#like a Godly vision

[omenfailure]

ʚ Tea Headcanons

Rennala loves jasmine tea. She would make it for her kids before bed so they could enjoy it together, before Radagon left.

Mohg drinks whatever tea that Varré makes, it's tastes like oolong with a cinnamon aftertaste. Varré has a knack for it.

Ranni would share tea and biscuits with Iji and Blaidd occasionally throughout the week, they'd get together reminisce or discuss plans. Seluvis was invited, but he kept insisting on preparing the tea himself. Blaidd and Iji grew fond of jasmine tea as well.

Malenia doesn't drink tea, but she will have it if Miquella makes it. Whenever he makes tea for her, it alleviates her pain at least for a bit. It has a citric tinge with floral aroma.

Radahn was invited to sit with the elderly scholars during his studies at Sellia, discussing spells and gossiping during his academic days. His favorite became bergamot tea.

Tanith has tea with Rya, telling her about the world and the rich history of the Lands Between. Rykard used to join when he wasn't a giant snake creature. Sometimes Tanith and Rya bring their drinks to Rykard's chamber so they can finally spend some time together.

[lambouillet]

Human bishops from youuurrs truly. It's been so long since I've drawn normal humans I don't think any of my anthros really match up with the faces I draw, it's fun but it always takes a while to get right. Sniffles. lineart/sketch below because i enjoy it.

[rynli]

Suddenly seized with visions of DE if Harry had kept his horse instead of trading it for an MC

[moeblob]

So it occurs to me that I posted most of their lore on my OC blog (though a few posts on here have the story info) and honestly I think it's very important to note that the entire reason a guy from Florida is recruited to help defeat the demon lord isn't him as the hero. His younger brother (by about ten years younger) is the Chosen Hero and... not very good at it. So the goddess (Solei) who had selected the hero has to begrudgingly go back to earth and convince his older brother to help save her world.

(Also Reynold admits to Solei that "Sascha could never be a bad influence. He's the best impulse control I've ever had" and she really doesn't like to hear it. That's terrifying.)

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

on the cn meeting jg, imagine.

like them realizing the power differences even just for like regular them like say hu tao there.

lmao cn childe being like omg rex lapis level pls fight and jg zhongli is just so happy he can have a proper fight without holding back, since his rex lapis power levels are balanced out by being in a mortal body (even if the spiritual energy makes him not really mortal-mortal)

and then jg childe being like :0 damn i'm weak

(also i am begging you please tell us what happened in the abyss is it like cn (ik u won't tell here bc spoilers but pookie please childe reveal soon))

RAHHH BRAINROT ZC BRAINROT

the childe abyss reveal shouldn't take all that long actually, p sure it should happen shortly after the qingce meetup if what i've planned works out

[ourlordapollo]

One time I had an extremely vivid dream about falling off a bridge way up in the fucking mountains and now every time I see a local TikTok filmed on. a bridge. in the mountains. I go "HOLY FUCK IT'S THE BRIDGE FROM MY DREAM."

NO, genius, it's the Pacific Northwest. Every mountain bridge west of the Cascades looks exactly the same 😭

[fear-is-truth]

THE GREEN EYED MONSTER — bruce wayne

MDNI ┆warnings: smut. jealous bruce

BRUCE WAYNE didn’t think of himself as a jealous man. jealousy was irrational, unproductive—a crack in control, and control was the very foundation of who he was.

“h-aah—bruce,” you arched beneath him, hands scrambled for purchase, one curling into the damp hair at the nape of his neck while the other clutched at his shoulder. his thoughts churned even as his body stayed attuned to yours. “bruce,” you whimpered again, half a plea, half surrender.

bruce’s mind stuttered, unbidden thoughts clawing their way back. that investor at the gala—what was his last name? langley? no, it was something else. didn’t matter. bruce could recall the man’s face with infuriating clarity.

but what burned brightest was the handshake: his hand lingering in yours just a beat too long, bordering on intimate. the subtle breach of etiquette set bruce on edge. then the man leaned in, voice dipping low as he murmured something meant only for you, the words drowned out by the clinking of champagne glasses and soft murmur of the crowd. your laugh had followed—light, polite, the same one you’d offered to so many others that evening. you’d likely forgotten the exchange entirely. just you being you—sweet, approachable. but the rasp of the man’s smoker’s laugh lingered in bruce’s memory, coarse and unwelcome, grating against his nerves like sandpaper.

muscles drawn taut, his hips moved on their own accord, driven by a dangerous mélange of frustration and lust. the next thrust was rougher than intended, forceful in a way that bordered on needy, and it stole a sharp gasp from your lips. you arched against him, body yielding with desperate eagerness that sent a shiver of triumph through him.

“nnngh–hah-”

could he make you sound like this? bruce wondered, his jaw tightening as his mind darkened. could he make you dig your nails into his back like this, leave those fleeting little crescent-shaped reminders?

his pace slowed, the haze of primal lust lifting as rationality began to reclaim its hold. his forehead pressed against yours, eyes shutting briefly before reopening. bruce tilted his head slightly, seeking your gaze. your pupils were blown wide, kiss-bitten lips swollen and parted, breasts heaving with every laboured breath. you didn’t seem to mind the newfound edge in him; if anything, it appeared that you enjoyed it.

could he make you shiver like this? could he have you matching his every thrust, cumming so many times but still craving more, your body pliant yet demanding?

“f-fuck,” he ground out, his sweat-damp forehead falling against your shoulder as he drove himself closer, deeper. until bursts of white danced at the edges of your vision, every nerve-end alight.

could he-

drunkenly, you reached for him, fingers weaving into the hair at the nape of his neck and tugging just enough to coax a guttural groan from his throat. that simple action unraveled his jealousy, scattering it like ash on the wind. his mind snapped the answer into place with startling finality.

no, bruce decided. he couldn’t.

your head tilted back to fall on the pillow as he dipped his head, warm lips found the edge of your jaw, trailing up as he sought the delicate curve of your ear. you felt his teeth grazed your earlobe—a soft, teasing nibble. a sound escaped you, high and needy, and it must’ve sparked something in bruce because another thrust that made your toes curl in welcome to the glorious stretch of his cock.

eyelids fluttering open, you glanced up at bruce, the faint glow of the room casting shadows across the sharp angles of his face. his brows furrowed in concentration, hair curling damply against his temple, and above you, he looked godly—untouchable, yet entirely yours. you barely had time to drink in the sight of your lover before he tilted your chin toward him, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss that stole your breath and any lingering coherent thought. there was a brief clash of teeth before it softened into the warm yet insistent press of his lips, the demanding slide of his tongue as though he had something to prove—not to you, but to himself.

he reared back before snapping his hips forward again, earning another stretched moan from your lips as you felt him nudge against your cervix. once more, his name slipped from your mouth in the form of a broken whine when he broke the kiss, dark gaze smouldering as he studied your face—drinking in every detail like a man starved, and the corner of his mouth twitched with a satisfied smirk.

you clenched around him, felt that pulsating warmth through the thin veil of slick and sweat. it wouldn’t take long for you to fall apart once again, not with the multiple orgasms he had bestowed upon you earlier and the frantic pace he was moving now. bruce drove into you one last time with a strained grunt, sheathing himself to the hilt.

you couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment your climax began or where his met yours—all you knew was the overwhelming surge that overtook you both, cresting like a tidal wave. your vision blurred, edges dissolving into brilliant white, and a broken cry slipped from your lips as your body trembled uncontrollably. your fingers clenched, digging into his shoulders, while your muscles turned molten, leaving you boneless and weightless, as if you were melting into him. the low, guttural sound he let out against your neck sent another shiver through you, tethering you to the shared euphoria that left nothing untouched.

the vice-like grip on your hips slackened, and you could feel his cock continuing to twitch and spasm as he thrust lazily inside you, grinding his cum as deep as it could go.

he should’ve felt satisfied, but instead, there was something else—a knot still twisting low in his chest. his jealousy had burned out, but in its place was something else, that made his heart ache.

“did i hurt you?”

“no. you were…” you paused, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his forearm. “perfect.”

a faint exhale left him, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. bruce pressed his lips to your forehead, lingering there for a moment longer than he usually did.

could anyone else make you look like that?

he didn’t have to ask himself. he already knew the answer.

[dragon-ascent]

Imagine being able to see people’s elemental aura. If they bear a vision, the energy around them takes the color of the corresponding element. So Pyro users have a burning red-orange energy flickering about them while Dendro wielders are draped in a calm deep green. Only you can see their aura, perhaps just a special (but mostly useless) gift you were born with.

Which is why when you start working for Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and are introduced to Zhongli, you’re freaking out that you can’t tell anyone he’s actually the Geo Archon who is supposed to be dead.

Shimmering golden rays with a glare so intense they may just be exploding stars suspended in sunlight…yes, the aura around him is simply unmistakable. The Dendro Archon’s wavelength was of a similar intensity back when you attended the Sabzeruz festival. The appearance of the Raiden Shogun during Irodori had you beholding a similar feeling.

Zhongli’s every action only confirms it, not that confirmation was ever needed. His knowledge is too vast to be that of a young man, his mannerisms more ethereal than worldly, his gait steadier than stone.

Soon enough, he takes notice of the way you’re always so jittery around him – but he chalks it up to you being a naturally skittish thing. So he tries to alleviate your nerves by talking to you any chance he gets…not that that helps because his every word has you even more on edge.

“So true, bestie!” you blurt out after he’s told you something that’s gone in one ear and out the other. “Speaking of, isn’t it so sad that Rex Lapis is dead?”

Zhongli pauses, eyeing you curiously. “My dear, this is the third time this week you have brought up the topic of the Geo Lord’s death. Has it affected you so? Please take comfort in that He remains in all our hearts, watching over us common folk from the afterlife.”

He’s mocking me, I just know it! you think, your cheeks heating up as you try not to stare at the divine golden aura crackling around him.

One time, as (un)luck may have it, you accidentally bump into him and spill coffee on his beautiful suit. “Oh gods! Forgive me!” you wail, getting onto your knees. This time…this time he’ll certainly show you his godly wrath…maybe skewer you with his spear…or summon a fissure to swallow you…

But Zhongli is chuckling softly, dabbing at the stain with his lovely embroidered handkerchief. “Please do not fret, my friend. This is nothing a wash will not fix.”

You then insist you’ll cover the cost and get it cleaned, to which he eventually accedes. Holy…when he takes it off to reveal his cream-coloured shirt underneath, it’s like his aura gets even more blinding. It takes everything in you not to just throw yourself at his feet and sing his praises.

(How gorgeous he looks as he works the rest of the day with his coat off.)

He warmly invites you over to his place for tea when you come to return his coat, now cleaned; the house is as well-kept as he is. As night falls, the glow around him only strengthens in response. You can’t stop yourself from asking, mid-sip of your well-made tea:

“What’s Rex Lapis doing working a salaried job?”

[rxmye]

hello!! can you make hcs about a desperate yandere? thank you so much!! 🫶

" 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐏𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐄 . . " — desperate yandere headcanons . . masterlist | requesting rules . .

gender neutral reader / yandere oc x reader / yandere content / pathetic yandere / obsessive and delusional behavior / worshipping / suggestive (?) content / kind of culty behavior tbh /

Desperate yandere, who's willing to do anything for an ounce of your attention, who's willing to dig through the trashcan for hours just to find something that he can preserve, yanderes who have they're time solely devoted to you and things that can impress you.

