#and messed up her revenge plot | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bueckets · 5 months ago

Text

Thin Walls

Pairing: roommate!Paige x reader

Genre: roommates to lovers, kinda funny?, smut, unbearable sexual tension, petty revenge, paper-thin walls, psychological warfare via moaning, paige bueckers menace era, girl failure x girl who never fails, competitive pining, mutual obsession, doomed from the start but in a fun way, vibrators n SEX, almost all ssmut

Description: When a sleep-deprived biomed student moves in with UConn’s most notorious heartbreaker, you expect late-night film study, protein shake graveyards, and an apartment perpetually scented like sweat and victory. What you don’t expect? Thin walls. And Paige Bueckers making absolutely no effort to keep her extracurricular activities quiet.

What starts as a battle for basic human decency turns into something far messier—petty revenge plots, mind games laced with innuendo, and an unspoken tension that neither of you is willing to name. Paige plays like she owns the court, like she owns the world, and maybe—just maybe—like she wants to own you, too.

They say pressure makes diamonds, but when it comes to Paige Bueckers, it just might make a disaster.

WC: 8.4k

There’s a certain satisfaction in watching rich people fight over throw pillows. Like, deep, existential satisfaction. The kind that settles into your bones, whispering at least you’re not that delusional while you scrape the bottom of your bank account for rent. That’s why Selling Sunset has become your new comfort show—nothing soothes the sting of your own financial ruin quite like watching a billionaire lose their shit over an ocean view.

The couch has practically absorbed your body at this point, molded to the exact slouch of your spine. The TV’s glow flickers against the walls, the only illumination in the apartment aside from the soft neon blur of the city outside. A bowl of Greek yogurt sits abandoned on the coffee table—your latest attempt at a “responsible” late-night snack, made in partnership with self-loathing. You’re too exhausted to move, too wired to sleep. Somewhere outside, a siren wails, stretching long and lonely through the night, and you think, for just a second, that if you squint hard enough, you can almost pretend your life is fine.

Then the door slams open like a fucking battering ram.

A mess of limbs and pure, unfiltered desperation stumbles in. Paige Bueckers and tonight’s lucky contestant.

They’re already kissing—no, consuming each other. Lips fused. Hands gripping. Hips aligning like they’re moments away from shifting the tectonic plates beneath them. It’s all sloppy giggles and breathy moans, the kind of shit that should come with a parental advisory warning.

Paige is in sweats and a hoodie that’s hanging halfway off her shoulder, her blonde hair a tousled wreck that suggests she either just left practice or got aggressively felt up in the Uber ride over. The girl—a brunette this time—has her fingers twisted into the hem of Paige’s hoodie like she might actually rip it in half. You’re 98% sure they don’t even notice they almost wipe out over the entryway rug.

You stare. They don’t. They’re too busy dry-humping against the door like horny teenagers who just discovered the concept of friction.

This is usually the part of the night where you’d be asleep. That’s the unspoken agreement. Paige does whatever (or whoever) she wants, and you exist in separate, peaceful universes where her sex life is not your problem. But tonight, insomnia had you in a chokehold, so instead of peacefully slipping into unconsciousness, you’re here, trapped in the splash zone of her latest conquest like some unwilling war correspondent reporting live from the trenches.

Paige finally clocks your presence. Her head jerks up mid-kiss, blinking at you through the haze of what you can only assume is either lust or a full-on brain shutdown.

“Oh. My bad.”

Her voice is husky, wrecked, but casual—so casual, like you just bumped into each other in line at Trader Joe’s, not like you just caught her halfway to third base in the shared living space. The brunette barely acknowledges you, too busy chasing Paige’s mouth again, fingers already curled into the waistband of her sweats like they’re pre-gaming for something much worse.

Your jaw clenches. It’s not jealousy. It’s not even annoyance, really. It’s just…the audacity of it all. You didn’t survive financial ruin, an eviction, and the world’s most soul-sucking job just to end up as an unwilling extra in Paige’s late-night softcore escapades.

Paige smirks, something smug and completely unbothered dancing in her blue eyes, and then—because apparently, she has to make sure you fully marinate in your suffering—she winks.

She fucking winks.

Then she grabs her conquest by the wrist and drags her toward her bedroom. The door swings shut with a decisive click.

You exhale sharply. Shift on the couch. Turn back to Selling Sunset.

A blonde woman in Louboutins slams a designer purse onto a marble counter, screaming about escrow like her life depends on it.

You grab your spoon, chew a bite of yogurt, and pretend this isn’t the worst night of your life.

At first, it’s nothing you can’t ignore—a muffled giggle, the faint creak of a mattress. You’ve had years of training in the fine art of selective hearing. Cheap apartments with walls thinner than a CVS receipt, noisy neighbors who lived for 3 AM karaoke, exes who had no concept of volume control—life has forged you into a soldier of endurance. A survivor. You could sleep through sirens. You could pretend not to hear the couple next door having a screaming match about a misplaced vape pen. You could—if the situation demanded it—completely erase the existence of an entire soundscape from your brain.

But then the giggling shifts. Turns breathy. Then it turns into something else entirely.

A rustle of sheets. A gasp. A low, pleased hum that shouldn’t make your stomach twist with secondhand mortification, but does.

Your grip tightens around the remote. The TV screen flickers in front of you, but you’re no longer absorbing the content. Christine Quinn is monologuing about open-concept kitchens—something about “flow” and “maximizing natural light”—but her voice isn’t nearly loud enough to drown out the escalating symphony from down the hall.

You turn the volume up. Way up.

It doesn’t help.

Paige’s conquest lets out a high, breathy whimper, the kind of sound that makes your entire body lock up like your nervous system just crashed. Paige’s voice follows, low and affectionate, murmuring something you absolutely do not want to hear, but your cursed, traitorous ears pick up anyway. Whatever she says makes the brunette giggle—another peal of laughter before it melts into something softer, more desperate.

Your eye twitches. Nope.

You launch off the couch like you’ve been personally attacked, storming down the hallway with all the righteous fury of someone who has had enough. The second you reach your room, you slam the door shut behind you. The walls rattle. The moaning does not stop.

Jesus. Are your walls are made of tissue paper? No, fuck that—tissue paper at least offer some resistance. This? This is sonic purgatory. Paige’s voice is clearer now, her tone teasing, low, smug. A pet name you can’t quite make out but absolutely wish you could bleach from your brain.

You groan. Loudly. Throw yourself onto your bed and yank a pillow over your head like that’s going to do anything.

It doesn’t.

Because the sounds are intermittent—waves of giggles followed by the kind of sighs that make your ears burn. The occasional shhh from Paige, followed by a breathless “like that?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Think of something else. Think of literally anything else. You focus on the fabric of your pillowcase, the way the cotton sticks to your cheek, the faint scent of detergent—Paige moans, and your brain short-circuits like a 2003 Dell desktop.

You don’t even have the energy to be properly mad. This is just Paige. Unbothered, self-contained, casually ruining your will to live Paige. She doesn’t try to be inconsiderate, but she also doesn’t try not to be.

Another moan—drawn out and shameless—curls through the air, and you nearly levitate out of your skin. You want to scream. Instead, you yank another pillow over your head for good measure, as if two pillows will somehow create a force field against whatever the fuck is happening in there.

Christine Quinn is still monologuing in your mind, her voice a distant echo beneath the carnal horror occurring in real time.

"It’s all about location, location, location."

Yeah. No shit.

You really should’ve picked a better one.

The morning drags itself into existence like a bad hangover—except you didn’t drink. You just endured. Survived. Battled through the night like some war veteran, only your battlefield wasn’t made of trenches and gunfire but moaning and drywall acoustics.

Sunlight filters through the too-thin blinds, stabbing into your retinas like a personal attack. It casts a harsh glow over the wreckage of your living room—your personal post-war scene. The coffee table is an abandoned crime scene: an empty takeout container, a spoon half-submerged in a sad puddle of yogurt, a crumpled napkin that might have been thrown in frustration during hour two of your sleepless torment. Your blanket is twisted in a heap on the couch, kicked off at some point in your desperate attempt to burrow away from the sounds of Paige Bueckers living her best, most inconsiderate life.

It’s quiet now. Blessedly quiet. A void. No hushed giggles, no rhythmic bedframe percussion, no doors slamming. No evidence of last night’s atrocity except for your residual irritation, clinging to the air like stale perfume.

You sit at the dining table, textbook open, pen in hand, attempting to refocus on something productive. Biomed homework. Neural pathways, synaptic transmission—things that matter. Unlike Paige, who—

A shuffle of feet. Soft, socked steps. You don’t even hear her door creak open—just the lazy, leisurely sound of someone who has never known suffering emerging from her room.

You refuse to look up.

“Morning,” Paige says, casual as ever, like she didn’t turn your living space into the set of a low-budget lesbian porno eight hours ago. She stretches, arms overhead, back arching slightly, exhaling like she just had the most restful night’s sleep of her life.

Meanwhile, you—who has never been more tired—physically recoil at the audacity.

She rubs her eyes, yawns, shuffles past you toward the kitchen like nothing happened. Not even a hint of acknowledgment. No sheepish oops, my bad for mentally scarring you with surround sound sex noise. No hey, sorry about your insomnia and emotional distress. Just a morning like everything is fine.

You blink at her. Unbelievable.

Your fingers tighten around your pencil as you force your gaze back to your notes. Ignore her. You are a scholar. A person of intellect. A higher being.

Paige, meanwhile, has fully migrated to the fridge. She rummages carelessly, like she owns this apartment, like she pays your therapy bills. She emerges with the orange juice carton, unscrews the cap, and—like an absolute menace to society—drinks straight from it.

The pencil in your grip creaks ominously.

“You’re up early,” she remarks, between gulps.

“I didn’t sleep,” you reply, flat, clipped. You don’t look at her. You refuse to.

Paige makes a small sound—something vaguely amused, vaguely disbelieving. “Damn. That sucks.”

That’s it? That’s all she has to say.

You inhale, deeply, willing yourself not to commit a violent felony before noon.

Slowly, slowly, you lift your head, turn your glare toward her like a sniper locking onto a target. Paige, in all her infuriating glory, is leaning against the counter, still drinking your orange juice, looking like someone who has never felt guilt a day in her life. Her expression is neutral, open. Not quite smug, but there’s something about the way she exists that makes you want to throw your textbook at her face and plead temporary insanity in court.

She swipes her thumb across her mouth, wiping away a drop of juice.

“You know what else sucks?” you say, voice deceptively calm. “The structural integrity of our walls. They’re paper-thin. Just an interesting fact I thought I’d share.”

Paige’s lips twitch. She knows. She fucking knows. She tilts her head slightly, like she’s considering whether she should poke the bear or let you stew in your suffering. Then she settles on:

“Huh.”

That’s it.

Your grip tightens on the pencil so hard you might actually snap it in half.

Paige drains the last of the orange juice, wipes her mouth again (like an animal), and sets the carton down with a satisfied sigh. Then, as if she hasn’t just mentally and emotionally destroyed you, she stretches again, rolling out her shoulders.

“Welp,” she says, tone light, completely unbothered. “I’m out. See ya.”

“Wait, what—”

But she’s already gone, disappearing back into her room for approximately thirty seconds before emerging again—this time with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

You stare at it. “You’re leaving?”

Paige nods like this is the most normal thing in the world. “Yeah. Team stuff. Won’t be back tonight.”

Your brain malfunctions. Won’t be back tonight. This terrorist has held you emotionally hostage for an entire night and now she’s just leaving? Just walking away from the wreckage like some kind of villain in an action movie, casually strolling as the building explodes behind her?

She tugs on her sneakers at the door, slings her bag higher on her shoulder, and—because the universe is cruel—throws you a lazy, almost mocking little salute.

“Don’t wait up,” she tosses over her shoulder. Then she’s gone.

The door swings shut and the apartment is silent again.

You sit there, fingers clenched around your pencil, biomed notes glaring up at you like they’re personally offended by your suffering. Your eye twitches.

I fucking hate her.

Then you sigh, rub your temple, and force yourself back to work.

It’s been three days of silence. Three whole, glorious days of peace. Three nights where you didn’t have to contemplate smothering yourself with a pillow just to escape the torment of Paige’s complete disregard for basic human decency. The apartment has felt almost normal—like an actual home instead of a halfway house for Paige’s revolving door of hookups. You don’t have to brace yourself every time the front door swings open, because it hasn’t swung open. You don’t have to leave your headphones on while studying to shield yourself from the auditory terrorism of her sex life. You don’t have to walk into the kitchen at 1 AM and fear that you’ll be confronted with Paige, half-naked, wearing nothing but someone else’s lipstick and a hoodie that’s falling off her shoulder like she’s starring in a fucking romance movie.

The peace has been so uninterrupted, so unnatural, that you’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to live in a state of constant vigilance. You throw yourself into your biomed assignments, losing yourself in the clean, clinical world of neural pathways and synaptic transmission, your SZA playlist looping softly in the background. You almost start to believe this is real. That this is the new normal. That maybe Paige has finally, miraculously, learned self-control or, at the very least, found a new venue to conduct her business.

You are so fucking naïve.

The front door doesn’t just open—it explodes. A crack, a slam, a full-body collision with the wall that rattles the picture frames. The kind of entrance that belongs to either a SWAT team or a raging hurricane of bad decisions.

Your body locks up like an animal sensing an oncoming natural disaster. The pencil in your grip slips through your fingers, hitting the desk with a dull thunk. Your heart stutters in your chest, and for one brief, delusional second, you tell yourself that it wasn’t real. Maybe it was just the wind. Maybe Paige forgot something and came back only to leave again. Maybe—

A thud. Then another. The unmistakable rhythm of someone kicking off their shoes, the soft scuff of footsteps across the floor.

You grit your teeth, pressing your palms flat against your desk. You are not going to react. You are not going to engage. If she wants to slam doors and stomp around like a feral beast, fine. You refuse to let her drag you into the chaos. You reach for your headphones, adjusting them over your ears, cranking up the volume until SZA drowns out the world.

It’s not enough.

A sound pierces through the music, slicing through the air like a warning shot. It’s high-pitched, sudden, obscene—so sharp that your entire body recoils. Your brain trips over itself, scrambling to make sense of what it just processed, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you think someone is in distress. Like maybe—maybe—this is the night Paige finally made an enemy and brought home someone who wants to kill her. But no. No, that is not the sound of murder. That is the sound of someone who is very much alive and living their best fucking life at maximum volume.

Your grip tightens around your pencil so hard you genuinely worry it might snap in half.

Then it happens again—louder this time.

“Ooooh, Paige, baby it feel sooo good,” a long, drawn-out moan that echoes through the walls like a goddamn announcement.

Your jaw clenches so hard you swear you hear something crack.

You tell yourself to ignore it. You try to focus on the actual problems in your life—like the metabolic equation staring up at you from your notebook, the one that makes no fucking sense, the one you were just about to solve before Paige returned to single-handedly ruin your night. But this girl—whoever she is—sounds like she’s in a full-blown cinematic production, and Paige? Paige has zero concern for your sanity. No attempt to be discreet, no effort to maybe keep it down, no acknowledgment that she is actively breaking your spirit in real time.

A shhh from Paige, soft, teasing, followed by something breathless. While you– you black out for a second.

The chair scrapes against the floor as you shove away from your desk, adrenaline flooding your veins. You are this close to storming down the hallway, ripping Paige’s door off its hinges, and launching her entire bed out the fucking window. Instead, you flatten your hands against your desk, inhale deeply, and stare down at your notes like they personally wronged you.

This. This is it. You swear to yourself, you are getting revenge.

You don’t know how yet. But it’s happening.

Because if Paige wants to act like an inconsiderate, sex-obsessed demon hellbent on making your life miserable, then fine. Fine. Two can play at this game.

You’ve waited two days. Two agonizing, anticipation-filled days where you paced your room like a villain in the third act of a revenge flick, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Every time you passed by Paige’s empty room, you could practically hear the ghosts of her past hookups mocking you. You had suffered. You had endured. And now, it was your time.

The front door swings open. Not as violently as before—no dramatic bang against the wall, no whirlwind of limbs stumbling over the entryway rug. Just the quiet shuffle of footsteps, the soft rustle of fabric, the barely-there whisper of a muffled giggle. It’s all very tame. Too tame. Like she thinks she can just slip back into this apartment unnoticed, like she didn’t shatter your will to live just days ago with her complete lack of shame or respect for human decency.

You sit up in bed, eyes gleaming in the dim glow of your laptop screen. Showtime.

It had taken an embarrassing amount of time to craft the perfect revenge strategy. You wanted something devastating. Something that would haunt Paige the way her late-night moanfest had haunted you. You considered various forms of psychological warfare—hiding her favorite hoodie, signing her up for weird spam emails, strategically microwaving fish at odd hours—but none of it felt impactful enough. You needed something biblical. Something that would scar.

And then, the answer came to you. Porn.

Loud, obnoxious, horrifically detailed porn. You smile at your glowing laptop and click play.

Instantly, the most sinful, ungodly, downright demonic sounds explode from your speakers. It’s graphic. Monstrous. A chorus of moans, screams, the unmistakable, wet, slapping of skin against skin. The kind of audio that makes you question humanity as a species. You’re pretty sure you hear someone begging in French.

It’s perfect. You crank the volume up.

Then, with the sheer dramatic commitment of a Broadway performer, you slam your bed frame against the wall.

The headboard cracks against the drywall with force, rattling like you’re in the throes of an earth-shattering experience. You moan. Not well, but loudly. Passionately. Over-the-top.

“Ohhh my GOD,” you scream, throwing in some unnecessary yes, yes, right there’s for added flair.

You can feel the disturbance in the force. But you don’t stop. Oh, no. You commit.

You keep the moans rolling, layering them with guttural, animalistic gasps. You bang the headboard again, harder this time, just to make sure Paige feels your suffering on a molecular level. You toss in a deep, satisfied sigh, dragging it out like you’re playing a villain savoring their monologue.

You keep the moans rolling, layering them with deep, broken gasps, the kind of sounds that should not be echoing through the walls of a shared living space. Your voice wavers just enough to sound shaken, overwhelmed, ruined, like you’ve ascended past the mortal plane and are now one with the universe.

The headboard collides with the wall again—harder this time, with a resounding crack that might actually fracture the drywall. Good. Good. Let her feel it. Let the vibrations of your suffering seep into her bones. Let her live what you lived.

You throw in a deep, satisfied sigh, dragging it out long, making it obscene. You let silence stretch, just for a moment, just long enough for Paige to think maybe—maybe—it’s over, that this nightmare has passed.

And then, with the full, unwavering conviction of a lunatic, you moan again.

It’s breathless. Shaky. The kind of sound that would make someone deeply uncomfortable in any setting, but especially when coming from the other side of a paper-thin wall.

A shuffle. A creak of bedsprings. A pause. You can feel her trying to process.

And then, like a gift from the heavens, Paige finally breaks.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

The pure, unfiltered disbelief in her voice is a drug. It fuels you.

You slam your palm against the wall, a solid thunk that reverberates through the apartment. Then, in the single most unhinged act of pettiness you have ever committed, you howl a random man’s name.

Silence.

You shift in bed, letting out a shaky, devastated exhale, the kind of breathless, wrecked sound people make when they have been absolutely, thoroughly ruined. You make sure it carries through the wall, make sure it sinks into her skull.

There’s another pause. A long one. You can almost see Paige lying there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out how her life has come to this exact moment.

Then—an aggressive rustling of sheets, a sharp inhale like she’s gearing up for a speech. You brace yourself.

Her response is immediate. A heavy thud—her fist against your wall. “Oh my God, have some fucking decency.”

That should be the end of it. A normal, sane person would stop here. But you? You are not a normal, sane person. You are a petty, wounded soldier, and you will see this through to the end.

So you shift, make sure your bedsprings let out a very suggestive creak, and then murmur, low and breathy, “Five more minutes.”

A second of pure, raw silence. Then, from her room—chaos.

