perfect look at you.

His hand pulls back from your sopping heat and he spreads his fingers, admiring how messy his hand already is. His palm and fingers glisten with your arousal, a wet shine that has his cock pulsating angrily in his pants. He wants nothing more than to sink balls deep in your tight cunt- but that’s what you want, and he can’t give you what you want.

He spreads you open, his hands gripping harshly at your ass, spreading you wide so he can truly see the mess he’s made of you. The stretch causes your back to arch, pushing your hips back towards him, calling out a weak cry of his name.

One of his fingers stretches to circle around your tight hole. It’s a light touch that has you shivering. It’s not nearly enough to drive you to the release that you desperately needed. His eyes are fixated on your pussy, fingers dancing along your entrance, watching as you clench and spasm around nothing.

“If I knew this is all you needed to set you straight…” he mumbles, a single finger pushes into your wet cunt, a moan is ripped from your lips as you finally get what you needed most. “…I woulda done this the first day here. Made sure you knew who you belonged to.” He rasps, his single finger beginning to pump in and out of you.

He’s entranced by the way his finger disappears in your tight heat to be pulled out covered in your milky white arousal. When he pushes his finger back in, feeling your tight walls suck him in, gushing even more syrupy wetness out, his tongue is licking at his lips.

“So tight..” he mumbles, his hand that’s nod busy fucking you still holding your ass, fingers clawing into your flesh to keep you spread open for him. “How are you even going to take my cock, pretty girl? Gonna have to get you ready, hm?” He coos at you as another finger begins to push into your entrance.

The stretch of his two fingers is enough to have you moaning out a choked call of his name. His fingers move expertly in you, scissoring themselves and working you open. You’re gushing around his hand, covering his pale fingers and knuckles with your wetness. It makes every thrust of his fingers into your cunt a noisy, sloppy wet sound resonates. Anytime his fingers slam back into you, another sob is wracked through your body.

His fingers spread themselves, opening your hole up to him. You can only whine and hide your head in the pillows, you don’t think you’ve ever been this vulnerable and for some reason you’re allowing it to happen at the worst time and in the worst place. You can hear a low, gravely rumble come from his throat when he watches your pink cunt gape around his fingers, entranced at the way he can see your cunt try to clench around his fingers that hold you open for him. He leans in and you feel like you’ve been electrocuted when his tongue dives deep into your pussy between his spread fingers, licking around your walls like he’s already addicted to the saccharine taste of your cunt.

He pulls back with an obnoxious slurp that has you whining in embarrassment. He sits there for a moment, basking in the taste of you on his tongue. And you’re fucked, because he thinks it’s better than any high he’s had. No drug rush could compare to the euphoria the taste of your cunt gave him.

He’s on you in an instant, mouth engulfing your cunt and sucking your clit into his warm mouth. It’s filthy. His nose is pushed into your entrance, rubbing into you and sniffing like a dog. When he releases your clit, his is tongue laps at you in large encompassing licks, you can tell it’s not for you but for him. It’s like he’s drunk off your arousal. Every loud, obscene slurp and shake of his head has you crying out, your hips circling back onto his face.

You can tell he’s truly just eating you for the sake of tasting you, teasing you relentlessly by never running directly over your clit. He’s around it, tip of his tongue just millimeters away from when you needed it most but he never gave you that sweet release. Every bit of arousal that spills from your abused cunt is swallowed greedily by him.

You shake and writhe against him, fingers tearing into the bedsheets as you try to catch your breath. But he never lets you, so just have to sit there and choke out sob after sob as he slurps at your pussy.

When he pulls away you cry out, trying to push your hips back, seeking out the solace that was his tongue. He’s standing back up and placing his hefty cock against your ass, still wet with your spit from taking him down your throat it allows him to slide easily between your ass cheeks. He’s humming to himself, the image of your perfect ass underneath his aching cock. The plush of your ass squeezing against the side of his length as he rocks against you.

“You gonna stick with me from now on, sweetheart. Gonna fuckin’ listen?” He says, his voice softer than usual. You can hardly form a coherent thought let alone string together an answer. You nod your head dumbly. He growls, his hand connecting with your ass in a painful smack, hard enough to imprint his hand into your flesh, the skin becoming red and raised. You keel over moaning out a broken sound that was probably his name- it was so shaky and wrecked you couldn’t tell.

“Use your words. C’mon now I haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re already acting like a dumb whore.” He says in a low rasp, hand smoothing over the area that’s raised in the shape of his palm. “Y-yes I will…” you sob out, pushing back against him. “‘M yours!” You whimper, turning to look back at him.

He raises an amused eyebrow, “ohhhhh….” He says in a sweet coo, gripping your ass roughly with both hands, “That’s it, didn’t even have to ask you to say it…good fucking girl….”

He’s suddenly drawing his hips back and lining up with your dripping hole. He’s pushing in without any restraint, bulling his fat cock into your cunt until he’s balls deep. You’re sobbing out into the pillow, it doing little to muffle your wrecked sounds. He’s so fucking big it feels like you’re being split in half. You feel him so deep inside you, you feel like he’s going to permanently etch the shape of his cock into your walls.

His head is thrown back, his hands gripping into the plush of your ass, nails breaking skin. The heaven that is your tight cunt granted him just what he needed to get him through these games. You’re so wet and so warm and you’re squeezing him So. Fucking. Tight.

“Knew this sloppy cunt would be perfect f’me.” He hisses as he begins to slowly draw his hips back. The drag you feel when his thick length pulls out of you is intense, it has you nearly sobbing into the pillow below you.

And just when you think you’ve adjusted to the violent stretch that he imposes on your cunt, his hips begin to pound into you. You’re surging forward, biting your lip so hard you’re sure you’re drawing blood as you try to keep quiet. It’s useless though, the wet sounds of skin slapping on skin and the thick smell of sex is enough to give you two away regardless of the noise you make.

He’s fucking brutal. Both hands are releasing your ass and moving up to your head, his thumbs are overlapping each other while his other fingers tangle into your hair. He’s shoving your face, hard, into the thin pillow of your bunk, every sharp thrust of his cock deep into your swollen cunt has you surging forward on the bed. You can’t even move, not one bit, the two hands on the back of your head pushing you down so hard you can’t even twist your head. All you can do is sit there and take it.

Your cunt is gushing around him, every thrust of his hips sound off a wet sloshing sound. “Making a mess out of my cock you filthy fuckin’ thing.” He growls, positioning his hips into you at a pace that has you seeing stars. Every time his balls slap against your clit, pushing his thick cock deep into your tight walls, the tip of his cock pounds against your cervix. “Can you hear your sloppy cunt?” He muses into your ear, his hips drawing out slowly and jackhammering back into you in long, deep thrusts, making sure you hear every wet squelch of your pussy.

It’s a punishing force that makes you begin to sob out, your hips driving back to meet his thrusts pathetically as tears begin to well in your eyes. His hand pulls your head off the pillow the slightest bit, using your hair to yank your head to the side- shoving your head back down into the pillows with a harsh movement of his hand when he maneuvers your face where he wants it.

When he sees your face streaked with tears and your lashes clumped in wet bunches a wicked and sadistic grin creeps across his face. “Oh!? You fuckin’ cryin’?” He laughs, his thrusts becoming even harder, the wet slap of his pelvis against your ass becoming so rough it nearly stings every time he connects against your ass. “What happened? Thought you could take it. You’re a big girl aren’t you?” He mocks.

You can’t even speak to respond, you’re quite literally being fucked dumb. All you can do is cry and take it. It felt so fucking good but it was too much. His hands still at the back of your head, fingers gripped tightly to your hair and using it to drag you back into him, it leaves you no where to run.

You reach back behind you, your hand trying to push at his torso, crying out a choked moan, “H-holy fuck! P-please ‘s too much.” You beg your hand desperately pushing against his stomach, though it does absolutely nothing to stop the relentless jackhammering of his hips. He just scoffs, adjusting himself quickly, his hands grabbing both your wrists and crossing your arms behind your back.

“Nuh-uh you’re not running away from me, you’re going to fucking take it.” He growls. He’s able to hold both your arms behind your back with one of his large hands, his grip was definitely going to leave purple and blue hues on your skin. His other hand is back on your head, grabbing a fist full of your hair and hauling you upright- your back flush with his chest, “Gonna. Take. Every. Fuckin’. Inch.” His words are punctuated by long, deep strokes up into your cunt that split you open. When he finishes his sentence he stills balls deep inside you, grinding his cock into your cunt.

Tears soaked your face, your eyes were red and puffy, and raw pussy was still being abused by his thick length that grinds slowly in you. You let out a sob, your face turning to the side to try and look back at the absolute beast of a man that was fucking you dumb. His hand releases your hair, coming up to latch onto your throat.

He hooks his chin over your shoulder so he can look at your face, when he sees your tear stained faze, drool covered lips and hears the pathetic breathy whines that flip between ‘too much’ and ‘harder’, he lets out a deep moan that makes your body shake against him. “You look so pretty cryin’ f’me.” He muses, the hand on your neck trailing up your jaw so two of his thick fingers could push themselves into your mouth.

He presses his fingers deep into your mouth, pressing on your tongue and holding your jaw open. Drool just pours out of your mouth, dirtying the white shirt you still had on even further. It was sticking to your skin, the warm, wet damn fabric becoming see through as you keep messily babbling around his fingers.

“Just taking whatever I give you,” he hums happily at your debauched state, “Messy fuckin’ girl, you just love getting fucked dumb by me don’t you?”

Your eyebrows are upturned and you nod in response as you try to thrust your hips back to get him to begin pounding into you again. “You think you deserve to cum?” He’s mocks, his hips slowly driving up into you in short thrusts. He finally removes his hand from your mouth for you to respond. You look at him, your eyes desperate, “F-fuck yes…please. I need to-“ you choke out a whine when he begins to slowly pick up his pace, “I-i need to cum. Ohmygod please!” You babble.

He stares at you for a moment taking in your fucked out state. Usually you were so bratty, so defiant, a scowl or quizzical look always on your face- not now. No, now you’re looking at him like he’s got your life in his hands, like you’re utterly devoted to him and that’s what exactly what he wanted.

“Mhm…yeaahh…” he hums, leaning over to kiss you, it’s slow and meticulous, a drastic contrast from the erratic way his hips hammer his cock deep into your pussy. “You look like you deserve it now, go ‘head and cream on my cock you slut. Let everyone here know who makes you feel like this.” He murmurs in a low, tantalizing voice.

His hand drops from your neck to your clit, rubbing furious circles around the neglected bundle of nerves. You’re straight up sobbing now, it’s so fucking much. His fingers on your clit, the relentless way his thick cock abuses your cunt, and the way he’s dragged out your release for so long makes you cum so hard your vision goes dark.

You’re gushing around him, crying out his name as he uses his hand still holding your arms behind your back to drive you down onto his dick, riding out your orgasm. He’s following right behind you, the way your cunt spasms around him, like a vice that’s trying to suck him in and keep him there, makes him cum deep into your pussy.

“Gonna cum so fucking deep in your slutty cunt..” he growls out. You fall limbless against him shaking as you feel him pump you full of his thick cum, and as he gently thrusts up into you, riding out his own orgasm, you can feel it being pushed out of you. There’s so fucking much. And he’s letting out the most beautiful sounds in your ear as he cums and cums, hitched breaths and low groans of your name spill out of his lips.

Both of you are breathless, he holds you against him, rocking his softening cock into you a couple times before pulling out. You hiss from the movement, the absence of his cock filling your pussy makes you feel so empty now. Before you can look back at him to say anything, he’s pushing your arms into your back and forcing you to fall back forward.

His hands are back on your ass, spreading you for him so he could see the mess he made of you cunt. Your whimpering and writhing against the sheets, any sort of stimulation of your pussy is overstimulating. “Quit complaining.” He growls, eyes entranced by the look of your abused cunt- red, raw, puffy and covered in a mix of your arousal and his cum that was pushed out of you. He grins to himself hands massaging inwards, pushing towards your pussy, you moan out, hands gripping the sheets desperately.

His movement causes his huge cum load to begin to drip out of you. The feeling is filthy, you’re whining and shaking against his touch. His fingers move to scoop the large glob of his cum that was dripping out of you, two fingers intruding into your pussy to fuck his cum back into you. “If you were as good as I thought you were you would have kept it all in and we could have avoided this, sweetheart.” He laughs.

“But you-“ you go to talk back, to rightfully blame him for making it spill out of you but he cuts you off by removing his fingers and dragging his tongue up your cunt once before pulling back. “Enough of that.” He scolds, a hand smacking against your pussy.

He scoots back and works so haul your pants and underwear back up your body. “Gonna keep these on the rest of the night, you’re gonna sleep with my cum leaking out of you like the whore you are…” he growls, leaning back over your arched form so his lips are right by your ear “Then tomorrow you’re gonna meet me in the morning for the next game and stick by me…isn’t that right?”

