#at first I was like oh I love their dynamic

[dreamdragonkadia]

Oh my gosh, this is absolutely phenomenal! The angst? Delicious. The pining? Immaculate. I’m over here kicking my feet and screaming into my pillow because it’s that good. You captured the post-war grief in such a raw, heart-wrenching way—I felt like I was right there, grieving all over again.

The sibling dynamics in the cabin? UGH, so sweet and tender, it had me tearing up. And Silena—oh my heart. You portrayed a sister’s grief so perfectly, I could practically feel it radiating off the page. It was so genuine, so real, I couldn’t stop reading.

This made me relive all the emotions I felt when I first read The Last Olympian and then some. That ending? Literal chef’s kiss. The idea of Percy being okay with meeting a tragic end, just to be with the one he loves—it's so on point for his character. It’s tragic, it’s beautiful, and it’s everything I didn’t know I needed.

10/10, would recommend this to everyone. If you want to laugh, cry, and scream all in the span of one fic, this is it. Seriously, go read it.

☆ BACK TO THE OLD HOUSE

percy jackson is a nuisance. a nuisance you have always been fond of, some way, somehow. (5.6k)

contains: percy jackson x daughter of aphrodite! reader. post tlo (spoilers). kind of melancholy but it gets better (kind of). book percy.

kashaf’s note: guess whos alive!

TO QUESTION, to ponder, to seek out the gods is sacrilegious. the gods preferred their divinity to be kept strictly within the confines of worship — whether by completing their ‘menial’ tasks or by committing sacrifices, they, in their infinite wisdom, are not allowed to be objected to. 

“so, my mom’s a god? of love?” 

you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose, and mentally counted to three. opening your eyes, you make eye contact with the newest addition to camp, and your newest responsibility. bruised and scuffed, the poor kid blinks back at you confusedly as you mull your options. “yes, and no,” you decide.

“our mom’s a goddess, and love is just the most common of her jurisdictions.” 

the new camper looks around the cabin, taking it in, you follow their gaze, lingering on the painted swans on the wall behind you, and bouncing to the pearls adorning the vanity, littered with various seashell trays holding gold jewelry (the first time you had entered these very walls, your throat had tightened at the pure ostentatiousness of it all).

they glance back at you, confused. you sighed again, “yes, our mom is the goddess of love.”

“oh.”

the candles residing in conches flicker as if waiting to pass judgment, and silence blankets you and the new camper once more (this is potentially your fiftieth time attempting to explain the same concept, yet you’re no better at it than when you first started — shaking and solemn). 

needless to say, it’s more than just difficult to explain this tacit rule to new campers — after whatever tragic event transpired for them to realize that the greek gods of myth and legend indeed exist, they simply don’t have the mental capacity to learn the unspoken rules of the whole being a demigod thing.

you could be warmer, somehow, you suppose, with your mother being the goddess of love and all — in all honesty, you’re still not sure how you became the aphrodite cabin counselor, over selina (the entirety of camp half-blood’s favorite daughter of aphrodite) but the counselorship would have ended up in your hands anyway, after everything (the sight of her once-beautiful face as she coughed up blood in clarisse’s lap swims across your memories). 

you pinched the bridge of your nose again, sighing as the candles snuffed out all at once of their own accord (judgment has been passed), “take the empty bed in the corner, we get up at like the ass crack of dawn so you might wanna catch up on your sleep.”

you watched the kid sit on the bed (looking every bit out of place as you did when you first arrived amidst the sheer indulgence the cabin is), and you can’t help but feel a pang in your chest as the child (the entire camp is full of children, but the vast majority of you have never gotten the chance to be the children that you are) stared wide-eyed at posters of movie stars, like tristan mclean, adorning the walls.

with one last glance and forlorn smile at the kid, you walked out of your cabin, your expression hardening at the sight of other campers. the walk to the arena is a short yet bleak one, in the silence you can hear drew’s screaming ringing in your ear (drew is preferable to hearing your other half-siblings, ethan, or even luke; drew is alive).

in the middle of the sword-fighting lesson being taught, you slipped into the arena, undetected for the most part except for the pair of sea-green eyes trained on your figure as you came and stood next to him, clearly hanging back.

“this is usually your shit, jackson,” you say, ignoring how pitiful your racing heart is, and watching clarisse at the helm, steam blowing out of her ears as new campers fell over themselves trying to parry and block with wooden swords.

percy turns to look at you, and from the corner of your eye, you can sense the storm brewing across his face. “maybe i’m not the attention whore you think i am,” he snorts, and there is a small trace of bile in his voice, but you don’t focus on that.

instead, your face burns at the memory of your last argument after you dove in front of ethan’s knife (you still wince when you remember the way his visible eye widened when he realized it was you who caught the blow), and percy’s bitterness as will patched you up, what the fuck is wrong with you, you could’ve gotten yourself killed.

and your weak but indignant reply, i literally saved your life, asshole. are you that much of an attention-whore that you need to be the one on their deathbed right now?

“i’d say you kind of are,” you say, turning to meet his gaze (for a brief, stupid, second you wonder if somehow he was a son of zeus because of how the air suddenly became charged with electricity), arms folding across your chest. “the whole making the gods pay child support is a bit attention-whore-esque.”

percy laughed, a sound you and the other campers haven’t heard in a while (it’s different from before but it is still a sound that in your weaker moments, you admit to craving to hear). “someone had to do it,” he says, sobering up immediately.

“luke tried,” you whispered (the name is still taboo around camp), shivering as you felt percy stiffen beside you. a beat passes and the resulting silence is suffocating.

percy offers you a sad, tight smile before walking out of the arena. you watch him go with a strange pain in your chest and a longing for the before, the laughter leaping across the sun-drenched strawberry fields, the joking i told you so’s during meals, and the softness of the campfire sing-a-longs.

it’s hard not to blame the gods, for that is blasphemy, but on most nights, you find yourself uttering your mother’s name with a tangible acidity, and you find that you’re not alone in this sentiment. the once-reverent echoes of aphrodite, promise me true love, promise me victory, promise me beauty, have now faded to lifeless whispers — formalities instead of prayers. 

even your own prayers are different now, you pray for the sea — if your mother is allowed to be ambiguous with her gifts (curses) then she must expect the same ambiguity in your prayers in return. when you’re done half-heartedly muttering your prayers and sacrificing your food, your gaze meets a familiar pair of sea-green eyes across the campfire, glowing like a beacon in the dark. 

standing up, you find drew, looking every bit as perfect as ever. you lean down to whisper, “lights out at eleven, i’ll be back.” 

drew nods, squeezing your hand before she begins herding the rest of your half-siblings back to your cabin, solemn and toneless (an empty shell compared to the once vibrant and snarky drew from before).

the walk to the beach is silent, although you know that you’re being followed — you didn’t survive the war being complacent. when you finally do arrive, the mysterious figure reveals himself in the moonlight (again, you’d be a fool to not recognize the son of poseidon’s careful footsteps).

percy looks every bit of a character straight out of a tragic romance novel that your mother probably inspired, and again your heart squeezes painfully at the sight of him — under the scars and the jaded attitude, he is still the same percy jackson with stars in his eyes when he first introduced you to his mother. 

“why do the naiads call you that?” percy asks abruptly, tilting his head to the side as if studying you as he approaches.

barely audible accusations of apatu’ria bubble at the surface of the lake like seafoam; the whispers have followed you since you arrived at camp, and you have never known why.

“call me what?” you ask, feigning ignorance as iterations of deceitful replay across your mind.

percy blinks, confused, “isn’t your mother related to the sea somehow? don’t you know they call you apatu’ria?”

you fiddle with the gold bracelet on your wrist (a gift from selina), percy’s gaze follows the movement as you hesitate. “well, yeah, like i know what it means but i don’t know why they call me that.”

percy shrugged, shoving his hands into the pocket of his jeans. “they call me ‘prosklystios’ a lot,” he said (in the way that he knows you, better than you know yourself).  

“so what, we’re just reduced to epithets of our parents? what an honor,” you mumbled sarcastically, staring out at the lake, watching its surface ripple as the accusations grew more fervent. you paid it no mind however, the burden of being a daughter of aphrodite had already claimed its weight on your shoulders. 

“careful,” percy sighed, his gaze focusing on you instead of the water, “might’ve just won a war but that won’t stop either of us from being smited if big guy in the sky thinks we’re being impertinent.”

distant thunder rumbled overhead as if proving his point.

“speak for yourself, pretty boy,” you say, eyes looking toward the firmament littered with stars, incognizant of your admission, “if i got the gods to basically pay child support without being sent to tartarus, i would do whatever the fuck i wanted.”

percy being percy, of course, did not register that last bit of your sentence, a shit-eating grin forming across his face, a slight red hue tinging his cheeks, “you think i’m pretty.”

you turn to look at him, ignoring how your heart hammers at the way he’s smiling down at you, you roll your eyes. “percy,” you say slowly. “my mom is the goddess of love, everyone’s gorgeous in her eyes.”

“yeah, but not everyone’s gorgeous in your eyes.” 

gods, he was so aggravating but the way his eyes twinkled and the genuine elation on his face almost made you admit defeat. 

you crossed your arms over your chest, narrowing your eyes at him, “this is why i never compliment you, you always let it go to your head.”

“aw, c’mon, you love me for it though,” percy says, still grinning widely, his unruly black hair falling into place perfectly.

“you’re an actual attention-whore,” you say, spinning around on your heels and trekking across the sand, leaving percy alone to stare out at the water. you walk back to camp, ignoring percy’s calls of wait punctuated by his laughter as he jogs up behind you. 

“i hope mr. d catches you out past curfew and the harpies eat you,” you say deadpan, once percy has caught up to you. 

“you’d miss me too much and would come to be my hero, again,” percy smirks at you, following along as you head toward aphrodite cabin (you’re secretly very glad for his presence, you hate walking around camp when it’s this deserted — the memories that you tried so desperately to bury try to claw their way to the surface).

“just because i caught a knife for you, once, does not mean that i’ll ever do it again,” you say, folding your arms across your chest as you stand outside the door of your cabin. “getting stabbed is not a ten out of ten experience.”

percy softens, his impish grin still there, but the intensity of his gaze is enough to make you melt, “good, can’t have you dying on me.”

you snorted, “even if i did die, i’d tell nico to raise my ghost so i could haunt you forever.”

percy’s still smiling, his eyes are still soft, and he’s so close to you right now. “go out with me,” he says, suddenly, earnestly.

blood rushes to your ears. “what?” you blinked, staring at him as if he’d grown another head.

percy shrugged, leaning forward to press a feather-light kiss to the crown of your head. you barely registered the action in your mind, trying to regain your ability to form coherent sentences as you watched him. percy looked away from your questioning gaze. “better go before the harpies eat me,” he said before jogging in the direction of his cabin. 

he leaves you standing in front of your cabin door, frozen in shock for another five minutes, before you shake it off, and head inside, convincing yourself that you had imagined the entire encounter. the familiar scent of jasmine envelops you as you linger in the doorway. drew is still awake on her bed, her back pressed against the wall and her head in her arms. she doesn’t bother to look up at your entry until you’re sat next to her, curling an arm around her bony shoulders and pulling her into an embrace. 

the two of you sit in silence as drew attempts to calm her heartbeats to sync with yours, her head resting on your shoulder as you rub soothing circles into the planes of her shoulder. you fall asleep in a tangled mess of limbs, a desperate attempt to close the gaping hole selina left in her wake. this is sisterhood, you think when you wake up and drew’s head weighs like lead on your shoulder.

the bright morning does little to assuage your burdens — you know it’s going to be a long day as soon as you hear campers giggling. rule number one of being a camp counselor: no matter how benign, giggling is the number one sign of trouble.

you took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before turning to the younger half of your half-siblings currently in the process of attempting arts and crafts. “what the fuck do you guys keep giggling about?”

your half-siblings only giggle harder. 

after what seemed like eons, the new camper finally comes up to you — a kid no older than eight, who motions for you to bend down before they begin stage-whispering in your ear, “is percy jackson your boyfriend?”

you immediately feel scandalized, jerking away like you’ve been burned, “no, who said that?”

(when you’re being lulled to sleep by the sound of drew’s imperceptible snoring in your ear, your subconscious spends its time lingering, dwelling on could’ve been’s, and should’ve been’s, the obsession as stubborn as when you refused to believe that percy had actually died on mount st helens.)

the kid continues to smile ‘innocently’, “everyone says that you guys hold hands at campfires.”

sudden flashes of percy’s unyielding grip on your hand and his broad smile, as he forced you into a sing-a-long with him, rise to the forefront of your mind, but that was before — when annabeth still had a steely look in her eyes, when travis and connor’s antics still garnered laughs from everyone (and a rare amused glance from mr. d). now (the after), there is no such jocularity, and percy is kept at arm’s length, reduced to offering you sad smiles across the campfire.

“we do not hold hands at campfires,” you say, struggling to keep the disdain out of your voice.

“but there’s a ‘we’,” the kid says, scrutinizing you up and down.

you have to mentally count to three so that you don’t end up arguing with a literal child (it’s not a great way to prove that your sanctity is still intact). “there’s no we.”

the kid shrugs in an if you say so gesture, giving you one last weirdly knowing look before turning back to their arts and crafts. a weighty silence settles, punctuated only by the sounds of scissors and rustling papers. 

stares and loud whispers follow you around camp, more so than usual for an aphrodite kid — clarisse finds you in the midst of it all, lost in thought when her cabin is supposed to be pulverizing apollo cabin at volleyball, a sharp glint in her eye. 

“you’d tell if me you were dating prissy, right?” she says, her hand faintly closing around your elbow, pulling you out of your reverie. 

“what are you talking about?” you say, eyebrows raising in shock. this wasn’t your first rodeo — just before the war this summer, camp gossip had credited you to be going out with connor stoll, but this was different. clarisse was the fifth person today who had asked you if you were dating percy. 

“so you are dating him?” clarisse looks offended, or well, as offended as clarisse can be, “and you didn’t tell me.”

you can feel eyes on you, watching your every move as other campers subtly pause their activities to listen in. 

“clarisse,” you say slowly, reaching out to hold her forearms and looking her in the eye, “i’m not dating percy.” when she opens her mouth to interrupt, you add, “and i would definitely tell you if i was.”

clarisse exhales, shooting you a disbelieving look, but mercifully leaving you alone with a quiet, “okay.”

you know what she’s thinking, so you offer her a taut smile, patting her on her shoulder as you brush past her. you headed toward the lake, with a feeling that you’d find the answers you were searching for.

the lake is empty except for one solitary figure on the sand, facing the horizon with his hands in his pockets. you hang back for a minute or two, taking in the sight of percy with his eyes closed, and the peaceful look on his face. 

a grin settled across his face as he addressed you, his eyes still closed, “i know you think i’m pretty, you don’t have to stare to prove it.”

you ignored his words, and he opened his eyes to watch you angrily march across the sand to stand face to face with him. 

“are you the reason why everyone thinks we’re seeing each other?”

“yeah, why?”

to say that you’re taken aback is an understatement — you had anticipated some more denial but this was unexpected. and sudden.  

you jab a finger at his chest, “everyone’s getting the wrong idea, so you need to stop whatever it is you’re doing like right now.”

“but they could have the right idea,” percy says, looking amused.

your heart scrapes painfully against your chest, “what the fuck are you talking about?”

“we could be dating, for real,” percy says, excruciatingly slow, elongating each word. 

the earth stops spinning on its axis for a minute, and time seems to freeze — for a split second you worry kronos has risen again before you calm your racing heartbeat and exhale slowly.

“i need you to be so for real right now,” you say, your eyebrows furrowing.

“i’m being so deadass right now.” 

“no, you’re not,” you say, turning and walking away. your heart squeezes pitifully in your chest, as you call out, “find me when you stop joking,” before leaving him alone on the shore.

when percy approaches you again, you think he’s finally come back to his senses, though a weaker, more primitive urge inside you hopes that he hasn’t (it’s for the better, you try and fail to convince yourself).

he interrupts your conversation with drew (though the two of you weren’t doing much talking), smiling charmingly at her before asking if he could steal you away for a minute during breakfast. drew shot you a concerned look, waiting for your reassuring smile before assenting.

“you’ve come to your senses?” you ask after percy leads you away from the mess hall.

“i’ve always had my senses, thank you very much,” percy grins.

you roll your eyes, trying not to smile, “oh yeah, i could totally tell when you played rock, paper, scissors with a hundred-handed one last summer.”

“hey,” percy says, throwing his hands up in the air defensively, “i won that one.”

“on a gamble,” you countered, smiling (you missed this, missed him, and the feeling that everything will be alright enduring).

“not the point.”

“then what is?”

“go out with me,” he repeats, sudden, and earnest.

your heart stuttered pitifully. “not this again,” you sighed.

“why not?” 

“why?”

“you know why,” percy tries to make eye contact with you. still, you avoid his gaze, watching the other campers heading into the mess hall give the two of you weird looks. 

“no, i don’t,” you say firmly, before walking away, ignoring his protests, leaving behind a group of onlookers that you could care less about, and percy, who was staring at the spot you had just been standing in.

you returned to your cabin, to the familiar jasmine scent and pearl adornments, and promptly collapsed on your bed. more than anything, you just wanted your mother. you wanted your mother to smooth out your hair as you cried, offer you advice, and get rid of the stupid curse.

the door opens quietly and you immediately sit up, dabbing at your face and hoping that your eyes haven’t turned red and swollen already. drew shut the door gently behind her, her expression softening the slightest fraction at the sight of you.

“do i look that bad?” you ask, trying not to sniffle (and failing miserably).

a whirlwind of emotions cross drew’s face and you manage a watery grin. “okay, y’know what, don’t tell me then.”

drew sits next to you on the bed, handing you a box of tissues, “wasn’t planning to.” 

the two of you sit shoulder to shoulder as she lets you have a minute to clean up before going straight for the jugular. “i heard what happened.”

you laughed, a choking noise that dissolved into weak coughing. drew patted your back. “so, the entire camp knows now?”

“no,” she says, before changing her mind, “well, yeah.” 

“great,” you groaned, “my life is so over.”

drew tensed, tearing her gaze from the posters of hot people on the wall, to look at you, her brown eyes ablaze with fury and her silver earrings (also a gift from silena) jangle, “shut up, you’re the senior counselor of aphrodite cabin, and they’re all losers unworthy of your time. your life so isn’t over.”

(this is the drew from before, the drew that comes and goes in flashes so sudden that you try to piece her together like a puzzle that never seems to connect.)

“the curse,” you say, your throat tight. 

drew’s eyes widen imperceptibly, her blue eyeshadow sparkling in the candlelit cabin, before her expression settles into a scowl. “what about the gift?” her voice sharpens as she stresses the last word, sparing the smallest glance toward the roof of the cabin.

you can’t continue, and you don’t have to — she knows what it is that you’re thinking of (she always has, from the minute you met her, two cold and shaking children alone in the dark).

she shakes her head emphatically. “silena,” her voice chokes, before dropping to a whisper, “silena left us — you can’t leave us too.”