Desperate yandere, who go so far as to memorize your schedule, habits, just to catch a glimpse of you while your walking through a certain street or hall . . desperate yandere's who'll never get tired of the noises you make, the pattern of your breathing, the sound of you walking, the way you sigh when something bad or inconvenient happens . . the face you make when you see them . .

Desperate yandere, who crave every inch of you, who can't get enough of you . . Who's hyperaware of your presence, your voice, your touch, the little things you do, the way your facial expressions change ever so slightly when you're upset.

Desperate yandere, who's willing to change so much for you, finding your playlists, memorizing your taste in music, finding out your favorite foods, forcing himself to like and enjoy it, just as much as you do . . letting every one of your interests become one with himself, letting himself be so consumed in you, that he almost forgets who he is entirely . . because what is he, if not loving you . .

Desperate yandere, a yandere so involved in you that he loses himself, one who can only think of you, it's no wonder that they're such a madman, who wouldn't be, when you're the only thought that he allows to rot his already rotten mind, corrupting him whole. . You are his demon and his angel, all at once, you are everything.

A yandere so desperate, that he finds himself slowly growing detached from himself, watching you from a distance no longer satisfying him, a yandere who's so consumed in his delusions that he finds his way into your live, creeping into every edge and corner of your very being, as you did to his, if you could ruin him, corrupt him, bend him to your whims . . . isn't it only fair for you to cleanse him of his suffering as well?

A desperate yandere, who's vision of life is distorted, who see's you as a being so above those around him, a Godly figure, a deity, if you're a saint then he is your servant, and if you're the devil . . then he's your slave.

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[jhyoos]

Fight For You

boxer!abby x model!reader

summary: you meet abby at a high-end party.

mentions: fame au, modern au, everyone is alive, mentions of ed, smoking, drinking, romance, angst, smut, fucking in the bathroom, oral & fingering (r!receiving).

author note: suprisingly this was highly requested ! very long fanfic so get something to eat!

You were a model—not a household name, not a face plastered on every billboard in Manhattan or Paris—but you walked. You moved. You made it somewhere. You’d been in a few Vogue spreads, dimly lit behind the star of the page. You’d walked Victoria’s Secret runways, wings stitched to your back like borrowed dreams. You weren’t the centerpiece, but you were there, shimmering in the glow of flashbulbs and eyes that didn't always see you.

As much as girls romanticized it—modeling was war. Polished smiles in front of the camera, but behind the scenes? It was elbows out, lips stitched shut. A competition of bone counts and measurements, where praise sounded like “you finally look thinner” and love came in the shape of hunger.

When you first started, your manager had you on diets so strict they felt like rituals—punishment masked as discipline. Celery sticks for breakfast, water for dinner, shame for dessert. There were nights when your body rebelled, when you’d throw everything up until your vision blurred and your ribs ached. You smiled anyway, because that’s what pretty girls did.

Then came the miracle.

Victoria’s Secret reached out. They wanted you—a new Angel. And God, you flew. You cried in the back of your Uber, mascara bleeding into your palms. When the official post dropped on their Instagram, your phone lit up like a Christmas tree. Follows. Blue checks. Brands. People cared.

And yet... people commented.

Under the glowing announcement, buried between the fire emojis and “she’s perfect,” came the venom. “She’s too thick to be an Angel.” “She doesn’t have the face for it.” “Bet she slept her way in.”

You told yourself not to look. You did anyway. You always did.

And you tried to brush it off. You liked the positive comments. You reposted the good ones. You told yourself the hate came with the fame. That it was just noise. But even angels have soft spots under their wings.

You weren’t famous-famous. You were known. Seen. Not always remembered. But in a world that wanted you to be skin and air, you were something real. And that, maybe, was enough.

Abby Anderson was everywhere.

Her face graced the cover of every major sports magazine—ESPN, Women’s Health, Boxing Monthly—always front and center, gloves slung over her shoulder like royalty, like muscle wrapped in silk. When competition season rolled around, her image lit up city billboards like neon prayers. Times Square. L.A. Live. Hell, even Tokyo had her gritted smile above the skyline.

She wasn’t just known—she was inevitable.

Her Instagram was a force of nature. Millions of followers, all eyes on her knuckles, her callouses, her workouts, her smirks. The caption could be two words—“Try me”—and it’d break the algorithm. Her fans called themselves the Anderson Army, flooding every comment section with love, awe, thirst. Her fights sold out in minutes. Pay-per-view numbers shattered records. Even people who didn’t watch boxing knew who she was.

Abby was a beast in the ring. Some called her a bull—not because she was reckless, but because she was unstoppable. Every match she walked into, she didn’t just win, she dominated. Her fists moved like poetry written in blunt force. Her footwork was tactical, brutal, almost unfair. Opponents fell before the second round like they knew what was coming.

And she looked damn good doing it.

Viral TikToks caught her mid-punch, sweat-glossed and godly, jawline sharp enough to cut diamonds. There were fan cams edited like music videos. Tweets that said, “Abby Anderson could knock me out and I’d say thank her.” Gym clips turned into thirst traps. She didn’t try to be hot—she just was.

She had the fame, the fans, the money, the muscles, the girls who lined up for a chance to be close. And her team? Top-tier. Nutritionists, trainers, publicists, stylists. Everything about her life looked like it was curated for a champion, and it was—because she earned it.

Every scar, every bruise, every early morning and broken rib—it paid off.

Abby Anderson had the world in a chokehold, and the world loved it.

Your friend was the kind of model who didn’t just walk runways—she owned them. Her name alone got invites to the most exclusive parties in the city, the kind of places where no phones were allowed but everyone knew everything that happened anyway. You were surprised when she asked you to be her plus-one.

“Please come,” she’d said, voice syrupy over the phone. “Some other friends are coming, but you're the only one who doesn’t drink. Help me make sober choices, yeah?”

You laughed softly but agreed. You couldn’t say no—not just because you cared, but because deep down, you wanted to see it. That other world. That forbidden, neon-lit underbelly of the elite.

She helped you pick out a dress, too—that dress. A black, sequined slip of a thing that clung to every curve like it had been sewn on with whispers. The neckline plunged like a dare, held up by the thinnest black straps. A small silver clasp cinched the cutout just beneath your chest, the only thing keeping the whole thing from unraveling completely. It was short—dangerously short—and it shimmered with every breath, every turn, catching the light like stars stuck to your skin. Paired with simple black heels and your hair down in soft waves, you looked like temptation bottled.

The party was already in full swing by the time you arrived.

It was hot—humid with bodies and bass, sweat and perfume clinging to the air. The kind of party where everyone was somebody. The room reeked of status, of secrecy. Celebrities you once idolized were tucked into dark corners, drinking like they were trying to forget their own names. Others were laughing too loudly, eyes glassy, pupils blown wide. The scent of weed, champagne, and something chemical lingered everywhere. A haze of smoke floated near the chandeliers like a ghost.

If only the paparazzi saw this. The unfiltered version of fame.

Your friend tugged you by the wrist to a booth she had rented out—elevated just enough to overlook the dance floor like a throne. You sat down, pressing your thighs together on the cold leather couch, the sequins of your dress crackling faintly. You nursed a single drink, barely sipping it as the others around you knocked shots back like water.

Laughter. Slurred voices. Someone snorted something off a phone screen. You stayed silent, posture poised, eyes scanning. Watching.

Eventually, your friend stood, swaying just a little. “I’m heading to the dance floor with them,” she said, already halfway gone.

You nodded, a little uneasy, but you understood. This was her scene.

Now it was just you. Sitting alone in a storm of sound and sweat, the only one not drunk, not high, not tangled up in the mess. Just quiet, calm, and breathtaking in your dress like a still frame inside a film reel spinning too fast.

You lasted longer than you thought you would—sitting pretty and still, the only clear head in a room full of beautiful chaos. But it was starting to crawl under your skin. The sound, the heat, the way the air felt like it was breathing you in. Your nerves were humming too loud for comfort. So, with a quiet sigh, you got up from the booth and decided to make your way to the bar.

Eyes followed you the moment you stood. Like hounds catching a scent.

You kept your gaze low, trying not to make contact. You weren’t here to mingle with the rich tweakers and chemically confident heirs of nothing. Every time someone tried to strike up a conversation, you gave them a single word—“No.” “Sorry.” “Taken.” Short. Sharp. Enough to cut without bleeding.

Then someone touched you.

A hand, too firm, closed around your arm. You stopped cold. Turned.

His face was familiar—he might’ve been in a movie, or maybe the son of someone who was. But his pupils were so wide they swallowed the color of his eyes, and the whites were streaked red like cracks in glass. He wasn’t just high. He was gone.

“Hey…” he slurred, breath sticky. “What you doing all alone?”

You flinched at his tone, at the sway of his body. Your stomach twisted, but you managed a polite, strained smile. “I’m not alone, sir. I’m here with my friends.”

“Mm,” he grinned, like he didn’t believe you. Like he didn’t care. He tugged your arm, pulling you closer like you were some party favor to unwrap.

Your heart skipped in fear and instinct—your fingers grabbed at your arm, trying to yank free.

“You got a boyfriend?” he asked, voice low and greasy.

“I—”

Before you could answer, you felt a heavy hand on your shoulder. Solid. Protective. Warm.

“Fuck off,” a deep voice growled behind you. “She’s with me.”

The guy froze. His hand dropped like he’d touched fire.

You turned your head—and there she was.

Abby Anderson.

She stood tall, her shadow swallowing the guy whole. Muscles carved into her like she’d been sculpted, not born. Her jaw clenched just enough to say try me. The air shifted. The guy muttered something, barely audible, then backed off into the crowd like a kicked dog.

You exhaled for what felt like the first time in minutes.

“Thank you so much,” you said, voice still shaky with adrenaline.

“No problem,” Abby replied, eyes steady on yours.

Then she looked you up and down—slowly, deliberately. Her gaze lingered at your dress, lips twitching in approval. “You want a drink?” she asked.

You nodded. “Yeah... I was on my way to the bar.”

“Perfect,” she said, her hand brushing your lower back. “Let’s go.”

The dance floor was a different world entirely—smoke in the air, lights strobing in pulses of red and gold, bodies packed so tight you could feel the music in your bones. It wasn’t dancing, not really. It was moving, grinding, existing too close and not close enough all at once.

Abby held your hand as she led you through the crowd like she knew exactly where to go. Her grip was firm, grounding. She stopped in the center, surrounded by heat and rhythm, and turned to face you with a look that was half playful, half something deeper.

You bit your lip. “So this is the part where you pretend to dance?”

Abby chuckled, hands already settling on your waist. “Nah. This is the part where I let you lead and pretend I’m doing something.”

The bass thumped through the floor, into your heels, your spine. You started slow, swaying your hips to the beat, your hands brushing up Abby’s chest to hook behind her neck. She followed your rhythm effortlessly, bodies pressed just enough to tease, but not quite enough to satisfy.

She was warm, solid, her scent sharp and clean beneath the smoke and sweat. Her gaze didn’t leave yours—not for a second. Not even when your thighs brushed, not even when your hips tilted forward in a soft, suggestive grind.

You felt her breath catch. Yours did too.

You tilted your head up, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Still pretending?” you whispered.

“No,” she breathed. “Not anymore.”

Her hands slid down to your hips, pulling you flush against her. Every motion was slow and deliberate, like she was trying to memorize how you moved, how your body fit into hers.