The violent shuffle of blankets, a sound like something falling off her nightstand, an aggressively muttered string of words that you cannot hear, but you know they’re unholy.

Victory tastes sweet.

The next morning, you wake up feeling transformed. Cleansed. Vindicated. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes of your own pettiness, reborn into a creature of pure, unadulterated vengeance. A god of retribution.

Last night was a triumph. A masterpiece of psychological warfare, orchestrated with the precision of a military strategist and the artistic flair of a Broadway performer. Paige had suffered—oh, she had suffered—and you had heard every ounce of that suffering in the sheer disbelief laced through her voice. You had sent her into an existential crisis without so much as stepping foot into her room. And the best part? You didn’t even have to talk about it. No awkward confrontation, no passive-aggressive exchange, no forced discussion about boundaries. Just a silent victory, the best kind of victory.

You stretch in bed, limbs loose and relaxed for the first time in days. No residual irritation, no ghosts of rage clinging to your skin. You won. You won.

The air feels different when you step into the kitchen, like the whole apartment is holding its breath. The atmosphere is charged, electric with something unspoken, a tension that exists only because you created it. You bask in it, inhale it like fresh air, let it fill your lungs as you roll your shoulders back and step into the room.

Paige is already there. She’s leaning against the counter, one hand wrapped around her ever-present protein shake, the other holding her phone, scrolling with the kind of casual indifference that feels fake. Too stiff. Too controlled.

She doesn’t look up. Doesn’t acknowledge you in the slightest. Good. That means you got to her.

You let the silence stretch, let her feel you watching her, reveling in the unspoken weight of last night’s events. Then, with all the exaggerated nonchalance you can muster, you open the fridge. You take your time, rummaging through it, making a show of your relaxed state, of your complete and total lack of shame or regret. Every movement is deliberate, every pause pointed.

The tension is thick enough to taste.Finally, after a long, drawn-out beat, you break the silence.

“Sleep well?”

Nothing. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment. Paige just lifts her shake, takes a slow sip, and keeps scrolling, her gaze glued to her screen like you don’t exist.

You bite back a smirk. Oh, it’s like that, huh?

Fine. You love a challenge.

You grab a yogurt, pop the lid with exaggerated ease, and lean against the counter directly across from her. Mirroring her. Challenging her.

She knows you’re looking. She feels it.

The weight of your gaze drags over her jaw, the bare skin of her collarbone where her hoodie has slouched just a little too low. Over her hands—gripping her phone a fraction too tight, her knuckles taut with something just shy of restraint.

She lifts her protein shake. Takes a sip. Measured, deliberate.

You take a slow, obnoxiously slow, bite of yogurt.

“You seemed a little... tense last night.” Your voice is carefully neutral, the epitome of innocence, like you’re discussing the weather. But your eyes say otherwise.

A flicker. There. The tell.

It’s microscopic—her fingers tightening around her phone, a brief clench of her jaw before she lifts her shake again.

“I’m fine,” Paige says, monotone.

You hum, swirling your spoon through the yogurt, dragging it up in long, slow loops. “Really? You seemed a little... thrown off. Like you weren’t expecting something.”

Paige drinks. Swallows. Sets the bottle down with that same, mechanical precision.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Oh, this is delicious.

“Hmm.” You take another lazy bite, then—just for effect—let your tongue flick over the spoon, slow, clean.

She doesn’t react.

But she sees it. You know she sees it.

The battle of wills unfolds in the silence. A quiet, blistering, psychological duel.

You stretch it, waiting, baiting. Letting the tension tighten between you like a tripwire waiting to snap.

And then—she exhales.

A sharp, quiet breath, controlled but strained. Like she’s holding something back.

And finally, finally, she sets her phone down.

Lifts her head.

Meets your gaze.

And suddenly, the air shifts.

Because Paige’s expression isn’t annoyed, like you expected. It isn’t irritated, or bored, or vaguely exasperated.

It’s something else.

Something slower. Darker.

Your stomach tightens—not in fear, but in something far more dangerous.

She tilts her head just slightly, a fraction of an inch, but the weight of it is immense. A move so calculated it feels like a blade sliding from its sheath.

"You good?" she asks, her voice a study in casual ease. Too smooth. Too careful.

It’s a trap. You know it’s a trap.

But you don’t back down from fights.

“Better than ever.” You drag the words out, light, effortless. “Best sleep of my life.”

Her lips twitch. Just barely. A half-second away from a smirk.

“That right?”

You shrug, feigning boredom. “Guess loud, passionate sex really tires a person out.”

A beat. A single, suspended moment.

Then—

“I wouldn’t know,” Paige says, smooth as silk. Cool as ice. “Didn’t hear a thing.”

Your smirk falters.

Oh.

Oh, she’s good.

You recover quickly. “Really? You must sleep like the dead, then.”

Paige picks up her phone again, dismissive, her gaze flicking back to the screen like you’re not worth the effort.

But her lips? They’re curling. Slightly. Just enough to show teeth.

“Or maybe,” she murmurs, so damn casual, “it just wasn’t worth noticing.”

Oh, that bitch.

Heat flares up your spine, crackling, sharp.

You glare. Paige doesn’t even glance at you. The war has officially begun. And it’s on sight.

You’re not proud of yourself.

Not in the slightest. In fact, you don’t even know how you got here.

But this is what happens when you let your petty little battles spiral into something else, something darker and messier and impossible to ignore. You hate her. You loathe her. You think about her way too much—about how she gets under your skin, about her smug little smirks, about the way she acts like she owns the air you breathe just because she’s taller than you, because she can throw a ball into a hoop, because the entire fucking world looks at her like she’s something more than just a girl who’s in your goddamn way.

And maybe that’s why you’re here.

On your back. In your bed.

Hand between your thighs like an absolute fucking degenerate.

Because Paige is supposed to be gone. She’s supposed to be three states away at some game, doing her little interviews, getting her ego fed by an arena full of people. The apartment is supposed to be empty.

So you let yourself have this.

Let yourself chase the tension out of your muscles, let yourself melt into it, let yourself lose in it.

And God, you wish you were thinking about someone else.

But it’s her.

It’s her stupid fucking face.

It’s the way she taunts you, the way she stands too close in the kitchen, the way her sweatpants hang low on her hips in the morning, the way she stares you down like she’s daring you to push her, like she’s waiting for the exact moment you snap.

You hate her.

You hate how easy it is to imagine her hands on you instead of your own.

Your fingers are slick. Obscenely so. The vibrator hums against your clit like a live wire, like an electric pulse searing through your nerves, turning every inch of your body into a hypersensitive mess. Your thighs twitch, your stomach clenches, your hips keep jerking up, desperate for more, even though it's too much—too intense, too sharp, too unbearably fucking good.

The sheets are ruined beneath you, damp and twisted from how much you’ve writhed against them, chasing the high, riding the edge, dragging it out like you deserve to suffer for this. Like you deserve to ache for it. Your other hand is gripping the pillow, fisting the fabric, white-knuckled, because Paige, Paige, Paige—you can’t get her out of your fucking head.

That smug smirk, those broad shoulders, the way she leans against the kitchen counter like she owns it, owns you, waiting, watching, pushing, teasing—

God, you hate her.

You hate the way she gets under your skin, the way she’s there, always there, lingering in the space between, looking at you like she’s daring you to do something about it. You hate that you want to.

And you hate that you’re so fucking close just thinking about her.

Your toes curl, your breath breaks into little hiccuping moans, your body bows off the mattress. The vibrator sends another sharp burst of pleasure through your swollen, oversensitive clit, and it’s too much—your thighs slam shut around your hand, trying to temper the sensation, trying to trap it, hold it inside you, but it just makes everything sharper, stronger, unbearable—

You choke on a sound, a raw, desperate little whimper.

And then– a noise. Not yours. Not in your room.

On the other side of the fucking wall.

At first, your brain refuses to process it. Because no. No. No way. Paige is supposed to be gone, three states away, playing her stupid game, being her stupid self, not here.

But then you hear it again. A moan. Low, wrecked, unmistakably needy.

Your whole body locks up.

For a second, all you can do is lie there, frozen in place, vibrator still pressed against your clit, your own pulse hammering in your ears. Your skin goes hot, burning with shame, with realization.

She heard you. She fucking heard you.

Another shift. A creak of her bed. The rustle of sheets.

A sharp inhale escapes you, unbidden, and then you clap a hand over your mouth, mortified.

The vibrator is still humming against your clit, sending little aftershocks through you, but you can’t move, you can’t fucking move, because your brain is stuck on the fact that Paige is touching herself right now, that she’s lying in her bed, one wall away, listening to you, moaning for you, and you—

Oh. Fuck.

Your breath catches, your whole body locks up, your hand stills between your thighs—just for a second, just long enough for your brain to catch up to what the hell just happened.

You press the vibrator harder against your clit, bite your lip so hard it hurts, and keep going.

You’re sick, a fucking degenerate. You have to be, because the thought of Paige, lying there in her bed, one flimsy wall away, fingering herself to the sound of you falling apart is the single hottest, most disgusting, most earth-shattering thing you’ve ever fucking imagined.

Your hips twitch up, chasing the feeling, chasing the high, chasing whatever this is, this tight, searing, unspeakable thing curling in your stomach. You shouldn’t be doing this. You should not be doing this. But your fingers are shaking, your whole body is on fire, and you can’t stop, you can’t fucking stop—

And then she makes another sound.

This time it’s louder, more desperate, like she doesn’t care if you hear her anymore. And it sends you spiraling.

Your eyes slam shut, your thighs squeeze together, your stomach clenches so hard you can’t breathe, and the pleasure—fuck, the pleasure—rips through you, tears you apart, drowns you, ruins you.

You come so hard you forget how to exist.

The air is still humming.Your skin is still hot, still damp, still sensitive in a way that makes every shift against the sheets feel like too much. Your breath hasn’t fully evened out, your body still shaking from the wreckage of it, from the way you lost yourself, let yourself drown.

It should be over. It should.

But then—

A sound. Distant, but there. A soft shuffle, the faintest creak of floorboards beyond your door.

Your breath catches. You stare at the ceiling, heart pounding, trying to ignore it. It’s late. Maybe you’re imagining it, maybe it’s nothing. Maybe you’re still stuck somewhere between dream and aftermath, still feeling the phantom weight of her—her hands, her voice, the way your mind kept slipping back to her even as you tried not to.

But then it happens again. A shift of movement. Closer.

A slow, deliberate pause just outside your door.

Your stomach tightens. No.

But the air is suddenly thick with something too real, something too electric—something that makes your pulse hammer in warning even before the first knock lands.

Knock. You stop breathing.

Another.

You jerk up, your body still too sensitive, your skin prickling under the weight of anticipation. You don’t move at first. Don’t respond. Just listen.

A pause. Silence. Maybe she’ll leave. Maybe she’ll take the hint—

And then, the voice. Low. Steady. Unshaken.

"Open the door."

Your fingers tighten around the blanket, pulse kicking hard. Not a question. Not a request.

Just a command.

You should hesitate. You should stay still, let the moment pass, let it slip into the quiet, pretend it never happened.

But you know what’s waiting on the other side. And you know you’re already too far gone. But now she’s here.

You don’t move at first. Just stare at the door, heart picking up speed, hands pressed against the comfort of your blanket. A breath. Another. You tell yourself to stay still, stay quiet, maybe she’ll go away, maybe she’ll take the hint—

She knocks again.

“Open the door.”

Your skin prickles. Not a question. Not a request. Just a flat, patient command. Still, you hesitate. Seconds pass, stretching out between you like a tightrope, thin and fraying. And then, finally, you move.

The door creaks as you pull it open, slow and careful. Paige stands in the dim hallway, shoulders loose, hoodie hanging from her frame like she just threw it on without thinking. Her hair’s a mess—like she’s been running her hands through it, like she’s been restless all night. Her blue eyes flicker over you, unreadable, scanning, weighing.

Then she steps inside.

She doesn’t ask. Doesn’t wait for permission. Just walks past you, brushing close enough that you feel the heat of her body, the scent of her—something clean and sharp, faint sweat and warm fabric and something entirely, infuriatingly her.

The door clicks shut behind her. You don’t speak.

You don’t have to. She turns to you, slow, deliberate, expression unreadable. Then, voice low and measured:

“Lay on the bed.”

A prickle of heat races down your spine. You swallow, breath catching, fingers curling at your sides. But you don’t argue. Don’t hesitate. Just step back, moving without thought, without question, without sense—because it’s Paige, and because you want to know where this is going, and because something inside you is already unraveling at the edges.

The mattress dips as you crawl onto it, arms bracing, knees pressing into the sheets. You don’t dare look at her. You hear the shift of fabric, the quiet creak of the bed frame as she moves behind you, slow, careful. A pause. A breath.

Then—

“Where’s your vibrator?”

The words hit like a strike to the ribs. Sudden, shocking, stealing the air from your lungs.

Your fingers clutch the blankets, throat dry. You don’t answer.

Paige hums, thoughtful, unimpressed. Then you feel her—one hand at your lower back, pressing just enough to make you sink into the mattress, the other trailing up your spine, fingers grazing the curve of your shoulder.

“You’re gonna tell me,” she murmurs, voice steady, quiet, dangerous in its softness. “Or I’ll find it myself.”

Heat pools low in your stomach, twisting sharp and deep. Your breath stutters. Paige’s hand lingers at the back of your neck, fingers tracing, waiting.

Your voice comes out hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“Drawer.”

A pause. The ghost of a smile in her voice.

“Good girl.”

Then she moves.

You hear it—the slide of the drawer, the shift of objects, the quiet click of plastic against wood. A heartbeat. Two. Then the bed shifts again, and she’s behind you, close enough to feel the heat of her, the weight of her presence, the steady, unshaken confidence in every movement.

Her fingers skim your thigh, light, testing, teasing.

“You know what to do.” Your stomach clenches.

Slowly, breathlessly, you shift forward, sinking onto your hands, pressing your chest to the mattress. Your knees spread, thighs parting just enough to leave you open, vulnerable, trembling with something you can’t name.

The air is thick, charged, electric.

Then, Paige’s voice, low and certain:

“Don’t look at me.”

You shudder.

And then—she starts.

The first press of the vibrator against your clit is light—just a tease, barely there, a flicker of sensation that sends a sharp jolt straight through you. Your fingers tighten in the sheets, breath catching, body already wound so fucking tight you think you might shatter from just this.

Paige hums, pleased, lazy. Her other hand skims up your back, slow and deliberate, tracing the dip of your spine, the curve of your ribs, fingers spreading wide as she grips your hip, holding you in place. The bed shifts beneath her weight, but you don’t look back. You don’t dare. Not when you can already feel her eyes on you, watching every little reaction, every twitch, every shaky inhale.

“Look at you,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “So fucking wet already.”

You let out a soft, helpless sound, pressing your forehead against the mattress, trying to steady yourself. It doesn’t help. The vibrator hums again, firmer this time, rolling against your clit in slow, torturous circles, and your hips jerk instinctively, seeking more, needing more.

Paige clicks her tongue. “Uh-uh. Stay still.”

The sharp sting of her palm against your ass is unexpected, quick and precise, more startling than painful—but fuck, it makes you tighten everywhere, makes you gasp, makes heat curl even deeper in your gut. Your nails dig into the sheets, thighs trembling.

Then—without warning—the vibrator presses harder, just enough to make your whole body tense, thighs twitching, stomach clenching. Your mouth falls open, a high, breathless moan spilling out before you can stop it.

“That’s it,” Paige murmurs. “Let me hear you.”

She drags the vibrator lower, just for a second, teasing the slick heat between your thighs, and then—fuck—you feel her fingers, tracing, pressing, testing. You whimper, hips bucking, and she chuckles, low and amused, before finally—finally—she sinks one finger inside.

Your breath stutters, back arching, body clenching tight around the intrusion.

“Fuck,” she exhales, voice rough, almost reverent. “You’re gripping me so fucking tight.”

The vibrator keeps buzzing against your clit, steady, relentless, a constant pulse of pleasure as her finger moves, slow and deliberate, curling just right, dragging along that sensitive spot that makes you tremble.

“God, you’re dripping,” Paige mutters, voice edged with something darker, something raw. “You want more?”

You nod frantically, too wrecked to form words, pushing back against her hand, chasing it, needing it.

She gives it to you.

Another finger presses in, stretching you, filling you, fucking into you in slow, deep strokes, pushing past that tight resistance, until she’s buried up to the knuckle. Your whole body shakes, heat coiling low in your stomach, sharp and overwhelming.

“Jesus,” Paige breathes, her voice tight, wrecked. “You’re gonna fucking ruin me.”

She picks up the pace—fingers curling, twisting, pressing in deeper as the vibrator rolls against your clit, unrelenting, merciless. You’re gasping now, panting, your hips moving without thought, without control, grinding down, fucking yourself onto her fingers, onto the pulsing buzz of the toy, lost in the slick, obscene sound of it, the heat, the pressure, the unbearable, intoxicating pleasure building too fast, too much—

“Paige—”

She tightens her grip on your hip, holding you still, pressing the vibrator harder against your clit, fingers thrusting deeper, sharper, hitting that spot over and over and over—

And you snap.

It crashes into you all at once—blinding, breathless, a shockwave of raw, shuddering pleasure that rips through your entire body. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, legs shaking, thighs clamping around her hand as the orgasm slams into you, wrecking you, drowning you.

Paige curses, low and filthy, working you through it, keeping the vibrator pressed firm against your clit as your body jerks, as you convulse, as pleasure spills over in wave after brutal wave.

You collapse forward, panting, trembling, barely able to hold yourself up. But Paige isn’t done.

She flips you onto your back in one smooth, effortless motion, her body pressing into yours, caging you in. Before you can even catch your breath, her mouth is on you.

The first kiss is rough, searing, a claim more than a kiss—teeth dragging against your lip, tongue pressing deep, swallowing the wrecked little sounds spilling from your throat.

Her hands are everywhere—gripping your thighs, dragging your legs apart, squeezing your waist, your ribs, your tits, mapping every inch of you like she’s memorizing it.

“You’re so fucking pretty when you cum,” she murmurs, lips brushing yours, voice thick with hunger. “All fucked out and messy for me.”

Your breath stutters. Paige leans in again, dragging her mouth down your jaw, your neck, sucking a mark just below your ear that makes you shiver.

“I want you loud this time,” she mutters, fingers already slipping back between your thighs, spreading you open, rubbing slow, teasing circles against your overstimulated clit. “You gonna give me that?”

You whimper, nodding frantically, hips bucking up into her hand, desperate for more.

Paige smirks against your skin. “Good.”

The heat of her body presses you into the mattress, her grip firm, unrelenting, claiming every inch of you like she’s owed it, like she’s been waiting for this for so fucking long that holding back isn’t an option anymore.

And it’s not. It never was.

Her fingers curl inside you, deep and sharp, pressing right against that devastating spot that makes your whole body tighten and shudder. You’re soaked, dripping down onto her hand, onto the sheets, your thighs slick, trembling, spread wide as she takes what she wants—what she’s wanted for so fucking long.

“You have no idea,” Paige mutters, voice low, wrecked, breath warm against your neck as she drags her lips over your skin, teeth grazing, biting. “No fucking idea how long I’ve wanted this. Wanted you.”

Your brain short-circuits. You gasp, clutching at her shoulders, legs wrapping around her waist, dragging her closer, needing her closer.

She groans, grinding against you, fingers moving faster, harder, pushing into you with a rhythm that’s obscene, ruthless, making you arch, making you cry out.

“You think I didn’t notice?” she growls. “The way you looked at me? The way you listened when I fucked other girls in this apartment?”

Your stomach clenches, a sharp pang of shame and arousal slamming through you.

Paige laughs. A low, breathy, utterly wicked sound.

“That’s right,” she purrs, slowing her fingers to a torturous, teasing drag. “I know what you’ve been doing. Lying in here, all hot and frustrated, touching yourself to the thought of me.”

Your breath catches.

