#they had to learn the hard way to respect each other and then it ended in tragedy for both respectfully

[arolesbianism]

There's smth rly fun abt having stories based off of dreams because you just have a bunch of dream based worldbuilding that you just sorta have to work with now. Like oh a ring of infinite dragons run through the earth eternally consuming eachother? Guess I have to explain that now. Also that's sick as hell why didn't I think of that while awake

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SIX

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mention of pregnancy; abortion; lack of self-care; drug and alcohol addiction;

Rafe had been clean for the past three years.

Over the course of the year, things between him and you had been smooth sailing. 

It was almost easy, something he wouldn’t have believed a few years back when everything he touched seemed to go up in flames. There’d been a time when he was just too much—angry, impulsive, doing all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons.

He’d been selfish, reckless, it was intense, way too intense, and when you fought, it was like you were both throwing grenades, just waiting to see who’d blow up first. You’d pushed him away, he’d pushed you harder, and you’d both crossed lines that should’ve never even been close.

Eventually, both of you learned to talk instead of shouting, learned when to back down instead of pushing buttons just to get a reaction. You’d gotten better at letting each other breathe. He’d pull back when he felt himself getting heated, and you’d do the same.

It wasn’t perfect; sometimes you’d still get into it, still end up in an argument that felt like old times, but it was different. There were no more lines on the bathroom counter, no disappearing at all hours. 

Until Ward died. 

Rafe didn’t know what the fuck to feel when he got the news. He knew what he was supposed to feel, right? He’d done it before with his mom, now it was his dad’s turn. The man who had raised him, the one to teach him everything he knew about how the world worked, even if it wasn’t pretty. 

Ward was a hard man, a strong man. The kind of guy who commanded respect, even if he didn’t always show it the way others might expect. But that’s the thing, he was a man of respect. 

To Rafe, that meant something. Everything. 

Ward had shaped him, he couldn’t just forget that, couldn’t act like that wasn’t important.

At first, you were there for him, no question. 

He knew you hated Ward, you barely tolerated the thought of him even existing in the same room as you. You spent those first few weeks with him, making sure he didn’t spiral back into the shit that nearly destroyed him. He needed the support, even if he didn’t always know how to ask for it.

You were there, holding it down. You got through it, the late-night talk, but then, you started getting distant.

At first, it was subtle—small things. He’d catch you looking at him like you didn’t quite get him anymore. You’d pull away when he needed you to listen, when he was ranting about Ward, and even though you tried to hide it, Rafe could see the dissociation.

He pretended he didn’t sense it, tried to tell himself you’d come around. 

After all, this was his grief, and no one else was going to understand it the way he did. His dad had been everything to him—maybe not in the way you thought he should’ve been, but that was just the reality of it.

For the first time in years, it felt like you weren’t there with him. It didn’t make sense to him how you couldn’t see it. 

Ward had been a tough guy, sure, cruel sometimes, but he was also a provider, a father who tried to teach him how to survive, even if it didn’t always come wrapped in the right way.

He wasn’t perfect, but he was the only father Rafe had ever known. He was gone all of a sudden and that was what had hurt the most—knowing he’d never get the approval he’d always been chasing, even when he was clean, even when he was doing better. There was no fixing that. 

He wanted to mourn in peace, but no one seemed to understand why Ward still mattered to him, not even Sarah.

Three weeks after the funeral he spent his days surrounded by a few bottles of scotch he’d stolen right out of his dad’s stash. Who was gonna stop him now, anyway? He almost laughed. Three years clean. Shit, that was something, wasn’t it?

He’d had people telling him he wouldn’t make it three weeks, let alone three years. Shit, his dad sure didn’t think he’d get this far. Only you.

Rafe squinted at the amber liquid swirling in his glass, then leaned back in the worn leather of his dad’s old armchair. It felt weird being in here, in his chair, in his office, breathing in that persistent smell of old cigars and varnish.

After the whole “funeral”, with everyone looking at him like he was a wild animal about to snap, this was the only place he could sit without someone judging him.

If you’re so clean, why are you drinking yourself half to death? He took a slow sip, letting it burn down his throat. 

It wasn’t like it used to be, that high that hit fast and hard, and didn’t care if it broke him apart.

This was different, a slower, quieter process.

Besides, he was in control this time. Just a drink, he told himself, fingers tightening around the glass. No powder, no pills. That was progress.

So what if he had to take the edge off? Who wouldn’t, if they’d just said goodbye to their only living parent and had to look at their younger sisters crying like that? 

He was practically swimming in alcohol. Rafe knew he was overdoing it, but he didn’t care.

Every time he saw himself— on a window, mirror, whatever—he had a drink in his hand, and something about it just felt terrifyingly right.

Grounded.

Nobody understood him; they just kept looking at him with that worried face, like he was on the verge of losing it like he used to when he was younger. Maybe he already had.

You watched him—really watched him—and yeah, he could tell you were pissed. He saw it in that little wrinkle between your eyebrows every time he took another sip. But you didn’t say anything. 

Even Wheezie was on his case in her quiet way.

She was hanging around, throwing out old jokes and trying to make him smile, but he barely reacted. She was looking at him like she was scared, as if he was some stranger she was trying not to set off. And he hated that—God, he fucking hated it. So he kept his distance, hoped she would back off, let him get through this his way.

But then came that night at the beach bonfire, when everything changed.

He probably shouldn’t have gone, but he needed to get out and feel normal again—even if that just implied showing up and pretending, he was fine. He dragged you along, flashing that cocky grin you could see right through, but you followed anyway, probably just to keep an eye on him. He could feel it—the way you were watching him, worried as hell, that just made him want another drink.

Half the people were staring, too. Waiting to see if he was gonna go off, if he was back to the same volatile Rafe he used to be, the one they loved watching spin out. And just when he thought he could ignore it, some random pogue, scruffy, half-drunk, threw out a comment loud enough for the whole group around him to hear.

“Guess Ward Cameron finally found some gold he couldn’t buy his way out of, huh? What was he thinking, running off to some country where people don’t just take bribes? Practically killed himself.”

It took everything in him not to lunge right there, but he was too plastered to keep the anger off his face. He pushed his way over to the guy, hands clenched into fists.

“You got something you want to say to my fuckin’ face?”

The guy shrugged, muttering something under his breath, people were looking now, everyone watching to see if he was finally going to give them a show.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was shoving him back, hard enough that the dude stumbled, beer splashing out of his cup. The crowd around them stirred, murmurs, but nobody did a thing—they were just staring, waiting to see the blood spill. He felt tempted to hurt someone, felt that cameron fury crawling up his throat.

It didn’t matter that he was twice as drunk as he should be; all that mattered was the way his father’s name was rolling off this nobody’s lips.

He felt you grab his arm, long nails digging hard enough to pull him back, he jerked his shoulder, trying to shake you off, but you weren’t letting go.

“You’re gonna waste your time on him?”

Rafe gritted his teeth, but you didn’t give him a chance to argue. You hauled him back, forcing him away from the guy, who was still standing there with that smug look plastered on his face. 

“Get out. Now,” you urged him, voice calm but with the tone that even he didn’t want to test. He glared at you, mouth opening to argue, but you didn’t let him get a word in. “Rafe. Now.”

You were mad at him.

It was enough to knock some sense into him, and he let you reel him away, but not before you turned back.

“And you,” you called out, enough to silence the chatter around you. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.” 

There was no bluff, no hesitation, and Rafe watched as the pogue’s smug expression dropped instantly, eyes widening as he realized you were dead serious, your family’s name always had an impact around town, old money and all.

As you dragged him to the car, he muttered that he didn’t need you playing bodyguard, but you ignored it, taking him out of the spotlight he hated but couldn’t seem to avoid.

His head was spinning, his blood boiling, and he couldn’t even look at you, not with how angry he felt.

By the time you pulled up to his house, you got out, guiding him inside with that hard, that silent determination he both hated and admired in you. 

You were there, right behind him with that look on your face—angry, disappointed, like he was missing something big, as if he was the one who didn’t get it.

He stumbled into the bathroom, holding himself against the sink, and before he could even catch his breath, you turned on the faucet and splashed cold water in his face. He jerked back, sputtering, wiping it with the back of his hand. When he looked at you, his anger burned again.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he snapped.

“My problem?” you scoffed head already shaking, “Are you serious?”

“You don’t get it,” he growled, barely controlling the rage, the shame—everything. “You don’t know a fuckin’ thing about him. I had the right to defend him.”

You took a step forward, finger pointed at your chest, “Don’t I? Because I remember standing in this very house, watching him tear you down every chance he got. You’re so busy mourning this man who treated you like shit, that you’re pushing the people who care about you away. It’s not just me. It’s everyone.”

Rafe laughed bitterly, the sound humorless. “Oh, here we go,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the sink, gripping the edge hard enough to make his knuckles turn white.

“Don’t you dare roll your fucking eyes at me,” you retaliated, stepping up beside him. “I stood by you through all of it, I’m not gonna stand here and watch you kill yourself because of him. He’s the reason you felt like you had to be so perfect all the time, why you’re always trying to prove yourself to people who don’t deserve it. And now he’s gone, and you still can’t see it. You’re still trying to be good enough for him!”

He didn’t look at you, didn’t want to see the indignation—or worse, the pity—in your eyes.

“Just stop,” he muttered, but you were past listening.

“No, I won’t stop. I can’t. I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself again. You’re better than this.”

He suddenly pushed himself away from the sink, and turned to face you, his blue eyes practically black with a hurt that was older and deeper than either of you could touch.

“You don’t get to stand there and tell me what I deserve.”

“I know what you deserve.” 

He scoffed, rolling his eyes again, though his face had gone a shade paler. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” he sneered. “Think you know what’s best for me? Get off your high horse.”

“You’re damn fucking right I know better than you do, I’m not the one who’s drowning every night in some pathetic tribute to a man who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

He could feel it now, the bitterness you’d been hiding for weeks. It wasn’t just about him drinking himself stupid. It was everything—every fucking thing you’d been ignoring, it had festered between you two while you pretended things were okay.

“You’re the one who’s just tired of me, of everything that comes with me.”

You took a step back, eyes narrowing, but you didn’t flinch.

“What?” Your rage momentarily dialed down, the sound gurgling, “You think I’m tired of you? I’ve been here this whole time, trying to make you see the truth, but you won’t even look at me. You won’t let me in. You’re too fucking blind to notice.”

His breath was shaky, too fast, but he didn’t care. “So now I’m blind, huh? I didn’t see you sneaking out the door when I needed you? I didn’t notice how you pulled back, how you stopped giving a fuck about me? You’re just waiting for me to give you an excuse to leave.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t done.

“You don’t get it! I didn’t need you to fix me, I needed someone to stay. But instead, you—" His voice cracked, the anger choking him up, "Instead, you started to make me feel like I was a b-burden. Some mess you had to clean up. How am I supposed to deal with that, huh?"

You were shaking your head, your eyes had already been filled with tears, your chest suffocating.

“I’ve been here. I’ve been standing right next to you, waiting for you to pull your shit together. I didn’t walk away. You did.

His stomach churned, as if you’d taken every inch of space in his chest and twisted it, just for fun. The worst part was, he couldn’t even argue with you. Not really. He had been so wrapped up in his own shit, so obsessed with keeping everyone out, that he hadn’t even seen how far you’d already gone.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare try to make this about me,” he spat, the words ugly in his mouth, it felt like they were scraping their way out of him. “You don’t get to make me the villain in your story just because you’re tired of playing my fucking hero.”

“I’m not trying to play the hero!” you screamed, stepping closer, your eyes were cold. “I’m trying to help you see that you have to fix this. Not me. Not anyone else. But you. And if you’re so fucking broken you can’t see that, then maybe you really don’t need me.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Rafe could feel his heart racing, that agonizing coil in his chest, but he couldn’t stop.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, voice quieter, but just as venomous.

He turned his back on you, walking to the door. The sound of his boots clamped against the wood floor like a countdown.

“Maybe I don’t. Grab your shit and go.”

"Don’t you fucking—" you snarled, but he was already moving, grabbing your jacket off the hook by the door and throwing it your way, “You know what? Fine. Maybe I will.” You shoved that stupid thing on, hands shaking as you yanked the zipper up. “Don’t come running back in two days like you always do. Don’t come crawling back.”

Rafe paused, hand on the doorknob, his jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle ticking.

He didn’t turn around, didn’t look back at you.

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

“Good. Because I stopped feeling sorry for you a long time ago,” you replied sharply, every syllable punctuated with weeks of resentment. “What I feel now? That’s just disappointment.”

You watched his shoulders lock up; his whole body wound so tight it was like he was one wrong look away from completely losing it. He didn’t turn around either, even as you slipped out the door, but he knew.

That was it.

Two moths later, almost three, he was standing in front of the ER pacing like a complete fucking idiot after you passed out in his arms earlier.

He’d told himself he’d stay away, make it easy for both of you. 

That shitty plan had gone down the drain once he saw you speed away at that party with absolutely no regard for your safety or Topper’s. He’d seen that wild look in your eyes before—the one that said you were about to burn it all down. Or when your dad’s gala came around, and he couldn’t sleep properly knowing he wasn’t going to be there that year, knowing how you spiraled every time you had to step on that stage.

He had stupidly thought that maybe, one day, you two could still be friends. But today? That shit blew up in his face, for the second time in the span of a week.

He forgot what you could invoke in him when you were standing merely an inch away. He promised himself that he’d moved on, forced to consider that the love of his life might not be someone he could spend his lifetime with. Maybe you weren’t meant for each other.

But how the fuck was he supposed to act when the girl who had been everything to him was hurting? 

No, no, no.

Sofia was what he needed.

Someone who didn’t know shit about his past, who didn’t ask questions he didn’t want to answer. She hadn’t seen him the way you had, hadn’t been there through every drunken rant and punch he’d thrown at the wall or someone’s face, hadn’t heard him rail against his dad or drag himself back from one of his darkest nights. 

She hadn’t called him a fucking idiot when he chose to throw his father’s ashes on the ocean. She wasn’t going to call him a coward for it. She didn’t have a clue about any of it, and that was supposed to be what he wanted.

He looked up at the ER doors for the millionth time in the past hour, his fingers clenched around his jeep keys so tight they left marks on his hand.

It was over between you two. He’d make sure to keep the fucking distance, two whole months. If he didn’t give you enough closure, you’d hate him faster and you’d both get over it. 

So why the fuck was he about to set the whole hospital on fire as he watched John B’s beat up twinkie pull up to the parking area? It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. 

Of course you’d call her, his own sister—his father's favorite.

Sarah had always been the golden child, Ward’s little angel who could do no wrong, while he was the family screw-up. Even now, you’d picked her, just like Ward would have. 

He didn’t think before he moved, closing the distance between him them in seconds. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He barked right up in her face, daring her to explain herself.

Sarah didn’t back down, though. She just looked up at him with that same cool, level expression she always had whenever he tried to get a rise out of her. 

“I’m here because she called me.”

“She called you?” He scoffed, eyebrows pulling together in disbelief. “You? She called you?” He took a step closer, “So what, you’re her savior now or some shit? Why the hell would she call you if I’m right here?” His eyes narrowed, searching her face like he couldn’t believe it. “Are you kidding me?”

Sarah threw her hands up, a look of pure exasperation on her face.

“Are you dense, Rafe? You’re with someone else! Why would she want the guy who broke her heart to drive her home?”

He blinked, thrown off. “I broke her heart? She broke mine!” He laughed, but it was harsh, bitter. “I did us a favor. We were just—”

“Oh, right. A favor?” Sarah cut in, voice dripping with sarcasm. “That why you’re pacing out here like a goddamn lunatic?”

“Go away. I’m driving her home.”

She stepped closer, her voice steely as she looked him dead in the eye.

“No. She called me, she wants me here. Not you. So do yourself a real favor and go home before you do something even more stupid.”

A breathless chuckle escaped his lips, “She already hates me, Sarah. What’s the fucking harm, huh?” He threw his arms out, as if daring her to come up with an answer that would hurt less. “What’s one more screw-up on top of everything else?”

“You’re real dumb if you believe that. But if you wanna make it worse, then by all means, go ahead. You’ll just prove her right.”

He stayed rooted in place, chest heaving, the conflict ripping him to pieces. His hands shook, his throat tight with words he couldn’t even begin to understand.

But Sarah had already turned her back on him, heading toward the entrance.

“Walk away,” she warned him, looking over her shoulder, “That’s the only thing left for you to do right now.”

Rafe didn’t know why the fuck he listened to her.

It was as if his body had already made that decision for him, understanding that if he didn’t leave right then, he’d end up doing something stupid—something even more fucked up than what he’d already done. His tongue was locked in place, a curse on the tip of his pursed lips, but it never came. 

His feet wouldn’t move, his hands stayed at his sides, and that tightness in his throat wouldn’t let him get a single word out, not one that would make any fucking sense. He hated that. Hated that you still had this kind of control over him.

Hated that he just…felt like something was wrong.

You hadn’t been this frantic, so impulsive since he had to take you home after your sister passed. He didn’t want to remember that night—you damn near threw yourself out of his truck.

But he couldn’t ignore the memory, the desperation on your face, the screams, the fight in his grip as he pulled you by your shirt back inside.

He’d felt like he was holding on to something breaking apart in his hands, something he couldn’t fix but couldn’t let go of either. He’d seen it again in your eyes when he’d caught you earlier at the beach clean-up, the way you’d tried to dodge his stare, voice cracking, legs wobbling when he mentioned the hospital. 

Rafe still felt like he’d swallowed shattered pieces of glass every time he thought about you. And if he could just push it down, if he could just get through one fucking day without looking back, maybe he’d start to forget you.

His feet were glued to the hospital pavement, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. If you were about to crash, if this was anything like before…He didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do.

He had no reason to stay, you’d made it clear as day. He was supposed to be gone—out of your life for good. You’d told him you didn’t need him, he told you he didn’t need you. So why the hell was he still standing here? 

Perhaps because he remembered the last time he’d let you walk out, the way he’d watched you disappear, thinking he was doing the right thing—giving you the clean end you’d both needed.

Maybe that made him sick to his stomach now, thinking of you in there with Sarah, telling his sister things you wouldn’t say to him, letting her be the person he once was to you.

But you’d called her, not him. You’d picked Sarah to be here, and that hurt like a bitch, but it was what he’d asked for, wasn’t it?

This was what he deserved. He told you to grab your shit and go, forced you to leave because that was supposed to make it easier.

He’d impulsively made his choice the minute he’d wrapped his arm around Sofia, pulling her close in front of everyone who’d once known he was yours. He’d talked himself into it. It was the right call, moving on was the only way to finally get you out of his system. 

He was the one who decided it’d be easier to act like he forgot you than to actually try. He thought he could make it easy—pain-free.

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked back toward his Jeep. He gripped the door handle so hard he could break it in half if he wanted to, feeling his knuckles strain.

If he let go, if he closed that door and stormed inside, he’d just be right back where he started.

He stared at his reflection in the window, his hardened face staring back. His pulse was pounding in his temples, his gut twisting and turning as he tried to bury it all six feet under—the need to just go to you, to hold your hand or yell at you for making him care so fucking much.

He finally released the death grip he had on the door handle, forcing his fingers to relax, his knuckles still throbbing. He slid into the driver’s seat, the cold leather you’d help him choose, mocking at his skin as he slammed the door shut.

With a quick flick of his wrist, he threw the car into drive, the tires screeching as he peeled out of the parking lot.

He drove like he was being hunted down. He wanted to get as far away from that place as possible, praying the miles between him and you would stop the churning inside him. 

You’ll just prove her right.

He hated her for saying it, hated Sarah for knowing exactly what buttons to push. 

As he rounded a curve, his headlights swept across Topper’s house. Rafe cut the engine and stalked toward the backyard. Topper’s sprawled-out form on a reclining chair, arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses somehow still on evenly.

He stomped up and smacked the end of his chair.

"Wake the fuck up."

He jolted, nearly tumbling off the chair, ripping his sunglasses off and squinting up at him. “Jesus fucking christ, dude, ever heard of calling ahead?”

But Rafe didn’t answer. He just paced, hands in his growing hair, digging into his scalp like he could rip the frustration out of his skull. Topper sighed, propping himself up on one elbow, he didn’t even look at him, just kept muttering to himself, biting his lip, pacing.

“What the hell happened?”

Finally, he stopped, “I need you to find out what’s wrong with your cousin,” he muttered, not wanting to admit he cared enough to ask.

Topper blinked, brow furrowing. “What do you mean, what’s wrong with her?”

Rafe only shook his head, hands on his hips as he stared at the ground. “I don’t know, okay? She just…she’s acting off. And I can’t—I’m not supposed to care, Top. I’m not. I’m with Sofia now, alright? But she’s still…” His voice trailed off, as he scrubbed a hand down it.

Topper tilted his head, eyeing him knowingly.

“Right, yeah, whatever you say. I’ll figure it out.”

If Sarah Cameron didn’t walk through that hospital door within the next three minutes, you’d lose all the courage you’d summoned over the last hours. Or was it just an hour? You weren’t sure how long you’d been lying there, the IV needle taped uncomfortably into your arm. 

Your fingers curled into the thin blanket draped over you, and you wished—desperately—that you didn’t feel so…empty.

Ten minutes later, she strode in with a glance at the door, as if she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get there on time. The relief on her face when she saw you was reassuring but it only made the confusion in your chest heavier.

She was so different from Rafe, yet still looked so much like him. She sat in the chair by the bed, eyes scanning your face like she was trying to gauge just how bad it was.

“Hi.”

You swallowed, blinking up at the ceiling to keep the tears at bay.

“Thanks for coming.” 

“Of course,” She reached for your hand where it lay on top of the blanket, hesitating for a split second before giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You okay?” 

You felt a laugh bubble up, “Not even a little.”

She let out a small breath and nodded, squeezing your hand again. “I figured,” she said quietly, and you appreciated that she didn’t pretend to have some miracle answer, “I made him leave.”

She’d made him leave.

You could imagine his face distorted with anger.

You wondered if he’d put up a fight or if he’d just walked away,  giving in to his sister in that infuriating, self-pitying silence he’d perfected.

You weren’t going to ask, the less you knew, the better.

“Good.” You were relieved, but it felt bittersweet, “I didn’t want him here.” 

Except your voice shook, like it simply had to let her know you were lying.

You’d been telling yourself for so long that you didn’t need him—that you didn’t want him anywhere near you. But the second you pictured him there, waiting… God, you hated yourself.

Hated that tiny, pathetic part of you that still wanted him to care, even if it was just a sliver of anything that wasn’t anger or flat-out ignoring you.

“He threw a hissy fight, but don’t worry. He’s not coming back.”

You nodded, half in agreement, half in frustration, “He never listens.”

“Especially when it matters,” Sarah added, rolling her eyes. “I swear, sometimes I think he just likes to make things worse for himself. And everyone else.”

You recalled the sound of his footsteps trailing yours earlier, the way his hand had hovered near you when you swayed, the wild look on his face when you told him to back off. He had seemed…hurt. Like he wanted to fix something he’d already smashed to pieces.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

She respected that—she wouldn’t insist. There was a lot to unpack when it came to Rafe, but you didn’t need to go there right now. She could tell.

"Okay. Do you want to tell me why you called me and not Topper?”

There wasn’t any judgment in her tone—just plain curiosity, confusion. And you couldn’t blame her. If the roles were reversed, you’d be asking the same thing.

You had to bite your lips to avoid crying for the hundredth time that day. You hadn’t planned on telling someone the biggest secret of your life in a public space, or after nearly having a mental breakdown.

Not like this, with the IV in your arm.

"I—" you started, the words tangled in your throat. "I don't trust him," you admitted quietly, "I don’t trust him with this.”

This.

You turned your head to look out the window, the late afternoon light pouring through the blinds, but it never touched the void you felt inside. 

“He’s too close. He wouldn’t get it. I needed someone who could just… not be involved, you know? I mean—You’re still his sister but—”

Sarah’s already frowning, interrupting your pitying party, “Sweet girl, you don’t have to explain your reasons to me. I’m listening either way. I don’t know what’s going on, but I get it, I understand why you’d want to keep him out of this.”

“You’re the only one I can trust to keep this a secret,” you confessed, “If anyone finds out—if Rafe finds out—it’s over. I’m not ready for that.”

A shadow crossed Sarah’s face, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t ask questions about what you meant—about how Rafe had ruined things before. She didn’t need to. 

“I won’t tell him,” Sarah promised, her grip tightening on your skin. “It’s safe with me. I’ve got your back.”

You closed your eyes, breathing out slowly.

This was hard, harder than anything you’d ever done before, and that was saying something considering all the shit you went through when your family died. She had no idea what you were about to say, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it would change everything between you—between you and her, and you and everyone else.

"Sara, I—" The truth choked you once more, cutting you off. You couldn’t breathe.

Your chest felt vacant, something was missing, something that you didn’t know how to fix, but you had to say it. It was the only way out.

“Are you—" she started to ask, but you quickly shook your head. You could hear the hesitation in her voice.

"Just… just let me tell you,” You begged, pushing the words out before you lost them. “I-I’m pregnant,” you finally blurted out, as if confessing it all at once could make it easier.

But it didn’t. 

You didn’t dare look at Sarah right away. 

Your eyes were stuck on the ceiling, blinking rapidly, you didn’t need her to see how much this was breaking you or how terrified you were. You could feel her eyes on you now, and your hand clenched around the blanket, your knuckles white from the lack of circulation. 

Then, slowly, Sarah squeezed your hand again, she was giving you a moment to breathe, even though you didn’t feel like you deserved it.

“Rafe’s?” she asked quietly, confirming what you already knew she understood.

You nodded, not needing to say it aloud; she could sense the truth in the way your chest hitched, how you couldn’t bring yourself to meet her eyes.

“God,” Sarah breathed out, "And you... you want to...?"

You nodded again. She wasn’t asking if you were sure; you could hear it in the hesitation of her question. She was asking if you were ready to make the choice.

“I don’t want this,” you choked out, the tears finally breaking free. “I can’t have it, Sarah. I can’t. I’m not ready for that. I’m not sure I even know what I want anymore," you spit the doubt out with the brokenness you felt, wiping the traitorous tear that traced down your cheek. "I don’t know what to do."

“I’m here. Whatever you need, however you need to do this—I’m here,” she promised, making sure you wouldn’t float away.

“I can’t… I just… I don’t want him to find out,” you managed between shallow breaths. “If he knew, he’d… I don’t know what he’d do. Maybe it’s stupid, but I don’t want him to look at me like… like he owns me something.”

Sarah nodded, not a hint of judgment on her face, “He won’t know a thing from me, I swear. He’ll never have any say in this, not unless you want him to. This is your choice, no one else’s.”

You didn’t know you’d been holding your breath, but it came out all at once in a shaky exhale.

“Thank you. I just… I didn’t know who else I could ask.”

“Hey,” she said, her voice gentle. “This? This is exactly what I’m here for. I’ve got you, no matter what.”

The empathy there, the way she held space for all your broken pieces.

“New Mexico’s clinic rules… they won’t let me go through with it alone. They said I need someone with me.” You took a shaky breath. “I can’t imagine anyone else but you there, Sarah.”

“Then I’ll be there,” she said, without hesitation. “I’ll get the tickets, we’ll go together. And if you feel like breaking down, then break down, because you don’t have to keep any of this in anymore.”

Her words broke something in you that had been holding everything so tightly. The relief, the gratitude— “You’re really… You’d really do this for me?”

“Of course,” she murmured, pulling you close so your head rested against her shoulder, her fingers brushing through your hair soothingly. “Sweet girl, I’d do this a thousand times over.”

“I mean—he’s your brother. I don’t want to mess things up between you two even more.”

She sighed, giving a small, sad smile, almost like she’d been waiting for you to say that. “You think he’s my priority right now? Don’t you worry about me and him, we always figure it out. Trust me, I’m used to it.”

“He might hate me for this. And if he takes that out on you…” You couldn’t finish.

“Listen to me,” she sighed, “I’m here because I care about you. Rafe and I, we’ll always have our issues—he’s stubborn, and he thinks he has all the answers. But that’s our problem. He’ll never have a say over what I do or who I’m there for. Especially not with this.”

You swallowed hard, “I don’t want you to regret it.”

She gave a wry laugh, brushing a piece of hair back from your face. “You don’t have to protect me from him, remember? He’s my brother, yeah, I love him despite all our shit, but I’m not here for him right now. I’m here for you.”

“You’re sure?” you asked, the question a whisper, almost childlike. You were afraid of the answer, terrified she’d eventually pull away.

“Of course I’m sure,” she replied, tilting your chin so you’d meet her eyes. “Whatever’s going on with Rafe will figure itself out—But right now, you need someone who’s all in, no strings, no doubts. That’s me. You focus on you. I’ll handle him.”

You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, “I don’t think he loves me anymore,” you admitted, almost hoping she wouldn’t hear it, “I was so mean when your dad died.”

When you finally looked up, Sarah was watching you with a sad smile, one that made your heart hurt in both comfort and ache. “You really believe that?” she asked quietly, and you could hear the disbelief in her voice as if it was so obvious to her, something you couldn’t see.

You nodded, swallowing down the sting in your throat. “He doesn’t want me, not really. He’s…he pulled away. Like he’d rather hate me than be close to me. He’s with her.” 

The words tasted bitter, and made you want to hurt him twice as bad, but there was finally some relief in saying it out loud.

She sighed, looking down for a second, almost like she was thinking how to tell you something that hurt her to admit.

“I don’t think that’s the problem,” she murmured, with a knowing sadness. “I think the problem is that you two will never stop loving each other. He’s still hurting from dad’s passing, he’s angry because he doesn’t know how to stop loving you. And you—you’re here, angry that he loved my dad so much, hurt that he left, trying to protect me from him, still worrying about me when you should be focusing on yourself. You’re scared he doesn’t care anymore, and he’s scared you don’t need him at all."

Your lips quivered, your heart about to leap out of your throat, your tongue darted out, briefly brushing your lips.

You weren’t sure you should say it out loud, but maybe you had to. “We’re better off without each other, aren’t we?”

“You’re allowed to be someone without him, and you’re allowed to find out who that is.”

You were slipping, falling back into that spiral of guilt and shame, the one that told you maybe this was all you were good for. Maybe Rafe was right to break things off, perhaps he’d realized that, in the end, you weren’t worth fighting for.

And shit, you hated yourself for still caring. For still wanting him to want you, even though you knew it was poison. Even though you knew that being with him, needing him, was only dragging you both down.

“Thank you.”

And as you sat there, in the stillness of that room, with the sunlight dimming outside, you felt that maybe someday you’d be able to trust yourself too. To believe that you were worth more than the heartache you’d come to accept as your own.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

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@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[hederasgarden]

Post tenebras lux

Summary: You are gifted to Lucius as a reward for his prowess in the arena. Pairing: Lucius Verus x F!Reader Word Count: 5.9 K  Rating: Explicit, 18+ only. Heavy angst with a HEA, dubious consent (reader and Lucius are coerced into having sex), public sex (PIV and f receiving), mentions of spousal death, and brief descriptions of blood/injuries from combat in the arena. A/N: I futzed with the timeline in this fic. Instead of coming home after conquering Numidia General Acacius is sent out on another campaign for the emperors. Also, fun fact — the Romans considered oral sex taboo. A HUGE thanks to @aliensupastar, my beloved B, @clairewritesandrambles, @ryebecca, and @faebirdie for their help with the fic. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Gladiator Masterlist ♡ Masterlist

The warm steam of the bath clings to the air, thick and heavy, as you move past the large pools where gladiators soak and laugh. Their rough voices fill the humid air and the afternoon sun filters through the open atrium, casting a muted, golden glow across the water. None of the men bother you as you make your way to the quiet alcove at the far end of the room. If Lucius's reputation in the arena hadn’t been enough to keep them away, the man whose hand he took for daring to touch you certainly was.

You’d learned quickly that in this place violence was power, and your gladiator wielded it well. It was a far cry from your life as a fisherman‘s wife, and then as a slave in Macrinus’s household. When you were gifted to Lucius, you braced yourself for the brutal ways of his world, where strength ruled above all else, and men like him took what they wanted without hesitation. But he never did. Instead, Lucius treated you with something you hadn’t expected: respect and kindness. His touch only ever lingered long enough to offer reassurance, never to claim.

In time you both learned to play your parts to survive. By day, Lucius was the victorious gladiator, and you, his spoil of war. They were roles neither of you had chosen, but ones you took on to survive. The night became your refuge, a time where the weight of your reality could be put aside, if only for a while. Curled around one another on the thin cot the ghosts of your past weren’t silenced but shared through whispered admissions. You could speak of the people you had once been – before Rome twisted you both into something unrecognizable.

Trust came with time. And now, as you approach the alcove where he waits, you can feel some of the tension leave your body. You are safe with Lucius, a thought that would have been absurd to you just months ago. 

You shift the small wooden tray — laden with fresh bread, olives, figs, and a jug of strong wine — to your other hip. The soft scrape of your sandals against the stone floor alerts Lucius to your presence. His dark gaze lifts from the water, meeting yours with the quiet intensity that you’ve come to expect. Even in the haze of sweat and steam, his presence is impossible to ignore. 

Where others would let their gaze wander lower, drifting toward the rest of his bare form submerged beneath the water, you always look at his face. It‘s there that you find what you seek: the sharp edges of your own pain and anger mirrored in his dark eyes. It’s a reflection of the hurt you carry, of all that Rome took from you both. 