Your hands were in her hair now, fingers threading through the strands as your mouth hovered near hers, your noses touching, foreheads brushing.

And then—

She kissed you.

Right there on the dance floor, under a flickering red light, while the whole room spun and bodies crashed around you. Her lips crashed into yours with a heat that left no room for second thoughts. It was messy and perfect, her mouth tasting like whiskey and victory. Her hand slid up your back, cradling the base of your neck like you were something precious, and the kiss deepened—tongues brushing, teeth grazing, everything hungry and real.

You kissed her like you were tired of pretending. Like the night belonged to you both and everyone else was just noise.

By the time you pulled away, breathless and dazed, her forehead was still pressed to yours, eyes half-lidded, lips slick from yours.

“Still wanna call it one dance?” you asked, voice husky.

She smirked, lips brushing yours again. “Nah. I’m not done with you yet.”

“Come with me,” she murmured, her voice like gravel and silk.

She took your hand again—firmer this time—and pulled you through the crowd. Past the dancers. Past the bar. You barely noticed where you were going, but when she pushed open the heavy black door and the cool tile of the upscale bathroom greeted your heels, it hit you—

This wasn’t gonna be a quiet conversation.

The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the chaos outside. The room was dim, bathed in golden light from crystal fixtures on the walls. Too pretty a place for what was about to happen.

You turned around to face her, but Abby was already close again, crowding into your space in the most delicious way. Her hands found your hips, then slid around to your lower back, pulling you against her like she needed you there.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” she whispered, leaning down, lips brushing over your jaw. “Walking around like that in that little black dress…”

Your breath caught as her mouth ghosted along your skin—cheek to jaw to neck.

“I didn’t know I’d catch a boxer’s attention,” you teased, voice barely steady.

Abby’s teeth scraped lightly against your throat, just enough to make your knees wobble.

“You caught a lot more than that,” she growled. “You think I was just gonna let you sit there alone, looking like that? Not a chance.”

Her lips met yours again, but this time it was rougher—needy. Her hands explored your back, your sides, fingers grazing bare skin as she pushed you gently until your back hit the cool tile wall. The contrast made you gasp, and she took full advantage, deepening the kiss like she owned your mouth, like she’d waited too long already.

Your hands were in her hair again, tugging gently, nails dragging along her scalp. She groaned into your mouth, one hand sliding down to your thigh—lifting it so it rested against her hip.

You moaned softly as the pressure between you built, your bodies locked together in this stolen moment of heat and hunger and want.

“Say the word,” she breathed against your lips, her hand hovering, waiting.

“I want this,” you whispered. “I want you.”

That was all she needed.

Her lips brushed yours—not a kiss yet, just the idea of one. Soft enough to make your breath catch. Her nose nudged yours, foreheads touching. You could smell her—warm and clean beneath the sweat and cologne, with a faint trace of whiskey still on her breath.

Her hand slid up your thigh, knuckles grazing the hem of your dress. “This is driving me insane,” she whispered. “You in this little thing, walking around like you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

You grinned, high on the rush. “Maybe I do.”

Abby groaned, a low sound in the back of her throat that lit you up from the inside out. Her mouth met yours in a kiss that melted all the air between you. Her lips were soft but firm, her hand gripping your waist, dragging you into her as if she couldn’t bear even an inch of space left untouched.

You whimpered into her mouth when she pressed you harder into the wall, thigh slipping between yours, nudging upward with steady pressure.

“You’re already warm,” she whispered against your lips, voice thick and ragged. “And fuck—you’re shaking.”

You were. It wasn’t fear. It was anticipation, trembling like your body already knew what was coming.

Her hands moved with purpose—sliding up your sides, over your ribs, finding the zipper of your dress and pausing. “Can I?” she asked, voice low.

You nodded.

The zipper purred down, slow and deliberate, as cool air kissed the skin of your back. Your dress slipped from your shoulders like it was made to fall. Abby let it, guiding it down your arms until it pooled around your feet.

The way she looked at you then—

Like she was starving. Like you were everything.

Her hands roamed up your thighs, trailing goosebumps in their wake. Her palms were rough, used to wrapping around gloves and landing punches, but they touched you like silk. Her fingers splayed across your stomach, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra as she leaned in and kissed the base of your throat—slow, reverent.

“You’re unreal,” she murmured against your skin.

You tilted your head back, a soft moan escaping you as her lips traveled down your collarbone, every kiss a promise, every pause a test of restraint. She took her time, building you up with touches and kisses so gentle you felt like you were going to come apart before she even got there.

She dropped to her knees, lips ghosting over your stomach now, her hands gripping your thighs again. You looked down at her—this powerhouse of a woman, a boxer with bruised knuckles and fire in her eyes—kneeling for you, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Abby…”

“I got you,” she whispered. “I want to take care of you.”

And the way she said that?

It didn’t sound like a pick-up line.

It sounded like a promise.

Her mouth pressed a kiss to your hipbone. Then another. Then lower.

You threaded your fingers into her hair, back arching as you felt her breath where you needed her most, every nerve ending screaming awake, your whole body aching for her.

When her mouth finally met your skin, hot and slow and deliberate, you gasped—and that was when you stopped thinking altogether.

You were hers. In this moment. In this heat.

Your breath hitched, when you felt her mouth on your heat, exploring you.

She picked up on every whine you made in certain spots and attacked them with her tongue.

"Fuck you're so sweet," she mumbled against you which made up moan.

She was slow, at first. torturously soft licks and kisses on your clit that made your knees buckle. Then deeper—pressing and sucking in a rhythm that felt otherworldly. You gripped her hair, fingers tangling in her golden strands, moaning shamelessly as she devoured you like it was the only thing she needed to survive.

She worked you open like a prizefighter dissecting her opponent—calculated, relentless, skilled. She knew exactly when to add pressure, when to ease up, when to slide her two thick fingers inside you and curl them just right, making you yell out her name in pleasure.

She sucked on your clit as she continued to finger you. The sound of your arousal filled the bathroom as she fingered you. "Fuck Abby," you moaned out.

The sound of your voice moaning out her name only made her more determined to make you cum. Her fingers got faster and your moans only got louder.

You heard loud knocks on the bathroom door and a few voices, but that didnt stop Abby as you grew closer to your climax.

Abby pulled her mouth away and stood, her fingers still inside of you as she kept a steady pace. Her thumb rubbing your abused and swollen clit making you tremble. She used her other hand to grab your throat, gripping it with just enough pressure. "Are you gonna cum?," she whispered.

"Yes...fuck yes. I'm so close," you whined.

"Be a good girl and cum all over my fingers," she commands.

After a few more pumps of her fingers inside of your cunt. You came and hard. Abby kissed you muffling your moans as she slowed her pace, helping you calm down from your high.

The silence after the storm was thick and golden.

Your chest was rising and falling fast, dress wrinkled and hanging low on your hips, hair a wild halo around your flushed face.

You both stayed like that for a few heartbeats—no words, just the sound of your breathing and the muted thump of the party outside, miles away from the moment you were in.

Then, slowly, Abby's big hands gently slid up your sides.

“You good?” she asked, voice hoarse and low, her thumb brushing along your jaw.

You nodded, still breathless. “Yeah,” you murmured, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. “Very good.”

She let out a soft laugh, something cocky and proud warming her expression. “Yeah? Scale of one to ten?”

You leaned back against the wall, eyes twinkling. “Ten. Maybe eleven.”

“Damn right,” she said, grinning now, stepping behind you to pull the straps of your dress back over your shoulders.

Her fingers moved deftly, pulling the zipper up in a slow, smooth line that sent a fresh shiver down your spine.

Then you turned around to face her and—

“Oh my God,” you giggled, pressing a hand to your mouth.

“What?” Abby blinked, instantly alert. “Did I mess up the zipper?”

“No,” you said, biting your lip to stop from laughing. “You’ve got lipstick all over your mouth. Like… everywhere. You look like you fought a tube of MAC and lost.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”

You nodded, laughing now, reaching up to wipe her face gently with your thumb. “You look ridiculous. Hot, but ridiculous.”

Abby grinned, totally unfazed. “Badge of honor.”

Then—bam bam bam—a sudden knock on the bathroom door, followed by the obnoxious giggle of some drunk stranger.

“Yo, hurry up in there! We gotta piss!”

Abby rolled her eyes and looked at you with a smirk. “And just like that… the moment’s gone.”

You both burst out laughing, quietly, like a shared secret. She reached for the door handle, pausing just before she opened it.

“You wanna get outta here?” she asked. “We can go somewhere quieter. Talk. Or… not talk.”

You tilted your head, smiling soft, still feeling the fire she left behind glowing low in your belly.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’d like that.”

The bathroom door swung open and the two of you stepped out, back into the chaos.

The music hit first—thick, heavy, vibrating through your chest. Then came the blur of heat, perfume, weed, strobe lights flickering off mirrored walls. People pressed in from every side, some dancing, some spilling drinks, all of them moving like they were floating through honey.

But you weren’t really paying attention to any of it—your focus was still wrapped around Abby, your skin still buzzing where she touched you.

Then—

“Baaaaabe!” your friend slurred, suddenly appearing from the crowd like a glittering, unhinged fairy. Her dress was sliding off one shoulder and her mascara had migrated halfway down her cheek, but she was grinning ear to ear, holding a bottle of something pink and dangerous.

She threw her arms around you in a sloppy hug. “We’re leaaavinggg,” she declared, then looked up at you with wide eyes. “I want Whataburger. Like now.”

You blinked. “You’re hungry?”

“I’m starviiing,” she drawled, stumbling a little in her platforms. “I want fries. And a honey butter chicken biscuit. And you’re drivinggg.”

Of course. You should’ve known. Mom friend mode: activated.

You turned back to Abby, who stood there watching you with that low smirk that made your knees weak. Her hair was tousled now, lips wiped clean, but her eyes still held that same heat from the bathroom. That want.

You hesitated. “I’m sorry,” you said, stepping closer, keeping your voice low. “I gotta take care of her. But I’ll—um—I’ll add you on Instagram. And we can text. Set something up. Soon.”

Abby nodded, the smirk shifting into something softer. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ll be waiting. Don’t leave me on read.”

You smiled, heart fluttering a little. “I won’t.”

And even though it wasn’t a kiss goodbye, there was something electric in the way your eyes lingered on each other just a second too long, like the universe wasn’t done with this yet.

Then your friend yanked on your hand. “WHATABURGER, BITCH.”

You laughed, throwing one last look over your shoulder at Abby before diving into the crowd, one arm wrapped around your intoxicated bestie, guiding her like a lighthouse through a sea of chaos.

Your phone buzzed in your purse.

A follow request from Abby Anderson.

Your friend was still tearing up her Whataburger like it was a competition and she was winning gold. Honey butter chicken biscuit? Gone. Fries? Vanishing. Drink? Half-empty and clutched in her glittered claws like she was fighting dehydration and heartbreak.

You? You were in another world, sipping your diet coke and staring at your phone like it had just whispered something sinful.

[1 notification] abbytheanderson sent you a follow request.

You blinked. Already? You hadn’t even left the damn parking lot. She was good.

You tapped accept, and no lie—your stomach flipped like it was performing stunts. Not even thirty seconds later, another buzz.

abbytheanderson 🥊: hey beautiful

You bit down on a smile, typing back before your brain could overthink it.

you: hey you :)

Buzz.

abbytheanderson 🥊: couldn’t let you disappear like that. you left me wanting more.