“i know,” you whisper back, your eyes filling with tears. “i know.”

“oh, honey,” drew says sympathetically, drawing you into her arms, and smoothing your hair away from your face as you let out a sob against her shoulder. “break his heart,” she says. 

“i can’t,” you mumble.

“you have to. he’ll die if you don’t, and a broken heart is better than dying.”

“i can’t do that to him, he’s so unbelievably good, drew, he deserves everything and more.”

“ignoring how ridiculously sappy that sounded, look at what happened to beckendorf,” you pretend not to notice how drew stumbles through his name (he looked at silena as if she had personally hung the stars in the night sky), “maybe he wouldn’t have gotten over it, but he would’ve been alive.”

you remember how silena had proudly said she was going to put an end to the archaic rite of passage your cabin was infamous for around camp; beautiful, idealistic silena with stars in her eyes (who liked beckendorf to the point she’d blush profusely at the mention of his name), who had no idea that this would all come crashing down around her some short months later. 

at your silence, drew continues, still stroking your hair, “look, not to make this harder, but even i’ll admit jackson’s one of those guys you meet once in a lifetime—”

“thanks, drew, that was really helpful,” you interrupt, chuckling dryly.

“oh, shut up, i had a point,” drew says, swatting your shoulder playfully.

you sigh, letting her continue.

“so, like i was saying before i was so rudely interrupted, because jackson’s one of those once-in-a-lifetime type of guys—” here, you coughed pointedly, making drew glare at you before continuing, “—you should be like more willing to see him happy and like living a long ass life because you’re so in love with him.”

“so what, either i reject him and ruin our friendship irreversibly or we date and i break his heart and ruin our friendship irreversibly, or we date and i don’t break his heart and he dies tragically and there’s a possibility that i die tragically too?”

drew shrugged, making a tiny braid in your hair, “pretty much.”

you turned your head in her lap to look her in the eye, “how are you so apathetic about this?”

“someone has to be because you’re not thinking this through rationally.”

you groaned, “aphrodite has to hate us.” (you haven’t called her ‘mom’ genuinely except to her face during the winter solstices.)

“no, she lives for this kind of thing,” drew rolled her eyes, braiding another piece of your hair, “she definitely thinks she’s doing us a favor.”

you groaned again, “what if i just avoid him until summer ends and he goes back to school and forgets this happened.”

“i didn’t think love made you this stupid,” drew says, amused.

“shut up, i can’t wait until you have the same dilemma, and you’re the one asking for advice.”

“doubt it,” drew says, wryly.

you rolled your eyes, “okay, but what if i tell him about the ‘gift’,” you make air-quotes, “and let him decide?”

“yeah, but what if that just makes it backfire and makes you die tragically either way.”

“well, at least he’ll know about the possibility? it’s better than just being like ‘oh i can’t date you even though i’ve liked you since i was twelve’ with like zero explanation whatsoever.”

you hear muffled footsteps coming from outside of the cabin, and the door swings open loudly to admit lacy, who looks flustered and out of breath. you and drew quickly sprang up off your bed at her arrival.

“your boyfriend’s asking for you,” she says, looking at you.

drew raises her eyebrows at you, an unspoken are you going to see him? behind it. 

you furrowed your eyebrows back at her, conveying no, shut up.

drew shrugged at you as if saying if you say so.

lacy looks between the two of you, confusion apparent before cautiously interrupting, “he’s waiting outside, by the way.”

you panicked at the thought of possibly confronting percy, “lacy, whatever you do, don’t tell him i’m in here.” you paused, “wait, tell him i’m taking a nap or something, please.”

more shuffling noises can be heard from outside, and drew groans, smacking her forehead with her palm, “what is wrong with you?”

you ignored her, focusing on lacy, whose confusion intensified as she looked between the two of you. “tell him i’m sleeping and he should try coming back later.”

she nodded, before opening the door and stepping outside.

drew stared at you, “y’know, i thought people were exaggerating when they said love makes you stupid but after looking at you, they were so right.”

you scowled at drew. she raised her arms in surrender, “just calling it like i see it.”

lacy returned a second later, “um, he wasn’t outside when i went to tell him.”

that was decidedly odd, but you chalked it up to him being busy or something, and shrugged, “i’ll see him later, it’s fine.”

it was actually not fine, because you didn’t see him later. or the next day. or the day after. well, you saw him but you didn’t see him. percy had somehow uncovered a hidden talent for making himself appear everywhere and nowhere all at once. he was there at meals, laughing with tyson or grover, he was at sword fighting practices, leading the class or giving clarisse a partner, he was at campfires, sitting next to annabeth and connor. yet, the minute you tried to approach him, it was almost as if he’d vanish, like an immortal was running interference.

you’ve taken to wandering by the lake on most nights — your only company the voices of silena (go talk to him, her urging is as present as if she was really there, memories of the time the two of you hadn’t been talking for a week resurging) and luke (what’re you doing out this late, kid? a phantom hand reaching out to ruffle your hair, and the feeling of ice being poured down your back envelops you). 

as the sun sets, the tall and lanky figure — a figure you could recognize on the darkest nights — stands overlooking the lake in true jay gatsby fashion, his hands dug deep into the pockets of his baggy jeans. you stop and stare for a second (maybe a minute, an hour, time has truly escaped you), and suddenly you’re small and shivering in the dark again. 

percy doesn’t look at you when you approach, though he fidgets with his camp necklace. 

“hi,” you say, unsure of where to begin. 

percy sighs, “look, if you’re here to ask for space, i get it, i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable the other day.” he doesn’t turn to look at you or even glance at you through the corner of his eye once. 

“what?” you ask. “what are you talking about?”

“trust me, i get it, you don’t have to try to spare my feelings,” percy says. you want to will him to spare you just a glance. still, he avoids your gaze, focused on the horizon before you. “we’ve been friends for so long, i thought you could be honest with me.”

his words, though not said harshly (percy isn’t capable of being harsh, not to you at least) cut through you like a knife. 

“you heard me when i was talking to lacy, then,” you say, with horror as the realization dawns on you slowly.

percy finally looks at you, and the sheer hurt in his iridescent eyes makes you inhale sharply. a lump forms in your throat.

“i did,” he confirms quietly. “why didn’t you say something earlier?”

fighting in a war hadn’t prepared you for man’s greatest folly, something that you, arguably, should’ve been good at. the lump in your throat is difficult to dislodge, yet percy is patient as you swallow uncomfortably.

“i never meant it like that.”

percy’s eyes flash, and you feel sick to your stomach. “have you ever wondered why so many of the other cabins hate us?”

his previously pained expression morphed into a look of confusion. you continued, “in aphrodite cabin, our rite of passage is to break your first love’s heart. silena—” your voice breaks. “—silena tried to put an end to it, and then both she and beckendorf—” you choke up again, and percy’s expression becomes solemn, “died tragically. we didn’t know the consequences of not doing it were real until then, and we realized it was a curse.”

you watch percy seemingly wrestle with his thoughts, taking a step toward you. 

“why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” there is no judgment in his voice, yet you still feel embarrassment pooling in your stomach.

“can you honestly tell me that you’re okay with this? with the gods dictating another aspect of your life?” (somewhere in the back of your mind, you can hear luke’s voice repeating the same sentence.)

“you didn’t ask for this either.”

“it’s not our job to question them,” you say, trying not to let a tear slip.

“maybe we should,” percy says, still looking straight at you. 

“careful,” you say, as thunder rumbled distantly overhead, “this is what luke was saying.”

“i don’t care,” percy says, “if you or i die a tragic death, we’ll just have to go through tartarus.”

he said it so simply, so matter-of-factly that your breath catches in your throat.

“so, you’re okay with this?” you ask, trying to suppress the tinge of hopefulness in your voice.

percy looked at you in disbelief, his face was so earnest, “why wouldn’t i be?”

you laughed, more out of shock than anything else. percy continued, “i think your mother would think we’d make a cute couple, so maybe she won’t curse us with a tragic end.”

you’re grinning now, tears forgotten, “more like she’ll give us a tragic end because she likes us.”

percy shrugged, “i think we’ll be fine as long as we’re together.”

he kissed you, finally, which was long over-due, and you felt like everything was finally falling into place. 

“took you guys long enough.” 

you turned around to find the source of the interruption, making eye-contact with clarisse, her arms folded and a smug expression on her face. beside her stands most of your friends, all adorning matching wicked expressions. your heart stops beating for a second before your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“how much of that did you guys hear?” percy asked, suddenly looking bashful.

“most of it,” drew replied with a smirk.

percy looked at you, a mixture of embarrassment and amusement on his face as your friends surrounded the both of you, hoisting you on their shoulders.

“maybe the two of you need to cool off,” annabeth said with a laugh.

connor grinned at her, before calling out, “dump them in the lake!”

you groaned, begging, “annabeth, please.”

“this is payback for all the pining i had to witness over the years,” she said with another bright laugh.

percy shrugged at you, a grin on his face as if saying accept your fate. you gave in, shaking your head as you laughed at their antics.

[messymoonmad]

I need to see poseidon adopt polites as his son

He be like "hm ur my child now" and just carry polites away

This but with Eurylochus and Perimedes

[faithsotherhouseofchaos]

Breast reduction surgery||Charles leclerc x fem!reader

Summary— Charles loves your breast so when you decide to tell him that you’re thinking about a reduction surgery he feels like his world is ending.

Word count —589

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon in Charles’ apartment, the kind of day that begged for nothing more than lounging on the couch and ignoring the world. He was half-watching a football match, the sound of commentators filling the space as he absentmindedly scrolled on his phone. Beside him, Y/N was curled up, legs tucked beneath her, scrolling through her phone with a focused look on her face.

Out of nowhere, she sighed, set her phone down, and said casually, “I think I’m finally going to do it.”

Charles looked up, brow furrowing. “Do what?”

She didn’t even glance at him. “Get a breast reduction.”

It took him a moment to process the words. He blinked, sat up straighter, and turned to her with wide eyes. “Hold on. What now?”

Y/N finally looked at him, her expression calm but resolute. “I’ve been thinking about it for years, and I think it’s time. My back can’t take it anymore.”

Charles stared at her like she’d just suggested selling their firstborn child. “Your back? When did this become about your back?”

“Always,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Charles, you know this. I’ve been complaining for ages.”

He leaned back, waving a hand dismissively. “You’ve complained, sure, but I just thought it was, like, normal life complaining. Not surgery-level complaining!”

“Charles,” she said firmly, her tone laced with both patience and warning.

He sat up, his full attention now on her. “You’re seriously thinking about just… getting rid of them? Like, just like that?”

“Yes.”

“But…” He gestured dramatically at her chest. “You can’t just get rid of them! They’re—” He paused, grasping for the right word. “They’re iconic!”

Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose, already regretting bringing this up while he was awake. “Charles. I’m in pain all the time. My shoulders have permanent dents from my bra straps, I can’t go running without strapping myself in like a gladiator, and every button-up shirt I own gapes open like it’s crying for help.”

“Okay,” he said, raising a hand to stop her. “But—”

“And bras?” she interrupted. “Do you know how much I spend on bras? A hundred bucks each, minimum. And they’re not even cute. They’re functional. Like, ‘industrial scaffolding’ functional.”

Charles blinked at her, his lips parting like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words. Finally, he said weakly, “But… you look great in them.”

“Oh my god.” She threw her hands up, exasperated. “This is not about how I look, Charles. It’s about how I feel. And I feel like I’m carrying around a couple of bowling balls every day of my life.”

He frowned, leaning forward as if he could reason his way out of this. “But what about us?”

“What about us?”

“Our dynamic! The… the whole…” He gestured at her chest again, like it was a key player in their relationship. “You know, vibe.”

“Charles,” she said flatly. “They’re boobs.”

“Not just boobs,” he argued. “They’re your boobs. They’re a part of you. A part of us!”

She stared at him, deadpan. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious!” He stood up, pacing in front of the couch now. “Do you know how many people would kill for what you’ve got? And you’re just gonna… throw them away like an old sweater?”

“Okay, first of all, ew. And second of all, you’re being dramatic.”

He stopped pacing to point at her. “I’m not being dramatic. I’m being honest. You’re about to break the hearts of an entire fanbase—”

“Your fanbase,” she corrected, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly!”

Y/N let out a disbelieving laugh. “Charles, I’ve made up my mind. This isn’t about you, or your ‘fanbase,’ or even how I look. It’s about me being able to live my life without constant pain and discomfort.”

He deflated a little at that, sinking back onto the couch. “But what if you regret it?”

“I won’t.”

“But what if you do?” he pressed. “What if one day you wake up and think, ‘Wow, my life was so much better when Charles was worshiping the temple of—’”

She picked up a throw pillow and smacked him in the face with it. He caught it with a grin, but his eyes were still slightly pleading.

“Charles,” she said, softer now. “I appreciate that you love me exactly as I am. But this isn’t about you.”

He sighed dramatically, flopping backward on the couch. “Fine. But just so you know, I’m going to miss them. Like… a lot.”

“Noted,” she said dryly.

“Maybe I’ll throw a farewell party,” he added. “You know, invite some friends over. We’ll say our goodbyes properly.”

Y/N laughed despite herself, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me,” he said smugly, pulling her back onto the couch and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Unfortunately.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Y/N got up to grab a glass of water. Charles pulled out his phone and began typing into the search bar: “Can boobs grow back after surgery?”

She glanced back at him from the kitchen, catching the guilty look on his face.

“Charles!”

“What? I’m just… curious!”

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, but there was a smile tugging at her lips, drinking the water and setting the glass down on the counter as she walked back over to Charles.

“Hey!” Charles says as y/n snatches the phone out of Charles's hands her own hands cupped his face “It’ll be okay Charles. It’s not the end of the world baby, you know that right?” You ask.

“Of course I know that but I just love them so much,” Charles says, reaching up to cup her breast feeling the weight of them.

“Can I fuck them?” Charles asked out of nowhere.

“Charles!”

“What can’t blame me for asking” he says smiling holding his hands up defensively.

“You know what I don’t see why not”

[lottiesgrl]

I hope your the right blog to send this to but can you do your headcanons of having sex with a completely feral shauna in the wilderness? How she fucks hard and rough, and how she likes to bite you like a wolf holding its pray still. ( bonus points if Lottie’s the one who’s shaunas fucking 🤭)

𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗮 𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗹

summary: drabbles about having sex with feral shauna

cw: heeavy nsfw, biting (r!receiving), scratching (both receiving), oral (r!receiving), vague strap on usage (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), primal dynamics, roleplay, general filth and smut

an: i usually don't put comments on my fics but this was right up my alley and WHEEEW. i enjoyed writing this one. wrote this all while listening to romeo's daddy by ethel cain so i linked it below for the best reading experience 😇 happy new year y'all

: ̗̀➛ you had already known that shauna had a tendency to be rough during sex, but you had no idea how intense it would get the longer the two of you spent isolated in the wilderness

: ̗̀➛ the first sign that something was changing was in the way that she held you. when she dug her nails into your skin, her grip was so tight that it was almost painful, crescent indents forming in your skin. you didn't mind the pain - if anything, you found it hot

: ̗̀➛ this is especially true whenever she catches one of the girls even looking at you in a funny way. you've always known her to be mildly possessive, but she would usually just sulk away, simmering in her insecurities until you'd reassure her that she was the only one you wanted, not anyone else. but now?

: ̗̀➛ now, shauna's jealousy is fiery. it's angry and red-hot, and the second she catches someone's eyes lingering on your body for too long, her fingers will curl around your thighs and grab at the flesh so that everyone can see

: ̗̀➛ she especially loves to feel the way your flesh molds around her hands when she's fucking you. when you take it from behind, she's got your hips in a vice grip, grabbing you and pulling you back in time with her thrusts. you're sure that there'll be bruises from where her fingertips pressed into your skin

: ̗̀➛ speaking of bruises, shauna absolutely loves to leave her mark on you any way that she can. whether it be fingerprints on your skin, hickeys all over your neck, or bite marks along your collarbone, she can't get enough

: ̗̀➛ her and biting oh my lord... she is a biter. she loves the way that your skin feels around her teeth, and she'll bite any inch of skin that's exposed

: ̗̀➛ going back to what i said about taking it from behind, she loves having you right where she wants you. when she fucks you from the back, she'll have a hand around your neck, tilting your head back, and her teeth will dig into the place where your neck meets your collarbone

: ̗̀➛ all about messy and nasty sex. she's sooo messy when she goes down on you, spit everywhere - all over your thighs, your stomach, and most importantly, your cunt

: ̗̀➛ she'll switch between kissing and biting your thighs as she makes her way up to your pussy, arms wrapped around them to make sure that there's no way you can escape from the pleasure she's about to bring you

: ̗̀➛ her hands force your thighs apart when they try to close around her fingers or her head, growling at you to "be fucking patient", while she continues to tease you and make you beg

: ̗̀➛ and shauna growling at you? yes. the words are coming from somewhere deep inside her chest, somewhere raw and primal and animalistic, and every time she growls in her ear you can feel a wave of arousal shoot through you. she chuckles low in her throat whenever she's fingering you and she can feel you gush when she growls

: ̗̀➛ SCRATCHING WITH SHAUNA. she's so turned on whenever she's fucking into you and she can feel your fingers raking down her skin leaving angry red lines in their wake

: ̗̀➛ she's a scratcher herself, running her nails up and down your chest hard enough for it to leave a mark. it starts as mindless groping and turns into her leaving scratches all over your chest and your stomach, something to remind you of her even after the two of you are done

: ̗̀➛ if you'd allow her, she'd 100% love the idea of a more primal dynamic or roleplay. it thrills her so much to chase after you, knife in hand, knowing that once she catches you, you'll be hers

: ̗̀➛ you're running from her and panting both from exhaustion and excitement, your pussy absolutely throbbing with every step you take. she's always been ridiculously fast, and it takes no time at all for her to catch up to you and tackle you

: ̗̀➛ you're both panting as she presses her knife to her throat, leaning in to kiss you. it's so messy and you can feel the cold metal of the blade and the wet earth around you and lord, it's so hot

: ̗̀➛ begging her not to hurt you and you can see a shine in her eyes as she quickly fumbles with your clothes to get you undressed and get her fingers in between your thighs

: ̗̀➛ who doesn't love a woman who's batshit insane?