“You fought well today,” you say, settling beside the pool, the water lapping at the stone. 

The words come easily, practiced—part of the familiar routine you’ve both come to rely on. Though the bath is quiet and you seem to be alone, you know better. You’ve learned the hard way that the walls have ears. Every word, every glance, carries weight here, and even in the relative solitude of this alcove, your interactions could be reported back to Macrinus. Only when you’re hidden away in the cell you share each night can you let the pretense fall away. 

Lucius hums in response as he lets his head fall back against the cool stone. His muscled arm rests on the edge of the pool and you offer him a brief, gentle touch before withdrawing. The tension in his frame eases a fraction and his eyes flutter closed, but the sharpness of his presence doesn’t fade. He’s aware of every shift in the air, every sound around him. Even in the quiet comfort of this place, Lucius is never truly off guard. 

You pick up a ripe fig, its skin velvety and fragrant, and drag it slowly through the warmed honey. Gently, you bring it to his lips, offering it with a quiet gesture. Lucius sighs—softly, almost imperceptibly—and then his lips part, taking the fruit from your fingers. As he bites into it, you feel the heat of his tongue brush against your skin. You try to ignore the traitorous feeling that springs to life in your belly. That feeling has become a frequent companion, one you never asked for, and one that sits uneasily beside the grief you still carry for your late husband.

“You must eat too,” Lucius commands. “You will need your strength for later.”

His rough words carry no real threat, but you react like they do, tucking your chin to your chest in a subtle gesture of submission. At times, it feels like a performance—like you're both actors on a stage, with an unseen audience watching every move. You eat in silence until the tray is bare and the goblet empty. When he rises from the pool, water cascading from his sun-kissed skin, you reach for the fresh robe laid carefully over the stone bench. 

“Do you wish…” you begin, lifting your eyes to Lucius, only to falter at his expression. His eyes flicker briefly past you, and then, just as swiftly, return. He gives no warning before he pulls you forward and drags you into the water. Your cry of surprise is swallowed by the splash your bodies make as ripples spread outward. The wet robes cling to you like a heavy second skin and you sink deeper into the water.

“I’ll have you here,” Lucius announces loudly. He grasps your biceps and easily forces you to straddle him. Your face shields his from the outside world. His expression softens and even as his lips part to speak, you shake your head, stopping him before the words can leave his mouth.

You understand, without needing to hear it. The two of you are no longer alone.

He leans back, arms stretched along the edge of the bath. “Ride me,” he commands. 

You struggle out of the heavy outer robe and your knuckles unwittingly brush over his abdomen. Lucius tenses beneath you. You offer him a quiet apology before withdrawing and rising to your knees. Your hips shift forward in a facsimile of his request, meeting nothing but a swell of water as you keep a careful distance from his body. He groans and you answer him with a quiet moan of your own. You rise up and down almost mechanically, staring at the chipped stone above his head. His hot breath fans over your neck, the heat of it lingering on your skin. You shudder as a warmth that has nothing to do with the pool gathers under your skin, shame twisting your insides. 

Lucius grabs your waist urging you to move faster, and the sounds of his pleasure rise in intensity. The muscles of your thighs protest, burning with effort as you hold the distance between your bodies. The air around you shifts and the murmur of conversation in the other pools begins to fade as the gladiators are drawn in, listening to your performance. The silence grows almost suffocating, but you force yourself to push through the charade. This is just one of many indignities you’ve endured since Rome descended onto the sleepy fishing village you called home. It pales to what could await you if it were gifted to a different gladiator. 

“Fuck,” Lucius growls loudly, abruptly stilling your movement to feign his pleasure. 

After a beat you gather the courage to look over your shoulder, meeting Viggo’s stare. You tense. Calloused fingertips brush lightly over your jaw, drawing your attention back to Lucius. You stare down at him, taking in the light flush of his dusky cheeks and the steady rise and fall of his chest. His touch lingers for a moment more before his hand disappears beneath the water. 

“Use my robe to cover yourself,” he instructs roughly. 

It’s then that you realize how transparent your dress has become in the water. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment and you slide away, only to freeze when your thigh brushes over an unexpected hardness. Your eyes jump to his and Lucius’s throat bobs, the usual intensity of his features faltering for a brief moment.

"I will fetch more wine," you stammer after a pause, your gaze flicking nervously to Viggo still lingering at the edge of the bath, all too aware that Lucius cannot leave in this state. 

Wrapping your arms around your chest, you rise from the pool. The cool air instantly prickles your damp skin. You reach for a robe nearby and pull it around you quickly, grateful for its modesty. Viggo shoots you a brief, assessing glance, but it’s Lucius who commands his attention next.

"Come to admire what isn't yours?" Lucius taunts.

He leans back casually, as though completely unfazed by the situation. It’s effortless the way he slips into his confident, unshakable mask while you hurry away, eager to break the silence and escape the strange weight of the moment.

–

The clang and clash of metal from the arena become a distant hum, fading into the background as you clean the wounds on Lucius's body. Ravi is occupied, tending to the more seriously injured men, so it falls to you to care for your gladiator. You kneel between his thighs and the coarse sand scrapes against the soft skin of your knees. The heat of the day clings to you both, the air thick with the smell of sweat and blood. But beneath it all, there's a scent you’ve come to recognize as uniquely his — a mix of earth and salt that’s oddly comforting. 

You gently press a cloth to one of the deeper gashes, cleaning away the blood before you begin stitching the wound. Lucius hisses as you draw the needle through his parted skin, and you glance up at him in concern, but his eyes are closed, his breath steady despite the discomfort. His fingers curl into the edge of the cot, gripping it tightly. You smear the thick, fragrant paste Ravi left over the wound once you’re done. 

“You’re getting better at this,” Lucius observes.

“Flesh is not so different from cloth,” you reply.

“A far cry from mending fishing nets,” he says, and for a moment, your eyes meet and you share a small, pained smile.

“And you are a long way from a farm, gladiator,” you acknowledge, shaking your head. 

You help him stand, your hands steady as you support his weight, but you pause when you spot Viggo standing in the doorway. Lately, he seems to haunt your every step, his presence a constant shadow. On instinct you shift a little closer to Lucius, your body seeking the reassurance of his proximity just as he draws you near. The subtle movement doesn’t go unnoticed. A small, knowing smile tugs at Viggo’s lips. It’s a look that sends a trickle of unease down your spine.

“Macrinus is entertaining some important guests tomorrow evening, and you are required to attend,” he announces looking at Lucius. “They wish to see a real gladiator up close, to witness your strength and skill firsthand.”

Then, to your surprise, Viggo turns his gaze toward you. “Your presence is also required,” he adds. Although his tone is casual there's an edge to it that makes your stomach tighten.

Lucius doesn’t speak, but his fingers flex against your hip as he considers the other man’s command. You both know there’s little room for refusal when it comes to Macrinus.

“I understand-” you say at the same time Lucius’s voice cuts through the silence, low and firm.

“She is not needed. I alone will attend.” 

His gaze never leaves Viggo, and you can see the challenge in his eyes. It’s an attempt to shield you, one you appreciate but understand is futile. 

Viggo’s smile remains unchanged. “Macrinus insists.”

The matter is settled and you bow your head, waiting for the other man to leave. Once he is gone you look to Lucius, voice tinged with concern. 

“You should not challenge him.”

Lucius steps away, anger rolling off him in waves. “And you should not submit so easily.”

You touch your throat, then turn away to busy yourself with the bloody scraps of cloth and scattered supplies. There’s no point in arguing. You know the truth: that sometimes submission is the only way to survive in a world ruled by men like Macrinus. As you work the silence between you stretches on, thick and charged before Lucius steps toward you. 

He sighs, his breath warm against the back of your neck. A moment later, his hand rests on your shoulder. The calloused pads of his fingers graze the nape of your neck, sending a fleeting sense of unexpected longing through you as they briefly sweep over your skin.

“I….” His voice trails off and you close your eyes.

“I know,” you say quietly. 

So much of what transpires between you seems left unsaid. You reach back, your hand finding his briefly as the two of you share a quiet moment before he must return to the arena. 

–

The bangles on your wrist are heavy and ornate, far too extravagant for a slave. They feel less like adornments and more like shackles. Beside you, Lucius looks equally as uncomfortable in his fine clothes. They’ve trimmed his beard and his tunic—lined with gold thread—glimmers in the dim light. From across the room, Macrinus raises his goblet to the two of you. All around you his guests mingle, sharing hushed conversation and knowing smirks that deepen your discomfort. 

The servants, once familiar to you from your time as a slave working in Macrinus's kitchen, all avoid your gaze. You spent years alongside them before you were plucked from that world and thrust into Lucius's service. Their hesitation, the way they look past you, is more than simple discomfort, it’s a warning you don’t yet understand. Your fingers tremble where they rest on Lucius’s arm.

“Something is not right,” you whisper, fear rising in your throat.

Before Lucius can reply, the conversation around you falters, and the air grows still as Macrinus moves to the center of the room. Then, with a sharp clap of his hands, the noise dies completely. 

“Our entertainment is about to begin,” he announces, beckoning you forward.

As you approach, his eyes drift between you and Lucius. His smile widens, though it never quite reaches his eyes. “I hope you enjoyed your meal. You’ll both need your strength for the show,” he says. 

“I am to fight?” Lucius questions, his voice edged with suspicion.

“No, not today,” Macrinus replies. “My guests are eager for a performance of another kind.”

Your brow furrows and Lucius stares blankly at Macrinus until two servants, moving in unison, pull a table forward. It is laden with the remnants of the earlier feast — half-finished plates, empty goblets, and discarded silverware. They work to clear away the table until it is left bare. 

“It is no bed, but it’s finer than your cot,” Macrinus assures.  

Lucius jerks back as if struck, his body stiffening in shock while cold dread settles over your shoulder as you both understand Macrinus’s meaning. He watches the small exchange between the two of you with amusement.

“Or, if you prefer not to,” he offers, watching Lucius intently. His voice is smooth with mock consideration as he continues speaking. “I’m sure another gladiator would gladly take your place.”

“No,” Lucius snarls. Before he can move, you dig your nails into his forearm, trying desperately to hold him in place.

Macrinus leans in close, his next words meant only for the two of you. “I expect a good show. Not like that mummer's farce in the bath.”

Ugly surprise washes over you as the full reality of your situation sinks in. Beside you, Lucius shifts and you see the familiar spark in his eyes. It’s the look he gets before a fight when the fire that lives inside him is ready to explode and consume everything in its path. You’ve seen it a thousand times in the arena, and it always ends the same way: with blood. 

You almost wish you could let him fight, but you know better. You step closer to Lucius, your presence a quiet plea for him to stop. It takes a moment before he meets your gaze and when he does you see the pain beneath the rage, the knowledge that this moment is slipping beyond his control. 

There’s no glory in this—only survival. Yet that truth doesn’t make it any easier to watch the fire in his eyes fade as he steps back. It’s the kind of defeat that no arena or battle could ever impose on him. 

“My guests are eager for the show,” Macrinus says and gestures to the table. 

You straighten your shoulders, willing your body to follow the courage your mind struggles to summon. Lucius follows with heavy footsteps. You stop before the table, heart pounding, and take a slow, steadying breath to gather your resolve before you turn to face your gladiator. You know the role you’re meant to play, this moment is just another part of the spectacle your life has become.

Without a word, Lucius steps closer and his hands come to rest on your hips, guiding you to sit on the edge of the table. When he moves between your legs, you can’t read his expression. Unexpectedly, one of his large hands cups the side of your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. He leans in, his forehead pressing against yours.

“Focus on me,” he urges. “It is just us here, no one else matters. Do not think of them. Do not think of anything but me.”

His words are a command and a reassurance all at once, grounding you in the moment even as your pulse quickens. 

When he speaks again, his voice is louder, carrying across the room. “Lay back.”

The table is hard and cold beneath you as you follow his instruction, the chill seeping through the thin silks you wear. Lucius pulls you forward until you’re at the very edge, your legs hanging loosely off the sides. Gently, your dress is peeled away until you’re bare to him. His broad frame blocks the crowd from seeing much but you still feel vulnerable and exposed. You curl your fingers into the palms of your hands, trying to remember Lucius’s words as you close your eyes.

The murmurs of the observers increase, and you feel them shift, edging closer. Then, a woman’s gasp cuts through the tension, followed by a wave of hushed surprise that ripples through the gathered Romans. When you open your eyes you can only see the top of Lucius’s head from where he kneels between your thighs. Guilty anticipation zips through you, followed by a spark of heat that flickers low in your stomach at the sudden realization of what he intends to do. 

“Barbaric,” a man utters, his voice thick with disdain.

“Now now,” Macrinus says with a slight chuckle. “Remember, our gladiator hails from Numidia. Their customs are not ours."

The first touch from Lucius is barely there, a whisper of contact against your inner thigh, but it grows firmer the higher his fingers climb. Instinctively, you hold your breath, waiting for him to reach the most sacred part of you. At the first touch of his mouth to you, the rest of the world fades away.

Lucius builds your pleasure with slow, steady strokes while his calloused hands knead your thighs. His touch is an anchor and spark all at once. There is little resistance when he curls a finger inside. A second joins the first a moment later and without thought, you thread your fingers into his curls. A long, shuddering moan leaves him, and the vibration tightens the coil in your belly. Lucius’s touch grows rougher and more demanding. He drinks from you like he’s starved for it, as if every drop is the only thing keeping him alive while his fingers work you open.

You come with a throaty cry, your hips leaving the table. Every nerve in your body is alight. You cannot help but hold Lucius against you until the mere brush of his nose against your center makes you quake again, sending waves of warmth through your veins. As much as you want him to stop, you’re desperate for him to continue and keep you in this moment where nothing but the two of you exist. 

Lucius pulls away and reality crashes in with starting clarity while the eyes of the crowd cut through you like a thousand sharp edges. Before it all overwhelms you, he climbs onto the table. He lowers himself onto his forearms and the weight of him presses against you.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs.  

You open your mouth but the words you want to say seem to get caught, trapped somewhere between your chest and your lips. To your surprise, wetness gathers at the corner of your eyes. But even that feels like something you can't fully surrender to. You’re trapped in this strange, painful moment where nothing feels real and everything feels too real all at once. It’s all too much – his tenderness and the horror of the situation.

There’s a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in Lucius’s expression in response, but it’s enough to reveal something beneath the surface and allow you to see the guilt he bears. The lines around his eyes seem to deepen and the tension in his expression makes him look older, wearier, and more vulnerable than you've ever seen him. The desire to soothe him is enough to break the strange spell on you.

"All is well," you assure him, gently brushing your nose against his. “I am no maiden.”

“Fuck her already,” a voice shouts and Lucius pulls back, his handsome face twisting into a snarl. You feel the tension in his muscles, coiling like a spring, ready to snap—and a knot of anxiety tightens in your chest. 

You breathe his name, soft and pleading, and he stills, the clench of his jaw betraying the war within. “It is only us,” you remind him, repeating his own words back to him. 

He stares down at you, nostrils flaring and then suddenly he bows his head. You feel the fight leave him as he chooses restraint over the violence you both know he’s capable of.

"Only us," he replies, strained. 

You hold his gaze as you feel his knuckles brush against your inner thigh to line himself up. He pushes inside slowly and you lift your hips. Your body welcomes him with only the briefest flare of pain, eased by his earlier attention. 

“Oh,” you gasp.

Your eyes close as he fills you completely. The sensation is both comforting and alien all at once. You can’t help but think of your late husband, so different from Lucius in every way. You wonder fleetingly if the man above you is thinking of his lost love too. Does that unspoken grief weigh on him as heavily as it does on you?

Before your mind can wander further, Lucius begins to move and your thoughts fizzle out. He curls his powerful body over yours and keeps up a steady pace that makes your skin buzz. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and the smell of him surrounds you, familiar and comforting. As you move together each breath and shift of your body becomes a silent conversation between only the two of you. 

“Gods,” he groans into your ear. “You take me so well.”

His unexpected praise has you rocking into him, needy for more. The table creaks each time he thrusts back into you. His lips trail along your neck and you feel that familiar climb to ecstasy begin, like a delicate crescendo inside you. Your nails dig into his skin and his rhythm stutters. 

“Sweet girl,” Lucius sighs, pulling back just far enough to meet your gaze.

The tenderness in his eyes is unexpected. Since Macrinus gifted you to Lucius nearly six months ago, you’ve shared many looks; full of pain and grief, anger and understanding, but this is something new, fragile. You stroke his cheek and he surges forward, kissing you roughly.

His lips on yours are a revelation. A storm of emotion rolls through your chest, crystallizing into the realization that you want him. You long for him in a way that goes beyond the need for protection, or a desire for connection. You grasp his face in both hands, your fingers trembling against the hard line of his jaw, and return the kiss with urgency. It’s desperate, almost frantic, as though you’re trying to pull him closer, to merge with him in a way that makes the world outside of the two of you disappear. 

He responds with a sharp thrust, angled so perfectly that it sends a flash of heat up your spine. You taste yourself on him when his tongue delves into your mouth. He hardly lets you catch a breath as he pours himself into you over and over until another orgasm washes through you. It’s more intense than the last, bleeding into his own as he comes with a quiet moan. 

He gives a few more thrusts and stills, his lips hovering over yours as you share the same air. Your thumbs stroke the soft skin under his eyes and you hold his gaze. In the depths of it, you feel a thousand words rising in your chest, aching to spill out, but you are all too aware you’re not alone. 

Before you let the world back in you tilt your chin up, lips brushing over his in a slow, tender kiss that he returns with heartbreaking gentleness. When you finally pull apart, the applause from Macrinus makes you flinch, and Lucius’s expression clouds over.

“What a performance,” Macrinus exclaims.

A titter of applause follows from the audience as though they’ve witnessed something to be praised. Lucius pulls away and you wince as he slips from inside you. A trickle of his seed follows and cold air blankets your body. You curl in on yourself, feeling vulnerable and anxious. When Lucius moves to stand, he carefully pulls your dress to cover you. Then, he helps you upright, and draws you into his side, shielding you with his body. He lifts his chin and offers the crowd a sharp, almost vicious smirk that’s more a baring of teeth than a smile. 

“I thought you might fuck like you fight,” Macrinus says. He lays a hand on Lucius’s shoulder like they are old friends and leans close. “I’m pleased to see that I was wrong.”

There’s some other meaning in his words that you don’t catch but Lucius seems to understand. Anger flickers across his face, but beneath it, you see something more unsettling, something you’ve never seen before. Fear. 

“We will do a great many things together, I think,” Macrinus continues in a pleased tone, his gaze lingering on the hand Lucius settles possessively on your hip. “A great many things.”

This time when he smiles it reaches his eyes; cold, calculating, and full of something far more sinister.

You spend the rest of the party seated on Lucius’s lap, his arm banded around your waist while the other rests on your thigh. He’s tense and angry as you expect but his focus seems distant, lost somewhere far beyond the room. He rubs the fabric of your dress between his thumb and forefinger, the motion almost absentminded. The wine you sip is overly sweet and sits like a sour stone in your belly. Neither of you speak. Occasionally, some guests, perhaps emboldened by drink or bravery, approach, but Lucius quickly sends them on their way with nothing more than a look. 

Only once the party dies down are you dismissed by Viggo. On the journey back to your cell Lucius’s grip on you remains firm, as if he's afraid you might slip away. He doesn't speak, and you notice every so often, his free hand curls into a tight fist at his side, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. It’s not until the door closes behind you, locking you both inside the small, dimly lit space, that Lucius finally speaks. 

"You know my true name,” he begins pacing the length of the cell. “But there are things I have not told you."  

He speaks slowly, each word carefully measured, as though he’s weighing the cost of revealing what’s hidden. He tells you the truth of his origin, and with each sentence, you sink deeper into the thin cot you both share, the weight of his words pressing down on you. When he finally falls silent, you remain there, frozen. A thousand thoughts flood your mind, but none of them seem to form into anything coherent. 

"Does this mean-" you begin, words faltering as you try to process the magnitude of what he’s revealed to you. “Does this mean… you are the rightful emperor?”

“I am.” There’s no pride in his admission, only worry. He releases a harsh breath through his nose like he’s trying to clear something from his chest before he speaks again. “There is a plan in place, with my mother and Acacius, but he will not return from Persia for several weeks yet. We cannot wait for them.”

“What has changed?”

“Surely you must know,” he whispers, regarding you softly.  

You shake your head, a quick, instinctive denial, but a deeper part of you already understands. Or perhaps, hopes you do.  

“You," he says simply. 

It’s the way he says it, so certain and knowing, that makes your breath catch. You stare at him and your heart throbs in your chest, low and sweet like a song.

“I never thought I could want someone again,” he admits. His unexpected words summon the ghost of all you've both lost, and they rise between you like a shadow, lingering for a long painful moment. "I thought it would feel like..." His words trail off.

“A betrayal,” you finish for him, keenly aware of what he must feel. 

The vulnerable look on his face awakens something deep and real inside you that you never expected to feel again. You rise from the cot without thinking and move to stand before him.  

"It feels right," he continues, his voice softer now, but no less certain. "As easy as breathing." 

And then he kisses you, tentative at first, before he grasps your jaw, seeking more of you. The way he holds you, possessively, protectively, makes you feel like you’re the only thing that matters, like you're his lifeline in a world that’s about to crumble. It fills you with such longing that you chase his lips when they part from yours.

"Macrinus knows now. And he is planning something," Lucius says, his voice tight with urgency, "and whatever it is, it will be at odds with the good of Rome. He will use you to get to me. And I cannot lose you."

“What will you do?” You ask.

"I'll send word to my mother in the morning," he replies. "You and she must leave Rome. It’s the only way."

You shake your head, unwilling to part from him.

“I will come for you when it is safe,” he promises, capturing your lips in another kiss before he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours. "But tonight… tonight, I need you again. Will you have me?” He questions.  

You answer him with your lips and he gathers you in his arms. The coarseness of his beard against your chin and the firm press of his lips to yours ignites a bone-deep need within. Suddenly all the danger, the uncertainty, and the inevitability of what’s to come fades into the background. It's just the two of you, the heat of his touch, the depth of his kiss, and the unspoken promise in his embrace. 

When he pulls you down on the cot, urging you on top of him, you let his momentum carry you. 

“Ride me,” he pleads desperately, framing your hips with his hands. 

He gazes up at you with such a mix of desperation and love that you couldn’t deny him, even if you wanted to. The shudder he gives when you take him in hand emboldens you to stroke his length. He groans and pushes his head back, exposing his thickly corded neck. You rise up and sink down on him slowly, savoring each inch. It’s near perfect how he fills you, and even though you’re still sore from earlier, the blend of pain and pleasure thrills you too much to stop. 

“Your dress,” he pants, “remove it. Please. I want to see you. All of you.”

You pull the fabric from your body and shed the bangles on your wrist while Lucius removes his tunic. You’re familiar with every inch of his body from tending to his wounds and time in the bathhouse, but you gaze down at him now with renewed appreciation, resting your hands on his firm shoulders. His eyes are filled with affection and desire as they roam your body. 

“You’re beautiful,” he praises. 

He cups your breasts and draws his thumbs across your nipples until they grow hard. The touch sends sparks of pleasure along your nerves and you twitch around him. He moans and rolls his hips. His arms encircle you, holding you close while he fucks you with strong, powerful thrusts. You bury your face in his neck and drag his skin between your teeth. He answers your action with a groan. 

“Gods, the way you feel. You’re perfect,” he praises. 

You sit up and plant your hands on his chest, moving your hips to take him deeper. You gasp his name and arch your back, rocking forward with an urgent need that eclipses everything else. For the first time in what feels like forever, you close your eyes and let yourself simply feel. There’s no need to shield yourself, no barriers to maintain.

“Look at me,” Lucius begs, grasping your waist to take control of your movements.

Your eyes flutter open and meet his, the beginning of your orgasm rising to the surface like a tide pushing its way to shore. It grows steadily until it finally crashes over you, flooding your senses and leaving you breathless in its wake. Lucius finds his own end moments after with a low, shuddering gasp. It takes several moments for your breathing to return to normal and when it does Lucius sweeps his hands up your sides comfortingly.

"Stay with me like this,” he asks. 

You acquiesce and he gently guides you to rest your cheek against his chest. His hand slides to the middle of your back, his palm warm and steady as he holds you close. Even though he remains inside you still your body relaxes, pooling in his. You close your eyes and listen to the steady drum of his heart, feeling a profound sense of stillness. 

You’ve always felt safe in Lucius’s arms, but now, you feel loved in a way you never dreamed you’d experience again. It’s a kind of peace that settles into you, filling all the broken, hollow spaces in your heart where your grief and pain have lingered for so long.

Whatever comes next, his love and strength are something you can hold onto. And for now, that is all you need. 

♡

Also part of this series:

Ab Initio

Finis

Protego te

My inbox is open for your thoughts on this story, requests for drabbles with Lucius and further scenes with Lucius and the Fisherman's Wife.

[ninisdollie]

Side quest - Lee Heeseung 𓈒ིུ ❤︎ ˖ ݁

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .demigods series

Synopsis Lee Heeseung, son of Ares, is known for his violence and cruelty at the halfblood camp. He mocks the newcomers and enjoys tormenting those he deems weak. His attitude sparks your hatred, you not only despise his aggressive nature but also see him as a threat to the peace of the camp. You both deeply loathe each other. However, when you two are sent together on a dangerous quest, your relationship begins to change.

Content: +18MDNI fem! reader x heeseung, pjo au! ares' son! heeseung x aphrodites daughter! reader, enemies! to lovers, jungwon is a side character in this, violence (hs and y/n fight a lot physically), blood (but not so gory), sexual tension, cursing, dirty talk, hard dom! heeseung, humiliation, degradation usage of “whore” and “bitch”, pussy slapping, multiple positions, restraint, spitting, rough, angry sex.

Warning: This is not a soft enemies to lovers, this is die hard pure hatred enemies to lovers, i wouldn't even call it to lovers, but yeah, you've been warned. Heeseung and y/n deeply hate each other and they're ruthless and mean and violent, you know, typical demigods. Also, please remember that even if they do hate each other everything that happens is consensual !!

Word count: 13.0k

taglist at the end, likes and reblogs are appreciated !!

You remembered the sound first.

Not the clash of blades, but the crack of your fist slamming into his jaw. It echoed through the arena like a war drum, followed immediately by a spray of blood and the sharp twist of satisfaction in your chest. Heeseung staggered back, spitting red onto the dirt, and for a second, the other campers froze. No one stepped in, no one dared.

You hated him. With a fire that burned hotter than any of the other grudges you’d carried since coming to Camp Half-Blood. Heeseung didn’t just represent everything you loathed; he embodied it. The violence, the cruelty, the raw power, he wore it like a goddamn crown. He bullied the weak, mocked the newcomers, moving around with his little minions following him, like an army of derranged psycopaths, and relished every moment of it. The worst part was that he still had the audacity to act like he was better than everyone.

You weren’t born to be soft. You weren’t the type to sit and stare at your reflection, dreaming of love and beauty like your siblings. No, you were the daughter of Aphrodite, but you didn’t fit the mold. You were sharp, hard, even. You learned how to fight before you learned how to smile. Your beauty was a weapon, but it wasn’t the only one you had. Of course you were proud of your lineage, your mother was a very powerful goddess, but the truth is, you never felt connected to her, to what she represented. Her daughters were usually dainty, soft girls that moved around with so much sweetness it was almost cloying, princesses that nobody was allowed to touch even with the tip of a rose petal. But you never felt like that was you.

Sure, you had that in you too, a little bit. You were gorgeous, delicate features in your face, your body seemed to float when you fought, your smell sweet. But you were also dangerous, deadly, and you wanted it that way. You enjoyed it. Getting your pretty hands dirty, the sting of the cuts in your skin, the power.

You'd bled for this camp. You earned your place with your fists, with your blood, proving over and over again that you could handle yourself as well as any son or daughter of Ares.

The others had finally learned to respect you for that, but not Heeseung. Not him. He’d never respected you. And you sure as hell didn't respect him either.

He was the one who always had a snide comment ready whenever you crossed paths. The one who insulted you in front of the others, called you “Princess” with that grin of his, like you were just some fragile thing. The one who didn’t waste time before jumping right onto you with his dagger up your throat, dark, evil eyes staring at your soul. And the worst part? It was like he enjoyed getting under your skin, knowing exactly which buttons to press to make your blood boil.

You lunged forward, your fist hitting his jaw with all the force you could muster. The crowd around the arena sucked in a collective breath as the impact sent him stumbling back, his head snapping to the side. His eyes flashed with a mixture of surprise and fury before he wiped the blood from his lip and sneered.

“You’re going to regret that.” he spat, teeth gritted.

You squared your stance. “Try me.”

Heeseung came at you fast. Too fast. His body slammed into yours with all the power of a freight train, knocking the wind out of you. You hit the dirt hard, but you didn’t lose focus. You rolled with the impact, coming back up with your sword already in hand, just as he drew his own.

You exchanged a flurry of blows, steel clashing against steel, skin against skin. His strength was undeniable, but your speed was your advantage. You ducked, weaved, and slashed. His blade grazed your thigh, cutting deep, and you hissed, feeling the blood begin to run. But it was nothing you couldn’t handle.

Heeseung was relentless, driving you back with sheer force. His fist landed on your jaw with a sickening thud, and you tasted blood, your own this time. The world blurred for a second, your head spinning, a white noise in your ear, but you didn’t fall. You couldn’t. You’d spent too long proving you were no fragile thing to let him knock you down now.

You retaliated. Hard.

Your fist collided with his nose, and you heard the sickening crunch of bone. Heeseung reeled back, but his eyes burned with fury, his smile bloodied but still there.

“You’re a fucking monster,” you groaned, wiping blood from your mouth. “What makes you think I’m scared of you?”

Heeseung didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink.

“You should be.”

With that, he hit you again, this time with his elbow, knocking you to the ground. He was on top of you in seconds, his heavy weight suffocating you, fists raining down, but you weren’t done yet. Your hands found the edge of his armor, and you yanked him off you, using the momentum to flip him onto his back. You straddled him, your sword at his throat, the cold steel pressing against his skin.

Then, someone screamed your name.

It took three campers to drag you off of him.

Heeseung sat up slowly, wiping blood from his eyes, face a mess of cuts and bruises. His brothers crowded around him, and he pushed one of them who tried to help him get up. You didn’t look much better, your lip was split, your nose bleeding, the side of your face already swelling.

Chiron’s voice cut through the ringing in your ears. “Enough!”

For a long moment, you just stared at him, chest heaving, both of you covered in blood. And then you spoke, your voice low and full of venom.

“Next time, you won’t get back up.”

🗡 ⠀ ◗ུ⃨ ᭢᭨

Cabin 10 smelled like roses and antiseptic.

You sat on the marble bench beside your bunk, shirt discarded, blood still drying on your soft skin. Your thigh was bandaged, your knuckles bruised, and there was a gash on your cheek that someone had definitely told you you needed stitches.

You didn’t care.

“Hold still.” Wonyoung, your sister muttered, dabbing at the cut on your jaw with a soaked cotton pad “Gods, you’re worse than Ares kids.”

You flinched. “Don’t compare me to them.”

Ares kids were violent, vicious by nature, they were born that way, with the hunger for war running through their veins like a deadly dna, most of them were evil, found fun in fighting with whoever crossed their paths just because. But you were not like that, you fought to survive, to prove yourself, to gain respect. Not like them, not like Heeseung.

She didn’t say anything for a second, just wrung out the cloth and moved to the slice across your ribs. It burned, you didn’t flinch this time.

“You realize people thought he was going to die, right?” Behind you, Jungwon, your former protector and satyr, muttered.

Despite de chaos that seemed to follow him like a curse, Jungwon had always felt like safety. He was your protector once, when you were just a scared little kid fresh out of the mortal world, too stubborn to cry and too exhausted to fight. It was his voice that coaxed you out of hiding, his clumsy jokes that made you laugh the first time you felt like camp could be home.

He never changed, not really. Still wide-eyed, still a little awkward, still had the softest heart you’d ever met in a world built for war.

“Heeseung’s fine.” You muttered, jaw tight. “Unfortunately.”

“Barely.” Your sister shot back.

“It’s not my fault.” You snapped “He started it. He always starts it.”

“And you always finish it.” Jungwon said, stopping in front of you, soft eyes like completely worried about you. “That’s the problem.”

You looked up at him, still feeling like a child under his protective gaze. It was true, though, most of the times you wouldn't even wait until the insult left Heeseung's teeth before jumping onto him and knock him on his back or slapping his face with your palm, and of course, he always reacted violently fast.

“What, you want me to just let him walk all over me? Let him humiliate me in front of everyone?”

“No.” He said gently, a hand landing on your hair “We want you to stop acting like you’re not going to kill each other if this keeps going.”

There was a long silence.

You looked down at your hands, the skin over your knuckles hurt, raw, some of the blood on your palms was his, most of it was yours. It didn't sound that bad, to kill him, but it terrified you. Not because of him, you couldn't care less about his life, but because the effects he had on you, what you turned into whenever he was around.

“I can’t ignore him.” You said quietly. “He’s everything i hate about this place. The violence, the arrogance, the way people cheer for the worst parts of us like it’s a game. And he loves it.”

Jungwon’s hand stilled on your shoulder.