You swore your pulse skipped. This woman had a black belt in flirting.

you: good thing you found me then

abbytheanderson 🥊: definitely. hey, random—but you free this weekend?

Your heart sped up. You took a quick sip of your drink to cool down your face, fingers dancing over the keyboard.

you: yeah, i think so. why?

abbytheanderson 🥊: there’s a film showcase downtown. some sports doc screening, bunch of celebs. got an invite +1, and i figured it might be more fun with you.

A movie showcase. That was not casual. That was dress up, flashbulbs, maybe a red carpet territory. Your stomach turned into champagne bubbles.

you: you want me to be your date?

abbytheanderson 🥊: unless you’ve got another famous boxer in your dms rn 👀

You laughed into your drink.

you: nope. just the hottest one.

abbytheanderson 🥊: damn right. i’ll pick you up saturday. wear something that’ll make me stare the whole night.

You locked your phone with a sigh, brain short-circuiting. Your bestie looked up from her fries with ketchup on her cheek.

“Why do you look like you just got proposed to?”

You smiled into your straw. “I’ve got a date.”

Your best friend stood behind you, clutching a makeup brush like it was a wand. "Sit still or I’m gonna make your winged liner look like a lightning bolt."

You giggled, sipping your iced coffee while she dabbed a warm highlight onto your cheekbones. “If Abby sees me and combusts, I blame you.”

She winked. “That’s the goal.”

The dress was hanging up on the door like it needed its own spotlight.

It was the dress—like Aphrodite and red carpet royalty had a baby and named her “divine.” A shimmering champagne gold that sparkled under even the faintest light, clinging to your curves like it was sculpted just for your body. The fabric was sheer but layered in all the right places, ruched along the hips and gathered at the waist in a delicate knot that accentuated everything. Strapless and sensual, the neckline cupped your chest softly and dipped into a subtle sweetheart shape, drawing the eye upward—no necklace needed, just collarbones and confidence.

The choker was a sheer mesh ribbon, soft and romantic, tied in the back like a little secret. And in your hand? A small velvet clutch that looked like luxury.

"Okay," your friend said, stepping back and crossing her arms like a proud stylist. "You look like you're about to walk into a movie and walk out with the star."

You turned to the mirror and exhaled. You looked… expensive. Golden. Ethereal.

And somewhere out there, Abby Anderson was probably trying to tie a tie and not think about your lips.

“Okay,” you said, smoothing your dress down, trying not to ruin your makeup by grinning too hard. “Let’s go melt her brain.”

The car door clicked shut behind you, heels clicking on the pavement like your own entrance music. The showcase was already buzzing—paparazzi lights flashing in bursts, guests in tailored designer looks pouring into the venue like liquid silk and velvet. Your driver looped back around, and your friend gave you a quick squeeze on the hand.

“You got this. Go make that boxer wish she had a mouthguard.”

You grinned, rolling your eyes and walking toward the entrance, that golden dress shimmering with every step like you were dipped in honey and starfire. The fabric clung just enough to whisper with movement, catching the camera flashes even when they weren’t aimed at you. Heads turned. People stared. And somewhere near the doors—

She saw you.

Abby was standing near the carpet, talking to some guy in a sports jacket, but the second her eyes landed on you? Conversation dead. Her jaw? Slightly dropped. Like someone had just uppercut her with Cupid’s fist.

She looked… good. Too good. A tailored black suit, no tie, but the first two buttons of her shirt open to show a bit of her collarbone and that stupidly strong chest. Her hair slicked back like she stepped off a Vogue Homme cover, one hand in her pocket, the other holding a drink she no longer remembered existed.

You saw her lips move—"Holy shit."

You floated up to her like you were gliding, heels clicking like punctuation to her stunned silence.

“Hey,” you said, giving her a smile that would’ve won wars. “I clean up alright, huh?”

“‘Alright’?” Abby shook her head slowly, eyes never leaving you, and damn if there wasn’t a glint of something primal in them. “You look like a damn goddess.”

You blushed, biting your lip just a little. “Not bad for a plus-one?”

“I’m upgrading your title. You’re the main event now.”

She reached out, offering you her arm like some old Hollywood gentleman, but the smirk on her face was all Abby—cocky, smooth, a little dangerous.

You took it.

The two of you walked the carpet together, and the cameras noticed. Photographers subtly turned toward the tall boxer and the glowing mystery girl on her arm. Whispers floated like perfume: “Is that Abby Anderson’s date?” “Who is she?” “She looks like a star.”

Inside, the lights were dimmer, the ambiance expensive and dramatic—velvet seats, champagne trays, and a giant screen waiting for the showcase to begin. Abby guided you to your seats, but not without sneaking glances at you like you were illegal and she wanted to get arrested.

“So,” she murmured, leaning close once you were seated. “What are the odds I get you to be my plus-one again? I was thinking… a real date. One with dessert and less paparazzi.”

You looked at her, still glowing from the lights, the crowd, the adrenaline.

“I’d say the odds are pretty high,” you whispered back.

She grinned, and you swore your stomach did a little backflip.

The movie hadn’t even started, but you already felt like you were living in one.

The afterparty was on the rooftop of the venue—elevators opening to golden lights strung like constellations, sleek white lounges, and a panoramic view of the city glittering below like a spilled jewelry box. The music was mellow, expensive-sounding. People sipped cocktails like they were made of stardust and name-dropped producers like prayers.

Abby got swept into a circle of suits and sharp smiles, people clapping her on the back, toasting to her latest win, asking questions with ulterior motives. She smiled through it, charming without trying, but you could feel her eyes flick to you every few minutes.

You wandered off to the ledge, the wind teasing your hair, your dress still glowing faintly under the rooftop lights. You leaned your elbows on the glass railing, the city stretching out like a promise, the hum of nightlife pulsing below you like a heartbeat.

Your drink was cold in your hand, but your skin still buzzed from earlier—her arm on yours, the way she looked at you like you were art in motion.

“Hey.”

Her voice came soft behind you, lower now, free of the public version of herself. You turned and found her there, hands in her pockets, her suit jacket open just enough to make your pulse trip.

“You done charming the VIPs?” you teased.

She gave a low chuckle, stepping up beside you. “They were boring as hell. I missed this view.”

You raised a brow. “The skyline?”

“No,” she said without hesitation, her eyes dragging down your profile like a caress. “You.”

That earned her a quiet laugh from you, heat rushing up your neck. “You’re really laying it on tonight, huh?”

“I’m just saying what I’m thinking.” Her shoulder brushed yours. “So… what do you do when you’re not breaking hearts in golden dresses?”

You hesitated for a second, still looking out at the city. “I model. Victoria’s Secret.”

That made her blink. “Wait—seriously?”

You nodded, a little sheepish. “I mean… I’m not like, one of those Angels. I’m usually backup. Fill-ins. Commercial stuff. They don’t exactly put me on billboards in Times Square.”

Abby looked at you for a long moment, her head tilted. “That’s wild.”

“What is?”

“That there are people out there who didn’t put you on a billboard. I’d hang a photo of you in every damn room of my house.”

You turned to her with a laugh, playful and warm. “Wow, romantic and a little bit stalker-y. Impressive.”

She grinned, closing the small space between you. “Tell me where the line is, and I’ll try not to cross it.”

You looked at her. Really looked. The city lights caught in her eyes, and something about her felt safe even in the middle of all this chaos. You smiled, heart softening.

“There’s no line,” you murmured.

Abby’s smile shifted, gentler now. She looked at you like you were something to be unwrapped slowly. “Then I’ll keep standing right here.”

You turned toward her fully now, leaning your hip against the railing, one hand cradling your glass while the other played with the condensation on the side. The wind tugged gently at the fabric of your dress, making it shimmer even more in the light. Abby was looking at you like you were unreal, but she blinked when you spoke, brought back to the present.

“So…” you tilted your head, curiosity playing in your voice. “Why boxing?”

That made her smile, and not the kind she gave the higher-ups—this one was smaller, more personal, like a story lived too long in her chest.

She shrugged a little. “I used to watch it on TV with my dad. Every Saturday night. He was always busy at the hospital, but when there was a fight on, we were synced. Like… we got each other.”

You nodded softly, listening.

“I started wrestling in school—figured it was the closest I could get. Got recruited, did alright. But it never felt like mine, y’know? Then I tried boxing. First time I landed a punch clean, everything clicked. I was like—this is it. This is the fire.”

You bit your lip, something warm blooming in your chest. There was a sparkle in her eyes now, not from the city lights, but from the weight of meaning behind her words. Passion always looked good on people—but on Abby? It was devastating.

“That’s hot,” you said, softly but truthfully. “Like, actually hot. You knowing who you are like that.”

She huffed a little laugh, rubbing the back of her neck, suddenly sheepish. “You’re the first person I’ve told that to in a while.”

You shrugged, eyes twinkling. “Well… you picked the right person. I’m an excellent secret-keeper. They don’t let just anyone model underwear, you know.”

That made her grin wide, her eyes roaming your face like she was trying to memorize it. “You really gonna keep talking like that and not expect me to kiss you again?”

Your breath caught a little, heartbeat fluttering as the tension curled tighter between you like a string pulled taut.

“I mean,” you whispered, leaning in just an inch, “I wouldn’t be mad if you did.”

She didn’t rush. Abby leaned forward slowly, giving you time to pull away if you wanted—but you didn’t. You leaned in, too, until your lips met in a soft, barely-there kiss. Not like the heated one from the club. This one was warm and lingering, like a question you already knew the answer to.

When you finally pulled back, both of you smiling, you rested your head lightly against her shoulder, looking back out at the glittering skyline.

“So…” you murmured, “You planning on knocking anyone out tonight, champ?”

She smirked. “Only if they try to take you from me.”

The car ride back was quiet in a good way. Abby drove with one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally brushing your thigh like she just had to remind herself you were really there. The city outside the window melted by in a blur of neon and soft shadows, and the gentle beat of the music wrapped around you like a lullaby.

By the time you reached your apartment, the air had cooled down to a soft breeze, lifting the hem of your dress and brushing over your skin like a whisper. Abby parked and got out before you could even reach for the door handle. She walked you to your door like a proper date, her hands in her pockets, her steps slow—like she didn’t want the night to end just yet.

You turned to face her at your door, heels clicking softly against the concrete. “Thank you for tonight,” you said, your voice warm and low, your smile a little sleepy but no less sincere.

Abby looked down at you with that easy grin of hers, one side of her mouth curling higher than the other. “No problem, angel,” she murmured. The nickname settled on your skin like velvet, making your cheeks heat in the soft moonlight.

You turned to unlock your door, keys jingling—but something stopped you. A quiet little nudge in your chest. You turned back around, heart kicking up a notch. She looked surprised at first when you stepped toward her, but she didn’t ask questions.

You leaned in and kissed her.

This one was slower. Softer. There wasn’t any club music thudding behind you this time, no crowd, no chaos. Just the two of you and the buzz of the porch light. Her lips tasted like the mint gum she always chewed, yours like sweet gloss and maybe a little bit of stardust.

When you finally pulled away, her eyes fluttered open like she’d been floating somewhere far off.

She smirked and licked her lips, clearly feeling the gloss residue.

You laughed quietly, hand brushing her chest as you stepped back toward the door. “I put on just lip gloss this time… so it’s not hard to take off.”

She grinned, something a little cocky flickering behind her lashes. “You planned that?”

You winked. “Maybe.”

“Smart girl,” she murmured, biting her bottom lip before taking a slow step back. “I’ll text you when I get home.”