[thef1diary]

i was the anon who was talking about how dirtbag danny would use the whole inexperienced reader roleplay as an excuse to be gentler and sweeter and oh my god, what you wrote in response... it's got me thinking

i could definitely see daniel going through something, and he finds it very hard to be vulnerable with the reader so he obviously doesn't tell her what's going on. but suddenly he's always needing something slow and deep and intimate in bed and he's being sweeter, and he's holding her closer than usual afterwards. and she kinda wants him to go back to being mean and degrading because everything is easier when there's some emotional distance between the two of them. and because when it's all slow and intimate between them, it feels a lot like making love and that's obviously not what they're doing... right? 👀

— I’m so glad you liked it! One roleplay after another, yet they were all the same: soft, sensual, sweet. the things you weren’t familiar with from him, the ones you didn’t want to be familiar with. While it was confusing, you weren’t sure if you hated it. 18+ content below

Daniel had been different lately. His usual edge—the sharp dominance, the biting words—had softened into something quieter. He didn’t explain why, of course. He never did. Instead, he threw himself into this… roleplay. That’s what you told yourself it was. That’s what he said it was.

It had started a week ago, his hand on your cheek as he looked at you with something just shy of tenderness. “You’ve never done this before, huh?” he’d asked, his voice low and teasing, like it was all part of some game.

But this was Daniel. Dirtbag Daniel. He didn’t do tender. He didn’t do sweet. And yet here he was, night after night, coaxing you into his bed with soft words and slower touches, guiding your body like he was teaching you how to feel good for the very first time.

And tonight? Tonight was no different.

His hands were on you now, rough but measured, sliding down your sides with a reverence that made your skin burn. You lay beneath him, his body pressing yours into the mattress, and for the hundredth time, you felt the cracks in his persona. His hips rocked into you, slow and deep, every thrust deliberate, every drag of him inside you speaking more than his words ever did.

“You’re so good for me,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. His hand slid under your back, pulling you impossibly closer. “Letting me show you how it’s supposed to feel.”

The words made your stomach twist, and not in the way they used to. You almost hated how soft his voice sounded, how his gaze pinned you in place like you were something fragile, something precious. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This wasn’t supposed to feel like…making love.

You tried to push back against it, to claw your way back to the usual dynamic. Your hands slipped over his shoulders, pressing against him in a bid to flip him over, to change the pace, to remind him who he was. “Let me ride you,” you whispered, your voice shaky but determined.

But he didn’t budge.

“Uh-uh,” he said, his tone still soft but firm enough to pin you in place. His hands gripped your hips, holding you down against the mattress as his thrusts continued their maddening pace. “Not tonight, sweetheart. You stay right here.”

There it was—the dirtbag edge, the flash of dominance that usually had your body tingling and your mind spinning. But even that felt different tonight. The smirk on his face didn’t reach his eyes, and when he leaned down to kiss you, it wasn’t the usual teasing brush of lips before he pulled back to make you beg.

This kiss lingered, soft and unhurried, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your heart stutter. You whimpered against him, trying to take control of the moment, but his hands tightened on your hips, grounding you.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice breaking just slightly. “Just let me, okay?”

Your chest tightened at the words, your nails digging into his shoulders as he rocked into you again. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It wasn’t supposed to feel like more.

“Daniel,” you gasped, unsure of what you were even trying to say.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his hand cradling your cheek. “What is it?” he asked, his tone gentle, almost concerned. “You need me to slow down? To stop?”

You shook your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. “No… I just…”

“Just what?” he pressed, his thumb brushing over your cheek. His movements didn’t stop, his thrusts slow and steady, building a pressure inside you that you couldn’t fight. “Tell me, sweetheart. What do you need?”

The question made your head spin. What did you need? To break the tension? To push him away? To rebuild the distance he was so carefully dismantling?

But you couldn’t speak. Not when he was looking at you like that. Not when his body was pressed so tightly to yours that you couldn’t tell where he ended and you began.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his tone softer than you’d ever heard it. His thumb brushed over your cheek, coaxing your gaze back to his. “You’re doing so good, baby. Just let me feel you.”

When you nodded, his hips shifted, his thrusts growing deeper and faster, you couldn’t stop the moan that tore from your throat. He buried his face in your neck, groaning as your walls clenched around him, and you felt the crack in his persona like a lightning bolt.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmured, the words shaky and uneven.

The way he said it made your chest ache, and you hated how much you wanted to believe him. This was supposed to be fun, dirty, and detached. It wasn’t supposed to feel like he was pouring everything into you, like he was holding on to you for dear life. His lips found yours again, the kiss slow and deep, and when he pulled back, his gaze didn’t waver.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

Your breath hitched, and you shook your head, trying to deny it, trying to hold on to what little control you had left.

But he didn’t let you.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, his tone soft but unyielding. “I know you feel it. You’re not as good at hiding as you think.”

His words shattered the last of your resolve. The pleasure building inside you reached its peak, your body trembling as you came undone around him. Your nails dug into his back, holding him closer as you cried out his name.

Daniel groaned, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his body pressing you deeper into the mattress as he buried his face in your neck.

But even then, even as his breathing slowed and his body relaxed against yours, he didn’t pull away. He stayed there, holding you like you were the only thing keeping him afloat, whispering words you weren’t ready to hear.

“You’re mine,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “You’ll always be mine.”

And for the first time, you couldn’t tell if it was still part of the roleplay—or if he meant every word.

want more dirtbag!danny? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

Rose Recaps 2024 - Japan [Thailand | Korea.]

Ok, the individual show's recaps will be shorter in this one, because there are too many shows I've loved. I am partial to Japan, so it shouldn't be surprising.

We've had 4 different shows that had BL's within BL's. Which is a lot. And also kind of amazing. I'll start with those and then move on to all the others.

The Last One of 2023 and the First One of 2024 - I Became the Lead in a BL Drama: Crank up Edition

I love them and I can't believe I will get more of them this year. the comedy is great and they are both so earnest and adorable.

The One With the Slope - At 25:00 in Akasaka

They rewired my brain. One of my big obsessions of the year. The show within the show was used so efficiently. And Hayama. What a phenomenal character. I love pining boys, but this was on another level. A stand out moment was when Hayama finally chose himself and left Shirasaki before going too far, and tainting the beautiful memories they had created together.

The One With the Fourth Wall - A Man Who Defies the World of BL 3

Adding the making of a bl to this one was particularly interesting. That and the triangle made this season particularly fun to watch. Also Hatano was an incredible addition to the story and the filming of the bl was both adorable and heart breaking at times. A huge thanks to @ikeoji-subs for making it possible to watch.

The One With All the Tropes - Twilight Out of Focus

What a beautiful and lovely show. Just a gift for the eyes and a really fun and adorable watch. My favourite couple was the first, but I liked things about all of them. Such interesting use of tropes.

The One About Family - Ossan's Love Returns

I should thank @twig-tea everyday for convincing me to watch this one, even though I hadn't watch the previous ones. This is such a sweet show, with endearing characters and amazing family dynamics. Haruta and Maki deliver such sweet romance moments and Kurosawa makes me laugh so hard. It wasn't perfect but it was so so good.

The One With the Cutest Puppy - Sugar Dog Life

With so many disappointments, this show stands out by executing a simple and heart warming story really well. Isumi is the most adorable lonely boy and even though I wanted to strangle Amasawa at points, it all made sense in this context. They have great chemistry and their scenes together had a warmth that felt real.

The One With the Glass - Takara no Vidro

I will never get tired of someone falling for a crush because they were kind. It's something that Japan does a lot and I will always root for those characters. Taishin was such a beautiful character to watch grow and learn about his own feelings. And I adore Takara. His fear that his love for Taishin would bring out his possessiveness, and much like glass, if he held on too tight he might crush it, was heartbreaking to watch.

The One With the Succulents - Love Is a Poison

I just spoke a bit about it in my monthly breakdown so I'll just say one more thing about it. The visual effects in this show were used incredibly well, as were Shiba's insane dream sequences. The dropped green ink, the shine in the succulents and the heart eyes on Haruto. Perfection. Oh and the sound effects of the succulents. Freaking adorable.

The One With the Two Lonely Boys - Perfect propose

These two were looking for connection and a place to rest and found it in each other. It was short and gentle and sweet and managed to say a lot even though we only had them for 6 episodes.

The Other Magical Adaptation - Cherry Magic Anime

I would watch this story over and over again. And to have this one airing at the same time as the thailand adaptation was a joy. I feel the characters in this one are closest to the ones in the manga, they feel less perfect for lack of a better world. I want to rewatch this one soon.

The One With the Food and the Dog - Mr. Mitsuya's Planned Feeding

One of my new comfort watches. It's adorable in a very realistic way. The acting feels effortless, everybody feels comfortable in their roles, and all the supporting characters have purpose and play a part in the main romance. The best BL dog ever and all the food looked amazing and kept bringing me back to Kinou Nani Tabeta, which is not surprising since it shares a director with it. Thank you to @isaksbestpillow for allowing us to watch.

The One With the Amazing Women - She Loves to Cook, She Loves to Eat

I spoke about this one several times. I watched both seasons this year, my full review is here. I love all of them, although Kasuga holds a special place in my heart.

That's it for the breakdown by country. I still have one more post I wanna make with a couple of other bl's that I couldn't fit in these posts. Let's see if I find the time and the spoons for it. 💜

[arcaneconfessions]

so i guess jayvik fics on ao3 are increasing at a faster rate than caitvi (and the highest kudosed arcane fic is now jv ughh) and i'm so torn about it… on one hand we all know that fandoms have a tendency to prioritize male characters and mlm ships and that’s an objective fact. on the other hand, i kinda feel like ppl are acting obtuse about jv’s popularity as if it’s a crack ship people forced just so arcane could have a yaoi ship. but jayce and viktor already had one of the main relationship dynamics on the show, and after the finale with their whole astral plane tragic soulmates ending i'm not surprised it skyrocketed so much.

a lot ot cv fans are quick to jump to 'oh of course jv is catching up fast because fandoms will always love men more' and while it's absolutely a factor i also think many cv fans don't want to admit that s2's handling of cv hurt it a little, while s2 did the opposite for jv and bolstered it. i've seen many people admit they did not click with jv until the LAST episode.

anyways i’m a kinda bitter about jv potentially surpassing cv (it probably won’t, but it might get close) and i do not want it to happen because the ensuing discourse will be so nasty. for a show that is as female centric as arcane, jv being the top ao3 ship would not sit right with me at all. but i do partially blame caitvi's writing in s2 for why we are in this mess in the first place lol

.

[kirammanswifey]

《Bound by Darkness》

Silco

writer's note: i had so many emotions while writing this, it felt too personal. idon't support this kind of relationship in any way and i don't think is right at all, but i must accept that is a dynamic that it has too much to explore, and with silco's personality... it's just makes sense, whatever i hope u guys like it ittt. this little (pretty long) scenarios comes from my arcane imagines, i'll let the link down there for anyone is interested, also i'll be posting a story for each one of those scenarios for this week, tomorrow it's ekko's turn ;)

link:

warnings: smut, toe fetish, humiliation, voyeur and exhibitionist tendencies, toxic relationship, manipulation, silco's kinda a sugar daddy.

You walk slowly between the shadows and artificial lights of the gallery, feeling out of place amid the pretentious laughter and admiring murmurs of the guests. Your heels echo on the marble floor, a rhythm that seems more sincere than any conversation around you. You didn’t come here for the love of art; you came because someone invited you, promising "opportunities." But all you've found are overly sweet champagne glasses and abstract paintings that seem like an elaborate joke.

You stop in front of one particularly absurd piece: a huge red stain on a white canvas, accompanied by a plaque that describes it as "the existential suffering of modernity." You sigh, letting out a murmur you didn’t intend to share:

"Existential suffering? Looks more like someone spilled their expensive wine."

"A sharp observation," replies a deep, calculated voice from behind you. It’s so unexpected that you turn immediately, finding yourself face to face with a tall man dressed impeccably in a dark suit. His perfectly styled hair, piercing green eyes, and a scar crossing his face like a badge of a battle won. He doesn’t smile, but there’s something in his expression that seems... satisfied.

"And who are you? The unofficial art critic of the night?" you ask, crossing your arms as you look him over.

"Something like that," he responds, his voice low, almost intimate. "Though I must admit, I rarely find such accurate comments among these... crowds."

"Oh, really? Well, I wasn’t expecting to meet someone not dazzled by the 'existential suffering' of a stain."

He steps a little closer, barely invading your personal space. His presence is almost suffocating, as if he fills the room with an authority that doesn’t need to be proclaimed. "True art doesn’t need explanation," he says, looking at the painting with disdain. "Only the insecure try to justify it with words."

You laugh, a light chuckle that’s not entirely genuine. "Well, I guess we found something in common. Though I’m not sure that’s a good sign."

"That depends," he replies, his eyes fixed on you as though he’s already made an important decision. "What brought you here? You don’t seem like the type who frequents places like this."

"And you do, I suppose," you retort with a mocking smile. "Let me guess: you're a misunderstood art lover here to find inspiration."

For the first time, a smile, or something resembling it, crosses his face. "Close, but not quite. I’m here for business."

"How convenient. I’m here because someone promised me 'an enriching experience.' So far, all I’ve found are empty glasses and boring conversations."

His eyes gleam with something you can’t quite identify: curiosity, interest, maybe even amusement. "Maybe you’re looking in the wrong places."

"And you? Have you found what you were looking for?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he observes you in silence, as though weighing every word he could say. Finally, he replies, "Maybe."

The rest of the night passes in conversations that aren’t superficial but aren’t completely sincere either. You talk about ambition, about how power can be as addictive as it is dangerous. He listens with an intensity that makes you feel exposed, as if every word you say is a thread he’s willing to pull to unravel who you really are.

Eventually, you find yourself with a glass of wine in hand, in a quieter corner of the gallery. He’s beside you, his proximity intimidating, but not unpleasant. "What do you really do? Because you don’t seem like just another businessman," you finally ask.

"And you? What do you really do? Because you don’t seem like just a college student."

His answer leaves you speechless for a moment, but you don’t let him notice. "Touché. Though I must admit, my motives are much... simpler than yours. I need to pay for my university before everything goes to hell."

"Money?" he asks, with a curiosity that seems genuine. "Is that what you're after?"

"No, of course not," you reply with sarcasm. "I’m here for the art, like everyone else."

He lets out a low laugh, barely a sound, but enough to send a chill down your spine. "Maybe we can help each other," he says, his voice almost a whisper.

"Oh yeah? And what do you propose?" you ask, pretending to be uninterested, though the intensity of his gaze makes it hard to keep your composure.

"Simple. I cover your expenses... and you share your time with me."

The proposal is so direct that it leaves you breathless for a moment. You look into his eyes, searching for any sign of a joke, but all you find is seriousness. It’s a deal, a non-verbal contract loaded with implications that you both understand perfectly.

You thought about it for a few minutes. You hadn’t gone there on purpose, you had just gone as a novice artist looking for new opportunities. You wanted to make money through your work, not by being someone’s sex slave. But he wasn’t just anyone, he was different from anyone you had ever met before. He was an older, attractive, cultured man, just your type. In a moment, the proposition didn’t sound so intimidating anymore. Money was money and right now you desperately needed it, besides, you weren’t going to lose anything, on the contrary.

Finally, you smile, leaning in slightly towards him. "I hope you’re clear that my time isn’t cheap."

"Neither is mine," he replies, his tone firm, almost threatening.

The deal is sealed with a raised glass. You both know it’s not just company you’re exchanging; it’s something deeper, darker, and you’re both willing to play.

The night is humid and heavy as you walk toward the restaurant Silco had mentioned. You’d never heard of it before, which is enough to know it belongs to a category inaccessible to most people. The tinted windows and discreet facade offer no clues about what you’ll find inside, but somehow, it seems to fit perfectly with the image of the man who invited you.

As you enter, the air conditioning caresses your skin, and the scent of aged wine and expensive spices envelopes your senses. The place is nearly empty, just a few tables occupied by figures who seem as far removed from your world as Silco himself. He’s already there, seated in a corner with one leg crossed over the other, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His black suit and relaxed posture radiate absolute control, as if this were his domain and you were merely a guest in his world.

“You’re punctual,” he says without standing, his eyes scanning you with an intensity that makes you feel as though he’s dissecting you piece by piece.

“Were you expecting otherwise?” you reply, letting a playful smile tug at your lips as you take a seat across from him.

“No, but it’s always refreshing to confirm someone understands the value of time.”

The waiter appears almost immediately, discreet and efficient, as if he were an extension of Silco’s calculated atmosphere. Silco doesn’t look at the menu; he simply orders a bottle of wine that likely costs more than your monthly rent, then watches you, waiting.

“Are you always this… precise about everything?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you leaf through the menu, pretending to understand the names of the dishes.

“And are you always looking for answers to questions you already know?” he counters, his words as sharp as a blade.

You hold the menu in your hands, scanning the names of the dishes in French, Italian, and Japanese. You turn it over as if that might help decipher it. In the end, you settle for what seems like a safe choice: “I’ll have the beef carpaccio as a starter and… the lobster risotto as the main course? Assuming it doesn’t blow my budget, of course.”

Silco lets out a low, almost inaudible laugh. “Tonight, you have no budget. Order whatever you want.”

“I’m not used to someone giving me carte blanche,” you murmur, handing the menu to the waiter.

“Then consider tonight an exercise in expanding your horizons.”

The wine arrives shortly after, and as the waiter pours it, you notice how Silco examines every detail: the label on the bottle, the way the liquid flows into the glass, even the waiter’s movements as he steps back. You take a sip and find it surprisingly good, even to your unrefined palate.

“This is… interesting,” you comment, swirling the glass between your fingers.

“Interesting. A safe word,” he replies, leaning forward, his voice reduced to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tell me, is there anything you don’t approach with a layer of caution?”

“I’m not being cautious,” you say, though you both know it’s a lie.

“Of course you are,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving yours. “But I don’t blame you. It’s a quality many people underestimate.”

The first course arrives: beef carpaccio, thin slices of raw meat dressed with truffle oil, lemon, and a sprinkle of Parmesan. The aroma is as intoxicating as the wine.

“I have to admit, this is new to me,” you say as you pick up your fork and take a bite. The flavor is delicate but full of nuance.

“Fear of the unknown is a weakness,” Silco remarks, slicing a fine strip from his own dish, a foie gras that looks like something out of an art gallery. “Learning to master it is what separates the strong from the rest.”

“And what do you do when the unknown masters you?” you ask, holding his gaze with a hint of defiance.

“That never happens.”

The conversation drifts into broader topics as you share the main course. Your lobster risotto is creamy and perfectly seasoned, while Silco enjoys a wagyu steak paired with a black truffle purée. You talk about ambitions, the cost of success, the sacrifices power demands.

“Have you always known what you wanted?” you ask, leaning forward.

“Since I had the capacity to think for myself,” he replies dryly. “And you? Do you know?”

“More or less. I know what I don’t want, which is a good start, isn’t it?”

“It’s a start, yes,” he concedes, taking a sip of wine. “But the real question is: what are you willing to do to make sure you get it?”

“So many philosophical questions. You’re going to make me feel like I’m in a job interview,” you say, playing with the edge of your glass.