“And you’re not like that?”

You didn’t answer.

Because sometimes… sometimes when you were in it, sword in hand, blood in your mouth, rage burning through your chest, you weren’t sure if you hated him, or hated how much he brought the worst in your chest.

🗡 ⠀ ◗ུ⃨ ᭢᭨

The lights were dim, only a few oil lamps burning in the corners, casting shadows across the weapons hanging from the walls. Heeseung sat shirtless on his bunk, arms wrapped in fresh gauze, a strip of dried blood trailing from the corner of his mouth to his collarbone. The Ares cabin stank of blood, sweat, and agression.

His jaw was still sore from where you’d hit him.

Y/N.

Your name alone made his blood boil.

“She’s fucking insane.” He growled, spitting into the tin bucket by his bed. “She doesn’t fight like she wants to win, she fights like she wants to kill.”

His brothers sat around the room, most of them half-dressed, cleaning weapons, wrapping bandades, sharpening blades. They listened, smirking, amused. This wasn't something new for them, it was an almost every week thing, everyone knew about the rivalry between you two, and some were scared, terrified. His siblings enjoyed it. No one else had the courage to fight Heeseung, to put him on his place, no one even had the chance, he'd probably knock them down in a second.

Only you. And that's what made him burn with something big as a monster inside of his chest.

“She almost did kill you.” Yudai muttered, with a laugh.

Heeseung’s head snapped up, eyes dark.

“If she’d landed that last hit, she’d be dead right now. Don’t ever think she had me.”

He clenched his fist, the knuckles still purple from the impact. The image of you, bloodied and breathing hard, standing over him with that sword at his throat, burned in his memory like a brand. His stomach twitched, rage, aching like a deep, dirty stab.

“She thinks she’s above it all.” he muttered. “Thinks she’s better than us just because she’s not like the other Aprhodite brats. Hates me because i am what i am, because i don’t pretend to be nice.”

“You hate her more than you hate the monsters we fight.” Yudai said, kicking back with a toothpick between his teeth.

“I do.” Heeseung snapped.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, voice dropping low and venomous. The worst part of all, was that he never stopped, not even when his hands were so tight around your throat he thought you could die, not even when that gorgeous face was bathed in blood, from him, from you. Maybe he was a monster, but he was sure you were one too, just under that perfect, beautiful facade that you only used for your benefit.

“I swear to the gods, one second, just one second of no witnesses, i’ll end it. Right there. Slice her throat open and let the monsters take credit for it.”

The room went quiet for a beat.

Then Yudai whistled, long a low. “You’re going to kill Aprhodite’s golden girl?”

Heeseung’s mouth twisted into a sneer.

“She’s not golden. She’s rusted metal wrapped in perfume. All that beauty is just armor for a bitch with a blade.”

He leaned back, hands behind his head, the bruises of his face stretching as he grinned.

“She should be scared of me.”

🗡 ⠀ ◗ུ⃨ ᭢᭨

You were already in a bad mood when Chiron sent for you. The kind of mood where your fists curled at your sides and you were one dumb comment away from snapping. In your head, a million questions, maybe it was finally that time, whole camp was tired of your fights with Heeseung, so you prepared yourself for the discourse, the consequences. Exile, maybe even some heavy punishment from your mother, or even worse, from his father.

So when you pushed open the doors to the Big House and saw him, Heeseung, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, wearing that smug, punchable look, you nearly turned around. His presence was suffocating, it had been days since the last fight, but he still had bruises in his face, ones that were still healing. But even then, he looked good, as if nothing had happened, that cocky smile in his lips, that amused look on his face.

“Tell me this is a joke,” you said flatly, looking past him to Chiron.

Heeseung scoffed, waving his hand at you, slowly.

“Nice to see you too, Princess.”

You ignored him, sitting stiffly on one of the wooden chairs in Chiron’s office, arms crossed over your chest, legs still sore from training. The air smelled faintly of old scrolls and peppermint tea, like it always did in here, but it did nothing to calm the storm rising in your chest.

Across from you, Heeseung slouched with that permanent smugness glued to his face, like being summoned to the Big House was some casual thing. Like this wasn’t about to be another war waiting to happen.

Someone let out a deep, painful sigh. And to your right, Jungwon sat nervously picking at his hooves, you didn't even noticed he was here too, and your instict told you that something really, really bad was about to happen, his eyes darting between the two of you like he’d rather be anywhere else on Earth. Honestly? Same.

Chiron cleared his throat, the sound snapping the tension in half like a twig. “You’ve been chosen for a quest,” he said, his voice calm and heavy with importance. “It’s urgent. And dangerous.”

Your stomach dropped. And then you almost laughed, because fucking gods, always trying to make fun of their own children. Your thoughts raced "No. No no no. Not him" You didn’t let it show on your face, you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction, but your hands curled into fists on your lap, nails digging into your skin. Being sent on a quest with Heeseung was like being asked to walk into a burning house with a can of gasoline and hope for the best.

It wasn’t even fear, it was rage. Frustration. The gods had a twisted sense of humor, pairing you with the one person you might actually kill before the monsters even had a chance. Or even worse, the one person that would sacrifice you for his own glory, and would enjoy every second of it.

Chiron kept talking, but your ears buzzed.

Why him? Why you?

And then you looked at him, Heeseung straightened slightly, all casual arrogance sharpening into something colder. Of course he looked excited, of course he was thrilled at the idea of blood, violence, monsters. He was made for this. And worse of all, of course he would be happy with being with you in the outside world, without any supervision, because there, he'll finally try to do it. To kill you.

You tried to focus, tried to keep your jaw from clenching.

“There’s been a disturbance in the western territories. Several minor gods have gone quiet. The Oracle says something is coming, something old, and angry. We believe it’s tied to the recent disappearances along the borders of the mortal world.”

You blinked slowly, processing. Disappearances meant monsters were getting bolder, stronger, maybe even organised.

That’s when he said it.

“You three will go together, Heeseung, Y/N… and Jungwon.”

This quest could have meant something.

A chance to prove yourself again, yo prove you weren’t soft. But now? Now you’d have to do it next to a boy who represented everything you hated about this place. The violence, the pride, the power without control.

Heeseung shifted in his seat, and you caught his eyes, cold, amused, daring you to say something. You didn’t look away.

Chiron finally turned toward the both of you, his expression tired, too tired for a centaur who’d lived through multiple wars. “This will require teamwork. I don’t care about your history, out there, you either rely on each other or you die.”

Yeah, that's the part that terrifies me, you thought. Because you both were the same in that aspect, the hunger for glory and respect, but you could never work together, not even for a quest like this. You knew he'd had no problem in throwing you off a cliff if it interfered in the quest and got him the chance to come back as a hero. This was going to fail, or end up with one of you two dead, you knew it.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, in your chest, something coiled, hot and electric, all edges and fury. You didn’t know if it was determination, or a very, very bad omen.

🗡 ⠀ ◗ུ⃨ ᭢᭨

The sun hadn’t fully risen yet. The sky was a muted gray, tinged with pink, and the camp still felt asleep, it should’ve been peaceful, it was quiet. Like the start of something sacred. Instead, the ambiance felt wrong, too still, like something was watching, waiting.

You stood at the camp border with your bag slung over one shoulder, arms crossed as you stared at the two people you were going to spend the next gods-know-how-many days with. Over your body, a pair of washed jeans, a simple white t-shirt, and a pink leather jacket over all, you chose the most comfortable clothes you could find, you probably wouldn't even have time to change out there.

Jungwon had his satyr pack on, full of snacks, bandaids, and probably some glitter, and Heeseung… looked like he’d just rolled out of a bar fight and enjoyed it. He was dressed in all black, no armor, just a worn jacket and a blade strapped to his thigh like he wanted someone to test him, his red hair looking almost neon, and that same, damn smirk that you so much hated on his lips.

You had spent the last few hours trying to make peace with the fact that this was real, that you were sent on a quest with the person you most hated in the entire world, and you prepared yourself. You planned all kind of strategies just in case that he tried to kill you while you slept, or even worse, if he tried to betray you and give you away like a full meal for some monster.

“Okay,” Jungwon said, his tone way too chipper for how much tension was leaking from the ground beneath your feet. “Before we go, can we all agree on one thing?”

You raised a brow. “What?”

“No murdering each other,” he said, looking between you and Heeseung like a hopeful kindergarten teacher. “At least not until we’re back.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Heeseung scoffed, placing his hand on the satyr's shoulder, tilting his head as if he just made the most ridiculous comment in the world. You frowned your eyebrows, obviously suspicious of his calm facade.

“Nice team,” he muttered. “A dumb satyr who only thinks about snacks and a bitch with a temper problem. What could possibly go wrong?”

You had your comeback ready, but Jungwon spoke before you, and you felt years of your life fading away because gods, the quest hadn't even started, and he was already getting on your nerves.

Jungwon blinked, confused. “Wait, was that… sarcasm?”

You didn’t respond, just stared ahead, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it almost bled. Heeseung smiled, not his usual smirk, no smug, no show. Just a slow, calm twist of his lips, something unsettlingly cold behind his eyes.

“Of course,” he added smoothly. “I wouldn’t dream of breaking the rules.”

You didn't believe him for a second.

Jungwon clapped his hands together, relieved. “Great! Great! See? Teamwork! I really feel good about this, guys.”

You didn't.

He turned and started walking ahead, already humming to himself like a fool who had no idea how close he was to being caught in the crossfire of something deadly. You fell into step behind him, keeping your distance from the Ares boy trailing just off to your side.

But you felt it.

That calm wasn’t real, it was a mask, and Heeseung was a ticking bomb wearing it like a crown. You didn’t look at him, didn’t give him the satisfaction, but your hand lingered near your weapon anyway.

Then, just quiet enough for only you to hear, Heeseung’s voice slid through the space between you:

“The moment we’re alone, you're done."

🗡 ⠀ ◗ུ⃨ ᭢᭨

The fire crackled between you, long shadows across the trees. The stars above were cold and silent, blinking down on three demigods who were definitely not on the same page. You sat with your knees pulled up, chewing a strip of dried ambrosia like it had personally offended you. Jungwon was beside you, humming softly as he unpacked a ridiculous number of snacks from his bag, trail mix, licorice, those glittery jelly beans from the Aphrodite cabin someone had given him as a goodbye gift.

The silence had stretched for too long.

You’d tried to ignore it, to pretend like the unease crawling across your skin was just the wind or the strain of walking all day. But it wasn’t. It was him, always him. Breathing the same air, sharing the same fire, sitting there like a predator waiting for your back to turn.

You didn’t trust him. Not for a second.

It wasn’t just that he was violent, it was the way he enjoyed it, the way he looked at people like they were targets, not lives. Like everyone around him was just another warm body to split open when he got bored. And now you were stuck with him.

You could feel his eyes on you, you hadn’t looked at him once since setting up camp, but you knew. You felt it. The fire cracked again. He was there, arms behind his head, leaning back against a tree like this was a vacation, eyes half-lidded, lips twisted in that permanent smirk like he was bored of existing. Or maybe just bored of you.

“You’re staring,” Heeseung drawled suddenly, without opening his eyes.

You blinked slowly. “I’d rather stab myself.”

He grinned. “I’d rather you did.”

Jungwon made a tiny distressed noise through a mouthful of candy. He was scared, but not because of him, because of you two, he felt the need to control both of you, because he knew the moment one of you snapped it would be done. You rolled your eyes.

“Tell me, is being an asshole hereditary, or did you claw your way to the top all by yourself?”

Heeseung’s eyes snapped open now, glinting in the firelight, his jaw clenched slightly, but he remained calm, too calm, and you didn't like it. You never liked it, how he looked at you as if he was thinking of devouring you, literally speaking.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purred, “you keep calling me an asshole like it’s not your kink.”

Your hands tightened into fists on your knees. Across the fire, Heeseung leaned forward now, bracing his elbows on his thighs, firelight licking across his face and casting shadows under his cheekbones.

“There it is,” he said softly. “That little twitch in your jaw. Gods, it’s my favorite.”

You swallowed, your heart starting to race, but not from nervousness, from anger, building slowly inside of you like a deadly fever, and your fists grew tighter, the blood from your veins starting to boil.

“Careful,” you warned, voice low and venomous. “You’re mistaking hatred for interest. Again.”

Jungwon sat up straighter, waving a snack wrapper like a white flag. He was nervous, it was obvious, his eyes were begging for you two to stop, and gods, it was only the first day, the first few hours, and he was already terrified that you both killed each other and he would have to carry your bodies back to camp.

“Okay, okay! Maybe let’s not verbally skin each other alive tonight, huh? I’m just trying to survive out here, guys.” He laughed nervously, looking between the two of you with wide eyes and a sheepish smile. “Can’t we just… I don’t know, share stories? Play a game? Something that doesn’t involve emotional homicide?”

But you didn't even blink, neither did Heeseung, gazes were locked into the other, sharp, threatening. You were already on your feet, moving so fast the firelight flared with your motion. But Jungwon raised a hand before you could step forward, his eyes pleading.

“Please,” he said, voice shaking “Just… sit.”

You looked at him, and he brushed your hand with his, softly, like trying to calm you down, big eyes almost teary. He cared for you, he was worried for you, he always did.

So you sat, slowly, carefully, like lowering a sword. But your eyes never left Heeseung.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” you hissed, voice quiet but pulsing with fury. “But I’m not scared of you.”

His smile faded from his lips, and he didn't respond, just closed his eyes again, going back to his position.

You laid down eventually, spine stiff against the bedroll, your fingers near the hilt of your weapon even in sleep. You could feel his presence like smoke behind your back. Still awake, still waiting. Whatever this was, hatred, danger, whatever toxic tether tied you to him, it wasn’t going away.

🗡 ⠀ ◗ུ⃨ ᭢᭨

Five days.

Five days of hiking through dirt, sleeping on rocks, and fighting over who snored louder. Five days of keeping your blade sharp and your tongue sharper. The insults had become part of the routine, like breathing. Heeseung would mutter something venomous under his breath when you passed too close, and you’d shoot back with something nastier. It wasn’t even creative anymore, just muscle memory. Jungwon had taken to walking ahead with his fingers in his ears, humming to himself like maybe if he pretended hard enough, you two weren’t on the verge of killing each other at any given moment.

The day was unnervingly quiet. Fog rolled over the trail like spilled milk, thick and clinging to the ground, curling around your ankles as you walked. The trees around you were ancient and skeletal, their branches twisting like claws into the pale sky. It felt like walking into a dream, too still, too silent.

No birds, no wind. Just the sound of Jungwon’s hooves scuffing the trail ahead and Heeseung’s footsteps behind you, always a little too close.

Your skin itched. Something was wrong.

You didn’t realize how right you were until the boulder to your left exploded. The crack was deafening, stone shattered in every direction, a plume of dust and grit blinding you as something massive surged out of the ground. It was all instinct from there.

You hit the ground, rolled to the side, and drew your weapon before your brain could fully register what you were facing. The creature was huge, easily the size of a truck, all scaled limbs and jagged claws, glowing yellow eyes set deep into a thick, reptilian skull. Its jaw opened wide enough to swallow a full-grown camper whole, fangs dripping with something viscous and green.

A drakon. Or some offshoot of one. Gods, it was ugly.

Jungwon screamed as the monster’s tail lashed out, catching him mid-run and sending him flying into the underbrush with a crash and a startled, goat-like bleat.

You didn’t even have time to check on him.

The thing was on you. You ducked under a claw, sliced upward and caught its cheek, black blood spraying in a hiss. It roared and snapped, teeth clashing inches from your face as you danced backward, slipping on gravel and nearly losing your footing. It was fast, strong, and pissed. You twisted, breath burning in your lungs, and locked eyes with Heeseung across the clearing.

He stood frozen, maybe ten feet away, blade drawn, but not moving, not helping. Just watching.

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

“Heeseung!” you shouted, voice raw. “Help me!”

Nothing. He just stood there, sword gleaming in the misty light, his face unreadable.

And in that moment, while you were dodging death by inches, your body screaming from the strain, blood leaking from a gash on your thigh, you realised something chilling: He was thinking, he was deciding. Like this wasn’t a surprise attack, but a fucking coin toss.

And you were the risk.

“Are you serious?!” you shouted, rage rising, panic choking your throat. “Do something!”

The drakon surged forward again. You blocked the first blow, but your arms were weakening, your muscles rubbery, your grip faltering. The beast reared up, mouth opening wide, and for one second, you thought, this is it. It finally happened, you died, and it was because of him, because of Heeseung, you were right, all the time, not even in a situation like this he would help you, he would enjoy it. You thought about your mother, how she would feel about you disappointing her like this, and thought about Ares, god of War, Heeseung's father, probably laughing at you in that exact same second.

You closed your eyes, ready to receive death with open arms.

Then, finally, finally, steel flashed through the fog. Heeseung moved. One clean slice, fast and brutal, and his blade carved through the side of the drakon’s neck. It shrieked, buckling under the pain.

You didn’t hesitate.

You darted forward and drove your blade into its heart with a snarl, twisting the metal until the light died from its eyes. The beast crumpled with a ground-shaking thud, its last breath gurgling out in a hiss of rot and steam. You stood over its corpse, shoulders heaving, blood dripping down your fingers. Your heart punding, kicking with all its force against your chest, your head spinning, the world feeling hazy.

But then you turned.

Heeseung stood there, calm as ever, wiping black ichor from his sword with the corner of his jacket like he hadn’t just nearly let you die. Your vision blurred with fury.

“What the fuck was that?!” you roared, marching toward him.

He didn’t even blink.

“I handled it.” He smirked, and you swore you felt smoke coming from your ears.

“You hesitated!” you shoved him, hard, your palm slamming into his chest. “You watched! Like it was a show!”

“I waited for the right moment.”

“You waited to see if it would kill me!”

The words felt like acid. Like betrayal.

His jaw clenched. “Don’t flatter yourself. If I wanted you dead right now, I’d make it happen.”

You didn’t think.

You punched him, your knuckles cracked against his cheekbone, and his head snapped to the side. For a split second, one, you saw a flash of something in his eyes. Not pain. Pride. And then he was on you.

He tackled you hard, the two of you hitting the dirt with bone-jarring force. You grunted, rolling, trying to twist free, but his grip was iron. His knee pressed into your ribs. Your blade was gone, knocked somewhere in the chaos, but you didn’t need it.

Your fists slammed into his ribs, his side, anywhere you could reach. He grunted, caught your wrist mid-swing, flipped you, and shoved you down again.

“Stop!” Jungwon’s voice rang out from the woods, panicked and hoarse. “Hello? You guys just killed a literal monster! Can we please not add each other to the body count?!”

You barely heard him, your breathing was wild, chest rising and falling beneath Heeseung’s as he loomed over you, teeth bared, eyes dark with fury.

“You’re fucking insane,” you hissed.

He leaned in closer, just enough for you to see the blood on his lip from your punch. “Takes one to know one.”

You bucked hard and managed to shove him off, he rolled, landing in a crouch a few feet away, chest heaving, hand still on his weapon.

You didn’t move, didn’t speak. The only thing louder than your heartbeat was the silence pressing in after the violence.

🗡 ⠀ ◗ུ⃨ ᭢᭨

Heeseung sat at the edge of the clearing, just outside the reach of the fire’s glow, the split on his lip still warm and bleeding. He could’ve cleaned it by now, maybe wrapped his knuckles too, but he didn’t move. The sting grounded him. He needed it.

You were on the other side of the fire, shoulders stiff, staring into the flames like they might offer answers, like they might burn away what happened. You hadn’t looked at him since you buried your blade in that drakon’s chest.

Not when he stood there too long. Not when you screamed at him. Not even when you hit him so hard his ears rang.

And yet, Heeseung couldn’t stop looking at you.

His jaw clenched so tight it ached. He spat blood onto the dirt, bitter and metallic on his tongue. He deserved that punch, maybe more. But not because he hesitated. Because deep down, where no one could see, not his brothers, not Chiron, not even himself on most days, Heeseung knew exactly why he’d frozen.

Heeseung dug his nails into his palm, breathing slow and shallow through his nose, chest tight with something he didn’t want to name. You weren’t supposed to be this good. You weren’t supposed to be better than him.

But you were.

In every fucking way.

You were faster. Smarter. Sharper with a blade and even sharper with your words. You never flinched, not from monsters, not from pain, not from him. He’d seen it all: the way you moved through battle like it was choreography, the way your body moved with so much grace but equal strength, the way your hair danced with you, the way your face would be covered in all kind of bruises and dirt and blood and you'd still looked so fucking beautiful, untouchable. The way your mind worked ten steps ahead, calculating, adapting. He saw it when you saved Jungwon without hesitation, when you fought with everything you had even when you were bleeding, exhausted, cornered.

And worst of all, he saw it in the way people looked at you. With respect. With belief. No one had ever looked at him like that. Not even his own.

Heeseung grew up being told he was powerful. Ares’ son. Made for war. Designed to destroy. He was praised for his violence, for how quickly he could break things. But you? You were power with purpose. You weren’t just a weapon, you were a warrior. And that infuriated him.

Heeseung let out a breath and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers twitching like he needed a fight just to quiet his head.He watched the flames crackle, throwing light across your face. Even bruised and bloodied, you looked like a real life goddess.

He wanted to hate you for it. Needed to.

Because if he didn’t, if he admitted what else was under the surface, simmering low and hot and terrifying, he’d fall apart. And Heeseung didn’t fall apart. He ripped things down with him.

🗡 ⠀ ◗ུ⃨ ᭢᭨

You were exhausted, your thigh hurt just were the cut was still fresh, your legs trembled, you'd been walking for hours at this point, still unsure of what you were looking for. Jungwon walked by your side, the snacks on his bag had disappeared a day ago, you were thirsty, hungry, tired. Heeseung walked behind you two, silent, the last few hours he'd been like this, and it made you shiver, for some reason. No insults, no violence. But that same look in his eyes, as if we still was waiting for the right moment.

You stumbled into it just before sunset.

A clearing tucked behind crumbling marble archways, overgrown with ivy and blooming with strange, golden trees. Fruit hung heavy from the branches, plump and glistening, like it was begging to be eaten. The air was thick with sweetness, warm and drowsy. The silence buzzed.

It was too perfect.

"Woah..." Jungwon's eyes shined as he looked around, fingers brushing the colorful flowers.

"What the fuck is this place?" Heeseung's voice came raspy, deep, so rough in the so heavenly environment.

But you didn't move.

You looked around. The garden shimmered in the dying light, as if every petal, every branch, was exhaling a spell, the fruit glowed faintly, the vines pulsed with life, everything was too alive.

Magic, floating in the air, every hair in your body jumped.

“I know this magic,” you whispered.

Of course you did. You felt it. Your blood rejected it, your mother’s protection winding through your veins like steel. This was Aphrodite’s garden. Ancient, dangerous, designed to enchant, to unearth buried desires, to peel skin and soul until only want remained. Everything shimmered. Not sparkling, shimmered, like it existed on the edge of a dream. The colors bled into each other: pinks melting into reds, into soft golds, into dangerous blues, the grass was too green, the shadows too soft. It was all... wrong.

Something shifted.

Heeseung blinked, like trying to shake off a fog, and swallowed hard. His brows furrowed, jaw tightening like it did before a fight. He glanced around once, slowly, his body tense, hands twitching at his sides.

“Don’t eat anything,” you warned Jungwon, voice quiet. “Don’t touch anything.”

You felt it immediately. The pull, the power.

But it stopped at the edges of your skin, like the spell recognized its own blood. Your mother’s blood, you could feel the enchantment washing over you, trying, but never sinking in.

But it was too late.

Jungwon, true to his nature, had already plucked a glowing peach from a tree and bitten into it with a happy little hum.

“Jungwon!”

He blinked at you once, then twice, and then collapsed flat on his back in the grass, still chewing. Jungwon hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, limbs splayed out in the overgrown grass, a goofy smile still ghosting across his face. You were at his side in seconds, checking his pulse, his breathing, the flicker of life behind his eyes.

Alive, just unconscious, heavy with magic. You let out a sigh of relief.

Heeseung stood a few feet away, unmoving, silent. The last of the sun filtered through the garden canopy in molten gold, and for a moment, you saw him fully still, unnaturally so.

“Heeseung,” you said cautiously. “Help me lift him.”

He didn’t respond.

“Heeseung.”

His head turned, slowly, too slow. His eyes, dark, sharp, always dangerous, looked different. Dilated, bleary. Like he wasn’t seeing you, but something else. Something deeper. His breath came a little too fast. You straightened up slowly, still crouched protectively beside Jungwon.

Then you swallowed, panic starting to accumulate in your chest.

“…You okay?”

He laughed once, quiet, hollow. “This place…”

You stood slowly, walking towards him, carefully, and then you looked at his face, and you knew it. Ares-born rage now mixed with lust, hate, obsession, blended into something sharp and unmanageable. The garden was feeding it. Feeding him.

His eyes locked with yours. And then he smiled. But it wasn’t that smug, cocky smirk you knew so well. It was something else. Something animal. Sharp and too wide. Hungry.

Your heart sopped beating in your chest, you began to sweat, warm drops falling from your forehead.

“Heeseung,” you said carefully, “this place isn’t safe. It’s enchanted. It’s pulling your mind apart.”

"I know." He responded quickly, sharp, voice now almost unrecognizable, the same tone he used when he tightened his hands around your throat and watched as you slowly ran out if air beneath him.

Your body tensed, your mind racing, looking around for something that could maybe help you get him out of this. Before it was too late. You knew your mother's magic too well, she herself had punished you a lot of times before, when she'd claimed you embarrassed her, you've felt it. It was like a cascade of all the deepest desires in your heart coming alive, and there was no way of stopping it.

And you knew, that Heeseung's deepest desire, was to kill you.

“Heeseung—”

“Do you wanna know the worst part?” he asked, stepping forward. His voice was ragged, but low. Like he was still fighting it somewhere deep inside. “I know it’s the garden. I know it’s in my head. But that doesn’t make it stop.”

You took a small step back, barely noticeable, a bulge building up in your throat, and you swallowed hard, your hand tightened around your blade, shaky fingers. His eyes flicked down. He noticed.

“Smart. You should run.”

And you did.

Without another word, you turned and bolted into the garden, feet barely making a sound over the enchanted grass. The vines reached for you like fingers, but you ducked and weaved through them, the fruit trees blurred past, the flowers pulsed with unnatural light. You ran deeper, heart hammering, blade ready in your hand. For the first time in years, you felt scared. Your mother's magic, mixed with Heeseung's enraging feelings towards you, you didn't think you could survive it. He was already reckless, already vicious and mean, but that, mixed with Aphrodites magic, would make him deadly, and unstoppable, until he got what he desired.

Behind you, you heard it, his footsteps, slower than yours, measured, stalking.

He didn’t need to run. He was hunting you.

You bit the inside of your cheek, slid behind a stone column, breath coming in quiet bursts, you knew how to stay still, you knew how to wait.

But the garden didn’t help.

It whispered around you, the magic of it made your skin crawl. It wanted this. Wanted the fight. The fury. The tension that reeked of lust and blood and desperation.

You heard a twig snap. And then, he was there.

He grabbed you from behind, you twisted, slammed your elbow into his ribs, and broke free. He grunted, caught your wrist mid-swing, and shoved you against the trunk of a tree.

The blade dropped from your hand.

“You don’t get to touch me,” you snarled, kneeing him in the gut. He reeled back, and you lunged for your weapon, but he kicked it away, eyes blazing. He was faster this time, his eyes seemed to burn with pure rage.

“You don’t get to run from me!” he yelled, grabbing your arm again and spinning you around. You slammed your fist into his jaw. Blood splattered across his cheek, but he just laughed. “Gods, I hate you,” he panted, shoving you hard. You stumbled, caught your footing. "But that's good, because i've been looking for an excuse to kill you."

You collided again, hands, fists, nails. He grabbed your shirt, you grabbed his hair. He threw you down into the flowers; you kicked him in the stomach and sent him crashing into a low stone bench. Dirt on your skin, blood on your lip, rage in your throat.

“You think you’re so strong,” he hissed, stalking toward you again, “but you’ve never been stronger than me.”

“No,” you spat, standing up to meet him. “Just better. And that’s what fucking kills you, isn’t it?”

You regretted it the moment you said it. Not because it wasn't true, not because of him. But because his eyes darkened even more, veins popping from his neck and his forehead, and you knew, that you touched a never that was extremely sensitive under the spell.

He froze for half a second. And then, he slapped you. Hard. Your head snapped to the side, vision hazy, heart pounding, cheek red, burning from his heat, you thought your face would be swollen in an instant.

The silence was deafening, you turned slowly, eyes burning, you didn't realise how scared you were until this moment, but not of him, of your mother's magic combined with him, until a single tear fell down your aching cheek.

But he didn’t speak, didn’t move. Just looked at you. Breathing like a caged animal, chest heaving, lips parted, blood on his teeth. And his eyes, dark, but shining, with something that wasn't good at all, even after all the fights, all the rage, all the hatred, he'd never looked at you like this before. And you knew it then, he truly, deeply hated you, so much it consumed him.

And then he grabbed your throat. You gasped, but not in fear. You grabbed his wrist, digging your nails in, but didn’t pull away. His grip wasn’t tight enough to cut your air, it was tight enough to say I could.

“Say you hate me,” he whispered, eyes wild.

“I do,” you snarled. “I fucking hate you.”

He growled, and you closed your eyes, expecting another hit. But then his mouth crashed into yours.

It wasn’t a kiss, it was a war. Teeth, lips, tongues. Brutal and messy and wrong. You bit down, he groaned against your mouth, and you shoved him back, but only enough to pull him down with you. The garden trembled around you, Aphrodite’s magic pulsed like a heartbeat. The line between hatred and hunger shattered. And there, in the heart of something ancient and cruel, you gave in to the ugliest truth between you: You didn’t want peace, you wanted to ruin each other.

His mouth crashed into yours like a threat, not a kiss. There was no softness in the way he grabbed you, just bruising pressure, all fingers and fists and breathless growls. The scent of blood and wild roses hung in the air like poison. You hated the way your body responded, but gods, it did. Every nerve burned, like the garden itself was under your skin, pulling at you, pressing Heeseung against you with invisible hands. His grip on your throat eased just enough for you to gasp, but the sound turned into a growl when he shoved you backward, hard, until your spine hit the bark of a wide tree behind you.

The vines coiled around the branches above, framing the scene like a painting of madness.

“Fucking hate you,” he panted against your mouth, biting your lip until it split. “I swear to the gods, you drive me insane.”

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head in one brutal movement, his knee forcing your legs apart, you tried to twist free, but he was faster, stronger, fueled by something primal and wrong. But you didn’t stop.

You leaned into it.

“Is this what you wanted?” you spat, baring your teeth. “You gonna fuck your rage out on me, Heeseung? Is that it?”

His eyes were blown wide with something feral. He didn’t answer with words. He pressed his body against yours, hips to hips, grinding into you with vicious intent, like he needed to mark you with every inch of hatred he had left, hard beneath his pants, thick length rubbing between your legs. And yet, beneath the fury, there was something shaking, like he wasn’t in control, like the garden had cracked him wide open and let every suppressed urge pour out like venom.

You were soaked in it.

Sweat slicked your chest, your thighs trembled, not in fear, but in maddening anticipation. The bark bit into your back, the tension in your arms from being held made your muscles scream, but your eyes didn’t leave his.

Heeseung yanked your pants down with one hand, the other still pinning your wrists. His movements were rough, furious, like he wanted to tear you apart and devour the pieces. You gasped, not from pain, not exactly, but from the sick, spiraling need clawing its way up your spine. This was wrong, ugly. It tasted like violence.

And gods, it felt good.

His hand dragged down between your legs, fingers slipping through wetness that had no right to be there.

“You’re soaked,” he sneered. “You hate me this much?”

“Fuck you,” you hissed, voice shaking.

He shoved two fingers inside you without warning, and you bit down on your own cry, back arching against the tree.

“Say it again,” he growled, twisting his wrist. “Say you fucking hate me.”

You met his eyes, burning. “I wish you were dead.”

And he kissed you again, dirty, primal, strong, deep. His tongue explored your mouth hungrily, his hand finally let go of your wrists, but you didn't fight this time, you couldn't, your body was acting before your mind did. And in the moment he grabbed your throat again, tighter this time, fingers marking the soft skin of your neck, and he looked down at you again before spitting dirty inside your mouth, you swallowed, without hesitation at all, moaning in the mess of saliva, and blood, and hot breaths.

"I’ve been waiting to shut you up like this for weeks,” he muttered, fingers curling inside of you, stretching your walls so good. “You talk so much shit… maybe I should fuck you until you forget your own name.”

“You’re disgusting.” You spat back, but you still moaned when he started thrusting his fingers, fast, hard, palm crashing against your wet folds.

“And you’re dripping,” he snarled, removing his fingers and letting them fall hard in your pussy, slapping it, and you whined before he thrusted them inside of you again, deep. “You wanna hate me? Go ahead. But your cunt’s soaked for me.”

You bit down on his shoulder, hard. He let out a twisted groan before grabbing you with so much force your already weakened knees trembled, and flipped you over. Your face crashed with the tree, your back now against his chest, and he licked long, wet, slow in your neck, like wanting to taste you, sucking, leaving red marks that you knew would become purple by the morning. You bit your swollen lip hard, and he fingered you again, now using three of his digits, wet sounds combined with your moans and his heavy breathing.