You nod and look up to him. He places one last kiss on your lips, it’s oddly soft compared to the rest of what just occurred. He’s brushing your hair out of your face and pulling away slowly. He doesn’t waste time, he’s hauling himself off your bed, tucking his soft cock into his pants and headed back over to his bunk.

You collapsed into jelly on your bed, finally beginning to catch your breath. You couldn’t think, your head foggy, the only idea in your mind was the one that involved immediately going to Nam-gyu’s bunk in the morning. Maybe he’d reward you for listening so well.

If what just happened was a punishment you could only excitedly imagine what his reward would be.

OH M GEEE this was so scrumptious to write. I hope yall enjoyed!!! Requests are still open im makin my way through them slowly but surely! I also wanna start letting yall know what requests I got cookin up next everytime I post a request

Next up I got more thangyu content!! First I got one just about the general dynamics of the relationship out of the games (gonna be sfw with little nsfw snippets)

Then… you guessed it MORE THANGYU!!! It’s gonna be them passing’ you around like a blunt, complete nsfw

After that…MORE THANGYUUU BABY!! I got a wonderful ask for a thicc!reader x thangyu smut with double penetration and lots of love for thighs n tummy’s

Thank you guys as ALWAYS!! Your support means the world - <3 kiwi

[feyascorner]

until I come back alive

summary. in which you come back injured from a particularly unlucky battle, and Astarion realizes his feigned affections for you are not feigned at all.

warnings. angst, fluff, Astarion being bad at feelings

pairing. Astarion x GN!reader

a/n. this is super long omg ALSO TYSM for the love on my previous fic! It was my first post so I didn’t realize more than like two ppl would see it!! Kind of scary but also I can write more astarion so oh well 🙏

“The way they look at you is different from the way they look at us.”

Astarion raises a brow at this, glancing at Karlach who adjusts a log in the campfire paying no heed to the flickering flames brushing against her skin. She smiles to herself, genuinely, and he questions if she’s finally gone mad.

“So have you said the big ‘L’ word yet?” she asks excitedly, turning to him with a big grin. He shifts away from her, the increasing heat radiating off her body but she doesn’t seem to care, too busy staring at him expectantly.

“The what?”

“You know! The ‘L’ word,” she says the last part in a hushed whisper, as if it’d be a sin for anyone else to hear. Occasionally it baffles him how childish she can be, though he’d never voice these concerns out loud considering she could snap his poor body in half if she really wanted.

He also knows that she’s more emotionally capable in how she approaches these relationships (though one could argue it’s just innocence)—in ways he’s lost over the past 200 years. Though, he makes an effort to shove these thoughts to the deepest corners of his brain for the sake of his own sanity.

“If you’re speaking of ‘love,’” He emphasizes it with a strange accent. “No. I have not. Nor have they.”

She appears puzzled. “Why not?”

He sighs irritably, bringing a hand to adjust the cuffs on his hand. “Must everything be put bluntly? So glaringly obvious?”

“You love each other, don’t you?”

At this, he falters, just the slightest before plastering his usual grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Love is a wide spectrum, dear. Tav and I are whatever they want us to be.”

A late night partner would be the most positive thing he could refer you to. A fling, an amusement, or whatever words people described the arrangement between the two of you as, he didn’t care for it. He’d given himself to you, and you to him—-physically, at least, and you’d seem more than content with it. In return, he received protection, which was a sufficient payment in return for his hushed words of affection and kisses. A fair trade, he deemed.

Sure, he could’ve chosen anyone else in the camp. But he’d seen the way your eyes lit up at the sight of him, surely dazed at his flirtatious tendencies. You’d been an easy target. A survival tool.

And yes, maybe he’d played with your innocent feelings, but could you really blame him? He’d given you the nights of your life, for something so simple in return. It was a transaction.

Karlach waves a dismissive hand which brings him back to the present, propping herself on her arm behind her. “Life’s too short for that bullshit. Either you love someone or you don’t.”

“Fortunately for me, I have all of eternity,” he snorts. “Unless I were to suddenly lose the unwanted visitor inside my head and step into the sunlight, I’ll be here to watch the world fall and rise a dozen times over I’m afraid.”

“But they don’t,” Karlach frowns. “Tav doesn’t have eternity.”

He ignores the way his jaw clenches. He’s afraid, he thinks, of losing the freedom he’s just gained.

“Did you call me?”

Both the vampire and tiefling turn to your voice, where you stand blankly with an armful of logs clutched to your waist. Karlach opens her mouth to respond, but Astarion is faster.

“Nothing, darling. Just answering a few curious questions from Karlach here.”

“Oh,” you blink at him, shrugging before setting the logs beside the fireplace. “Well, Gale, Shadowheart, and I are going to the village across the forest tomorrow morning to check on the goblins appearing there recently. Won’t be back till noon so don’t wait up.”

“Don’t worry,” Karlach laughs. “I’ll keep the camp in order while you’re gone. If Astarion tries to bite Lae’zel, though, his fate’s inevitable.”

He rolls his eyes, opting to stand from his spot and take your hand. “Come along, darling. Any longer near this damned fireplace and my skin may melt.”

You nod with a smile, waving at Karlach before you follow him into his tent without a word of protest.

Easy, he thinks. Too easy.

He soon finds himself staring up at you from his place, laying his head on your lap as you read through a few scrolls you found throughout the day. He clicks his tongue and you look down, offering that sickeningly sweet smile again. “What’s wrong?”

“You have the most handsome person in this camp on your bloody lap and you want to read?”

You snicker at this, setting the scroll down beside you. “What do you suggest I do? Worship the very eyelashes on your face?”

“My body deserves much more praise than just the eyelashes.”

“Hm…” you pretend to be in thought. “That mole on your face is very obvious too.”

He gasps, immediately shooting upward as he grabs at his own face. “Tell me you’re lying.”

Your laughter rings throughout the tent, airy as you pull his hand away from his face. “I’m kidding, mostly.”

He stares at you as you recollect yourself, finding himself gazing at you far longer than he’d like to admit. Quickly, he adjusts, fiddling with the hand mirror he always keeps under his pillow as he watches you through it. “Karlach spoke of something ridiculous today. She said you were in love with me.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” he rolls his eyes. “That woman lives in a fairy tale I tell you. How she went through 10 years in Avernus is beyond me.”

There’s slight hesitance in your voice, and if he’d not learned your body language early on in your arrangement, he wouldn’t have even noticed it. “Astarion, have you ever been in love?”

He pauses at this, meeting your eyes head on now. There’s a heavier thickness in the air between the short distance between the two of you, and he immediately gauges what you want him to say. A lie readies itself at the tip of his tongue, his gaze searching yours for whatever fantasy that lives behind them.

Instead, your expression is blank. He finds nothing.

“No.” He’s not sure why he responded honestly, but it’s too late to take it back. “Have you?”

You look to the side. “I’m not sure anymore.”

“Anymore?” He shifts his head when you turn your chin further away, avoiding confrontation. “Has someone captured your impenetrable heart as of late? How intriguing—do tell.”

His teasing tone drops when you don’t smile at his usual antics. He’s not stupid—far from it. He knows you’ve begun to fall for him. It’s an obvious result from the 200 years of instinctive flirting he has tucked away in what remains of his soul, and it’s what he intended. What he needed.

The more enraptured you are, the longer he has protection.

He gently tilts your chin toward him, his fang visible through the grin that stretches across his face. “Tell me, pet, do you love me?”

Your eyes drop to his lips. “Do you want me to?”

A bunny caught in the fangs of a fox. It would be so easy to indulge—to go as far as to make you nothing but a puppet he toys with for his own personal gains. He can sense the way your finger twitches, itching to lace them with his own, and the crueler side of him forces his hand to stay put.

He wordlessly leans toward you, his lips grazing against the side of your neck. You shiver at the touch and he smiles wickedly to himself, drinking in the gasp that escapes you when he tilts your neck to the other side, where he usually drinks.

He doesn’t even have to ask. “Just—be gentle. Please.”

“Of course.” He unhinges his jaw, ready to plunge the knives of his teeth into where the sweet liquid gold rushes to your face, his shoulders finally relaxing when—

“I love you,” you whisper under your breath.

He stops.

Though unsure why, he freezes. Completely and utterly freezes.

“Astarion?”

He pulls away slowly, staring at you for a long moment before offering another smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You look exhausted, my dear. I think that’s enough for tonight.”

“But you didn’t even feed?”

“I can handle myself, darling, as much as I appreciate your worries,” he stands and holds the flap of the tent open, practically a silent demand for you to leave.

He should be ecstatic. Gleaming with joy from being offered a drop of your blood, but instead, he feels knots forming in his stomach. And the longer he watches you, the worst they seem the get.

Hurt flashes across your face and he ignores the sudden tightness in his chest.

“Okay, well,” you say, stepping out hesitantly. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, my dear.”

And as he lies wide awake in the middle of the night with nothing to accompany him but his own thoughts, he finds that all of them are overruled by his endless need for warmth. Not just anyone’s but the one he’s become accustomed to the past few months. No matter how much he curls up in his bedroll, all he can feel is the chill of his own body.

And he hates it more than he expected.

——

By the time he awakens, you’re long gone.

He’s rather productive. Taking walks, gathering supplies, catching up on his reading, he refuses to sit and lie around as the others await for you and your companions to return from the goblin village.

He even entertains sitting through one of Karlach’s dances, which somehow ends up being more entertaining than he’d imagined. While she didn’t fall flat on her face (which he admittedly looked forward to), it burnt through time regardless.

The peace is broken when he hears footsteps rushing toward the camp. He’s memorized everyone’s intervals when sprinting or pacing, so he’s quick to identify Gale and Shadowheart. He listens keenly for your own footsteps.

There are no third pair of footsteps at all.

Shadowheart stumbles into the camp, in a panic compared to her usual self, as she points toward a spot on the ground and snaps at Gale to put something down.

He only sees when she moves out of the way that this something, is rather someone.

You’re writhing in pain, eyes shut in an unconsciousness that’s surely preferable to what you’re feeling. You’re sweating, groaning in your sleep and everyone is immediately rushing to you.

His face would’ve gone pale, if it weren’t for the fact that he was already as ghostly as a sheet.

“What happened,” Lae’zel demands in place of him, and he opts to mindlessly push Gale to the side, who doesn’t say a word from the expression on Astarion’s face. He doesn’t know what he looks like, but from Gale’s reaction, it’s better he never know.

“Damned poison arrows,” Shadowheart hisses. “I’m completely out of magic for today. I need to make an antidote by hand before their condition gets any worse than it already is.”

Astarion brushes the back of his knuckles against your cheek. The creases between your brows soften for the slightest moment before they’re back again.

Lae’zel and Shadowheart are arguing again—something about how one thing would’ve happened if another thing hadn’t. He’s not even sure what they’re arguing about, but in an instant, rage flickers in his chest.

“Do something!” He snaps, suddenly making the camp go quiet. “Or are you just going to stand there and watch them die?”

He suddenly feels a hand grab his, and his eyes shoot down to see your own. Even in your sleep, you reach out to him. Even in the deepest part of slumber, you search for him. It makes him feel like the shittiest and luckiest person alive, especially as the your hurt expression from last night flashes in his mind.

“Help them,” the words spill out against his will, his tone breaking down into something more desperate. “Do something. For God’s sake, anything.”

In the moment, he doesn’t care about protection. He doesn’t give a shit about any of that because the second he’d seen you in genuine pain, it was all he needed to completely forget about the stupid reasons why he approached you in the first place.

All he cared about was your life.

Everyone glances at one another knowingly, but even Lae’zel doesn’t break the silence. Shadowheart spares him a furrowed glare before rushing to gather the antidote.

You only awake hours later. Certainly during the middle of the night, to the ceiling of a tent that’s certainly not your own. You slowly urge yourself to sit up, a pounding headache ringing in your skull, but your worries about it vanish when you hear his voice.

“Quite the nap, darling.”

You snap around to see him on the other side of the tent, albeit only a few feet away from how crunched it is. Fascinating, he thinks, that even with your disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes, he finds you more beautiful than before. “What happened?”

“You nearly died.”

“…how?”

“Poison,” he’s fiddling with his dagger, refusing to look at you. He can’t. In fear of what he might say. “Caused a reasonable panic too. Seems like our companions have grown more attached to you than anyone’s expected.”

You purse your lips, and he quickly mortifies at the exceeding need to part them with his own. You don’t seem to notice. “You too?”

“I was certainly worried our esteemed leader may kick the bucket earlier than anticipated, yes.”

“No, I mean,” you scrunch your eyes sheepishly, and he thinks it’s adorable. Gods he must be going insane. “Have you…grown attached?”

He raises a brow. “You just woke up from a life threatening experience and that’s what piques your interest?”