“Maybe you are,” he says, a shadow of a smile curving his lips.

Dessert arrives: a dark chocolate soufflé you share with him. The light texture and bitterness of the cocoa contrast with the sweetness of the dessert wine Silco ordered without even consulting you.

“I didn’t expect you to be the sharing type,” you comment, taking a spoonful.

“I’m not,” he replies, his tone dry. “But I can make exceptions… from time to time.”

When the waiter withdraws for the last time, Silco leans back in his seat, his eyes fixed on you with a burning intensity. “Tell me something,” he says, his voice low and deliberate. “How far are you willing to go for what you want?”

The question catches you off guard, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you hold his gaze, letting a slow, calculated smile spread across your lips. “As far as necessary.”

He nods, as if he expected that answer. “Good. Because the path you’ve chosen isn’t for the weak.”

“And you?” you ask, leaning closer. “How far are you willing to go?”

“I’m already there,” he replies without hesitation, his words carrying a weight you don’t need to fully understand to feel.

The tension between you has become almost unbearable, an invisible thread pulling you toward each other. You don’t know who makes the first move, but suddenly you’re closer to him, the edge of the table disappearing between you.

“This is a game, isn’t it?” you whisper, your lips barely a breath away from his.

“Everything is,” he replies before his lips meet yours.

The kiss is neither soft nor sweet; it’s a clash of wills, a battle for control that neither of you is willing to relinquish. His hand rests on your neck, firm but not aggressive, and the world around you fades, replaced by the intensity of this moment.

Hours later, you stand before a window in his penthouse, the city’s skyline stretching out like a sea of lights. He’s behind you, his presence as tangible as the cold glass beneath your fingers.

“This changes nothing,” you say, breaking the silence.

“Who said it should change anything?” he replies, his tone so calm it almost infuriates you.

You turn to face him, but his expression is unreadable, his face a mask of absolute control. “Just make sure you remember that,” you say, your words as much a challenge as a warning.

“I always do,” he responds, leaning closer with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

And though both of you know you’re playing a dangerous game, neither of you is willing to back down.

He circled around you, devouring you with his gaze. Silco's eyes roamed appreciatively over your curves, the red dress hugging your figure like a second skin. He stepped closer, the heat of his body radiating against your back as he pressed himself against you. His hand reached out, fingers tracing the delicate straps of your dress, toying with them.

"You look... exquisite," he murmured, voice low and smooth like velvet. He leaned in, nose brushing your ear, inhaling deeply. "Love the scent of you. It's intoxicating, just like you."

You almost moaned, but behaved yourself, you didn't wanted him to see you like an easy target. You were going play more, in the dirty meaning, of course.

His other hand rested on your hip, thumb rubbing slow circles through the thin fabric. You could already feel his hard cock against your ass, and it was so fucking magnetic. They way your body responding to his touch. It was almost magical.

Silco's lips curved into a smirk against your neck. "Tell me, my dear... are you wearing anything underneath this dress?" he purred, voice dripping with suggestion.

You smiled, mischievous. He had finally noticed. Although if we put it in a logical context, what was difficult was not to notice. You had chosen that dress especially for this night, it was your hunting dress. It accentuated your figure to perfection, leaving nothing to the imagination. So to tempt your prey you decided to put a hook, and that hook was something as simple as not wearing underwear.

"Why don't you guess?" You whispered, turning around to make eye contact with him. You would show him that you weren't easily intimidated. That he wasn't in the lead in this game of seduction.

His eyes darkened with lust and a hint of danger as they met yours. "Oh, I intend to," he replied, voice a low rumble.

In one swift, fluid motion, Silco spun you around and pinned you against the wall. His hands gripped your wrists, pinning them above your head as he pressed his body flush against yours. The hard lines of his suit-clad body molded to the soft curves of your dress. Was such a sight for sore eyes.

He leaned in, nose brushing the sensitive skin of you neck, inhaling deeply like a hungry man, a hungry man for you. "No lace," he murmured, voice a low rasp. "No silk. Nothing but bare, smooth skin..." His lips brushed the shell of your ear. "And this dress, just begging to be ripped off your delectable body."

One hand released its hold on your wrist to trail slowly down your side, fingers skimming over the red fabric. Silco's touch lingered on the hem of the dress. "Shall I find out if my guess is right, darling?" he breathed, teeth grazing your earlobe.

“I don’t know.” You arched your back like a tired cat, shamelessly rubbing your ass against his boner. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?” There was a challenge in your tone of voice. It was clear and forceful, like your desire for him.

Silco's eyes flashed with hunger at your defiant words. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he slid a hand up your thigh, pushing the hem of your dress gradually higher.

His fingers brushed against the bare skin of your upper thigh, confirming his suspicions. "No panties," he murmured, voice a low rasp. He slid his hand higher, until his fingers grazed the apex of your thighs. "Just as I thought."

And you smiled at him like a total slut. Like you were proud of it. Like you were proud that you walked around and ate in a restaurant without underwear. Living out your fetish fantasy to the limit, and using him in the process. It was perfect in your twisted mind.

And then he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss, plundering your lips with his tongue. He bit at your ower lip, tugging it between his teeth, tempted to rip it apart.

Breaking the kiss, he leaned back to look at you, eyes dark and intense. "Such a naughty girl," he purred. "Teasing me like this. Walking around half-naked." His hand slid further up your thigh, fingers brushing against your bare, slick folds.

"I just wanted to surprise you. Didn't you like it?" You faked a pout, pretending to be hurt in a tender, almost childish way.

Silco chuckled darkly, amused by your bratty behavior. His thumb rubbed slow circles on your lower lip. "Oh, I like your surprise very much," he murmured. "A bit too much, perhaps."

He gripped your chin tighter, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. His eyes raked over your face, lingering on your pouty lips. "The problem is, my dear, surprises like this one have consequences."

To punctuate his point, Silco slid a finger inside your slick folds, feeling your warmth envelop him. A gasp escaped from deep within your throat. It was so unexpected that you had to hold on to his shoulders.

He pumped it slowly, teasingly, watching your reaction. "And the consequences of your surprises are always so... pleasurable."

His hand on your thigh slid up to grip your ass, squeezing the supple flesh. "I should punish you for being such a tease," he growled softly. "For walking around with this pretty little pussy bare and dripping, just begging to be filled."

Damn, why was he so good with words? And with his hands too, he had just one finger in your pussy and it was driving you crazy. The years of experience were evident.

Silco added another finger, pumping them faster, harder. You moaned loudly into his mouth and he couldn't help it. He crashed his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, swallowing your weak gasp. He licked into your mouth, tongue delving deep to taste you. His fingers never stopped their relentless pace, bringing you closer to the edge.

You pulled away, agitated, to take a breath and regain the lead. You took his face in your hand and squeezed hard, with dominance. "Lucky for me, I do enjoy some punishments," You stuck out your tongue to slowly run it along his pronounced Adam's apple until you reached his lips and outlined them delicately with a lot of saliva in between.

Silco approved your actions with a growl. Although, he removed your hand from his face and took yours in return, switching positions. His thin fingers digging into the soft of your flesh.

"Mmm, you're playing with fire, little girl," he murmured, voice a low rasp. His eyes flashed dangerously, but there was a glimmer of admiration in their depths. "You're either very brave or very foolish, taunting me like this."

You didn't give a verbal response, but you did give a physical one. It was enough to just stare at him, blankly. You didn't look away, you didn't lower your eyes for even a second. You weren't going to give in.

He licked his lips. "And I do so love a challenge."

In a flash, Silco had spun you around and walked over to the expensive plush couch, but hadn’t sat down yet. He grabbed you by the hips, creating friction between the two of you. His hands slid down your back, gripping the straps of your dress.

"I'll give you the punishment you're craving," he purred darkly. "I'll fuck you so hard, so thoroughly, that you'll forget everything you know. All you'll remember is the feeling of my cock splitting you open, claiming you."

He leaned in, breath hot against your ear. "And I won't stop until your pretty little cunt is dripping with my cum, until my essence is leaking out of you with every step you take. Until everyone knows who you belong to."

With that, Silco ripped the straps of your dress down, exposing your breasts to the cool air. He latched onto one nipple, sucking and biting the sensitive bud as his hands groped and squeezed the newly exposed flesh.

“Yeah? Wouldn’t you rather see your cum on my feet?” You managed to say between labored breaths, your leg coming up and sliding over his. “Do you think I’m blind or stupid? I’ve noticed your particular interest in my feet ever since I met you. You even noticed today that I had a pedicure done and told me that the pastel blue color I had on from the day of the gallery looked better on me. You have a thing for feet. You’re a fucking pervert. Do you want to fuck my feet? Is that what you want, old man?” You were teasing him, oh, and you were having so much fun.

Silco’s eyes darkened with lust and a hint of anger at your provocation. He took your leg and lifted it up to touch your foot, luckily for both of you, you were pretty flexible so it wasn’t a problem. “Careful, little girl,” he growled. “Keep pushing me and I might just take you up on your offer.”

He leaned in closer, nose brushing against your ankle. "I've imagined bending you over and fucking your pretty little feet. Painting your toenails white with my cum. Marking you as mine in the most degrading ways possible."

His hand slid up your calf, squeezing the firm muscle. "But I want more than that. I want to ruin you completely. Shatter you into a million pieces and put you back together as my perfect little fuck toy."

Silco's voice was a low, dangerous rasp. He nipped at your Achilles tendon. "I want to fuck your every hole until you're a drooling, cock-drunk mess. Until the only thing you understand is the feeling of my dick pounding into you."

He licked a stripe up your sole, tongue swirling around your toes. "So keep taunting me, darling. Push me. Give me a reason to absolutely destroy you." His eyes flashed with sadistic promise. "I'll make all your dirty little fantasies come true. And so many more."

"Stop barking, and do it." You said, like an insolent brat. You finished taking off your dress, now all glorious and naked you sat on the couch, facing him. You raised your legs and showed him your feet in a very suggestive way. "Look at them. They're ready for you."

A wicked grin spreading across his face as he took in the sight of your naked body splayed out on his couch. You were offering to him in a golden plate, with feet and everything. His gaze lingered on your exposed pussy, already glistening with arousal.

He began to slowly removed his suit jacket. His shirt followed, buttons scattering across the floor. Your eyes roamed over his scarred, thin yet muscular chest, the sight of his physique sending a thrill through you. He was definitely a dangerous man with a even more dangerous past. And the scariest part was that you weren't even scared. Not even a little bit.

Silco knelt down in front of you, gripping your ankles. He brought your feet to his mouth, kissing along your arches reverently. "Such beautiful feet," he murmured. "So delicate. So perfect."

He licked between your toes, tongue delving between them, tickling you.

You were trying to stop yourself from laughing. It was so pathetic the way he was degrading himself for you. A powerful, billionaire man was drooling all over your feet like crazy. And all for feet. You had never understood that fetish. Feet weren’t attractive to you at all, they were just feet, and sometimes they smelled bad, and that definitely wasn’t a turn on. But in the end, who were you to judge?

Silco's tongue flicked out, licking a long stripe up your sole. He groaned at the taste of your skin, the texture of your soft feet against his tongue. He suckled on your toes, lips sealing around each one as he savored the flavor.

His hands slid up your calves, gripping your thighs possessively. "Wrap those pretty feet around my cock." he commanded roughly.

He freed his thick, hard length from the confines of his pants. The bulbous head was already leaking with arousal, a bead of precum dripping from the tip. Silco rubbed it teasingly along the arch of your foot, coating your skin with his essence.

"Warm it up for me, darling," he ordered darkly. "Get my cock nice and slick with your spit."

You didn't wait for him to tell you a second time, you got close enough and spat a considerable amount of saliva on his cock. "Come on, fuck them now. I know you crave them." You hummed, rubbing your fingers toes across his face.

With a feral growl, Silco gripped your ankles tightly and positioned the spit-slick head of his cock against the arch of your foot. He rubbed it along the soft skin, coating your foot thoroughly with your own saliva.

"Fuck, you're such a dirty little cock slut," he panted, voice heavy with arousal. "Desperate to have your feet defiled, to be used as a cheap fuck toy."

Cheap. That word hurt your pride. It was as if he was reminding you of your place and position. And indeed, he was.

With a sharp thrust of his hips, Silco forced the head of his cock past your toes, pushing into the tight, slick channel of your foot. He groaned at the exquisite sensation of your silky skin gripping his sensitive flesh.

Pumping his hips, Silco fucked your foot with slow, deliberate strokes. The wet, obscene sounds of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room as he used your eagerly offered appendage to pleasure himself.

"That's it, darling. Take my cock like the foot slut you are," he grunted, picking up the pace of his thrusts. "I'm going to fuck your pretty little feet until they're red and raw. Until you can't walk straight."

"You're really having fun there, old man!" You laughed openly at him, you couldn't help it. You needed to humiliate this powerful man. This man who had called you cheap.

Silco flashed a wicked grin at your teasing laughter, not slowing his frantic pace as he fucked your foot with desperate abandon. "Oh, you have no idea how much I'm enjoying this, you little minx," he growled. "I've wanted to ruin these perfect feet for so long. To claim them. To mark them as mine."

He brought your other foot to his mouth, sucking two of your toes deep inside. He licked and swirled his tongue around them, tasting her them again, before releasing them with a wet pop. "You taste divine, darling. Like sin and temptation wrapped in soft, delicate skin."

"How poetic," Your tongue was covered in sarcasm.

Silco's thrusts became more erratic, his heavy balls slapping against the heel of your foot with each desperate pump of his hips. "Keep laughing, darling. Keep taunting me. It only makes me want to use these feet even more."

He gripped your ankle tightly, pulling your foot further down his thick, pulsing shaft. The head of his cock pushed against the ball of your foot, leaking copious amounts of precum. With a final, brutal thrust, Silco buried himself balls-deep into the tight, slick channel of your foot. His cock throbbed and jerked as he found his release, thick ropes of hot cum erupting from the tip to coat your skin.

"Fuck." he roared, eyes squeezing shut in ecstasy.

You looked at your cum-covered feet with an indifferent grimace.

Silco's eyes flashed dangerously as he sensed your boredom. In seconds, he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back roughly. He dragged you across the polished marble floor of his penthouse, towards the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering city.

You stumbled and bent over willingly as Silco positioned you onto the crystal of the window. Your naked body now on lewd display for any prying eyes that might look up from the streets below. The transparent windows offered no modesty, no privacy.

Panting harshly, Silco gripped himself and slapped his sensitive, spit-slick cock against your dripping slit. He was hard again. With one brutal thrust, he hilted himself inside you, burying his thick shaft to the balls in your tight, clutching heat. He groaned gutturally at the exquisite sensation.

Your eyes rolled back. Finally, some action.

"That's it, my little whore," he snarled, fingers twisting cruelly in your hair. "Take my cock like the desperate slut you are. I'm going to fuck you right here, where anyone can see what a dirty little cock sleeve you are for me."

Those words echoed through your mind and blew your brain cells off.

“Fuck, you’re lucky I took my pills. You didn’t even put on a fucking condom!” You moaned, taking his cock so well, your boobs grinding against the glass, creating a wonderful friction. Unintentionally, you looked up at the night view. It was wonderful. A paradise of lights and stars. From one second to the next your mind wandered to the possibility that someone was watching them right now, the walls of your pussy contracting at the thought.

Silco smirked cruelly at your breathless words, not slowing his punishing pace as he slammed into you again and again. The windows rattled with each powerful thrust, the night air chilling your sweat-slicked skin. "Lucky indeed," he growled.

He leaned over you, breath hot against your ear as he fucked you harder, deeper. "Imagine it, darling. Someone spotting us through the windows, seeing what a brazen slut you are for my cock. They'd watch as I ruin your tight little cunt, pumping you full of my seed. Watch as it leaks out of you, marking you as my property."

The picture Silco painted for you was too exciting, you had always had that fantasy. Of being watched or watching in sex. Which combined with your exhibitionist tendencies right now was making you lose your mind. Not to mention how well Silco's cock stretched you, it was as if it had been tailor made for you.

Silco's hand released your hair to grip your hip bruisingly, pulling you back onto his pistoning cock. "Maybe it's a group of my men, watching their boss claim his whore. Or perhaps a curious passerby, getting an eyeful of your slutty body bouncing on my dick. It doesn't matter. I want you to imagine them seeing you like this. A filthy little fuck toy, existing only for my pleasure."

He licked a stripe up you neck, tasting the salt of your sweat. "Now be a good girl and scream for me, darling. Let all of the city hear who you belong to. Who makes you feel this good."

And so you screamed. You couldn't takenit anymore. You came between sobbings and incoherent words, spams all over your body. It was magnificent.

Silco felt the way your pussy clenched around his cock as your orgasm crashed over. Your scream of ecstasy echoed through his penthouse, no doubt alerting his men and any curious onlookers outside to the carnal act taking place within.

The feeling of your velvet walls gripping him like a vice only spurred him closer to his own release. He leaned over you, hips grinding against your ass as he buried himself to the hilt inside your quivering cunt. With a guttural groan, Silco found his own peak, his cock pulsing and throbbing as thick ropes of cum painted your inner walls.

He rolled his hips, grinding against you, ensuring every last drop of his essence was seated deep within your fertile womb. Panting harshly, Silco collapsed against your back, pinning you beneath him. He nipped at your shoulder, voice a low rasp. "Such a good girl, milking my cock dry. I think you've earned a reward, my dear."

He reached down, fingers sliding through the mixture of their juices leaking from your fucked-out hole. Bringing his coated fingers to your lips, Silco rubbed them against your mouth. "Clean them off," he commanded. "Taste what a perfect little cumslut you are for me."

And you obeyed. And not because you had to, it was because you wanted to. You two were cut from the same rotten wood.

Silco's eyes darkened with sadistic satisfaction as you eagerly licked his fingers clean, savoring the tangy essence of their combined releases. He could feel your tongue swirling around each digit, lapping up every last drop.

"That's my good girl," he praised darkly, voice a low rumble. He kissed the back of your neck and sat down on the couch, taking out a small black box of imported Italian cigars from a table. He lit one and smoked it while looking at you intensely. Both of you naked and satisfied.

When the room finally falls silent again, filled only with the distant murmur of the city, you step away from the window, letting the night breeze brush your skin. Turning around, you notice something you hadn’t seen before: a collection of musical instruments carefully arranged in a corner of the room. A sleek black grand piano, an impeccably designed harp, and a violin that looks well-used yet lovingly cared for.

“Are you a musician?” you ask, picking up the violin with a mix of curiosity and admiration.

“I was,” he replies, his tone carrying a disinterest that doesn’t match the meticulousness of his collection. “A long time ago.”

Without another word, you position the violin on your shoulder, adjusting the bow with an almost automatic precision. Closing your eyes, you let the melody take shape in your mind before playing the first notes of Tartini’s The Devil’s Trill.