“Gods, you’d look so fucking good crying under me,” he breathed, and you heard the sound of his belt. “Bet that pretty mouth would beg eventually. Even if you had to lie while doing it.”

"Fuck you." You said, but your voice came weak, your body was shaking, wetness dripping from your thighs until it was soaked and sticky.

He removed his fingers again, and you hated how your pussy clenched around nothing, feeling so empty, aching, needy. But not for too long.

"Already am, princess."

Then he slammed into you, and you choked on your breath. It wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t careful. It was a brutal, punishing thrust that made your whole body jolt with pain and pleasure, more pleasure than pain, and you shut your eyes as a high pitch scream left your mouth. He didn’t wait for you to catch up, didn’t care if it burned. He just took.

And you liked it.

Every snap of his hips sent a filthy moan tearing out of his throat, he was so thick, so long inside of you, every inch of your walls clenched around him tight, as if it was made for you, as if you were made for him. And you hated it, so much your stomach burned, but you loved it even more. So did your body, your legs were trembling, your back was arched, not wanting him to stop, not wanting his warmth away from you.

Heeseung didn’t pause, didn’t let you adjust. His hands gripped your waist, holding you down, and he fucked into you like he hated you.

“I knew you’d feel like this,” he grunted. “So tight, so fucking perfect. All that hate… and you’re dripping like a whore.”

Your skin was slick with sweat. The garden pressed in around you, vines curling, flowers trembling. You hated the way your body reacted, hated the way every snap of his hips made you clench harder. You wanted to spit in his face, scratch his eyes out.

But gods, it felt so good. You couldn't stop moaning, rocking your hips backwards to meet with his thrusts, him going so deep you could feel him everywhere, your pussy tight and dripping, wet sounds as your skins crashed, as his thighs slapped your asscheeks. He groaned in your ear, hot breath making your skin jump.

“Fucking take it,” he growled, pace brutal. “Take it like the mouthy little brat you are.”

His pace got faster, merciless, all-consuming, and you couldn’t hold back anymore, not when he was fucking you like this, not when his fingers reached for your swollen, aching clit, not when the head of his cock slammed against your g-spot so good that you moaned again, his name this time.

Your body betrayed you, shuddering violently as your orgasm ripped through you like a firestorm. You didn’t want to scream, but you did. Loud, broken. You whole body shaking, the world feeling blurry through your teary eyesight. You'd never cum this hard before. Ever.

Heeseung groaned low in your ear. “Fucking knew you’d cum like that when I put you in your place.”

But he wasn't done. He pulled out, still hard, still throbbing, and your pulsing pussy still needy, you wanted more, but you would never say it. You didn't need to, your body reacted by itself, you whimpered and your back arched more. Your heart kicked into overdrive. You squirmed, trying to push off the trunk, but he grabbed both your wrists and wrenched them behind your back, tying them roughly with the leather strap from his armor. Tight. Secure.

“You don’t get to act like you didn’t fucking love it,” he hissed, pressing his body to yours. “You came so fast it was pathetic.”

You didn’t have time to catch your breath before he was slamming into you from behind, harder than the first time. Meaner. Like he was punishing you for breathing. You gasped, jaw clenched, trying to bite down the moan. But the sound still slipped out, raw and humiliating. Heeseung's hand reached for your throat again, and your head fell onto his shoulder, he kissed you again, biting your lip, tangling his tongue with yours, spitting inside of your mouth and you took it without fighting, his dark eyes locked with yours.

“Gods, listen to yourself,” he laughed breathlessly. “All that attitude and you’re whining like a needy little whore.”

You wanted to kill him, you really did, but still, you clenched around him, every thrust sending heat spiraling through your gut. The bark scraped your skin, wrists aching from the restraints. You were soaked, shaking, furious. But you couldn't stop, and you didn't want him to stop. His cock was throbbing inside of you, so good, his hands grabbed your hips tighter, his movements became rougher, groans and low moans leaving his lips.

But then he pulled out again, and you didn't have you react. Your back hit the tree with a dull thud, vines curling around the cracked surface behind you as your breath caught in your throat. Your legs scrambled for ground, but he stepped between them, body pressed tight to yours, eyes black with hunger and something far more dangerous. You gasped as your back slid higher up the trunk, knees now hooked over his forearms. He pinned you there, open, helpless, legs spread around his waist, his burning heat in front of you.

You hissed, but your hips bucked up on instinct. You bit back a whimper, biting your cheek so hard you tasted blood. Heeseung licked it off your lip when he kissed you, filthy, cruel, like he was claiming it.

“Say it,” he whispered against your mouth. “Say you hate me while I fuck you senseless.”

“I do,” you snapped, eyes flashing. “I hate you more than anything.”

His smirk twisted.

“Good.”

Without another word, he slammed into you again. You cried out, raw, loud, spine arching off the wall from the sheer force of it. He didn’t let you breathe. Just thrust after thrust, brutal and unforgiving. Your legs locked tighter around his waist as he pounded into you, his grip bruising on your thighs, forehead pressed to yours like he wanted to see every flicker of shame, need, and rage in your face.

“Look at you,” he breathed. “Gods, you feel fucking perfect around me. Tight little cunt made to take me. Say it,” he hissed. “Say you love how I fuck you.”

You shook your head, tears welling from the burn, not from pain, but from how badly your body was betraying you, from how good it felt. How close you were, again. How your hips kept chasing his.

“Fuck” you gasped. “I hate you... I...fuck!”

“That’s not what your cunt says,” he snarled, burying himself deep and grinding his hips so hard you almost screamed. His fingers rubbed your clit again, so good, so skilled, messy circles as you whined and trembled.

Your orgasm hit you like a slap, sudden and violent. Your whole body tensed around him, walls pulsing, muscles shaking, head falling back against the trunk as he kept thrusting.

“Look at that,” he laughed breathlessly. “Fucking milking me. Dirty little bitch.”

His own release hit seconds later, hot, messy, deep. He moaned low and dark into your throat, biting down hard on your shoulder as he spilled inside you. You sagged in his arms, trembling, heart slamming against your ribs like a war drum.

He held you there for a moment, panting, twitching inside you, breath on your cheek.

Then he pulled out, letting your legs fall. You nearly collapsed, but he caught you with one hand, shoving you back to the wall.

For a moment, you just stared at each other, hearts pounding, bodies trembling, both of you looking completely ruined. He didn't say anything, and maybe it was better that way. He simply untied you, eyes now on the ground, and started pulling up his pants.

You swallowed, your body still weak, your mind still processing what just happened, sweaty, sticky, his cum still dripping from your sore folds. You pulled your pants in silence as he buttoned his.

And then he left you there, wrecked, shaking, dripping, while the enchanted garden glowed soft and pink around you like it had seen everything.

🗡 ⠀ ◗ུ⃨ ᭢᭨

The morning sun filtered lazily through the rose-colored vines, dappling the grass with soft light. The garden looked peaceful, deceptively so. As if it hadn’t been the setting of something violent just hours before.

Jungwon was crouched near a stone altar, babbling happily to himself. “Okay so I think, I think, this statue of Aphrodite is pointing toward the next marker. See the vines here? Totally intentional. This is a clue. I'm a genius.”

You sat on a mossy stone, arms folded tightly across your chest. Your clothes were rumpled, your lip still bruised from where Heeseung had bitten you, and your thighs ached with a quiet, maddening throb you refused to acknowledge.

You hadn’t slept.

Not after that.

You didn’t want to look at him. You he hadn’t, not since you'd woken up to the sound of his footsteps behind you, casual and lazy like he hadn’t ruined you. Like he hadn’t left you broken against a tree with his name clawed into you throat.

But he was watching you. You could feel it. That heavy stare pressing against your back like a weight.

You didn’t flinch.

You wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Gods, what the hell had you done?

Heeseung leaned against a tree, arms crossed, trying not to let the memory creep under his skin again, but failing miserably.

You'd run from him. Blade in your hand. Wild with fear.

And still, you'd let him break you open.

He hated you.

He hated the way your eyes had rolled back when he was inside of you, hated the way your voice had cracked on his name, hated the need that burned behind your fury. But what he hated most? That he wanted more.

Not softness. Not forgiveness. Just more. More nails down his back. More of your spit on his mouth. More of that unhinged, vicious, addictive rage you only had for him.

And now, you wouldn’t even look at him.

He clenched his jaw.

Coward.

“Guys?” Jungwon looked over his shoulder, finally noticing the thick silence. “Uh… everything okay?”

You nodded once, tight. “Fine.”

Heeseung didn’t say anything.

Jungwon blinked, then gave an awkward laugh. “Okayyy. So! Like I was saying, I think this garden was Aphrodite’s way of messing with people. Like… seduction as a trap, you know?”

Your stomach twisted.

Trap. Right.

Jungwon kept going, unaware. “So if we follow the direction her statue’s pointing, I think we’ll find the next artifact. Or a trial. Or something. I mean, we’re overdue for a monster encounter, aren’t we?”

Silence.

You stood. “Then let’s move.”

You still didn’t look at Heeseung as you passed him.

But he turned his head slightly, eyes trailing the line of your spine, and muttered under his breath, just quiet enough for you to hear:

“Can’t run forever, sweetheart.”

You didn’t stop walking. But your fists clenched hard enough for your nails to break skin.

🗡 ⠀ ◗ུ⃨ ᭢᭨

You felt it in your teeth.

A low hum, almost imperceptible at first, like the air was vibrating around your bones. It made your skin itch. Made your blade feel heavier in your hand.

The ruins looked like they’d been forgotten for centuries, swallowed by the earth. Cracked pillars, choked vines, and shattered stone mosaics depicting scenes you couldn’t even decipher anymore. A temple long lost to gods no one dared pray to now.

This was where demigods vanished. This was where the trail led.

And whatever had taken them... was still here.

Heeseung stood beside you, silent as death, jaw tight. You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. His presence was enough to make your chest tighten, equal parts loathing and adrenaline. His tension made you uncomfortable, his stillness made your pulse race.

Jungwon clutched his staff with shaky hands, peeking behind a fallen column. “I-I don’t like this place,” he whispered. “Smells like… something dead.”

“Probably us,” Heeseung muttered.

You shot him a glare, and he smirked without humor.

Then the wind changed. The fog shifted, the floor started to shake beneath your feet, and you looked around, the air starting to feel extremely heavy, every pore in your skin jumped, your heart beating like crazy in your chest.

And the thing stepped out.

It was like nothing you'd ever seen. Towering, malformed, stitched together with parts that didn’t belong to the same species, horns curling out of what looked like a human skull, arms bending backwards, dozens of eyes blinking across its ribs. Its mouth opened, revealing rows of jagged, wet teeth.

No one moved. Not even the monster. It just stared.

And then it lunged.

You didn’t think. Just moved.

Steel met shadow. Your blade bit deep into flesh that didn’t bleed, and Heeseung’s axe slammed into bone that didn’t break. Jungwon cast, missing more than he hit, his hooves skidding on the moss-covered stone.

It was chaos.

You were fast, but it was faster. You dodged one strike, only to be clipped by a tail like a whip, flung backwards across the marble floor. Pain sparked down your spine, but you rolled, came up slashing.

Heeseung held his ground, screaming wordless rage, his swings wild but deliberate. Until the beast caught him. Slammed him into a column so hard you felt the impact in your teeth.

He dropped.

Your heart stopped.

You screamed his name before you could stop yourself.

And then everything blurred.

You threw yourself between him and the beast. You didn’t even know what part you were hitting, you just kept swinging. You felt something snap. Something screech. The thing bled black smoke and shrieked like a dying god, and then crumbled.

Silence.

You collapsed to your knees beside him, panting, hand shaking as you reached out. “Heeseung…”

He was already pushing up, coughing blood, glaring at you with murder in his eyes. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“I saved your life.”

He got up, brushing his jeans with his hands and taking his weapon from the ground, he didn't look at you.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“You would’ve died.”

“Then maybe I should’ve.” His voice was low, raw. “Better than being in your debt.”

You stood up, fury igniting in your chest. Even in this moment, even after all that happened, he was still acting like this, even after you saved his life.

“Gods, you are unbearable. You’re a fucking child. All this—this tough act—what is it even for? To prove you don’t need anyone?”

“I don’t.”

“You do. You’re just too full of your own pride to admit it.”

He walked towards you with heavy steps, towering, furious, blood dripping from his temple.

“I’d rather die than owe you anything.”

You smiled, lifting your shoulders, your heart was still pounding fast.

“Then maybe I’ll make sure next time I don’t stop it from happening.”

“Oh yeah?” He stepped into your space, face inches from yours. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Watching me bleed?”

“I think I’d enjoy it a little too much.” you responded, lifting your chin until his breath was crashing with your lips.

“You’re fucking twisted.”

“And you’re not?”

You were breathing hard now, chest to chest, practically vibrating with how much you wanted to scream, or kill him, or maybe both. Or even worse, how bad you wanted him to grab your throat and spit in your mouth like he did before.

Heeseung looked down at your lips. Then your neck. Then your hand still clutching the blood-stained hilt of your blade.

“I hate you,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

“I know.”

“I think about killing you every day.”

His pupils blew wide.

You didn’t blink. The worst part of all? You felt it, the shiver down your spine going down until it settled between your legs.

Then Jungwon’s voice, distantly from behind a shattered pillar: “Um... guys? Is it... dead-dead? Like permanently?”

You exhaled sharply and turned away, like he hadn’t just threatened to murder you while smiling. Like your heart wasn’t trying to break through your ribs.

You walked ahead. You didn’t speak again.

But the air between you? It was on fire.

🗡 ⠀ ◗ུ⃨ ᭢᭨

The artifact pulsed inside Jungwon’s satchel like a beating heart. The thing had been guarding it, or drawn to it, no one really knew. But it was recovered now. The disappearances were over. The quest was done.

But nothing felt finished.

You walked a step ahead of the group. Your legs ached. Your blade was dulled from the fight. You had a cut along your cheek you hadn’t bothered to heal.

And you could feel his eyes on your back.

Like heat. Like poison.

Heeseung walked in silence, unreadable. But his mind was loud. He hated that you’d saved him. Hated that it still haunted him hours later. Hated that he kept picturing the way you looked standing over him, blade dripping, hair soaked in sweat, face wild and beautiful and terrifying.

He hated you because you made him feel less.

Because in some twisted, humiliating way, you were everything he wasn’t. Stronger. Smarter. Colder. Better.

And he wanted you in a way that made him feel weak.

The war wasn’t over.

🗡 ⠀ ◗ུ⃨ ᭢᭨

Camp Half-Blood was never quiet, not really. Not with the clang of swords from the arena, the laughter from the Apollo cabin echoing across the fields, the scent of strawberries clinging to the warm breeze like a stubborn ghost.

But it felt quieter.

Or maybe that was just you.

You hadn’t spoken to him. Not once.

Since the return, you’d stayed surrounded by your siblings—laughing a little too hard, training a little too much, like distraction could bleach the memory of what happened in that garden. Of how his hand felt around your throat. Of how your name sounded coming from his lips, soaked in hatred and lust. Of the bruises on your hips, the burn between your thighs, the filthy way he had looked at you when it was over.

You hated him.

Gods, you hated him.

But you were losing sleep.

And no matter how many cold showers you took, or how many times you pressed your fingers between your legs at night pretending it wasn’t his voice echoing in your head—you couldn’t stop wanting him.

It made you furious.

Because it wasn’t just that you wanted him. You craved him with a kind of violence, like hunger sharpened into a blade. You remembered the way he had touched you like he was punishing you for something, the way he pulled you apart like he didn’t care if you survived it.

And worse?

You wanted him to do it again.

🗡 ⠀ ◗ུ⃨ ᭢᭨

Heeseung was losing his mind.

He didn’t look like it. No one would’ve guessed. On the outside, he was the same smug, violent bastard as always. Wiping the floor with sparring partners in the arena. Picking fights with Hermes kids for fun. Smirking like he had the world by the throat.

But on the inside?

He was fucking unraveling.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you, your mouth open in a silent gasp, the way your eyes turned teary, the way you clawed at him like you wanted to rip him in half and kiss him while you did it. The way your lips had curled around his name like a curse.

He didn’t understand it.

He didn’t want to understand it.

He hated you.

You were arrogant. Reckless. Always had something to prove. Always talking back. Always showing off. Always beating him, outsmarting him, getting under his skin.

You were a goddamn nightmare.

But his fists clenched every time he saw you across the camp, pretending like you didn’t feel it too. Like you hadn’t dug your nails into his shoulder blades and begged for more. Like you didn’t still dream about it, about him.

He wanted to break something. Preferably you.

Or maybe just break with you.

Because when you looked at him from across the dining pavilion with those narrowed, unreadable eyes, lips set in that perfect scowl, like you were daring him to come closer—

He had to look away before he did something insane.

Like kiss you again.

Or throw you down on the fucking table.

🗡 ⠀ ◗ུ⃨ ᭢᭨

It happened in the middle of the night.

The sky hung low over Camp Half-Blood, heavy with clouds that swallowed the moon. A storm teased the horizon, distant thunder rolling like the echo of war drums. The arena was silent save for the wind scraping across stone, and the sound of your heartbeat thundering against your ribs. Heeseung stood near the edge, hands flexing at his sides, shirtless again, bruises like ink stains across his chest. Moonlight bled over his skin like a curse.

He turned the second you stepped in. His eyes locked on yours, red-rimmed, wild. Dangerous.

And hungry.

Neither of you spoke for several long seconds. The air between you buzzed like electricity, like violence. Like memory.

“You following me now?” he sneered, voice low, rough, and dripping with venom. “Can’t go five days without crawling back?”

You laughed bitterly. “Don’t flatter yourself. I came here to hit something, not fuck a mistake.”

“Shame.” He stepped forward. “I thought you liked mistakes.”

The tension snapped tight between you.

And then you were in each other’s faces.

“Do you think about it?” he growled. “Late at night? When you’re trying to pretend you’re not obsessed with me?”

“Don’t kid yourself, Ares. You’re just something I put up with.”

His lips curled into a snarl.

“Liar.”

You slapped him.

The crack echoed.

His head snapped to the side, but he didn’t flinch. When he looked back, his jaw was set, and his eyes, god, they burned.

And then he lunged.

You slammed into the wall of the arena, your hands gripping his shoulders, legs kicking up instinctively—but he caught you, pressed his body flush to yours like a weapon, like an answer to a question you’d never admit you’d asked.

“I fucking hate you,” he growled, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. His breath was hot on your throat. “I hate your mouth. I hate how you look at me. I hate how badly I want you even when I want to tear you apart.”

You arched against him, nails dragging down his back.

“Then do it.”

He didn’t need another word.

His mouth crashed into yours, teeth and spit and blood and fury. It was a war in the shape of a kiss, brutal and breathless. His hands bruised your hips as he pushed you harder into the wall, grinding against you like he could erase the space between your bodies.

You kissed him back just as violently—bit his lip until it bled, dragged your fingers through his hair and yanked hard just to hear him groan.

His hand wrapped around your throat. Tight.

“You think you can take it again?” he hissed. “Think you can handle me without falling apart?”

“Try me, asshole.”

And he did.

It was all so fast, so primal, so violent. He ripped your clothes apart with hunger, shirt teared apart as well as your lacy bra, your breasts in front of him, bare, the cold air of the night making your nipples hard, and he buried his face in your chest, sucking, licking, biting, leaving marks in your soft skin, and you just moaned and squirmed and grabbed his hair and pulled it so hard he groaned against you. Then his other hand found your core, wet, dripping, embarrassingly needy, and he didn't wait to shove two fingers inside of you, thrusting them until his arm was veiny and his wrist was twisted.

"So soaked for me, you can't hide it. You're making a mess and i haven't done anything yet" his voice was low, filled with lust.

He didn't even prepared you properly, just filpped you over, your cheek against the cold floor, and grabbed your hips until your back was arched perfectly and your ass lifted. He slammed into you, hard, rough, deep, and you screamed high-pitched, your voice echoing in the empty arena, you didn't care, he felt so good, stretching you, you could feel every vein in his cock against your soaked walls, and you clenched around him, Heeseung thrusted his hips and you lost it, rocking yours against him to fuck yourself into him.

"Fuck yeah, there it is." he slapped your ass, hard, it burned, but it only made you whimper louder "You can hate me all you want, but you'll always be my cock drunk slut."

"F-Fuck you." your voice was broken, your eyes teary, but you couldn't stop, not when his heavy weight was on top of you, not when his hands grabbed your hips this tight.

"Yeah, i'll do it, every fucking day from now on" His skin crashed with yours, so rough, his thrusts were meant to break you, and they did.

You came embarrassingly fast, and incredibly hard, your pussy clenching around him, swallowing his cock, your body tense, the whole world blurring around you, a scream that hurt your throat leaving your mouth. And he didn't stop, he just chuckled, vicious and mean, and his hands grabbed your hair as he rolled his hips with so much force that your knees were trembling.

"You were born for this, born for me to use." You were crying now, but not from pain, just from the overwhelming pleasure taking over your body, your pussy aching so good, overstimulated, pulsing. One of his hands squeezed your breasts as his thrusts became erratic, senseless, the hisses through his teeth guttural.

With a low groan, he came too, spilling his warm seed inside of you and you saw stars, filling you so good, and a strange relief came to your body, as if you had been so stressed and finally, you weren't anymore.

Heeseung pulled out, watching how your folds leaked his cum, his chest heaving, his hair sweaty.

Your body was sore and trembling, skin marked with teeth and nails and things you’d never confess, he didn’t look at you. You sat side by side in the dark, backs against the wall, breathing hard. Silent.

And then he said, “This isn’t going to stop.”

You turned your head slowly, heart still thudding.

“No,” you said. “It’s not.”

You both knew what it meant. You would keep hating. You would keep wanting. There was no peace between you, just this: teeth, nails, blood, and heat.

And gods help you, you never wanted it to stop.

🗡 ⠀ ◗ུ⃨ ᭢᭨

this took me so long because i suck at writing action scenes but i hope it’s not that bad :(

thank u so much for reading!! hope you liked it, if so, please like and reblog !!

taglist: @gulicore @bussolares @vixialuvs @berryloveseunghan @lilifiedeans @m1kkso @usuallyunlikelyfox @jayjw16enxp @starfallia @bellsjakesgf @zuwishii @cutehoons02 @immelissaaa @nyxtwixx @kayjiguki @emisluvr @k1ttyjwon @cherrymaria58 @koizekomi @crysieberry @add-this-to-that @ii-mimii @luumiinaa @firstclassjaylee @elicheel @vintaegegirl

[internetdaddy98]

The Beginning Of The End

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist] Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!SeniorResident!Reader Summary: A look into the evolution of Y/N’s relationship with Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, over the course of her three years in residency as she begins her fourth year as a senior resident. Their unspoken connection has simmered under the surface, building tension over shared glances, subtle touches, and buried feelings,  with their emotional stalemate still unresolved, but undeniably present. 

Word Count: 1.8 K Content Warning: Mentions of child death, medical procedures, panic attacks, unresolved tension, will most likely be medically inaccurate at times. 

You have been doing this dance for three years now. You had met Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch on your first day of residency at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Fresh-faced and full of childish hope. Dr. Robinavitch had taken a stern approach when it came to your learning, and although it stung for a while, you understood it came with the territory. You knew what people assume when they saw you, you stood at just 4'11", but what you lacked in height, you more than made up for in quiet tenacity. Your brown eyes, large and observant, held a kind of quiet sorrow, like someone who had seen too much too young, but never stopped hoping for better. Your medium-toned skin often had a warm flush from running around the hospital, but you carried yourself with a kind of composed stillness, as if the chaos of the ER never quite penetrated the shield you'd learned to hold up.

You had a slight frame, graceful and almost delicate in your movements, what Dr. Robby once offhandedly described as “pretty, dainty little thing who believes in rainbows and butterflies.” But he’d also learned, sometimes the hard way, that beneath your soft voice and gentle manner, you could be immovable when it counted. You didn’t raise your voice often, but when you did, the entire room listened.

In scrubs, you often looked like a med student playing dress-up, but anyone who underestimated you regretted it fast. You weren’t the type to demand space; you simply claimed it with quiet skill and calm certainty.

Despite the barriers you put up, your compassion was obvious in the way you held a patient’s hand, the way you comforted families, and the way you never once treated anyone like just another chart. You loved deeply, especially your family, though you rarely talked about yourself. Whatever trauma shaped you, you carried it like a scar stitched into your core, quiet, but unignorable.

You had earned Robby’s respect fast once he saw past what you looked like and learned about who you were as a doctor. You had thought of Dr. Robby as a good mentor, but three years of learning about each other and learning from him had developed something between you that was unspoken, buried deep in its roots beneath the surface.

It had become never-ending game of chess where neither of the players was ready to admit defeat or their feelings. Stolen glances, small touches and unspoken truths that have been bouncing between you two for the past year, and although you both thought you were subtle, half the ER were waiting for the ticking time bomb to go off. Your relationship had shifted fast one day during your third year. It had been a brutal shift, twelve hours of back-to-back traumas, a code blue that ended with a mother screaming into her child’s chest, and the guilt of a missed diagnosis that wasn’t yours, but still felt like it belonged to you. The kind of shift that strips the bones clean.

You held it together until the locker room.

No one saw you slip inside. You were good at that, disappearing when your emotions started to boil too close to the surface. You perched on the bench, elbows on your knees, breath coming short and sharp like your lungs had shrunk.

Your vision tunneled.

Your chest ached.

You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to will it away, but the past had already caught up, flashes of too-bright lights, sirens, someone calling your name while your voice refused to work. You weren’t here anymore. You were there, small and helpless and bleeding on the inside.

You didn’t hear the door open.

“Sheri?”

You flinched hard, jerking upright. Robby froze when he saw your face, your eyes wide and unfocused, chest rising too fast.

He stepped in slowly, voice gentling. “Hey. It’s okay. It’s just me.”

You tried to speak. Nothing came out. Your hands were shaking. Damn it, you thought, not here. Not in front of him.

But he didn’t comment. Didn’t tease. He crossed the room like he was walking toward a wounded animal, careful, steady.

“Can I come closer?”

You nodded, barely.

He crouched in front of you, not touching, just anchoring you with his presence. “You’re having a panic attack,” he said quietly. “You’re safe. You’re here at the hospital. It's over. Just breathe with me, okay? In through your nose.”

You mirrored him, trying to follow the rhythm of his breaths. His voice was low and grounding, like the rumble of a storm you trusted not to hit you.

“Out through your mouth.”

You did. Once. Twice. A third time. The air started to reach your lungs again.

“There you go,” he murmured. “Good. That’s good.”

Without thinking, you leaned forward, maybe just to stay tethered, maybe because the gravity between you pulled you there, and he caught you gently, his hand slipping behind your back. You felt his breath near your ear, his chest against yours.

Too close. Too much.

But you didn’t move.

And neither did he.

The moment stretched, quiet and heavy. His hand didn’t leave your back. Your forehead nearly rested against his shoulder, and the smell of his cologne, faint, clean, familiar, hit you in a way it never had before.

You pulled back at the same time he did, eyes catching. Locked.

The air changed.

Not like before, not in the safe, platonic way. Something crackled between you. Something dangerous. New.

You could feel his breath on your lips. His eyes flicked there, just for a second. Just long enough to light your nerves on fire.

He blinked and stood up fast, breaking the contact like it had burned him. “You okay?”

You nodded, but your voice still didn’t work. Your heart was pounding for an entirely new reason now.

“Good,” he said, running a hand through his hair, suddenly all sharp edges and avoidance. “I’ll give you a minute.”

And then he was gone, leaving you in the silence, staring at the door and trying to convince yourself it hadn’t just happened. That your skin wasn’t buzzing. That his touch hadn’t been gentle in a way that meant something.

You had no idea what the hell had just shifted between you. And for a long time after, you sat there in the stillness, breathing finally even, hands steady, but your skin still tingled from where his fingers had touched you, and your thoughts refused to fall back into place.

Something had changed.

Something that neither of you could pretend hadn’t happened.

After the panic attack, things didn’t go back to normal.

At least, not completely.

The next shift, Robby didn’t mention it. He was the same as ever, brisk, dryly sarcastic, sharp-eyed. But something about the air between you had shifted. The way he looked at you lingered just a breath longer. The way he stood beside you now left less space. Not suffocating, never that, but close enough that you could feel it.

And you told yourself it was nothing. Just him being kind. Just the aftershock of a bad night. Just you, reading too much into a silence that stretched a little too long.

But then came the day he reached past you for a chart and his hand brushed yours, and he didn’t pull away fast enough.

The morning he handed you a coffee, your order without asking.

The way he touched your elbow when you moved past him in, like he had to, like it was muscle memory.

Small things. Nothing obvious. Nothing anyone would question, no one except you. Because you noticed. Because your body noticed before your mind could catch up.

You weren’t foolish. You knew what you were to him. A resident. A student. Another junior duckling trailing behind him. And yet, it didn’t feel that simple anymore. It hadn’t felt simple since that day in the locker room, when your panic broke through the surface and he held you together with nothing but steadiness and silence.

You were careful after that. He was, too.

But carefulness didn’t erase the tension. If anything, it sharpened it.

A glance across a the ER became something charged. A moment of eye contact during a case presentation lasted a fraction too long. When you laughed at one of his dry little jabs, his mouth would twitch like he regretted making you smile. When you succeeded, he praised you with words that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

It became a game. A never-ending match between two people who refused to admit defeat. You were always one move behind him, then suddenly ahead. He’d say something biting, and you’d parry with soft defiance. You started calling him out more in rounds, in front of junior residents, even in front of attendings. Not disrespectfully, but with a kind of quiet precision he couldn’t ignore. And he didn’t shut you down. He liked it. You could tell.

Somewhere along the line, you stopped needing his approval. You had it. You knew that now. What you craved instead was something less nameable, something that sat beneath your skin and hummed at the base of your spine every time you were near him.

Late nights turned into long silences filled with everything neither of you would say.

There was the night he leaned against the nurses’ station at 3 a.m., watching you work a code from across the room with something close to pride in his eyes.

The time you stitched a laceration on a pediatric patient with trembling hands after a rough trauma, and he rested a hand on your shoulder when it was over, brief, but grounding.

The time you laughed too freely at something he said, and he looked away too fast, like it hurt him to hear it.

You thought maybe he was fighting it. Whatever it was between you. And you hated yourself for hoping he’d lose.

Because the truth was, somewhere between the mentorship and the medicine, the rivalry and the long hours, you had fallen in love with him. Not in the sweet, safe, storybook way. No. It was a quiet, painful kind of thing. The kind that lived in your chest like a secret, blooming and aching all at once.

You never told anyone. You didn’t need to.

Half the ER was watching the dance. Waiting for the moment someone slipped.

But he never did. And neither did you.

By the end of your third year, you had become known for your calm presence, your steady hands, and your ruthless efficiency. Your charts were tight. Your instincts were sharper. You could run a trauma code with one look at your team and a steady tone.

But behind all of it was that tension. That thread between you and Robby that neither of you had cut.

And as your final third-year shift wound to a close, the kind of rainy, unremarkable Thursday that smelled like bleach and burnt coffee, you caught him watching you across the break room, his gaze unreadable, jaw tight.

And by the time you walked into the ER for your first shift as a Senior resident with a new badge, and a team of interns trailing behind you, you felt the shift again.

This was your year now.

But it still started with him. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Your honor, I love my sad boi. Let me cook

[muqingslover]

[ is that angst I smell? The menu for tonight offers the LADS boys and how they are post-breakup with you! yum! the reason for the break-up is open bc it's besides the point. Also, how do we feel about this layout? ]

Now playing: The cut that always bleeds by Conan Gray

Part of him had always expected this to happen. The ugly and resentful side of his heart that never believed in the so called "love" you held for him after the horrible things he went through and in the end he was proven right.

How many more reincarnations would he have to live through until you finally learned to love him? Or maybe this was his punishment for sacrificing the lives of his own people for someone who won't even look his way.

Personally, I don't think he's a weak, whiny baby most people describe him as. I firmly believe Rafayel can be resentful and angry, he just keeps it hidden so you won't see it. This time however? Oh you're seeing all the sides of him.

He wouldn't ever hurt you, absolutely not, but he will raise his voice when he questions why you were doing this to him, why were you forsaking him again, when he's given you everything he possibly could.

"Why is it never enough for you?! Why is it so damn hard for me to be enough for you?! Answer me!" The tears streaming down his face are something he doesn't even realize until his eyes begin to sting. How many centuries has it been since he had last cried?

For months he'd stay locked inside his studio and no one is allowed to visit, not even his aunt is able to help. The paintings he had of you were all ruined but Rafayel still found himself sketching your face like clockwork each time he stood in front of an empty canvas.

He feels angry, betrayed and he's just so, so hurt. I believe that depending on the reason behind the breakup it could very well be his last straw and will lead to him returning to the sea for good.

One day he's just gone without a trace and he's never coming back.

Now playing: The loneliest by Måneskin

He can't believe this is happening. Like, you choosing to break up with him was never even an option in his mind. Xavier would immediately assume it was his fault and beg for you to let him try and fix whatever went wrong.

His entire world shatters when you walk out the door and somehow it hurts so much more than when he held you in his arms as life left your body.

For months he would take part of the same missions you did, visit the same spaces, take the same train and do anything he could to be apart of your life. The silence between the two of you is suffocating but, surprisingly, Xavier is the one who makes the effort to make conversation about even the simplest of things.