Your cheeks turn a shade darker. He wants to touch them. “I just…I was worried all day. About us. I got too distracted and of course, that’s on me, but one of the goblins took advantage and—“

He wants to climb into a coffin, guilt eating away at what remains of his organs. But when you fidget with the ends of his bedroll blanket, he can’t tell if his stomach is churning from shame or something else.

You stop, close your mouth, then open it again. “When I passed out, I was just thinking about how I would hate for us to part like that. I didn’t want last night to be our last moment.”

“No,” he says firmly. “While you’d been asleep, I’ve had quite some time to think, darling. And more time to wallow in my self pity for being stuck with an actual weirdo. I mean, do you hear yourself? Worrying about such a stupid encounter while on your deathbed? You should’ve been cursing me with all the strength you had left if you were going to think about me of all people!”

You smile a bit, and he grits his teeth at the way his throat goes dry. “I’m just glad.”

“For getting poisoned?”

“No,” you roll your eyes. “I’m glad I didn’t scare you off by telling you I loved you. I was afraid we wouldn’t talk like this anymore.”

His body wills him to freeze up again. To push you away, and to force the fantasy that his feelings towards you were nothing but manipulative. That you were nothing but a way to survive to him. But no, he couldn’t stand such cowardice any longer. Not after nearly losing you.

You offer him a pathetic laugh. “I don’t expect you to say it back, nor for you to feel the same way. I just—felt like you needed to know. It doesn’t change anything between us I hope. It just felt wrong to keep it to myself any longer and the way you reacted just made me regret it so much-“

He wraps his palm in front of your mouth, his other hand pulling you closer to his side in an instant. With your faces inches apart, he sighs irritably. “As much as I’d like to keep hearing your voice, I can’t stand its contents any longer I’m afraid.”

He lowers his hand, staring straight at your wide eyes as he narrows his own. “I do. Like you, I mean. A lot more than I’d like to admit, quite frankly.”

You blink as if you’re staring at a miracle.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mumbles with a scoff. “I’ve had these feelings for a while now, I just didn’t wish to face them. When you said that to me yesterday, I just didn’t know how to respond, and for that, I am sorry. But losing you—I’m not sure what I would have done, but it’s certainly not a pretty sight.”

Your eyes soften and he’s certain he can lose himself within them for years. “I’ve never heard you sound so—sincere.”

He raises your knuckles to his lips, keeping them close even as he speaks. “I approached you out of necessity, I’ll admit. But it seems you’ve grown on me in a way I haven’t experienced since I’ve turned into a spawn. What you are to me—it’s difficult to describe.” He pauses. “Sometimes, I can still feel my heart beating with you.”

As your fingers brush against the side of his face, he swears he can feel it again. He almost feels warm, maybe even safe. And he’s sick and tired of denying himself of your embrace when death is around every corner.

You’re soon curled up into his chest, with his chin atop of your head. He’s not sure how much time passes—maybe hours, or even days as he continues to observe your face, committing each and every detail to his memory. And when your breathing steadies, falling into deep slumber, he finally has the courage to whisper the words against your hair.

“I love you.”

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 16 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

୨୧┇Pairing: Telemachus x fem!reader

୨୧┇notes: WRITTEN PRE-ITHACA SAGA. Don’t come for me guys. ALSO YOU GUYS MIGHT NEED TO READ BACKSTORY CONTENT ON ANTINOUS AND READER TO FULLY UNDERSTAND THIS CHAPTER.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The sun streamed into the hall as Antinous lounged in a chair, his boots propped up on a low table. For once, he was in a rare, cheerful mood. A servant brought over a fresh goblet of wine, which he accepted with a wide grin. Eurymachus sat across from him, lazily tossing a few dice onto the table.

“You know,” Antinous began, swirling his wine, “it’s a good day. The food’s decent, the weather’s perfect, and for once, no one’s done anything to piss me off.” He leaned back, exhaling contentedly. “I might even go easy on the servants today.” Eurymachus raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “How merciful of you,” he said dryly, rolling his dice again. “You’re practically a saint.”

Antinous snorted. “Don’t push it. What’s with the sarcasm? Is something up your ass today? Though, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Not at all,” Eurymachus replied annoyed, though a sly grin creeping onto his face. “Actually, I’m just thinking about how you might not stay in such a good mood for long.” Antinous frowned, his good humor faltering just slightly. “What the hell does that mean?” Eurymachus leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Well, it’s just that…you know how I hinted the other day about your sister?”

Antinous stiffened, his cheerfulness evaporating. “Yeah? And I beat you at arm wrestling, so you’re supposed to stop talking in riddles like you’re about to reveal you’re Odysseus in disguise.”

Eurymachus smirked. “Right, right. But I couldn’t let it go, and, well…” He paused dramatically, clearly enjoying himself.

Antinous sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing. “Well, what? Spit it out, Eurymachus.”

Eurymachus shrugged nonchalantly, feigning disinterest. “Let’s just say I’ve seen her and Telemachus getting real close lately. Closer than I thought they’d be.” Antinous stared at him, his expression unreadable. “What do you mean, close?”

“Oh, you know,” Eurymachus said casually, inspecting his nails. “Sneaking off together, whispering in corners, kissing—”

“WHAT?!” Antinous bellowed, jumping to his feet so quickly his chair toppled over.

Eurymachus leaned back, unfazed, his smirk widening. “Relax, I’m just saying what I saw. A little kiss between your sweet sister and Telemachus—nothing to lose your head over.” Antinous’s face turned crimson, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You’re lying,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Y/N wouldn’t—she hates him!”

Eurymachus shrugged again, still maddeningly calm. “Doesn’t look like hate to me.” He leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I mean, if I were you, I’d be a little worried about where else that might lead.” Antinous slammed his fist on the table, the sound reverberating through the hall. “I’m going to kill him.” Eurymachus chuckled, clearly amused. “Oh, come on. Don’t be so dramatic. Maybe it’s love?”

Antinous grabbed the front of Eurymachus’s tunic, pulling him forward so their faces were inches apart. “If you’re lying to me, I swear—”

“I’m not lying,” Eurymachus interrupted, his tone still infuriatingly casual. “But hey, don’t take my word for it. Why don’t you ask Y/N yourself?” Antinous shoved him back, his chest heaving as he glared at Eurymachus. Without another word, he stormed out of the hall, his mind racing and his temper barely contained. Eurymachus leaned back in his chair, watching him go with a satisfied smirk.

“This is going to be fun,” he giggled to himself, reaching for his goblet.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Antinous stormed down the halls of the palace, his footsteps echoing like thunder. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched, and his chest heaved with anger. He didn’t bother knocking when he reached his sister’s room, instead slamming the door open so hard it ricocheted off the wall.

Y/N, sitting on her bed with tear streaked cheeks, jumped at the sudden intrusion. She hastily wiped her face, trying to hide her vulnerability, but her red, puffy eyes betrayed her.

“What the hell, Antinous?” she snapped, her voice hoarse but sharp.

Antinous didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Don’t ‘what the hell’ me!” he shouted, stepping into the room and slamming the door behind him. “What is this I hear about you and Telemachus? Eurymachus told me everything.”

Her stomach dropped. Her face turned pale, and then red with frustration. “What!? He promised! That nosy bastard needs to learn how to keep his mouth shut,” she muttered, standing up. Antinous pointed an accusing finger at her. “Don’t you dare try to deflect! Is it true? You’ve been sneaking around with him?”

Her lip trembled, but she masked it with anger. “So what if I have?” she shot back, her voice rising. “What’s it to you, Antinous?”

“What’s it to me?!” Antinous roared, his face contorting in disbelief. “I’m your brother, Y/N! You’re supposed to have some dignity—some respect for yourself!”

“Respect?” Pandora scoffed bitterly, crossing her arms. “You think sneering at servants, bullying Telemachus, and drinking yourself stupid every night counts as respectable behavior?”

“This isn’t about me!” Antinous snapped, his face flushing. “It’s about you—and how you’ve humiliated yourself and me by running after that spineless boy!”

She clenched her fists, her body shaking with anger. “Don’t you dare call him spineless! He’s more of a man than half the fools in this palace—including you!” Antinous flinched as if slapped. His lips curled into a snarl. “Oh, so now you’re in love with him, is that it? What, are you going to run off with him to Pylos? Sparta?, leave your blood behind for some fantasy romance?”

Bee throat tightened, and her voice cracked. “He’s already gone.” Antinous blinked, his fury momentarily dampened by the raw pain in her voice. “Gone?”

“He sailed this morning,” she said, her tone wobbling as fresh tears filled her eyes. “And I had to watch him go, knowing he might never come back.” Antinous stood in stunned silence for a moment before the anger returned. “Good riddance,” he muttered. “At least one good thing happened today.”

Her head snapped up, and she marched forward, jabbing her finger into his chest. “Don’t you dare say that!” she hissed. “You don’t know anything about him, about what he’s been through, what he’s trying to do! You just see him as a threat to your stupid courting games.” Antinous slapped her hand away, his expression darkening. “He is a threat. A threat to you, to us, to the order of things. And you’re too blinded by your pathetic feelings to see it!”

She shoved him, hard enough to make him stumble back a step. “You don’t get to decide what I feel, Antinous! You don’t own me!” Antinous steadied himself, his chest heaving with rage. “You’re acting like a child,” he spat.

“And you’re acting like a tyrant!” She screamed back, her voice breaking. The room fell into a tense, suffocating silence. Both of them stood there, glaring at each other, their breathing heavy.

Finally, Antinous shook his head, his expression a mix of anger and disappointment. “You’re going to regret this, Y/N. I promise you. You think this is all a game, don’t you?” he growled, his voice low but trembling with emotion. She flinched, wiping her tears, but the sight of her crying didn’t deter him. If anything, it seemed to fan the flames.

“Do you even remember?” he said, his voice rising. “Do you even remember who was there for you when we had nothing?” She looked at him, her lips trembling, but she didn’t respond.

“I was the one who fed you when we were hungry!” Antinous shouted, pointing to his chest. “I was the one who went without so you could have enough! I put you first every single time, Y/N!” Her tears fell faster, and she shook her head, trying to block him out, but he wouldn’t stop.

“When we ran away from that skank we called our mother, when we had nothing but scraps and the clothes on our backs, who do you think kept us alive? Who do you think protected you, fought for you, made sure you had a future?”

“Antinous, stop,” she whispered, her voice choked.

“No!” he snapped, his eyes blazing. “You need to hear this. You need to understand that I am your blood. Not Telemachus. Not some stupid boy who doesn’t know the first thing about you or what we’ve been through. Me.” She pressed her hands to her ears, shaking her head, but Antinous grabbed her wrists, forcing her to look at him.

“I’m the one who took care of you,” he said, his voice raw now, breaking under the weight of his emotions. “I’m the one who sacrificed for you. And this—this is how you repay me? Running around with Telemachus like none of that ever happened? Like I don’t even matter?”

She yanked her wrists free, her face twisted in pain. “You do matter, Antinous! But you can’t control me! I’m not a child anymore!”

“You’ll always be my little sister,” he shot back. “And as long as I’m alive, I’ll protect you—even from yourself, even if it means I have to fight you on this!”

“I don’t need your protection!” She screamed, her voice breaking as she shoved him again. “I don’t need you to fight my battles anymore, Antinous! I can take care of myself!” Antinous staggered back, his expression torn between anger and hurt. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his chest heaving as he stared at her.

Then, in a voice softer but no less intense, he said, “You think you can take care of yourself? Fine. Go ahead. But don’t come crying to me when that boy breaks your heart—or worse, gets you killed. Because he will, Y/N. He’s going to leave you behind, just like his father left him.” She gasped as if he’d slapped her, and her tears came harder.

Antinous turned away, his face hard and unreadable. “I was always there for you,” he said quietly, his back to her now. “But if you don’t want me anymore, fine. I won’t waste my time.” Her sobs were cut short by a sudden surge of anger. She pushed herself up from the bed, her body trembling as she shouted after him, her voice raw and broken.

“And what about you?” she wailed, her words spilling out like a dam bursting. “You want to stand here and act like the perfect brother, like you’ve done everything for me—but you didn’t!” Antinous stopped in his tracks, his back still turned to her. His shoulders tensed, but he didn’t move.

“You fed me, you protected me, fine!” Pandora cried. “But you want to talk about sacrifices? What about when you started leaving me? What about all those nights you disappeared into the streets, chasing after random whores and leaving me alone? What about when you stopped caring, Antinous?”

His head tilted slightly, but he didn’t turn around.

“You want to talk about blood and loyalty?” Her voice cracked as fresh tears streamed down her face. “You weren’t there anymore! You were too busy being a selfish, shitty brother to notice that I needed you!” That did it. In a flash, Antinous spun around, his face a storm of fury and pain. He crossed the room in two long strides, grabbed Y/N by the collar of her tunic, and yanked her close.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled, his voice low and dangerous.