The music fills the room, each note cutting through the silence with an almost painful intensity. It’s both a challenge and a declaration, a metaphor that needs no explanation. You play with a ferocity that seems to pull something from your very soul, and though your eyes remain closed, you can feel Silco’s gaze on you, as heavy as a divine judgment.

When you finish, the bow still trembling slightly in your hands, you open your eyes to find him staring at you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a spark of something you’ve never seen before: awe.

“I didn’t know you could play,” he says after a long pause, his words soft but carrying the weight only he can convey.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you reply, carefully returning the violin to its place.

“That makes it all the more interesting,” he murmurs, leaning back into the couch as his eyes follow you with an intensity that seems to strip away every layer you try to keep intact.

Finally, he stands and approaches slowly. His shadow looms larger than it should in the dim room.

“Why that piece?” he asks, his tone calm but edged with something sharper.

“Don’t you know?” you reply, leaving the violin behind. “It’s a piece about ambition. About pacts and obsession.”

“Ah, yes. Giuseppe Tartini said he dreamed of the devil himself playing it. A composition born of the desire to possess the unattainable.” Silco tilts his head, his eyes gleaming with a perverse interest. “Ironic, isn’t it? Sometimes, the most ambitious dreams are the ones that destroy you.”

“I don’t think Tartini saw it that way,” you counter, crossing your arms. “He tried to recreate what he heard in that dream, but he never succeeded. He spent the rest of his life chasing a perfection that only existed in his mind.”

Silco smiles, that subtle, menacing curve of his lips that always leaves you on edge. “Exactly. Isn’t that the true nature of ambition? To chase what you can never have. It’s a curse... and a blessing.”

“And you? Have you chased something you can never have?” you ask, locking eyes with him, daring him to reveal even a sliver of vulnerability.

“I’m not interested in chasing impossibilities,” he replies, though something in his tone tells you he’s not being entirely truthful. “I prefer to negotiate. To make deals.”

“Like Tartini’s pact with the devil?” You let out a brief laugh, devoid of humor. “What happens when the price is too high?”

Silco steps closer, the distance between you reduced to a mere shadow. “There’s always a price, darling. The question is whether you’re willing to pay it.”

“And if I’m not?” you whisper, your words defiant but laced with a tension you can’t deny.

“Then someone else will pay it for you.” His voice is low, barely audible, but the implied threat wraps around the room like a shroud.

The silence that follows is heavy, laden with unspoken meaning. It feels as though the music you just played still echoes somewhere in the dark corners of the room, a reminder that this, this entire relationship, is a dangerous game.

“Do you know why I chose that piece?” you finally say, breaking the silence as you approach the violin again, your fingers trailing over its strings before pulling away. “Because it’s a metaphor.”

“For what, exactly?” he asks, though his tone suggests he already knows.

“For you,” you reply with an enigmatic smile, though your eyes are serious. “For us.”

“A pact with the devil?” His tone is mocking, but there’s something else beneath it, something you can’t quite place.

“A pact we both know we’ll lose,” you clarify. “But we keep playing the melody, over and over.”

Silco chuckles, that low, guttural sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “An interesting comparison. Though, I must say, I’m more curious to see how long the game lasts before one of us breaks the rules.”

“And when that happens,” you murmur, locking eyes with him, “who will pay the price?”

Silco doesn’t answer. Instead, he cups your chin, tilting your face toward him. “Perhaps both of us. Or perhaps neither.”

What happens next isn’t something you’d planned, but neither do you stop it. His mouth finds yours with an intensity that takes your breath away, a mix of possession and defiance that leaves you reeling.

Later, as you stand by the window with the city as a silent witness and the breeze caressing your skin, you realize this is everything he’d promised and more. It’s raw, it’s powerful, it’s inevitable.

And later still, as he sits on the couch with a glass of whiskey in hand, you pick up the violin again. Your fingers glide over the strings with a familiarity that feels ancient, as though this moment was always destined to happen.

As the first notes of The Devil’s Trill fill the air once more, Silco closes his eyes, but you can see the faintest hint of a smile. You don’t need words to understand what he’s thinking: that you are as dangerous as the melody you’re playing. And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

The sound of the violin still seems to linger in the air of the room when you wake the next morning. The first rays of light filter through the vast windows of the penthouse, reflecting off the polished, minimalist surfaces around you. The city below pulses with frenetic energy, but here, at the summit of this luxurious haven, all is still. Silco is not in the bed, but that doesn’t surprise you.

You rise, wrapped in the soft fabric of a shirt that isn’t yours, and find a note on the bedside table. His handwriting is precise, almost artistic, and the words are brief, as always.

“Breakfast on the terrace. We have matters to discuss.”

Your heart beats a little faster, though you’re not sure if it’s from anticipation or the growing sense that you’re playing a game whose ending you can’t predict.

When you reach the terrace, you find him seated in one of the sleek chairs, a cup of black coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other. He is impeccably dressed, as if there isn’t a single moment in the day when he doesn’t have complete control over his appearance. The view of the city from here is dizzying, a constant reminder of the power he wields over the world he inhabits.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks without lifting his eyes from the newspaper.

“As well as someone who struck a deal with the devil last night,” you reply with a wry smile, taking a seat across from him.

Silco sets the newspaper aside, his eyes meeting yours with that intensity that always seems to disarm you.

“I hope you don’t regret it. Though, if you did, it would only make things more interesting.”

“I’m not one for regrets,” you say, lifting your chin. “What about you?”

“Only when the results fail to meet my expectations,” he answers, and you know it’s a warning disguised as a compliment.

Breakfast is a display of luxury: freshly baked croissants, exotic fruits you can barely identify, and a selection of cheeses and cured meats that seem straight out of a culinary catalog. He drinks coffee; you opt for a fresh juice that tastes as expensive as it looks.

“What’s the matter you wanted to discuss?” you ask, breaking the silence after a while.

Silco leans back in his chair, turning the coffee cup in his fingers.

“I’ve been considering the next phase of our… collaboration.”

“Collaboration? How professional that sounds,” you reply, arching an eyebrow.

“Everything in my life is professional,” he says with a half-smile. “Even the personal.”

“And what does this next phase entail?” you ask, trying not to show too much interest, though curiosity eats at you.

“There’s a gala next week, hosted by some strategic partners,” he explains. “I want you to come with me.”

“As your date?” you ask, knowing perfectly well what his answer will be but enjoying the game.

“More than that,” he responds, leaning toward you. “I want you to be my calling card.”

“And what’s in it for me?” you ask, resting your chin on your hand and looking at him with playful defiance.

“More than what you already have,” he says with a dangerous smile. “Your student loans, for example, could vanish with a single stroke of my pen.”

“That does sound tempting,” you admit, leaning closer to him. “But you know I never give anything without expecting something in return.”

“Of course,” he says, his tone cold as steel. “I wouldn’t be interested otherwise.”

The exchange feels like a chess match—every word carefully calculated, every gesture loaded with meaning. But beneath it all, you can sense something more: a tension, an attraction neither of you seems willing to ignore.

After breakfast, he invites you to explore more of his penthouse. Instead of heading straight to the bedroom, he leads you to a room you’d overlooked before. The door is thick and unassuming, but what lies beyond feels like a private museum.

“This is my personal collection,” he says, opening the door with a theatrical gesture.

You’re met with glass cases holding all manner of exotic objects: ceremonial daggers, tribal masks, ancient jewelry, and archaeological artifacts that look centuries old.

“Every one of these objects has a story,” he says, walking slowly among the cases. “And every story has a price.”

You stop in front of a mask carved from dark wood, adorned with gold and precious stones.

“Where’s this one from?” you ask.

“West Africa,” he answers. “It belonged to a shaman who, according to legend, could speak to the dead. He was executed by his own people when the voices began demanding sacrifices that were too great.”

“Macabre,” you say, but you can’t tear your gaze away from the mask.

“Power always is,” he says with a smile.

He shows you a ceremonial dagger, one of his most prized pieces.

“This dagger was used in a ritual that ended with the fall of an empire,” he says, turning it so you can see how the metal catches the light.

“How do you get these things?” you ask, admiring the detail of the hilt.

“Money,” he answers simply. “And the willingness to cross lines others wouldn’t dare.”

The next stop is his library, an impressive space filled with shelves that reach the ceiling, packed with books whose spines are worn and titles written in languages you don’t recognize.

“Some of these books are centuries old,” he says, running his fingers over the spines as if they were old friends. “Philosophy, history, the occult… everything you need to understand the world and manipulate it.”

“Manipulate it?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Knowledge is power,” he says, looking at you with that intensity that always seems to disarm you. “And power is the only currency that truly matters.”

Finally, he takes you to the bedroom. But instead of diving straight into intimacy, the evening takes an unexpected turn when he leads you to the massive bathtub occupying the most privileged corner of the penthouse.

The water is filled with bubbles, the temperature perfect. Both of you are naked, enjoying the feel of the hot water against your skin as the city lights twinkle through the floor-to-ceiling windows. On a floating tray rests a bowl of perfect grapes and a bottle of the most expensive champagne you’ve ever tasted.

“Do you always live like this?” you ask, taking a grape and bringing it to your lips.

“Not always,” he replies, holding his champagne glass with an air of nonchalance. “But I make an effort to enjoy the pleasures the world has to offer.”

“Makes sense,” you say, leaning back to gaze at the night sky through the glass. “Though I wonder if you actually enjoy anything, or if all this is just a distraction.”

He smiles, a smile full of secrets.

“You’re perceptive. Perhaps too much.”

The conversation moves between banter, innuendos, and dangerous truths as the glasses empty and the grapes disappear. The atmosphere is charged but also unusually calm, as if you’re both in a momentary truce in your endless game of power.

For a brief moment, the world seems to stand still, and though you both know this is just another stage in a larger game, neither of you is willing to break the spell.

Night falls over the city like a dark veil, illuminated only by the flickering lights of the skyscrapers and the distant, pale moon. Silco’s penthouse is a refuge of luxury, distinction, and coldness, but tonight, something else flickers in his eyes. The invitation to the opera is his way of showcasing what he possesses, of showing the world what belongs to him. And you, though you don’t entirely understand it yet, know that being part of this spectacle is more than just a simple evening out.

You stand before the full-length mirror in the room, dressing carefully, aware of what awaits you. The dress is black, hugging your figure, with lace details that caress your skin with a touch of restrained sensuality. The fabric flows to the floor, offering only the slightest glimpse of your heels. The delicate neckline strikes the perfect balance between provocative and elegant, while the long, sheer sleeves add a hint of mystery, as if something lies hidden beneath. Your hair cascades in loose waves over your shoulders, dark and gleaming under the dim light.

Your makeup highlights your features: eyes deeply lined, lips a crimson shade that contrasts with your pale skin. You look like a masterpiece, a muse that Silco has no fear of displaying as his own. And though part of that unsettles you, you also feel powerful, irresistible. The image you project is not just that of an attractive woman but of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing, someone who plays with shadows as much as with light.

When you step into the living room, Silco is waiting for you, standing by a window that offers an impressive view of the city. His gaze lands on you immediately, like a predator spotting its prey. He says nothing, just watches you, as if conducting a meticulous examination, a silent evaluation. For a moment, the air seems to still. It’s a mix of admiration and something darker, indefinable, but undeniably present.

"Stunning," he murmurs, barely audible, before offering his arm for you to take.

The limo that picks you up is luxurious, its interior upholstered in black leather with gold accents that shimmer under the soft lighting. Silco remains silent, but there’s something different about his demeanor. His body is tense, as if anticipating something—or someone—to breach his domain. The ride to the opera feels long, though words are unnecessary. The tension between you rises, like the air is charged with electricity.

When you arrive, the building is an architectural jewel, imposing, made of marble and glass. The lobby is grand, with towering columns reaching for the ceiling, adorned with frescoes and floating chandeliers. The opera, the season’s most anticipated event, is in full swing, and you’re the center of attention—but not in the way you expected. As you make your way to the private box, the eyes of the men can’t help but follow you. Discreetly, but you notice—the glimmer of interest in their gazes, the latent desire to approach you, to speak to you.

Silco notices too.

"Interesting, isn’t it?" he says in a low voice, barely audible amid the orchestra’s first notes. "How some men feel so comfortable admiring what doesn’t belong to them."

He turns you to face him, his face impassive but his expression betraying restrained jealousy. The way his eyes trace over you, how his hand rests lightly on your back like an invisible brand, reminds you of the true meaning of this invitation. It’s a reminder: you’re here with him. But also a warning of what might happen should anyone cross the boundaries he has silently set.

"Isn’t it beautiful?" you ask, your voice tinged with genuine fascination as you gaze at the stage. The soprano, bathed in golden light, sings an aria with such intensity that the air seems to vibrate. But your words aren’t just for him; they’re for yourself, for the magnificence of this place that makes you feel both small and immense at once.

"It’s a spectacle," Silco replies coldly, "but nothing compared to the beauty you’ve brought to this room."

You turn to him, offering a slight smile, playing with the idea of provoking a reaction. But Silco isn’t someone easily manipulated. And as the performance continues, you realize what bothers him most isn’t the opera or the perfection of the event. It’s the fact that others dare to look at you, even indirectly, in ways only he believes he has the right to.

Suddenly, as if the opera’s atmosphere weren’t stifling enough, you decide to break the ice and venture into less superficial territory, something more intellectual.

"It’s curious how opera can be so... disturbing," you begin, casting a critical look toward the soprano who seems to sing not just with her voice but with every fiber of her being, projecting an emotion so intense it hurts. "The passion conveyed in every note—it’s not just technique. It’s raw. Visceral."

Silco studies you for a moment, intrigued by your ability to see beyond the surface. "Visceral?" he repeats, a faint smile playing on his lips. "What we’re witnessing is the distortion of human emotion taken to its limit. Artists like her don’t sing for us. They do it for themselves. To confront their own suffering and turn it into something consumable."

"Perhaps," you reply, analyzing the glint in his eyes, "but I can’t help thinking all that suffering has a darker purpose. Sometimes, the rawest emotions are the most genuine. But do we really seek to understand them, or just consume them?"

Your serene yet thoughtful tone immediately captures his attention. Silco leans back slightly in his seat, his eyes fixed on you as the orchestra carries on, though his mind seems ensnared by your words.

"It’s a reflection of human fragility," he finally says, as if speaking more to himself than to you. "Pain, despair. People pay to witness that vulnerability because we’ve distanced ourselves so much from the genuine that we find solace only in reminders of our worst selves."

Your gaze softens, acknowledging the depth of his words without letting them disarm you. You know what Silco is insinuating: his fascination with human darkness, with imperfection.

"And don’t you think all of that is present in us? In what we do, in what we seek..." you say with a faint, ironic smile. "Or do you believe we can escape our own need for destruction?"

Silco stiffens slightly, the atmosphere between you growing even more charged, almost oppressive. "There is no escape," he responds, his tone grave and piercing. "Only acceptance."

"And I accept what I am," you say, holding his gaze, a challenge in your eyes.

A tense pause stretches between you as the soprano’s voice continues to hang in the air. Silco watches you intensely, a mix of respect and dangerous possession in his gaze. "Perhaps you’re right," he murmurs, his voice low, almost a whisper, as he fixes you with a look that burns more than it illuminates. "Perhaps you accept more than you’re willing to admit."

The opera comes to an end, and while the crowd bursts into fervent applause, for the two of you, everything else fades away. In this space between shadows, the words you’ve shared become a tension even more palpable, a line that cannot be crossed without consequences. The opera’s beauty, with its raw passion, becomes a reflection of what binds you together—and, at the same time, what sets you apart.

Outside, under the starlit sky, the air is fresh and clean. Silco escorts you back to the car, and during the ride home, the silence is heavy, filled with unspoken thoughts.

When you reach the penthouse, the tension that’s been building all night finally erupts. The door closes behind you, and immediately, without words, he turns you toward him, taking your face in his hands, his grip firm. But the look in his eyes is something entirely different. It’s possessive, urgent, as if he’s claiming something he always knew was his, though you’ve never fully given it to him.

"I don’t like when they look at you," he whispers, his lips close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "I don’t like when you seek their attention."

It’s a dangerous game, and in that moment, you know you’re trapped. There’s no escape, no alternative. The passion between you morphs into something darker, more controlled, and at the same time, more intense. As if everything he does, everything he gives, is part of a way to mark you, to ensure there’s no doubt in your mind about what you truly are to him.

Before you can react, his lips claim yours in a deep, possessive kiss, and the world outside that room fades away. All that matters now is what’s in front of you. Silco. And the power he holds over you.

The sea stretches out before you like an endless canvas, as vast and deep as the emotions Silco stirs within you. The ocean breeze caresses your skin, carrying away the heavy thoughts you’ve been burdened with over the past week. In this space, everything seems clearer. Yet, despite the stunning scenery, an undercurrent of tension lingers in the air, impossible to ignore.

Your birthday has arrived, and Silco has planned something special, something you never expected. This time, there’s no shadowy gala or opulent halls. Instead, you find yourself in a secluded paradise—a hidden corner of the sea where the elite rarely tread. You’re aboard a private yacht gliding over turquoise waters, far from the city you’ve always known, but close to what is inevitable: Silco.

You’ve dressed more simply than usual, in a flowing white dress that drapes softly over your figure, and a straw hat that partially shields your face, giving you an air of mystery, almost ethereal. The sun beats down mercilessly over the ocean, but the warmth of the daylight is tempered by the cool breeze sweeping over the water. Yet, despite the relaxing atmosphere, the silence between you and Silco carries a weight that’s impossible to ignore.

The yacht is a spectacle of luxury: polished wooden decks, a lounge with glass windows offering panoramic views of the ocean, and a bar that looks like something out of a high-society film. It’s elegant, comfortable, and perfectly isolated—a microcosm where the outside world ceases to exist. And yet, you know you’re not here just to enjoy paradise. Silco watches you, seated in a chair by the railing, his gaze steady, analytical, calculating. Somehow, you know this trip isn’t solely a gift for you.

“This place is perfect, isn’t it?” he says in a calm voice, almost a whisper, as he takes a sip from the wine glass in his hand. “A place where you can think without distractions.”

You look at him, unsure if he’s actually asking you or simply sharing his thoughts. The sunlight casts a special glow over his face, highlighting his sharp features and the piercing gaze that tracks your every movement. The yacht glides further into the water, each passing mile pulling you further away from everything you know.

“It’s beautiful,” you finally reply, but the air remains thick with unspoken tension. “Why here? Why today?”

Silco observes you with a small smile, something he rarely shows. It’s not a smile of contentment but of control, of possession. As if this place, this moment, everything, was orchestrated for you but also for him. And that unsettles you in a strange way.

“It’s your birthday,” he replies, his tone soft but firm. “And while I don’t care for pompous celebrations, I wanted you to have something special. A place where neither of us has to worry about anything but being here.”