His emotional state would completely drain him. He is so exhausted but he can't sleep at all. Not when he knows you chose to not be by his side.

Nevertheless, Xavier would keep trying, trying and trying and then some more. He brings you things he tried to cook in hope it'll make you smile the same way it did before only to end up throwing it away in a bin after you declined it.

Eventually his exhaustion would catch up to him and lead to a fatal mistake while out in a mission. He is stubborn, but there is only so much he can do when his own body is running into the ground.

"Can you see the sky from where you are?" He would ask during a call you received in the middle of the night in which, unknown to you, would be the last time you ever heard his voice. To Xavier however, he was relived he was able to hear your voice while under the same sky one last time.

Now playing: Promise by Laufey

The breakup itself is so quiet and calm. The two of you discussed things and he accepted it. Zayne would always, always, respect your choices. If being by his side was not something you wanted then he will let you go without any claw marks.

It was too awkward to be around each other so what follows are weeks of radio silence. He throws himself into his work, but he can't find the focus to properly do his job. His mind always go back to you— Were you okay? Were you thinking of him at all? Were you eating and sleeping well? Who was by your side now?

He breaks the no contact rule first to check on you and although he isn't sure if what he feels is genuine relief when he sees you doing well at least that's...closure. You're happy and healthy, even without him, and he couldn't ask for more than that.

Zayne feels as if everything around him turned dull and grey. His heart frozen in time after you left and he is nothing more than a husk that functions on autopilot until his body breaks down.

He feels cold regardless of the temperature now that you're not here and he believes it is what it is. He tried, he truly did his absolute best, but he can't take away from your happiness.

The two of you will return to being friends after a while and he will continue to support and care for you like he always did. To you, the moments you shared will soon be forgotten while Zayne he will forever remain frozen in those warm memories.

Now playing: The Moon will sing by The Crave Wives

His hands gently cradle your face as he asks you to please talk to him because there's nothing he wouldn't do for you. Except sometimes there are are things he simply can't do and that's something he would be forced to accept.

Sylus would ask to keep contact even if it's just for the sake of business and uses any and every excuse to see you or hear your voice. If he can't be wanted then he will be needed and if he can't be needed then he is okay with being used as long as it's by your hands.

In truth, he wouldn't ever give you up regardless if you fell for someone else or years pass. He will be frustrated and hurt at times, but he can be patient. He will wait until it's his turn to be deserving of your heart again.

Though that does not mean he will do absolutely nothing. Sylus would tell you every day that he still loves you and it doesn't matter what you say because he won't ever feel disencouraged.

"I'm not expecting anything or pressuring you. I'm only reminding you that my love for you won't change even if you're not by my side." His voice is like a gentle coo as his hand comes to pat your head, playfully ruffling your hair so you would drop the serious expression on your pretty face.

Now playing: In my room by Julia Wolf

The biggest CRASH out.

First, he knows you want to break up before you even gather up the courage to bring it up and he finds a way to stop you from saying it every. single. time.

"Caleb I think—" "Oh! I completely forgot! I got these tickets to the show you wanted to go! C'mon, c'mon! We'll be late!"

He is in strong denial after you finally manage to say it. He'd claim you're just confused about things and that it'll pass as long as you give it some time because you don't truly mean it. You need him, how could you ever think otherwise?

He will keep calling and texting you non-stop— He begs you to talk to him and rethink your choice. You're obviously making a mistake so please stop this already.

It would take a lot to make him stop. Unless you had an ironclad reason to not come back to him then he would keep going. When he does stop though? Oof.

Caleb could only endure the torture and damage done to him mentally and physically all those years because you were his anchor. His entire life is centered around you and now that you're gone he'd lose all of his motivation.

The last time you hear from him is through the news you'd receive about the colonel who took his own life.

"Please keep me close to your heart." Your eyes read the words on the letter while your other hand clutched the necklace he left for you. Would you grant him this one last, selfish wish of his?

[princesssmars]

she gon’ eat this pussy up cause it’s sweet!

yet another boxer!vi x reader

p.i - p.ii

wc : 3.310

contains : fxf. fem!reader. hair and skin tone not described. fluff. some jealousy made up by hotel sex. oral and penetrative sex (r!receiving). they both want that cookie so bad.

a/n : they keep getting longer help me. i already have kind of an idea of the next part in my brain because the day after i started this i had the horniest dream ever so i'll just write that out. here's the position if you can't get the logistics down ik that happens to me lmao. enjoy <3

you never saw yourself as the type to get on a plane at the drop of a hat just to get railed silly by your girlfriend, but you’ve been learning a lot about yourself these past few months.

and one thing that’s made itself apparent? you and violet were fucking whipped for each other.

obviously it was to be expected, over six months in and this had been both of your longest relationship yet. you both made the time and effort to make sure it continued to be so, constantly spending quality time together and making sure boundaries were respected and desires were met.

it seemed that as everyday passed your shared devotion just increased tenfold.

as well as your… equal amounts of passion.

it was almost silly to look back and remember how you were so nervous that intimacy would change something in how she saw you. you don’t regret waiting and setting that boundary for yourself, but after the first few times together you really wish you had started sleeping with her earlier.

obviously sex wasn’t the only reason you loved violet. she was an amazing lover in every sense of the word, always ever so affectionate and caring to your physical and emotional well-being. you constantly told her you’re sure her clear superiority at being an older sister made her such a sweetheart, always protecting and looking out for you even when it wasn’t needed.

but it was only a matter of time before vi’s skills and charisma in the ring caught up to her, and before both of you knew it she had greatly increased in popularity to the point she was booking matches in other cities, occasionally leaving you along for weekends when she had to stay overnights to train and perform.

and you over it for the first couple of times. it wasn’t the end of the world when the two do you had to be separated, and when you got lonely there were always other ways you could be there for each other.

“how much longer until your back?”

“aww, don’t tell me my baby’s missing me already?” vi’s mocking voice rings through the receiver, groggy and low after falling asleep an hour prior before you called.

“can you blame me? normally i have you all over me every saturday night like clockwork, now i’m all alone in this bed. in my underwear. alone.”

she chuckled at your brazenness and audibly shifted herself over the phone. “oh yeah? maybe i could help you with that. wouldn’t mind staying up to help you…”

you hum playfully. “then maybe i could give you a visual guide?”

as soon as she hears the incoming face-time call vi’s eyes briefly close in bliss. god, does she adore you.

and of course having vi guide you through masturbating from miles away for the first time is a thrilling experience, but it still leaves a slight ache in your cunt heart to not have her by your side as often as you once did.

but when you saw the radiant look on her face on television after she won a fight, heard the joy in her voice when she called you as soon as she walked off of the platform, you didn’t have it in you to bring up your silly complaints about not having her by your side twenty four seven. she was finally living her dream, and you wouldn’t cause her any worries about balancing it with you.

so you’d shut up, use her flexing mirror pics to get off, and be patient. it shouldn’t be hard, you’re an independent woman and completely secure in your relationship.

well. maybe just independent.

a big company wanted vi as a sponsor and set up a schedule for her to fly out to film promotional material for nearly five weeks. your girlfriend was intuitive, asking you if you were okay with her being gone for so long. you looked at her like she was crazy, telling her she’d have to be insane not to take this chance even if it meant you’d be alone for longer than usual. she seemed unsure, but was still excited about the opportunity and bid you goodbye at the airport with a big kiss and a promise to see you soon.

it was fine, the same daily texting and calls as had happened before. but after a few days she tells you her conversation might be slipping because of some of the extra trainings they’re making her do for the promo. that’s all fine and dandy to you.

until you see it on social media. it starts as a clip of vi hanging out with some of her fellow boxer friends at a club, nothing out of the norm. but going though the comments makes you skip way to around the end of the video, and you feel your eyes burn into your phone when a woman, an admittedly gorgeous woman comes up to the table and sidles up right next to vi in the booth.

honestly, this was nothing new. you’d known since your introduction that woman drew to vi like a magnet. your own friend was starstruck when she talked to the both of you and gave you a very funny passive aggressive message when she found out the two of you were dating. you’d had to deal with desperate fans at her games, begging for a chance to talk to her, touch her, beg her to autograph their chests at one point?

so who you find out to be a fairly famous influencer show up at the same hot spots as your girlfriend who’s over a hundred miles away isn’t surprising. what is surprising is the fact they keep popping up in the same places. you would never for a second think vi would cheat on you. it still doesn’t help quell the little green devil that lives in your chest, though.

its am early friday afternoon in your apartment and you’re scrolling through delivery apps for a quick meal when you see vi’s contact come up at the top of your screen, answering it as soon as you process who’s calling.

“someone’s eager to talk to me.”

“it’s nice to talk to you too, vi. how was your day?”

“it was alright, we just did those pictures and photoshoots today so i got to just stand around and show off my good looks.”

“it is one of your strong suits.” you dryly chuckle and keep scrolling through the food options, battling between pizza or pasta.

“feels better when i have you looking at me, though. you doing anything tonight?”

“nothing much, dining in and watching a movie i guess.”

she hums and is about to say something else but the green ugly devil decided to reach its hand through your body and puppet your mouth for no reason whatsoever.

“you going back to the club tonight?”

“uhhh no, all my friends are busy and i have an early morning tomorrow. why, you feeling left out pretty?”

“what if i was?”its silent once again.

“then what if i did something about it?”

so you’re here, flying through the dark of night thousands of feet in the air and slowly descending to an airport where violet is waiting for you, standing at the pickup area is a very inconspicuous black tracksuit with a black beanie to cover up most of her hair and large black shades. there aren’t words to describe the euphoria you feel being back in her warm embrace, sinking into her arms as she rests her chin on your head.

“i cant believe you really did this. and i cant believe they let you through the airport wearing that.”

“i know, had to give security some autographs. cmon, we’ll go back to the hotel.”

you sit a little too close for safety standards next to vi in the back of the dark suv the company had been lending her for her stay in the city, her arm wrapped around your shoulders as the other sat innocently on your thigh. well, as innocently as it could be with vi. she wouldnt do anything too crazy with someone driving, but her thick finger did inch towards the gap between your legs a few times.

there’s an unspoken tension as you arrive at vi’s hotel and she takes your bags to lead you up to her room, keeping close to you until you make it through the door and she sets your stuff by the spacious closet.

she had sent you some pictures as soon as she had checked in, but it was still surreal seeing the thing in person. it was big, but it made sense since she was an extended stay on a ‘business’ trip of sorts. you smile seeing the left open chip bag on the desk and one of her favorite movies playing on the television.

you’re brought out of your stupor by a familiar large hand grabbing yours and tugging you over to the plush couch that sits against the end of the bed.

“so, what ‘cha think?”

”you roll your eyes and relax into the chair some more. “i think that you should take these brand deals more often. just make sure to keep brining me along.”

“oh i definitely would, wouldn’t want you feeling jealous again, would we?”

your mouth gapes open as your body sits upright, looking at her defensively as she struggles to hold in her laughter. there’s no denying it with her so you decide to do the mature thing and cross your arms with a pout.

“how do you figure that?”

“because i know people are talking about the influencers that keep showing up to our booths. and i know your best friend told me about your sour mood and threatened to kick my ass over it.”

you sigh and turn your body to hers, resting your leg over her thighs when she makes the motion to pull it over herself. “’m sorry, vi. you know i’d never believe you’d do that. it’s just…”

“it’s just what?” her thumb and forefinger come up to pink your chin and bring your downcast eyes to her attention, “you know you can tell me anything, right?”

“of course i do. i didn’t wanna complain because everything is going so greatly for you, and i didnt want to make it seem like im unsupportive. i couldnt be prouder of you, vi. it’s just hard not being around you so much. i love our calls and the pictures and everything but its not..its not you.”

her eyes turn soft and she shakes her head before pulling your entire body to rest on her lap, both of her hands coming up to your cheeks to bring you in for a sweet but hard kiss.

she pulls back and peppers some more kisses over your face until you start to laugh, the sound of your laughter always brighting up her day. “i understand, baby. you don’t sound unsupportive, i promise. it’s been hard for me too. i’ve missed you so much when i’ve been gone, you have no idea.”

you gently nod and give a dreamy sigh before sinking into her arms once again, hand coming up to palm at her hair as hers travel to your waist and gently massage up and down your back. you’re content to enjoy the moment until her hands start to skirt lower and lower and suddenly you remember that you’re back in the arms of you’re girlfriend who you haven’t been able to sleep with in literal weeks.

you let out a sharp squeak when her palms travel down to your ass and squeeze you over the fabric of your leggings, head coming do so scarred lips can whisper in your ear.

“how about i show you how much i missed you?”

you’re very glad that its been established you’re both desperate for each other, because otherwise you’d be nothing but embarrassed to be in this position.

you’re starting to feel a slight kink in your neck from staring down at the woman currently eating you out like she’s starving, but when she takes your clit into her mouth and sucks so intensely you throw your head back you briefly think any small amount of pain is worth the pleasure she’s giving to you now.

your arms hold you up on the back part of the couch, one knee resting on the armrest and the other on vi’s thigh so your pussy is right in front of her face for her to get easy access, her hands scooping and pulling you in by your ass and making it impossible for you to back up and avoid the pleasure when it becomes too much.

“vi, nngh, vi,” the only words you can get out are slurred mumbles of her name and curses as her tongue dips down to thrust into you. her nose bridge more than enough to give you stimulation on your clit as she somehow buries her head even further into your cunt and groans into you, the vibrations only driving you crazier.

you whine when she pulls her face away to stare up at you, eyes hungry and sweet like you’re a deity that’s letting her drink freely from the fountain of youth.

“you still jealous, muffin?”

“vi cmon, please keep going, please-”

your mouth gapes wider when she quickly leans down and licks a long strip up and over your clit, pulling away with more of you smeared over her lips than before.

‘fuck, violet,” your head tips back in bliss, concentration slipping as you feel her hot breath ghost across your clit and her eyes trained on your chest as you arch your back.

her fingers clench again and pull your cheeks apart, a little grin gracing her face at your high-pitched gasp at feeling the cool air of the hotel room hitting both of your holes.

“y’know, i seem to recall a certain someone making fun of me for being jealous just a few months ago..”

you groan as she speaks, pushing your hips in a futile attempt to get her to keep eating you out.

“not so fun when its you, huh angel?” her hand travels further up from your behind so her fingers can prod at your entrance, teasing your hole to bring more of those desperate sounds that she loves to pull from deep in your chest. “it’s ok, i know it was hard for you. could see how desperate you were over the phone.”

“i wasn't- oh, shit, i wasn't that needy.”

only about an inch of her ring and middle fingers are shallowly thrusting into you but its enough to drive you wild. its a bit humbling to realize she has you in the palm of her hand already, but you cant find it in you to care.

“tell that to my favorite pillow. swear i thought you were gonna give yourself rug burn last week.”

you drop your head to look at her again and she cant help but laugh at your best attempt at a scowl, eyes droopy and mouth scrunched in the cutest little pout she’s ever seen.

she bites her lip and suddenly pushes her fingers all the way to the hilt inside of you, silently reveling in how she has to hold your body up when your knee beside her starts to wobble.

she thought about teasing you more, holding her fingers in place and not moving until you admitted you were desperate for her, that you needed her. but she was just as desperate for you as you were for her, and when she feels your walls clenching around her combined with you starting to drip down her hand and wrist her brain goes on autopilot and she starts to fuck you at the pace she knows you love best.

in only an instant you're moaning and writhing above her, hips jerking back and forth for friction and your nails digging into the fabric of the sofa. a brief voice in your head tries to remind you that you’re in a hotel and other people can likely hear you, but like she can read your mind vi gives a stern whisper to ‘put it down.’ as soon as you raise your arm to bite into it.

vi lets out a mix between a laugh and a groan at your immediate obedience to her command and she briefly becomes aware of the arousal that's building between her own legs. she subconsciously starts rubbing her thighs together as she continues to stare up at your body. when your body jolts when she hits that spot deep inside of you she’s afraid she might actually cum in her pants and decides to distract herself by stuffing her face back between your legs.

it often scared you, how amazing vi was at eating pussy. you try not to think about how most of it was probably due to extensive practice, but when she sucks at your clit in that way that leaves a rather obvious noise you can't find it in you to care. she’s all yours now anyway, and the thought only brings you closer and closer to the edge.

she can tell you’re about to cum by the tremors in your legs and your hand coming to the back of her head to push her farther into your cunt. she likes doesn't care about the pain of your nails in her scalp. doesn't care that it’s becoming just a bit hard to breathe. there are two places in the world where vi truly feels at peace, in the ring during a fight and in between your thighs as she brings you to an orgasm. she tries to mumble gentle encouragements as you cum around her fingers but they only come out incoherent, the vibrations from her voice only driving you further up the wall as you release.

even as you come down your body still has little tremors brought on by vi continuing to lick and suck at you after your orgasm ends, only your hand digging into her hair and pulling her away able to stop her from going at you. her face is flushed, covered in cum, and her mouth agape as she takes deep breaths in and out. you’re sure you look no better but she makes no mention of what a mess you must be, only flopping her head to the side to rest on your thigh so she can stare up at you.

“i…i might have been a little jealous.”

she breathes out an airy chuckle at your confession and gently shakes her head. “i think we share that in common.”

your eyes start to droop closed in the bliss of the moment, your body in a dreamy state while vi kisses over your thighs and stomach before giggling when vi places a short chaste kiss right on your cunt,

“not a problem as long as we can keep reassuring each other, huh?”

you never saw yourself as the type to have to hide your face in a pillow when your girlfriend got delivered a noise complaint by a flustered hotel attendant at eight in the morning, but you’ve been learning a lot about yourself lately.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request the Itoshi brothers and Bachira with a ballerina reader?

“You can’t possibly be serious.”

Rin didn’t know a lot about relationship and girls, but he still knew when he said that, he crossed a line.

“Oh really.” [Y/N] snapped back at him. Arms crossed across her chest. Glaring at him with that fiery determination Rin usually respected, but now was a little scared of. “So you admit you think my training is BS compared to your training?”

The two of them had been on very intense practice schedules as of late. Rin training up to prepare for his next match and move up, and [Y/N] training for their upcoming performance and hopefully be scouted for prima in a company. They were stressed out, fried, and exhausted. And what do exhausted people do when they are exhausted? Compare their exhaustion so they make sure that their complaints are justified as they are the only one, in the whole wide world, who could be this exhausted.

“I didn’t say it was ‘BS’. I’m just saying you can’t possibly compare what I have to do to what you have to do. The weight training. The cardio.”

“The stretching. The vaults.”

“The practice matches. The strategy management.”

“Learning every step in the performance, even if it isn’t yours, to memory. Being lifted almost 8 feet in the air and hoping your partner can hold so you don’t break your leg, or your neck.”

“The ice baths.”

“Pointe shoes.”

“Having to deal with Isagi!”

The couple growled at each other before [Y/N] finally snapped. “Fine! You think it’s so easy, you do it!”

“Fine!”

Rin would live to regret that.

The next day, to foolishly prove a point, Rin went through [Y/N]’s whole workout schedule with them. The stretching, the vaults, the practice, the lifts. He wouldn’t let himself be lifted, nor wear pointe shoes, but by the end of the day his body hurt in new ways he didn’t even know were possible. “Still think it’s so easy?”

Rin looked up from the floor he was laying on up at [Y/N]. “Fine. I take it back.”

She smiled and knelt down beside him. “Well, I appreciate that. People think because ballet is all pretty costumes and fluid movements that it’s calm & easy. They don’t appreciate the work that goes into it.”

“I’m sorry.” He realized he was doing that. Belittling their hard work.

Rin sat up and took a sip out of his water bottle. “Are you going to do my training tomorrow then?”

“Sure. What’s fair is fair.” She agreed. “But no weights. I can’t bulk up anymore of Madam Costume Maker will murder me.”

Rin scoffed. “We’ll just do an easy day for you then. If you can’t handle it.”

She punched him in the shoulder, but Rin was too tired to even feel it.

One thing that people don’t tell you when you become a professional athlete is that it’s not just about the games anymore. It’s the press.

Sae sighed as he came back to his hotel room. Completely drained from having to deal with people all day and answer their silly questions. He just wanted to play football. Why did he have to tell everyone about his fitness strategy or what brand of saltines he liked?

As he was taking off his coat his phone rang and Sae answered it. “Hello.”

“Thank you for the flowers.”

A small smile tugged at Sae’s lips as he heard [Y/N]’s voice. “Of course.” With his game coming up, he was not in town for [Y/N]’s opening night. He felt bad about it, which was strange, but being professionals in their art sometimes they had to make sacrifices. That didn’t mean he couldn’t make an effort. “How was the show?”

“Good. Early critic reviews seem to be positive.” Of course they were with [Y/N] as the prima. “I wish you could have seen it.”

“I will.” Sae explains that he paid someone to film their performance. He had gotten special permission and everything from the company; with a hefty donation. “I’ll watch it later.”

“You sound tired.”

“I am.” He confessed.

“Poor baby,” [Y/N] cooed. Even though she was the one that went through the grueling physicality of dancing, she still seemed more concerned for him. “Why don’t you take a hot bath and get some sleep then?”

“They don’t believe in baths here.” Or at least his hotel room didn’t.

“A shower then. I’ll see you next week?”

“Of course.”

Sae hung up the phone and sighed again. Still tired, but a little refreshed from talking to [Y/N].

He showered and went to bed as suggested. Getting a goodnight sleep for another press tour tomorrow before the game. When he woke up that morning there was a knock at his door and a delivery from room service. A hearty breakfast of an egg white omelet, fresh fruit, and salty seaweed tea. The kind of breakfast he needed but would never get for himself. After accepting delivery, Sae noticed a card on the silver tray and quickly read it.

:Do your best: was all it said, but Sae knew who it was from.

He sat in his hotel room and ate his breakfast in silence. Watching [Y/N]’s performance on TV. Just because they had to make sacrifices didn’t mean that they couldn’t make the effort.

Bachira had been obsessed with ballerina’s ever since his mother took him to see a show once at Christmas.

The bright costumes. The spins. The music. It always excited him.

Dating [Y/N] was almost like being in the show. Helping them with their choro. Coming to rehearsals to see them practice. Bachira had probably seen the show a hundred times before actually opening night, and yet he was as nervous & excited as the actual dancers.

“You’re going to do great [Y/N]-chan~!” He whispered to her backstage.

“I don’t know…it’s a much bigger crowd than I expected….”

“That’s ok.” Bachira told her. “They’re all just faceless blobs in a crowd. Don’t focus on anyone but me in the first row. Unless…I get removed for cheering too loud. That’s gonna be hard for more….”

[Y/N] chuckled, then kissed Bachira’s cheek. “Thank you. I wouldn’t have made it this far without your support.” The music changed, coming up on [Y/N]’s cue, and they get into position to dance out. “Don’t get kicked out.”

“I’ll try~!” Bachira promised, then went to his seat to watch the performance from the audience. In awe & rapture of the beauty of the show and his partner.

[exorcxqsm]

The price of desire.

ᯓWord Count: 4,4k

ᯓ tags - WARNINGS: mdni, reader isn’t the lnds!mc, explicit sexual content, alterations to the main story, toxic relationship, dr/y humping, t/easing, (lowkey) o/rgasm control, b/egging, f!receiving oral, p in v, unprotected sex, breath play, sensory play, spanking, mention of breeding!kink (toxic if you squint really hard), creampies, dom!sylus, use of pet names (kitten, sweetie), violence, mentions of blood and injuries.

ᯓnotes: This is my first published work here, it took me some time to write but I believe I’m content with how it came out. At first, the idea was to keep it a part one which is connected to an event of the series. Ending this part, I can think of some ways this can go, but I’d still want your opinion:) If you want to see more of this, please go ahead and ask. Any reblogs and likes will be appreciated. 

You were a dangerous woman, a fact well-known throughout the N109 Zone. As the assistant to one of the most feared men in the underworld, your reputation was built on the edge of a knife. 

But today, the real danger sat directly across from you at the table—your boss's most formidable and deadly rival: Sylus.

His silver-white hair fell messily over his forehead, creating a disheveled yet intentional look that only added to his unsettling charisma. A smirk played on his lips, while his crimson eyes held an unreadable intensity,  as he sat on the table with his henchmen on each side of him. Luke and Kieran.

You had done your research, uncovering every scrap of information about the three men before you. It was a challenge, of course; the leader of the most notorious illegal organization in the N109 Zone wasn’t one to divulge valuable intel easily. Yet you had pieced together enough to know the depths of Sylus's ruthlessness.

You were certain of one thing: Sylus would not hesitate to sacrifice anyone—including his own men—if it suited his purpose. The black-red tendrils of his mist would mercilessly end the person and he wouldn’t blink an eye while his lethal capability, capable of extinguishing a life in an instant, would take over. 

The only individuals he seemed to protect were Luke and Kieran, his unwavering henchmen, whose loyalty was both a strength and a potential weakness in this deadly game.

Everyone claimed that the twins were somewhat adopted by him—a complex relationship in which he protected and provided for them in exchange for their loyalty and services.

If you were being honest with yourself, you found yourself drawn to the twins. They exuded a carefree spirit that brought an element of fun, even in the context of business. You often wished you could shed your own uptight demeanor and embrace life as they did.

Your thoughts were abruptly pulled back to the present when one of Sylus’s men dropped two large armory boxes onto the table that separated your group from his. As the man opened the boxes, a collection of modified and illegal firearms was revealed, each piece looking as lethal as the man who had crafted them.

Dante, your boss, rose from his chair beside you to inspect the guns. After all, that was the purpose of this meeting—a trade, a business transaction between two men who despised each other's very existence, yet could not deny that, in times of crisis, their respective resources could prove invaluable to one another.

Dante provided the protocores, and Sylus expertly modified them. When Dante requested his part of the deal, the modified protocores were returned to him in the form of firearms capable of ending a life in less than the blink of an eye.

“Resourceful as always, Mr. Sylus,” your boss mused, but Sylus’s gaze was locked onto yours, seemingly ignoring Dante entirely.

“Oh, Dante,” he said, the man’s name dripping with disdain, “my little black heart is shattered into pieces. One would think you’d have learned by now not to question my methods or my work.”

You rolled your eyes at the silver-haired menace, your heels clicking against the carpet in a rhythm of impatience. You were growing weary of this standoff. Dante needed to state the agreed price and move on already.

“Set the price.”

Sylus’s smirk widened at Dante’s request, his eyes now fully focused on him. He seemed to stall deliberately, taking slow, measured steps around the room. His imposing aura filled the space, the coat draped over his broad shoulders swaying slightly with each movement. Finally, he came to a halt by the table, gripping its edge with both hands and leaning forward.

“Such a pretty kitten you have with you, hm?” he taunted.

Your gaze turned icy as Dante’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Are you referring to Miss Y/N?”

Sylus tilted his head to the side, his crimson eyes locking onto you once more, studying you with an intensity that made you uneasy. “You’re a foolish man, Dante.”

“What the hell did you just say?” 

You exhaled through your nose, frustrated by your boss’s inability to keep his pride in check when it came to Sylus. This man ran an entire organization yet seemed unable to handle a little provocation.

“I said…” Sylus drawled, relishing the moment, “you’re a foolish man. Only someone with the brain capacity of a goldfish would keep a pretty kitten like her uncollared.”

You shot up from your seat faster than lightning, leaning dangerously close to Sylus, your hand itching to grab one of the weapons from the boxes in front of you.

“You should watch your mouth when speaking to a lady, Mr. Sylus,” you seethed, your voice low but fierce. “Only a man with the brain capacity of a goldfish would disrespect a woman for no apparent reason.”

Sylus chuckled at your retort, a wide grin spreading across his sharp features, revealing his teeth.

“Feisty,” he mouthed, a smirk playing on his lips, meant only for you to see.

Just then, Dante stepped up behind you, and you almost forgot he was there until his hand landed firmly on your behind, giving it a squeeze. Your hand was so close to the gun that it took all your willpower not to reach for it.

Sylus's expression shifted, the amusement fading as his brows furrowed, re-centering on his forehead.

“Set. Your. Price,” Dante reiterated, his body uncomfortably close to yours.

You had served as his assistant for far too many years, becoming accustomed to his unpredictable behavior. Yet, deep down, he knew you wouldn’t dare act against him with all his guards surrounding him.

You were a capable assassin, more than capable of matching his malevolence, but you were just one woman up against his entire army. He was well aware of your skills, which is precisely why he always kept a close contingent of guards present during your meetings in his office. You were his most valuable asset, yet he was frightened of what you could do if pushed too far.

Despite this knowledge, he often seemed to forget the extent of your capabilities, choosing instead to provoke Sylus.

“Her.”

“No.” Your response was immediate, your tone firm. He couldn’t be serious.

Dante’s chest shook with laughter beside you, his golden teeth glinting in the light.

“She’s off the table, I’m afraid,” he added, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Very well, then.” Sylus retracted from the table and rose to his full height, a shadow looming over both you and your boss. “So is the deal. Have a good one, Mr. Dante.”

Your shoulders relaxed for only a brief moment, but before you could even blink, you found yourself lifted off your feet and thrown over the table like a ragdoll.

Fucking bastard.

Of course, the deal was too important for him to let it slip away. Sylus knew exactly what he was doing when he pulled this stunt.

“Don’t even think about it,” you spat, your voice harsh and defiant. “I am your right hand; your business will crumble without me!”

Sylus seemed to revel in the chaos, leaning casually against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. As his black-red mist began to swirl around the room, it coalesced around your body, lifting you off the table and bringing you effortlessly to his side.

Your struggles were utterly futile. No power could match his evol.

“Bastard!” you yelled, directing your fury at your boss.

Dante let out a deep sigh, visibly irritated but choosing to remain silent. His organization was already on the brink of collapse, a fact known only to you—and apparently Sylus too. That was the reason he had recently struck a deal with Onychinus; only their resources could possibly uplift him now—if anyone could, that is.

“Always a pleasure doing business with you, Dante.”

The plush sofa of his dimly lit living room felt uncomfortably rough against your bare thighs as you took in your surroundings. Your revealing dress had ridden up significantly due to the twins’ rough handling as they placed you there, while their boss prowled around the sofa like a predator circling its prey.

The record player in the corner emitted a classical melody that only heightened the unnerving atmosphere, each note echoing with an eerie elegance.

“So uptight,” Sylus whispered in your ear, causing you to jump as his breath brushed against your skin. You hadn’t even noticed when he had gotten so close. “My, my… and so jumpy, aren’t we, kitten? Just try not to scratch my ceiling.”

You turned to glare at him, and if looks could kill, he would have been slain by the fire in your eyes. Nevertheless, you managed to keep your voice steady. “Why am I here?”

He didn’t bother to meet your gaze as he sank into his enormous cushioned chair across from you. A black-and-red mist began to swirl around your body once more, and before you could react, it lifted you off the couch and positioned you right on his lap, straddling him.

“What the hell?”

His hand shot up, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Shh, just keep your claws sheathed for a moment.”

You could feel your patience wearing thin. “Why. am I. here?”

Sylus's jaw tightened slightly, and if you weren’t intently observing his every expression, you might have missed it. “Because, kitten, Dante and I had a transaction.”

“Isn’t your typical price protocores when dealing with my boss?”

“Typically…” Sylus’s gaze was fixed on your face as an eerie silence enveloped the room.

Before you could process his words, his hand snaked around your throat, pulling you closer. His eyes locked onto your lips, a predatory glint flickering within them.

“What are you doing…” you whispered, your body tensing in instinctive response.

“Show me, kitten.”

“What?”

Sylus chuckled softly, a mocking sound that sent shivers down your spine. “I know you’re a smart kitten; don’t play dumb with me. It won’t help you.”

Of course, you understood what he was implying, but how did he know?

“I have no idea what you want,” you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

His hand tightened around your throat, making it increasingly difficult to breathe. Then you noticed it—the red glow of his eye—and you realized what he was doing. “Show me.”

Ironically, he was now in control of your actions, even though he sought the opposite.

You slowly removed your glove, compelled by the white-haired man in front of you. Your bare hand pressed firmly against his chest, and in an instant, his heartbeat ceased.

Your breath hitched in your throat.

You stared at his face, dumbfounded, as the glow in his eye faded and his complexion turned an ashen pale. Before you could comprehend what was happening, a low chuckle echoed through the dimly lit room.

Sylus’s chuckle. He was alive. Wait, what the hell?

His laughter grew more vibrant with each passing second as he took in your horrified expression. You shot your hand out again, daring to touch him, but he caught your wrist, tossing it aside with ease.

“Ravishing…” he breathed, his eyes darkening to a richer shade.

You watched him for a moment, trying to make sense of everything that had unfolded in the past few hours, until suddenly, everything clicked into place.

You gasped.

“You fucking bastard!” you shouted, fury igniting in your voice. “Is this why you didn’t take the protocores? Is this why you asked for me?”

Sylus’s arrogant smirk returned, dominating his features. “He wasn’t aware of the precious possession he had in his own house, sweetie. But I am.”

“You are… sick.” The expression on his face darkened, and something twisted in your gut, though you wished it was anything but excitement at his subtle praise. “You will not control me. I belong to no one.”

“Oh, kitten, I’m not trying to control you. This is just… a deal.” His eyebrows shot up, his face tilting slightly to the side as if he found your defiance amusing. “Isn’t business what you excel at? Or do you want me to believe it was Dante who called the shots?”