Y/N froze, her breath hitching as she looked into his wild, furious eyes. For a moment, she saw the boy he used to be—the one who shielded her from danger, who promised her they’d survive no matter what. But that boy was gone, replaced by a man consumed by pride and disdainfulness.

“You think I neglected you?” Antinous hissed, his grip tightening just enough to make her flinch. “You think I didn’t notice? I noticed everything.”

She tried to pull back, but he held her in place. “Antinous—”

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” he growled, his voice trembling. “Not after everything I’ve done for you. Not after everything I’ve given up for you.” She swallowed hard, her hands gripping his wrists as she tried to steady herself. “Let go of me.”

For a moment, it looked like he might not. His grip stayed firm, his chest heaving as he stared her down. But then, with a sharp exhale, he released her, pushing her back slightly as if disgusted—with her or himself, she couldn’t tell. She stumbled, clutching her collar as she glared at him, tears still streaming down her face. “You don’t get to treat me like this,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Not anymore.”

Antinous ran a hand through his hair, his expression a mix of frustration and regret. “And you don’t get to throw away everything we’ve worked for over some boy,” he said coldly. “Grow up, Y/N.”

Antinous paced furiously outside her room after slamming the door behind him, but something about her broken sobs pierced through his anger. He clenched his fists, muttering curses under his breath before turning back and barging into the room again.

Y/N, still slumped against the bedpost, flinched at the sound of the door crashing open. Her tear streaked face lifted, her eyes red and puffy, as Antinous stood in the doorway, his face a mask of fury. “You want to play this game?” he snapped, stepping closer. “Fine. You think you’re so strong now, don’t you? So independent, so grown up.” His voice dripped with venom. She stiffened, wiping her face with trembling hands. “Antinous—”

“No, let me finish,” he interrupted, his tone sharp. “If you’re so desperate to abandon me, your own brother, the one person who’s always been there for you, then fine. Let’s see how well you do without me.”

Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to retort, but he cut her off again, pointing a finger at her. “You want freedom, Y/N? You’ve got it. But don’t come crying to me when the suitors start mocking you—when they say things to your face that you can’t handle.”

Her heart sank, but she forced herself to stand.

Antinous snapped, his voice rising. “You think they don’t already talk about you behind your back? About how you’re just another piece of meat for them to eye and dream? Do you think they respect you because you can throw a few punches?”

“Shut up,” she hissed, her hands balling into fists.

He laughed bitterly, his voice cruel. “What’s the matter? Can’t take the truth? Well, here’s another one for you: the next time they mock you, even if it’s right in front of me, I won’t step in. You’re so strong, right? Handle it yourself.” Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she looked like she might break all over again. But she held her ground, her chin trembling as she glared at him.

Antinous mocked, leaning closer, his face twisted with anger and hurt. “You’ve made it perfectly clear you don’t need me anymore. So why should I waste my time protecting someone who doesn’t even care about me?” Her knees felt weak, but she refused to let him see how much his words stung. She squared her shoulders, her voice trembling with defiance. “If that’s how you really feel, then maybe I don’t need your protection.”

Antinous stared at her for a long moment, his chest heaving as he tried to rein in his temper. Finally, he scoffed and turned on his heel, heading for the door.

“Good luck, Y/N,” he said coldly, not looking back. “You’re going to need it.”

And with that, he stormed out, leaving her standing alone, her tears threatening to spill over once more.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress @eyuunho @f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches @xo-cuteplosion-xo

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Established Steddie, they have been living together for over a decade, did their best to heal their wounds from the Upside Down and learn to enjoy life again. It's not easy but they do it.

When the Lord of the Rings movies come out, it's actually Steve who suggests watching them to Eddie. He really tries engaging with Eddie's passions, but his focus is not the greatest when it comes to books. That doesn't mean he doesn't listen to Eddie ramble about them though - he knows all about hobbits, second breakfasts, the culture of smoking in the Shire...Eddie admires a lot of characters from the books, but ever since experiencing the Upside Down fuckery, he actually admits that the hobbits had a point. Good food, even better company and good tobacco? What else does one need? It also inspires Steve a few years later to prepare a full day of hobbit-inspired meals for their trilogy marathon when the extended editions come out. But this is about their first time watching the movies.

They both go to the movie theater excited. Steve is familiar with most of the characters, including Eddie's self-admitted crush on Aragorn. And Steve can see why, he can see so much good in all the members of the fellowship. After the first movie, he's wiping his eyes because Boromir deserved better. Eddie has a lot to say about what was lost in adaptation, but Steve knows Eddie loves those movies and would cut off his only remaining nipple before missing the next ones.

The Two Towers have Steve rooting for the ents and he feels strangely touched about how everyone underestimates Pippin, yet it's him who gets the ents to march. He really can't pick a favorite character. He can't wait for the third movie.

They go to the premiere of the Return of the King with Eddie. They secretly hold hands in the last row, and Steve watches the ride of the Rohirrim with bated breath. He clenches his hand in Eddie's when Theoden gets gravely injured, but then Éowyn is there and...oh.

He is staring slack-jawed at the scene. Éowyn's large, terrified eyes, the towering frame of the Witch King. Her posture was fearful, crouched, but still she faced him. And something surfaces in his head, something he's long forgotten.

He's unusually queit when they come back home, he still loves the rest of the movie, almost cries at "my friends, you bow to no one,", then definitely cries at Frodo leaving the Middle Earth. But there is still that something and Eddie can sense it. When they're falling asleep together, Eddie finally asks him. And Steve's had enough time to process what he felt.

"When Éowyn faced the Witch King...it reminded me of what it felt like. I mean, for the first time. I know it's stupid because saw so much unnatural shit, but...it's the first time that I have hard time forgetting," he admits quietly. "She reminded me of me in 1983 so much. I had no clue what I was getting myself into. I thought I'd do the right thing, but then I had a gun pointed at me, they both had blood on their hands...and then it appeared."

Eddie doesn't speak, he only holds Steve closer.

"It was so tall. I remember that petal-like mouth, those teeth, but mostly...I remember the crippling fear. I felt absolutely terrified. I couldn't move. There was even a moment when I thought of running away, but...I couldn't leave them there. Seeing someone go through something similar and being praised for being a hero...it makes me think. I used to be so ashamed for freezing in that moment. For even considering running away. But Éowyn...she was like me." There's awe in his voice and warmth, relief. "She had no idea what she was getting into. She froze. She didn't do everything perfectly and gracefully like Legolas or something, but when it mattered...she did what she had to."

He holds Eddie tighter and asks, almost shyly: "Will it offend you that I think she's my favorite character? Not Aragorn or Sam?"

Eddie just shakes his head and drops a kiss to Steve's hair. "Nah. She suits you well. And you're both amazing."

And if it becomes a silly endearment in their household, that Steve is sometimes called the Shieldmaiden of Hawkins? ("I'm not a maiden, Eddie!" "I'm not calling you a shieldboy or shieldbachelor, Steve!") Then Steve feels a hint of something that he thought he'd renounced, but now, for the first time he feels it's deserved - pride.

[rafeyscumangel]

༊·˚ Thinking about this with JJ, Pope ‘n reader after JJ and Pope argued

cw: 18+!, mdni, link leads to twitter/x porn !, mxmxf, femdom, jj fucks pope, handjob, degradation, praise, JJs lowk kind of mean to Pope, Pope’s lowk a bit sassy, position is a bit different than the video !, minimal story, jealous JJ, sub!Pope,

a/n: i’m tired of pretending that i don’t want the both of them. first time actually writing mxmxf where the dudes do more than kiss, suck or blow each other off bare with me. This is kind of rushed so that i could just get it finished and get practice with writing mxm smut 😓

The argument had been petty, but enough to ruin the two mens mood all day. The tension between the two of them palpable all day, therefore affecting everyone’s mood.

It unfortunately didn’t even manage to simmer when you invited the two of them over to have a movie night.

You sat in the middle of your bed. Bowl of popcorn in your lap. The room dark, only illuminated by the glow of the tv, playing whatever it was you put on. Pope on your left, hand resting on your thigh, his thumb mindlessly rubbing soft circles against your skin. Attempting to set his own awkwardness aside for at least a bit so that you could enjoy the movie. Meanwhile JJ didn’t bother to hide his sour mood. Jaw set tight and arms crossed over his chest. Staring straight at the tv and letting out sounds as responses whenever one of you would speak to him.

Perhaps JJ was in a sour mood because you lied to him and said it’d just be the two of you, but he should’ve known better.

You thought the two would reconcile at some point during the movie, but when the second movie of the night reached the halfway point and JJ was still snippy, you knew you’d have to do something else. And your smart ‘lil self knew just what.

Which leads to your current position. Shirt and bra pulled down under your tits. Your hand working up and down the lengths of Pope’s cock while you sucked hickeys onto his neck which was craned to the side to give you easy access. Moans begrudgingly falling from his lips at the double sensation of your hand and JJ, who was practically fucking him into the headboard, thrusts.

“You like that?” You hum into Popes ear as you kissed up his face. Taking his jaw in between the pads of your finger tips to turn his head towards you.

“Y-yeah..” He managed to get out before his words broke into a moan at a particularly hard thrust and flick of your wrist over the sensitive heaf of his cock.

“Why don’t you tell JJ how good he’s making you feel?” You drawled out, knowing damn well that Pope won’t do that so easily.

Pope’s eyes narrowed slightly as he bit his lip, side eyeing JJ before muttering; “JJ’s ok.”

You just chuckled. Amused by how petty these two could get sometimes.

“Really? just ok?” You asked, raising a brow as you slowed your hand a bit, before completely removing your hand from his cock as Pope nodded. “Oh really?” You teased, not believing him. “So without my hand you won’t be such a moaning mess?”

Pope whined as your hand moved from his cock. Frustrated groan leaving him at your words that followed.

JJ was also ticked off, not by you, but by Pope. His thrusts speeding up as his hands tightened around Pope’s thighs. JJ’s irritation growing as he watched Pope try and hold in his moans.

“That right? Ion fuck you good?” JJ spat. Purposely digging his nails into Pope’s thighs. The two men completely in their own world as you watched them with an amused smirk.

“Yeah- That’s what i said w-wasn’t it?” Pope stuttered out, still trying to hold back his moans. Though the way his fist tightened its hold against the fabric of your skirt gave away how he was feeling.

JJ scoffed, his thrusts somehow managing to speed up even more as his jaw clenched. “That’s not what you say any other night.” He tsked. Not buying and tired of Pope’s bullshit.

You sighed, butting into the conversation. Not particularly in the mood for another argument.

Leaning forward, you placed a comforting hand against Pope’s cheek while you pecked his other cheek before speaking. “Oh come on, just tell JJ how good he’s making you feel.” You encouraged, thumb gently brushing up and down his cheek. “Be a good boy and be the bigger person.” You praised, encouraging him even more. Knowing exactly how to get Pope to do whatever you wanted.

Pope moaned at the praise and your touch. Instinctively leaning into it before glancing at JJ. Biting his lip before finally letting out a broken moan.

“Good- feel’s s’good..” He moaned out. Feeling his cock twitch, his body getting closer to his release.

You grinned, humming contently but not quite pleased yet. Whispering in his ear: “And..?”

“And i’m sorry- Sorry for what i said-” Pope quickly replied, already knowing what you wanted of him. He didn’t want to apologize, didn’t feel he needed to, but he’d do anything to keep you happy and have your praise.

“Good boy.” You said as you grinned. Your hand going back to work up and down on his cock. Swallowing his moans as you placed your lips to his. Only pulling away occasionally to catch your breath and mutter words against his lips. “You close?” “Yeah? cum for us baby, you deserve it.” “Look so cute like this.”

JJ watched your actions with narrowed eyes. Grunts and occasional moans that were leaving his lips slowing, along with his thrusts. Feeling jealousy stirring inside him at the attention Pope was receiving from you, and the fact Pope apologized only because you told him too. Feeling brushed a side.

With a scoff, JJ suddenly increased his pace again. Pulling Pope’s hips down, eliciting a gasp from the other man. Pope’s gasp quickly turning into a moan at the sudden increase in pace and angle as JJ leaned forward, left hand resting on the bed.

JJ’s touch was rough as he gripped your chin inbetween his fingers and turned your head to face him, forcing your lips against his.

You hummed in surprise, but kissed back nevertheless. Grinning into the kiss as you heard Pope’s moans increase in frequency and felt his cock twitch in your hand.

Once you kissed back, JJ let go of your chin and brought his hand down to play with your breasts. Roughly squeezing the flesh while his thumb pressed harshly against your sensitive nipples, flicking up and down.

A moan tore from your lips at the sensation. Melting into JJ’s touch as your cunt squeezed around absolutely nothing and your hand sped up around Pope’s cock.