You search his eyes for some clue, something to tell you that this is genuine. But you find nothing. Silco has no intention of making things easy for you, and you know it well. Despite the idyllic setting, there’s a palpable distance between the two of you, like an invisible field neither dares to cross.

Shortly after, lunch arrives. A feast prepared for two: fresh lobster, tuna sushi, and an endless selection of wines. The scent of the sea mingles with the aroma of the food, and the sun casts everything in a perfect golden light. But as Silco serves you, his eyes betray something more—something you’ve come to know well: a subtle control over your every action, as though each gesture is part of a scene he meticulously arranged for you.

“Do you like it?” he asks, watching your face as you take a bite. His tone is almost condescending, as though he’s assessing your reaction.

“It’s delicious,” you reply, but the taste is overshadowed by the pressure you feel being here with him. The sun shines too brightly, but his eyes are even more intense, always watchful, always calculating.

“All of this is for you, but it’s also for me,” he says, almost muttering to himself. “It’s easy to give gifts; the hard part is knowing how to thank someone for what they give you. But you’ll see—everything comes with a price.”

Your stomach churns at his words. Despite the dazzling view, the weight of what he’s just said hits harder than the heat of the sun. Silco has gifted you a perfect day, but the price of that perfection is something you can’t help but wonder about. What does he truly want from you? What else is he expecting?

After the meal, Silco approaches you, his gaze never less than piercing, scrutinizing every inch of you. There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes everything once serene feel more complicated, denser. He hands you a small package, his smile teetering on the edge of irony.

“A gift, though you may not be sure you want it,” he says with a low chuckle. “I’ve observed you, and I know what you like. You know I enjoy giving you what belongs to you.”

You open the package carefully, finding inside a diamond necklace—an intricate design that almost seems alive, as though each stone was placed with specific intent. You hold it in your hands, admiring its perfection but also feeling a growing pressure in your chest. The price of this gift isn’t just monetary—it’s emotional.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, feeling the weight of every word you say and the discomfort rising within you. The necklace is the final touch to a stage where you already feel trapped.

“Yes, it is,” Silco responds, his tone almost intimate, as though he knows what it truly means to you. “But don’t forget—everything I do has a purpose. Nothing comes without a price.”

Those words land like a blow. You know this isn’t just a necklace he’s given you but a reminder of his power over you, of what he expects from you. He isn’t merely offering you something beautiful—he’s offering an unspoken contract where you are the one who must pay.

The afternoon drifts by as the yacht continues to float aimlessly in the turquoise waters. The sun begins to set on the horizon, painting everything in shades of orange and gold. Silco never stops watching you, as though measuring you, waiting for something within you to react, for something to break. But you remain there in silence, wondering just how far you’ve fallen into his web, just how deeply you’ve allowed his influence to seep under your skin.

As night falls and the sky darkens, Silco moves closer to you, his presence firm and assured. His arm wraps around your waist with a possessiveness you cannot ignore.

“This is a birthday you’ll never forget,” he murmurs near your ear, the implicit promise in his words more terrifying than any celebration. “No matter how many gifts I give you, don’t forget—you’ll always be mine.”

The sound of the water lapping against the yacht, the whisper of the wind—all of it fades as his words echo in your mind. You cannot escape his control, not while you continue accepting his gifts. And deep down, you know you’re already too far gone.

Four months. Four long months since you entered Silco's world. Everything you knew before seems to have vanished. You live with him, in his house, in his space, isolated from your friends, from your family. Everything has changed, and although a part of you knows things weren’t healthy from the beginning, you’ve grown accustomed to this new reality. You’ve become his shadow, his silent company, an ornament accompanying him in his business and his life, without truly being part of anything.

University is the only thing you have left outside his sphere. You only leave to attend classes, as just another obligation. The campus feels like a distant world, and interactions with your classmates are limited to class meetings, while the other students dive into their own lives. You’re just there, doing what’s expected of you, like an automaton. After classes, you quickly return to the penthouse, as if it were a refuge, though deep down you know it’s more of a prison than a home.

Your friends no longer call, your family barely hears from you. And you… you’ve forgotten how to be yourself. Conversations that once felt light now seem distant, as if they were memories from another life. You’re trapped in a cycle with Silco that you don’t know how to break. Everything you do, everything you are now, revolves around him. The arguments, the fights, the manipulations—it all feels like a whirlwind, a maze with no exit.

Tonight feels different. Something in the air is heavy, a tension you can’t ignore. Silco arrives late, his face hardened by business, by stress. You watch him from the couch, the dim light of the lamp illuminating his figure. You know something is about to erupt. The question is, will you be able to endure it?

He approaches, watching you for a moment, his gaze piercing as always. "Where have you been?" he asks, his tone low, almost uncomfortable, but there’s something more there. It’s not a simple question—it’s an accusation disguised as curiosity.

You rise slowly, feeling the weight of his gaze. "I’ve been here, waiting, as always. Doing what you asked of me," you reply, your voice already laced with the frustration you’ve been repressing.

He studies you, his expression unreadable. "Waiting… for what exactly?" The question is provocative, but also charged with a power you can’t ignore. You feel as if you’re standing on a battlefield, unsure if the war is already lost or if there’s still something left to defend.

"I don’t know what you expect from me," you say through clenched teeth, your hands balled into fists at your sides. "Everything I do, everything I am, revolves around you. I don’t know if you like that or if it disgusts you, but I’m tired of you treating me like I’m just an extension of yourself."

The response comes faster than you expect, his voice turning colder. "I’m not treating you as an extension of myself," he says, every word sharp as a blade. "I’m showing you reality. I’m the only thing keeping you here, the only thing giving you purpose."

The words hit you like a whip. They hurt more than you’d like to admit because, deep down, you know there’s some truth to them. "And what am I to you, then?" you ask, your voice breaking slightly despite yourself. "Just another tool? A piece of flesh to satisfy your needs?"

Silco smiles bitterly, a gesture he rarely shows. "Isn’t that what you are, dear? In this world, we’re all tools. The difference is that some of us hold more power than others. And you, without me, are nothing. I’ve given you everything you have; everything you are now is thanks to me."

The air grows heavier, and your hands begin to tremble, but you try to keep calm. The venom in his words wounds you, but not enough to make you crumble. "I don’t need you to remind me. But what you don’t understand, Silco, is that this isn’t what I want. This isn’t who I want to be."

He takes a step closer, his figure darkening the room. "Then what do you want? To run away from all of this? To live a life of lies, like the others? With your friends, with your illusions? That won’t give you what you really need. You know that. Everything I offer you is the truth, without embellishments."

"The truth?" you repeat, struggling to contain the rage boiling inside you. "The truth is you’re suffocating me. You’re manipulating me, dragging me further and further into your world. What you’re giving me isn’t truth—it’s your version of what the truth should be, your control. And I’m tired of being part of it."

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, you wonder if it’s really possible to escape all of this. Silco pauses, his gaze no longer as intense, but his words still cut deep. "You know you can’t escape this, don’t you?" he says softly, as if he knows something you haven’t yet accepted. "You can’t live without me. You have nowhere to go."

The anger begins to bubble over, and it’s as if all the repressed energy explodes at once. "Of course I can! I can leave! I can… I can go and never come back." Your voice trembles, but the decision is clear.

Silco’s laugh echoes through the room, bitter and cold. "And what would you do out there? Where would you go? The world around you has no place for someone like you. Without me, you’re nothing. And you know it."

A heavy silence fills the air as you both stare at each other, weighing every word, every gesture. "I am nothing without you," you say finally, your voice barely a whisper. "But that doesn’t mean I can’t find myself. That doesn’t mean I have to keep being part of your game."

Silco remains silent, watching you as if he’s evaluating something in your words. His expression is hard to read, but for the first time, there’s something in his eyes you can’t identify—something that looks like doubt.

"If you leave, there’s no coming back," he says in a low voice, an implicit threat in his words. "There will be no place for you in my world, and you know it."

And in that moment, something inside you clicks. The decision is made. It no longer matters what he says. "I know," you respond firmly, your heart pounding. "I know. But I’m leaving."

You turn and begin walking towards the door. Silco does nothing, doesn’t move, doesn’t stop you. But his gaze follows you, weighing on you, one last attempt at control.

As you step through the door, the sound of your heels echoing in the hallway is your only companion. The cool night air greets you, and for the first time in a long time, you feel free. At least for a moment, you can breathe.

Thirty long days have passed since you left his side. A month. Thirty days of loneliness, abandonment, and anguish. Broken promises crash against your chest like an echo, and the constant pressure of an uncertain future devours you from within. You try to survive, but each day becomes harder.

Your university life, once your salvation, is now just a chain tying you to a routine that slowly consumes you. You can’t pay your rent. The overdue payments loom like a black shadow, threatening to swallow you whole. The people who once stood by your side now turn their backs on you. Friends, so conventional, so distant, can’t understand what you’ve lost. Your family doesn’t even try. They’ve rejected you, abandoned you. And amidst all this, your studies remain a distant beacon, an unattainable dream you can barely cling to.

You tried finding a job, but you lost everything as quickly as it came. The university demands more of you, and all you have to offer is the anguish of knowing your world is collapsing while they move forward, oblivious to the darkness consuming you. The days stretch endlessly, and the nights become unbearable. Sadness courses through your veins like a dark current, but nothing, nothing hurts more than his absence. The void Silco left is an open wound that cannot heal. The luxurious life you shared with him, the brilliance of his world—you miss it. The darkness within him, that sense of belonging found only in the depths of wickedness, you miss that too. That is the price you pay for leaving.

One day, without thinking, without knowing what drives you, you decide to return. You don’t care if he rejects or humiliates you. The only thing you know is that you can’t go on without him. The city looks dull and cold from the heights, but Silco’s building draws you with a dark, almost magnetic force. Your steps are slow, heavy, each one closer to the truth you’ve been denying. When you reach the door of the penthouse, doubt strikes you, but you don’t stop. You know. You can’t escape him.

Silco is there, waiting for you, as if he knew you would return. As if he knew the absence was only temporary, that nothing could keep you apart for long. His presence fills the air, heavy and dense, as always. And yet, there is something more in his gaze—something dark and satisfied. Silco is not the kind of man who is surprised by others’ decisions because, in his world, he is always in control.

“You had nowhere else to go, did you?” he says in that deep voice that takes your breath away, his tone so full of certainty you can’t respond. “You’ve realized it, as you always do. No one understands you. No one knows what you need, what belongs to you. Only I do.”

His words pierce through you like a knife. You know he’s right—there is nowhere else you can find what he gave you. The void left by his absence is something you cannot fill. No one else understands you. No one else has seen the darkness you both plunge into and embraced it. Silco is everything you are, everything you know.

You move closer to him, wordless, eyes downcast, a silent plea. Silco smiles, his gaze softening for just a moment before growing more intense. He steps toward you, as if advancing over familiar terrain—a battlefield he already knows. He watches you intently, as if he can read every thought in your mind.

“I knew you’d come back,” he murmurs, touching your face with a dangerous softness, a touch devoid of affection but full of possession. “You know, don’t you? You can’t live without me. You never will. You’re too broken to be free, always have been. You can’t stand being away—you know it.”

You nod slowly, unable to speak, unwilling to say anything more. The only truth is that you need to return to him. You cannot escape.

“You’re mine,” he continues as his fingers slide down your neck with palpable possession. “And you know it. No one else does, not even you. But I’ll remind you always, until you die. Because everything you are, everything you have, is mine.”

Before you can process his words, he steps back, and with a disturbingly calm demeanor, he pulls a small case from his pocket. He opens it slowly, revealing a black diamond ring. The jewel gleams with a macabre luster, as if it has a life of its own. He looks at it, then offers it to you. “I gave you everything. Now, I want what’s mine completely.”

The ring, with its dark color and incalculable value, hypnotizes you. You don’t need to think—you can’t think. In that moment, you surrender. You know what it is and what it means, but the idea of being entirely his draws you in with unstoppable force. You accept without hesitation. It feels as natural as breathing.

“Yes,” you whisper, the word flowing from your lips like a sentence, and you feel the world begin to revolve around him again.

He smiles—a cold, satisfied expression—and takes your hand, sliding the ring onto your finger with unsettling precision. “I knew you would. I knew you couldn’t escape. No place is safe enough for you. You’re mine, and you’ll never leave me.”

He moves closer to you, his face mere inches from yours. “Because only we understand what we truly are. No one else has seen the darkness like we have. No one else appreciates it. We deserve this. All we have left is this bond, this darkness. Why fear it when we can embrace it together?”

Your lips brush against his, and the dark passion overtakes you like a flame consuming everything in its path. The kiss is deep, almost destructive. There is no sweetness in it, only savage voracity. In his arms, you finally feel like you belong to something, to someone. You are his. And for the first time, everything feels right.

In that moment, the world shrinks to just the two of you. Nothing else matters—neither the university, nor family, nor friends. Only him and you, immersed in a darkness only you two understand. The ring, the seal of possession, is the final bond tying you together—a reminder of the inevitable.

Silco looks at you, his eyes dark yet filled with a satisfaction you’ve never seen before. “Welcome home,” he says in his deep voice. And for some reason, in this moment, all you can do is nod, surrendering entirely to the shadow that surrounds you, to the darkness that calls you.

[luvstappen]

“My pretty girl” ???? I fucking love this fic but also why’s Lando constantly overstepping and now touching ?? I wish Oscar would say something to him or do something in front of Lando to make him back off 😤

ahh, I was blushing when I was rereading their conversation honestly! that line wasn’t even planned, it just came to me while writing, and I was like… oh god, that’s genius! 😭

and lando's such a complicated character, to be honest. he knows y/n’s been crushing on him for years and now he’s jealous that oscar’s getting her attention. in his mind, he kinda feels like he’s entitled to her, like he was "there first", but at the same time he’s kicking himself because he knows he’s been treating her unfairly.

that being said, lando doesn't really mind overstepping because he's already fucked things up, so what’s the worst that could happen? y/n rejecting him? he'll live. things are already kind of awkward between them anyway. honestly, rejection might even be a win for him. if max found out about them sleeping together, lando could easily spin it and say, "yeah, I really liked her and tried to make things serious, but she rejected me and chose oscar instead. so, it’s her fault, really" - that way, he can still preserve his ego while framing himself as the one who got hurt (not saying this will happen in this story!!! just what’s in my mind when I’m writing his character. also, his approach might change at any point because, you know, character development)

meanwhile, oscar is the complete opposite. he’s cautious and considerate, maybe even to a fault. he knows that there's something between y/n and lando, and he’s not really the kind of guy to go after his teammate’s girl, is he? he's not going to overstep. he won’t make a move unless he’s sure it’s reciprocated. plus, his friendship with the reader is still new, so he’s treading carefully. and getting on lando’s bad side isn’t exactly his goal either.

but that’s what makes the contrast between them so fun to write! lando is quite impulsive and selfish when it comes to Y/N, while oscar is patient and steady. and I think it's up to the readers to decide which dynamic resonates with them more!

my characters are always a little messy but that's probably because I try to make them human :) I definitely aim for the "you're gonna suffer... but you're gonna be happy about it" type of writing lol

[germesthegenie]

“You can have all you ever wanted…

I know. But I don’t want it… no, I can’t want it, anymore.”

- Defying Gravity, Wicked

Different context overall, but given I recently watched Wicked with my family those lyrics came to mind during this scene from Shadow Interlude 5d

Recently got to binge through the first half of Arc 5 (up to 5.8 atm) after very slowly getting through Arc 4 (mostly because of no time to read), thoughts below:

Arc 4 was a nice slower pace arc that seemed to mostly serve as setup for Arc 5 so far, giving some time for the therapy team to shine and get some development, Rain especially with probably the most interludes I’ve seen for a single character’s POV.

The Dream Room is interesting, seeing the same event from all the different perspectives of the cluster members (Love Lost’s hurt especially ouch). Like even without Kiss/Kill dynamics, I can see how getting a replay of your or someone else’s worst day every night would make you really want to hurt the guy responsible.

Victoria and Sveta’s relationship and scenes together are really cute. Would I ship them if I didn’t also like Sveta and Weld? Probably, but their dynamic is still great as friends (though Sveta does have 2 hands (technically a lot more than that ig))

The fight between Hollow Point / Therapy Team and Advance Guard was neat, big cape vs cape fights that aren’t big A-S class threats are interesting. Seems like there’s more of that to come in the chapters after this so looking forward to that

Prancer to me seems to essentially be a parallel to Skitter in her Warlord era, or at least how the PRT perceived her. Sure, he may not be the biggest threat around, but he’s entrenched himself pretty deep in his territory, keeping heroes out. If he chose to escalate, or someone overthrows him and takes what he’s built, it could become a problem.

Speaking of Skitter, oh boy the Undersiders are back! The gang’s back together, as the… antagonists? A bit complicated atm since as always they’re fighting a bigger threat while also creating trouble for the heroes. Never change, Tattletale.

Mama Mather’ power is horrific and very befitting someone leading a Simurgh cult. And her son’s the guy with the crazy Master that Skitter blinded? And he found a workaround? Oh that’s gonna be fun…

[bloopitynoot]

Reading TGCF: Chapter Five

For those who don't know, I am reading TGCF for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag Bloopitynoot reads TGCF. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read BUT if you followed along with my SVSSS read, the rules and vibe are the same.

Happy New Year!

I was doing new year's day things today (playing boardgames and making steamed buns) so tonight I have my night time tea with this chapter (chamomile).

This is probably the cutest tea I own; the little flowers bring me so much joy. I also hope it knocks me tf out so I get a good night's rest before I go back to work from break tomorrow XD

Let's go chapter 5!

Oop! I was not expecting the boy to have a face of several faces! p143

Oh no baby! Come back, poor kid :( p145

(This art though- it does NOT do the description justice! I was expecting way more baby faces and for it to be significantly more frightening. He just looks like a sweet lil guy. I still want to adopt him and cook him soup.)

Okay but tell me why I love the dynamics between Nan Feng and Fu Yao? These little bickering cuties. Like get married already. p145

BYE. "Please, your cross-dressing wasn't that terrifying" p146

Human Face Disease :( How'd he get it though? pp146-147

omg. Xie Lian brought the body of Xiao-Ying into the tea shop. This guy is going to owe so much in reparations to the shop owner. p148

Good for Fu Yao for affirming Xie Lian's gender presentation! We love a supportive king! "Was I talking to General Pei Junior in this dress the whole time? Nan Feng, why didn't you remind me?" "Probably because you looked so obviously happy in it," Fu yao replied. p148

Jeeze. This woman is too much. Not Xuan Ji offering the corpses too. I thought this was the work of the Green Ghost but it really was her working for him this round. p152

okay! Butterfly man is Hua Cheng and WTF four calamities??!! p153

oooo! He sounds so dang cool! A ghost- rad. Wraith butterflies; even cooler! Crimson Rain Sought Flower- so hot. p155

Wait! and he is a shapeshifter?? pls the fic potential, I am so stoked! p156

AND he's powerful??? Say less, I'm already rooting for this Chaotic Neutral Icon. pp157-158

HE'S ALSO SMART?? What is this guy's weakness?? p158

Same xie lian! The death butterflies were cute! p161

I hope we see more of the little man

I am so sad Xie Lian couldn't find the Human Face Disease and centuries old (probably) boy. I loved that little guy. He really seems like he's been through it.