Your own expression faltered, but your body began to relax atop his, a fact he noted with a small, apprehensive smile that curled at his lips. “Are you trying to extract intel from me?”

He rolled his eyes at your tactics, a playful smirk on his face. “You are so gullible, kitten.”

He leaned in impossibly close, your breath catching in your throat and a shiver coursing through you as your body responded to his proximity. This was all so wrong.

“He didn’t value you nearly enough, sweetie,” Sylus whispered against your pulse, his warm breath sending a jolt through you. “But I can.” His teeth grazed your throat, and as your mouth opened, no sound dared to escape your lips.

“I…” You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “I have no idea what—”

In one swift movement, you found yourself perched on the edge of the chair, Sylus looming over you like a consuming inferno. Your chests were nearly touching, and his eyes held a dangerous allure as he stared directly into your own. “I believe you do.”

His hand drifted from beside your head, descending to your collarbone as his fingertips caressed the delicate skin with a featherlight touch. “You can end someone with just a touch…” he whispered against your neck, and you had to fight against the electric shivers coursing through your body. “I am the only person you can’t kill, even if you tried, kitten.”

Your mind was slowly turning to mush as his hand roamed over the sensitive swell of your breasts, his lips planting tender kisses against your throat. “Don’t you see where I’m going with this? We’re meant for each other. Kindred spirits.”

“You’re insane,” you wanted to accuse him, but your voice came out breathless, betraying your mounting desire. A soft grunt escaped his lips, a sound that only fueled the tension between you.

“If I’m insane, what does that say about you, sweetie?” He began kissing his way down from your neck to your collarbone, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “I can smell your arousal from up here.”

You gasped at his bold accusation, your body jerking in response, but it only heightened the sensation as your clothed core pressed against his torso. You tensed, and his lips curled into a dangerous smirk. “So insatiable…”

“This is so wrong…”

“I’ve never been a righteous man.”

You leaned back instinctively, your hands reaching out as if to find comfort around his neck, but he halted your movement just before contact.

In your hazy state, you noticed him licking his lips, his gaze searching the floor for something—your glove.

“As much as I can’t think of another way to go, I’d prefer to be fully conscious when your pretty cunt is all over my mouth.”

“You’re… outrageous,” your voice faltered, betraying the rush of emotions coursing through you. Your body reacted in ways that contradicted your words.

“Do you prefer gentle, kitten?” Sylus asked, his fingers teasingly tugging at the neckline of your dress, unveiling your flushed skin. His tongue flicked over your right nipple, while his other hand caressed the neglected one. “Would you rather I whisper sweet nothings and cherish you gently?”

His tone dripped with playful mockery, and you arched your back, responding instinctively to his touch and taunting words.

“Would you like me to take it slow? To tell you how beautiful you are?” he teased, his laughter rumbling softly in the air.

Your resolve crumbled as he nipped at your sensitive bud, his hand expertly working the other. “No!” you moaned, your gloved fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, caught in the intoxicating desire in the air.

He growled against your chest, his body pressing forcefully against your legs as they parted to accommodate him. He felt a thrill of compliance wash over you, nearly tempting him to follow through on his suggestion to take it easy.

“More,” you demanded, your fingers tugging insistently at his head, guiding him downward to where your dress had pooled around your waist, leaving your red lace panties tantalizingly exposed.

Sylus grinned at your eagerness, his gaze lingering on your clothed cunt. “God, kitten…” he grunted, pressing his nose against the damp spot on your panties, a rush of heat flooding your cheeks as a thrill of shame coursed through you. “Did you wear my favorite color on purpose?”

His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Or did you wear it for him?”

You could only whimper in response, arching your body desperately to bring his face where you craved it most. Instead, a sharp sting greeted your cunt, your eyes widening as a gasp of surprise escaped your lips.

He slapped your pussy again, his expression darkening into a scowl. “Answer me, kitten. Did you get all dolled up for him?”

You clenched around nothing, the possessiveness in his tone igniting a deeper need within you. “No,” you whimpered softly. “It wasn’t for him.”

In an instant, he tore your panties away, his mouth descending on your cunt, his tongue skillfully lapping at your folds. “Good girl. Good fucking girl.”

Your fingers clawed at his shoulder, sounds of pleasure escaping you uncontrollably as he toyed with your sensitive clit. “Such a sweet pussy,” he grunted against your core, sending shivers through your body. You slid down the chair, his face pressed firmly against you, your lower body lifted almost into the air. His strong arms wrapped around your thighs, hoisting your legs over his shoulders as he devoured you.

“Say my name, kitten.”

You felt yourself teetering on the edge, already giving him too much. “N-no.”

His teeth grazed your clit, sending waves of pleasure and frustration coursing through you as he slid one finger against your entrance, teasingly. “No?”

“No.” Your voice trembled, betraying the mix of emotions swelling within you as you neared your release with each stroke of his tongue, yet your stubbornness held firm.

“Very well, then.” In an instant, his mouth was gone, leaving you feeling cold and exposed as he stood to his full height.

“What…?”

Sylus leaned over you again, delivering a sharp slap to the side of your breasts that made you squirm and gasp. “This is my zone. My side of the board. Here, you either play by my rules and win, or you go against me and lose.” His voice was low and commanding as his hand reached down again, sliding two fingers inside you, curling them to find your sweet spot. “What will it be, kitten?”

By this point, your entire body felt like it belonged to someone else. “Please…” Your voice was laced with desperation, the plea spilling from your lips, unrecognizable even to you.

“Please what? Just say it, sweetie,” he urged, a teasing glint in his eyes.

His fingers quickened their pace, and your legs trembled under the mounting pleasure, each mewl that escaped your lips a symphony to his ears. “So—Oh my god… S-so close.”

The moment he sensed your walls beginning to clench around his fingers, a satisfied smile crept across his face, and you returned it through a haze of bliss—until you felt him start to withdraw.

Your hand shot out, wrapping around his wrist with a desperate grip, pulling him back toward you. “Sylus!” you cried, your stomach twisting in knots as sweet release threatened to crash over you.

“Sylus, yes, oh my god, yes…” You were barely coherent, the words tumbling from your mouth, but Sylus grunted, his pants taut against his rock-hard cock.

“That’s it… That’s it, sweetie, I know. Drench my fingers; they’re all yours.” He moved with an urgency that took your breath away, thrusting deeply inside you, sending shivers through your entire body as you rode the wave of your climax.

You panted, your chest rising and falling heavily. As the haze began to lift, your mouth fell open in awe, watching Sylus suckle on his fingers, his eyes glowing with satisfaction as he savored your essence.

A fresh wave of slickness coated your folds, and Sylus cursed under his breath as he stood, taking you with him. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, your bare, wet cunt smearing against the fabric of his pants, leaving a tantalizing mess.

The coarse material of his attire heightened your senses, making your body arch in his arms as you ground your hips down, chasing that blissful friction.

“So eager…” he whispered in your ear, his breath hot against your skin before he nipped at your earlobe. “And so fucking wet.” He strode toward his desk just a few feet away, easing you onto your feet. “I’m going to devour you.”

In one swift motion, your belly pressed against the polished surface of his mahogany desk, your body bent over, your ass perfectly positioned for him. He didn’t allow you a moment to breathe before two sharp slaps landed on your cheeks, your body jolting forward in response.

Your moans filled the air, driving him wild, and the way your back arched instinctively shattered any semblance of his control.

You heard the unmistakable sound of his zipper, and a thrill raced through you as his cock was freed from its confines, teasingly brushing against your entrance.

Turning your head over your shoulder, your eyes fell on him, and a rush of desire coursed through you. He was enormous, his veins prominent and pulsing, the tip glistening with precum that trickled down, landing directly on your cunt.

“Sylus…” You brought his attention back to you, and the look on your face made his brows knot slightly in concern.

“What’s the matter, sweetie?” he asked, his voice thick with lust yet surprisingly calm. “Do you want me to stop?”

You placed your hand lightly against his abdomen, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips, and shook your head. “No, it’s just…” Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson, almost mirroring the color of his eyes. “It’s not going to fit.”

Sylus paused, momentarily dumbfounded, before releasing the breath he had been holding along with a low chuckle. “We’re going to make it fit, kitten.”

Skepticism flickered in your eyes, and he noticed.

“Do you trust me?”

“No.” You answered honestly. He had been your rival until now, and you couldn’t fully grasp how your dynamic had shifted to this moment, you bent over his desk, spread  and exposed.

He grinned, shaking his head in amusement. “You shouldn’t.”

In one powerful thrust, he was inside you, and your eyes rolled back in your head as pleasure surged through your body, overwhelming your senses.

“Fuck!” you cried out, but there was no pain—he seemed to know exactly how to plunge into you.

“Shit… You’re so tight,” Sylus growled, his hips slapping against yours as he took you roughly, driving deep against the surface of his desk. “It would’ve hurt more if I’d taken it slow, sweetie.”

It was becoming increasingly difficult for him to speak, but even if he could, you wouldn’t have heard him. Your mind was consumed with the exquisite fullness of his cock filling you completely.

Your eyes crossed as he continued to thrust in and out, your lips parted in a silent gasp, drool escaping the corner of your mouth and trickling down to the polished surface of his desk.

“Cock-hungry little whore,” he grunted, folding his body over yours to penetrate you even deeper. “And you claim you hate me.”

“I d-do,” you managed to moan, your legs trembling from the intensity of the sensations.

“You hate me, yet your sweet cunt is squeezing my cock like it’s her lover.”

Your mewls and whimpers grew louder with each thrust, your head spinning from the overwhelming pleasure. “Sylus…” you moaned his name, urging him onward toward his own release.

“What is it, sweetie?”

“I-I’m… s’close. So so close.” Tears were welling up in your eyes, and Sylus moaned deeply behind you as he felt your cunt squeezing him, clenching around him like he belonged there. Because he did. 

His hand shot up, wrapping around your throat as he kept pounding you from behind, his whole desk shaking from the force of his thrusts. You were sure a bruise would form on your abdomen where it made contact with the wood. 

Your eyes rolled as he applied more pressure, making it difficult for you to breathe. “Such a pretty kitten…” He moaned in your ear. “And now she’s collared. As she should be.”

Your orgasm broke through you with a new force, the tears escaping your eyes and your cries lulling Sylus to fall on his own release right after you.

“Fuck.” He moaned, his teeth clamping down on your shoulder. Rope after rope of cum filled your cunt, his thighs shaking slightly from behind you as he emptied himself inside you. 

You were so overstimulated and sensitive by your encounter when Sylus caught his dripping cum from your thighs and pushed it right back in.

Your legs threatened to give out, your mind clouding the moment he began to fill you with his seed once more. “Such a pretty cunt, used and bred by me,” Sylus murmured, his voice low and possessive. “What will your boss say when my kids are running around his base, huh?”

You weren’t even aware of how or when it happened, but suddenly you were moaning his name, sweet and desperate, as you drenched him once again. This time, the force of your release was blinding, your vision fading to a brilliant white.

Confused, you turned to see Sylus, his abdomen glistening with your essence, his fingers slick and dripping as he stared at you with a manic edge in his eyes.

“Oh my God…” Heat rushed to your cheeks as the realization of what you had just done washed over you. “I’m sorry… Sylus, I’m—”

Before you could finish, his hand pressed firmly against your lower back, forcing you back into position as you tried to shrink away from his gaze. “Kitten…” His voice was taut, barely contained. “We’re not leaving this room until you do this again.”

[sinnbaddie]

Kakashi very clearly did not respect Obito or even considered him a friend at times, how the shippers came to the conclusion that he most definitely had a crush on him is beyond me

We as a fandom gatta stop acting like Kakashi had a crush on Obito when they were kids. Like it’s fun as a shipper headcanon, but it’s obviously not cannon.

The two barely got along.

[emeraldlusts]

Backless dress - A Kylian Mbappé oneshot

Warning : smut, minors DNI, 18+ only Note : may contain spelling and translating mistakes

Please tell me I'll be able to take that dress off you later on tonight

Your breath hitched as you discreetly read the text you had just received. You sighed and it took everything in you not to search for your boyfriend's eyes in the crowded place.

Kylian and you had been dating for a little over nine months, and it was the first time you found yourselves in the same room at a public event. You had somewhat managed to keep your relationship a secret and you very much wanted to keep it that way. Tonight was risqué. And exhilarating.

Being a young actress still, you were just starting to get used to those award shows. Tonight was the most important one of your career so far as the film you played a supporting role in was nominated for best motion picture. Not only did you know just how hard everyone had worked on this film and hoped it would be rewarded ; but this could also change the entire course of your career, and your life.

Kylian had made it very clear the second he learned about that nomination that he would find a way to be there. He knew you wanted to keep the relationship private, you had been very adamant about that, and he respected that. But being there to support you tonight, even if only from afar, was something that couldn't be negotiated with. And being who he was, it probably just took a 20 seconds phone call to get an invitation.

And so there you were, your skin tingling from feeling his eyes on you as you sat next to your fellow actors, actresses and technicians. You had paid special attention to your outfit, working with the designer in charge of the whole team to find exactly the one outfit that you knew would make it hard for Kylian to keep his distance all night. And it seemed to be working.

Unfortunately not, I have to give it back the second the ceremony ends, it costs a fortune.

You pressed ‘send’ and couldn't resist throwing him what you hoped to be a discreet glance to see his reaction. His brows furrowed slightly but he didn't look up and instead quickly typed his response.

I'll write them a check.

You let out a little laugh at his reply, that was so typical Kylian. Money was obviously not an issue for him and when it came to you, he seemed to be willing to be spending it left, right and centre. It had been a cause for a few of your arguments.

No, you won't. I think you'll like my after-party dress even more anyways, and that one I bought. Just for you.

And you're not ready for what I'll be wearing under either.

Kylian's head shot up as he read your text, and for a second, your eyes met. His were a bit wider than usual and the intensity of his gaze had a blush creeping up your chest and into your cheeks in an instant. That single glance felt like it somewhat sealed a promise for the night to come.

The ceremony started and the room was filled with laughters and applause each time a prize was announced. You chatted away with your costars, catching up with them as you hadn't seen each other in weeks.

The evening went smoothly and way too quickly and before you knew it, it was time for the last award, the best motion picture. Your mouth went dry and you felt your palms getting a little sweaty as the presenter started his speech, naming every nominee before opening up the envelope.

The room erupted in cheers as your mind went blank. You had won ; the movie had won. The whole crew got up and started hugging each other as you stood there, doing the same, trying to register what was happening. You felt tears pool up at your lash line but tried to compose yourself as everyone started walking up to the stage to accept the award. You suddenly realised that you had to walk past Kylian to get there and decided to walk down that side of the aisle, hoping to maybe just be able to subtly brush your hand against his, and have him ground you in the moment, the way he always did.

You quickly looked up to see him standing and clapping, the proudest of smiles on his face and that sight made your heart swell in your chest. You were now fast approaching him and in a bold move that he knew would probably get him into trouble with you later, he lowered his hands to his side, and softly grabbed yours as you walked by, squeezing it two times before letting go.

That gesture went completely unnoticed by everyone else around you but it made your heart beat so fast and so hard you were sure it was going to jump out of your chest.

You stood smiling at the back of the stage as the director and main actors delivered their acceptance speeches, emotion evident in their tone as they thanked the whole team.

The rest of the evening felt like a whirlwind : a few very quick interviews here and there and before you knew it, you were pulled back by your agent to the suite where you were supposed to get out of your ceremonie dress, hand it back over, and then change into your after party outfit.

During the second of privacy you had in that room, right as you were about to slip into your second dress of the night, you decided to snap a shot of your reflection in the mirror, in your lingerie and heels, makeup and hair still done.

Just a sneak peek xx

Kylian felt like he was about to explode. Everything about this night felt so frustrating to him. First of all, seeing you looking so sinfully good for a whole three hours, without being allowed to touch you, kiss you, or even hold your hand felt like torture.

Then seeing you win and walk up that stage took that to a whole new level. He wanted to scream out how proud of you he was, wanted the whole world to know about it, to know you were his. But there again, he could not.

And now you were teasing him with a picture of you, standing in a set of lingerie, pretty sure he'd never seen you in anything that sexy before. To think he'd have to endure yet another hour or so of admiring you from afar, knowing full well what you were wearing under your dress as you'd socialize with complete strangers... He was pretty sure he didn't have the strength for that ; and quite frankly, he was also starting to lose willpower.

Fuck, baby...

We're only staying 30 minutes, not one minute longer.

He took a sip of water and a deep breath before walking into that after party. People immediately came from right and left to shake his hand, say hello, have a chat. It was pretty nice and he usually enjoyed those moments, but tonight, there was only one thing he could focus on, only one thing he wanted.

It felt to him as if the energy of the room shifted the second you walked in, catching his eyes for a brief moment before turning your head to the side and saying hello to someone he didn't know. You were right, he thought, that dress was even better than the first one, it looked flowy but hugged your body perfectly at the same time, the material seemed to hang only by two very thin straps on each of your shoulders. His mouth went dry. 

But then you turned around and all the air left his body with one swift swoop of your hair to the side. It was a backless dress. The two straps went all the way down to just above your ass where the same flowy material covered you while highlighting the perfect curve. He could see the dimples just above it from where he stood ; the ones he loved so much ; the ones he so often traced with his tongue during intimate moments.

He felt the blood rush from his face straight to his groin, and he had half a mind to come up to you, suddenly not caring so much whether you had forbidden it or not. You were clearly on a mission to tease him ; and teased he was. You knew you were playing a dangerous game but he was certain you didn't know just how dangerous.

He took his phone out of his pocket as he started plotting his revenge, all the things he'd do to you in just a minute.

I will ruin you, you have no idea what you've just done xx

You didn't have the time to respond before he sent the second text.

It's 20 minutes now, not 30 anymore. Not up for debate.

And you knew just then that you had him exactly where you wanted him. Dominant, in control, and unstoppable.

Ok, but we can't leave together though

You'll leave first and go straight up to your room, I'll be up a minute after. Don't take anything off, not your shoes, not your earrings, nothing. I'll take care of that. You just wait for me, patiently.

You could feel the thrill of the situation coursing through your veins as you read his texts. He was clearly gone and you knew you were in for a memorable night. Not that there was ever a dull one with Kylian.

Your pulse started to quicken with each passing minute and before you knew it, you found yourself trying to breathe calmly in the elevator as it made its way up toward the suite that was yours for the night. You unlocked the door and then closed it behind you, walking to the corner of the room to light up a small lamp, to make the atmosphere a little bit more intimate.

You didn't have the time to do anything else before you heard a small knock at the door. You went to open it, bracing yourself for what was to come. In an instant, Kylian was in the room, immediately closing the door behind him before placing both hands on your hips and pushing you against the door.

"Godamnit, Y/N," he growled before crashing his lips onto yours.

His whole body was flushed against yours and you could feel all of him. His hard chest against your own, pressing against your breasts ; his knees subtly pushing against the inside of your thighs, somehow forcing your legs a little more apart ; and his bulge, pressing into your hips, almost painfully so.

"You're in so much trouble, baby," he informed you, his teeth closing in on your bottom lip and tugging slightly.

"Why, what have I done ?" you managed to breathe out ; "aren't you proud of me tonight ?" you innocently added.

He turned you around in one swift movement, pushing your front to the door and slapping your ass once before putting his lips at your ear.

"Oh don't give me that, you know exactly what you've done and I'll make you apologize for it."

He detached himself from you and with one finger and a featherlight touch, he traced down from the base of your neck down your spine and stopped when he reached the fabric of the dress, making you shiver.

"I'm super proud of you, and I'll tell you all about it once I'm done with you. Count a few hours, angel,"

You moaned at his words, his tone a little lower than usual, his voice thick with desire.

"In the meantime, you're going to be a very good girl for me, yes ? Do as you're told ?"

"Yes," you answered without even thinking. You were craving this at least as much as he was. You wanted that : him to take complete control, to let out his frustration on you, however he wished to.

"Good," he turned you back around and kissed you once more, whispering a single "I love you," before getting back into character and breaking away from you completely.

That was his thing : no matter how intense it would sometimes get in the bedroom, he always had to remind you every now and again that it all was just pure love for you. And each time, that single sentence had you moaning into him, making you even more willing to give him everything he wanted.

He left you there, breathlessly leaning against the door as he slowly made his way into the room, undoing his tie and grabbing an armchair from a corner. He placed it in the middle of the room, and sat down before looking back up at you.

"Come here," he instructed as he leaned back, legs apart.

He had opened the first few buttons of his shirt and he had never looked so good to you. You tried to maintain your composure as you slowly made your way over to him in your heels. You stood in between his legs, waiting for his next move, your lips parted in anticipation. 

His hands came to rest on the back of your knees, his touch light as he tantalizingly started trailing them up your legs, reaching under your dress and then grabbing both your asscheeks and giving them a firm squeeze. 

Your chest was heaving up and down as you felt your skin burning in the wake of his touch. You could tell now he was going to take his sweet time with you and you didn’t know if you could handle it after all. 

“Please,” the single plea left your lips and a small smile appeared at the corner of his lips.

He trailed his fingers up your waist, his eyes locked on your as he found the small zipper of your dress on your left hip. He slowly slid it down and his eyes turned a shade darker as the material pooled at your feet, leaving you in the lingerie you had carefully chosen for the occasion.

It was a black bodysuit, backless, as you wanted it to be invisible under your dress. The front part was rigid and pushed your chest up, making them look as full as they could be. Kylian felt his mouth water at the sight in front of him. His mind was racing fast as he thought about his next move, wanting to savor you in this for as long as he could, he leaned back once more, admiring you for a second.

“Come on, baby, straddle me,” he told you, bringing his own legs together to make it easier for you. The chair was large enough to fit both of you and you took the hand he offered to place one knee on each side of his thighs. You could now feel the heat of his body under yours and smell the remaining of his cologne on his shirt. You wanted nothing more than to run your tongue over the little part of his chest he had exposed. Before you could do anything of that sort though, he fisted one of his hands into your hair and crashed his lips onto yours. His tongue almost immediately entered your mouth and he claimed you completely with just one kiss. 

Pushing your body into his, you tried to reciprocate as best as you could, but he was clearly in charge of the kiss and all you could really do was let him subdue you like that.

The heat was becoming nearly unbearable and your panties were pretty much completely soaked by then. You tried to lower yourself down on him, to try and find a contact, initiate a friction that would relieve you a little, but he kept you still by your hair, not letting any control slip away.

You were completely out of breath and insanely horny when he finally pulled away. You were trying to compose yourself a little when you saw the most devilish smile light up his face, making you part your lips instantly. 

“Arms behind your back, angel,” he demanded, relishing in the way your eyes shot open just a little bit wider as your legs clenched around his own. “I’m going to drive you crazy, and with what I have in mind, I don’t think you’ll be able to behave yourself, so I’m not taking any risk,” he explained, a fire dancing in his pupils. 

You obeyed, your eyes following his every move as he slid his tie behind your back. But instead of tying both your wrists at the small of your back, he slid the tie a little higher up and fastened it just above your elbows. It forced you to arch your back and push your breasts in his face, and it was just uncomfortable enough to make you even hornier, if that was possible.

He then proceeded to slowly push his legs open again, forcing yours to follow on each side of his. With your arms bound behind your back like that, and your legs spread open as far as they could go, you were completely helpless and unable to move, forced to rely fully on him.

“Are you wet already, baby ?” he asked you as he reached his hand in between your legs and started unbuttoning your body. You instinctively pushed your pelvis against his hand, craving his touch there more than anything. 

“You already know the answer to that,” you bravely replied and his fingers froze there for a second.

“I do, but I want you to tell me.” His voice was low and commanding, reminding you once more that he was in charge, and that when he asked a question, he wanted an answer. 

“I’m so wet, Kylian, please, I need you,” you let out shakily as he uncovered your sex, the warm air of the room doing nothing to soothe your arousal.

You started moaning instantly as he trailed a single digit up and down your folds, collecting some of your arousal on the tip of his index before bringing it up to your lips for you to suck.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said, his gaze locked on your face as you sucked on his finger, “I’m going to tease and bring you to the edge over and over again, until you’re dripping down on me. I want to see a stain on my pants.”

You parted your lips in disbelief and his finger slipped out. The look in his eyes was enough to answer your unspoken question. He was serious. And there was nothing you could do about it, not when he had you tied up and unable to move like that. The erection that was so clearly pushing against the zipper of his pants was completely out of reach, meaning you couldn’t even try to persuade him not make this torture last as long he intended to.

“No, please, baby,” you started pleading as his hand found your aching core once more. 

And so it started, his skilled fingers working at your pussy with a clear goal in mind. He knew you better than you probably even knew yourself ; he knew when to rub, circle or just brush your clit to make you moan and writhe under his touch. Then when he judged that your tiny bundle of nerves was getting a little too sensitive, he moved his fingers to your entrance, and circled it once or twice before plunging two fingers in, curling them just right, making you chant his name. 

You knew you were in deep trouble when he came back to your clit once more. Your skin was on fire and your orgasm was fast approaching ; you were pretty sure even a featherlight touch would push you over the edge at this point. He pushed his thumb against it this time and you gasped, your head falling back. He was observing you closely, he knew your body by heart and he knew you were dangerously close to cuming ; but he didn’t want you to just yet. He wanted to see you break and surrender to him ; handing over your pleasure to his will. He had noticed your arousal starting to drip down the inside of your thighs and there was no way he wasn’t going through with his initial idea.

“You’re almost there baby,” he murmured, encouraging ; “I need you to hold it in for me.”

You whined and felt your body start to fight against your restraints, trying to free yourself so that you could just take matters into your own hands and give yourself what you so desperately needed. You felt Kylians free hand grab your hair at the back of your head and force it back up. 

“Look at me, baby,” he instructed ; “I know you can hold it, you’ve done it before,” he reminded you. 

He was referring to another wild night during which he had made it his mission to teach you to try and control your own orgasms. He had claimed it was because he wanted to go at it all night long and didn’t want you to get too overstimulated ; but you were pretty sure he just wanted to see you fight against your own pleasure, just because he had asked you to.

The memory of that delicious night did nothing to calm you down as Kylian started moving his thumb in tight, small circles over your clit again. 

“N-no, I can’t, Kylian, I’m gonn-”

“Come on, focus for me please, you’re almost there. I swear in a second you’ll be dripping down onto my pants and I’ll give you what you need and more. Just hold it a little longer for me, please.”

And you couldn’t say no to this man, not when he was looking at you like that, his chocolate eyes burning into yours with an intensity that took your breath away. So you tried, tried to focus on his gaze instead of his finger, tried to contract your lower stomach to gain a semblance of control over your own body. It was torture, every muscle in your body was contracted in an attempt to undo everything he was doing with his fingers flicking your clit. 

A small smile appeared on his face as he observed you closely. You were being so good for him, doing exactly as you were told even though it was the exact opposite of what you wanted. He was so hard inside his own pants he was sure he was eventually going to rip through the material. 

Then he looked down to where your body hovered over his thighs and he saw it, the little string of arousal that had finally reached him. He had kept his promise and now he would have the absolute pleasure of ripping the most intense orgasm out of you.

He brought both his hands to your face and pulled you in for a messy kiss, his teeth closing onto your lips and pulling a few times before pulling away. He trailed his hand slowly down your body, making sure you were following his move before caressing your pussy once more, and then collecting the glistening drop of your juice on his pants.

You gasped and he smirked up at you ; you knew what it meant and you almost came on the spot. 

“Are you ready ?”, he cockily asked. 

He didn’t give you an opportunity to reply before plunging two fingers past your folds, curling them right up, brushing against the very spot he knew had you seeing stars. The fingers of his other hand found your clit at the same time and started toying with it messily, making it impossible for you to anticipate his next move. 

You arched you back and let out a loud whine, taken over by the sensations but unable to focus on any of them specifically. You wanted to grind against his hand but your thighs were kept too far apart to allow that. 

“Fuck, baby,” you moaned out.

“That’s it, love, you’ve been so good for me. Let go now,” he encouraged, his movements getting faster.

“I c-can’t, I, too much,” you mumbled incoherently as the knot in the pit of your stomach tightened dangerously.

“Now,” he softly ordered, letting you know just like that that he was  still very much in control of your pleasure. 

Your orgasm hit you like a tsunami wave. Your abused pussy started clenching around his fingers and he didn’t let up for one second, determined to drag it out as long as he could. 

You were seeing stars, your head fell back and your back arched as you lost complete control of it all. The waves of pure pleasure kept coming in and you were a slave to them, unable and unwilling to stop them. They shattered you and took everything you had left after what felt like hours of unrelenting teasing from your boyfriend.

Kylian didn’t let up, once again knowing your body well enough to know you weren’t quite done yet. He started thrusting his fingers in and out, your arousal now dripping down his fingers and into his palm. He lessened the pressure of his thumb against your clit, knowing you were soon going to become too sensitive for that part. Your body spasmed at the same rhythm your walls pulsed around his fingers. His own desire was starting to get to his head and he even considered for a minute freeing his erection and pushing right into you to feel you squeeze him like that.

“Oh my god,” you finally let out in a breath, your eyes still tightly shut. 

Kylian finally pulled his fingers out and it probably took you a whole minute to regain your ability to do anything. He put his arms around you and quickly undid the tie that was holding your arms together, before pulling your body into him. 

“You okay?” he murmured against your ear, his hand brushing up and down your back in an attempt to soothe you down. 

“Gosh, yes,” you replied, your face in the crook of his neck. “I don’t think I’ve ever had an orgasm that intense before,” you confessed as you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

He smiled against your skin. There was nothing he loved more than pleasuring you, pushing your limits only to show you just how much more he could give you afterwards. 

“That was intense,” he confirmed as his hands dropped to your ass to give it a little squeeze. 

It suddenly occurred to you that he was still fully closed and you pulled away from his chest for a second to look at the bulge in his pants. You cocked an eyebrow at him before bringing your fingers to the zipper, a lazy smile pulling at your lips.

He gasped as you freed him and gently wrapped one hand around his rock hard cock. “I need you so bad,” he breathed out before lifting you up into his arms and walking you to the bed, confirming what you already knew : sleep was not on the agenda for that night.

[azsazz]

Shots & Spins

Hockey!Azriel x Ice Skater!Reader

Summary: Req from @kristijenner19: I saw you were thinking about hockey!AZ because same. How about a fic where she's a figure skater and they're trying to teach each other their respective sports. Imagine poor Az trying to do a spin/jump/twizzle and a reader who can barely ever make a shot into a goal

Bonus points if they switch their skates and have to re-learn how to skate with the new blade

Warnings: Mild panic attack, mentions of readers injury (torn ACL), trauma from coaches (verbal) mentioned.

Word Count: 3088

Other Fics in the Hockey!Az AU: Penance, Shut Out, Out of Order, All's Well That Ends Well, Brr-eakdown

HOCKEY SZN SOON MY LOVES 💙💙

Notes: I swear I meant to make this cuter but of course, I had to give it some angst 😅

_________________________________________

“What is this?” You question. You’re probably being rude, with your nose scrunched in disgust. With the way you’re holding the pair of skates as far away from your body as possible, you’re pretty sure you look like the biggest bitch on all of campus. But for the life of you, you can’t figure out why Azriel has handed you hockey skates.

“They’re skates,” Azriel answers. You rip your glare from the offending skates at his obvious response. Your heart stumbles in your chest at the sight of his pink lips twitching, begging to reveal that grin he spends most of his time expertly hiding.

You don’t even realize you’re leaning closer in anticipation, so eager to see that smile until the hitch of his breath snaps you back to consciousness.

You rock back on your heels so quickly you nearly tumble over. Would tumble over if it weren’t for Azriel’s quick reflexes, his large hands enveloping your waist and steadying you back on your feet.

“Thanks,” you reply flatly, dipping your chin to the ground to hide your flaming cheeks. There’s not an ounce of amusement in your body.

“You’re welcome.” You don’t like the smugness in his tone or the way he’s playing with you. Tilting your face back up, you muster all the annoyance lancing through your veins at his retort, shooting him the nastiest glare.

“That’s not what I meant, Az, and you know it. Why am I holding a pair of hockey skates?”

Azriel sits on the bench beside the empty arena, and you want to pout. Why would you want to spend any more time at the rink than you already do? You’re bone-fucking-tired and your knee is feeling stiff. You overdid it in practice this week, trying to get back into the shape you were in before the time you’d been forced to take off, and it’s hitting you hard. All you really want to do is crawl home, roll out your muscles, and dive into a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

When you don’t join Azriel, he says, with a humor you don’t feel, “Don’t tell me you forgot about our little bet. Or how you so gracefully lost it.”

Of course you hadn’t forgotten. Who could forget losing at something as simple as a race across the arena? Afterwards, you tried to blame it on the differences in the ice, how it was colder and harder than you were used to, as it was prepared for the hockey team’s game later that weekend.

A rookie mistake, honestly. One that you’ve been kicking yourself over up until this very moment. Well, if you could kick with your injured leg, that is, you’d be doing just that.

You grind your teeth as a memory rises to the forefront of your mind. Your coach’s voice rings in your head, shrill and reprimanding. Why would you take such foolish chances? You need to get your head in your sport or you’re never going to make it on the Olympic team, let alone the University team.

Shame presses down on you, and your eyes prick at the criticism you should be used to by now. Your private coach from your time before Velaris University, Amarantha, had been very creative with her insults, always coming up with comments worse and harsher to cut down any semblance of confidence you had in your sport.