Not soon after you sped up your pace, Pope came. His cum splattering along his abdomen as an almost pathetic but adorable sounding whine escaped his throat.

JJ wasn’t far behind, his thrusts growing more sloppy and touch lighter. Desperately wanting to just cum already. And as Pope came down from his orgasm and overstimulation started to set in, his whines did plenty to help JJ get closer to the edge.

When JJ did finally cum his hips stilled against Popes. Right hand coming down from your breasts to land on the bed for extra support with keeping himself up. His head falling down while he finally broke the kiss, strangled moan escaping his lips as he panted.

You gasped in a breath of air as the kiss finally ended. Wiping the spit that pooled at the corners of your mouth away. God, you’d be lying if you said the sight in front of you wasn’t absolutely fucking hot. Pope’s chest littered with his own cum as he tried to catch his breath. JJ’s cock still in Pope as he came down from his high. JJ’s pretty blonde hair cascading over his face, some strands damp with sweat. Both of your boys faces blushy.

You grinned, placing a kiss to JJ’s cheek before forcing his head up with your fingers. “Don’t you have something to say to Pope?” You questioned, tone soft as you looked at JJ.

JJ sighed, the stress from the argument finally released off his body as he looked down towards Pope. “‘M sorry for being a dumbass.” He muttered. The begrudging tone in his voice not meaning much as he wiped away some of the spit that fell past Popes lips.

You giggled, happy to know that your two boys were going to get along again as you gave both of them a quick kiss. Sighing contently as you spoke. “My pretty boys.”

⟡ ݁₊ . written by sarahsangelicdoll, 2025 on tumblr! © do not repost on any third party website or repost as yours. Doing so will result in me blocking you and reporting.

tagging muts: @nemesyaaa @slvbun @hvnlygrl @cherrygirlfriend @rafesbowbunny @rafesdearest / @winnie1emon @rafesheaven @v3n1ce-bxtch @bambrinaa @riddlesbunny @cameronsprincess - lmk if you don’t want to be part of this !

#not at all proud of this, might delete l8r

[enzosbabyangel]

draco x bimbo hufflepuff reader would go so hard as a fluff or smut - i feel like that could work...somehow

☆｡° Thinking ‘bout Draco who has a fixation on a stupid and cute lil Hufflepuff

cw: 18+!, mdni, bimbo!Hufflepuff!reader(duh), possessive/toxic behaviour, but Draco still cares for reader in a (toxic) way :), clingy!reader kind of, sex toys(vibrator) overstimulation, slapping, choking, jealous!Draco, use of the words ‘dumb slut’ and ‘bitch’ when referring to reader, degradation, mentions of deepthroating

a/n: As a stupid, cute and Hufflepuff girly with a big crush on Draco, i really wanted to write this 😮‍💨 i’ve missed my man so much. Might also do a fluffy version of this prompt. Hope you like it 💞

Intrigued was an understatement when it came to describing Draco’s interest in you. Though it was a more, lustful and control kind of intrigue compared to that of regular intrigue.

You were a cute little thing. Always nice. Always being done up, whether that be hairstyles, scents or accessories. You were also, bashfully unaware of how inappropriate you were at times.

You loved to hike your skirts up high. Showing off the delicious curve of your thighs due to your thigh high socks you always wore pushing the fat of your thighs up. You also managed to adjust the size of your blouse, most likely the only thing you properly knew how to do, sew. How you were even at Hogwarts considering your incompetence is a mystery to the platinum blonde.

One thing he observed about you is how you seemed to cling to anyone who gave you an inkling of attention. Perhaps it’s why you’ve had so many boyfriends.

Simply put, you’re easy.

That’s why Draco was so curious about you. Most of the female students as they grow up, grow out of the ditzy, ‘desperate-for-attention’ mindset. But here you are, in your final year of Hogwarts, still acting like a stupid, ‘only-good-for-looking-at-and-sex’ ditz.

He expected to use you as every other guy you’ve ever dated has. Use you to make his ex jealous or upset, for some nice hookups. What he didn’t expect, however, was for you to somehow manage to wriggle your way into his heart as deep as you did.

You managed to look past his toxic and rude behaviour and habits. Too stupid in the head to realize, or dick whipped. One of those. You were so easy to manipulate. So delicate with your emotions, making it easy to twist and turn them as he pleased.

There was no way he would be stupid enough to lose someone like you. Now that you were too stupid to listen to the warnings of your friends, you were his. His property simply put. He owned you now, and he knew damn well that any inch of you that knew, it didn’t care in the slightest.

And everyone knows, Draco most certainly doesn’t like to share what’s his. So he was quite unhappy after learning that Mattheo, the slytherin man whore, tried flirting his way into your pants at a party. His hands roaming and groping what he knew was Draco’s.

And the worst part? The fact you let him.

“Aww? are you expecting me to go easy on you? After that stunt you pulled?” He tsked, Hand gripping your jolty body as he roughly held a vibrator to your clit. Fingers digging into the flesh of your hips.

You whined, desperately trying to move away from the overwhelming pleasure that was taking over your body. “Please-! S’i didn’t do anything!” You whined, done up nails scraping at Draco’s hand on your hip.

Draco sighed as if tired with your level of idiocy. Pushing the vibrator harder against your clit eliciting a cracked, loud whine to tear from your lips. “Yes you did.” He said simply, his jaw clenching as he looked down at you. Feeling a pang of sympathy for you while he looked at your teared stained face and overstimulated body that tried hard to get aways from his hold and the vibrations of the toy.

‘Screw you for making me bloody soft’ Draco thought as he increased the pace of the vibrator. But decided to go slightly softer on you nevertheless. “Think. When you figure it out and tell me, i’ll stop.” He instructed simply. Smirking as you let out a soft whine of frustration.

“I don’t know..” You pouted, closing your thighs around his wrist and the toy as you tried to kick them both away. Whines tearing through your throat as you jolted at the painful level of pleasure. Gasping for breaths as you prayed for a break.

Sighing, Draco’s eyes narrowed. Feeling completely irritated at how stupid you were. His fingers digging into the flesh of your hip as he spoke again, his tone cold and unyielding.

“Think. I’ll be nice and give you a hint: Mattheo.”

Your eyes shot open at that, confusion wiping over your face as you tried hard to think. “What about him?” You whined. Not understanding where Draco was going with this.

“If you want me to tell, than you gotta cum again.” He spat, voice mixing with sternness and sick lust. He knew that it would mostly take you all night to figure out what you did, your stupid ‘lil brain not being good for much. So he’ll play nice tonight, let you rest, then continue his little punishment tomorrow.

You let out a pathetic whimper but nodded nevertheless. Desperate to get a break. “Yes yes! i’ll cum one more time… please just tell me.”

Draco hummed as he spoke, tone now lighter as you begged for him. God, you sounded like such a fucking dumb slut for him, he was growing slightly tired of it but couldn’t deny the effect it had on him, more specifically his cock. “He was flirting with you and you let him.” His words were simple.

You let out a sound of confusion. Brows furrowing as you panted. Thighs shaking and voice stuttering as you got closer to your fourth orgasm of the night. “W-what? N-n..no-! i-“

You tried to explain yourself but was cut off by a slap landing across your face. Gasp leaving your lips at the sudden sting as your face quickly turned the other way with the impact.

Draco’s hand made its way to your throat as he got up on his knees, pushing the vibrator harder against you as if your cut-short sentence ticked something off in him. “Don’t. I don’t want to hear your pathetic excuses. If you’re gonna act like a dumb bitch then you’ll be treated like one. Now shut up and take it.”

He degraded, tone sharp as if hair fell over his face. Hand tightening noticeably around your throat.

You screwed your eyes shut as more tears started to form, both from his words and the overstimulation. Your thighs aggressively shaking as your body instinctively tried moving away from the pleasure.

Draco bit his lip as he saw the new tears form in your eyes, feeling a pang of guilt at his words. However he quickly tried to push it down. He couldn’t let you know the affect you had on him, and at the end of the day, dumb sluts deserved to be punished when they act out.

“You gonna cum?” He taunted as he felt your body trying to wiggle away from him. Jolty legs hitting his back as you whined, whimpered and panted. Smirk forming on his face as he saw you nod frantically. “Go on, cum.”

His simple command had your body listening immediately. Strangled and loud whine escaping from your throat and up out of your mouth. Thighs shaking uncontrollably as you tried to close them.

Draco set the vibrator to the lowest setting as you came, helping you ride out your orgasm as he watched your figure below him. A flicker of unusual and typically unseen softness crossing over his features. Turning the vibrator off as you finished cumming, hand on your throat letting go and running down your waist soothingly.

You panted as you came down from your high. Your poor swollen ‘n used pussy finally getting a break. A soft whine fell past your lips as your body laid limp. Only your legs bent up and covering your still slightly shaky body.

Draco hummed, giving you a couple seconds of peace as he threw the vibrator aside. Hand falling down to grab his clothed erection through his clothes as he admired your form before speaking.

“Don’t think you’re done sweetheart. Since i decided to go easy on you, you’re going to let me use your throat as i please and until i’m satisfied.”

₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . written by enzosbabyangel, 2025 on tumblr! © do not repost on any third party website or repost as yours. Doing so will result in me blocking you and reporting.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。08:00 PM — AL-HAITHAM.

idk i just felt like. writing haitham grieving his grandmother. it’s also a slight character study ig. idk if anyone will read this but if you do. just know that he is the core of my heart. his grandmother too i mourn her death so much sobs

“hey,” you say gently, sitting next to him. al-haitham only grunts in acknowledgment, slumped on the couch. “d’you want dinner? i made your favorite.”

“not hungry,” he mumbles.

his grandmother’s death anniversary is a sore spot. it’s a day you tiptoe around carefully every year. you don’t know much about his family—just that he was orphaned very young and raised by his father’s mother until the ripe age of 16. you’ve seen the dainty handwriting inside the covers of books, and you’ve even seen a small, framed photograph that he keeps stowed away.

sometimes, you wish he’d tell you. you wish the far away look and the clenched fist around the fabric of his pants would ease with your presence. you wish he’d tell you about her, that you’d know the woman who raised the man you love—even if only through hushed words and old stories.

“you hate sleeping on an empty stomach,” you hum, placing your hand over his clenched one.

his fist loosens a little—progress.

“i…” he pauses, let’s out a heavy sigh before letting his head fall back. there’s tension in his shoulders, in his neck, in the jaw he keeps so tightly clenched. “i won’t be sleeping for a bit. sorry,” he tries to sound apologetic. you don’t hear much in his tone besides defeat. “you can head in without me.”

“that’s okay,” you shrug, forcing his clenched fingers apart to weave yours in with his. “i don’t sleep well without you anyway.”

“suit yourself,” is all he says.

and it’s silent for a bit. he seems to be thinking deeply—or reminiscing, maybe grieving. maybe all three, but you’re not too sure. you’re never too sure when it comes to how al-haitham feels about anything.

he’s hard to decipher—but he’s easy to pull apart. you don’t understand how someone as hard and calculating as him is so gentle with love, but it’s hard not to notice how soft his touch is, how it lingers, how the tips of his fingers long for you. you don’t doubt he loves you—he never gives you the chance to.

but sometimes….sometimes you wish he’d let you love him properly. to kiss the scars. to admire the parts he thinks are ugly. to shelter the thoughts that have no home besides his own head.

it’s silent for a bit—until it’s not. you break the silence first, like you’re holding a hand out for him from the shore as he drifts aimlessly.

“baby?” you ask quietly. he grunts again in response. “what was she like?”

“who?”

al-haitham is a smart man. probably the smartest you’ve ever met. you don’t think you’ve ever met someone who read physics books as a pastime, and you’re pretty certain he’ll always be the only one. you know he knows exactly what you’re asking and you know he’s avoiding it.

but it doesn’t stop you though—it’s been long enough, you think. you’ve known him long enough. craved him for a few summers and loved him for enough winters that he has pieces of you that fall through the cracks of your resolve.

you think you deserve a few pieces of him too—even if your fingers have to reach past the cracks themselves, even if they have to slice against the jagged edges and bleed a little in the process.

you’ll bleed for him—like the sun rises from the east and sets in the west, your heart beats for al-haitham. and it’ll bleed for him too.

“your grandmother,” you whisper. “you’ve never told me about her.”

“there’s not much to tell,” he shrugs. “she died right before i enrolled in the akademiya and she raised me after my parents died.”

“i’m sure there’s more,” you say gently—his grip has tightened on your hand now. you don’t think he realizes—in fact, you don’t think al-haitham realizes half of what he feels when it comes to vulnerability.

it’s why he realizes he loves you so late. it’s why you fall first and he falls after. but he falls harder—it’s not hard to see.

“she was a kshahrewar scholar,” he offers blankly.

your thumb brushes over his knuckles, and it’s almost like your hand reaches past the shore just a little further—you don’t mind risking the fall into the water if it means pulling him out.