“You ever wonder if I was thinking about you?” she continues, voice husky, lips dragging down your collarbone, your chest, your stomach. “Lying in bed, hearing you through the walls, touching myself to the sound of you coming?”

Your hips jerk up, a desperate, broken sound escaping you.

Paige chuckles, dark and amused, before she slams her fingers into you again, relentless, brutal, dragging you right back up that peak.

“Yeah,” she mutters. “That’s what I fucking thought.”

The words send a fresh wave of heat ripping through your body, pleasure slamming into you all at once, sharp and unbearable, too much but not enough, never enough.

Then she’s everywhere—her mouth crushing against yours, teeth nipping, tongue pressing in deep as her fingers fuck into you, relentless, merciless, like she’s making up for every second she didn’t have you like this.

“Come for me,” she demands, voice ragged, forehead pressing against yours, blue eyes dark, wild, locked onto you like she’s daring you to fall apart.

Your whole body seizes up, back arching, mouth falling open on a silent scream as the orgasm tears through you, overwhelming, devastating, making your mind go blank, making your vision fucking blur.

Paige groans as you clench around her fingers, as you drip onto her hand, onto the sheets, onto her.

“Jesus fuck,” she breathes, watching you, drinking in every twitch, every shake, every shattered gasp. “You look so fucking good like this.”

And before you can even catch your breath, before you can even think, she’s flipping you over again, pressing you into the mattress, pinning you down, her body covering yours completely.

Her mouth is everywhere—hot, desperate, claiming every inch of you, kissing you like she wants to consume you, biting at your throat, your jaw, your lips.

“You’re mine now,” she mutters, breath ragged, hand gripping your hip, dragging you up against her. “You fucking get that?”

You nod frantically, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her closer, needing more, needing everything.

“Say it,” she growls.

“I’m yours,” you gasp, voice wrecked, desperate.

Paige grins—wild, triumphant—before crashing her mouth against yours again, her hand slipping back between your legs, fingers dragging through the mess she’s already made of you.

“You’re gonna give me another one,” she murmurs, voice dark, teasing.

Your breath stutters, eyes going wide.

“You can’t—”

“I can.” She presses the vibrator back against your clit, fingers already sliding back inside you, making you sob. “And I will.”

Then she fucks you, properly, thoroughly, relentlessly, making you come again and again until you can barely breathe, barely think, until the only thing left in your head is her.

The room is wreckage. Pillows displaced, sheets tangled, the air thick with the scent of sweat and satisfaction. Your limbs are jelly, nerves still sparking like frayed wires, pleasure still ghosting along the edges of your skin in aftershocks you can’t quite suppress. Paige—Paige fucking Bueckers—is lying beside you, her chest rising and falling in deep, steady breaths, arm slung possessively across your stomach like she owns you now.

And maybe she does.

You blink up at the ceiling, brain still trying to reboot. The night—Jesus, the night—had unraveled into something primal, something endless, something that had pushed you past exhaustion, past coherence, past sanity. Paige had wrecked you, torn you apart, rebuilt you in the shape of something raw and ruined and aching for more. And now—

Now, she shifts beside you. A lazy stretch, muscles flexing, a small, satisfied hum escaping her lips. You don’t have the energy to turn your head, but you feel her, the weight of her gaze settling on your profile.

Then, voice still husky from exertion, smug and utterly fucking unbearable—

"So, do you want to get dinner with me?"

Your brain stalls.

Your head turns, slow, disbelieving, vision sharpening just enough to catch the absolute shit-eating grin tugging at her lips. She’s fucking with you. She has to be. After everything—after the way she spent hours making you come until you forgot your own name, until your body had nothing left to give, until you had collapsed against her, too spent to do anything but breathe—she’s asking you out. Like it’s casual. Like it’s normal.

Like this isn’t the most insane, deranged turn of events imaginable.

You stare.

Paige smirks.

And you—God help you—you might actually say yes.

2K notes · View notes

solxamber · 9 months ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles: Accidentally Falling For a Fae Prince - Malleus Draconia x reader

When you get dragged into a novel which ends with the heroine in a polycule with the most annoying men in literature, you decide that you're gonna skip town. ...Only to trip over the fae prince, Malleus Draconia.

Series Masterlist

Work’s been a disaster from the moment you stepped in. Your boss, who makes dollar bills while you’re lucky to scrape together a few dimes, is in one of those moods. So, instead of pretending to be productive, you do what any rational person would do: you pull up a random webnovel website and let the ridiculousness wash over you.

And oh boy, is it ridiculous.

You start reading "The Villainess's Revenge: My Heart is Colder Than Lukewarm Tea!" and, within the first chapter, you realize it’s like watching cement dry—but with less plot development. The villainess is cartoonishly evil, stomping around in ballgowns with a sneer so exaggerated it’s a wonder her face hasn’t permanently locked in place. Her tragic backstory? She once got served lukewarm tea. And, oh no, she stepped in mud at a ball. The horror. Riveting stuff, truly.

Meanwhile, the heroine? She’s clearly phoning it in. Every scene she’s in, her eyes are dead inside like she’s as exhausted as you are by the sheer nonsense of the plot. If this girl could quit her own story, she would’ve done it yesterday. You can't help but mentally send her your condolences.

Then, there’s the male leads. If you can even call them that.

First, the Crown Prince, whose idea of a crisis is a fashion faux pas. This guy once canceled a whole wedding because his socks didn’t match. His spirals into existential crises every time a thread is out of place would be entertaining if it weren’t so tragic. The way he’s written, you swear he could kill a man with a critical stare over improper cufflinks.

Next up, the Duke. Brooding, romantic, and absolutely incapable of writing good poetry. Every time he spots the heroine, he launches into the worst rhymes you’ve ever heard. It’s so bad that you’re embarrassed for both of them. He follows her everywhere, reading his masterpieces at the most inappropriate times—like during a funeral. Who does that?

And finally, the Hero Knight. Ah, the knight. The epitome of overzealous stupidity. He turned grocery shopping into a three-day quest for the “Golden Lettuce of Destiny,” and vowed to defend the heroine’s honor from…nobody. You’d swear he’s larping 24/7. It’s exhausting just reading about him.

As if that weren’t bad enough, the heroine ends up in a polycule with all of them because the author was so sick of comments asking, “Who will she date?” that they just threw their hands up and went, “Fine, she dates everyone!” The heroine looks exhausted, and you feel for her. You feel for yourself, too, because reading this is actively lowering your IQ.

You sit there, flabbergasted, staring at the screen. This is what you’ve chosen to waste your time on? What’s worse, your boss will probably come around the corner any minute to scold you—oh wait, nope, the corner of the ceiling just gave out and bonk—there goes a chunk of plaster, right on your head.

You cannot believe this is how you get taken out.

You wake up and, somehow, it’s worse. You’re in a four-poster bed, covered in satin sheets, and your first thought is goddammit—you’ve been isekai’d. And not just into any world. That world. The webnovel.

You drag yourself out of bed, feeling a sudden wave of dread. You were the heroine in this mess. The heroine. Goddammit, why does everything bad only happen to you? For a moment, you're relieved you’re not the villainess. But then you remember: you’re stuck in a polycule with three absolute clowns.

Nope. Not happening. You will not end up with any of these pushy idiots. Goal one? Avoid the polycule at all costs.

Suddenly, the door flies open with a bang, and in burst all three male leads, dramatically weeping and crying out how you’ve been in a coma for so long. Their over-the-top emotions would be heartwarming if they weren’t so ridiculous.

“You’ve returned to us, my dearest flower of the kingdom!” the Crown Prince sobs, still perfectly dressed despite the tears streaming down his face. He sniffs and dabs his eyes with a handkerchief embroidered with his own face. Of course.

The Duke starts reciting the worst love poem you've ever heard, right there, in the middle of your room, as if you didn’t just wake up from a coma.

“I wandered, lost, like a daisy in a field of… uh… misery, because you, my sun, were hidden in the sky of my heart…” The rest is a blur because your brain has officially short-circuited.

And the Hero Knight? He’s already on his knees, swearing to protect you from whatever invisible threat he’s made up this time. “Fear not, fair lady! I shall defend thee against all who oppose your grace!”

You manage to kick all of them out of your room with a lot of effort and a lot of heavy glares. The moment you’re alone, you find a suicide note on the dresser, written by the actual heroine. Apparently, she drank poison just to get away from these weirdos.

What an icon.

But not you. You’re not dying again for these guys. No way.

You’re moving through the bustling market in full disguise, keeping an eye out for any knights or familiar faces. Your plan is simple: escape the polycule before any of those nutjobs track you down. With every step, you remind yourself that freedom is just one boat ride away—preferably to a distant land that has no idea who the Hero Knight, the Duke, or the crown prince are.

But as you round a corner, your thoughts scatter when you bump—quite literally—into something solid. You stagger back, blinking up at a tall figure dressed in all black. At first, panic flashes through you—please don’t be one of them—but when your eyes meet his, it’s not the Crown Prince, the Duke, or the Hero Knight.

It’s someone new. And he seems… perfectly pleasant. His strikingly elegant features, crowned by horns, should make him imposing, but his eyes soften as he looks at you. There’s an almost serene curiosity in them.

"Ah, forgive me," he says smoothly, his deep voice lilting with a formality that surprises you. "I didn’t see you there."

"No, no, it’s my fault," you reply, awkwardly waving your hands, trying to figure out why he’s so different from everyone else in this place. He’s polite. Polite. Already, you feel better about this encounter than you have about every conversation with the three other disasters that have been stalking you.

He steps aside, but instead of walking away, he looks around the marketplace with a faint, thoughtful frown. “I seem to have… lost my way,” he admits, glancing back at you. “This place is unfamiliar to me.”

Something in his tone, in the way his eyes briefly widen as he takes in the simplest market stalls—like he’s genuinely fascinated—makes you soften toward him. Ugh, bleeding heart strikes again. Before you know it, you find yourself asking, “Do you need help? I can… show you around.”

He turns his gaze back to you, and his lips quirk into the smallest, softest smile. “That would be most appreciated.”

As you walk together, he marvels at the simplest things—the fresh bread from a stall, the colorful fabrics, the scent of flowers sold at a cart. He’s curious about everything, eyes lingering on each sight like it’s the first time he’s ever seen such mundane wonders. His fascination is oddly endearing. It’s clear he’s not used to mingling in places like this, and his awe at the most normal things is… well, cute.

"Have you ever seen so many people in one place?" you ask, trying to fill the silence, though you’re surprised to find that you’re not uncomfortable around him.

He chuckles lightly. “Not in such a casual setting, no. It’s quite… charming. Everything feels so alive.”

You almost snort at the idea that this guy finds a basic market so thrilling, but you keep it in check. At least he’s not another drama king like the Crown Prince or a bad poet like the Duke.

It’s been a surprisingly pleasant afternoon until your luck inevitably runs out. You spot the familiar, impeccably dressed figure of the Crown Prince moving through the crowd with his knights. He’s scanning the area, and panic rises in your throat.

“Crap,” you mutter under your breath. Instinctively, you grab the man’s sleeve, tugging him down the nearest alley. “We need to go. Now.”

He blinks, looking puzzled but not resisting. “Is something wrong?”

Yes! you think, your mind flashing to the emotional wreck that is the prince. "No time to explain. Just trust me."

But you’re too late. The Crown Prince, in all his resplendent, overly perfect glory, catches sight of you just as you’re about to disappear into the shadows.

“Well, well,” the prince calls out with an overly bright smile. “If it isn’t my darling—oh!” His eyes widen as he finally notices the tall figure standing next to you. “Prince Malleus Draconia of Briar Valley!”

You blue screen.

Your grip loosens on Malleus’s sleeve as your brain sputters. Prince. Fae Prince. You’d just been casually chatting with the Prince of Briar Valley like he was some random lost guy? Did you seriously just… You internally spiral as the realization sinks in. Of course, he's a prince! The horns! The aura!

Malleus, for his part, remains calm and collected, inclining his head toward the Crown Prince. “Ah, it seems I’ve been found,” he says smoothly, completely unaware of the crisis currently happening inside your head.

The Crown Prince gives Malleus a florid bow, then immediately turns his attention back to you. “My dear, you shouldn’t be wandering the streets alone. Allow me to escort you to the palace.” His hand reaches out toward you, his smile practiced and princely, but your gut clenches with discomfort. No, nope, no thanks.

You step back instinctively, your unease written all over your face. Before you can even figure out how to politely decline without causing a scene, Malleus moves.

Malleus, who up until now was watching the exchange with mild curiosity, steps forward. His eyes narrow slightly as he looks the Crown Prince up and down. The prince stumbles over his words and backs away under the weight of Malleus’ stare.

The Crown Prince’s smile falters. He hesitates, glancing between you and Malleus, clearly unsure how to proceed. “I—um—of course, Prince Malleus, I didn’t mean to overstep,” he stammers, eyes darting nervously between the two of you.

You stand there, stunned, watching as Malleus’ mere presence makes the most annoyingly confident man in the kingdom back off. Is this real life?

The prince clears his throat awkwardly, then shoots you one last uneasy smile before making a swift retreat with his knights, leaving you standing there with Malleus.

You let out a long, relieved breath and glance up at him, feeling a little less like you’re about to lose your mind. “Thanks… for that.”

Malleus’ lips quirk into a tiny, knowing smile. “It was my pleasure.” He tilts his head, eyes still twinkling with that same curiosity from earlier. “Although, I must admit, I’m rather curious why you were so eager to avoid him.”

You laugh nervously, running a hand through your hair. “Let’s just say… he’s more trouble than he’s worth.”

You don't know how you’ve ended up in this mess. One minute, you’re lost in the market, trying to figure out how to escape this ridiculous polycule situation, and the next, you’ve been dragged into a carriage on your way to the palace—with the Crown Prince, your overly dramatic Knight, and the Fae Prince himself.

Malleus, the Fae Prince, had politely asked if you would accompany him to the palace, and in a panic, you said yes. Because, really, how could you admit to both him and the Crown Prince that you’d actually been planning to skip town? So now, here you are, sitting through the most awkward carriage ride of your life.

Your knight, perched beside you, clears his throat dramatically. “Fear not, my lady,” he says in a voice filled with too much gravitas for the situation. “I shall protect you from all perils! Should the wind itself dare to brush against your delicate frame, I shall strike it down with my blade! No harm shall come to you so long as I draw breath!”

You facepalm internally. Please. Stop talking.

The Crown Prince, sitting across from you, adjusts his cufflinks for the tenth time. “I must say,” he purrs, fishing for compliments, “this outfit is particularly resplendent today, don’t you think? The shade of royal blue brings out the depth in my eyes. It was hand-tailored, of course. What do you think, my dear?”

You blink at him, trying to process whether he’s serious. He is. He’s absolutely serious.

Malleus watches the exchange in silent confusion, his eyes flicking between the three of you as if trying to figure out if this is normal human behavior. After all, you’ve got one guy swearing to kill the breeze, another obsessed with his reflection, and you, trying to melt into the upholstery.

“Is this… how humans typically behave?” Malleus asks, his voice soft and genuinely curious.

You shake your head vigorously. “No. This is how clowns behave.” Malleus raises an eyebrow but seems satisfied with your answer, settling back into his seat.

When the carriage finally—finally—arrives at the palace, you’re barely holding onto your sanity. But things are about to get worse.

As you’re ushered into the meeting hall, a trio approaches you. It’s Lilia, Silver, and… Sebek.

Sebek, who looks one step away from a full-blown aneurysm.

"Lord Malleus!" Sebek practically screeches, running toward Malleus like the world was ending. “How could you wander off on your own?! Do you know how much chaos you caused?! I almost fainted from sheer terror!”

Malleus doesn’t even flinch. “I had a guide.” He gestures toward you.

Sebek’s eyes land on you, and you quickly glance around for an escape route. “YOU?! YOU DARED TOUCH—”

Before Sebek can finish, you spot the Duke—one of your many suitors and part of the delegation—striding toward you with his usual brooding expression. You instinctively grab onto Malleus’ sleeve for some comfort (or maybe protection from what’s about to come next).

The Duke’s eyes light up as he sees you, and then… he begins to recite. “Oh, my dearest, like the moon that doth gleam upon a cheese plate—no, wait—upon a field of… toes? Your hair, like the petals of wilted roses in the rain... um… and your eyes… they are like two potatoes, cooked to perfection…”

Even Sebek is speechless. You think you see a vein pop on his forehead, but for once, he’s too stunned to yell.

Lilia, standing beside Sebek, chuckles, amused. “Well, I have to say, that’s… quite something.”

Malleus tilts his head, blinking at the Duke’s strange poetry. “Are potatoes considered a form of flattery in human culture?”

“No,” you mutter. “No, they’re not.”

Just when you think things can’t possibly get more absurd, the meeting begins. Because you’re technically the daughter of a Duke, you’re forced to sit through the whole ordeal. They start discussing the logistics of showing the fae delegation around the city.

“We need someone trustworthy to act as a guide,” one of the officials says, glancing toward the Crown Prince.

Malleus, who had been quietly observing the room, suddenly speaks up. “I believe I’ve already found the perfect guide.”

You freeze. No. No, no, no.

“The young lady who helped me in the market,” Malleus continues, looking directly at you.

The room falls silent. You, of all people, are the last person who wants to be anywhere near the fae delegation or, worse, your insane suitors. But before you can even open your mouth to refuse, the Crown Prince starts.

“My dear,” he says, leaning forward with a princely grin, “while I understand you’ve already formed an acquaintance with Prince Malleus, perhaps it would be better for someone more… experienced to take on this role.” He flashes his most charming smile, which, after everything today, only makes you cringe.

But Malleus just stares at him, completely unbothered. “No. I want her as my guide.”

Silver shifts slightly, glancing at you with an expression you can’t quite place, while Lilia’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “How interesting,” Lilia murmurs, clearly entertained by the situation.

Sebek, however, explodes. “IF LORD MALLEUS WANTS HER AS HIS GUIDE, THEN SO BE IT!” He turns toward the Crown Prince, practically vibrating with anger. “YOU WILL NOT QUESTION HIS DECISION!”

The Crown Prince, for once, looks genuinely taken aback. “I—I meant no offense! Of course, whatever Lord Malleus desires…”

You sink into your chair, feeling like your last chance at a peaceful life just flew out the window. Malleus turns to you with an expectant, polite smile. “I look forward to our time together.”

You groan inwardly. How is this my life?

You had to admit, Malleus was really nice. When you compared him to the absolute circus of clowns you had to deal with, he was practically a gift sent from above. So, you made a decision—if you were going to be his guide, you were going to be the best guide ever. And once they wrapped up this whole diplomatic visit, you'd beg him to take you with him to Briar Valley, where hopefully, your ridiculous suitors would be very far away.

Apparently, being a guide also meant dragging him along to everything you did, including navigating high society. This was where things got tricky. The original heroine had endured these events like a pro, but you? You were just a lowly office worker who'd read bad webnovels to avoid work. Now you were living in one.

First stop: a tea party.

As you sit down with Malleus beside you—who’s awkwardly perched in a chair much too small for him—you scan the room. Of course, all three of your ridiculous suitors are here. The Crown Prince, obsessing over the intricate lace of his cravat. The Hero Knight, sharpening his sword for no reason in the middle of a garden party. And the Duke, scribbling poetry on a napkin with all the grace of a sleep-deprived teenager finishing their homework five minutes before class.

But this wasn’t just about them. This was also your first time meeting the so-called villainess.

The villainess arrived like a whirlwind of petticoats and extravagant headpieces, smiling in that "I'm about to ruin your whole existence" kind of way. You smiled back, trying not to look dead inside when she launched into a diatribe about ruffles.

"And you see," she said, flickering her wrist with an air of superiority, "it was positively scandalous! The seamstress gave me a gown with only forty ruffles. Can you imagine? What am I, a commoner?"

You tried to smile politely. Truly. But Malleus, seated beside you, was staring at her with this fascinated look, as if watching a rare bird display its feathers. You could tell he was having a hard time grasping what the point of her story was. So were you.