You bet she’s thrilled that you won’t be back in her presence until you’re healed enough. If you heal enough to relearn the very trick that took you out of the running for the Olympic team in the first place.

It must be a thing, coaches insulting their prodigies. You glance at Azriel from the corner of your eye and wonder if his coach is the same way. If Rhys is brutal with his teammates.

And you hate losing. It was Azriel who you wished forgotten about the bet you’d so stupidly agreed to, but here he is, wearing the same look that got you into this position in the first place.

You take your time studying him as you mull over how to get out of this. Azriel’s broad shoulders take up the space of two people, and his deep, dark hair falls over his brow, growing out into the perfect flow all the players seem to be sporting right now. You wonder if it’s superstition or they actually like the look. His thick lashes sweep as he bats them, and your cheeks take on a pink hue as he pretends to preen under your attention.

“Look,” he all but sighs, giving up his act. He leans back, reaching over to grab something out of sight. When Azriel rightens himself, he holds a pair of figure skates, a sheepish smile on his face. The apples of his cheeks mottle with pink. “I got myself figure skates, so we can both look like fools out there. Together.”

Fuck. The sentiment makes your throat tighten. He doesn’t have to be so damn thoughtful, you’re hardly even friends for Mother’s sake.

“Fine,” you manage when you can speak again. You plop onto the bench beside him. Your knee throbs dully in protest, but it’s nothing you haven’t been able to smother before. You’ve worked through worse conditions than hockey prepped ice, have skated in casts and aches so deep you weren’t sure you’d be able to compete at all if it weren’t for your raw love for the sport and your brutal stubbornness, holding yourself to the highest of standards.

And it’s not like you’re going to be doing your usual tricks. No, that’s all Azriel. All you have to manage is a few forward spirals, twizzles, and perhaps an axel just to show off a little, because there’s no way he’ll be able to recreate all of that in one go.

You just hope your knee stays steady for a few more hours.

The both of you lace your shoes in silence. The hockey skates are so different from your figure skates, you note. The blade is much thicker than you’re used to, more curved too. The boots are shorter, and you grimace at the lack of ankle support.

Not to mention you’re not entirely sure how well you’ll be able to stop without your toe pick.

Azriel leads you to the ice. You step on tentatively, giving the new skates a test. They have a lot more give than you’re used to. They’re not as snug, but easy enough to navigate. Muscle memory kicks in and after a few sluggish runs up and down the ice, you think you’ve gotten the hang of it.

The rest of this bet should be a breeze, especially compared to how Azriel is faring.

His face is contorted with a concentrated frown. He looks stiff as a fucking board, which make you giggle and him complain about. “How the hell do you wear these things? I can barely even move my ankles!”

“Practice makes perfect, young Padawon,” you tease, testing how best to shift your weight on the new blades. The pressure on your knee isn’t terrible, thanks to the looseness of the hockey skates.

“Yeah, yeah,” Azriel waves you off. He trails behind you at a slower rate, focused on getting used to the stiffness of the figure skates on his feet. “Just wait until we scrimmage.”

Ugh, no thanks. This is just perfect for you, the both of you out on the open ice, all alone. You don’t want to ruin this peaceful bliss by bringing your competitive personalities into it.

“I knew if we raced under different conditions I’d have won!” You exclaim, zipping past Azriel again, showing off. He glares playfully, but you’re much too busy admiring your skates to notice the way he’s tucked his lip between his teeth, hiding a satisfied grin.

His toe pick digs into the ice, grinding down as he gets a feeling for the foreign piece, but his eyes stay glued on you.

“Ready for a stick and gloves already, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know,” you throw a smirk back in his direction, crossing your arms over your chest and cocking a brow. “You ready for twizzling?”

“Twizzlers?”

You roll your eyes at his lame joke, but your heart still skips at his wry smile. It’s more than cute. You push off your blade, moving closer to him.

Which is fine, until you try to use your toe pick to stop, only for the realization to hit that there isn’t one on these skates.

You go barreling into Azriel, who catches you in his arms. Your motion throws him off balance and before you even have the chance to squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourself, you’re both falling to the ice.

Azriel hits with a grunt that reverberates through your bones. You’d think that Azriel breaking your landing would be less painful than it is, but with the way the muscle is packed on his body, he’s just as hard as the ice that’s no longer beneath your feet.

“Sorry,” you cringe. It comes out breathless and embarrassment flushes your cheeks, but you’re frozen to your spot and all too aware of how his large, warm hands are wrapped firmly around your waist.

“No worries.” Your lashes flutter as his breathy whisper caresses your face. He’s probably just winded, that’s why he sounds like that. Yes, that’s exactly what it is. “Didn’t think to remind you how to stop.”

“I know how to stop,” you argue, but there’s none of your usual fire tainting the words. You can’t even muster one of your famous glares that you reserve for the normally broody hockey player. You break eye contact as the humiliation begins creeping in. You scratch your nail distractedly down the waffled fabric of his olive colored henley. “I just…forgot, I guess.”

The hitching of his breath in his chest shifts your body and you jolt, the situation slamming into you like a truck.

You scramble off Azriel, grimacing at the sound of your blades clinking against his. His grip loosens, hands falling away as you slip to the ice beside him.

You shoot to your knees, then not-so-carefully climb to your feet. Azriel holds his hands out from where he’s still lying on the ground, like he’s more than ready to catch you again should you fall.

You’re positive the heat of your cheeks could melt the entire arena’s ice right now. You need to get the fuck out of here before you embarrass yourself further. You need to never show your face around here again. You’ve already transferred schools once, what’s one more time?

Azriel calls your name, but you hardly hear him over your racing thoughts. If the sheer embarrassment wasn’t enough, Coach Weaver’s voice now fills the rest of your head, screeching about your recklessness and how you could’ve injured yourself—

He’s quicker than you thought, or you’ve been trapped in your mortified headspace for too long because Azriel’s on his feet, towering over you and pulling you into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” your voice trembles and his hands tighten around you. He lets you bury your face into his chest and pretends not to notice the tears dampening the fabric of his shirt. You’re fucking trembling, and his heart is pounding just as hard.

This is all his fault.

“Breathe, sweetheart, breathe,” he tries to console. He looks around frantically, like one of the sports therapist students or coaches might be walking past the rinks this late at night. There’s no soul in the building besides the both of you, everyone resting for their busy weekends of competitions and away hockey games. “Please.”

You focus on his words, how he guides you, three seconds in, three seconds out. You focus on the soothing patterns he’s drawing down your back, focus on the beating of his heart and latch onto his scent: night-chilled mist and cedar.

“Sorry,” you croak when you finally manage to calm yourself and slide a step back. Your gaze sits pointedly on the ice. You don’t want him to see you like this, a woman who’s about to fucking crumble.

“Don’t be,” Azriel says softly. His hand finds your face, and as much as you don’t want him to, he lifts your chin. You don’t fight it, emotionally exhausted. You should have asked for a raincheck, but you can admit to the fact that Azriel’s gentle touch is a comfort that you can’t help but lean into.

Sad, hazel eyes meet yours. They’re more golden brown than green, a forest of hues backlit by a burst of gold. Your breath hitches as he drags a thumb softly across your lips. They part, even though you don’t mean them to, and the whisper of breath that leaves you passes over his hand, crawls up his arm, and sends shivers down his spine.

“You okay there, sweetheart?”

You’re not sure you can hold yourself together enough to answer his question without completely melting into a puddle at his feet.

Your silence must be answer enough. Azriel takes both of your hands in his own and guides you back toward the bench where you left your shoes. His grip is reassuring, and you’re so tired that you don’t even have it in yourself to sling a witty remark his way.

For what might be the first time in your life, you allow yourself to be taken care of.

You can’t even muster a chuckle at the way he stumbles over the toe pick on his way off the ice, or the way you’re waddling in these skates. You feel anything but graceful and strong right now, but with Azriel’s hand in yours, it’s not as off-putting as you feared it might be.

“Sit,” he says, keeping his fingers clasped around yours as you heed his command. It brings you eye-level to his hands, puckered and pink and scarred to hell. They’re beautiful in every way. He embraces his story, and it’s an incredible strength, one you’re much too terrified of attempting to recreate.

“Azriel, no,” you protest, jolting forward when he lowers himself to his knees before you. You plant your hands on his shoulders, ready to force him away because you’re more than capable of taking your own skates off.

He catches your wrists, and you didn’t think his eyes could soften any more, but they do, and you melt. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Let me take care of this for you.”

You try to swallow past the knot in your throat to thank him but are unable to. Instead, you nod and reluctantly sit back.

Azriel’s gentle with his movements, like you’re a wild doe that he’s helping free from a snare. He unties the tight knots, and your heart pinches when he struggles for a moment. You wouldn’t notice if you weren’t watching so intently, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Like he knows you need to see this.

You carefully keep your mind from wandering into how good he looks like this before you.

He slips the first skate off, and you stretch your toes. It’s a reflex. Azriel smiles, peeking up at you just in time to catch your blush. His gaze ducks away before you become embarrassed, setting your foot down and holding your other ankle, lifting to get to work.

You hiss softly at the ache in your knee.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Concern laces his voice, and you’re quick to reassure him.

“No, no,” you cringe a little at the lingering sting. “It’s nothing.”

“Sweetheart.” Azriel says sternly. Seriously. “That reaction wasn’t nothing. What’s wrong?”

You sigh, defeated in more ways than one. You don’t want to admit that the injury that threw your entire career off-kilter is acting up again. You’d rather not have anyone know.

Perhaps Azriel is different. Or, maybe he’s forcing you, because the gold in his eyes is intense, pinning you to your spot. His mouth is set in a straight, firm line. He looks like he means fucking business.

You avert your gaze. You’ve never admitted defeat like this, but if Azriel can wear his scars so proudly, maybe you can too.

“I tore my ACL a few months ago.” You admit, sniffling. You can feel the shock in Azriel’s gaze, but you refuse to look him in the eye. He’s the first person at this school outside of your coach who’s hearing it. You’ve never been so vulnerable, especially with someone you hardly know. You press on nonetheless. “It’s been fine up until now.” A white lie. “But it’s been a little sore since I started practicing my jumps again.”

“How many months is ‘a few’?” He questions, and he’s not going to like the answer, so you opt for brushing over it.

“I’ll go back to seeing my therapist,” you offer instead, but even you’re not too sure how much truth your words hold.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Azriel says, and you don’t want his sympathy, but you’re too exhausted for your usual anger to stir to life. “You need to take care of yourself, before it gets any worse.”

His sentiment has your nose stinging, eyes prickling once again. What the fuck is wrong with you these days? Get it together, girl. You can cry in your own room, not in front of the hot boy who’s helping you with your godsdamned shoes.

You drag your gaze back to his. “I will.” You think.

He studies you for a moment before nodding, accepting your answer whether he believes it or not. You don’t have it in yourself to care right now. No, you just want to be back in the safety of your dorm.

Azriel is even more careful removing this skate and helping you slip into your shoes. He makes quick work of his own, and while his head is down, you admire his stature. Broad shoulders and chest that tapers into a tight waist, an ass for days.

You’re not done drooling over him when he stands, offering you a hand.

You slip your palm into his, ignoring the electricity that zips down your arm. You’re hyperaware of him by your side, and it’s only when he’s absolutely sure that you’re steady on your feet that he drops your hand.

You try not to feel too disappointed at the loss.

“Let’s get you home, sweetheart,” Azriel offers, and you trail him from the arena, your heart feeling a bit fuller with the nickname.

_________________________________________

Azriel Hockey!AU Tags:

@whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @going-through-shit @crazylokonugget @lilah-asteria @girl-who-writes-stuff @moosemahboi @sherayuki @lyinginameadow @acourtofatboydreams @blackthorngirl @shadowsingercassia @evergreenlark @hannzoaks @bloodicka @whyshouldihaveanam3 @elle4404 @cherry-cin @quinzzelx @i-am-infinite @feeriqueivre @blightyblinders @kennedy-brooke @nyxbranwenn @dee-writes-smut @konaanaria13

[insidekatmind]

More than enemies-Cho Sang woo

Wearning: +18,smut

Request: yes!

The conflict had become your daily bread. Every day, every interaction, was a new opportunity to challenge each other, to throw sharp jabs, to ridicule each other. Neither of you ever gave in. The silence was tense, but it was soon shattered by another exchange that seemed to never end. The room, though small, felt too big to contain the tension between you and Sang-woo.

“You really don’t understand a damn thing, do you?” Sang-woo huffed, crossing his arms with an air of superiority. “Do you think I’m talking to please you?”

You didn’t even need to respond right away. You knew there was no reasoning with him, but his words always hurt, more than you ever wanted to admit. “I don’t care if you’re talking to please me,” you replied coldly, “but maybe you should learn to respect people instead of thinking they’re beneath you.”

Sang-woo laughed, but it was a laugh full of contempt. “Respect? Have you ever wondered why I don’t respect you? Maybe because you don’t deserve respect.”

His words stung, but you weren’t going to back down. “Maybe you should look at yourself in the mirror, Sang-woo. Because all I see is a man who’s trying to look bigger than he really is.”

The others, sitting in the corner of the room, were enjoying the spectacle of your constant back-and-forth. Gi-hun was the first to laugh, amused by the way you two were challenging each other like a pair of wild animals ready to pounce. Ali, with his always genuine smile, looked confused but intrigued by the situation. Sae-byeok, on the other hand, observed silently, her sharp gaze tracking every move, every word, as though it was a chess game where you two were the key pieces.

“Look at them, looks like they’re putting on a show,” Gi-hun whispered, but loud enough to be heard. “There’s more tension here than in one of our games.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them breaks down,” Ali added, chuckling. “They’re so used to fighting, I don’t think they can stop.”

Sae-byeok lifted the corner of her mouth, watching intently, as though she was trying to figure out where this dynamic would lead. “There’s got to be something more to it,” she said seriously. “It’s not just hate.”

You could feel your blood boiling, the anger burning inside, but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break. “Yeah, sure, as if you’re the only one here with a brain,” you replied, but the sarcasm in your voice didn’t hide the frustration eating away at you.

Sang-woo, however, wasn’t backing down. “You don’t get it, do you? That’s exactly what pisses me off about you. Always acting tough, but underneath that hard exterior, there’s just a bunch of weaknesses.”

Your heart felt like it was going to burst, but before you could respond, Gi-hun threw a glance between you and Sang-woo. “Okay, guys, enough, we can’t be here all day watching you two fight,” he said, his tone joking but a little nervous, as if he was trying to calm the situation. “Please, at least let us breathe.”

Ali chuckled. “I think we’ve just witnessed a new form of psychological torture.”

Sae-byeok remained silent, but a small smile crept onto her face as she watched the way you both provoked each other, as though she was taking mental notes for something that might come in handy later.

But you knew, despite everything, it wasn’t over. The war between you and Sang-woo would never end. It didn’t matter how much you hated each other. It was too deep, too ingrained. And you both knew it.

After a while you get the guard to take you to the bathroom and sang woo follows you. Since the bathrooms were unique for both males and females.You were washing your hands when you heard his voice.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a smirk on his face.“You don’t need to hide in the bathroom to avoid me, you know,” he said, his tone a mix of mockery and amusement.You turn around, looking at him boredly. "Now a person can't go to the bathroom because otherwise it will make your head go up" you say approaching him.

Sang-woo chuckled. "Oh, come on, we both know that’s not what I meant." He didn’t flinch as you got closer; the smirk on his face only seemed to intensify."Besides, you’re not exactly subtle," he said, tilting his head to one side. "It’s almost pathetic, the way you try to avoid me."

Your blood boiled at his words, but you kept your cool, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you get worked up. "I’m not avoiding you," you replied, your voice tinged with irritation. "I just find you absolutely insufferable."

His smirk grew wider, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "Oh, please, you’re not fooling anyone." He took a step closer, closing the distance between you two. "The way you glare at me, the way you snap at my every word, it’s clear that I get under your skin," he said, his voice low and taunting.

You backed away instinctually as he stepped closer, but you quickly regained your composure, refusing to let him get the upper hand. "Don’t flatter yourself,” you retorted. “You’re not the first arrogant, overconfident prick I’ve had to deal with.”

Sango woo looks at you and grabs you by the neck pushing you against the bathroom wall. “careful how you talk little girl” Sang woo says looking at you as his grip on your neck tightened.

Your heart jumped at the sudden physical contact and the way he pressed you against the wall, his grip around your neck tight and threatening. "What, you can't handle hearing the truth?" You retorted, trying to keep your voice from quivering, even as his grip tightened, making it harder to talk.He leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. "You really enjoy pushing my buttons, don’t you?"

You tried to stand your ground, ignoring the way your heart raced in your chest and your breath caught in your throat, but the close proximity to him and the grip he had on your neck made it difficult to think straight. "At least I'm not afraid to be honest, unlike some people," you manage to say, glaring up at him defiantly.

Sang-woo’s grip tightened even more, his fingers digging into your skin almost painfully, as if to punish you for your stubbornness. He leaned in even closer, his face only inches from yours now, his gaze intense and unyielding."Honesty, huh?" He huffed, his voice a low growl. "Or perhaps you’re just too stupid to know when to keep your mouth shut."

Sang-woo’s eyes widened slightly as your hand touched his arm, and his grip on your neck loosened just a bit. He noticed you looking at his lips, and for a brief moment, it seemed like something passed between you two, an almost electric energy flowing through the air. He held your gaze, his expression still hardened, but there was a glimmer of something in his eyes, a hint of surprise and perhaps a shadow of something else.

Sang woo kisses you roughly without saying anything. The kiss took you by surprise, Sang-woo's lips pressing against yours roughly, demanding and controlling. You felt a mix of shock and defiance, but something deep within you responded to the kiss, a desire you'd never wanted to admit being ignited. For a moment, everything else melted away, the tension and animosity that always hung between you two seemed to vanish. There was just the two of you, the feel of his lips on yours, the firm grip of his hand on your neck.

You moan softly and try to hold on to him. Sang-woo's lips moved from your lips to your jawline, your neck, creating a trail of kisses that sent shivers down your spine. He pushed you harder against the wall, his grip around your waist tight and possessive. The sound of your soft moan seemed to awaken something in him, a feral hunger that made his actions more urgent. "You’re mine now," he whispered against your skin, his voice raspy and possessive.

You moan and give him more space as you look at him longingly. Sang-woo’s eyes darkened with desire as he pressed himself against you, his body molding to yours in a way that felt both dangerous and intoxicating. He moved his hand from your neck to your face, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip, his touch almost caressing. "You’ve been mine since the moment we met," he whispered, his voice rough with a possessive edge.

Your breath hitched at his words, your heart pounding in your chest. You knew the truth in them, even though you’d always denied it. There was something about him, a darkness and intensity that called to something deep within you. His grip on your waist tightened, and he pulled you even closer, his lips against your ear. "Say you’re mine," he demanded, his voice low and seductive.

“I'm yours,” you whisper, clinging to him, kissing his jaw. Sang-woo let out a low moan as your lips touched his jaw, his hand on your waist sliding up to your back, pulling you even closer.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He caught your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "You have no idea what you do to me," he said, his eyes dark and hooded, his breath fanning across your face.

He takes off your sweatpants and underwear and quickly unwinds you and turns you gently against the wall, entering you, making you both moan. “So tight,” he whispers in his ear as he pushes into you. You moan and lean into him and Sang woo nips at your neck, making you moan lo

“You make such beautiful sounds” Sang woo whispers as he places his hands tighter on your hips fucking you harder.

“Sang woo” you moan loudly as you lean against the wall and he grunts. Sang-woo growls lowly, the sound sending a jolt through your body. He pushes you harder against the wall, trapping you between it and his body, his hands roaming over you possessively.

"Say it again," he demands, his lips moving down to your neck, trailing kisses along the sensitive skin. "Say my name again."

“Sango woo” you moan even louder feeling his thrusts increase. Sang-woo lets out a guttural moan as you say his name, his grip on you tightening almost to the point of pain.

"That’s right," he breathes, his voice ragged, barely coherent as he continues to move against you, his desires taking over all reason. "Moan my name, let me hear you." Every sound you make, every gasp and moan drives him wilder. He can hardly control himself, the primal need to claim you, to make you his and only his, is all-consuming. His lips move back to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and love bites, marking you as his.

He bites down on a sensitive spot on your neck and you let out a yelp of pain, but he just laughs against your skin, the pain adding another layer to the overwhelming sensations. Sang-woo's body is pressed tightly against yours, his muscles rippling with the effort to hold himself back. He can sense he’s on the edge, his breath ragged and his heart pounding.

"You're going to make me lose control," he mutters against your skin, his lips leaving a trail of kisses along your collarbone. His hands roams over your body, leaving burning trails wherever they touch. He grabs onto your hip, his fingers digging into your flesh, as if he's trying to brand you with his touch.

He pushes his cock into you even harder making you both cum. At that moment Sae byeok, Gi hun and Ali come in since they were worried that you hadn't come back. And when they see the scene Ali giggles. “Finally,” Gi-hun murmurs.

Sang-woo freezes, his body still pressed against you as Sae-byeok and Gi-hun appear in the doorway, their expressions a mix of surprise and disbelief. It takes a moment for the reality of the situation to sink in, and a wave of shame and embarrassment washes over both of you. Ali laughs heartily, clearly finding the entire situation amusing. "Looks like we were right!" he exclaims.

Sang woo covers your body with his. “Go away” Sang woo murmurs who was still inside you.

Gi-hun and Sae-byeok exchange amused glances, but both of them seem to realize the gravity of the situation. "Alright, alright, we'll go," Gi-hun relents, grabbing Ali's arm and heading for the door. "You two behave yourselves."

Ali's laughter trails behind him as they exit, leaving you and Sang-woo alone once again, but this time with the aftermath of what had just happened.

[sillysoliloquyshits]

I watched a few movie reviews on Nezha 2 and one of them on two white guys (iirc) doing a podcast on their surface thoughts on the movie kinda threw me off as one of them said 'one thing that was off-putting to me was a lot of onscreen crying' or something like that. Which is super off-putting to me actually.

I mean what do you mean? Your little brother or mother or wife just died in front of your eyes what do you mean you should not cry and it's not a natural response? Ao Bing cried into his dad at the start as he felt so awful for letting his dad down and his buddy nearly died if he didn't intervene. Ne Zha cried so hard when he saw his parents again because he really thought they were gone. Both kids are three years old for the love of God. And Shen Gong Bao is a literal family man he has a soft spot for his little brother of course when he died trying to escape he had to cry so much and to be honest, I've watched videos of how the animation team spent a long time animating and planning the crying scene for him to ensure it's perfect. The creative team has spent so long to ensure every detail to actually ensure the whole story and every shot and scene will have a lasting emotional impact to touch the audience.

And another thing that's also respectable is how the team and the story in general is very committed to fleshing out the characters and ensuring they are all very relevant to the plot and have their own personal stories in a sequel, which is not often seen nowadays given how hard it is to make a better sequel (but that's another story and post I digress, but anyway-)

What I'm trying to say is that we all need more stories of boys openly crying. The only other movies off the top of my head I can think that has boys openly crying are maybe Coco, or Luca and maybe HTTYD, and I feel Nezha 2 has done a great job in showing the different sides of healthy masculinity, in how it's okay for boys to ugly cry and for dads to be tough on the exterior while also being very caring and gentle to their own sons, and for close brotherhood bonds being a soft side of characters. And it also dispels a stereotype in how Asians are often stoic and not as emotional as westerners, as while a lot of Chinese and Asians are quite stoic, there are plenty of people who see themselves in Ao Bing and Ne Zha and etc.

And I also saw a post earlier on how Ne Zha and Ao Bing defy societal rules and societal expectations respectively, with Ao Bing doing so by being outwardly feminine in looks and being elegant while precise and aggressive in his attacks and still being able to be confident in his self, while Ne Zha has been insecure in his own looks until the end. And personally I feel the movie is a great place for kids and boys especially to learn that masculinity can be anything they can define, like how one can be more confident like Ao Bing even when he's not traditionally masculine, while knowing it's okay to be insecure and that they can overcome judgements in society.

And with their friendship and loyalty to each other (and possibly *cough* *gay* *it's ok if you don't ship them*), it also teaches boys that male friendships can be very close knit where they can be vulnerable to one another, like how Nezha soon learnt to be vulnerable around Ao Bing and how Ao Bing learnt to follow his heart through Ne Zha's influence. Boys can learn from one another and become emotionally stronger together like it's not just a girls thing yay-

So yeah this is another long ramble but tldr again:

Nezha 2 is a fantastic movie on healthy masculinity and we need more movies like this for boys especially to learn that expressing strong emotions are very healthy and essential in being a person. And we need to punch toxic masculinity to death the way Lu Tong and He Tong did at the end to the bald bitch so-

[aphroditesmoon]

wish you'd ask me

clarisse la rue x fem!demigod!reader

summary: you're not good at reading subtle hints, clarisse realises that maybe she should've been more upfront with her feelings for you.

warnings: fluff, oblivious!reader, clarisse is down bad, reader is very neurodivergent coded, kissing, flirting, title n fic inspired by 'Wish You'd Ask Me' by Matt Maltese.

A/N: thank you for 1.9k followers!! I love you all dearly, my ask box and dms r always open, im glad that my writing is being enjoyed by so many people<3

wc: 4.5k

You have been in camp half blood for more than 4 years. You have made yourself at home for the last several years. 

It was easy to view yourself as lesser or inadequate in comparison to other mortals during your days in the real world before you were sent to camp. The world has never failed to remind you of how different you were. Always too much or not good enough, always special and never normal

And it wasn't like you were dying for some sort of diagnosis to justify why you are the way you are, but upon discovering that you were actually a demigod, it felt like all the questions you've been harboring to yourself was finally answering themselves. 

Everything clicked. Everything made sense, though at the same time, it felt impossible. You were a very confused little girl when you first arrived at camp. A girl who just wanted someone to tell them that it'll all be alright in the end.

And you still remembered the first person to hold you by your shoulders and made you look into their eyes as they told you that it was all going to be okay.

The girl with beautiful long curls and dark piercing eyes. The girl that everyone else, apparently, was afraid of.

But you could never be afraid of Clarisse La Rue. 

Not with the way she smiles when every time she sees you, the way she never fails to make you feel included even in activities you're not capable of participating in. Not with the way your whole body electrifies every time your skin touches, when your hands brush against each other. 

It didn't matter what anyone think, because no one could change the perception you've built of her. Clarisse La Rue is good. Or at least she is to you.

When you first heard of the rumours surrounding her, you did think better than to force a friendship on her. You strayed away from her and stuck to your cabin siblings and your books, but you noticed daily how she'd still go out of her way to talk to you at least once a day.

It didn't need to be a long conversation, just a passing acknowledgement. An easygoing 'hey, how've you been doing.' Sometimes she'd even go as far as cracking a joke with you.

With how serious her face is whenever she make the jokes, you'd have to think twice as hard and thrice as faster than another person to try and guess if she was being genuine or not so you could fit in a necessary laugh when you needed to.

Even as her anger became more apparent because of the new kid's accidental climb to fame and embarrassing the Ares' cabin, she still found time to make a conversation with you.

It had been long since you tried to ignore or avoid her. You learned that her attention towards you is harmless, and that she seemed much more comfortable telling you certain things compared to others. If she has been viewing you as some sort of safe box, then you don't really mind it. You liked listening to her talk and keeping her heart's intent as your secret.

You too, talking to her. To some people, you are reserved,  

and to others, talkative. Either way, people find it easy to discard you at any moment they decide you are irritating.

But Clarisse listens. And she asks questions, she's patient- much patient that anyone could anticipate or guess. 

It may be hard for others to believe, but Clarisse is more complex than she seems. She had the capacity to be gentle, and she had the capacity to respect boundaries. The more time you spent with her, the more that side becomes easy for you to access.

Today, however,  marks a new record for your friendship with her. A few weeks ago, she had informed you of her newfound interest in the history of folklore monsters. What a coincidence that you were currently self-studying on that specific topic.

She insisted that you hook her in on whatever it is you're learning. She had even gotten you a doughnut to eat together outside the library as you told her of your insights of dragons and their theorized blindness and incapability to differentiate a variety of prey.

The conversation went well, she seemed immensely in awe of your knowledge and had no problem telling you how she felt. 

You even gave her some book recommendations, though you knew she wasn't much of a reader.

You felt a shift in your relationship that night and had spent the next three days studying more and more about the topic. And today, you had asked her to spend the evening with you. 

You shouldn't feel so nervous asking her to hang out. That is what friends do, after all.

She found you in the library, sitting on the floor in between two large bookshelves. She had been right on time and enthusiastically so. The two of you sat together, hidden by the shelves as some semblance of privacy. 

Clarisse looked confused when you had explained that you indeed wanted to spend the rest of the day in the library, but she accompanied you anyways.

You could never get sick of the smell of the books. Old and new, they all have some nostalgic past tied in between the pages, begging to be discovered. 

You had your back on the walls with tinted windows above your head as she's seated opposite of you in a criss-crossed position.

Today, the library isn't as packed as usual. There were still people walking in and out and checking out the books on the counter, but not too many that it became obnoxiously loud and annoying. 

After finishing another book of Monsters and how to spot them, you're feeling knowledgeable enough to explain the lore of the Giants to Clarisse, she had asked you about this the other day, giants have been long extinct to the point that some might even say they may have never even existed. And so you were interested in sharing with her all of the information you have learned about the majestic species of a beast.

You started with the general information. The basic understanding of what a Giant is the mythhs of Giants and the validity of those sources. Clarisse listened closely in the beginning, never interrupting you unless she had an actual question.

She seemed in awe of the stories you tell her of. You don't blame her, for you yourself have been most interested in the topic of Giants.

You were an hour an a half in when noticed her attention faltering. She leaned against the cases of books, her eyes twitched slightly when you began to explain the different types of giants, and the difference of how they operate.

Her hands are folded together on her lap, and you can feel her listening in on everything you're telling her as she adds in some commentary here and there, but you also felt that she wasn't entirely in on the conversation.

The dim lights of the library made the atmosphere feel warm and secluded, even with its vast space and many other campers hanging around in the other tables and shelves. You made sure to keep your voice low as you spoke in fear of the librarian kicking you out. 

You had a good reputation with the library workers, they liked how organized and polite you were. 

"A lot of people think their greatest strength is their size, which is valid, they are huge, but their real weapon is their mouth." You told Clarisse, ignoring the litter of books by your left that you had brought over for reference.

"They kiss you to death?" She asks suspiciously. You laughed shortly and shook your head. "No, I mean their breath."

She responds with an 'ohh.' 

"They're giants, so their mouth is large too, and you can easily tell what they had for breakfast even from their tall height. Their breaths are also known to be so rancid it could kill you, because they don't exactly eat what we eat." 

She raises a brow as she stretches her hands upwards. "Isn't that ogres?" 

"It's both." You confirmed.

You were about to continue your explanation but halted by instinct as you notice how her mouth keeps pursing together as if unsatisfied, and she has that look on her face that mimicked a confused expression. You're don't think there's anything to be confused of.

"Are you okay?" You asked her worriedly. Clarisse sits up straighter at the question and waved a hand off to assure you she's fine. "Of course, no yeah- I'm fine."

"You seem bored, you're not really interested in what I'm saying are you?” She opens her mouth to counter your words but hesitates to say anything. 

"I- well, I like giants-" She attempts, "-no you don't. " 

"No. I don't." She admits with a sigh. "But I thought you said you were interested in these kind of stuff?" You questioned her. "Well, yeah, like the general idea of it. I mean, I don't hate it, and I like hearing you talk about it." She answers with a shrug.

"Then why do you look disappointed? If you didn't want to come, you could've just told me. I wouldn't get mad." You told her honestly. It was conflicting for you to see her so confused on what to say, being so picky with the words she chooses.

You figured she's probably reluctant to hurt your feelings. That is a notion you're used to. You'd rather she tell you the truth to your face than to be catered around like a time ticking bomb that everyone's so afraid might explode at any time. 

"When you asked me out yesterday, you told me this would be an 'evening to remember." She tells you with such confidence like it was an explanation to her weird behaviour today.

"You don't think this is an evening to remember?" You sincerely inquire.

"No, I do! I just- well, when you said that I didn't think you'd mean we'd be doing this." Your frown deepens as you try to figure out what she means, eyeing her body language closely. “What do you mean? I told you I wanted to hang out.” 

A part of you is offended. She was the one who had said she liked hearing you speak, why would she be disappointed that this was your idea of spending time together?

"I don't know, I thought we'd just be doing...something else?"

It didn't matter what she had really meant with that. You felt completely embarrassed once she finished her sentence. Why was it that everyone else had no problem having long conversations with their friends, but when it came to you, it's all too awkward, unnecessary, and odd? 

You liked Clarisse, you considered her your friend. Sometimes you wonder if it could ever be more, but you never entertain those thoughts because you don't want to ruin what the two of you already have. 

But moments like these resemble a huge slap in the face by the universe.

You couldn't even be good friends with her, how ridiculous of you to think that there could ever be something more.

"Okay, um, maybe we should just go back to our cabin." You decided whilst standing up and picking up the stack of books you're currently borrowing from the library, ready to leave the place without waiting for her.