You nodded, your fingers resting on the doorframe, reluctant to let the night end. “Okay. Drive safe.”

“Always do,” she said, and then—one last look, one last smirk—she turned and walked back toward her car, the night gently folding around her.

You leaned against the door with a quiet exhale, smiling to yourself like a fool.

an : i don't want it to be too long...so part 2 coming soon!

[little-wicked10]

Hedonism

Summary: A vulnerable goddess prey to his godly appetites. She’s the prize of one man. He just has to catch her first.

Warnings: SMUT🔞, exhibitionism, voyeurism, cursing, dirty talk, daddy kink, subspace, teasing, mentions of edging, light-ish predator/prey kink, mention of safe wording, orgy stuff

Notes: This is a part 2 to buy me presents🎁! Ben is cashing in on his Christmas gift of fucking her at Herogasm.

All Italics - Past

//

Her sheer silk dress exposed everything. The muted pink barely blurred the details of her body as she stepped through the busy halls. In the sea of debauchery, she was an untouched goddess. A flower that hadn’t been scorched by the wildfire that was Herogasm. She pressed a golden goblet to her lips as she moved amongst the sex crazed and depraved. Some attempted to reach out and pull her into their pile of limbs, but the small silver chain around her ankle kept them at bay. A little symbol of her lover’s ownership over her.

The bathhouse had been reconstructed and renovated for the purposes of Herogasm that year. It was gorgeous. Every detail, from the mosaics in the large pool to the ornate goblets and serving pitchers, was immaculate. Herogasm had been turned into a monument to Roman hedonism.

Ben had a vision for his favorite “holiday” of the year. He wanted everything to be perfect, including her. She assured him that she’d bring her best, and she delivered tenfold. Her hair was curled and strung with pearls, makeup elegant and simple. She only wore her anklet for jewelry, her body wrapped in the sheer silk would be statement enough. To add something special, she dusted her body in a light shimmer to give the effect of an ethereal being.

Ben loved when her skin was soft and glowing. The specks of glitter coating his body the more he explored hers was a huge turn on. She discovered it when he picked her up from a photo shoot, and he kept staring at her shining skin. By the time they made it home, Ben looked like a stripper.

The main area of the bathhouse was occupied by a grand pool with a small marble island. A large altar with intricate carvings of gladiators in a brothel along its sides took center stage. Not one patron had dared to venture forth and break in the grand offering stone. It wasn’t for them. It was for the main event.

//

“You trust me?” Ben murmured into her ear, naked chest pressing into her back.

His limbs encompassed her, satin sheets pooling around them as they relaxed against the head board. She pulled the joint from her lips, “Of course, I do. Why do you ask?”

His lips pressed to her cheek, “Somethin’ I’ve been mullin’ around for a while.”

She giggled, “Uh oh.”

She didn’t have to see to know he rolled his eyes, teeth nipping her jawline, “I don’t wanna fuck the week before Herogasm.”

Her body went rigid against his before she scoffed, “How high are you?”

Ben plucked the joint from her fingers before placing it in his mouth. “I’m fuckin’ serious,” he murmured, “I want us to be super horny for this. Think that be alright, princess?”

She sighed happily and nodded, staring at the many kiss marks staining his exposed thighs. It wasn’t possible for her to leave any kind of hickey or scratch, so she found another way to physically claim him. Red lipstick.

Ben hummed, “That’s my girl.”

“Anything else?” she teased as she took the joint.

A chuckle rumbled against her back, “Now that ya mention it, there is.” She sat up out of his hold to look at him with a curious expression. The look in his eyes was dark, “I want to hunt you.”

Ben’s tone made her shiver, “H-hunt me? What does that mean?”

His fingers traced along her spine and over her shoulder blades, “It means, I chase you through the party and fuck you when I find you.” He heard her heart race, face heating up in a deep blush as she thought over the request. Running around Herogasm AWAY from him? What if someone tried to grab her? What if something happened? The thought was as intoxicating as it was nerve wracking.

“Ya know, you’re too pretty to worry? As long as ya got this lil’ beauty on,” he reached down to trace the anklet’s charm, “I’m the only one who gets to touch you, baby.”

She bit her bottom lip, “Just like we talked about?”

He smirked, “Just like we talked about.”

That was all the reassurance she needed. She reached down and intertwined their fingers, bringing his hand to her lips before kissing the back of it, “Tell me how to play, daddy.”

//

The rules were quite simple. Like a game of chase, but with a twist. A very, very naughty twist. She would wonder around the party as an ever evasive nymph, while he reigned over like a drunken god. Once he spotted her, the hunt would begin. The thrill sent a shiver through her.

It was heightened by the desperate ache between her legs. Being voluntarily abstinent was a challenge especially when Ben wouldn’t stop teasing her, edging her to the point of insanity. He never played fair, and it was his idea. There was also knowing dozens of people would be watching Ben fuck her like a wild beast. She surprised herself with how excited she was to play out this new fantasy.

On the far side of the room, a great laugh echoed with the many moans against the marble walls and columns. Her foot steps were slow and precise as she moved in for a closer look. Hiding behind a marble fountain, she gazed at her lover through the trickling water. Soldier Boy sat upon an ostentatious throne fit for a Roman emperor. Draped around his Adonis-like body was a deep purple toga with gold trimming and around his head a golden laurel wreath. He was stunning, a work of art. The picture of an immortal being on Mount Olympus.

Several women were laid out before his feet, pleasuring one another as he happily drank and smoked. Green eyes darted from the scene below to the room around him. The festivities had him in a jovial mood, but she could see him searching. She had done fairly well hiding from him, managing to sidle by every time he went looking. Adrenaline licked at her nerves every time she narrowly escaped. Why they hadn’t played this game before was beyond her.

A woman moaned in delight as Ben poured the rest of his wine along her back and ass. The woman arched into it, letting the liquid run down her spine towards her shoulder blades. A pang of jealousy struck her until she caught a glimpse of the pink smudge under his left ear. Her parting kiss before he stepped into the party, a possessive little stain.

She smirked as her fingers idly dangled in the water. Pride bubbled in her chest seeing how he made no attempt to remove or hide it. She rubbed her anklet against the back of her left calf as her gaze never ceased. The electricity built in the air with each passing second. His sharp eyes scanned over the orgy once more, and her body began to poise the closer he came. Shock froze her when finally his stare caught her.

“AH HA!” Ben bellowed as he jumped to his feet, “I’ve spotted her! The beautiful Venus!”

She stood up straight and gathered the skirt of her dress as she shuffled backwards. He tossed his goblet aside, the metal clank! disrupting the symphony of moans as it hit the marble floor. He stepped down the dais, over the many writhing women, towards her, “She is the only prize worthy enough for my cock.”

“Then come forth and give chase, mighty Mars,” her voice angelic as she called to him, playing into the fantasy.

A mad giggle left her lips when her bare feet turned and rushed from the room. The moment their host broke into a sprint, the spectators began to cheer and holler. Adrenaline rushed through her veins hearing him get closer. There was no way she could out run him, but she’d give him a hell of a chase. Her eyes darted about wildly looking for her next move. Blood roared in her ears and mind reeled, jeering and cackling faces a blur as she ran down hallway after hallway.

Just as she was about to dash out into a garden, an arm looped around her waist. She squealed loudly as she was swept off her feet and man handled over a shoulder. “WHO WANTS TO WATCH ME FUCK THE GODDESS OF BEAUTY?!?” Ben boomed. Her body burned as the crowd erupted in what could only be described as a horny cheer. She squeaked when his large hand swatted her ass. The crowd followed as he made his way back to the main room.

Ben laughed as he waded through the pool, sloshing water with each stride of his muscular legs. The bottom of her dress skimmed along the surface amongst the rose petals in the crystal blue waters. With a grunt, he stepped onto the platform and set her on the cold marble altar. The way the light bounced off the water made her skin look like gold, catching his attention. He felt himself drooling, “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Her teeth found purchase of her bottom lip nervously. Ben reached up and held her cheek, thumb brushing against her blushing skin, “Doin’ okay, princess?”

Her adoring eyes gazed up at him as if he was an immortal blessing her with his presence. She gently nodded her head, curls softly swaying. As she nuzzled into his palm, his thumb moved to pull her lip from her teeth, “I’m okay, daddy.”

“That’s my girl,” he pecked her lips softly, “Remember that safe word if it starts gettin’ hairy, okay?”

She leant forward, brushing her lips against his abdomen towards his chest, “Yes, my godly lover. We shouldn’t keep the mortals waiting any longer.”

His smile made her insides melt, “We shouldn’t, my lusty goddess.”

Their lips met in a fierce kiss, Ben’s fingers threading through the hair at the back of her head. The orgy crowd cheered encouragements. The kiss was all tongue and teeth, savagely driven by their sexual frustration. Her small hands pulled at his short toga as his free one began to travel her body, inching up the silk to her thighs. Ben gave her hair a single hard pull before releasing it to grab her hips and reposition her.

After moving her, she sat on his lap with her back to his chest. His strong hands placed her legs on either side of his to expose her to the entire room. A chorus of wolf whistles and hollers filled the air at her exposed cunt. “Take a good long look, boys. This’ll be the only time ya get to see such a beautiful pussy,” Ben shouted. She whimpered quietly as his calluses dug into the meat of her thighs. A deep flush spread across her body seeing all eyes at her center.

She held on to his forearms, breath shaky when a pit of anxiety formed in her chest. Her body relaxed into his more when she felt his lips brush against her ear, “Relax. Just gonna stretch ya out a lil’.” Goosebumps rippled across her flesh feeling his hands travel inward. His right hand traced over her folds, teasing her entrance, as the left began to circle her clit. The way his fingers began to caress her dewy petals morphed her anxieties back into excitement.

A gasp melted into a sigh when he slid one finger inside, teeth nibbling her earlobe as he began to thrust the digit against her soft walls. She whimpered as the fingers teasing her clit finally began to pick up pace. Ben chuckled in her ear sending shivers down her spine, “Keep your legs nice ‘n wide for everyone to see. Gotta teach these mortals how to please a goddess.”

She moaned, flexing her legs wider, “Yes sir.”

He rewarded her by shoving a second finger alongside the first. Both his hands picked up in pace and hardness, fucking into her with a purpose. Over the sound of moaning and cheering, she heard the squelching of his fingers driving her to orgasm. A week without his touch left her overly sensitive. It was embarrassing how quickly he had made a mess of her cunt.

“You’re fuckin’ gushin’ all over my hands. Bet there’s a lil’ puddle under us. Take a look,” Ben nudged his nose against the side of her face, urging her to look down between their spread legs.

She picked her head up off his shoulder, gaze meeting the crowd around the room that were witness to every move, expression, and sound she made. She could see so many men staring, drooling, pleasuring themselves to the sight of Ben’s thick fingers plunging into her wetness. A woman in the pool below them was held between two men who were fucking her to oblivion. Her eyes were glazed over, head leaned back on the other man’s shoulder, moaning to the heavens like a prayer as she never looked away from the show above. A strange heat rose knowing so many were getting pleasure just watching them.

Ben curled his fingers and chuckled when she let out a pathetic cry, “A week without me, and I already got ya squirtin’ on my fingers. Or, is it the fact that all these people wanna fuck you that’s got ya makin’ a mess?” Her body squirmed, coil tightening in her belly as she grabbed at his wrists. Her head fell back against his shoulder once again as let out more moans and whines. “D-Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” she pleaded loudly. When his teeth latched on to her earlobe, she finally exploded. Her thighs shook, nails bit into his skin, and hips rolled more erratically to chase the rest of that high.