“haitham,” you sigh delicately. he swallows. it’s hard to keep composure for long—even for someone like him.

grief is an evil thing. it’s a familiar friend—one you wish you never made and one you’ll never shake away. it dances with you under the moonlight, when the stars are bright but the sky is heavy. it barely grazes your skin some days but weighs into your bones on others. it’s a cruel thing really—and it hits you harder some moments than others.

“she was kind,” he starts slowly, his hand reaching out and grabbing yours over the shoreline. maybe, just maybe, sometimes he can get tired of drifting too. “she liked to bake. her hands got too weak to knead dough when i got older, though. you would have liked her tarts. she couldn’t read without her glasses and she always forgot they were on her head. she said my father looked like her husband and that i look like my father. she used to ask me to read to her sometimes so i’d sit on her lap and read my books out loud. she loved the sunrise but was never good at waking up on time to see it. she used to drink tea during sunsets. she liked hers extra sweet and i liked mine more bitter. i…” he pauses, voice shaky as his fingers dig into your hand. you squeeze, and he sniffles. “i haven’t had tea since she passed.”

“she sounds lovely,” you whisper. “i would have loved to meet her.”

“she’d have loved you,” he cracks a small smile, shaking his head as he thinks. “probably more than she loved me.”

“i’m sure i’d never compare to her darling grandson,” you chuckle, bumping arms with him. his head drops to your shoulder—you hesitate for a moment before deciding to pull him into your chest. and when he doesn’t protest, when he buries himself into you instead of pulling away, you thread your fingers into his hair.

“i miss her,” he croaks quietly.

“i know,” you soothe. “i know, baby.”

al-haitham has only ever known love twice in his life. one is gone but it lives through the other. the gentle touch against his scalp and the warmth under his cheek is familiar—it feels like the lap he slept on when he was six. it feels like the delicate hands that cupped his cheeks when he was eight. it feels like the soft kisses against his temple when he was ten.

al-haitham has only ever known love twice in his life, and he’s glad that one of them is you.

“you’d have loved her too,” his voice breaks. you kiss his head as you feel your shirt dampen.

“i already do,” you murmur, “she raised you well. i have her to thank.”

his breath hitches at that—and then he pulls you closer, grasps you tighter, falls in love with you harder. his grandmother’s death anniversary has always been a sore spot—but somehow, you numb the ache even if by just a little.

gently, your hand clasps his and pulls him to shore. he’s grateful he doesn’t have to drift alone anymore.

there is nothing i’m more obsessed with than al-haitham’s childhood. i have so many thought about it. and him. and his character. and his inner thoughts and feelings and most of them revolve around his grandmother and more importantly her passing. and idk. he’s just sosososo important to me i wish we knew more about his grandmother. i love her so much i grieve her passing even though we’ve never even met her 😭

[heartyluv]

₍^. .^₎⟆

Note: I know people tend to like porn with no plot and I’m all for it and I’m very open to writing it, but I like to give a little story before I just hit you with sex LOL. I hope no one thinks what I write is boring when I do this, but I just wanted to share that. I hope you enjoy. ♡

Rating: Explicit - !!Minors DO NOT Interact!!

Warning: Smut, Sylus talks about getting shot

Word Count: 2,832

Summary: After an argument, Sylus has a nightmare and needs comfort.

Sylus/Reader

You knew who your boyfriend was before you got together. You know the things he’s involved in, how he makes his money, and what he does to earn it, but it’s never stopped you from loving and wanting him.

You also knew the dangers of it, how quickly something could go wrong in a matter of seconds. It’s the reason why you and Sylus had argued when you surprisingly arrived at his house—at least part of the reason.

He’d been suspicious, kept whatever had happened a secret while you remained oblivious and in the dark for days, unable to reach Sylus, Luke, or Kieran after the initial call you and him had the first day before a long four followed with no contact. You were scared and frustrated, so you took matters into your own hands, disregarding his vague order to stay home until he came to you and was in front of his door about an hour later after deciding you were fed up.

You always listened to Sylus. Because of what he does, following his orders to ensure your safety was crucial. He’d never let anything happen to you and you always vowed to make protecting you an easy job for him, but it was only easy when you knew he was okay.

You had rang his doorbell and pounded on the front door simultaneously, demanding entrance before you broke a window. The soft sound of crickets chirping in the night was the only thing to interrupt your persistent raps against the grand wood.

It was Luke who reluctantly opened the door. You were furious with the twins too, so you didn’t have it in you to play nice when you stormed inside and past the masked man who undoubtedly wore a regretful expression as it was all telling in his body language. Him and Kieran, who you briefly saw standing right behind his brother, said nothing as your purposeful strides ate up any distance that was between you and wherever Sylus was. You weren’t going to ask them where he was, you’d find him on your own.

And you did, quicker than you thought. He was alive and well as he stood in his bedroom, tying his robe around his waist. Your chest heaved, your jaw clenched, and your body wanted to relax but there was still so much tension coiled within you that it felt impossible.

He was okay, seemingly. Of course you were happy about that. But the things he said to you on that phone call will always make your skin prickle and the worry won’t subside until he gives you something to work with.

“Don’t fret, kitten. I’ll come for you, I always do. Just give me time.”

“I need to… correct some things, and I won’t be able to see you. Do you trust me?”

“I know that separation isn’t how I operate, just as much as it isn’t yours. But it’s necessary. For now.”

Eerie was the only word you could think of to describe it. You shut the door behind you, watching him watch you in the mirror he stood in front of.

“Seems I’ve caught a stray,” he says with a small smirk. He doesn’t need words because the scowl on your pretty face is enough to tell him where your emotions are at right now. And he understands. Had it been you to worry him the way he did you, you wouldn’t have had days away because he’d be where you are without hesitation.

“You’re angry,” he acknowledges as he turns to face you. Your eyes scan him and you can��t find anything physically wrong.

“Why?” It’s all you can say, but your throat feels so constricted with emotion that the single word is barely above a whisper. Sylus has been your rock and losing him is almost equivalent to losing yourself.

He reaches up to cup your face, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb. Sylus doesn’t lie to you, he just holds off on telling you the truth for as long as he can. With you here now, he knows he can’t hold off any longer.

You don’t hesitate to nuzzle your head in his hand instinctively and it makes your eyes burn.

“Ambush,” he says simply, making your eyebrows furrow. “A deal gone wrong. I was injured—”

“How? How injured were you?” you cut him off.

He sighs. He doesn’t want to tell you this. If he’s your rock, you are the universe to this man. You matter so much to him that purposely hurting you is something he’d rather die than do. But the way your pleading eyes look up at him won’t allow him to let you wander in the dark any longer.

“Shot,” he mumbles. Sylus never mumbles. He’s been shot before, but his Evol can fix it, can fix any injury. What makes this time so different, is what you think. But it’s what he says next that stops your heart.

“It was an ambush. A traitor. I’ve handled it. But, it was unexpected since I’d been working with the man for years. I was shot so many times that my Evol needed time to… catch up, I suppose.”

Sylus was pierced by so many bullets that his energy couldn’t keep up with healing and defending himself all at once. It was only when he took down the goons and their leader did he have the time to heal himself, but this is the most he’s dealt with in a long time. He needed to recover and worrying his girlfriend with what he deemed unnecessary details was just something he wasn’t going to do.

“The time I spent away was for me to heal properly. As of right now, though, I’m almost 100%.”

“You almost died,” you push out like it was a curse to repeat what he didn’t outright say.

“Nothing can kill me,” he says simply. “There’s no need to worry yourself—“

“Don’t do that,” you snap. “For days, I had no idea what happened to you, what was going on. Only for you to tell me you almost—” You inhale sharply to suppress the tears that threaten to spill.

“Why would you lie to me?” Your eyes beg.

“I never lied to you.” The calm expression on his face tells you that he genuinely believes this.

“You being so fucking calm about this is unbelievable,” you scoff, shaking head. “I can’t even…”

It’s so much happening in your head right now. So much you want to say. But you can’t because you’re so angry and hurt that you’re afraid you’ll say the wrong thing.

You two are supposed to be a unit. No matter how difficult something may be to share, you never hide it. Something worse could’ve happened and you wouldn’t have known.

“I’m not letting you leave with so much turmoil. Stay the night and when you’re ready, we can speak in the morning,” Sylus interrupts your thoughts.

Your need to flee was strong, Sylus knew that. You’ve done it before. He could see the idea to abandon ship spark in your brain and ignoring him, ignoring this, was tempting, but he wouldn’t let you. Not tonight and honestly, not ever.

⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰

Sylus has instructed Luke and Kieran to help you get settled in the guest room tonight. Since you left his bedroom, they made sure you were fed, had a shower, and fresh clothes before you went to bed—even if you didn’t want to speak with them.

Once he was sure you were sleeping, he tried to do the same himself. He tossed and turned for hours in the dark room before his body succumbed to some type of rest, but it was short lived.

Flashes of you leaving him, of you hating him for being a liar plagued his mind. If that wasn’t enough, the scene of you storming out of his home angrily with tears streaming down your face was worse than you hitting his chest and calling him every possible name in the book.

His heart raced and his breath grew ragged. He begged for you to stay, told you that leaving him may be what actually kills him. The fight ended up shifting into what happened between the both of you when you arrived tonight. Only instead of listening and staying, you told him that you couldn’t do this anymore and he was stuck in place, forced to watch you walk out the door and out of his life.

His body shot up as he tried to register his surroundings with bated breath. He hasn’t had a dream or a nightmare in so long that not even he can remember the last time. It makes him wonder if he hallucinated you still being here.

He threw the covers off of himself, making quick work to get to where he hoped you were.

When he finds you in the room, his heart is at ease. But you’re up now instead of curled beneath the duvet like he saw you before. You see the distress on his face when you look away from the window.

“Sylus?” you say softly. “Are you okay?”

Even angry with him, you still care. He shuts the door before he walks towards you and once he stands where you are and the moonlight washes over your bodies, he cups your face in his hands, pressing his forehead to yours then huffs out a laugh.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he deflects.

“Sylus.” That warning in your tone makes him smile.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispers, then lets the silence settle. “Do you know how important you are to me, my love?”

“I think so,” you reply, not entirely too sure where he’s getting at.

He pulls back to look at you properly. “Think? I must be failing as your man. You should know.”

“I mean, I know. I just..” you huff. “You scared me, so bad. I didn’t even know what to do with myself.”

“I understand,” he adds. “The human mind, it’s a cruel thing isn’t it? It can show us things that have never happened, but could be a reality. It’s a disturbing feeling.”

“You’re doing your riddle thing again,” you chuckle. That small chuckle is enough to make his day for weeks to come.

“I dreamed that you left me, kitten. That you were… tired, of me. I had to make sure you were still here.”

“I’d never leave you.”

“I know,” he nods. “But I’m nothing if not thorough.”

His eyes fall to yours lips. Your eyes can’t seem to stop looking between his own and those ruby red eyes you love so much. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “For what I put you through. I vow to never do such a thing again.”

You show him your acceptance with a tilt of your head and a purse of your lips. He kisses your soft mouth, cradling you by your neck as it deepens. When you separate, your breath mingles with his. “I forgive you. No matter how hard I try, being mad at you for too long is something I’m incapable of doing.”

You can feel how his muscles tighten with your touch, like your acceptance is unexpected and foreign. Whatever he dreamed about must’ve really bothered him if it’s brought him to you and making him feel better is one of the things you’re best at.

You kiss his chest, featherlight caresses. His breath hitches when you kiss his nipple then back up to his collarbone.

“I love you, Sylus,” you say softly. Using one arm, you yelp as he lifts you off the floor and brings you to his bedroom. He kisses your breasts through his t-shirt that you wear, making a primal urge surge inside of him.

You’re his. You always will be. You’re in his home, his clothes, and soon, his bed. You are consumed by his essence just as much as he is by your existence.

He places you down on his bed before climbing above you and between your legs, attacking your skin with his mouth in any way that he can. “You can never leave me,” he kisses your jaw. “There is no timeline in this existence or any after that I’d allow to punish me like that.” Another kiss to your lips.

There’s an ache between your legs, one that’s both physical and sentimental. Your body is so connected and in tune with Sylus in a way that shocks you at times. You need him in a way that’s almost biblical.

“I’ll always be with you,” you breathe out as he lifts your shirt above your head.

“Are you wet for me already, beautiful?” he asks as he peels your panties down your legs. “I’m rather impatient tonight, but your needs always come first.” He cups your pussy in his large palm and your back arches off his silk black covers. His finger slides down your slit before pushing forward and plunging into you.