"Hey, wait." She called out as you walked past her. You spared her a glance, trying your best not to show how upset you are.  “We're friends." She says it so much like a question that you weren't sure if she's even sure of the fact herself until she continued speaking. "I like hanging out with you."

Another thing that you weren't sure if she really meant. "Sure." You replied thinking it's the most suitable response. 

Before she could say anything else, you turned around and started picking up your pace until you disappeared out of her sight.

—

You have been consistently ignoring Clarisse. Which proved to be harder than expected.

When you pass by her camp or the training ground, you make a mental note to always look down or to your front as to never accidentally cross eyes with her.

And everytime you hear her call out your name, you keep walking like you didn't even hear her, knowing that she wouldn't be bold enough to call for you again. After all, she still had a reputation to uphold.

If ignoring her wasn't hard enough, having to deal with how you felt for her is worse.

You've been avoiding confrontation with yourself for weeks even before you decided to go no contact with her.

And so far, you thought you've been handling it pretty well. Except for days where you don't see her where she's expected to be. You tell yourself that you don't care as you make your way to training in the day and reading in the evening, and yet you still go back on your own words when you asked a passerby Ares kid on where his cabin leader was.

"She's dunking some kid's head into a toilet bowl." Of course she was.

You thanked the dude and went back on your way to your cabin. It's close to dusk, the sky is turning orange and the sun is dipping itself below the earth. You take your time returning to your cabin as you enjoy the way the sun slowly removes itself from anyone's viewing.

You wondered to yourself if things like these are what makes you weird or off-putting to some people.

Was enjoying nature and having niche interests only cute when it's done by girls pretty enough to be cool or if it's only in romance movies or books.

You don't find yourself weird, in fact you think all of your hobbies are pretty common and usual, and yet the way Clarisse had spoken to you at the library last week had made you feel unnatural.

You had wanted to do normal people things with her, but maybe your perception of normal is different to her.

Either way, you are pretty hurt with how she reacted. You loved her still, of course. It's kind of hard to unlike the girl you've been obsessed with since you were 15.

Once you finally reach your cabin, you quickly put down all of your books and your tiny sling back by the side before making it to the shower to refresh yourself before dinner.

You thought it hilarious of how hard you're trying not to care about Clarisse, and yet as you're cleaning yourself up, changing your clothes and attempting to read at least 15 pages of your World's Most Dangerous Beasts book, you could only think of her.

What would it take for her to think that you're cool, what kind of things did she want to do instead of listening to you yap around for 2 hours on what is an equivalent of a boring dinosaur facts, not that you really think dinosaurs are boring.

During dinner, you kept to siblings and had to make yourself finish your plate as your anxiety wrecking thoughts have a way of deriving you of an appetite. You also had to convince yourself to not search for her at the other tables which took more strength than one would expect.

But you succeeded, and you were now sure that the only obstacle left for the day was to try and fall asleep without the thoughts of her keeping you up.

Clarisse is a force, a fierce daughter of Ares, and a cabin leader who had much better things to do then hole up at quiet small places with you.

And just because she was nice enough to mantain a good relationship with you for 4 years, does not mean that you're worth her time. Or at least that's what you tell yourself.

That night, you managed to fall asleep after an hour of recalling Harpy facts in repetition. Counting sheeps had never worked on you, so you had to find something much more active to tire out your brain.

You dreamed of Clarisse with her hair down, holding your hand and pulling you closer so she could slip a flower on your ear.

And just as she's looking down at you, moving closer to do what it seemed like to kiss you, you awoke with a jolt, swearing under your breath as if you'd just gotten jumpscared by a ghost.

Someone's palms moved to shut your lips as you're met with a girl, hovering over you in the dark. Clarisse's dark eyes were recognizable, but it sent a shot of adrenaline through your body still.

"Shh." She whispered to your face, hand still keeping your mouth shut. "I'm going to remove my hands now." She whispered again. You nod in understanding and waited for her to pry her hand away from your face.

"What are you doing here?!" You exclaimed as quiet as possible as she helped you sit up.

"I'm sneaking you out." She answers with a wink. "It's 2 in the morning." You waved your hand around at the darkness and sleeping children. "3 in the morning, and yeah, I know. That's why it's called sneaking around." She corrects you with a grin so devilish that if you hadn't known her for a long time, you'd assume she's about to turn you into a new toilet bowl or dumpster boxing victim.

You sighed loudly and glared at her despite your fast beating heart. Her hand remained on top of yours until the minute becomes more awkward and she removes it as if she just remembered that she's been holding your hand.

Without explanation,  she climbed out of your bed and tiptoes to the open cabin door. You're still sitting up and looking at her with conflicted feelings.

Only after she turns back to you, cocking her head towards the entrance, do you give into her request and softly leave the comfort of your bed and trail after her.

"Where are we going?" You asked after her as she kept walking. Instead of responding, she asks you another question back, "Can you swim?"

"We're going swimming?" You watch her shrug in return from behind her and became even more distressed.

"So, is this your idea of having fun and hanging out then?" She laughs drily and slowed down so you could catch up. You walked fast enough until you're beside her and waited for her to talk. "You sound surprised, I would've thought that after 4 years of friendship, you'd know by now that I love doing things that includes active movements."

You did know that, it's a bit hard to not notice how much working out, training and running fuels her even more.

"And why are we doing it in the middle of the night?" The walk towards the lake by the back of the forest was short, considering that your cabin is the closest to the location.

You almost tripped and fell over a stick, but Clarisse was quick to scoop you back up by the back of your shirt. "Thanks." You mumbled to her. "And you haven't answered my question."

Clarisse pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it on the ground without caring of your presence. You, having more moral obligations than her, twisted your face to your left when she began to pull her trousers off. "Too many people in broad daylight." She tells you.

That is a valid reason, this lake is mostly known as a hook up spot, and true to it's cause, many dating campers have been caught together here during dawn or late evenings.

You braved yourself to turn towards her again slowly and realised that she had already hopped into the water. She had a sports bra on and a boxer.

And though you yourself had a tank top and shorts on, you contemplate the idea of suicide as a better choice than having to strip in front of her.

"Are you gonna get in, or are you just gonna gawk at me from there?" You were grateful for the dark being able to hide your flushed face from her, but deep down, you knew that she probably saw it anyways because of the shining bright moonlight.

"I can't swim." You told her.

"That's fine, the water's not very deep." You ransacked your brain for reasons to decline her offer, but at the same time, a small part of you yearned to take this risk that you've been so afraid of for gods knows whatever reason.

Clarisse is there, in the water and under the moonlight. You are only a few steps away from her. And like she said, the water isn't deep, only waist length. She stares back at you with a raised brow like she's challenging you to join her.

"Turn around first." You tell her. She smirked slightly before slowly spinning to the opposite direction. "You know I've seen you naked before right?"

"What?" You choked out, aghast. "Who do you think changed your clothes for you when you first got to camp." Oh, that.

Your shoulder relaxes as you realize she's talking about the first time you met. "That's was a long time ago." You noted. She hummed im agreement. "Yeah, we've both grown since."

You told her she could turn around once you're inside the water. Forgetting about the heighy difference between you two, the water was high enough to reach your chest, trying your best not to trip underwater the way you always do on dry ground, your hand instinctively reached outnfor her shoulder.

Clarisse held your forearm tightly and drew your closer to her until you're inches away from eachother.

You breathed in sharply and felt the need to fill in the awkward silence. "So, you...like swimming, huh?"

"Yes, evidently so." She answered. "Right right, can't sit still and all that." She actually chuckled at your sarcasm, making you proud of yourself.

"You know, even before I came to camp Half Blood, I use to be a pretty active person, running track, volleyball, sometimes swimming." Your eyes widened in curiosity. "Really?" She nodded.

"The counselor told my mom that I just had so many untapped energy, which I guess is a code for anger issues." Her grip on your forearm moves higher until her palm is over your shoulder.  "She told her that it'd be best for me to find a...healthy way, to channel that energy, and for my strong competitiveness. So I joined what I could, and that's how I spent most of my free time there. Besides, I never was that good academically. So, I ought to at least be good at something, right?"

"You are good." You blurted out. Your embarrassment faded away when you saw her smile. "You think so?"

"Yeah." You assured her. Her other hand had snaked around your waist without you noticing. Only when you moved slightly do you notice her holding you softly.

"The moon is really nice tonight, isn't it?" You said, trying to diffuse the tension. You pointed your finger up to the sky at the singular white orb.

She glanced up and let out a 'huh.'

"I like it when it's bright and whole like this, the moon in all of its glory. You don't even notice the starts around it when it's glowing like that." You could stare at the moom forever, even longer than the way you've been staring at the sun.

You believed in it the way children do with their birthday candle. To you, the moon has always been a symbol of hope or comfort for your future. Your fascination for it existed from when you were a child, the way it'd follow you from behind as you gazed upon it from the back of the car seat whilst your parent drove down the road.

The way it moved above you as you walked home from school, like one of the gods themselves watching over you.

"Nothing compares to the moon." You announced aloud, watching as the clouds around it began to gather over it. "Yeah, It's beautiful." You hear Clarisse speak.

As your head snapped back to her, you found that she had already been facing you.

"I like the moon...but not as much as I like you." She whispered loud enough for your ears only. Her face leans closer to yours, your noses brushing together. "Not as much as I like to hear your voice, when you tell me about your little harpy facts-"

"Oh, I haven't told you about the harpies yet." You cut her off. "I just finished that chapter this morning actually and-"

"-and, you can tell me about it after I'm done talking." You blushed and became silent, letting her speak.

Clarisse exhaled breathily, fanning your face with the subtle warm air. "I like doing things that friends do with you, but I don't want to be your friend anymore."

"Oh."

"I want to be more than friends." She elaborated.

"Oh." Oh.

You feel a sudden tightness in your chest, from anxiety or from butterflies is undecided. "You want to be best friends?" You joked, laughing nervously.

Clarisse snorted at your joke, but she was still grinning widely. "Best friends, If that's what you want to call it."

There was a moment of understanding shared between a second of shared gazes before her lips attached themselves to yours. An urgency, approval, meaning that can't be described by words.

Whatever gentleness there was inside of her before had vanished. Clarisse kissed you like a starved woman. Her lips craved yours like it'd be the last time she'll ever know how you taste like.

Your hands clasped on her shoulder and neck for support as she embraced you tighter to her body. You let her tongue slip into your mouth, meeting your own.

And as they danced together, inhaling all there is in your lips, every secret and every confession that have died on the tip ofnyour tongues, you are sure that no heaven nor hell could tear you open to see you back together like this.

You push her back abruptly, letting fresh air fill your empty lungs. "What's wrong?" Clarisse inquired worriedly.

"Last week." You sighed out, chest still heaving as your thoughts clicked together. "You thought I had asked you on a date, that's why you were disappointed."

She winced at the reminder, and for the first time in your life, you had been lucky enough to witness a flustered Clarisse.

"I'm right." Her silence confirmed. "Oh Clarisse, why didn't you just ask me?"

Huffing loudly, she rolls her eyes in irritation. "I thought I was obvious enough. "

Thinking back on it all, it did seem pretty obvious, but gods were you oblivious. The way you intepreted it all so wrongly.

"I've liked you for so long too." You admitted to her. Her scowl was gone at that, replaced by a teasing smile. "And what are you gonna do about it?" Her mouth returned to yours, letting go of all your fears and holding on to Clarisse like she's your anchor, you close the gap between your lips, welcoming the kind of pleasure that you've never tasted before.

[wolverigrl]

Rumors

Hugh Jackman x reader (actress)

Warnings: smut! Only 18+!, swearing, angsty, fluffy

!Disclaimer! If you'd like to skip the smut, scroll down as soon as you see "---" in the text. From there, the smut part begins and ends at the next "---"!

Enjoy!

Previous Part

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It's been five months. Five months since our first date, and yet somehow, it feels like both forever and no time at all.

I sit here now, in the gym, watching him lift weights like it’s nothing, and I’m struck by just how lucky I feel. From the very beginning, it was like we found our rhythm without even trying - our relationship is built on mutual respect and trust. We give each other space when needed, and t's refreshing to be with someone who values independence as much as I do.

The dates we've had so far have been perfect in their own way. Our second one was at this hidden gem of a restaurant tucked away in the city. I remember how he laughed when I spilled wine on the tablecloth, and how his hand brushed mine as we reached for the same napkin. We've done simple things too, like grabbing coffee early in the morning or working out. Once, we spent an afternoon at an old bookstore, getting lost in the aisles of dusty novels and sharing passages that made us laugh. Every moment with him feels like a memory in the making

And yet, it all changed a little last month when we were spotted. We hadn't been careful enough. A quick kiss in a park, something so innocent, but the paparazzi caught us. The next day, our picture was splashed across every tabloid and social media. That unintentional confirmation of our relationship wasn't what we had planned. Neither of us wanted the world in on our private lives.

Still, we've dodged every question thrown at us in interviews or on social media. But avoiding the questions doesn't stop the criticism.

The age gap. It's what everyone seems to latch onto. Hugh's used to it - He’s been doing this long enough to know how to handle the press, the rumors, the gossip. But me? I’m still learning how to deal with it. I try to act like it doesn't bother me. I nod along, tell everyone I'm fine, but inside, it's harder than I thought it would be. Some of the comments sting more than I care to admit. I've been in relationships before, but none of them were "public" like this. My exes were all from my private circle - well, except for Chris, but that doesn't count. That was way before either of us was well-known. This, with Hugh, is different. It's out there.

I didn’t want that. I wanted to keep us private for a while longer, to hold onto this little piece of normalcy for just us. But now it’s out, and there’s no taking it back.

Now everything is under scrutiny. People question our relationship and my motives. Of course there are fans who are supportive - sweet comments, even some who come up to me on the street and say they love us together. But then there are the others. The ones who say I’m only with him to advance my career, that I’m using him to get ahead. Ever since our last movie together, I’ve been getting bigger roles, and some people think that’s because of him. Like I can’t earn anything on my own.

I try to brush it off, but there are moments when those words hit hard. And even though Hugh has told me a thousand times to ignore it. I’m not like him. I haven’t been in the spotlight for decades. I don’t have the thick skin he’s developed over the years.

Our managers weren’t thrilled either when they found out we’d been seeing each other behind their backs. It wasn’t anger, really, more disappointment that we hadn’t trusted them enough to let them in on it. But in a way, I’m glad we didn’t. We needed this to just to be ours for a while.

Still, despite all the noise, the criticism, the rumors—there’s comfort between us. We act like a real couple. We’ve never had the talk, though, about what we are exactly. Are we officially together? I don’t even know. We’ve just kind of fallen into this routine, and honestly, love it. I love the way he makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world when we’re together.

My eyes drift back to him as he lowers the weights, his muscles tensing with the effort. He's ridiculously strong, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a turn on. God, he’s attractive. And sweet. And patient. And funny. Sometimes I catch myself even fangirling. I mean, it's still Hugh fucking Jackman. How did I get so lucky?

“You good, y/n?" Hugh’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I realize I’ve been staring.

“Yeah." I say, quickly covering up my awkwardness with a grin. “Just appreciating the view.”

His eyes narrow, that playful smile tugging at his lips. He walks over, sweat still glistening on his skin, and towers above me, crossing his arms. “You know, you could’ve just taken a picture.”

“Maybe I will next time,” I tease, leaning back on the bench.

He chuckles, the sound warm and rich. “Or you could just join me instead of sitting over there like a creep.”

“Please. I did twice as many reps as you did earlier,” I say, pretending to wipe imaginary sweat from my brow. “I deserve a break.”

“Is that right?” He raises an eyebrow, leaning down so we’re almost face-to-face. “Pretty sure I saw you struggling with those squats.”

“I wasn’t struggling." I protest, trying to keep a straight face, but his cocky grin is making it impossible.

“You say that now, but your form—”

“My form was perfect!” I laugh, pushing his arm lightly. “Stop acting like you weren’t impressed.”

“Oh, I was impressed." he admits, his voice dropping an octave. “Just not with your workout.”

The heat between us flares up in an instant, the way it always does when he looks at me like that. There’s this pull, this magnetic energy that I haven’t felt in a while. We flirt, we tease, we push each other’s buttons, and it’s exhilarating. But there’s always this line we haven’t fully crossed yet. We get close - so close - but we always pull back.

We go back and forth like this until we wrap up our workout. Hugh's leaving for Sydney tomorrow to visit his family for a few weeks, but his kids won't be able to join him because they're going on holiday with their mom, so it'll just be him this time

I'll admit, I already miss him so much. I don't really know what to do yet. So far, we've spent pretty much every day together, but now that the interviews are slowly getting fewer and everyday life is getting quieter, it's getting boring without someone to keep me on my toes. I guess Ryan and Blake will have to take over.

After the gym, we head back to his place, still bickering about who did better with which exercises. By the time we're on the couch, it's turned into playful shoving and teasing until his lips are on mine, and everything else fades away. God, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed the way his lips feel on mine, the way his touch sets my skin on fire.

But just as things are about to cross that line again, I pull away, leaving him breathless and staring at me in confusion.

"You’re impossible." he mutters, running a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his voice.

I smile sweetly, standing up and stretching. “I need a shower.”

"You’re an absolutely evil woman!" he calls after me as I walk toward the bathroom, but I don’t turn around. I can feel his eyes on me the whole way.

I can't help but smile to myself as I undress and step into the shower. The hot water cascades down my skin, but my mind is elsewhere - back on the couch, replaying the way his hands felt on me, the way his breath hitched when I kissed him. It's getting harder to hold back, to not give in to the growing desire between us. We've come close before - so many times - but for some reason, we always stop right pefore things get too far. It's like we're both waiting for the perfect moment. I'm not in a rush, but God, he makes it so hard to resist.

But it’s not just physical. It’s him. It’s the way he looks at me, the way he makes me feel seen. I’ve never been so comfortable with someone, and that scares me a little. I’m falling for him - hard - and I’m terrified of what that means. We’ve never even talked about what we are, and here I am, thinking about how much I want him, how much I love him.

The thought stops me in my tracks. Am I in love with him? My heart pounds in my chest, and I realize that, yes, I probably am. But I don’t know if he feels the same way. What if this is just something casual for him? What if I bring it up, and he doesn’t feel the same? He’s never pressured me, never pushed for more, and sometimes I wonder if he’s happy with how things are - just casual, just fun.

When I'm done, I slip into my pajamas - just a simple tank top and shorts - and head into the bedroom. Hugh's sitting on the edge of the bed, scroling through his phone, but he glances up when I walk in.

"Took you long enough." he says with a mischievous grin. "Were you thinking about me in there?"

I smirk, leaning against the doorway.

"Maybe?"

He laughs, setting his phone down and standing up. He walks over to me, placing one hand on my hip, the other cupping my face. His lips brush mine in a teasing kiss, his hand sliding down to give my ass a playful squeeze.

"Behave." I mutter, but my voice betrays me, sounding more breathless than I intended.

"Why? I thought you like it when I don’t." he says, that teasing grin never faltering.

Before I can respond, he pulls away and heads to the bathroom. "I'll be right back."

I sighed and lay down on the bed and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling.

Before I can lose myself in my thoughts again, I hear the water turn off, and a minute later, Hugh steps back into the room, still dripping wet and wrapped only in his towel, which hangs dangerously low. I can't take my eyes off him. He's searching through the dresser, muttering something about forgetting his boxers, but I don't hear the words. My heart pounds in my chest, and I know - I know - this is it. I can’t hold back anymore.

Without second guessing, I get up and cross the room, moving toward him without a word. He watches me, his brow furrowing in slight confusion, but there’s something else there too.

When I reach him, I stop, just inches away, and look up at him. I don’t say anything for a long moment. I just let myself feel the weight of this moment.

---

Finally, I find my voice, though it’s softer than I expected. “I want you.”

His eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, I think I’ve surprised him. But then, something shifts in his expression, and the air between us thickens. He steps closer, his hand coming up to cup my cheek as he studies my face.

“Are you sure?” His voice is low, husky, and I can see the restraint in his eyes. He’s giving me an out. One last chance to change my mind. But I don’t want out. Not anymore.

“Yes." I whisper, barely able to speak past the lump in my throat. “I’m sure.”

That’s all it takes. In an instant, his lips are on mine, and the kiss is different this time - deeper. Hungrier. His hands move to my waist, pulling me against him, and I wrap my arms around his neck, melting into his touch.

Before I know it, he’s lifting me off the ground, my legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. I can feel the heat radiating off him, the roughness of the towel against my skin. His grip tightens, and I’m suddenly aware of just how much I want him - how much I’ve always wanted him.

The kiss grew more intense, more desperate, and I can feel the last remnants of our restraint crumbling. He carries me over to the bed, his towel loosening around his hips, and gently lays me down. Our breaths are ragged, our bodies pressed together in a way that makes it impossible to think of anything else.

His kisses moved to my neck while one of his hands disappeared under my top. I gasped softly and ran my hands over his strong back. He began to gently squeeze my breast as I pressed his hips against mine with my legs, clearly feeling his arousal. Breathing heavily, he rubbed his groin against me and applied more pressure to my breast.

"Please." I said softly and looked at him greedily. "Please what, love?" he broke away from my lips and straightened up a little to get a better look at my face.

I couldn't help myself and looked down to his towel, which was now hanging down so low that you could see his perfect v-line clearly, as well as the vein under his belly button.

I swallowed and also straightened up to pull my top over my head.

"Fucking hell." he muttered quietly. I lay back down with my arms over my head and looked straight at him. "Just stop holding back and fuck me already."

He didn't need to be told twice and leaned over me again. The kiss was wilder than before and I felt like his hands were everywhere. I was in such a trance that I didn't even notice that he had already thrown my shorts on the floor. It was only when I felt his fingers on my clit that I realized it. I gasped out loud and dug my fingers in his hair and shoulders as he caressed my neck and circled his thumb over my clit. I was a complete wreck. Everything happened so quickly, but somehow it also didn't. I pressed my knees into Hugh's sides and pushed my pelvis towards him as he slid two fingers inside me. I moaned loudly and pushed my head back into the pillow. Suddenly I felt an electrifying sensation as he ran his tongue around my breast and sucked on it. He curled his fingers in and moved his hand faster. I moaned loudly again and pressed my nails firmly into his shoulder as a pleasurable feeling came over me in my abdomen.

Hugh's kisses moved back up to my lips until he released his heavy breath and slid his fingers out of me.

He looked at me full of lust and totally befuddled. I had never seen him like this before. But seeing him like this almost made me go crazy myself. He smiled gently at me and stroked a few strands of hair from my face. "You're so damn beautiful."

I felt my face flush and ran my hands down his torso to his dick, smiling. He breathed heavily and closed his eyes as I slowly began to stroke him.

I clenched around nothing and bit my lip as I looked at him.

He looked at me again, bent both my legs and pulled my hands away, to stroke his own member. He rubbed his pre-cum wet tip against my clit and looked deep into my eyes. It made me absolutely feral.

"Hell. Stop fucking teasing!" I growled. Without another word, he slid into me and put my legs over his shoulders. I moaned loudly and curled my toes. He was breathing heavily and you could see how much he was controlling himself.

"You're so fucking tight." He slowly began to move his hips and it drove me wild when I felt him filling me up. "Baby please don't hold back." I moaned and closed my eyes.

"Eyes on me my love." he groaned and thrusted harder. I gasped, a little startled, and looked him straight in the eyes. My hands disappeared into his hair again and his speed increased steadily. I felt everything slowly boiling up inside me and I clenched hard around his dick. That eye contact. His moans. The sounds of our bodies hitting each other and the thick air in the room. Everything began to spin around me and I could no longer maintain eye contact.

"I'm gonna cum!" I moaned as I felt him thrusting even deeper than before. Hugh now closed his own eyes, let my legs off his shoulders and pressed both my hands over my head with one hand to stimulate my clit with the other. He was panting loudly himself. "Cum for me baby. I wanna see how you cum all over me."

That gave me the rest and for a brief moment I thought I was seeing the white light. My legs were shaking like crazy and I felt an incredible pull in my abdomen. Hugh moaned with me and let go of me to support himself with his forearms next to my head instead.

Panting, he rested his head in the crook of my neck while I stroked his sweaty back. Shortly afterwards, I felt his rhythm become more and more irregular until he did a last hard thrust and moaned loudly. The sound of his voice and the feeling of his pulsing dick made my skin crawl and I pressed myself tightly against him with my legs and arms.

There was complete silence for a moment. I could only hear our panting and our heartbeats in the room.

I felt his semen leaking out of me and slowly running down my bottom.

Hugh pulled away to lay down next to me and pulled me to his side before kissing me on the forehead. I smiled at him and stroked his sweaty chest with my hand.

"We should probably have done it before the shower." Hugh said with a smirk and looked at me.

"Or in the shower." He laughed and nodded.

---

After cleaning up, we lay together, our bodies entwined under the blanket. The room is quiet, except for the sound of our breathing slowly returning to normal. Hugh is beside me, his arm draped over my waist, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on my skin. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest against my back, and there’s a comfort in the silence between us.

But there’s also a weight, a need to say something. To define this.

I shift slightly, turning so I can face him. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, neither of us says anything. Then, softly, I ask. "Do you ever… worry? About what people say about us?”

His brow furrows slightly, and he brushes a strand of hair from my face before answering. “What people say? You mean the age thing?”

I nod, feeling a lump in my throat. “Yeah. And the way they watch us. The paparazzi, the rumors… It’s just hard sometimes.”

He presses a soft kiss to my forehead, his hand gently cupping the back of my head. “I know it’s hard, y/n and I’m sorry you have to deal with all that because of me.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say quickly. “I just… sometimes I don’t know how to handle it. But I don't want to be that person who lets the outside world affect what we have." I whisper. "But sometimes it just... gets to me."

"You're not that person." he assures me, his voice firm but gentle. "You're human. And it's okay to feel that way. The important thing is that we talk about it, like we're doing now.. And you don’t have to handle it alone." he murmurs, his lips brushing my temple. “I’m here. We’re in this together.”

His words are soothing, but there’s still a part of me that struggles with the reality of our situation. I bite my lip, hesitating before speaking again. “Sometimes I wonder… if maybe we shouldn’t—”

“Hey." he interrupts softly, his thumb grazing my cheek. “Don’t go there. We’re good, okay? We’re more than good.”

I close my eyes, leaning into his touch. “I know. I just don’t want it to get too complicated.”

Hugh is silent for a moment, then he asks quietly. “Would it help if we made it official?”

I blink, my heart skipping a beat. “Official?”

He gives me a small smile, his eyes soft as he looks at me. “Yeah. Maybe then they will stop harassing us with their questions." For a moment we both were silent before he started to speak again. "Like… would you want to be my girlfriend?”

My heart swells at the simplicity of his question and made me speechless. Then I slowly nod, a smile spreading across my face. “Yeah." I whisper. “I’d like that.”

He grins, pulling me closer and pressing his lips to mine in a soft, lingering kiss. We stay like that for a while, wrapped in each other, content.

After a while, he pulls back, looking thoughtful. “You know, I’m heading to Australia tomorrow to visit family.”

I nod, already knowing. “Yeah, you mentioned that. How long will you be gone?”

“A few weeks." he says, his fingers brushing over my arm absently. “But… I was thinking. What if you came with me?”

I blink in surprise. “To Sydney?”

“Yeah. I mean, only if you want to. No pressure. I just thought it’d be nice… spending some more time together. Away from all this.”

I hesitate, the idea both exciting and terrifying. “I don’t know, Hugh. It feels… fast. I haven’t even met your family yet.”

He chuckles softly. “You wouldn’t have to. Not unless you wanted to. It can just be the two of us. We can do whatever you want. I just want to spend time with you."

I smile softly at his words, feeling my heart swell.

“I’ll think about it,” I say softly, leaning my head against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear, a calming rhythm that soothes the anxiety swirling in my mind.

“Good,” he murmurs, running his fingers gently through my hair. “That’s all I ask. No pressure.”

I bite my lip, thinking it over. The idea is tempting - really tempting.

"Okay." I say, making the decision. "I'II come. But maybe I'll fly out a week later. That way I can maybe meet up with Blake and Ryan, maybe even visit Chris in Boston."

Hugh nods, a relieved smile spreading across his face. "Deal. A week later, and we'll have the best time. Just you and me."

We share another soft kiss, and can't help but laugh against his lips.

After our conversation, we lay there for a little while longer, basking in the afterglow of everything we’d just shared. The weight that had been pressing on my chest for weeks felt lighter now that we’d talked about it.

Eventually, we sat up, and the idea struck me - if we were really ready to move forward, maybe it was time to let the world know about us on our own terms.

“I was thinking…” I start, glancing over at him. “We should post a photo of us."

Hugh’s eyebrows lifted in slight surprise. “You sure about that?”

I nod, feeling a sense of resolve I hadn’t felt before. “Yeah. I mean the media already knows about us and we can't hide anymore. So why not?"

A smile tugs at his lips, and he reaches for his phone on the bedside table. “Alright, I’m in. Let’s take a picture then.”

I chuckle. “But maybe we should put on some clothes first?”

Hugh laughs softly, the sound sending a warmth through me. “Yeah, I suppose we shouldn’t scandalize the internet too much.”

As I sit up, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the bedroom mirror and grimace slightly. My hair’s a mess from… well, everything, and I’m definitely not looking my best. “Ugh. I look awful.”

Hugh stands up and shakes his head with an amused smile. “You look perfect,” he says, casually reaching into his closet for a shirt. He pulls one on, his muscles stretching the fabric in a way that makes it hard for me to focus. “Come on, we’ll take a cute one.”

I roll my eyes playfully but grab one of his T-shirts from the drawer. “Fine, but if I look weird, we’re deleting it.”

“No way!” he teases, pulling me into his arms once I have the shirt on. “You could never look weird.”

I can’t help but laugh as he wraps his arms around me from behind. He holds the phone up in front of us, angling it to get the perfect shot. “Okay, smile!”

I glance up at him just as he snaps the picture. My smile turns into a laugh, the joy bubbling out of me before I can stop it. I look ridiculous, but when I see the photo, it’s kind of perfect. Hugh’s grinning at the camera, looking all charming and effortlessly handsome as always, while I’m gazing up at him, clearly laughing and obviously so in love.

I bite my lip, hesitating. “I don’t know… I look a little -"

“You look great." Hugh cuts in, his tone firm but soft. “Come on, y/n. This is us. It’s real.”

I glance at the picture again. He’s right. It’s not some polished, perfect photo shoot - it's just us. Happy, in love, and completely ourselves. I sigh, giving in. “Okay, fine. Let’s post it.”

He beams at me, clearly pleased, and starts typing a caption on his phone. I lean over his shoulder to read it:

>>thehughjackman: Caught laughing at all the rumors... guess they weren't all wrong🤫 #couplegoals<<

I laugh, rolling my eyes playfully "#CoupleGoals? Really?"

"You're right." he says, smirking as he backspaces. "How about.. #HughJackedY/n?"

I swat him laughing, and he finally posts it without any hashtag.

I take my smartphone and also post it with another caption:

>>y/ninstagram: Who knew Wolverine was such a softie?❤️🐺<<

And just like that, it’s out there. The world now knows officially. My heart pounds a little faster as the notifications start rolling in almost instantly. I feel a rush of nervous excitement—what will people say?

We sit there, watching as the comments flood in, one after another.

>>vancityreynolds: Took you long enough!<<

>>blakelively:This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Love you both!<<

>>ChrisEvans: Treat her right or Cap's coming for you!💪🏻<<

>>zendaya: Omg, stop! You guys are ADORABLE<<

>>officialladydeadpoolmovie: Deadpool approves of this union. Carry on.<<

I glance at Hugh as the comments keep pouring in, feeling a strange mixture of warmth and relief. There’s so much love here—so many people supporting us. It’s overwhelming in the best way.

“I told you it’d be fine,” Hugh says, his voice soft. He nudges me gently with his shoulder. “And look, everyone’s happy for us.”

I smile at him, feeling lighter than I have in days. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

More comments continue to roll in, some from fans, some from friends:

>>florencepugh: I KNEW IT!!!<<

But it’s the fan comments that really make me smile:

>>lordyx3z: Omg, I knew they were together! This makes me so happy!🥹😩<<

>>serenax77: Remember when y/n literally said 'fuck me' during an interview? Manifesting at its finest😂😂😭<<

>>hugh4ewa: Hugh, blink twice if y/n's forcing you to post couple pics😂<<

>>y/nno1fan: About damn time! Y'all had me waiting like the post credits scene of a Marvel Movie!<<

>>mynameseve: I need somebody to look at me, like y/n looks at Hugh😭❤️<<

>>girlpoolxpoppins: Can somebody pls check on Ryan? ASAP<<

>>boyinyellwspndx: y/n: "fck me!" - Hugh: "Say less". Dreams come true folks<<

I can’t help but grin at the flood of positivity. Sure, I know there will be some haters - there always are - but for now, it feels like we’re surrounded by love and support, and that’s all that matters. I glance at Hugh again, my heart swelling as he scrolls through the comments, laughing at some of the more playful ones.

“This was a good idea.” I say quietly, resting my head on his shoulder.

He turns his head slightly, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Of course it was.” he murmurs. “Now everyone knows you’re officially mine.”

I laugh softly, my heart feeling full. “And you’re mine.”

We sit there for a while, reading through the comments and enjoying the moment. It feels like a weight has been lifted, like we’re finally free to be ourselves without worrying about what anyone else thinks.

And honestly? It feels perfect.

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