Ben’s soft chuckle encouraged her to keep up her display, guiding her hips to rock against his fingers. She cried out when he pulled them from her fluttering walls, “Damn! That was a good one, wasn’t it, Venus?” His smirk grew when she whimpered in agreement. Before she could come out of her daze, he gently maneuvered her body to close her shaking legs and readjust their position once again. He peppered her face with soft kisses as he stood to set her on the altar and slip her dress off over her head. The orgy crowd let their approval be heard.

Delicate fingers began to undress him in earnest. Fuck, he loved her in this headspace. So submissive, so needy, so desperate for him. Just the way he liked her. “Even a goddess is powerless to some good dick,” Ben announced to the room. The room responded with laughs.

“Please, daddy,” she looked up at him with pleading eyes, cute pink hearts floating around in them again.

Ben bit his lip as he threw off his clothes, wrapped his hands around her thighs, and pulled her to the edge of the marble. Her legs hooked around his hips as she ran her hands along his body. A whine escaped her lips when she watched him line up his impressive girth. He tapped the angry red head against her soaked folds, basking in the way she writhed and whined for more. “Sssh, easy. Daddy’ll give you what you need. Just gotta tell everyone in this room how much of a whore you are for me,” he smiled.

He thought she’d be too shy or even hesitate at his command. What he didn’t expect was for her to throw her head back to the ceiling and, in a very clear and desperate voice, say, “Please fuck me, Soldier Boy! I need your cock inside me because I’m your fucking whore!”

Ben’s ego flew through the roof as their audience shouted for more.

“Fuck her, SB!”

“Desperate slut! Give it to her!”

“If you don’t, I will!”

Some of it had jealousy flaring in his chest, but that little anklet dangling off her leg doused it for the time being. He’d deal with those assholes later. Just when she was on the verge of tears, he bullied his thick cock inside her welcoming cunt. Her moan was nearly drowned out by the roar of approval. His hands moved to her hips to guide her over his length at a brutal pace, “That better, baby? Fuck, your pussy keeps sucking me in!” The orgy around them seemed to fade into the background as they fucked like savages. She couldn’t form words as she held on to the edge of the marble with one hand and his bicep in the other. She was fighting off the urge to cum, he could feel it in the way her walls kept fluttering. Probably waiting for his permission.

A feral feeling took over him, and he couldn’t stop. He refused to stop. She came with a scream, her essence gushing all over him. The first bled into a second as his hips pistoned into her. His fingers were leaving bruises in their wake as he held her tightly in place. Her third one wasn’t too far behind, but he could tell she needed a little push.

Ben spoke as the hand on her lower back slide around to strum her clit, “Want you to fuckin’ remember this. How I’m the only man that can get you like this. Only one that can fuck you till you’re brainless.”

“D-D-D-Daddy!” she whimpered, hips rolling on their own.

“Yeah. Just how I like ya. Fucked dumb and full of my cum,” he smiled.

Her walls suddenly contracted around him so tightly he could hardly pull back to drive into her. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream as she squirted like a fountain. That’s the go ahead he was looking for and the band snapped. He shoved his cock as far as he could, kissing her cervix, and painting her insides white. She trembled in the man’s hold as her body felt like she was floating. The crowd around her sounded almost muffled, her attention solely on the man that had her seeing heaven. She barely registered him picking her limp body up until he made her wrap her arms around his neck.

“You did good, baby,” he kissed her lips slowly, “Real good.”

“D-Daddy,” her mind was too far gone, body and sensation having taken over, “I…I…um.”

He shushed her as he made his way from the pool towards his throne, ignoring all the people staring in awe, “Don’t talk. We’re gonna watch the rest of the party while you stay perched on my dick so none of daddy’s cum leaks out. Okay?”

A violent shiver ran through her body before she nodded against his shoulder, “Y-Yes, d-daddy.”

He chuckled, “Good girl, Venus. That’s my good girl.”

[elikajinnie]

The Last Breath - S.J

P: Demigod!Jake X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, Death, Violence, Confessions, basically right person, not enough time.

Synopsis: On the battleground, you lie on the edge of death, knowing there’s nothing left to do but let go. But then you see Jake, the one you’ve loved for so long, fighting. With a final surge of adrenaline, you muster the strength to confess your feelings, hoping to hear him say it back. But by the time he does, it’s too late. Two people in love cannot survive when one of them is gone, and as you slip away, so does the light of the world for Jake.

a/n: this is kinda short, but angsty :) so enjoy!

now playing: i love you by billie eilish

percy jackson au!masterlist

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This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to be in this battle—not today, not like this. But the gods, your so-called parents, had once again decided to throw you and the other half-bloods into the fray, using you like pawns on a celestial chessboard. It wasn’t fair, and some of you had dared to say so, but really, who could stand up to Zeus? Who would risk it, knowing the cost?

The fight had started off manageable—a few monsters, nothing you and your friends couldn’t handle. You’d thought maybe, just maybe, this would be one of the easier ones. But that hope shattered when the Minotaurs appeared, chaos erupted, and before you knew it, the battlefield had turned into a gruesome field of broken bodies and spilled blood. Friends, strangers, creatures—dead or dying everywhere you turned.

You should’ve been stronger. As the daughter of one of the more prominent Greek gods, you were supposed to rise above, to lead, to fight. But even godly lineage has its limits. You were cornered before you could react, outnumbered and outmatched. Their strikes were brutal, unrelenting, and though you fought back with everything you had, it wasn’t enough.

Now, here you are, crumpled on the ground, blood soaking through your torn armor and pooling around you. Every breath burns, every movement feels like a thousand daggers stabbing into your flesh. You can hear the shouts of your friends somewhere in the distance, but their voices are drowned out by the pounding in your ears.

You can’t die here. You won’t die here. But as the darkness creeps in, swallowing the edges of your sight, you can’t help but wonder if this time, the gods have pushed you too far.

You looked down at your wounds, at the crimson streaks running down your arms and hands. Your fingers were stained red, trembling as you struggled to make sense of the pain. It was everywhere—your chest, your legs, your ribs. Every breath you took felt like fire, every movement sent waves of agony through your body. You’d never been to Tartarus, but you swore this was what it must feel like. This was suffering, pure and unrelenting, and you didn’t know how much more you could take.

For a moment, the thought crossed your mind: you could just close your eyes. Let the pain take over. Give up and let the darkness swallow you whole. But before you could give in, something in the corner of your vision caught your attention. Him.

Sim Jake.

Son of Ares.

Even now, bruised and bloodied, barely holding himself upright, he kept fighting. He refused to back down, even when it looked like his body might give out at any second.

And he was your crush.

From the moment you arrived at Camp Half-Blood, clueless and scared, he had been there. You’d met him on your first day, wandering aimlessly, overwhelmed by the realization that you were a demigod. He had found you and, without hesitation, taken you under his wing. He’d taught you the ropes—how to hold a sword, how to defend yourself, how to survive. He showed you kindness when you needed it most, and slowly, over time, you’d fallen for him.

How could you not? There was so much to love about Jake. His soft curls that always seemed to fall perfectly into place. His warm, puppy-like eyes that somehow made you feel safe. His confidence, his humor, the way he smiled like he had the entire world in his hands. He was fierce and brave, yet gentle in a way you hadn’t expected from someone like him, someone whose father was the God of war.

Jake was... Jake.

And to you, he was everything.

But what were you to him? A friend? A sister figure? A pupil he’d taken under his wing out of pity? You didn’t know, but the idea of confessing your feelings only to be rejected kept you silent. Why would someone like him ever like someone like you? Jake deserved someone strong, someone who could stand by his side in battle without faltering. Not you, bleeding out on the ground, helpless and weak.

You shook your head, trying to push the thoughts away, but they lingered. You didn’t deserve him. That much, you were sure of. And yet, even as you tried to convince yourself to let go of the hopeless dream, you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

You loved him. So, so much. Even when you didn’t want to. Even when you tried to tell yourself it was foolish, that it would never work. But no matter how hard you fought it, your heart always betrayed you. And somehow, that hurt so much more than any of the physical pain you were feeling. The ache in your chest burned hotter than the cuts on your skin, sharper than the bruises blooming across your body.

You told yourself you’d had enough—enough fighting, enough struggling, enough everything. So, you stayed where you were, content to just watch him in your final moment.

But then you saw it.

A creature.

It was creeping toward Jake’s blind spot, its movements silent. He was too busy fighting off another monster to notice.

He didn’t see it.

He didn’t see it.

Your body moved before your mind could process what was happening. You didn’t know where the sudden rush of adrenaline came from, but it didn’t matter. Pain surged through you as you forced yourself to your feet, the wounds screaming in protest, but you ignored it. Your hand found your sword, then your shield, both slick with blood as you grabbed them from the ground.

You staggered forward, limping and breathless, but your focus never left him. The creature was getting closer. Too close. Panic clawed at your chest as you tried to move faster, your battered legs trembling beneath you. Every step felt impossible, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

“Jake!” you screamed, your voice hoarse but desperate enough to make him turn. His wide eyes found you, shock flashing across his face as you barreled toward him, pushing yourself past the limits of what you thought you could endure.

Before he could say a word, before he could ask what you were doing, you threw yourself against his back. The impact sent a fresh wave of agony through your body, but you bit down the cry threatening to escape. You raised your shield just as the creature lunged, its attack colliding with the metal in a sickening crash.

The force of the blow rattled your bones, nearly knocking you over, but it didn’t hit Jake. It didn’t hurt him. You held firm, your shield braced as you stood between him and the creature, refusing to let it lay a single claw on him.

For a moment, everything else faded—the chaos, the deaths, the battlefield, the blood. All that mattered was that Jake was safe.

And you wanted to make sure he stayed safe. That was all that mattered. With a shout that burned your throat, you pushed the creature back with all the strength you had left, raising your sword and slashing it across the neck. The monster let out a guttural cry before falling, its body crumpling to the ground, lifeless.

You stood there for a moment, panting, trembling, and turned to Jake. He had just bested the last of his opponents, his blade still in hand, his chest heaving with exhaustion. The relief that flooded you was overwhelming. He was okay. Jake was okay. That was all you needed to know.

But your body had reached its limit. The adrenaline that had kept you standing drained away in an instant, leaving only the crushing weight of your injuries behind. Your legs buckled beneath you, and you fell. Your sword and shield slipped from your hands, clattering to the ground with a dull metallic crash.

You barely registered the sting of the impact as your body hit the ground, too numb, too tired to care. The edges of your vision blurred, darkened, but you could still see Jake turning toward you, his eyes wide with alarm.

“No!” His voice was panicked, cutting through the haze that threatened to pull you under. You wanted to respond, to tell him you were fine—or at least lie and say you were—but the words wouldn’t come. Your body felt heavy, your limbs like lead.

You tried to lift your head, but the effort was too much. All you could do was watch as Jake dropped his weapon, and rushed toward you. You wanted to smile at him, to reassure him, but the darkness was too strong.

You felt so numb, so cold… like the warmth was slowly draining from your body. The pain that had consumed you earlier was gone now, replaced by an eerie emptiness. But then, you felt it—Jake’s arms around you, pulling you close. His warmth pressed against your chilled skin, his frantic movements jolting your mind just enough to keep the darkness at bay. His voice was desperate, trembling as he spoke, though his words were distant, muffled by the haze clouding your mind.