But then, of course, the conversation turned personal.

“And the Duke,” the villainess said with a sly smirk, “such a poetic soul. He deserves better than to pine over someone who clearly has no appreciation for his art. Don’t you think?”

You blinked. Was this woman for real? You glanced at the Duke, who had suddenly gone from scribbling to gazing at you with that awful puppy-dog look. The one that meant another horrible poem was probably brewing.

You couldn’t help it. The words came out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. “Please take him.”

The villainess's eyes widened. “What?”

Malleus looked at you in amusement, while the Duke gasped dramatically, as if you’d just run him through with a sword.

You clasped your hands together and leaned forward earnestly. “Please, please take him. I don’t want him. At all. He’s all yours. You can have him—along with his potato-themed poems.”

The Duke visibly wilted. “But—! My lady! You—you wound me!”

“No, Duke, you wound me—with your terrible metaphors,” you deadpan. “And I’m begging you. Take him. Please. For the love of everything holy, I’m begging you.”

The villainess, probably for the first time in her life, looked completely flustered. “Are you… serious?”

“Absolutely,” you said, nodding. “I will sign papers. I’ll throw a party. I’ll—whatever it takes. Just… he’s yours.”

Malleus and Lilia were practically shaking with barely-contained laughter at this point, while the Duke had dropped to one knee, a napkin-clutched in his hand like some sad bouquet. “My poems… they were written with you in mind. Each line! Each stanza! Crafted from the depths of my heart!”

“Exactly,” you said, unblinking. “That’s why I need you to take him. Before he writes more.”

The villainess stared at you, completely dumbfounded. Then, after a pause, she broke into a smile. “Well, I’ve never had a man gifted to me before. I suppose I can make an exception.”

You felt like you could cry with relief. “Thank you.”

And just like that, your beef with the villainess was squashed. You traded your tragic suitor for peace of mind, and the villainess, now on the receiving end of the Duke’s “affections,” seemed pleased with her new prize.

Malleus leaned in, his voice low but filled with amusement. “I must say, you handled that quite well.”

You sighed, finally able to relax. “I handled that with desperation.”

And just like that, you’d rid yourself of two your problems. Now… to figure out how to survive the other two without losing your sanity.

You barely had time to process your victory over one villainess before a second one spawned out of nowhere like this was some kind of twisted video game. The Isekai Overlords clearly weren’t done with you yet. And this one? Oh, she was worse. The Crown Prince’s younger sister—spoiled princess extraordinaire—who genuinely believed her father was the reason the sun rose in the morning.

But, to your surprise, she didn’t even care about you. Like, at all. She acted like you didn’t even exist. Honestly? You were grateful. At least you could blend into the background this time and—oh no. Oh no.

She was making a beeline straight for Malleus.

You watched, horrified, as the princess latched onto him, throwing herself at him like he was a rare limited-edition collectible and not, you know, the Prince of Briar Valley and one of the most powerful beings in the world. Malleus shifted uncomfortably, clearly unsure how to handle the situation, while Sebek was being barely restrained by Lilia and Silver. Lilia, of course, had that mischievous glint in his eye, like he was enjoying the whole ordeal.

You, on the other hand, were not enjoying it. You could practically see your retirement plans shriveling up in front of you—this had diplomatic nightmare written all over it. If Malleus so much as sneezed, you were pretty sure this princess would declare war on Briar Valley.

So, you did the only thing you could think of: you stepped in.

“Um, excuse me, Your Highness,” you said, stepping between the princess and Malleus. “Could you maybe… not cling to him like he’s a handbag?”

She turned to you with a look of utter disdain, like you were a fly she was too annoyed to swat away. “And who are you, exactly?”

Before you could answer, she pointed an accusatory finger at you. “I challenge you to a duel! For his hand!”

You blinked. “Bro, what?”

The princess huffed. “For the hand of Prince Malleus, of course! You think I didn’t see you fawning over him?”

“Fawning? I’m literally just his guide!” You gestured to Malleus, who, for some reason, looked almost giddy. “I’m not dating him, we’re not engaged, and if you push it, we’re maybe friends.”

Malleus practically beamed at the word “friends.” Was he… happy about this? About being defended like some damsel in distress? You were defending the most powerful fae in existence, and here he was, looking like you just made his entire year.

Sebek and Silver immediately stepped forward, but before they could say anything, Malleus raised a hand. “No. I would like to see how my guide—and friend—defends my honor.”

Your brain short-circuited. What?!

The princess smirked, clearly thinking she had you cornered. “Prepare yourself for the duel then! My personal knight will face you.”

You glanced at the knight, a towering figure who looked like he’d been training for war since birth, and then back at the sword that had been thrust into your hands. This was not how you imagined your day going. You hadn’t even touched a sword before. Meanwhile, your opponent was stretching like this was a warm-up exercise.

Still, you had no choice. With a deep breath and the knowledge that you were about to make a complete fool of yourself, you stepped forward, sword held awkwardly in front of you.

The duel began.

The knight lunged at you with a practiced, fluid motion. You, on the other hand, tripped over a rock, accidentally ducking his strike, and in your flailing attempt to stay upright, the hilt of your sword smacked him right in the face.

There was a collective gasp from the audience.

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath.

The knight staggered, his face scrunched in confusion. He tried again, this time swinging from the side. You managed to parry—purely out of luck—and in the process, tripped forward, sending your sword clattering out of your hands and somehow knocking the knight’s legs out from under him. He fell to the ground with a thud.

Dead silence followed.

You stood there, frozen, your sword lying a few feet away. The knight was on his back, staring up at the sky, clearly bewildered by what had just happened. You hadn't even swung properly!

Lilia burst out laughing. “My, my! That was quite the duel! You’ll have to take responsibility now.”

“Responsibility?” you echoed, flustered beyond belief. “For what? I just—he tripped! I tripped! That wasn’t even—”

“Exactly,” Lilia teased. “You won the duel. Now you must take responsibility for defending Prince Malleus’ honor so valiantly.”

Malleus, looking thoroughly impressed, gave you a small, pleased smile. “Indeed. You have my gratitude.”

The princess, meanwhile, was gaping at you like she couldn’t believe what just happened. “This… this is an outrage!”

You sighed, feeling utterly exhausted. “Look, I didn’t even want to duel in the first place. Can’t we just—call it a day? I’ve had enough of knights and duels and—” You gestured vaguely to Malleus. “I’m not even dating him.”

Malleus’ smile widened. “But we are friends.”

Lilia chuckled. “Ah, young love is so complicated.”

You shot him a glare. This was not what you signed up for. But hey, at least you won the duel—somehow.

You were lounging in your mansion’s parlor, the day blissfully uneventful for once. The warm sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a cozy glow over the room. Malleus was mid-conversation—no, scratch that—mid-rant about gargoyles. To your surprise, you were actually kind of into it.

“And that’s the primary difference between gargoyles and grotesques,” Malleus continued passionately. “You see, gargoyles are not merely decorative but also functional, designed to channel water away from the structure, whereas grotesques, while similar in appearance, serve no such purpose. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

You nodded, intrigued, and cut in with a genuine question. “Wait, so is the functionality the only difference? Like, are they made from the same material?”

Malleus blinked, slightly taken aback that you were not only listening but actively participating. “Yes, precisely. They are often carved from the same stone, but it’s their purpose that sets them apart. For example, in the southern—” He paused, seeming to catch himself, suddenly looking sheepish. “Ah, forgive me. I fear I’ve been talking too much.”

Sebek nearly jumped out of his seat, eyes wide with horror. “Lord Malleus! Everything you say is perfect! Don’t apologize for sharing your magnificent knowledge!”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little. “No, really, I enjoy it,” you said, waving off Malleus’ concerns. “I mean, how often do you get to talk about something so niche with someone who knows this much about it? I actually have a question—do any of the gargoyles in the Briar Valley have, like, historical significance? Like ones that are still functioning after all this time?”

Malleus lit up, and he launched right back into it, going on about ancient gargoyles in the Briar Valley that had withstood the test of time. He even started comparing the craftsmanship of various eras, and to your own surprise, you threw in a few comments about architecture and water systems, things you barely remembered from some random articles you’d read ages ago.

Halfway through a comparison of Gothic versus Renaissance gargoyle styles, a soft knock interrupted. Your maid entered, bowing slightly. “My lady, pardon the interruption, but we need your guidance with something in the kitchens.”

You sighed but smiled, pushing yourself off the couch. “I’ll be right back. Don’t let them bully you into leaving the gargoyle talk,” you teased as you walked out, completely unaware of the effect your comment had left behind.

As soon as the door closed, Malleus stood there, momentarily speechless. His pale cheeks took on the faintest hint of color, and his eyes were wide, as if someone had just smacked him with a metaphorical brick of emotions. The prince of Briar Valley, the most powerful creature in existence, was blushing like a schoolgirl with her first crush.

Lilia, ever the mischievous one, was already grinning from ear to ear, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well, well, well… isn’t this interesting?” he purred, barely suppressing a chuckle.

Silver raised an amused brow, casting a side glance at Malleus. “It’s not every day we see him blush.”

Sebek, on the other hand, was utterly baffled but still overjoyed at seeing his lord smiling so widely. “Of course Lord Malleus is happy!” Sebek exclaimed proudly, though there was a trace of confusion in his voice. “He’s been honored with your presence and your rapt attention, as is only right! I just—” Sebek glanced around, as if trying to understand the subtle undercurrent in the room, “—I don’t understand why he’s so… red?”

Lilia patted Sebek on the back, barely holding in his laughter. “Oh, Sebek, my boy. This is what happens when someone gets the attention they’ve long desired.”

Malleus cleared his throat, trying—and failing—to compose himself. “I’m merely… pleased,” he said, though his blush betrayed him. “It’s rare to find someone who listens so attentively.”

Lilia chuckled softly. “Yes, and who knows the difference between gargoyles and grotesques, I imagine. Quite the match for you, wouldn’t you say?”

Malleus, flustered beyond belief, gave Lilia a sidelong look but said nothing, clearly more preoccupied with the strange warmth blooming in his chest.

By the time you returned, unaware of the scene you’d left behind, Malleus was still trying to gather himself. Lilia shot you a knowing smile, and Silver just gave you a look like you have no idea what’s happening, do you? Sebek, as always, continued to beam with unshakable loyalty to his blushing lord.

But hey, at least Malleus was happy—really happy.

It all started innocently enough—you were having dinner with Malleus, Sebek, Lilia, and Silver. Sebek was, as usual, going on one of his rants about how absolutely divine Malleus was, Lilia was being cryptic and vaguely mischievous, and Silver was dozing off between courses.

You, being the delightful disaster that you were, cracked a joke between bites. “Honestly, if Sebek praises Malleus any more, we might as well commission a statue of him—complete with an audio loop of Sebek’s praises.”

Malleus laughed. Actually laughed. It was such a rare sound, deep and rich, and when you heard it, your heart stuttered in your chest like someone had just jabbed you with a lightning bolt.

Oh no.

You knew, from that very moment, you were in deep, deep shit.

From that point on, everything Malleus did made it impossible for you to act normal around him. His laugh, the way his eyes crinkled when he found something amusing, the warmth in his voice when he spoke to you—how had you not noticed before? And now, every time Lilia even looked at you, it was with this knowing, mischievous grin, like the universe had finally granted him the entertainment he’d been waiting for all these centuries.

“This,” Lilia said one day, leaning in conspiratorially with a grin that could light up a room, “this is what I’ve lived so long for.”

And to make matters worse, it wasn’t just your mind tormenting you. Oh no. It was like the entire world was in on the joke. You could practically see sparkles in the air every time Malleus so much as glanced your way. Sparkles, for crying out loud. Your heart was in critical danger.

Your solution? Avoid him.

But it wasn’t that simple. You tried hiding behind furniture, ducking into bushes, and even feigning an incredibly inconvenient bout of food poisoning just to avoid being near him. One time, you spotted Malleus coming down the hall and, in a blind panic, dove behind a potted plant. The plant was tiny. You were not. Somehow, you thought it would work.

It didn’t. Malleus casually walked over, spotted you crouching awkwardly behind the plant, and said, “Is there something wrong with that shrubbery? Should I summon someone to tend to it?”

Another time, you attempted to “sneak” out of the palace by pretending you were a passing merchant. You wore a very large hat and wrapped yourself in an oversized cloak. Malleus found you immediately.

“Aren’t you feeling a bit warm in that?” he asked, blinking at your ridiculous ensemble.

He had fae hearing. He could always find you.

Even guiding him around town became a disaster. How were you supposed to be a competent host when all you could think about was how unfairly hot he was? Every word he said carried this charming, ancient elegance, and here you were, a flustered mess with zero composure.

Lilia? Still having the time of his life. He was practically choking on his laughter at this point. Silver, somehow, slept through most of your crises, and Sebek was just thrilled Malleus was spending so much time with him (though he was clearly confused about why you were acting so weird).

Finally, you had enough. One night, under the cover of the moon, you snuck into the garden with the determination of someone completely done with their own suffering. You found a flower—granted, you didn’t know what it was, but it looked nice—and you marched up to Malleus, who was out enjoying the evening air, blissfully unaware of the emotional train wreck headed his way.

“I need to say something!” you blurted, shoving the flower toward him.

Malleus took the flower carefully, glancing down at it. His expression shifted from curious to… mildly concerned? “This flower,” he said slowly, “is traditionally used in Briar Valley to signify deep betrayal…”

You blinked. Oh god.

“No, wait! I didn’t mean—!” you stammered, but before you could backtrack, your brain decided it had had enough. You blurted out the truth, no holds barred: “I like you, okay?! I’ve been a mess for weeks because of how ridiculously perfect you are, and I’m tired of avoiding you and hiding behind plants! So there!”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Malleus stared at you, his eyes wide with shock, and then, much to your surprise (and relief), he broke into the widest smile you’d ever seen on him. It was like the moon had just gotten brighter.

“You’re confessing… to me?” he asked softly, his voice filled with genuine joy.

“Yes,” you groaned, face burning with embarrassment. “Now please reject me so I can go lie in a ditch somewhere.”

But instead of rejection, you got happy dragon noises. Malleus gently pulled you into his arms and, with a voice full of affection, declared, “You are mine, then. From this day forward, you are my beloved.”

Cue your soul leaving your body.

When you broke the news to your father the next day, the poor Duke nearly fainted at the sight of the Prince of Briar Valley standing there, flanked by Silver, Sebek, and Lilia, the former general grinning like the Cheshire cat.

The Duke was intimidated—terrified, really—and quickly agreed to let the courtship proceed. But there was a catch.

“You’ll have to tell the Crown Prince and the Hero Knight yourself,” your father said, his face pale. “I’m not getting involved in that.”

Your retirement plans had officially died.

Despite all the chaos that had entered your life since becoming Malleus's beloved, you had to admit—there were perks. One of those was what you’d come to call "fae luck." It became especially apparent during a particularly tense diplomatic meeting involving the fae, the beastmen, and your kingdom.

The room was filled with strained conversations, the kind of diplomacy that could either result in peace or war, depending on how fragile the egos in the room were. You were sitting between Malleus and the second prince, doing your best to avoid looking at the first prince, who had already been giving you way too much attention for comfort.

Then it happened.

The first prince, ever the picture of grace, rose to speak. As he took his first step forward… THUD. He tripped spectacularly, arms flailing, and landed directly in the lap of the Beastmen Queen. There was a collective gasp, and for a heartbeat, you thought maybe this could be saved—until he opened his mouth.

“Well, I guess I’ve… fallen for you!”

Silence.

The Beastmen Queen's expression froze. The fae delegation collectively facepalmed, and you could practically feel the tension suffocating the room.

And then the Beastmen were on their feet, growling and demanding the immediate removal of the first prince from the line of succession. One of their diplomats, fur bristling with indignation, roared, “This is an insult to our Queen! Remove this fool from the throne!”

Instead of apologizing, as a normal, sane person might have, the first prince, face red with embarrassment, dug himself even deeper. “It was a joke! Can’t you beastmen take a joke? Honestly, I don’t see why everyone’s so sensitive.”

The Beastmen's amger intensified, and you saw the Emperor and Empress—who had been trying desperately to maintain order—sink deeper into their seats, their expressions a mix of horror and resignation. The entire room was teetering on the brink of an international incident.

And then… you spotted it.

A little green wisp, barely visible, flitting through the air right around where the prince had been standing before his magnificent face-plant.

You glanced toward Malleus, who was sitting beside you, looking perfectly composed, save for the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Beside him, Lilia gave you a knowing wink, his mischievous grin unmistakable.

They caused this.

Within moments, the decision was made: the first prince was officially removed as heir to the throne. His younger brother, the second prince—who had always been calm, composed, and infinitely more capable—was declared the new Crown Prince.

It was glorious.

But before you could celebrate, the first prince turned toward you, his expression sour and filled with desperation. "You—" he began, as if about to drag you into his misery.

Not today, prince.

Finally given the chance to reject him properly, you rose from your seat, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh as you faced him.

“I’ve been waiting so long to say this,” you began, crossing your arms and locking eyes with him. “I reject you. Completely. Wholly. Utterly. There is not a single fiber in my being that has ever been remotely interested in you. In fact, the only thing that’s ever kept me in proximity to you was the sheer necessity of survival.”

The first prince’s mouth opened, but you weren’t done.

“Remember all those times you made those comments about my ‘station’ and how ‘lucky’ I was to be considered by you?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t say anything back then because I was too polite, but now? No thanks. Absolutely not. I would rather spend a century in the swamps than a minute more listening to you.”

Sebek, of all people, burst into laughter. “She’s got a point!” he managed between snickers. Lilia was grinning from ear to ear, his eyes twinkling in amusement, and Silver, barely awake, gave a lazy thumbs-up in support.

Malleus, meanwhile, looked positively enchanted. His eyes sparkled as he watched you lay into the former prince, pride and affection written all over his face. When you were done, he leaned toward you, murmuring with a soft smile, “I do love seeing you stand up for yourself.”

The first prince, his face red with humiliation, stammered, “You can’t speak to me like that!”

“Oh, but I just did,” you replied with a sweet smile. “And you know what? It felt amazing.”

With that, the first prince slunk away, his tail metaphorically between his legs, while the room buzzed with whispered laughter. Even the Beastmen, who had been ready to rip the prince to shreds, seemed satisfied.

You had never felt more victorious. Malleus looked at you with such adoration, and Lilia… well, Lilia looked like he was already planning his next round of mischief.

It was a good day.

The festival was going about as smoothly as a cat in a bathtub. You were trying to act like you weren’t hopelessly entangled with the most dangerously attractive fae prince in existence, while also managing to survive the company of your absurd entourage.

Sebek was marching around, loudly reminding anyone within earshot of his unwavering devotion to Lord Malleus. His eyes would dart to you occasionally, like he was calculating whether you were worthy of being in the same airspace as his revered master. Silver, half-asleep, was keeping one lazy yet disturbingly sharp eye on you, while Lilia was in his element—practically vibrating with amusement, like he was waiting for you to trip and fall into a cauldron of chaos.

And then there was the Hero Knight. This guy had shown up uninvited, all shiny armor and noble delusions, insisting he protect you from… something? Yourself? Malleus? Winning too many festival games?

“Are you sure you’re safe?” the Hero Knight asked, sidling up far too close, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve heard stories about these fae festivals. One wrong step, and you’ll be cursed to dance for a hundred years, or worse—turned into a tree.”

You squinted at him. “Right. I’ll make sure to avoid the face-painting booth. Wouldn’t want to end up as a shrub for eternity.”

Malleus, ever patient, simply raised an eyebrow, as if contemplating whether this so-called Hero Knight was worth the oxygen he was breathing. Lilia, meanwhile, was biting his lip to stop from laughing.

But then, amid your rising frustration, you spotted it: the holy grail of festival prizes. The gargoyle plushie.