Of course you’re wet for him. You were wet the moment you started to kiss his body. “Oh fffuck, baby,” you moan as he brings your wetness to your clit and circles it beneath the rough pad of his finger. Your neck is lathered in kisses while his hand works to please you, works to make sure you know how dedicated he is to you even despite his mistakes. Gently you tug on his hair and that makes him growl into your neck.

He pulls his finger from your warm cunt to push the digit into his mouth, tasting you. And now, you’re impatience. Like he can read your mind, he smiles while working his pajama pants down his muscular thighs. The fabric of his pants are like his sheets and offers no effort to hide the arousal he’s feeling.

The sight of his heavy cock always makes your body titter with excitement. The small lamp illuminating just enough warm light at his bedside is all you have to see the lust decorate his handsome face and is all he needs to get ready to squeeze into your pussy.

With spread legs, you welcome him. He rests on his forearm as he starts to use his cock to gather your slick. Every time the head brushes against your clit, you shudder with need. Every tease of his seeping slit catching onto your hole is enough to make you squirm.

Finally unable to wait any longer, he’s gentle in the way he spears you. Your wetness echos in the room while his cock becomes enveloped by your cunt. Your teeth take hold of your bottom lip as he fills you in the way only he’s capable of doing.

“Tell me you forgive me again,” he begs against your ear before licking it. After he’s as deep as he can be, his hips start to rock, making you feel every push and pull of his length in your warmth. “Let me hear you, sweetie.”

He brings your hands above your head, softly removing them from his shoulders. “I—I forgive you.” He adjusts his position and places his hands in yours as he fucks you slow, fucks you in a way that will make sure you remember this feeling forever. His eyes never falter as he holds your gaze.

He holds your hands tightly, palm to palm while he imprints himself inside of you. This intimate position makes your heart race and makes you cherish the man above you. The curve of his cock hits a part of you so deep that it takes you a moment to speak. “Right there, Sylus… Please, you feel so good.”

His hard chest presses against your sensitive nipples, grazing the needy buds and rendering your skin riddled in goosebumps. The soft plaps of his pelvis to yours makes you clench tightly and the way he grinds against your clit is what has you falling apart.

Tears prickle in your eyes as you start to come. “That’s right, pretty girl. I got you, focus on me.” He guides you as you start to feel a falter in his steady pace because of how close he is himself.

Your orgasm consumes you whole, making anything other than now seem unimportant. He’s not far behind you, stilling at his hips gently pump to push his cum deep. He groans into your shoulder while he pours into you and it’s so much between the both of you that it starts to seep out despite your connection, trailing down and making an erotic mess.

Your chest rises and falls in an effort to bring your soul back to your body. Despite being slow and sensual, Sylus still found a way to make you transcend.

There’s no more words that needs to be spoken between you two, at least for now. He’s going to clean you up, he always does. But for now, he just needs to be where home will always remain.

[predestinatos]

hungry for life - MV1 (18+) ༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing: max verstappen x female!reader

summary: it could've been a dream trip. if it hadn't been for the nightmare of the company. (also i didn't proofread i'm sorry)

tags: enemies to lovers, smut, lots of smut, filthy really, p in v, fingering, reader swallows, idk what to say.

word count: 5.2k

MINORS DNI!!!

Monet’s Water Lilies occupied the entire room, listening to your conversation intently.

“It isn’t that big of a deal” you friend said, whispering and pointing to the painting as if she was commenting on it.

Your gaze remained on the careful brushstrokes, head tilted as you replied, “Easy for you to say. I mean, seriously? Max?” your hand raised to a specific part of the painting that really wasn’t as impressive up close as it probably was from afar - but there was no other way to have this conversation.

“You’re in Paris, looking at a Monet, with your best friend” she continued, a hint of a smile in her tone of voice. Her amusement only frustrated you more as she walked a few steps to the right, trying to inspect another part of the mesmerizing painting.

“And my worst enemy” you rolled your eyes as you followed her. “It’s not fair. When you said it would be you, your boyfriend and a friend of his, I didn’t expect this. I was thinking more of a double date.”

She looked at you, shrugging, causing her beautiful hair to bounce with her. “It can still be” she joked, to which you could only reply by turning your back to her - and consequently, Monet himself, muttering a ‘fuck you’ to her giggling frame and to the lilies who stood motionless in the still water.

You stood, alone, in front of Sam Francis’s In Lovely Blueness. You felt unlovely blue yourself, though you knew you couldn’t let this ruin a dream trip for you. Your excitement might have died down the minute you met Max at the airport and put two and two together, but you were sure it was mutual, which did make things better. At least he wasn’t particularly amused himself, falling for the exact same trap you fell into.

As if manifested by your own thoughts, his frame appeared on the corner of your eye, big eyelashes adorning his eyes as he stared ahead, almost as if he had no intention of acknowledging you whatsoever. “This is inspired in a poem by Hölderlin. It has the same name and everything. In Lieblicher Bläue. It’s a representation of-” he started, shocking you at first but then angering you just as well.

“I am an art major. I don’t need you to explain this to me” you spat, a fake smile adorning your lips as he looked at you, your annoyance, and chuckled. It was brave of him, you had to admit - to intentionally go out of his way to annoy you by explaining something you were sure he knew you knew. 

Crossing his arms across his chest, his head slightly tipped to the side, he admired how easy it was to get under your skin. He wanted to be nice, to engage in a conversation and try to achieve some type of neutral ground, but he found it impossible to do so. “Since you know so much, why don’t you guide us?” 

The comment came out aggressive and petty, which wasn’t particularly intentional but he also hadn’t made any effort to hide what he felt towards you anymore. You stepped closer to him. It surprised him, how daring you were all of a sudden, but also how much you actually seemed to dislike him, to the point where this was something you did publicly, unashamedly. 

“You want me to guide you?” you asked, whispering while looking up at him. You were smaller than him, his frame towering over you even unintentionally, but that factor didn’t stop you. 

“Sure” he said, swallowing dryly, jaw clenching as the tension between you both rose. The red on the painting seemed to stand out even more and spread on the corner of his vision, inundating the whole painting.

“Okay” you replied, taking two steps back away from him, opening the distance between your bodies, carrying the red color with you as the painting seemed to fill with blue again. But not for long, for you walked and looked at him as if urging him to follow, which he did, curiosity winning against irritation. 

After a couple of steps, you reached the end of a hallway, secluded and stripped of any painting, walls too bare, contrasting with the previous setting.

He was confused. He really didn’t know what you would do next, though this whole scenario just proved you were just as childish about your feelings as he was. “And, to your left you have the exit sign, which will take you right where you belong” you said, moving your arms like a museum guide, overly cartoon-ish on purpose, knowing it would only annoy him more.

“You’re such a child” Max said. Indignation wasn’t something he felt often, yet this time he felt it appropriate. But he was also thankful - thankful that his attempt at being nice didn’t work, for he did not have to pretend to like you for a week when he absolutely did not. “I tried, at least.”

At this, you could only gasp in surprise at his courage to make such a statement. “You tried? By mansplaining a painting? Oh, that's new!” it was almost funny how you two were whispering in shots, or shouting through whispers, the empty hallway echoing your words as if to emphasize them. 

“It’s more than what you’ve done so far! I’m not the one walking around looking all bitter and bratty.”

You stood, motionless, looking at him. His green eyes fixated on yours and burned as if they were scorching red, and as much as you wanted to lash out even more at him, you figured walking away was the best solution. Once again, turning your back on someone in Paris. It had to be done.

“Oh, yeah, walk away. Good luck doing that at the hotel” Max said, the comment a nail in your coffin, a way to affirm that yes, he had won, yes he was right, and the points had been made - you were to avoid each other at all times.

You, however, stopped. His last words echoed in your head. What did he mean, the hotel? The moment you closed the door to your room and he closed the door to his, you two would be out of each other’s sight. So what did he mean by that? That he would annoy you further, being noisy, screaming, to the point where you couldn’t sleep? You were about to ask when you decided that would admit some sort of defeat - asking someone to clarify a point you hadn’t understood in an argument seemed weak, frail and ridiculous to you, so you kept walking, desperate to find your friend again.

“No,” you said when the room card was handed to you. “Fuck no” you kept going, your best friend’s hand raised towards you as she tried to contain a hint of a smile. 

Now you understood Max’s comment. Now you were angrier than ever.

Why did you let your friend handle the hotel reservations? Because you trusted her good judgment. Which was bad judgment from your part, apparently, as she reserved two rooms - one for her and her boyfriend, and one for the friends they brought - you and Max.

“It has TWO beds” she tried convincing you, as Max had already gone up angrily, snatching the card swiftly without saying a word. “I wouldn’t put you two in a king sized bed. I am not crazy” she kept going. 

The more you thought about it, the more ridiculous it sounded. 

Max prided himself on his fast insticts and reactions to any unforseen events that might come his way. It was probably one of his best traits, one he always mentioned when asked about his favorite psychological aspect of himself.

But all that was put into question as he stood motionless in the middle of the hotel bedroom, towel wrapped lowly around his waist as the air conditioning hit his bare back and he heard the door click open.

He stood in the same place as you closed the door behind you and ran a hand through your hair as you exhaled. He had those brief seconds of you unaware of his presence to hide in the bathroom and get dressed quickly, or lay underneath the covers discreetly. Anything at all.

But he had no time to make a decision as your eyes met his, panic written across his green irises.

You prided yourself on your fast insticts and reactions to any unforeseen events that might come your way. It was probably one of your best traits, one you always mentioned when asked about your favorite psychological aspect.

But all that was put into question when you opened the door to the hotel room and saw a Max's frozen frame, towel wrapped lowly - too lowly, you thought - around his waist, swallowing hard as droplets of water ran across his bare skin.

No thoughts crossed your mind before you cursed, a hard "for fuck's sake" escaping your lips from accumulated stress over the events of the past 24 hours.

This was not how you wanted your trip to go. This was not what you had planned. It wasn't just sleeping in two separate beds.

This proved it clearly.

During this time, Max's brain found the opportunity to adapt to the situation, adopting an arrogant attitude that contrasted from his initial shock.

"Come on, I'm not fucking naked" he said as he turned his back to you, heading to the bathroom.

"You are underneath that towel" you pointed out, starting to follow him before stopping yourself, realizing it was best not to do it. "I mean, you knew I was coming"

You heard him chuckle - really, he made sure you would - and his head and bare shoulder showed up from behind the open door. "Yes. Hence the towel. Otherwise I'd be naked. Which I'm not. Don't be such a child."

You could only throw a middle finger at him in response - one that he found gave him the victory, the upper hand. One that signified the discussion was over and he was right.

He grinned to himself, closing the door as he undid the towel around his waist in order to put on his underwear and a t-shirt.

Max's hand reached for the small hanger where it was placed and his fingers wrapped around nothing. He looked at the empty hanger and then at the floor, completely empty of what he needed the most in that very moment - his boxers.

"Shit. Shit. Shit Shit" he cursed, looking around for an answer. He knew his only choice was to ask you to bring them to him, but he only knew it cost him that final victory he enjoyed so much, his ego and pride mixing with each other to create a selfishness that surprised even him sometimes.

You heard your name being called out from the bathroom. At first you thought you had imagined it, like in horror movies where it seems to be coming from everywhere, but when it sounded again you knew that wasn't the case, though it was equally as terrifying.

You jumped from your bed and went over to the bathroom, ear pressed against the door in search of a sign of danger.

"...Yes?" you asked.

"Can you bring me a pair of boxers? They're in my suitcase. That is if you don't want to see me naked for four seconds while I get them myself."

You groaned loud enough for him to hear, your steps heavier than usual so he could notice your discontentment even if he couldn't see it.

Walking over to his suitcase, you opened its zipper almost carelessly, searching for a pair of underwear in the midst of the collection of same colored t shirts and same fit jeans.

Max was walking around the bathroom like a mad man, realizing how ridiculous this situation was, and how ridiculous it was that he had accepted it without asking who his company would be first. Maybe this was a lesson, yes, from the ghost of vacations future warning him about being careful who to trust, or to spread kindness, or something.

Before he could dive deeper into thoughts of madness, a knock sounded on the door. He grabbed the towel quickly to cover himself, although he did not bother wrapping it around him. He was not planning on opening the door entirely, not after the scene you caused.

As he opened, he saw an outstretched hand - yours - holding a pair of underwear. The fabric dangled in your pointer finger as if it was made of a burning material that you needed to get rid off, and fast.

He grabbed that from you, but as he was closing the door, your arm remained in place.

"I'm childish but you brought like two packs of condoms for this trip?" you said accusingly, and he could hear your smirk, as if you finally had something to hit him with.

"Don't flatter yourself, I didn't know I'd end up with you" he said as he pulled his boxers up and opened the door once again. "Is this less offensive than the towel?"

He was close - closer than you had expected - and though he hid his own surprise at seeing you at the doorframe, he couldn't deny that he didn't exactly measure the consequences of not checking where exactly you were before opening the door so fast.