You blinked sluggishly, trying to focus, trying to understand, and that’s when you felt something wet against your face. It wasn’t blood—it was warm, and it fell in soft drops that rolled down your cheeks. It took you longer than it should have to realize they weren’t your tears.

Jake was crying.

Your Jake. The brave, unshakable son of Ares. The boy who faced monsters and gods without flinching, who always smiled even when the odds were stacked against him. His face was twisted in anguish, his tears falling freely as he cradled you like you were the most fragile thing in the world. His voice broke as he spoke your name over and over, his hands shaking as he tried to keep pressure on your wounds.

Why was he crying?

Your mind felt too foggy, too far gone to make sense of it. You wanted to ask him, to tell him you were fine—even if it was a lie—but your lips wouldn’t move. Instead, you stared up at him, your heavy eyelids threatening to close, wondering why he looked so heartbroken.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he pressed his forehead against yours. “I’m so sorry. Please… please stay with me. I can’t—” His words choked off into a sob, and his grip on you tightened, as if holding you closer could somehow keep you here.

Sorry? What was he sorry for? You didn’t understand. Your chest ached, not from pain, but from the look on his face—the fear and desperation in his eyes. You’d never seen him like this before, and it hurt more than any wound ever could.

“Jake…” you finally managed to whisper, though your voice was barely audible. It took every ounce of strength you had left, and even then, it felt like the effort might break you. His head snapped up at the sound of your voice, his tear-streaked face hovering above yours.

“Yes! Yes,” he said quickly, his tone a mix of relief and panic. “I’m here. I’m right here. Don’t—don’t you dare close your eyes. Stay with me. Please.”

You wanted to obey, to stay awake like he begged, but the numbness was spreading, the world around you blurring again. Still, you fought to keep your gaze locked on him, his familiar face the only anchor you had left. You wanted to tell him everything—to tell him you loved him, that he was the reason you kept fighting, that he was your everything. But all that came out was a weak, trembling whisper.

“Why… are you crying?”

Jake’s face crumpled again, and a fresh wave of tears spilled from his eyes. He shook his head, brushing your hair back gently as if trying to soothe you. “Because I can’t lose you,” he said, his voice breaking with every word. “I can’t. I—” He swallowed hard, his chest heaving as he forced the words out. “Because I can’t lose you,” he choked out, his voice trembling like it was on the verge of shattering. He looked so lost, so helpless, his usual confidence stripped away.

“I can’t lose you, not you,” he rambled, his words tumbling out like a dam had broken. “I wouldn’t know what to do without you. You’re—you’re everything, and I should’ve told you that. I should’ve stayed with you during the battle, I should’ve protected you better—” His voice broke again, a sob catching in his throat. “But I wasn’t strong enough, and now… now you’re—” He cut himself off, shaking his head furiously, as though refusing to even acknowledge the possibility.

His hands trembled as he cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away blood and dirt like he could somehow make everything better by sheer force of will. “You can’t leave me. You can’t,” he said, his voice rising in desperation. “I can’t live without you. I don’t want to. Do you hear me? I need you. I need you.”

Tears streaked down his face, landing on your cheeks and mingling with the blood there. You stared up at him, your body too weak to move, too drained to respond. But your mind… your mind raced. His words, his confession—it didn’t feel real. Jake, your Jake, was falling apart in front of you, his heart laid bare, and you didn’t know how to process it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice raw with guilt. “I’m so sorry. This is my fault. If I had just stayed with you, if I’d just—” He clenched his jaw, his fists tightening as though trying to hold back the anger at himself. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve been by your side, protecting you. That’s all I ever wanted—to keep you safe. And I failed.”

You wanted to tell him he was wrong, that it wasn’t his fault, that he’d done more for you than anyone ever had. But the words wouldn’t come, your body too weak to obey. All you could do was stare at him, wide-eyed, your heart pounding despite your exhaustion.

Jake’s gaze searched yours, his desperation deepening when he noticed your silence. “Please, say something,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Yell at me, tell me I’m an idiot, anything. Just… don’t leave me. Please..” His forehead pressed against yours again, his warm breath mixing with your shallow, ragged gasps.

The world around you felt distant, muted, but Jake… Jake was so close, his presence so overwhelming that it was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. And even through the haze, you could feel your heart breaking at the sight of him. You’d never seen him like this—never seen him so completely shattered.

You wanted to reassure him, to tell him it was okay, that you weren’t giving up. But all you could do was keep staring, stunned by his confession. The boy you thought could never love you the way you loved him was here, holding you like you were his entire world, begging you to stay, telling you he needed you.

You didn’t know how this would end, whether you’d survive the injuries tearing you apart, but in that moment, you found the strength to part your lips, even if only slightly.

“Jake…” you whispered, barely audible, but it was enough to make his head snap up, his tear-streaked face inches from yours. You saw the hope flicker in his eyes, the way he clung to the sound of your voice like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

“I…” Your voice faltered, the effort too much, but you managed a small, trembling smile. You needed him to know, no matter what happened next. “You’re wrong. You… you didn’t fail me.”

“No,” Jake said sharply, his voice trembling with barely-contained emotion. “I did fail you.” His hands pressed harder against your wounds, though you both knew it wasn’t helping. He looked at you like he was trying to will you back to life with sheer determination, his tears falling faster now. “If I was just a little stronger, just a little faster… you’d be standing with me right now. Victorious. Unharmed. Unscathed.”

His voice cracked, and he shook his head, his lips pulling into a thin, anguished line. “You wouldn’t be here, bleeding out in my arms. You wouldn’t—” His breath hitched, and he closed his eyes for a moment, his shoulders trembling. “You wouldn’t be dying.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, that none of this was his fault. But you couldn’t. Not because you agreed with him, but because you already knew the truth. He wasn’t wrong about one thing—you were dying. The warmth in your body was all but gone, replaced by a chilling numbness that crept deeper with every passing second. You could feel it now, the faint pull. You wouldn’t survive this. No godly intervention, no miracle could save you.

So what was the point in denying it? If this was the end, you knew there was something you had to do. You’d carried the weight of your feelings for too long, burying them out of fear of rejection, of heartbreak. But now… now you didn’t have to be afraid. If he rejected you, it wouldn’t matter. You’d be gone, and there’d be no heartbreak to endure.

What better time to confess than when you had nothing left to lose?

Your lips trembled as you summoned the last of your strength, your voice a mere whisper. “Jake…”

His eyes snapped back to yours, the desperation in them piercing through the haze clouding your mind. “What is it? Don’t try to talk—just hold on, okay? You’ll be fine. I’ll get you out of here, I swear.”

You wanted to smile at his stubborn hope, but your body was too weak. Instead, you forced out the words you’d never had the courage to say before. “I… I need to tell you something.”

Jake’s brow furrowed, his panic deepening. “No, you don’t. You can tell me later, okay? When you’re better—”

“Jake,” you interrupted, your tone firmer this time despite the weakness in your voice. He froze, his lips parting slightly as he stared at you. You swallowed hard, forcing the lump in your throat down as you looked into his eyes, memorizing every detail of his face.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words leaving your lips so softly they almost got lost in the chaos around you. But Jake heard them. You saw the way his expression shifted, the way his eyes widened in shock and disbelief. “I’ve loved you for so long. And I… I’m sorry I never told you before, but I couldn’t. I was scared.”

His mouth opened as if to say something, but no sound came out. You pushed forward, desperate to get it all out. “I didn’t think you’d feel the same. But I—I needed to tell you. Just once.” A weak, bittersweet smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Even if you don’t feel the same, it’s okay. I just… I needed you to know.”

Jake’s face crumpled again, his tears falling faster now as he shook his head. “No,” he said, his voice breaking. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to say that and then—” He stopped himself, his hand cupping your cheek as he leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “I feel the same... I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.”

Your heart ached at his words, both with joy and sorrow. You wanted to hold onto that moment forever, but you could feel yourself slipping away, your vision blurring at the edges. “Jake…” you whispered, his name a soft breath on your lips.

“No, don’t you dare,” he said, his voice rising in panic as he shook you gently. “Don’t you dare close your eyes. You’re staying with me, do you hear me? I love you, and you’re staying with me. Please.”

But his voice was growing fainter, the world around you dimming as the darkness closed in. All you could see was him, his tear-streaked face and trembling hands, his love for you written in every broken word he spoke.

And as the last of your strength faded, you managed one final smile, your fingers brushing weakly against his hand. “I love you too,” you whispered, and then everything went still.

You wouldn’t know that Jake’s screams echoed across the battlefield, piercing through the chaos like a dagger to the heart of everyone who heard it. His cries were filled with so much anguish that even the monsters seemed to hesitate, their bloodlust momentarily stalled by the sheer force of his grief.

He clutched your lifeless body to his chest, his arms trembling as he held you as tightly as he could, as though refusing to let you slip away completely. His tears soaked into your bloodied clothes, his face buried in your hair as he sobbed. “No, no, no,” he chanted over and over, his voice cracking with every word. “Please… not you. Anyone but you.”

Jake felt like his entire world had collapsed. His heart was shattered, broken beyond repair, leaving nothing but a hollow void in its place.

“You can’t leave me,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and barely audible now. “I can’t… I can’t do this without you. You promised me. You said you’d stay.” His fingers brushed against your cheek, smearing the blood there as if trying to bring color back to your pale skin. But it was futile. He knew that. Deep down, he knew.

Yet he couldn’t let go.

His body shook as he leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, his tears falling like rain onto your face. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice breaking again. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been stronger. I should’ve protected you.”

But no matter how many times he apologized, no matter how many tears he shed, it wouldn’t bring you back. And that thought… that reality… was unbearable.

Jake felt his breathing grow ragged, his chest tightening painfully as the weight of your absence threatened to crush him completely. He couldn’t imagine a world without you. A world where your laughter didn’t fill the air, where your smile didn’t light up his days. A world where he didn’t get to tell you how much he loved you every single day.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Not without you. I can’t.” His hands shook as they clung to you, his knuckles white from the force of his grip. He didn’t care about the battle raging around him. He didn’t care about the blood still staining his hands. All he cared about was you. And you were gone.

He pressed a soft, trembling kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as his tears continued to fall. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice so soft it was almost lost in the wind. “I always have. I always will.”

But the pain didn’t go away. It only grew, consuming him like fire, burning through his resolve and leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. He didn’t know how to go on. He didn’t know if he could.

Because a world without you wasn’t a world worth living in.

Jake’s trembling hands slowly reached for the pendant around your neck—the one he’d given you months ago, after you’d bested him in a sparring match. It was simple, unassuming, but it had meant the world to him when you’d accepted it. Now, it was all he had left of you. He unclasped it with shaking fingers, clutching it tightly in his palm as if it were the only thing tethering him to what little sanity he had left.

“I’ll see you again,” he whispered, his voice so broken it was barely audible. “I promise. I’ll come to you. Just… wait for me.”

As the battle raged on, Jake didn’t care about the outcome anymore. He didn’t care about the gods or their games, or the war that had taken everything from him. All he cared about was the promise he’d just made. To you. To the only person who had ever truly mattered.

a/n: oooooooooookay! so this marks the last fic of 2024 :) wooow... what a year. Thanks for all the birthday wishes <33 Love all of youu! Now time to get drunk, ugh i need it after this year. Reblogs and commentary are welcomed <3

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[leaawrites]

Take away the pain

Percy Jackson x daughter of Apollo!reader

Warnings: Blood, open body, might be disturbing, mentions of organs, broken limbs, nightmare, mentions of death, mentions of wounds, scratch marks, tight throat, female reader,

Category: angst, a bit of fluff, comfort

summary: after reader has a nightmare Percy comforts her.