It wasn’t just any gargoyle plushie. It was perfect. Chunky, with tiny wings and a slightly disgruntled expression, it radiated the exact energy you associated with Malleus—regal, intimidating, yet somehow huggable.

You pointed at it like you’d just discovered a hidden treasure. “I need that.”

Malleus, ever-attentive, followed your gaze and smiled softly. “Do you desire the gargoyle?”

“Obviously! It’s basically you in plushie form,” you said, already walking toward the game stall. “But, you know, it’s rigged. All festival games are.”

Malleus watched you with his trademark elegant amusement. “Perhaps I can—”

“No, no,” you interrupted, raising a hand. “I’m winning this fair and square. No fae magic, no dragon lord intervention. Just pure skill.”

You grabbed the darts, took a deep breath, and began your assault on the rigged game. It wasn’t easy. The darts bounced, the targets mocked you, and you could feel the Hero Knight hovering over your shoulder like a bad itch.

“Are you sure this is wise?” the Hero Knight asked again, his voice dripping with concern. “This feels like a trap. What if they’ve enchanted the darts? What if—”

You whirled on him, fed up. “Listen, Sir Gallant-with-too-much-hair-gel, it’s a dart game. Not an assassination plot. If I can survive dealing with you, I think I can handle a few rigged targets.”

Lilia absolutely lost it. He doubled over, wheezing in laughter, while Silver let out an amused snort. Even Sebek looked like he was struggling not to smirk, though he quickly composed himself.

Malleus, ever regal, simply smiled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I have faith in your abilities, my dear.”

Fueled by that comment—and the knowledge that the Hero Knight was slowly losing what remained of his dignity—you managed to hit the final target. The plushie was yours.

Triumphantly, you grabbed the gargoyle and turned to Malleus. “For you.”

Malleus, to your utter delight, looked genuinely touched. His eyes softened, and that rare, warm smile appeared. “You won this for me?”

“Obviously,” you said, trying not to melt under his gaze. “A prince should have his own gargoyle.”

Silver, who had been observing the entire scene with increasing clarity despite his usual drowsiness, raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

Sebek, who was still processing the fact that you’d just casually given his lord a gargoyle plushie, grunted. “You… you truly care for Lord Malleus.”

Before you could say anything, the Hero Knight, still floundering, piped up. “Well, I could’ve won that gargoyle too, you know. If you wanted to—”

“Oh, please,” you cut him off, turning to the Knight. “You probably would’ve asked the stall vendor to throw in a manual on ‘How to Not Be a Total Wet Blanket at Festivals.’”

Lilia nearly collapsed. “Oh, please stop—I can’t—” he gasped, clearly having the time of his life.

You waved him off and turned back to Malleus, who was still holding the plushie with the same reverence one might reserve for an ancient relic. “Shall we continue?”

Next up was a couple’s game. You had no intention of participating—until you noticed the Hero Knight gearing up to suggest that he join in to protect you. Oh no. Not today. You grabbed Malleus’ arm and dragged him into the game, completely ignoring the Knight’s sputtering objections.

“It’s… it’s traditionally for couples…” Silver noted, giving you a look that clearly said, I see what’s happening here.

You ignored him too.

The game was simple enough: throw rings onto bottles, but for some reason, the tension was palpable. Probably because you were standing next to one of the most powerful beings in existence, and you’d dragged him into a ridiculous couples’ game in front of his overly protective retinue.

But you won. And to rub salt in the Hero Knight’s ego, you fed Malleus one of the sweets you’d won.

“Y-You!” Sebek spluttered, looking as though you’d just committed the highest treason against decorum. “Feeding Lord Malleus… this… this is too much!”

The Hero Knight, on the other hand, looked utterly baffled. “Are you… are you sure that’s safe? What if the sweets are—”

“I swear, if you don’t stop, I’m going to feed you to the fairies,” you hissed, snapping the sweet in half and popping it into Malleus’ mouth. He smiled as he ate it, clearly enjoying himself.

By the time the fireworks started, you had somehow survived the night without murdering the Hero Knight. The sky exploded in a kaleidoscope of colors, and for a brief moment, it was peaceful.

And then, without thinking, you kissed Malleus.

There was a split second of stunned silence. And then all hell broke loose.

Sebek let out a screech that could rival a banshee. “My Lord! My Lord!” His voice cracked in disbelief, but then—surprisingly—he softened. “If… If Lord Malleus must fall for a human, I am glad it is someone… as devoted as you. My lady.”

You looked at him, touched. “Thank you, Sebek.”

Silver gave a rare smile, looking both amused and resigned. “Congratulations. You’ve managed to pull this off somehow.”

Lilia, predictably, was still dying of laughter, barely able to breathe between fits of wheezing.

And the Hero Knight? He looked like someone had just told him vampires were real and lived next door. “This… I… What…?”

You turned to him with a smile that could cut steel. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. I’ve been trying to tell you for months that I wasn’t interested. I’d rather kiss a gargoyle than you—actually, no. The gargoyle’s got more charm. Better conversation skills too.”

Lilia was full-on cackling now, leaning against a festival stall for support as the Hero Knight’s dignity shriveled up into nothingness.

Malleus, looking absolutely radiant, wrapped an arm around your waist. “Shall we depart? I believe we have a kingdom to return to.”

The next day, you stood with Malleus and his merry band of chaos, bidding farewell to your parents and butler. The Duke was still recovering from the heart attack Malleus had given him when he asked for your hand in courtship.

As you waved to your family, Malleus gently took your hand, leading you toward the carriage that would take you to Briar Valley.

“Well,” you muttered as you glanced back one last time, “this story of mine took a weird turn.”

Lilia, still grinning like a fiend, chimed in. “Oh, just wait until the sequel.”

The last thing you heard as the carriage rolled away was the Hero Knight muttering in the distance, “I could’ve won that gargoyle…”

You smiled. Maybe the webnovel wasn’t such a disaster after all.

Ahh I hope y'all like this one, malleus is one of my favs and I had so much fun writing him.

The Kalim one is being edited because it's a little too somber for me and I wanna make it a little more fun and Azul one is almost fully edited too!

So, here's a poll for the one after these. (They'll all get a turn)

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus #malleus draconia #twst malleus #malleus draconia x you #malleus x you #isekai #trash novel chronicles #fem reader

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sirxaibs · 27 days ago

Text

Sanji Vinsmoke X Reader

Gimme Some Advice

masterlist

Synopsis: Me when I yearn. Me and I yearn but have a healthy relationship with my friends and knows not to be jealous but still allow myself to feel things

⟡𓌉◯𓇋₊˚⊹♡ You were sprawled out on a sun chair, kicking your legs back and forth and humming a random tune to yourself, still feeling giddy from the delicious meal Sanji had served earlier. Your hair fluttered in the wind, and your bright eyes scanned the open sea until

BAM. “[Y/N]!”

Sanji came flying across the deck like a torpedo, arms flailing for balance as he skidded to a halt in front of you. His shirt was untucked, cigarette barely hanging on his lip, and a wild, borderline panicked look in his eyes. You blinked. “…You okay there, Romeo?”

Sanji bent over, hands on his knees, catching his breath. “I I need your help.”

Your brows lifted with curiosity and amusement. “What, did Luffy eat the last cookie again and you’re plotting revenge?”

“No, this is serious!”

You sat up straighter, suppressing a grin. “Okay, okay. What is it?”

Sanji straightened, brushed back his hair dramatically, and looked at you with those swirly, golden eyes as if he were about to confess some great truth.

“I need you to tell me… how to pull a woman.”

You stared at him.

Then burst into laughter. “I’m sorry what?”

Sanji flushed, his hands flying up. “I know! I know it sounds ridiculous coming from me, but I swear I’m being serious. Dead serious.”

You giggled, slapping a hand over your mouth. “Sanji, my darling, you throw yourself at women like it’s a sport. If flirting were a martial art, you’d be a black belt.”

“That’s exactly the problem!” Sanji groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “It doesn’t work. I mean, not really. They just giggle or wave me off like I’m some harmless breeze. None of them take me seriously. And I I want to be taken seriously. Just once.”

You quieted at that, your expression softening. “Oh, Sanji…”

He sighed, leaning back against the rail, his face turned to the sea. “There’s this girl. Not someone on this ship,” he added quickly, glancing at you. “She’s kind and funny and strong. But when I talk to her, I get so nervous I just default to… you know.”

“the pathetic lover boy routine not enough for you?” you said innocently, batting your lashes.

Sanji shot you a look, lips twitching despite himself. “Yes, that.”

You hopped off the chair and padded toward him, poking his chest lightly. “Okay, lover boy. Let’s get one thing straight: You’re not failing because you flirt. You’re failing because you flirt like a cartoon heart attack. There’s nothing authentic about it..”

He blinked at you. “…Huh?”

You grinned. “There's nothing I'm complaining about, though. I think it's really cute. The best kind of complement is the one that sounds like you didn’t rehearse it a hundred times in the mirror.”

Sanji looked thoughtful. “But what if I mess up? Say something stupid?”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Sanji, you do say something stupid every single time you meet a woman and they still smile at you. Imagine what would happen if you were just… you. The sweet, reliable, passionate, incredible cook who makes the best damn meals on the sea and puts his heart into everything he does.” Sanji’s ears turned pink. You leaned in, voice teasing. “That Sanji? That guy’s dreamy.”

He sputtered, waving smoke away from his cigarette. “S Stop saying things like that. I’m trying to focus!”

You giggled, twirling a lock of your hair. “Fine, fine. You want real advice?”

“Please.”

“Okay.” You folded your arms and nodded. “Step one: Calm down. You don’t need to win someone’s heart in ten seconds. Stop making it a performance and start making it a conversation.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay…”

“Step two: Ask her questions. Not just compliments. Be curious about who she is, not just how she looks.”

“Right…”

“And step three,” you said, tapping his forehead, “don’t chase. Just be. If she likes you, she’ll come closer. And if she doesn’t… you don’t need to change who you are to impress her.”

Sanji looked down at you genuinely, for a moment no exaggerated grin, no dramatic swoon. “You really think that’ll work?”

You smiled warmly. “I know it will. You’ve already got everything you need. You just need to believe someone could fall for you”

He stared at you in silence for a moment. “You’d make a hell of a love doctor, [Y/N].”

“I take payment in dessert,” you winked.

Sanji chuckled softly, then took a final drag of his cigarette and tossed it overboard. “Right away madamoiselle”

You shrugged playfully. “Good boy now go do your thing” As he turned to head back to the kitchen, you called after him, “Sanji?” He glanced back, his usual grin starting to sneak back into place. You smiled. “The right girl? She’ll see you. Just give her the chance.”

He gave you a mock salute. “Then I’ll make sure I’m someone worth seeing.” with that, he vanished into the galley.

⟡𓌉◯𓇋₊˚⊹♡The world was quiet tonight. The sea whispered gently against the hull of the Thousand Sunny, and the breeze that swept through the ship’s open deck was crisp, carrying the smell of salt and the faintest trace of spices from the galley below. The crew had all gone off to their own little corners of the ship some reading, some napping, and others chattering softly out of earshot.

You lay in the middle of the main deck, arms stretched out to your sides, eyes wide open to the tapestry of stars overhead. The wind moved through your hair, playing with strands like it was trying to keep you company. But the real comfort came from just a few feet away Brook sat atop a crate, bathed in the soft, swaying light of the lanterns above, his long bony fingers gliding across the strings of his violin.

It wasn’t his usual upbeat, silly melody the ones he played to make Chopper dance or to accompany some skull joke. No, this was something else. Something soft. Thoughtful. The kind of song that didn’t need lyrics to speak. It trickled into your chest like warm tea in cold hands. It held something gentle and aching in every note. You stared at the stars, your lashes still and unmoving. Your chest rose and fell in time with the music. And somewhere between the quiet and the chords, your mind drifted to him.

Sanji.

You let the name echo in your thoughts. You didn’t try to chase it away. You smiled faintly. He had fallen for someone. You didn’t know her. You didn’t need to. You could tell by the way he spoke, by the way he looked different lately. Softer, more grounded. Less dramatic for show, and more… sincere. Like there was someone he genuinely wanted to be better for. And gods, it was so like him. That hopeless romantic heart of his. That constant need to give everything to someone who made his heart flutter.

And you? You had always laughed with him. Teased him when he did his little twirls or dropped to one knee in front of any woman in a ten mile radius. You’d rolled your eyes, called him ridiculous, joked that his flirtations were more extra than Zoro’s vendetta against stairs.

But you’d never said the truth. Not once. That sometimes, when he smiled at you not as a flirt, but just you your heart would skip. That there were moments when you thought maybe… maybe you were the one he’d fall for if he ever took a real chance. But he hadn’t. he was chasing someone else. Someone who made him nervous. You let out a soft breath, eyes still on the stars, a weight pressing gently against your ribs.

It wasn’t a jealous hurt. You were happy for him. Truly. It was just the kind of ache that came from wondering what if. Brook’s melody shifted slightly higher, like a question being asked in the dark. As if he knew.

You didn’t move. You didn’t cry. You just felt. Because it was okay to feel it. To mourn something that was never yours. To lie under the stars and let the music carry the weight of your silence.

you thought of him. Of the way his voice softened when he wasn’t being loud. Of how he always made your plate first when he knew you were having a bad day. Of how, sometimes, you imagined what it would be like if those small gestures were something more. Your fingers curled slightly against the wood. Another breeze passed over you, lifting your hair gently, and you blinked slowly, your gaze still locked on the sky.

The music swelled one last time before fading into the hush of the ocean, Just one song. One quiet night. One unspoken heartache. And then the world was still again. You lay there, unmoving, letting the silence settle. though the ache was still there, something inside you softened too like maybe, even if the story you wanted wasn’t yours, the chapter was still worth feeling.

“Did you know,” Brook began, his voice soft in the night air, “that the stars you see are sometimes already dead?”

You blinked slowly, then smiled, lips barely curving. “That’s… kind of depressing, Brook.”

“Yohoho, perhaps,” he chuckled lightly, “but it’s also strangely beautiful, don’t you think? That something can shine even after it’s gone.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah. I guess I like that.”

There was a beat of silence, “Do you think Luffy’s ever tried to eat a star?”

You snorted. “Absolutely. ”

Brook let out a full laugh, his ribs gently rattling with the motion. “I should write that down for a new lyric. ‘I reached for a star and bit down on a dream delicious!’”

You groaned, laughing despite yourself. “That is so cheesy.”

Another comfortable pause settled between you. You listened to the creak of the ship, the soft splash of water against the hull, and the distant thrum of something in the engine room probably Franky still working on some little project with his usual midnight energy.

Brook tilted his skull back. “Do you think fish sleep?”

“I think they have to. Maybe with one eye open. Like Zoro.”

Brook nodded solemnly. “Scary.”

You giggled and rolled over onto your stomach, resting your chin on your forearms. “What about skeletons? Do they sleep?”

Brook tapped his chin. “Hmm… difficult to say. I don’t have eyelids, so I’ve never actually seen myself do it.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“Not as exhausting as trying to take a bath when you don’t have skin.”

“Brook, what ”

“And on the subject of things I can’t do… may I see your panties?”

You stopped. Deadpan. Emotionless. You slowly pushed yourself up from the deck, brushing some hair from your face as you gave him the flattest look in the history of facial expressions.

Brook clasped his hands politely. “it would be such a lovely gesture.”

You pointed toward the hallway with a single, resigned finger. “You’re done.”

He blinked. “Oh?”

“You’re done,” you repeated, standing up and brushing off your clothes. “That’s it. Conversation’s over. Pack it up, skeleton.”

“Wait, my dear! I merely !”

You walked off toward the girls’ quarters without another word, your hand raised in a lazy wave behind you.

“Goodnight, Brook.”

He sighed behind you. “Ah, the pain of rejection. It cuts deeper than the Grand Line’s fog!”

You kept walking, hiding your smile. from behind you, drifting in the sea kissed night, came a final, cheerful:

“Sweet dreams! Yohohohoho!”

You shook your head as the door closed behind you, smiling to yourself. Even heartbreak couldn’t compete with this crew’s ridiculousness.

The soft creak of the ship accompanied your entrance as you returned to the girls’ quarters, your steps light but tired from the long, quiet moment you’d had with Brook on the deck. You rubbed your arms absentmindedly as you passed the threshold, the warm lamplight casting a cozy glow across the room.

Nami was sprawled comfortably on the couch with a drink in hand, her legs tucked under her, a mischievous glint already dancing in her eyes. Robin sat nearby in an armchair, book in hand, but she looked up as you entered.

“There she is,” Nami announced, smirking knowingly as she took another sip. “Have fun with our resident skeleton?”

You plopped down beside her with a hum, grabbing a pillow to hug against your chest. “It was nice. He played something soft. Kinda hit me in the heart a little.”

Robin’s smile deepened slightly. “Brook’s music often does.”

Nami raised a brow. “I have a love hate relationship with that man”

“Well…I couldnt blame you” You grinned. “It got weird eventually. I left before he could ask about my underwear.”

“EW LETS BURN HIM” Nami choked, laughing.

“shhhhh bed time now,” you confirmed, deadpan.

Nami snorted, shaking her head before she shifted back to her earlier topic with Robin, eyes alight with playful mischief. “I’m just saying,” she said, raising her glass again, “whoever this woman is… poor, poor soul. She has no idea what she’s walking into.”

You wheezed, pressing the pillow to your face. “Nami!”

“I mean it!” she cackled. “Can you imagine Sanji not spinning around like a lovesick ballerina the second she smiles at him? He’d probably burst into a heart shaped firework just from holding her hand.”

Robin chuckled behind her book, one elegant brow lifting. “He does tend to be… passionate.”

“Oh my God,” you laughed, eyes watering,

“Don’t forget the nosebleed,” Nami added, clinking her glass in the air.

The room burst into another round of giggles, warm and breathless, echoing softly around the cabin. It felt like home. But then your smile softened. You clutched the pillow a little tighter and leaned back against the cushions, your laughter quieting as your thoughts drifted slightly. “…I think it’s kind of cute, though,” you murmured.

Nami blinked and looked over. “What, that he’s basically a walking romance novel?”

You shook your head, smiling more to yourself than to them. “No. That he’s finally trying to take something seriously.”

Robin gently set her book down, her eyes curious and warm. Nami tilted her head, her teasing expression melting into one of genuine interest. You took a breath and let your voice settle. “I mean, sure, Sanji flirts like he’s getting paid for it. But this time? It’s different. He actually cares. You can see it in how he talks, how he moves. Like… he wants to be better. Not just charming genuine. That’s kind of huge for him.”

Nami leaned her elbow against the armrest, watching you closely. Her smirk faded into something quieter.

“He asked me for advice,” you added, fingers fiddling with the edge of the pillow. “that's so lame and cute”

Robin offered a soft, thoughtful smile. “It sounds like he’s growing.”

You nodded. “Yeah. And I know we all tease him believe me, I’ll never stop but part of me is proud of him, you know? He’s not trying to win over a dozen hearts. Just one.”

There was a quiet moment. The kind that wrapped around you like a soft blanket. Even the waves outside seemed to hush themselves. Nami exhaled loudly and flopped back. “Ugh. I hate that you made that sound sweet.”

You burst out laughing, sinking deeper into the cushions. “Because it is! He’s ridiculous, but he’s sincere when it counts.”

Nami pointed at you with a lazy glare. “If this ends with him writing sonnets and reciting them at dinner, I will throw myself overboard.”

“Good,” you grinned, “I’ll write your eulogy.”

Robin’s smile turned amused again. “Maybe the sea really will turn to wine next.”

You stretched out with a yawn, heart just a little lighter than before. “Or maybe our little chef’s finally found someone worth changing for.”

The room quieted again, the gentle rhythm of the ship rocking beneath you. Somewhere in the galley, a chair scraped faintly, a sign that Sanji was still awake, maybe cleaning, maybe daydreaming.

The kitchen was clean. Spotless, even. Every dish dried and put away, the counters gleaming, the scent of lemon and herbs still lingering faintly in the air.