His chest was close to yours, so close part of him almost felt as if you were touching, the proximity making him feel unbelievably taller than you, though he was sure the difference couldn't be that big.

You tried not to stare. Really, you were trying really hard. But he was so close to you he occupied your entire line of vision, his pale skin appearing so smooth in front of yours, contrasting with the dark color of his underwear - that you unconsciously had picked.

He towered over you, head low so he could look at you in the eyes, though the view wasn't particularly bad from up there. Your pajama top was loose - too loose - in your frame and your shorts were the very definition of the word.

"You wanting to sleep with me would be an insult" you said, moving away from the doorframe so he could pass, though he didn't move, merely crossed his arms across his chest, muscles tensing slightly at that. "And sure. It's an improvement" you continued, staring him up and down - taking his frame in but disguising the act as disdain.

Max's head leaned to the right, a smirk growing on his lips as he realized he got you for a second time. Nonchalantly, eyebrows raised, he decided to act.

"That's not what you said a year ago." There. He had you. And while before this bickering came from a place of anger and hatred, he was growing increasingly more amused at how you matched his own pace.

"Yeah, but that was before you opened your mouth" you retorted, focusing hard - too hard - on his face and not on his body, though it did not help either. His hair was messy and slightly damp from the shower, and his stubble had grown in a way you could only describe as attractive - not perfectly shaved but not entirely messy either.

He bit his lip then, mostly because he knew what to say to you after your words and was trying not to smile. Also because you had admitted to feeling attracted to him, even if only physically, which added to his confidence as he stared at you and ran his eyes down your body. "What's wrong with my mouth?"

You were dumbfounded for a few seconds, mouth opened at the ridiculousness of his comment, what it implied and the line it had crossed. "You're such a piece of shit" you said, while his grin grew to his eyes.

"You want me" he sounded so matter of factly, as if he had commented on the weather or said the sky was blue.

"I hate you."

"Never said you didn't" Max took a step forward towards you, and you found yourself unable to walk away. Something about his deviance pulled you in, and part of your brain told you you could leave, though another tried to convince you you were only staying because this was your room, after all.

"Then how could I possibly want you?" you asked, though it was more directed at yourself than at him this time.

He looked away then, as if the answer was obvious, his body moving closer to you but never touching you, both decreasing and increasing the distance between the both of you.

"You want me but I'm a piece of shit. And that's why you hate me. Because you know, deep down, you still want me to fuck you" as he said this, he moved away, almost as if the conversation had never happened, though it had, just now.

"I don't want you anywhere near me" you tried to sound assertive but part of your voice had failed by how taken aback you were, still wondering if you had imagined his words.

He stopped and turned to you once again, battling his own brain on whether or not he should push you a bit further.

"Define near" he said, as he walked closely towards you, like a predator slowly approaching its prey, defying them.

Your chest rose and fell as he moved, and you found yourself unable to tell him that that was near enough, mostly because it wasn't, not even close.

The back of your legs hit the bed - his bed - and you fell backwards, sitting on it as he moved as close as he could towards you. "Is this near for you?" he asked, though his tone had changed into something darker, raspier and more filled with lust than flirt.

You swallowed, refusing to break eye contact, aware of how you looking up at him provided a view for himself as well.

"Who wants who now, huh?" you asked teasingly, a smile spread across your lips as you noticed his body tensing up - with a bit of anger but maybe a bit of arousal too.

"Is this wanting you?" he asked back, finding your language had moved from insult to rhetoric, questions that needn't answer - not when he could see your eyes shining as they looked up at you from your eyelashes, not as he saw you crossing your legs despite your attempts at discreetness.

You shrugged at his question, not wanting to back down on your claim but also not wanting to give him the chance to refute it.

His hand cupped your face with firmness, holding your stare as he lowered himself towards you, bringing his lips close to yours, so close you felt his skin brushing against yours although he broke away before you could indulge in his initiative.

"What about this?" he asked, testing you now, though he knew the answer himself, felt it in his body as his boxers felt tight against his erection.

"I'm still unsure" you replied, and as if awaiting for that sign to keep going, Max exhaled and ran his hands through your bare thighs, pinching softly at them, causing you to hiss and giggle from his contact.

"Do I have to keep asking?" it was his time now to look up at you, something close to desperation rubbing at him as he knelt between your legs.

"Not if you admit it" you leaned to kiss him, to - admittedly - give him some kind of upper hand, though you weren't sure if you were playing anymore, not as his tongue hungrily explored your mouth, so desperate it was almost sloppy yet so warm and arousing and fulfilling.

"Fucking hell you're stubborn" he managed to let out during the brief instances where you weren't pulling his neck towards you, making sure his lips remained on yours.

His body moved on top of yours as you laid down in his bed, his hips pressing against yours as you felt his cock against you, a moan escaping your lips and a sigh leaving his at the contact.

"Is this, huh?" he asked again, mouth now moving to your neck, kissing it so lightly you shivered, only to bite you afterwards, the sensations overwhelming you with need for him.

Your body felt hot, burning intensely; and Max's body against yours only fueled that, his voice making you feel more than you wanted to admit even to yourself.

You wanted him to feel like you were feeling in that moment - unaware he was already as on the edge of completely losing himself as you were. So you held his hand with yours and brought it in between your legs, allowing him to get his response.

Max had to steady himself. Really, part of his brain froze and only his body worked, mouth watering as he felt how wet you were, mind going completely foggy at the fact that you had done it, at how hot what your simple gesture had been - at how strongly he reacted to it.

His cock was so tight in his boxers it felt almost painful, especially when he knew how comfortable he could be, inside you, feeling your entire body react to him and him alone.

However, he craved to drive you mad as well, convinced you would probably lose your minds together in that hotel room. "Use your words" he said, pulling your shorts down in order to get better access to you.

His fingers teased you gently, brushing over your entrance and pulling away just as you were ready to take them. "Tell me, is this wanting you?" he insisted, his voice breathy and hoarse.

You wished you could answer, could say more than his name which came across as a whine for more of him inside you. It took all your strength to focus, on winning, on seeing him crumble before your eyes, losing his composure which was so so close to fall apart.

You bit your lip while staring at his eyes - once so bright but now so dark, so filled with something you hadn't seen in him before - and took him completely by surprise as you ran your hand across his erection through the fabric of his underwear.

Max closed his eyes and his eyebrows were now close together in an almost frown. "Fuck" were the words he let out as he dropped his head.

"Admit it" you demanded, not only because you wanted to win but because you couldn't wait any longer - you felt empty, his teasing frustrating you to no end.

Without warning, his fingers dipped inside you, filling that emptiness, even if just slightly. He moved them painfully slowly, savoring every inch of your moans as you kept your hand on his hard cock.

You could feel its length and thickness, making your mouth water at the mere thought of having it inside you. You started moving your hips against his fingers, craving more of the pleasure, more of him.

Max was just observing you at that point, how desperate you were for him, how beautiful you looked with flushed cheeks and swollen lips with barely anything being done to you yet.

"I would never admit something like that" his words contrasted so much with his thoughts, but he knew one fed the other both for you and him, this back and forth the main reason why you both felt an incessant pull towards one another.

"You're ridiculous" you managed to reply, though the words came out muffled and confusing, earning you a chuckle in response.

"You're being fucked stupid and I'm ridiculous?" he asked, grinning as he used a hand to removed his boxers, freeing his erection. You couldn't help but whimper at the sight, the sheer anticipation of what was to come, at the opportunity to having him buried inside you.

However, letting him win this easily wasn't something you were willing to do - and though your mind was cloudy and your judgment blurred, you stood on your elbows, face almost touching his. Your hand caressed his tensed arm which kept its movement inside you, and he couldn't help but look at your contact.

You tilted your head, biting your lip as you stared at his face - the desperate attempt at remaining composed, the rosy cheeks and disheveled hair, lips wet and eyes so dark they looked almost black.

"Who's stupid now?" you asked, hot breath against his neck. He could hide many things, but he couldn't control the goosebumps spreading across his entire body, he couldn't hide the way his shoulders tensed even more, how his throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed.

This was thrilling. Maybe too thrilling, if such thing existed. He thought of the painting, of the colours spread across the canvas and somehow, in that moment, that seemed to increase every emotion he was feeling, and he had to close his eyes to control himself and steady his breath.

He had to keep it going. He knew he had to - he knew this was precisely what he wanted, to drive you insane, to keep the tension running across both of you until one exploded.

So he removed his hand from where it was - so comfortable, so hard inside you - and he could see you pout slightly before returning to your previous cold attitude. "You want me to stop, I'll stop" he said, climbing fully on top of the bed, both hands on either side of your head, hovering above you.

"I never said that" you bit back, though it was hard to focus as he started leaving trails of kisses on your neck, going down to your chest, and on your navel, biting your shirt and pulling it - removing the last layer of clothing you possessed.

"Then what do you want?" he asked, face in between your thighs, just above where you wanted him to be buried. Max's grin didn't hide the fact that he knew exactly the answer to this - but, just like you, he was stubborn, loving to hear the words escape your lips, to know that you wanted him to ruin you completely.

His hand now caressed your thigh, fingers softly moving up and down, drawing invisible nothings on your skin.

You fought against your will to just say it, although you wanted to give it up and just admit it. As if reading your thoughts, his eyes pierced yours with amusement as his cheek rested against your thigh, stubble scratching your skin pleasurably. "We don't have all night, sweetheart" he whispered.

The nickname caused your heart to race, but what came out of your mouth was a scoff, arrogance still coating your actual feelings despite the situation you were both in. "You're just as desperate as I am" you told him, lifting your right leg to caress his bag with your foot.

"Desperate for what, hm?" he asked, biting the inside of your thigh as he climbed back up, facing you.

"To fuck me" you finally replied, knowing it was less of an admition and more of a dare.

"Is that what you want me to do? To fuck you?" the question was rhetorical, almost mocking, but at that moment you didn't quite care. Not when the tip of his cock rubbed against you, not when he tried so hard to steady his breath.

You could only nod, carnal insticts getting the best out of you. That was all he needed to let himself go, to let go of all restraints previously holding him back - if there were any.

He sinked inside you slowly, as if to prolong your pain and your pleasure simultaneously, savoring your reactions - your whine of pleasure, your closed eyes and teeth biting your lip, your eyebrows furrowed. You felt and looked so good it took all of his strength to focus on being the stronger, composed person in the room - something he never struggled this hard to achieve.

He dropped his head low, his forehead against yours as he steadied himself. "Fuck" he managed to say, along with a loud exhale. "You feel so fucking good" he continued, words leaving his mouth almost impulsively.

"Then don't stop, Max" you demanded, almost aggressively, as your body ached for more of him.

He pulled himself almost fully out and slammed back inside you, harder now, making you let out a loud whine - one which you rapidly covered by placing your hands over your mouth.

He kept going, hips slamming against yours with a steady rhythm as you uhmed in pleasure, eyes teary already as they rolled to the back of your head.

He wanted to hear you. In fact, he wanted to know others could hear you, hear how good he was making you feel, hear how his cock drove you absolutely insane. With an assertive movement, his hand grabbed yours and pulled it away from your mouth, then held your cheeks tightly as he made you look at him.

"Don't cover your mouth" he ordered, hungrily, feeling you tighten around him as he said it. "Let everyone hear how well you take it" he continued, speeding up his pace and laying on top of you as you wrapped your hands around his waist, caging him.

"F-fuck, Max" you started, unable to resist much longer, feeling his hot body against yours, your hands pulling his hair as he moved almost animalistically, so focused on your sounds he could only get off to them.

"You sound so pretty" Max growled, close to exploding as well. "So fucking hot" he continued, and you had to bury your teeth in his shoulder to keep yourself from screaming - all you could let out was his name as you felt him inside you, and his hips rolled against you, unmatched amounts of pleasure running through you.

"I'm so close, Max, I'm so close" you said, not realizing how often his name was being uttered by you, how it seemed like one of the few words you had left to say.

Driven to a state of total lack of control, Max let moans escape his own lips, his animal vulnerability resulting in your own orgasm.

Feelings you tighten and pulsing around his cock was the tipping point for him, as his body shuddered, pulling himself out of you as fast as he could.

“Open your mouth” he said, gesturing at you to sit back. You did as he demanded, still drunk from your orgasm, still completely at his mercy, and he came finally, warm come filling your mouth.

The view was Max’s dream come true - your mouth wide open and filled with him, so obediently taking his orders and so beautifully contrasting with your previous attitude. 

“Now swallow” he said, tapping your cheeks slightly with his hand as you closed your mouth and did as he said, the slightly salty flavour filling your tastebuds.

You laid down on his bed, exhausted and completely fulfilled, while also dizzy with the amount of emotions running through your head. You closed your eyes, but felt and heard him laying down next to you, his arm brushing yours shyly now. 

“Was that close enough?” he asked.