Masterlist

Blood. It was everywhere. Soaking her clothes, staining the fabric in a crimson color. Her body felt weightless, but she felt alive. Her limbs were broken, they were shattered, thorn by the ends. Her chest was open. She couldn’t feel it, but she saw it. It wasn’t neatly opened by a knife. She wasn’t slashed or stabbed by a human creature. It was a hole. She was opened by something more forceful. Part of her organs were laying beside her. Her skin was opened.

The stone beneath her feet was flat, sanded smooth by millions of feet walking over it. But hers couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t make her mark on it. She couldn’t polish it with her own. She destroyed it.

Her body was weightless and she wasn’t alive.

Her eyes opened, sweat was soaking the shirt she slept in. Her hair was a mess. Nothing felt real anymore. But it was real. This was real.

Her hands clutched her chest, fearing to feel it soaked. But all she felt was skin to skin. A body moved on the other side of the bed. Percy pulled the blanket up to his face, probably fighting with his own nightmare.

The air in camp Half-blood felt clearer at night. No one was awake at this hour, the sky was dark, nature was silent. A tree moved from the wind, somewhere something else moved through the night, making sounds through the leaves that covered the ground.

Y/n gently removed the blanket from over her body, hoping she wouldn’t wake Percy in doing so. Her feet were soundless on the wooden floor. Tears were pricking on the edge of her eye. Her eye lids felt heavy from the water forming beneath them.

Being a kid of Apollo was great in her eyes. She couldn’t complain too much. However, one thing that made her want to change her godly parent, were the wounds she’d seen. The blood that has been on her hands while trying to safe someone else. She saw people in pain that she wanted to pull them out of, often that was Percy. If there was a way of taking their pain and put them onto her she would gladly do it. But she couldn’t.

Slow rivers were trailing down her face as she sat down on the stairs, watching the outside in hope of forgetting what she saw. It may wasn’t real, but it felt realistic enough to scare her. Images came flashing back into her mind. And every time they did, she shut her eyes, imagining his face. The way he would smile at her whenever he saw her. Until it was forgotten.

“What did you dream about?” Of course he knew that was the reason she was up. Of course he felt whenever she wasn’t by his side, even when his eyes were closed and his body was on stand-by.

Y/n moved her fingers over her neck, scratching her fingernails against the soft flesh. It hurt, she noticed. The simple motion made her throat feel tight, it felt like strings were laced around it, pulling themselves together by the second. A deep breath in the pain began to gave up on paining her even more.

“I was dead,” she said, her voice shaking while she spoke. Percy sat down beside her, looking confused at the raw explanation. “My chest was ripped open, there was blood everywhere and my body wasn’t my body anymore. Percy, I- I was nothing more but a dead, rotting body. Nothing more than flesh split open, with broken bones.”

Percy knew about the dreams she had before. They were mostly about other people dying, never her. He put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her body into his chest, the other covered his face.

"It was just a dream," he assured the girl. It pained him to see her so broken over what others called her gift. He didn't know what he would do if he saw what she saw.

"But can I be sure of that? What if it was all just a vision of what will be in the future?" There were a hundred thoughts on her mind. Most of them bad ones. If this was all a vision, when would it happen? When would whatever ripped her open rip her open?

Kissing her head, he softly spoke, “Nothing will hurt you. I won’t let it.”

“How can you be so sure about that?” She asked, thinking back on the girl who was in the infirmary a few days ago. She was on a quest, abandoned by her other two acquaintances. He told me he would never leave me, she recalled the girl tell her. Percy wasn’t like this, but what if something acquired him to go away? What if someone was the reason why he wasn’t there?

Percy thought back to his mother. He believed she would always be there, until she wasn’t. But he got her back. He believed, that if you truly loved someone, that nothing could make you turn away from them. “Because I love you.”

It was his only reasonable answer to that question. He would protect her as long as he loved her. There was nothing that could make him turn away when she was hurt.

The pain on her neck left completely when Percy planted a kiss on the back of it. He made the pain disappear. The string detached from another, leaving her to breath freely and purely. The pain from her stomach unraveled when she felt his skin against it. He was what she needed when the pain was too much. With Percy everything felt lighter. Every one of her problems solved around him. He was the light she needed on dark day for her sun to shine.

[greatdenimbeast]

diamond castle au- hits mephiles with an inevitable fate he cannot escape from (might not use this idea still thinking about it)

Shadow inherited the gift of prophecy from his aunts on his godly father’s side, the three fates. he was haunted by visions every since he was born but over the centuries he’s become accustomed to it, even using astronomy to help him divine

i imagine that mephiles post-betrayal, on very rare occasions, unpetrifying Shadow so that he can have his future divined and so he can occasionally try to pry the location out of him unsuccessfully

Shadow knows that his divinations aren’t always accurate cuz the future is always subject to change (something he learned from sonic), but telling someone what he sees has a way of…. tilting the odds in that future’s favour

he didn’t have to tell mephiles anything, he could’ve kept his mouth shut about what he saw like how tight lipped he was about the castle’s location.

but he wanted to have that satisfaction of having that prideful bastard build his way toward his own fate all in the act of trying to avoid it. the way mortals do

so even when he’s encased in stone once more, he has the satisfaction of knowing that he’s got what’s coming to him

[twstfanblog]

Ok uh, can I request a Silver x reader? Bro you know how he only washes his hair and body with one bar of soap? Yeah, I just want to wash his hair. Bro looks radiant as is but imagine if he actually used shampoo. So yeah, we're washing his hair in the sink or the tub like a child

It's just a soft moment with some feelings realization. Like Silver just gets hit with the truck that is his feelings and is just like "how tf did I not notice this before?!"

Silver doesn't like to be idle but bro is gonna need a minute for this windows crash to process. Meanwhile Yuu has been trying their best not to jump this man from the get go and is currently just trying to figure out what to make for dinner after they're done drying this beautiful mans hair.

There doesn't need to be a confession or anything, just Silver being a walking loading screen is enough lol

Thank you so much!

Hair Care TLC

Silver x Reader

Silver wasn't sure how or why he had fallen asleep, but when he opened his eyes to Ramshackle's ceiling, he remembered.

The prefect had found him in the woods with a few of his animal friends, a bottle clutched in their hand as they approached. They had basically pleaded with him to allow them to wash his hair. A notion he had at first turned down, he had washed his hair only a day ago after all.

(He didn't say anything at the pinched expression they gave him).

But, as always, they only needed to ask a few more times for him to yield to their whims. The next day, he was seated in one of Ramshackle's beat-up chairs with his neck craned back to drap his hair into the kitchen sink.

He wasn't expecting much. He had washed his hair before after all...But as his droopy eyes blinked back into the waking world, he realized that was possibly the quickest he had ever fallen asleep.

The prefect gave a single laugh, telling him the second they had started to massage the shampoo along his scalp he had basically passed out ( Not mentioning them panicking for a few seconds when he suddenly went completely laxed in the chair). Only as they had stopped and were rinsing out the fruity-smelling soap did he wake up.

Silver knows he should speak, ease their concern for his well-being or at least apologize for falling asleep on them. Instead, he was suddenly captivated at the vision before him. The sun had started to sink in the sky, the rays now angled in such a way they back lit the prefect in an almost holy light. The perfect backdrop to their gentle smile as they ran warm water over his scalp and carded their fingers through his hair.

It seemed to fully awaken something in him. It was always there he noticed, soft and waiting patiently to spring forward and choke-slam him into the pool of adoration hidden inside him. He wasn't sure if he was blushing as he sat up, staring at the prefect in almost poorly hidden wondering as they spoke.

"You said you never used conditioner before and Vil only got me the shampoo. So...we're gonna just dry it and see how it all turns out!" They smile, managing to figure out the magical handheld dryer as they angle it to Silver's wet hair, "Tell me if it's too hot."

It was mildly worrying that Silver still said nothing, looking at them with a focused stare and only blinking when air blew directly into his eyes.

Before long, his hair was dry, silver strands shinier than ever before. Each lock almost godly in its volume and placement. The prefect couldn't help but be locked in their own silence of affection. Silver was always beautiful, both physically and in personality. And with his hair achieving new form in soft and shiny strands only showed how pretty he was. His aurora eyes staring into their own, reminding them of the cotton candy skies of a meadow from their dreams. They felt their face flushing, the images of Silver laying in that field with them with flowers in his hair filling their mind, "God, you're attractive..."

Seeing Silver's eyes widen, they realize they had said that out loud.

Clearing their throat, they shoved an old hand mirror into Silver's hands. Stammering as they turned away and tried to hide their reddening face with their own hair and hands, "Um. What do you think? Looks nice, right?"

Silver had looked into the mirror for a few seconds, looking back to them with a sudden fierce determination, "Can you do my hair like this for our wedding?"

"O-Our what?"

[vrystalius]

Note: This was plaguing my brain don’t mind me

( NSFW/Smut, Angst, gn!reader )

Lucanis cries the first time the first time was fully sheathed inside of you.

He’s not sobbing or breaking down, just silent tears travelling down his cheek as bottoms out fully inside you. Your hooded eyes looking at him, your lips deliciously morphing into an ‘O’, your hand holding his as he takes his time to admire every scar on your skin, his eyes drinking in the godly sight beneath him.

Even if his vision got a little blurry.

Waves of pleasure hit him over and over again as he takes in the ethereal sight beneath him, his eyes glossing over every inch of your body so this memory can burn into his brain for eternity and bury other ones he tries to forget. You are the only thing Lucanis wants to remember, the only thing he wants to ever think about.

This is all too much for him. Your gorgeous body writhing beneath him, slick skin against skin, both of you bare for the other. Lucanis felt exposed in a way, but it felt good. It felt right.

You were always so patient and kind to him despite his title as Demon of Vyrantium, him being an abomination, just a kill for hire, you always treated him with humanity. Something Lucanis hasn’t felt many times.

He denied himself the fantasy of you possibly liking him the way the liked you. You flirted with him and gifted him the wyvern dagger, check up on him regularly, but how would someone like you be interested in him?

But after you disappeared into the Fade, after every attempt at finding you, every time Emmrich and Bellara failed again to locate you, with every cup of coffee chugged down his throat and with every minute he spends longer on the green couch in your bedroom his mind was more and more plagued by regrets.

Why didn’t he lean in for the kiss, why was he never brave enough to risk it all, why wasn’t he the one trapped in the Fade? Why you? Why, why, why?

Oh how much he loves you, good you are to him. How can he possibly live on without you, without you making him feel like a foolish boy crushing on a girl, nothing more than a simple person and not an abomination, first Talon, mage killer and whatever other titles were pushed onto him.

Lucanis buried his face in your neck to hide his humiliating crying face since he was still completely inside you. His hands steadily wrap around your waist to pull you even closer than you already are, his lips finding your skin over and over again to remind himself you are here, you are with him.

Your hand cupping his face to lift him away from your shoulder grounds him in reality, your hooded eyes and quivering smile making him feel like he’s about to cum without a single thrust.

“M-Mierda. I love you. I love you so much…”

You’re too good for him. That is why Lucanis cries during his first time with you. And it’s kind of sexy.