BUT ALSO! We have Hua Cheng's name, and some info that may or may not be rumours? I will take it though.

[chubbybunny25]

picture this: nico & percy go on a picnic date by the river styx

mrs o'leary is probably with them (percy insisted on bringing her), there's definitely blue food (also thanks to percy) and they're probably secretly hiding from hades the entire time

percy ends up eating most of the food while simultaneously chatting nico's ear off but nico thinks it's one of the best dates he's had. and it puts how much percy is okay with nico's underworld side into perspective for him considering percy's there voluntarily (much better than will)

~ inhabitinganotheruniverse

(so when I reblog this I look less strange lol)

Oh my gosh!! Yes!—a hundred times yes to this, Pip 🥹 I am having so much brainrot here.

First, how do they open the tunnel to the Underworld again? Does Percy sing? (I know he canonically can't, but I'd like to believe that somewhere in the future, his voice evolves to like that of sirens >.<) Or... does Nico sing? Like you know, maybe something Italian, or Latin, or just Christmas-y ("Silent Night" is the first thing that I can think of) that he remembers from his past. Either way, both of them are mesmerized and whipped.

Then, ofc, which part of their relationship are they having this date? Are they boyfriends? Or husbands (like an anniversary thing)? Or... (crazy i know) Percy just "kidnaps" Nico because Nico is too stressed with Will and Percy knows Nico misses the Underworld, too. They go there as "friends" :3 If it's the latter, their "picnic stuff" comes later when Percy calls Mrs. O'Leary from the shadows and she has a cute bag with Sally's baked goods and something she made for Nico only.

The general dynamic of the date that I can imagine is Percy just being Percy, telling Nico what happened during his first visit in the Underworld, downplaying what he did and how he survived and Nico is just... in love. But also, a bit of angst is when Nico remembers how he betrayed Percy. BUT! BUT!

I remember that after Nico's betrayal in the books, Percy dreamed of Maria di Angelo and how she was kill*d. I have this hc that Percy thinks his swim at the River Styx was bad because of the floating memories that he couldn't quite grasp, but when he thinks really hard about it, Nico living in the modern world without his memories, is like a daily swim in the River Styx. Ugh, I wish I am more coherent for this. Let me just pull up what I wrote before:

Anywaaaaay. This idea of them having a date by the River Styx is a sign of courage and acceptance, a thing that only they could understand. I think at some point, Styx appears and coos at how they're enjoying their date and suddenly says, "You don't have the Curse of Achilles anymore, but I'm glad you ended up with your anchor after all." Percy and Nico are just 👀

Plot twist: Hades knew all along and somewhere in his palace, Persephone is teasing him how he softened for a son of his brother, after all.

Lmao. Pip, this has gotten out of hand. But yeah, yapping about percico is our thing, so ig you get it 😆

[luna-the-cretar]

Me, at the start of C3: I’m not gonna try to ship anyone, I’m just gonna enjoy their dynamics and see how it goes :)

Fearne and Ashton’s dynamic: *exists*

Me:

Me: fuck

[evelynpr]

Congratulations My Hero Academia for providing, possibly, the biggest and longest legit straightbaiting yet in shonen history.

Bonus points that their final chapter was released on yaoi day.

[silversinfinity]

MEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

(there's like a whole google docs worth of notes and compliments under here, you've been WARNED)

Okay first of all I'M so thankful that YOU are my friend!!! I'm so glad you came into my inbox a few years ago to talk about G/ojo LOL, and I like cannot express how much I love and cherish the online space you've created for myself and our other close friends. I'm still so soooo shook that we actually spent time together in person this year too?? Ahhhh 🩷🩷🩷 you are so special to me!!!! AND THIS FIC IS SO SPECIAL TO MEEEEE 😭😭😭 I know the point was to cater it to me but GIRLLLL YOU CATERED TO ME FR FR YA KNOW?? 🫣 IM LIKE !!!!!! Okay okay okay OKAY

I'm like rereading so I can properly comment on everything but like I wanted you to know I made a whole affair of reading this thing. Literally set up a nice hot bath for myself so I could relax and just have the full privacy to eat this thing up uninterrupted. It's not just a fic, it's an EVENT!!!! 🤩

And I was like so GIDDY like thrashing around and kicking my feet and shit... I don't know if these notes can properly get across like the SHEER physical joy of reading something like this so I have to put a disclaimer here LMAO

Okay I've literally told you this so many times but I have to say it again... you are so so SO good with Reigen's mannerisms and the way he interacts with people, like I can literally see him SO vividly in my mind <3 and it just feels so natural and real too, the first few paragraphs of him just interacting with a client I was just nodding like yeah! Yeah yeah yeah! Yeah! Ya know? Yeah! Idk, I feel like I have a hard time writing and feeling good about those casual interactions outside of the "starring" characters (I really don't know why LOL) so I'm always just really impressed when it feels as natural as this! I notice it across your other fics too, not even just this one!! You're my idol fr 🤩

I'm getting ahead of myself but you def had me guessing what the offending allergen would be in this fic LOL. Like oh, the Christmas tree, I seeee 🤩 but then I was like oh? Dusty boxes?? Okay I SEEEE 🤩🤩 but then you hit me with BOTH?? And I'm like YEAH BABYYYY 🤩🤩🤩 SHDHDHJS Seriously though it kind of brought back the same excitement and whimsy that I felt when I was much younger and JUST starting to discover snz fics... I know I'm getting way too deep here about it and making no sense LOL but it's true! It's like... perhaps I've taken having access to so many beautiful fics as an adult for granted in a way? Idk idk this just caught something in my soul 😭

AWAUGHHG Him referring to Serizawa by his first name and Seri still feeling so startled by it had me so 😭😭😭 I love this dynamic so much oh my GOODNESS. Was this your first time writing them with the explicitly dating dynamic?? I know I've missed some of your fics so maybe it isn't the first time but REGARDLESS!!! It really adds another layer to their dynamic but you took it in stride, you're just a master with these two I SWEAR!!! 😍😍😍

Ummm shoutout to your spellings?? Literally all OF THEM???? OH MY GOD????? The variation is SO good, I was really and truly pausing on each one to imagine them in my head 🫣🫣🫣 and boy HOWDY did they sound DELICIOUS!!! 👹👹👹 like if you're trying to kill me via short circuiting my brain over and over and OVER IT'S WORKINGGG

Also I know I said not to be afraid to go heavy on the snz description but WOOOOOO YOU REALLY DID!!! you really did, YOU REALLY DID 👹😍🩷🫠 I feel like I've noticed you lean more heavy on those descriptions across your fics too regardless but it just REALLY felt like a lot here 👹👹👹👹👹👹 I'm like flattered to have someone be so generous just for MEEEE 🫣

OH!!! OHHHHHHH NOT TO mention the description you used to describe Serizawa's response to Reigen sneezing??? HELLOOOOOO I TRULY could put myself in his shoes SO easily!! Like that initial bit about him fighting with his instincts to not let the sound of Reigen burn into his brain???? GOD! GOD!!!!! 🥵 So fucking REAL!!! It also feels like extra EVIL when it's a character that's already so nervous or awkward by nature LOL it really suits him so well 😭😭😭😭😭 rip serizawa

Ohh also I love the holiday theme for this 😭😭 I mean I know this was a secret SANTA thing but the holiday theme wasn't a requirement ofc! It's just such a cozy choice, like just wrap me up in this fic and I will be SO warm and toasty... TRUST

Serizawa reminding Reigen they need some of the old paperwork for taxes made me LOL 😭😭😭🫶🫶🫶 but also origami ornaments?! That's such a cute idea I'm taking NOTES!!!!!

REIGEN SAYING THE MATCHA IS SWEET LIKE HIM... GOD ITS SO CHEESY BUT I CAN HEAR HIM SAY IT SO VIVIDLY?!!? did you like summon these guys and allow them to possess you as you wrote it?? Because it SURE seems like it!!!! How do you do it girl omg!!!!

The fit Reigen has when he's untangling the lights...I felt that in my fucking BONES GOD 👹👹👹👹👹👹 LIKE UMMM THAT DESCRIPTION ABOUT HOW SERIZAWA COULD SEE HIS! WHEN HE MOVED HIS HEAD! AND COULD TELL HE WASN'T DONE!!!! AND THEN SEEING THE EVIDENCE ON HIS SLEEVE!!!!!!!??????WOOOOOOWIEEEEEE 🔥🔥🔥🔥 its so like perfect to have it from a snzfucker perspective and written FOR a snzfucker bc those are the details we would ALL notice no doubt 🤩 FUCKKKK

The detail mentioning that Reigen mainly has these kinds of fits when the pollen count is high GOODBYEEEEE IM PASSING AWAY 💀💀💀 RIP ME (AND SERIZAWA) FR FR

"unyielding sans the arousal they created." Idk where the gif is of the guy touching his pen to the paper and the paper starting on fire, but THAT'S YOU WRITING THIS SHIT 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 I LOVEEEEEEEEE

Man not to be horny every god damn time this guy sneezes but the FUCKING FIT WHEN HE WAS HALFWAY THROUGH THE LIGHTS???? OHHHHHH OH OH OH I CAN HEAR IT!!! ITS IN THE FUCKING ROOM WITH ME!!! ITS HERE!!! REIGEN GET OVER HERE SO I CAN CHEW YOU LIKE A DOG TOY OKAYYY

and 👹👹👹👹👹👹 WHEN SERIZAWA GOT STERN WITH HIM IN THE MIDST OF THAT TO ASK IF HE WAS FEELING OKAY????????? 👹👹👹👹👹👹👹 do you want me to die because I can feel the light fading out of me with each passing second HELPPPP LMAO. Idk it is SOOO sexy when he gets forward/stern/etc with Reigen, it's such a delightful contrast from his normal demeanor AWOUGHHHH

Ohhhh my god when reigen first noticed serizawa's uhhh! Yeah! And immediately got in the mood... idk serizawa is stronger than me because I simply would've passed away HAHAHHAHFBFBD why is he soooooOOOO 🐕🐕🐕🐕 AROUGHHHHHHHH (that's the dog in me)

IM LIKE YELLING OVER THE RELATIONSHIP DISCLOSURE BEING HUNG ABOVE THE BED LMAOOOO THAG IS SO CANON?!!;?;!;!; Nas you didn't tell me you were THE author of mob psycho but like CLEARLY YOU ARE!!!!!!! 🩷🩷🩷🩷

Hhhhh dude the tension of that "oh fuck he knows" moment for serizawa is so brief but so fucking heavy AHHHHAHAHA THAT SHIT JUST GETS ME!!! And following it up with the immediate acceptance and softness (or sexual tension in this case 👹👹👹) MAN!!! GOT ME FUCKED UP FR FR!!! I can like feel my heart in my throat for him but also my heart just feels so warm??? Ya know???

REIGEN GRABBINF HIM BY THE BELT LOOPS LIKE THAT 🥵🥵🥵 I NEED THAT TO BE ME RN I mean. What. WHO SAID THAT!!! SHDHHFDHS seriously though I'm living through serizawa like I never have before rn OHHHHHHH MY GOD!!! There will never be anything more self indulgent than reading a fic through the eyes of a character with the kink, while their attention is focused on the character you wanna fuck. LIKE!!!!

REIGEN GOINF STRAIGHT IN AND BEING LIKE "what would happen if I [redacted] again right now?" OKAYYYY WHAT IF I DIED RIGHT NOW??? WHAT THEN???? Mr Arataka you are far too hot and smooth for your own GOOD 👹👹👹 SOMEONE STOP HIMMM

Okay idk if I can even properly comment on a lot of the nsfw sections because it is just so FILTHY!!!! 😍😍👹👹 Like fr you're pressing all my damn buttons... and your descriptions are just so delightful and they flow so well, like the pacing and development of just like! Everything happening is just so sensual and satisfying to read m!! Idk idk sex sometimes feels so clunky to write but you've just perfected it here istgggg

And omfg i already talked about this but the way reigen dirty talks him via snz stuff...CHRIST!!!! JESUS CHRIST!!!!! SORRY BUT THAT JUST DOES IT FOR MEEEEEE 🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵 HRGHHH

Serizawa just using his powers to finish the lights as soon as he realized it might delay them having fun is SOOOOO fucking real HAHAHA. I really love this side of him that seems to come out once he's had the "permission" to be openly horny with his kink... like he's so damn bold here WOWWWIEEEE

Damn why is reigen getting hives from the tree kindaaaaaaaaa... didn't know that that would ever do anything for me but I guess we are learning things today!!! (this is maybe cancelled out by the fact that everything reigen does ever is just kinda sexy 🤩 even when he's failing like idk man 🤩🤩🤩 anyways JSDNBFDJS)

Omg omg serizawa disapproving of Reigen keeping the tree around all the time even immediately post horny euphoria is so cute to me 😭😭😭 and like it's sexy tbh... like sex and sneezing is fun but you know what is also fun?? CARING FOR EACH OTHER'S WELLBEING 😍😍 SHNDBDBS

"Can I have you?" UGHHHHHHHHHHH 👹👹👹👹

"He stifled a sneeze in Serizawa's neck." SERIZAWA MOVE I NEED THAT TO BE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

*ahem*

I know most of these notes is basically just me like yelling and calling Reigen sexy LOL, usually I would be more thoughtful (like with writing styles and prose etc etc) but I don't know how else to truly get across my joy... I hope it entertains you even half as much as I was entertained by this gift 🫶 like honestly I could sit here and just tear this thing apart letter by letter and I would never be done praising you... literal PEAK fic, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH 🩷🩷🩷🩷 THANK YOU FOR MY LIFE 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

christmas bonus - ser/irei - m/ob p/sycho

cw: nsfw, allergy snz, kink reveal, ~4.6k

kink!seri/zawa

hiiiiii @silversinfinity im ur secret santa. <33 i really hope u like this. im very grateful to call u my friend. i tried to write more but did not want to get too sappy in the a/n ily!!! merry early christmas

The day had started out with more promise than most days for Reigen Arataka and his wallet. One of his regular clients was so pleased with the last aroma express experience, that she’d promised him a Christmas bonus. Reigen had expected, well, cash, but as per usual, reality was a bitch and left him in a state of disillusionment. 

The large potted pine tree stood proudly in front of the window and he forced a smile as he took in the sight of it again. Forgive him if he was still wary of trees. It would always be too soon, but the customer’s smile was so wide and genuine that it deepened her crow's feet and Reigen couldn’t find it in himself to make her feel bad for trying to do something nice.

“Thank you so much,” he said to her with a slight bow, face contorting in psychic pain as he looked again at the incriminating path of needles all over the floor as if he hadn't just vacuumed yesterday.

“I hope you like it. It’s one of our best pines.”  

“Oh, it’s wonderful.” 

“I’m so glad,” she said, with her hands clasped together, “I’ll be sure to tell my friends all about your company and your fine services.” She gave him a wink as if her husband weren’t waiting outside in the truck he’d used to bring over the tree. Regardless, Reigen quickly shook her hand and offered her multiple business cards to distribute before she could pull away. 

They exchanged a few additional pleasantries before she left, leaving him alone with the tree. He began looking at it from a few different angles to gauge its potential, wondering all the while if he even had enough items to decorate it properly. It took up a lot of space but also wasn’t overly invasive at the same time. He supposed he could work with this. 

Decorating for Christmas would probably draw people into the store, and perhaps the real bonus would be that it would bring in business. He exhaled and pounded his fist to his palm in resolve. He hadn’t decorated the store for Christmas since his first year at Spirits and Such, but figured he had no excuse now that he had a tree, so he went into the closet and pulled out an old dusty storage bin. 

As he returned to the lobby, the door jingled and he set the bin on the table so he could give his full attention to filling in Serizawa on the current situation.

“Hey,” Serizawa greeted him with a handsome smile and set two hot cups from the nearby cafe down on the table. In his peripherals, he noticed a large green blur and turned his head to get a proper view of the new addition. “Oh… I see we have a tree now.” 

“We do,” Reigen said, pointing at him with enthusiasm. “Get ready, Katsuya, I have a new special project coming your way…” He paused to smirk at the slight blush from his partner in business and more at the still somewhat new use of his first name in the office. After he'd created enough suspense, he gestured towards the tree. “We’re gonna decorate this thing.”

“I thought you wanted me to balance the checkbook tonight.”

“Ah, but…” Reigen trailed off, brow furrowed as he started to feel an itch prickling at the back of his sinus cavity. When it didn’t subside, he raised a finger and ducked into his inner elbow to sneeze. “HGSCHhx’ue!”

“Bless you.” 

“Thank you. Oh…wait…” He squinted as he quickly realized he wasn't done and took a step back, turning away from Serizawa to sneeze again, the sound loud and resounding in spite of his attempts to muffle it against his sleeve. The hairs on the back of Serizawa’s neck stood up as he stood there, unable to do anything but watch and listen. “IhhGSCHh’ew!  h-hehH… EHDSCHhu! Ah, sorry, this lid’s pretty dusty.” 

Figuring that would be the end of it, Serizawa hummed sympathetically and averted his gaze while Reigen unpacked the bin while sniffling and wriggling his nose. He subtly flexed his thighs and put his hands in his pockets and tried not to let the sound echo in his mind on repeat against his instincts to want to remember it for later. A few deep breaths, and the sensation passed for now.

Reigen produced a tangled mess of red garland and string lights and placed it on the table, too preoccupied to notice the way Serizawa’s posture had stiffened. As he unpacked globe ornaments wrapped in tissue paper, he added, “Anyway, we can do that later. I already took the box out, and unpacked it, so…”

Serizawa sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He’d already forgotten what they’d been discussing merely a minute ago and was too distracted to make an argument about priorities; in all honesty, he’d need a few moments to be able to focus on anything important at all. 

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt that much to wait on it,” he conceded. “I’ve actually never really done Christmas decorations. Seems like fun.”

“That’s the spirit.” Reigen clasped his shoulder and let his hand linger. “We could make some origami ornaments out of our old paperwork.”

“I…” Serizawa started, palms raised apologetically, “I can try but I’ve never really done that before. Also, some of that we need for taxes.”

“We have some old fliers that never got sent out.” Reigen waved his hand dismissively and continued to think out loud. “I can do ninja stars and cranes at least, but we’ll figure it out later. I only have a limited amount of actual ornaments, we don’t want it looking too half-assed, y’know?”

“Do you think this will bring people in?”