Sanji stood alone at the center island, one hand gripping the edge of the counter, the other loosely holding a bottle of wine he hadn’t poured yet. The glass in front of him remained empty, catching the golden glow from the overhead lanterns.

His jacket was off, sleeves rolled up, collar a little undone. His tie hung around his neck, loose and forgotten. His hair fell in front of his eyes in soft curls as he hunched over the counter and let out a long, slow breath.

“…Idiot,” he muttered, running a hand over his face. “Stupid, stupid idiot.”

The cork creaked as he pulled it out of the wine bottle, then set it aside. He didn’t pour it yet just stared at the glass like it had personally offended him.

“Of course you asked her for advice,” he mumbled sarcastically, voice full of self mockery. “Genius move, really. Go ask the woman you’re in love with how to win someone else over. Brilliant. Next level romance tactics.”

He sighed, dropping into one of the stools, elbows on the counter, bottle still in hand.

“She probably thinks I’m pathetic. No worse. She probably pities me.” He leaned his head forward until it thudded lightly against the counter. “And then she said I was cute.”

His face flushed immediately.

His voice dropped to a quieter murmur, warm with memory. “She said I was cute just the way I am.”

He let the thought hang in the silence, echoing a little louder in the privacy of the kitchen than it had in the moment it happened. His chest tightened, and he swallowed hard.

She’d said it so casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it was obvious.

Sanji rubbed the back of his neck, fingers twitching. “So what do you do, huh?” he asked no one. “You take that… softness, that little bit of warmth, and you turn around and act like your heart belongs to someone else? You let her believe that?”

He sat back up and finally poured the wine. The liquid splashed neatly into the glass, dark and rich. He stared at it, jaw tight.

“She probably thinks I’m in love with this new pretend woman. And I let her think that.”

He took a sip. He winced.

“Idiot.”

The word came out smaller this time. Not angry. Just… tired. He swirled the glass slowly, watching the way the wine clung to the sides. What was he even doing?

It wasn’t that he meant to lie. He just… panicked. He didn’t know how to say, “Hey, it’s you. It’s been you.” Not without ruining everything. Not without seeing her look at him with pity or worse, discomfort.

So instead, he twisted the truth into something safe. Something that would let her stay close, even if it meant she’d never know the real reason his heart pounded every time she smiled. And now here he was. With wine. And a thousand regrets. Sanji leaned back in his stool and stared at the ceiling.

“…That Sanji? That guy’s dreamy..”

He smiled faintly. Just for a second.

Then he took another drink and muttered again, quietly: “Yeah. Still an idiot.”

⟡𓌉◯𓇋₊˚⊹♡The sun rose bright and golden, casting warm beams across the deck of the Thousand Sunny. The sea was calm today blue skies, soft waves, and the smell of salt on the breeze. It was the kind of morning that promised a good day, or at the very least, a good breakfast.

You stepped out from the girls’ quarters with a sleepy yawn, your hair a little messy and your shirt slightly rumpled from tossing in bed. The moment your feet touched the deck, you felt it a strong pair of hands grabbed yours and spun you into the air.

“FOOOOOOD!!” Luffy shouted, laughing with wild energy.

“Luffy!” you squealed, dizzy but giggling as he twirled you around in a circle like a child with a new toy.

“I can smell it! Sanji’s cooking something amazing!” he cried, holding your hands as he danced with you in a crooked circle. “It’s meat day, I know it!”

You laughed breathlessly as he practically bounced on his heels, his enthusiasm contagious. “You say that every day!”

“Yeah, because I want it every day!” Luffy grinned, his wide, carefree smile beaming down at you. “Sanji’s meat is the best meat ever!”

“Phrasing, Luffy,” Nami said dryly from behind, stepping up onto the deck with a stretch and a mug of coffee.

Robin followed her, calm as ever, a book already tucked under one arm. “Morning,” she greeted softly.

“Morning!” you chirped, finally freed from Luffy’s grasp and straightening your shirt with a grin. “Someone’s fired up today.”

“Sanji’s breakfast are always special,” Luffy said seriously, his head already swiveling toward the galley. “He’s gonna make the eggs all fancy again, I can feel it in my soul.”

“You don’t have a soul,” Zoro muttered from where he was leaning against the railing, clearly only half awake.

“YOU don’t have a soul!” Luffy snapped back without hesitation.

You laughed as Chopper popped up beside you, sniffing the air excitedly. “Is that cinnamon? I think he’s making pancakes too!”

“Cinnamon and meat?!” Luffy gasped, dramatically grabbing you again by the shoulders and shaking you gently. “WE’RE GOING TO HAVE THE BEST FOOD EVER!”

You snorted. “Luffy, please. I haven’t even had water yet.”

From inside the galley, the sound of pots clanging and something sizzling filled the air, along with the unmistakable scent of breakfast being prepared with far too much care for people who would inhale it in under ten minutes. Sanji’s silhouette passed by the window briefly, towel over his shoulder, cigarette hanging from his mouth, sleeves already rolled up. He was in his element.

“C’mon, let’s set the table!” Chopper called, already hurrying to grab the cutlery.

Luffy started dragging you with him, eyes sparkling. “Come on come on come on come ooooon!”

You stumbled along after him with a laugh, glancing once toward the galley door as you passed. You caught the faintest glimpse of Sanji inside, wiping his hands and adjusting a tray of fruit focused, meticulous, and humming under his breath. He didn’t look up. Still, the sight made your chest warm for a second.

“FOOD!” Luffy yelled again.

And just like that, your feet left the deck once more as the world spun in circles and laughter echoed in the salt sweet air.

The dining table was already packed with plates steaming stacks of cinnamon pancakes, golden and fluffy, with fresh berries glistening like jewels. Plates of sliced fruit and scrambled eggs surrounded platters of sizzling meat, toast with butter that melted on contact, and glasses of fresh juice so vibrant they looked like sunlight in a cup. Everyone was in their place, Luffy practically vibrating with excitement as he bounced in his seat, holding himself back with visible restraint. Chopper was wide eyed, murmuring a small, “Wow,” under his breath. Brook had already begun singing softly to himself in the background, adding a calm rhythm to the buzz of morning chatter.

And then came Sanji.

He emerged from the galley with the final tray a dish of roasted vegetables and sweet sausages, perfectly arranged. His sleeves were still rolled up, his apron dusted lightly with flour, and his hair slightly tousled from the heat of the kitchen.

“Ladies,” he announced with a low, charming bow, “your breakfast has arrived.”

He moved first to Nami, as always, placing her plate in front of her with graceful precision. “For you, my lovely Nami swan, with extra honey on your pancakes just the way you like.”

She smirked behind her mug of coffee. “Charming as always, Sanji.”

“And for you, divine Robin chwan,” he said next, setting her dish down with a delicate touch. “Light seasoning, a side of papaya, and just a pinch of powdered sugar.”

Robin gave him a small, pleased smile. “Thank you. You’re quite attentive.”

And then he turned to you.

You were mid sip of juice when he knelt beside you instead of merely leaning over. The tray he carried was smaller, more focused. A beautiful arrangement of all your favorites crispy hash browns, folded omelet with cheese and herbs, pancakes with caramel drizzle and sliced bananas, and a perfectly cut piece of grilled sausage shaped like a little heart.

“Mon trésor,” he said softly, offering the tray like it was a gift more than a plate. “Everything you love. And I made the syrup myself.”

Your breath caught slightly, caught off guard by the subtle, extra sparkle in his eyes. He looked… softer, not just playful. Like this breakfast wasn’t just breakfast. Like he’d memorized your taste for reasons he hadn’t admitted yet.

You blinked, then gave him a slow, teasing smile. “You didn’t carve a heart sausage for the others, did you?”

“No,” he replied smoothly. “Only for the one who deserves it.”

You felt Nami’s stare from the other side of the table and heard Luffy inhale sharply next to you like he’d just discovered something juicy.

“Sanji…” you said, eyes narrowing playfully, “what are you up to?”

“Nothing at all,” he lied, setting the plate down with a flourish. “Only offering the best to the woman who brightens this ship more than the sunrise.”

Robin chuckled quietly. Nami straight up snorted into her coffee.

You stared at him, suspicious and amused. “Is this still about mystery lady you like?”

Sanji didn’t answer right away. His smile twitched just slightly, eyes flickering across your face like he wanted to say something more but instead, he straightened with that classic, smooth grin.

“Only a fool wouldn’t treat someone as radiant as you like royalty,” he said simply, giving a little bow before turning away to serve the others. You glanced down at the heart shaped sausage. Something fluttered in your chest.

⟡𓌉◯𓇋₊˚⊹♡You were mid bite into your syrup drenched pancakes when Nami slapped your shoulder with the back of her hand.

“OW !” you yelped, nearly dropping your fork. “What?!”

“Did you see that?!” she hissed, leaning in, her eyes wide with scandalized amusement.

“Mf what ?” you mumbled through a mouthful of food, blinking.

Nami grabbed a napkin and pretended to casually wipe her mouth, voice low and fast. “Girl, that wasn’t just flirting..”

She stared at you like you’d grown a second head. You choked slightly.

Robin, still reading her book nearby, turned a page without looking up. “I think it was quite romantic.”

You turned to Nami, whispering hotly, “Okay, okay, I know, I’m sitting right here !”

Nami snickered, eyes sparkling like she was witnessing a live soap opera. “Don’t ‘I know’ me. I’ve never seen him look like that before. And he’s Sanji. His flirting is practically a weather system.”

You felt your face heat up, the kind of warmth that crept from your cheeks to the tips of your ears. You reached for your juice, mostly for something to do with your hands. “Maybe he was just being… nice.”

“Oh yeah,” Nami drawled. “Super nice…. because he’s reaaaaaal nice”

You groaned into your hands. “Nami, please. He likes someone else, remember?”

That sobered her slightly. She leaned back, eyes narrowing with a more thoughtful glint. “Right. The ‘mystery woman.’” Then she gave you a side glance. “are you sure he said someone not on this ship?”

You bit your lip, still smiling on the outside, but there was a tug behind your ribs. A quiet little twist. Your eyes drifted back to the galley doors where he’d disappeared, probably humming while he finished up dishes or prepared Luffy’s inevitable third round. He’d looked so proud when he’d set your plate down. So sure of what he was doing. So… hopeful.

Nami tilted her head. “So… he’s head over heels and trying to grow a pair finally”

“Yeah.” You toyed with your juice glass, swirling the contents. “I think he actually wants it to mean something. For once.”

Nami let out a low whistle, then narrowed her eyes at you. “And how do you feel about that?”

You hesitated. “I mean… proud. I guess. I know we joke about how ridiculous he is, but… I think it’s really sweet he’s trying.”

She watched you for a beat too long. “But?”

Your smile faltered a little. You looked down at your plate.

“…But I feel kind of stupid,” you admitted softly.

Nami frowned. “Why?”

“Because the whole time I was helping him figure out how to win her over, I kept thinking…” You trailed off, then huffed a quiet laugh. “Never mind.”

Nami leaned closer. “Hey. Come on.”

You finally looked at her, cheeks warm. “I kept thinking how nice it would be if it was… me.”

There was a pause. Nami’s eyes softened. “Damn,” she whispered.

You elbowed her, laughing despite the ache in your chest. “Shut up.”

Robin closed her book with a soft snap. “Well… whoever she is, she must be someone very special.”

You smiled, a little more bittersweet this time, and took another bite of pancake. “Yeah,” you murmured. “She must be.”

Your fingers gently pushed a piece of banana around your plate.

He doesn’t love you. Not really. Even if part of him wants to. Even if you wish you’d said something before he asked for advice on how to love someone else.

Still blushing, you turned back to Nami, managing a weak grin. “I think I need more juice.”

as you stood, your eyes lingered one last time toward the galley. Just in time to see Sanji peek out just briefly like he was checking if you were enjoying your meal. Your heart squeezed, and you looked away before your smile gave too much away. He was trying so hard. Too bad it wasn’t for you.

The kitchen was warm with the scent of baked bread and spices when you wandered in, the early morning hush broken only by the soft clink of utensils and the faint sound of Sanji humming to himself. He stood at the counter with his sleeves rolled up, focused on arranging plates like he was crafting art instead of breakfast.

You leaned against the doorway with a small grin.

“Morning, loverboy.”

He jolted ever so slightly, a spoon slipping from his fingers and bouncing on the counter with a quiet clatter. “Tch must you sneak up on me like that?”

“I announced myself,” you said, walking in. “You’re just easy to rattle before coffee.”

He glanced over his shoulder, giving you a crooked smile. “If I’m rattled, it’s only because an angel wandered into my kitchen.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t waver as you made your way toward the pitcher of juice near the sink.

“I’m just here for this,” you said, reaching for a glass.

But before you could pour it, Sanji stepped beside you, brushing past with effortless grace. His hand slipped gently around your waist not holding, not lingering, just enough to move you an inch to the side so he could reach the pitcher.

“Allow me,” he said smoothly, as if he did this every morning. As if his hand hadn’t just sent a ripple of heat straight up your spine.

He poured the juice calmly, setting the glass down in front of you with a soft “Here you go.”

You took it, blinking, and looked down for a second to ground yourself before flashing him a smile.

“Thanks.”

Sanji leaned against the counter casually, watching you with that faint smile of his, the one that held just enough softness to make your chest feel tight. You took a sip, pretending not to notice the way your skin still buzzed faintly where he’d touched you. “Breakfast smells good.”

“Only the best for my favorite ladies,” he said smoothly

You looked down into your juice. “The food was delicious”

He chuckled, low and warm. “Im happy that I could be of service”

You glanced at him from over the rim of your glass. “You do that everyday amazingly”

He tilted his head, just the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe I just like the smile it puts on your face.”

You nearly choked. You lifted your glass. “Careful, chef. Keep that up and the mysterious girl you’re into might get jealous.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. You meant it as a joke. A tease. A shield. Sanji’s smile faltered just for a second. His gaze flicked to yours, something unreadable there.

Then he laughed, but it was quieter this time. “I'm sure she wouldn’t mind.”

You turned slightly, sipping your juice to hide your expression. Your heart did something unhelpful and fluttery. The touch of his hand still lingered like a phantom against your waist. “Well,” you said, eyes on the glass, “if she’s smart, she’ll hold on tight.”

You didn’t look back as you walked out, but you felt his gaze trail after you all the way to the door.

⟡𓌉◯𓇋₊˚⊹♡ cobblestone streets winding between open stalls, music playing faintly in the distance, and the smell of fresh pastries wafting through the air. With no mission scheduled, the Straw Hats had the rare gift of a free day on land. Naturally, you and Usopp took full advantage of it. You’d only been out for five minutes and had already stopped at three shops none of which you bought anything from. “Okay,” you said, holding up a ridiculous, oversized feathered hat from a vendor’s stall. “If I wear this, you think people will start treating me like royalty?”

Usopp struck a dramatic pose beside you. “You're so ratchet but it might work if I’m your royal advisor slash bodyguard slash legendary sniper.”

“So, your usual job?”

“Exactly,” he said proudly. “But Id be more likea knight and shining armour”

You snorted, putting the hat on Usopp’s head instead. “There. Now you look like a circus magician with tax fraud.”

He gasped in mock betrayal. “You take that back! This hat is limited edition!”

“Limited to what? Crimes against fashion?”

The vendor, who’d been quietly observing your antics, stifled a laugh while pretending to dust off some trinkets. Usopp adjusted the hat “You laugh now, but when I unveil my next great invention Usopp’s Amazing Weather Manipulation Cloak everyone will be begging to buy this look.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked, starting to walk down the street with him. “And what does this miracle cloak do?”

He puffed out his chest. “Simple. It changes the weather according to your mood. Sunny when you’re happy, storms when you’re mad ”

“So basically, you want to create a walking hazard to public safety? we will be taking away Nami’s job”

“Exactly!”

You cackled, nearly tripping over a barrel. “God, it’s a good thing Chopper’s the doctor and not you.”

“Hey! My inventions have some scientific basis!”

You gave him a look. “Like when you tried to glue mirrors to your boots so you could ‘sneak around corners’?”

Usopp immediately turned red. “That was strategic! I was testing the laws of physics!”

“You blinded yourself.”

“shall we not dwell on the past you fiend”

You were both doubled over laughing by now, dodging around carts and weaving between market stalls. A group of kids ran past you squealing, and you barely missed getting smacked in the face with a balloon on a string. You eventually slowed near a little fountain in the town square, both of you catching your breath.

Usopp leaned on the edge of the fountain dramatically. “Man… why cant all days we stay like this.”

You took a sip from your water bottle and collapsed beside him on the ledge. “That isnt great warrior of the sea of you.”

The breeze picked up, brushing through your hair, and you sat in a comfortable silence for a moment just long enough for Usopp to break it. “Do you think Sanji would survive if we came back wearing matching ‘I ❤️ Zoro’ shirts?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “No. He’d implode.”

“immediate death then we’d get kicked off the ship.”

The sun glinted off the surface of the fountain water as you sat side by side with Usopp, still catching your breath from all the laughter. A light breeze picked up, rustling the colorful banners strung between rooftops and carrying the smell of sea salt and warm bread.

You were about to comment on how this was the first day in a while that felt truly peaceful when Usopp suddenly elbowed your arm.

“Hey, hey,” he said, nodding toward a stall across the square, “look who’s working his magic.”

You followed his gaze and immediately spotted Sanji. He was standing by a small fruit stall, all smiles and flowing compliments. The woman behind it a pretty local vendor was blushing furiously as Sanji offered to help carry something for her. His hand brushed hers lightly, and he flashed that dazzling, practiced grin you’d seen him give a thousand times before.

You swallowed, your smile fading just slightly. You tried to hide it, keeping your tone light.

“Guess that’s her, huh?” you murmured, glancing down at your hands in your lap.

Usopp blinked. “Her?”

You nodded faintly. “The one he asked me advice about. Makes sense, doesn’t it? We’ve been on this island for a week. He probably met her on one of those early grocery runs or something.”

Usopp looked back at the scene Sanji carefully adjusting the strap on the woman’s basket, saying something low that made her giggle and then back at you.

You gave a small sigh, more to yourself than anything. “She’s really pretty.”

Usopp’s face scrunched up, seeing the drop in your expression. “Hey, hey don’t go all mopey on me. You don’t even know if that’s the girl. He flirts with everything that moves.”

You laughed, despite yourself, but it was a little quieter than usual. Usopp, sensing he needed to go full Usopp mode, jumped to his feet. “Alright,” he said dramatically, striking a pose. “There’s only one thing to do in moments of emotional distress.”

You looked up, suspicious. “Usopp, what are you ”

“ Distraction via comedy!” he yelled, grabbing your hand with a flourish. “Come on, I’ll perform the Dance of a Thousand Legends!”

“What?!”

Before you could brace yourself, he spun you in an overly exaggerated twirl your legs tangled, your foot caught on the edge of the fountain

And with a splash, you were completely submerged in the cool, shallow water.

Usopp’s eyes went wide. “NO NO WAIT THAT WASN’T ”

You popped up, soaked from head to toe, blinking water out of your lashes, hair plastered to your cheeks.

“…Usopp,” you said slowly, voice eerily calm.

He held up both hands. “In my defense, that was the wind.”

You arched a brow, lips twitching despite yourself. “The wind spun me into the fountain?”

“It was a team effort.”

A beat of silence passed. Then you both cracked up. Laughter echoed around the fountain again, loud and genuine and ridiculous. A few people turned to look, but you didn’t care. Usopp offered you his hand with a grin, and this time, you took it just to yank him in with you. Another splash. Another shriek. Now you were both drenched, flailing in the fountain like overgrown children. You forgot about Sanji. You forgot about the girl. For the moment, there was just laughter, water, and one very amazing best friend who knew exactly how to pull you back to the surface.

⟡𓌉◯𓇋₊˚⊹♡The dock came into view, and you and Usopp were practically wheezing from laughter as you stumbled down the path toward the ship, clothes still slightly damp from your earlier fountain mishap. Your makeshift T shirts handwritten in bold, messy letters with black marker proudly declared:

“I ❤️ ZORO”

Usopp kept pausing every few steps to bend over, hands on his knees, cackling like he hadn’t laughed in years.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, holding your side. “The look on his face is going to kill me.”

“I’m not ready,” Usopp panted, straightening up. “We need to be serious. Completely serious. No laughing.”

You immediately broke into another fit of laughter. “I already can’t breathe, how do you expect me to be serious?”

When the ship came fully into view, you shared a silent nod.

You both climbed up the ramp with as much drama as two theater kids about to win an award. The sun glinted off your ridiculous shirts as you stormed aboard like you were coming back from war. Zoro was on the deck, leaning against the mast with a toothpick in his mouth, sword at his hip, arms crossed like he definitely hadn’t been napping two minutes ago. His eyes flicked up in your direction and immediately narrowed.

You and Usopp struck matching poses. Team Rocket who?

“Zoro~!” you cooed, spinning in a slow circle to show off your shirt. “Look what we got made just for you~!”

Usopp threw both arms out. “We’re your number one fans!”

Zoro stared for a full second. “What the hell is wrong with you two.”

“Love does strange things to a person,” you said seriously, clutching your chest like you were about to faint.

“Speak for yourself,” Usopp added, holding his hand out to Zoro. “Your number one admirer. Autograph, please?”

Zoro’s face didn’t change. “You’re both idiots.”

“And proud,” you shot back with a wink.

Zoro turned, started walking away.

Usopp gasped. “Wait! Are you running from your feelings?”

“I swear, I will cut those shirts off you.”

“I’d love for you to try,” you said, chasing after him like a lovesick fangirl. “Zorooo~ come back~!”

Zoro grunted, picking up the pace, muttering something about needing to train which was definitely just code for escape. You and Usopp high fived triumphantly behind him, nearly doubled over with laughter.

“I’m giving us full credit,” you wheezed.

“As you should,” Usopp grinned. “This is peak comedy.”

The rest of the crew could only stare in confusion, amusement, or deep concern as the two of you continued your dramatic pursuit across the deck, yelling declarations of love at a very, very done swordsman. Somewhere near the helm, Franky raised an eyebrow, watching you dart after Zoro with your wet hair still dripping and marker all over your shirt. He blinked.

“…so like I need that shirt” he muttered.

Nami, passing by with a drink, didn’t look up. “No. No, you don’t.”

⟡𓌉◯𓇋₊˚⊹♡The sun was low in the sky, casting a golden shimmer across the waves lapping gently against the docked ship. You stood near the edge of the deck, your still soaked hair dripping quietly onto the wood below as you twisted it in your hands, trying to wring out as much water as you could. The sea breeze lifted the ends of your hair and shirt, still clinging damply to your frame. Your laughter from earlier with Usopp had faded into a peaceful calm now, the kind that settles in after the hecticness dies down and your chest is sore from joy.

Unbeknownst to you, Sanji stood just a few feet away frozen.

His cigarette hung lazily from his lips, forgotten.

The way the setting sun hit you glistening droplets trailing down your neck, the soft curve of your smile even in silence it was like something out of one of his daydreams. His heart gave a strange little flutter, and for a moment, everything else faded into the background. Sparkles. Literal sparkles.

He sighed, eyes softening like he didn’t even realize he was staring. then… he saw it. The shirt. “I ❤️ ZORO.”

His jaw clenched. The sparkles popped like a bubble. His eye twitched. “Zoro?” He looked around as if to yell “WHY ZORO?!” to the gods themselves.

Muttering something under his breath that might’ve included “blasphemous,” Sanji snuffed out his cigarette and made his way toward you, trying his best to look composed like his heart hadn’t just been broken by marker ink.

You heard soft footsteps behind you before you felt the gentle weight of a towel placed across your shoulders.

“Dry off properly,” Sanji said, voice low but kind. “You’ll catch a cold standing around like that.”

You blinked, looking over your shoulder at him in surprise.

“Oh thank you,” you said, taking the towel and patting your face first, then moving to your hair. “Sorry, didn’t mean to leave a puddle. Again.”

He gave a small shake of his head, kneeling down slightly to help towel off the ends of your hair. “Don’t apologize. You looked like a drowned cat earlier. Now you look like a damp angel.”

You rolled your eyes with a small smile. “You were doing so well. So close to normal.”

“Can’t help it,” he murmured, fingers brushing your shoulder briefly before pulling back. “You’re lucky I care whether you freeze to death.”

You looked at him then, soft towel still pressed to your hair, and his gaze met yours for a second too long.

“…Thanks, Sanji,” you said again, a little more sincerely this time.

His hand hovered like he wanted to reach for you again, but then his eyes flicked back to your shirt. The grimace returned instantly.

“He doesnt deserve that,” he muttered, standing up straight.

You laughed as he turned away. “HEY! hes so babygirl I cant help it” you called after him.

“he is absolutely not” he shouted back. “You want breakfast tomorrow? Say goodbye to that shirt!” You grinned to yourself, towel wrapped around your shoulders, and turned back toward the waves, a little warmer than you’d been before.

Sanji had only made it a few steps before turning on his heel with a fresh spark of dramatics and indignation blazing in his eyes. “Actually,” he said, pointing directly at your chest well, your shirt, but it didn’t help his case “take that off.”

You blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

“That shirt!” he sputtered, already flailing slightly. “That insult to fashion and common decency take it off!”

Your grin curled like a mischievous wave. “Oh? So you do want me to take my clothes off.”

He froze Eyes wide. Face immediately red. “No I mean yes wait, NO!”

You burst into laughter, doubling over slightly with the towel still wrapped around your shoulders. “Wow, Sanji. I didn’t think you’d be so bold! Here? Out in the open?”

“That’s not ! That’s not what I meant, don’t twist my words like that!” he wailed, fanning himself with one hand, his other flailing like he was fighting off a swarm of bees. “I just I meant the shirt! Not ! Not you being ! Naked ! I mean, not that I’d mind NO, WAIT !”

You were fully wheezing now, nearly stumbling over the dock as you clutched the towel and your ribs.

“I can’t believe this is the hill you chose to die on,” you giggled.

He groaned into his hands. “This is not what I meant! Mosshead doesn’t deserve to be worshipped like that, not even ironically! What does he have that I don’t, huh?!”

You tilted your head with an evil sparkle in your eye. “You mean besides incredible muscle mass, a mysterious bad boy attitude, and oh my god hes just so handsome”

Sanji looked like you’d kicked him in the soul.

“I I have !” He pointed to himself, eyes wide, desperate. “I can cook! I’m chivalrous! I’d rather die than let you even get a scratch, i bet he wouldn’t even–”

You raised a brow, still smirking. “So… you’re saying you want me to wear your name on my shirt?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Blushed so hard he practically glowed.

Then muttered, “if it’s written in chocolate on you everything would change.”

You blinked. You weren’t sure if he meant on a shirt or on your skin, but judging by how red his ears were now, he wasn’t sure either.

“…You’re unbelievable,” you snorted, shaking your head and heading toward the ramp.

“You started it!” he called after you, still flustered and pointing. “I’m redeeming fashion! I’m doing the Lord’s work!”

You turned just slightly, giving him a wink.

“Sure, loverboy. Let me know when your merch line drops.” You disappeared up the ship, leaving a very red, very confused Sanji behind with his towel and shattered pride.

⟡𓌉◯𓇋₊˚⊹♡Everyone had long since gone to bed, their laughter fading into soft snores behind closed doors.

Except you.

Sleep just… wasn’t happening. No matter how many times you rolled over or how tightly you hugged your pillow, your mind wouldn’t stop spinning. So you gave up, slipped into a loose sweater and shorts, and padded softly down the hall barefoot toward the kitchen. you padded softly into the kitchen, hoping some warm tea or leftover fruit might help settle your restless thoughts.

What you didn’t expect was the dim glow of the kitchen lamp already on… or the disheveled blond figure hunched over on the bench beneath the window.

“Sanji?”

His head lifted slowly. His tie was loose and crooked, shirt half buttoned, and his hair messier than usual like he’d run his fingers through it too many times. His cheeks were flushed a faint rose, and his eyes were just the wrong kind of glossy.

He blinked, then smiled like he was watching the sun rise for the first time.

“Angel,” he breathed. “You really do walk on clouds, don’t you?”

You blinked, caught a little off guard by how fast he perked up.

“Hey, hey easy there, loverboy,” you said with a chuckle, walking over and gently placing your hands on his shoulders to ease him back down. “Calm down, big boy.” You couldn’t help a snort. “Okay, Casanova, how many glasses in are you?”

He held up two fingers… then thought about it and added a third. “10.”

“Right.”

You walked past him to the counter and grabbed a clean cup, filling it with water. “You’re lucky it’s me and not Zoro. He’d have tied you to the mast for being this loud.”

“He’s just jealous of me,” Sanji mumbled dramatically, gaze following you the entire way.

You walked back to him, holding out the glass. “Drink this. You’re gonna regret whatever this is in the morning.”

He stared at the water. “But you’re the only thing I’m thirsty for ”

“Sanji,” you warned with a half laugh, plopping into the chair beside him and crossing your arms.

“Right. Water.” He took the glass and chugged it like it might turn into wine. “That was for you.”

“Thanks,” you snorted. “I feel incredibly hydrated by proxy.”

He swayed slightly and rested his cheek against his fist, still looking at you like you held the moon in your palms. “You’re really beautiful, you know that?”

You tilted your head. “You tell every girl that.”

“But I mean it more when it’s you,” he slurred softly.

Your lips parted, but the words didn’t come. There was something raw about how he said it. Like he wasn’t trying to charm you. Just… saying what he felt.

You swallowed and looked away for a second, staring at the quiet kitchen. “Why’re you drinking alone?”

He shrugged, shoulders loose and hazy. “Just thinking. About stupid things. About smart things that feel stupid. About shirts and swords and ” he hiccuped, “ how I’ll never be cool like Zoro.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “Zoro wouldn’t even know how to turn on a stove.”

“I know!” Sanji whined. “I know. But he doesn’t need to. People just like him anyway. And you ” he paused, his voice dropping a little “you wore his name.”

That made you blink. You looked at him fully now. “Sanji…”

He let out a breathy laugh and shook his head, burying his face in his arms against the table.

“I’m being dumb again, huh?” he mumbled. “I always get like this when you’re near. It’s like my brain turns into scrambled eggs.”

You watched him for a moment, your chest tight with something unspoken.

“…You’re not dumb,” you said finally, your voice quiet. “You’re just bad at pretending you don’t feel things.”

He peeked up at you, eyes soft.

You smiled gently. “It’s kinda… what I like about you.”

You sat down next to him on the bench, a comfortable space between you until Sanji, with absolutely zero hesitation, leaned into you and snuggled his head against your shoulder.

“Mmm.” His voice was muffled in your sweater. “You’re so warm. You smell like the sea and something sweet… like honey. Or cake. Or maybe youre just as sweet.”

You blinked, looking down at the mess of blond hair now nestled into you. You let him rest there, too tired to push him off and maybe not really wanting to. The kitchen was quiet aside from the ticking of the wall clock and the hum of the ship gently rocking with the waves. His body was warm against yours, heavy and content.

After a moment, you murmured, “You okay, Sanji?”

He let out a sigh, his breath hitting your collarbone. “Nope.”

You smiled faintly, resting your head lightly against his. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.”

“…Want more water?”

“Only if you hold it for me like a baby bird.”

You snorted. “Yeah, you’re done.”

Sanji shifted slightly against you, cheek still pressed to your shoulder, but now his fingers were fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve tugging, releasing, tugging again. There was a quiet stillness in the kitchen, broken only by the ticking clock and the gentle sway of the ship. “…Hey,” he mumbled, voice thick and unsteady. “Can I ask you something?”

You glanced down at him, smile soft. “Sure.”

He hesitated, then pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. They were a little glassy from the wine, sure, but behind that, you saw something so cute and honest peeking through. He looked almost… scared.

“Do you…” He swallowed. “Do you actually like me? Like this?”

You blinked. “What do you mean ‘like this’?”

He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, face now red as a tomato. “I mean I know I’m kind of a disaster. I flirt too much, I say dumb stuff, I fall too fast, I… twirl around like an idiot half the time. But when I asked you for advice… I wasn’t ”

He cut himself off with a shaky breath, then turned back to you, expression completely open now, like he was laying his heart on the table next to the crumbs and the empty wine bottle.

“…I was trying to ask how to get you to like me.”

Time stopped. Literally, it felt like the kitchen froze. The air thickened, your heart skipped so hard it hurt, and your brain went completely blank except for one long, internal scream.

“W What?” you breathed.

He winced slightly, clearly mistaking your shock for horror. “I know I’m an idiot. I thought maybe if I asked like it was about someone else, it wouldn’t be so embarrassing. You’re just so amazing. You laugh at my jokes, you call me out when I’m being over the top, and you look at me like I’m… a person. Not a character.”

Your mouth opened and closed uselessly. “Wait. Wait.”

He kept going, barely able to meet your eyes now, fingers nervously twisting the fabric of your sweater. “I thought if I could just be better, maybe you’d see me differently. Maybe you’d want to give me a shot. I didn’t want to mess it up by saying the wrong thing so I thought… maybe you could tell me how to win over a girl like you. B But that’s stupid, right?”

It hit you like a ton of bricks. A ton of bricks wrapped in love letters and wine stained confessions. The girl he’d been talking about… the one he wanted to be better for, the one he asked about so earnestly… it wasn’t some island stranger.

It had been you.

Your breath hitched as your brain scrambled for a coherent thought. Your face burned so hot it might’ve glowed in the dark.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, barely audible. “Sanji.”

He was still looking down, shoulders tense, voice quiet and fragile. “Yeah?”

You swallowed hard. “You… you’re in love with me?”

His face practically exploded in red as he jerked his head back up to look at you, horrified. “I Wh What?! I mean yes?! No I mean dammit oui?! I didn’t mean to say it like that! I meant like not like, love love but maybe like a crush or oh god I’m drunk, ignore me ”

You pressed your hands to your cheeks, laughing way too high pitched, flustered beyond saving.

“Sanji,” you squeaked.

“I was so smooth in my head,” he groaned, burying his face into your shoulder again. “I had speeches and everything. Why did I drink five glasses?!”

You laughed again, covering your face. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Is that a yes idiot or a no idiot?”

You bit your lip, cheeks hot, heart racing as you looked down at the ridiculous, flustered man holding onto your arm like he might float away otherwise.

“…Maybe it’s a yes idiot,” you whispered.

His head whipped up. “What?!”

You smiled shyly. “Maybe I like you too. Just the way you are.”

He blinked. Then blinked again. And then

He passed out in your lap.

“…Unbelievable,” you muttered, flustered and smiling helplessly as you smoothed back his hair. “You really are the dumbest romantic I’ve ever met.”

Sanji: I just wanna eat you up… starting with a little nibble here and maybe a lick there

#vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji vinsmoke #sanji x reader #op sanji #one piece sanji #black leg sanji #sanji #one piece x reader #one piece #op #op x reader #xaistories

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lassiie · 1 month ago

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HUNTED. virgin!stepbro!Jake x perv!reader

You didn’t just get a new family — you got Jake. Your wide-eyed, too-sweet stepbrother, always watching like he’s starving. Slightly younger and painfully innocent. And maybe it’s time you gave him something to dream about. After all… he’ll make the perfect little revenge.

CONTENT ↠ nsfw! smut, porn with plot, sub!Jake, obsessive Jake, slight possessiveness, did I mention sub behavior jake ???, rough sexual dynamics, dry humping, unprotected sex (don’t do it), oral (R receiving), family issues, stepcon, fluff??, sex obsessed jake, worshiping on reader, panty stealing, mention of slight non-con (reader does want it but keep it a secret), voyeurism, strong depiction of fantasy (he’s a yapper on what he’s gonna do but also a man of his word lol). Before you dive, read the warnings. don’t like it, don’t read. WORDCOUNT ↠ 10k

You weren’t supposed to make it this hard — not for your parents.

You used to be the quiet one. Obedient. Graded by how well you behaved, how little you needed. You never raised your voice, never messed up. You didn’t even know how to say “no.” Just endless praise for how perfect you were.

You played the role, learned the script. But they never really knew you. Not your father, who loved an idea of you more than the reality. Not your mother, who only ever showed up to parade you like proof of her own success.

And maybe it was better that way. They didn’t know each other either — not really. So when they both confessed, almost proudly, that they’d been cheating the whole time… you weren’t even shocked. They tore the marriage apart like it was nothing. The only surprising part? How quickly it ended.

No screaming. No court battles. Just signatures, silence — and no one asking where you wanted to go.

That’s what hurt the most. Not the divorce. But how easily they let you go. Like you were a suitcase passed between homes.

You stopped being angry somewhere along the way. The rage dulled into numbness, then into strategy. You’d get through it. Play along. Smile on command until you have your own life.

And in the meantime? You became the perfect daughter all over again. Especially at your father’s place — the house closest to your university, the one you used as your main base. Easy enough, since he was never there. His new wife wasn’t either. They were just ghosts with paychecks.

So you had the space. The silence.

And… Jake.

He was the only real presence in that house. Your new stepbrother. Two years younger. Too polite. Too handsome. Always there. Always watching.

Straight-A student, quiet, almost religious in the way he carried himself — like everything he did had to be pure, soft, perfect. He reminded you too much of who you used to be. But Jake wasn’t hiding from himself. No, he actually wore it the “good-boy act”. Almost praise-seeking. Like he needed it. Like he craved someone to reward him for behaving.

At first, you didn’t mind. He was sweet, helpful, easy to talk to, he actually made you forget your loneliness at some point. He was a lonely kid too, trying to impress his new older sister — so eager to be liked, it was almost charming.

Almost.

Because there was something else beneath that polished politeness. Something naive that begged to be broken. Jake was the kind of guy who probably kissed a few girls here and there, but never, never had a woman close enough to whisper filthy little things into his ear. He looked like he never touched a woman before to be honest. And it turned you on. The idea made you so wet at times when you selfcared yourself to the thought of him begging to taste you, to touch you, to fuck you clumsy and shy until you’ll teach him.

Was it revenge ? Or just that Jake made your brain chemistry weird ? You didn’t know. Maybe… maybe it was just Jake. Maybe he made your brain short-circuit. Because after your 21st birthday — and his 19th — something shifted. You started playing foolish games.

At first, it was innocent. Almost.

Just tight pajamas clinging to your curves while you stretched lazily across the couch. Too short shorts and tiny crop tops on the balcony while arching your back when he passed by when you exercised. Shirts with just one button too few left closed, your skin warm and glowing under the fabric while napping.

And the showers… oh, the showers. You’d always let him go after you — he insisted, of course, the gentlemen he is. But somehow, you kept “forgetting” your underwear and attire in the bathroom. Such a forgetful dumb dumb girl. And somehow, they always came back — folded neatly, quietly placed beside your bedroom door on the shelf. Like a little offering, a quiet plea. And when they started not coming back you knew, why… And that was your confirmation.

You started to notice the way he lingered when you helped him with his classes. Always a little too close. Breathing a little too shallow.

Eyes flicking to your thighs, boobs, your mouth — quickly, then guiltily when you almost caught him slacking.

You’d wear your softest perfume on purpose. Sweet, honeyed, monoi impossible to ignore in close spaces.

And Jake? He tried so hard not to breathe you in.

But you saw him. You saw the way his throat worked, the way that sinful Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed you down like a craving. His fingers clenched against his thigh, desperate to be somewhere else every time your shoulders collide. The way his pretty eyes pleaded with you, full of guilt and need.

And that bulge. Oh dear, it looked so fat. Pressing against the soft fabric of his sweatpants, twitching like it had a mind of its own. He was trying so hard to be good. To be polite. And that’s exactly what made you want to break him.