“Yep, the general public loves festivity during these dark, dark times, plus it’s a good photo opportunity. Even if it doesn’t, we can take a company photo and send it out to our regulars.” He rambled on, sniffling a few more times as the itch hadn’t yet been quashed. Serizawa considered offering him a tissue, but didn’t want to embarrass him. Finally, he noticed the cup on the table and grinned. “Oh, what’d you get me?”

“They had new matcha lattes with vanilla.”

“Thank you,” Reigen said emphatically and brought the cup to his lips, taking a careful sip. “It’s good, really sweet…like you.” 

“I’m glad you like it.” Serizawa bit his inner cheek at the compliment and rather than respond directly, distracted himself with his own drink and sat beside Reigen on the couch. He watched him untangle the string lights from the garland, hands moving haphazardly until one of the knots came undone. 

“We can start with this.” Reigen gave him a triumphant grin like he’d won a settlement in a small claims court. 

Serizawa nodded. Reigen made swift work out of the detangling process, and was nearly done when he suddenly paused, his shoulders raised, his brow furrowed. For a moment, Serziawa wondered if he’d changed his mind or if something was wrong with the wire, but then his breath hitched again and he only recognized the wavering gasp as a predecessor to a desperate sneeze as it happened in real time. 

“heh’IHGSHHhyue!” This time Reigen was late with bringing his sleeve up, and he was able to catch a glimpse of the way his upper lip curled and the bridge of his nose wrinkled from the intensity of the itch, indicating he wasn’t done.

“Bless you,” Serizawa said, barely getting the words out before it happened again.

“hH’GHSCHhue!-”  This time managing to cover it more effectively, though the sneeze itself failed to relieve him at all.

“Bless—“

“Heh’EHDjtSHHu! Hahh.” Reigen sniffled quickly, and cuffed his sleeve over his nose to prevent any leakage, only to struggle against another sneeze, and through his fluttering eyelids caught Serizawa’s gaze. “ehH…sorry. Just a s-second…h-hh! hehH’DtSHHhew!” 

Serizawa was sure that if he said bless you again that the desire would spill out into his tone, so he swallowed the dry lump in his throat, tried not to look at the way the sneezes had left a dark gray spatter along his sleeve, and asked, “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine, thanks.” Reigen sniffled hard and nodded again and rubbed his septum up and down with a hooked finger. He took a deep breath and sighed. “Excuse me. I don’t know what got into me there.” 

Serizawa crossed his legs and tried to ignore the way he sniffled for the rest of the process of separating the lights from the garland, but it was impossible as his problem grew with each one. When the lights were finally untangled, Reigen coiled the wire over his arm. Serizawa was mesmerized by the way his nose continued to scrunch as it fought off the lingering irritation, but the longer he looked, the more the blood rushed south, so he studied the ornaments on the table. Reigen was right, these probably weren’t enough to completely decorate the whole tree, but he figured they didn’t have to do the parts that weren’t visible. 

“Anyway, uh, wanna help me hang them up?” Reigen asked, punctuating the question with a quick sniffle. He was swinging the plug back and forth, and as if he were hypnotized, Serizawa nodded. He was about to use his abilities when Reigen plugged in the lights and started wrapping it around the base of the tree, pausing to hurriedly sneeze again, poorly containing it against his sleeve, and leaving another visibly damp spot when he pulled away. 

“Bless you,” Serizawa said just as breathlessly. It wasn’t too unusual for Reigen to have this prolonged of a sneezing fit, but they were generally exclusive to times when the pollen count was high or he’d caught a cold. Even when he dusted around the office it generally only triggered a sneeze or two. Yes, he was counting. 

Reigen still wasn’t done. His nose wrinkled as he vainly tried to avoid a repeat performance to no avail. “heDSHhh’huh! eHehh-!…Ahem. Excuse me.”  

That one had sounded particularly harsh and throat scraping, broadcasting the fact that the itch was so potent that it had spread to the roof of his mouth. With a concerned frown, Serizawa moved to grab the tissue box off of the desk. It was a good enough excuse to turn away and calm himself down enough to face him again. 

“Here,” he said, holding out the box. 

Reigen shook his head. “I should be done now,” he claimed. 

Serizawa gave him a skeptical look when he immediately sniffled again and rubbed his nose aggressively, but to his credit, his wavering breaths were unyielding sans the arousal they cultivated. The tree shook as he continued dressing it in lights. Serizawa watched, figuring he’d jump in if Reigen couldn’t reach the top, but in spite of his invitation to help, he seemed to have it under control and likely needed a few moments to collect himself too. His hands moved efficiently, rarely faltering on the branches. He was more than halfway finished when he suddenly cursed, head snapping back as if he were pained. 

“What’s wrong?” Serizawa asked, noting the way he was gritting his teeth and closing his eyes. “Did you stick yourself?” 

He quickly realized how naive his question was when he heard a sudden telltale gasp.

“nGKtSHhuue! hehH’KNGtzsh!” Reigen answered with a set of poorly stifled sneezes hastily aimed into his shoulder. His eyes were watery as he entirely let go of the lights and left them in a state of limbo to grab a bunch of tissues which he hurriedly shoved into his nose. He’d only managed a pitchy gasp before erupting into a full blown fit. “hhH’IGHshhu! hH’ISHHhew-! H’DZTsshew! hh-hihH-! Hh’NGT’tuh! Oh by god.”

“Bless you.” Before he could second guess himself, Serizawa placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him and gave it a gentle squeeze. A look at his face told him he was trying to ignore the unrelenting itch that had been bothering him this whole time. Serizawa’s face softened when Reigen rubbed his eyes. “Hey, will you answer me honestly?”

Reigen nodded, his lips parted as he breathed slowly through his mouth to starve off the tickle. He’d ended up popping his ears with the last attempted stifle.

“Are you catching a cold?” he asked gently, his arousal subsiding in favor of making sure he was actually okay. 

“No, nhhoh. -hGKSHhu!” Reigen caught another sneeze with the soaked wad of tissues and finally resigned himself to shrugging off the hand on his shoulder and turning away to blow his nose. “I mean, I don’t think so. I’m just…itchy.”

“Really?” Serizawa couldn’t help but give him a skeptical look. 

“Yeah, It’s a real pain, but it’s nothing serious. I—” 

He cut himself off when Serizawa put a palm to his forehead, gently pushing up his bangs and revealing the healed scar by his hairline. Aside from glowing cheeks and a Reigen-typical amount of sweat on his forehead, he felt no signs of fever, though it was always possible he’d taken an aspirin. He let his eyes linger just for a moment at the way Reigen rubbed his nose with his knuckle, their hands brushing briefly. When he raised an eyebrow, Reigen elaborated. 

“I swear I was fine when I woke up, and all day really. It’s definitely just allergies.” He held his palms up defensively, somewhere between touched and embarrassed to have someone paying this close attention to him. Serizawa had caught him with a fever once at work and had never let him forget it; he didn’t think he could live down being forcibly escorted home again. 

Though plausible, Serizawa had to wonder what could be setting him off in the beginning of winter. Maybe some dust had really gotten up his nose, after all. There really was a coat of dust on the plastic bin, after all.

Just when Serizawa thought his mind couldn’t get further into the gutter, he noticed a tear forming in the corner of Reigen’s eye and before it could travel down his cheek gently thumbed it away until he was framing his face with his palms. When Reigen leaned into the touch, he obviously felt the erection poking into his hip and Serizawa caught a microexpression of genuine surprise cross his face before it settled to a more flirtatious one.

“Okay, I’ll bite.” Reigen smirked and looked up at him through his lashes. “What’s got you all riled up, hm?”

“You,” he said honestly. Then he leaned in and kissed him. Their lips met clumsily at first before falling into a somewhat experimental rhythm as Reigen tried to breathe through his mouth in between kisses. 

Reigen anchored his hands around the back of Serizawa’s neck and moved closer until their bodies were flush. He could feel the way Serizawa’s erection pressed into him, further confirming his arousal and inspiring his own. Just as he was about to ask about it, he could feel his nose start to itch and run again. 

“Sorry.” Reigen abruptly pulled away and sniffled frantically and gestured to the tissue box. He gave a hurried chuckle and explained, “I’m kind of a mess.”

“Ah, here,” Serizawa said, retrieving the tissues, sheepishly adding, “I forgot where we were for a second there.”

“To be fair, it is after hours, so...” Reigen pulled some tissues and swiftly blew his nose, looking up with a microexpression of self consciousness that Serizawa was beginning to notice more and more. Tongue in cheek, he added, “Just don’t file any sexual harassment claims, yeah?” 

Serizawa rolled his eyes, remembering how Reigen had him sign a relationship disclosure form when they’d started dating. It was framed in his bedroom. Well, it was a studio apartment, but it was on the wall next to the bed. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” 

Reigen shrugged. “Anyway,” he started, one of his eyebrows disappeared behind the shade of his bangs. “I’m curious.”

Serizawa stiffened in anticipation. Oh god. Of course he’d wonder. Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t—  

“What about this is doing it for you? It’s not like you have a thing for sneezing or something, do you?” he joked. 

The silence on Serizawa’s end along with the look of mortification was more telling than a simple yes would have been. His brain scrambled to think of a response, but nothing came to mind. Instead, he gave an apologetic smile and nodded. 

“Wait-! Wait..Really?” Reigen also blushed, looking like he was about to eat his shoe. For once, he seemed speechless.

“Yeah…” Serizawa said, gauging his reaction over the pounding in his ears. The floor could swallow him up and he’d accept his fate easily. “If that’s too weird, I understand.”

“What?” Reigen asked incredulously, placing his hands on Serizawa’s hips and pulling him in by the belt loops on his pants. “You think I’d draw the line at something like that?” He leaned in close so his lips ghosted the shell of his ear and murmured his desire to know more into his ear. “It’s sweet. I like seeing you all riled up.”

A chill traveled down Serizawa’s spine in contrast to the overwhelming heat his body was both producing and withstanding somehow. He relaxed into Reigen’s touch. “What do you want to know?”

“Hm. Everything.” He tapped his chin. “Here’s a softball first, though. What would happen if I sneezed again right now?” 

Serizawa’s erection throbbed and he was sure the arousal was written all over him, and he made no attempt to hide it. 

“Oh, is talking about it enough to get you going?” Reigen drank in the look in Serizawa’s eyes, the redness and sweat on his face, the way his posture had shifted, the bulge in his pants. He palmed him and felt him over his pants, the friction only fanning the flames as he deliberated. “Y’know, I do really have to sneeze again. I was actually trying to hold back because, well, y’know. I didn’t wanna gross you out or anything.”

Serizawa was suddenly all too aware of his body, of the fit of his pants, of the way he was starting to burn up. “I…Should we really do this here?” 

“Eh, the tree’s blocking the window and the door’s locked.” Reigen smiled. “What do you say, Katsuya?”

Serizawa nodded, hand framing Reigen’s cheek and traveling to pull him in by the hair for another kiss. Reigen smirked into his lips and yanked his belt undone with one hand and making quick work of lowering his pants. He pulled away for a moment to lower the band of Serizawa’s boxers enough to free his cock, watching hungrily as it bobbed up and down briefly before settling upright. 

“Something tells me you’re not gonna last long enough to go to the back room,” Reigen whispered. 

With that, Serizawa grabbed him by the collar and claimed his lips again, emboldened by the lack of reason to downplay how deeply his lust ran. He pushed Reigen down onto the couch and straddled his lap, kissing him on his mouth, jawline, then loosened his tie to teethe at the sensitive skin of his neck in a way he’d learned makes him moan. Their clothes half off, he paused to look up as Reigen’s nostrils flared in irritation. They’d already adopted a pink hue. 

“Why don’t you tell me what you want?” Reigen asked coyly, his hand wrapping around his shaft and lightly stroking it. They were impatiently half dressed and dripping. “I wanna hear you say it, Katsuya.” He inadvertently left no room for him to answer as he sniffled a little too sharply and immediately crumpled into a sneeze, squashing his nose against the back of his opposite wrist. “Hh’GTzSHhew!” 

“Fuck, bless you…” Serizawa breathed. He groaned as he leaned into Reigen’s hand, chasing any amount of friction.

“Oh, you really liked that,” Reigen purred through his congestion. He continued to mouth off, consonants rounded with congestion as if Serizawa needed more of a reminder of how desperately allergic he was. “Too bad we didn’t…heh-! h’eiSHhiew!- sndff! We didn’t finish decorating yet. I know you’ve been saying that we shouldn’t go onto the next project before finishing the first all week and all.” Hot pre rolled down to Reigen’s hand as he tightened his grip and jerked his cock, giving him only a small taste of bliss before teasingly letting go. 

Serizawa’s eyes rolled back as he groaned in arousal and figuring it would be faster than attempting to argue with Reigen even in this playful and intimate context quickly waved his hand and finished hanging the lights with his powers and then added the garland and ornaments for good measure. “There. Now there’s nothing in the way.”

“Look at that.” Reigen whistled. He hadn’t expected him to actually do that, and looked at him with awe and batted his eyes. “Wonder what we could do with all this extra time…” 

Serizawa leaned into Reigen’s ear and said in a hushed tone, “You’re driving me crazy. I want you to touch me more. And harder. And…” he trailed off, losing the courage to complete that sentence. 

“You’re driving me crazy too, baby.” Reigen guided Serizawa’s hand down to his lap to show just how much he is enjoying himself, before returning his attention to playing with Serizawa. He was overly sensitive, and every glide of Reigen’s hand kept him from being able to form a singular coherent thought. “You can tell me.”

“I want you to sneeze on me,” Serizawa admitted, managing to look him in the eyes. There was no trace of mockery in his expression, though there was some amusement.

“It’s funny, I was worried about doing that by accident before.” Reigen kissed him and lightly bit his lower lip, tugging it back a bit before releasing it and praising him. “Didn’t realize this would be such a turn on for you. I’m glad you told me. Kind of a win-win if you ask me.”

Serizawa let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding and slowly undid the buttons on Reigen’s shirt. He felt up his bare chest, noting how it was expanding unevenly and looked up to see his face scrunching up in irritation, wide eyes struggling against the reflex to flutter shut. “Let me see?”

“Are you hehh-! Are you sure?” He sniffled and scrunched up his nose to try to fend it off longer, determined to extend the anticipation as much as possible this time.

“Yeah...please,” he said, breathlessly bucking into Reigen’s hand. They’d only just started and he was inches away from finishing. His expression itself was enough to do him in. 

“hh-hhH-! I’m gonna snheeze-!” In a mix of compliance and an inability to hold himself back any further, Reigen sneezed uncovered, spray lightly misting over his exposed cock. “hH’EDSHhhew!” Serizawa moaned loudly, his cock twitching in Reigen’s tight grip. His vision blurred as he watched Reigen throw his head back, just long enough to gear up for another wrenching sneeze and give his cock another clench. “hdSHHhiew-! hehhH…hh-iHDSChhew!”

Serizawa made a guttural noise as he came harder than he’d ever come before and outright moaned in bliss at the skillful way Reigen leaned in and lapped up the molten liquid with his tongue. He was sure that even if he weren’t gripping him, he’d come anyway. 

“You’re so fucking hot, Arataka…” Serizawa said, as he slowly descended from that high. 

When he glanced down at the way Reigen was stroking him gently and milking out as many remaining waves of pleasure as possible, he noticed a few pink bumps on his hand and grabbed it to take it into his own for closer inspection. 

“You’re starting to break out in hives,” Serizawa murmured, kissing his wrist, noticing the way Reigen’s eyes widened, a stray tear rolling down his cheek. Serizawa thumbed it away gently, furrowed his brow in thought and added, “You’re allergic to the tree, aren’t you?”

For a moment, Reigen didn’t respond, his expression blank. He looked at the tree for a moment, then back at Serizawa and raised an eyebrow. “If I am, I guess I’ll have to keep it year-round, huh?”

“Arataka…” As horny as the thought made Serizawa, he managed to give him a look of disapproval. Reigen attempted to tug his hand back, breath hitching, but Serizawa didn’t release his hold, instead, pinning his hands down to the cushion and kissing him again. “Can I have you?”

“Yh-“ Reigen opened his mouth to respond but sneezed again instead. “ihH’SCxHHhew!” This time it was so obviously congested that Serizawa brought the box of tissues over and pulled some out for him. 

“Bless you.” Serizawa pushed up his hair and kissed the scar near his hairline. His nose was an irritated red with a pair of puffy eyes to match, sitting there a completely unabashed allergic mess.  

Reigen hid the lower half of his face behind the tissues and blew his nose. He was disheveled, his shirt wrinkled, suit jacket discarded, tie haphazardly hung around his shoulders. When he pulled the tissue back there was still a sheen to the underside of his nose and down his philtrum. He coughed into his fist, his poor nostrils flaring from the force. 

“Was that too much?” Serizawa wrung his hands. “We should get you some antihistamines.” 

Reigen, to his surprise, chuckled. Even his laugh sounded dampened with congestion and he quickly had to grab another tissue to pinch off the threat of mess spilling out. “I’ve honestly never enjoyed having an allergy attack this much.” He rubbed Serizawa’s back tenderly. Reassuringly, he added, “I really like everything we’re doing and I’ll definitely take some later, but I’m good to keep going. I’ll…y'know, let you know if I need to stop.”

Serizawa hummed in suspicion. 

“Promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” He kissed him softly and maneuvered down to attend to his cock, kissing him below his navel and up the base of his cock, smiling as he drew out a needy keen from Reign. After additional teasing, he began sucking him off and listening to the moans and expletives spilling freely from his mouth. He was always so vocal during sex, and between that, his throbbing cock, the look of submission, hands in Serizawa’s hair, and the little sniffles in between, Serizawa had to fight to keep his own dick from respawning.

“You’re so fucking good baby.” He moaned as Serizawa took him in deeper, tongue gliding over his shaft. His lips were tight and his grip on Serizawa’s hair tightened. “Shit, Katsuya. Don’t stop. I’m getting really…huh…close.”

Serizawa hummed around his throbbing cock and sped up, tightening his lips until Reigen gasped and yanked his hair and thrusted into his mouth, sweet and thick cum spilling down his throat as he huskily groaned his name and swore out a string of curses that barely made sense. God, he loved him. 

“I love you too,” Serizawa responded, sporting a surprised but genuinely happy smile. Evidently, Reigen hadn’t meant to say that aloud, because he went red like a tomato.

“Well…I was gonna buy some mistletoe and set the mood better before saying that,” Reigen mumbled under his breath, panting as he returned to earth. “I guess this works, though.”

Serizawa pulled Reigen in close and kissed him again, more tenderly this time. Reigen returned it quickly, hands roaming over Serizawa’s back as if he couldn’t get close enough, so it was surprising when he randomly pulled away when their tongues had just started touching.

“hKNdTCH!” He stifled a sneeze into Serizawa’s neck. 

“Bless you.” Serizawa kissed the crown of his head and fixed Reigen’s suit jacket. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

[anonymouscheeses]

They are everything to me.