Jake made you curious — hungry. How much would it take? How far could you push until that last fragile piece of restraint snapped inside him?

It became a game for years. A delicious one. You played it filthier with each passing month, even when it felt like you were the one balancing on the edge of his palm.

You made sure he knew you weren’t some innocent girl. When he got home late, you started leaving your bedroom door cracked open just enough for the sound to leak. Those high, broken little moans — fake at first, but later… not.

And then the mirror ? You angled it perfectly. So if he even looked toward your room while walking down the hall, he'd see you.

One night you were on your knees at the foot of the bed, legs spread. His oversized hoodie hanging loose over your hips — not to hide anything, just to tease. Your panties soaked and pushed to the side. Your fingers working fast, fucking yourself. Messy. Sloppy. Your water gushing everywhere.

You didn’t call his name, but you knew he’d hear it anyway. You almost heard him yelp on the other side of the wall — barely muffled, strained. Then moans.

And when your orgasm hit, your walls clenched so tight it hurt, you weren’t touching air anymore. You were clenching around the idea of him.

And you got bolder.

Another time, your curiosity won. It happened at times you'd find yourself lazily walking around the house, entering his room looking around his books and computer, playing his games. Then… You found a file on his laptop — half-hidden in the Bluetooth sharing folder.

A video.

The timestamp? Right down to the hour and day you remembered arching your back and crying into your pillow, a dildo vibrating where it felt the best. You clicked on it. The screen lit up with you. Your body. That same mirror. That same damn dildo. He’d recorded the whole thing.

Poor boy.

You didn’t delete it.

You let him keep it.

Because the thought of him doing unspeakable things to that video every night?

It made you wetter than anything.

It really went too far the night you decided to test him. To really test him.

You weren’t even into the guy you invited over that day. This peer from uni was not your type. Too talkative, too flirty, too easy. But he served a purpose. You needed a body. A voice. A laugh. Something for Jake to see until it was two in the morning. And he made sure to always have an eye on you guys, even if he had class that day. You stopped counting the number of time he got out of his room for water and snacks, texted you “you ok ?”, “need something ?”, heard his door opening just to listen to your flirting session.

He saw how you sat close to your guest. Laughed a little too hard. Let your fingers linger when you handed him his glass. Tilted your head when he made a joke. Let him have his hand on your inner thigh. Heard the sound of loud kissing.

And when you walked him to the door, your body angled toward him just enough for Jake to imagine something — anything, you almost burst laughing.

“Text me when you're free” you said, soft but clear, just loud enough.

“Ok princess.” your unwanted guest smiled.

You didn’t even close the door right away. You let it hang open while you adjusted your shirt, as if you’d just been touched.

You felt Jake watching from the stairs.

And the next morning? He didn’t say a word. Didn’t look at you. Jaw locked. Shoulders stiff. He practically radiated that stormy silence. And you drank it in. You were already wet before the day ended. playing with the friction of your tights at the new idea of an angry Jake, bending you over some desk and fucking you dumb.

That night, he knocked. Not loud, neither confident. Just a soft, almost guilty tap — like he hated himself for even standing there.

“Movie ?” His voice almost cracked, thin and so hesitant. Like he regretted the word the second it left his mouth. You didn’t look up right away — your eyes glued to your notes — but when you did, you offered him a small smile. Soft. Painless.

“Sure.”

And you dressed the part.

Cotton shorts with cute patterns— soft and clingy, short enough they might as well be sin. No bra. Just his hoodie. Oversized, too familiar, the neck too wide, sliding off your shoulder like it belonged there. Like you belonged in his clothes.

You curled beside him on the couch, the way temptation curls around the spine — warm and impossible to ignore. Your thigh brushed his. Close enough for your breath to touch his skin. Close ²enough to burn.

The movie flickered on, but neither of you really watched it, you could bet on it. He was too busy pretending not to want you. not to look at you from the corner of his eyes. And you… you were too busy pretending not to know.

Every time you moved, it was calculated. Subtle.

The lazy stretch of your limbs. The soft roll of your hips when you shift to get "comfortable." The way your hoodie rose and fell, teasing bits of skin like secrets he wasn’t allowed to touch.

And Jake… poor Jake… He was unraveling. Silently. Inch by inch.

You could feel it — the tension in his body each time your skin brushed his. The way his breath caught when your nipple grazed his arm beneath the fabric.

His composure was a dam with cracks spider webbing through it. And you were the water, pressing harder every second.

Then, your voice — low and sugar-sweet — slid into the space between you two like a knife.

“Jake… You don’t want me to bring boys over, huh?” You tilted your head, blinking up at him with faux innocence. “You looked pretty mad…”

His jaw tensed. His shoulders twitched. He looked at you like you’d lit a match and tossed it onto his bed.

“I just…” He swallowed. “I don’t think it’s smart. Some guys… Just want…”

“Want?” you echoed, soft as silk, a dangerous little smirk tugging at your lips. “…To do me?”

The way you said it made him flinch — like the words physically hit him.

You laughed, sweet and syrupy, pretending not to notice how he clenched his fists.

“I wish…” you murmured. “But I don’t think I’m the kind of girl guys want to really fuck, you know?”

You were sure he’d shatter. Right there. He turned to you, and for a second, he looked like something fragile cracking. His eyes searched your face — pained ? reverent ? Almost angry at you for not seeing what you meant to him.

His hand came up, hesitant at first, and gently patted your head, adjusting your hair, like he didn’t know what else to do with the burning inside him.

“That’s not true,” he said, voice hoarse. “You’re… you’re gorgeous.”

You didn’t laugh this time. Because suddenly… something about the way he said it felt real. Too real.

And it settled into your stomach like a fire and confusion.

So you stood — a little too fast — pretending it was nothing.

You stretched, arms overhead, the hoodie lifting just enough to reveal the sweet curve where your shorts clung between your thighs. You felt his gaze like heat — devouring. Silently begging.

“Want some popcorn?” Your voice was casual, light. But the silence that followed was not.

You turned to glance back — and there he was, still seated, still staring. His lips parted, breath uneven. His knuckles pale from how tightly he gripped the couch cushion. His eyes were glassy with something halfway between hunger and heartbreak.

He wanted you. So badly it hurted him. And you…

You didn’t know what you wanted. But it was starting to feel like it might be him.

He blinked, like you’d just woken him from a dream. Swallowed. Then nodded — barely.

“…Yeah. Sure…” Jake’s voice was thin and shaky.

🕛

When you returned, he was sitting on the carpet closer to the screen —but he looked… Rigid. You slid beside him again, close. Pressed in. The look in his eyes disappointed like he expected you to go back to the couch and abandon him on the big fluffy rug.

And at some point, you must’ve fallen asleep. Or pretended to. You weren’t sure when his arm slipped around you too, but it happened somehow.

You only knew you woke up spooned tight against his chest, the glow of the TV flickering counting down on the last two minutes before shutting down. The air was cool, but his body behind you was so hot.

His breath brushed your neck. And then —you felt it.

Hard. Thick. Pressed flush to the curve of your ass. You froze. Not in fear. In calculation.

The slow grind of his cock against your back was not an accident. Or was he asleep too ?

No. This wasn’t a sleep twitch… This was rhythm. Friction.

You stayed still. Barely breathing. He was holding you like he needed to be inside you just to keep breathing. His arm clutched your waist like he thought you might vanish.

And that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was that you could hear the noise he made.

A low, strangled groan.

Your name — whispered so faintly, so pathetically — like he was praying.

You bit your lip, hard. Your panties clung to you, soaked from how hot your core had gone. You could feel your own pulse between your legs, fast and desperate. And when you shifted your hips ever so slightly and faintly— to relieve the wetness, nothing more — his mid asleep mind took it as permission.

His hips ground forward. Almost hard. Controlled.

The way his cock dragged between your asscheeks through the fabric had your eyes rolling shut. It was clumsy, hungry, dry humping like he didn’t care what dignity he had left.

The arm pillow under your head shifted, to press against your throat. to cage you. Not choking. Not violent. Just there. To keep you. To claim you.

His body was all over you now.

The humping turned to rutting — fast, erratic. and his grip started to strangle you slightly. He was panting into your hair to your ear almost licking like an animal, his breath sticky and messy, hips chasing release like it hurt to hold it back.

You couldn’t help it, you moaned. Quiet. Barely there. But enough.

And he froze. Just for a second.

But you didn’t move. Didn’t open your eyes. You let him think you were still asleep. And just like that—

He started again.

Rougher now. Curious, or gone crazy. Because he lifted your thigh over his leg like he wanted you open, more accessible, more his.

his hand ended up cupping your pussy and you almost wine at him fiding you’re wet as fuck. “Holly sh…” he whisper.

He ground into your ass like he was fucking you through his short, like he was losing his mind just from the feeling of your body under him. His mouth brushed your neck, and you heard your name again.

Muttered. Broken. Like a secret. Like a prayer. Like a sin.

And still, you didn’t stop him. You let him use you. Let him melt against you. Let him rut like a dog in heat.

Because you knew what came next. He was already ruined. And this was just the beginning.

🕜

You don’t open your eyes until the room is quiet. Until his breathing slows.

Until the soft pad of his footsteps retreats across the carpet, shaky and shameful.

He leaves you there — half-dressed, flushed, wrecked — with a blanket tucked around your body like penance. As if warmth could erase what he did. As if the trembling in your thighs wasn’t already permanent. As if you didn’t feel every hot, ragged grind of his cock rutting through his shorts like he was trying to breed you in his sleep.

And the kiss. God, that stupid trembling kiss. Soft. Barely there.

Pressed to your forehead like an apology. Like he knew he crossed a line but couldn’t help himself. And the whisper, hoarse and frantic:

“’m sorry… ‘m sorry… I didn’t mean to. I swear, I just—fuck, I’m sorry.”

As if that made him better than what he really was. As if that erased how soaked your panties were from the way he used you. You wait. Wait for the creak of the stairs. Wait for the soft click of his door.

And then — you move.

Your body curls in on itself like it’s starving. You’re fucking shaking. Your hand dives straight between your thighs, fingers pressing through the soaked cotton, trembling.

It’s so, so, so wet. Disgustingly wet. The fabric sticks to your folds like glue, like your cunt wanted to keep his shape. You bite down on the throw pillow, knuckles white, grinding against your hand like it might make you feel whole again. But it won’t. Not really.

Because he touched you. Because he left you. Because he thinks you slept through the way he rutted against you like a feral fucking animal, like you didn’t feel every ragged thrust of his hips desperate to paint you with cum, guilt and heat.

He thinks you didn’t know. Didn’t felt it. Didn’t want it.

But you did. You let it happen. You fucking invited it.

And now?

He’s upstairs, hiding upstairs like he didn’t just violate every boundary between you, fucking his mattress to the memory of you, into the same fucking shorts he creamed earlier.

Because he can’t help it. Because you’re in his blood now.

You giggle. It’s breathy, drunk, delirious — because it’s true.

He’s the one ruined. He’s the one haunted.

He came so hard trying not to wake you — and now he can’t stop imagining it.

And you… What about you ?

You climb the stairs slowly. Steady. Dripping.

You were headed to your own room. You really were. But then you hear it. The soft creak of his mattress.

That familiar, low grunt — choked and desperate, barely audible but so damn needy.

You pause. Bare feet planted on the hallway carpet. Heart pounding. Your body buzzes, strung tight as wire. You move closer. Silent. Curious.

Then you hear it. Really hear it.

The unmistakable slap of skin on skin. The low wet rhythm of his hand fisting his cock in the dark, probably red and raw from how many times he’s edged himself on your name.

And underneath? That tiny, cursed sound.

That video.

The one he shouldn’t have. The one you let him keep.

The one of you — legs spread, mouth open, giggling as you played with yourself just for him that one night, not knowing he hit record.

You never mentioned it. You never stopped him. Because deep down, you wanted him to keep it.

To ruin himself with it. Over and over and over.

But you’re just as pathetic. Your fingers are between your legs again before you even register it. The cotton is useless now. Sopping. You slide past it like it’s not even there, middle finger sinking into heat, other hand flat on his door as you grind your hips into your palm.

Then you hear it — your name. Again. Again. And again. He is obsessed for sure. He sob. Choked out like a fucking prayer as the mattress groans under him.

“Fuck, I need you—I need to be inside that fucking—fuck, please—let me fill you, let me breed you, I’ll give you everything, just—please— please—”

You moan against his door, the sound of it mixing with the video, forehead pressed to the wood, thighs clenched around your own wrist. Your cunt clenches hard around your fingers, and you feel it start to build — fast, brutal, like you’ve been edging since he left you in the living room.

And still he goes on — pathetic little noises, bed frame creaking, the wet slap of his fist around his wet cock echoing through the door.

On the other side of the door. His face is flushed. His glasses crooked and hair plastered to his forehead. Jaw tight. Shirt rolled-up in his mouth, abs twitching. The thick head of his cock leaking down his wrist as he fucks into his hand like it’s you — his other hand still wet from where he cupped you, fingers slick with your essence, and the way he brings it to his mouth — then tasting you, like he can’t get enough, savoring the remnants of you on his skin. The same shorts he ruined earlier — still damp, pushed down just enough for him to get his dick out.

He’s fucking filthy. He’s yours. Your filthy Jake.

Your orgasm hits — sharp, dirty, brutal.

You clamp your mouth shut, panting silent against the doorframe as your whole body trembles, bending on your tiptoes, fingers twitching deep inside, cunt pulsing so hard it aches.

And still — he doesn’t know.

You sink to your knees, ruined, wet, wrecked, gasping against the wood. Just in time to hear him fall apart. The gasp. The cry. The broken sob of your name as he cums for the second time tonight. And you can hear it. The wet slap of it coating his hand, the hiss through his teeth as he tries not to scream.

You smile.

The next week felt like punishment. On the very next day you wake up to your dad and wife coming back home. Your dad pesters you for not going to your mom’s like they planned.

He keeps treating you like a kid even if you’re now 22. You hear him talk like you’re 5. You get along with him and leave the same day with him to join your mom’s family for their trip. where nothing felt like yours, with two loud and intrusive big brothers : Jay and Heeseung, not even a third as kind as Jake. You spent most days fantasizing about getting back to your father’s house. The silence. The chill in the air. The presence of that needy Jake.

You booked an earlier flight back the moment you realized the date: his birthday !

You knew he’d be at Sunghoon’s place — the infamous party, the rowdy crowd, his loud-ass friends. You thought about showing up, joining the cheers, maybe giving him a gift. But instead, you went home first.

You wanted to look good. No — you wanted to look like a tentation. And when you showed up, fashionably late, hair curled into a sharp ponytail, lips glazed, your little black dress hugging you like it knew every secret Jake ever fantasized about — you found him.

On the stairs. Outside his own party.

Drunk. Gloriously fucked up. Head in his hands, murmuring to himself like the air had answers. When he looked up and saw you, his eyes locked like he couldn’t believe you were real. That you’d shown up for him. That you looked like that.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, standing on shaky legs and staggering toward you like you were gravity and he was finally done resisting. He hugged you, his arms slipping around your waist like they had every right. His mouth found your neck under the guise of a greeting, inhaling you like perfume could get him high. His fingers slid a little too far down your bare back.

You stepped away, pulse thrumming.

“Jake… are you okay?”

He blinked, all glassy-eyed and helpless. “You came,” his voice was thick with liquor and longing. “Fuck, I missed you. I missed your smell. Missed you everywhere.”

You didn’t have time to answer before a car pulled up. Sunghoon stepped out, smiling politely, playing the good host. He explained the mess Jake had made — got too drunk waiting for you, tried to get home alone, and ended up just sitting out here like a sad hot mess. You thanked him, brushed off his offer for a ride, your cab was still waiting.

Sunghoon helped Jake into the back seat. And the second that door shut, chaos took root.

Jake slumped into you, lips grazing your collarbone, breath hot and sloppy. His hand found your thigh, fingers pressing in slow, lazy circles like your skin was his drug. You flinched when he crept too high, but he didn’t stop — not until you caught his wrist.

“You ok ? Jake ?”

He blabber incoherently, but you understand the most : he is so happy you made it, he’s so happy you’re here with him, he wished you didn’t get back to your mom, how lonely he was. How your scent started to not linger anywhere. His eyes are begging but not like any other day. You stop his hand halfway to your panty, again, while trying to keep composure. Lucky you, it was peach night, all the car's lights were down and you’re sitting behind the driver.

You now understand why Jake refuses to drink. It makes his real persona oblivious.

You feel his head tilt from your shoulder to your neck making you weak, extending his tongue trying to catch a limp of your taste while murmuring excuses and plea. Even drunk he knows how to turn you on.

By the time you got home, he was practically glued to your back. You had a cake box in one hand and one very needy Jake humping your ass like it was his emotional support animal. You shoved him onto the couch, frustrated and flustered, his name already a warning on your tongue.

“Jake,” you snapped. “You reek. Go shower.”

He groaned.

“Jake…”

He sat up finally—

And then, with zero hesitation — yanked you down onto him. His thigh pressed up between your legs. His hands gripped your hips like handles. His lips? All over you. Jaw. Ear. Neck. One kiss after another, slurred and sensual.

Then pulled you under him with no force left in your body to resist. But he’s such a kiddo right now you can help but not to take him too seriously.

The couch gave way as his weight pinned you, his thigh pressing exactly where it shouldn’t. His breath hot on your cheek, smell of liquor, his mouth leaving soft, open kisses down your jaw.

“I wished you’d wear… that purple lace,” he breathed, almost begging for it. “I came…” kiss “...so hard in those.” kiss “I- I Didn’t mean to. Wanted to give them back” kiss. “But… I kept sniffing them. And I— fuck, I’m so sorry.” kiss.

His tongue flicked your earlobe and your hips arched before you could stop.

“Hey kiddo—”

“I’ll buy you new ones.” kiss. “The exact same.” kiss. “I'll buy you ivory ones.” kiss. “Just let me see them on you.” kiss “Please. I’ll be good.” kiss “I’ll— I’ll clean up.”

You shoved him off you with more effort than expected and dragged him down the hall toward the bathroom, him still pawing at your hips, nuzzling your chest like a cat in heat.

The second the cold water hit him, he screamed like the devil himself got baptized.

You laughed — hard, doubling over.

You burst out laughing for a while. While his expression got lost in his wet hair, he was silent. soaked in his cloth, his sexy hand suddenly backing up his hair. And then you saw his dark expression—he grinned. He hit the button. The shower switched to rain mode — and your clothes were soaked in seconds. Water clung to your skin like hands. His chest pressed to yours in seconds.

The world stilled for a second when your eyes locked. He stares at your lips like they were scripture. Like one kiss could save him from damnation. And when he leans in—

You step back.

His lips hovered in the air, helpless, lost. Your smile was too sweet to reject him. Too knowing. you murmure against his ear under the loud sound of falling water.

“Get your shit together. Wash up. Then come eat your cake.”

Your fingers slid beneath your dress, His eyes dropped instantly. When your hand reappeared, you were holding your purple lace panties — the exact pair he stole. The ones he came in. The ones you let him keep.

His lips trembled.

But you said nothing else. He understood your message. You turned, wrung out your hair, And without a word, you walked away. Peeled your drees off, Leaving a trail of wet footprints and temptation so thick he couldn’t breathe.

You didn’t look back. Just unzipped the dress, let it fall. Bare ass, bare back. Nothing.

And you lived with a smile. Jake adored this. No, he worshipped you.

That’s why he stayed in that shower, panting, fists clenched, cock throbbing, brain screaming. Because backing off when you said no? That was pure respect. But watching you walk away like a siren wrapped in silk and defiance, and do nothing ?

That was torture.

The cold water didn’t sober him. You did. It vanished the second you pulled away from his kiss. That one step back — it slapped clarity into his brain harder than any ice bucket ever could. And as he watched you leave, he finally realized:

You gave him a show. You knew. You fucking knew. And the worst part ? You wanted him to know that you were aware of his behavior. As if you liked it.

You weren’t his sister. Not really “family”. You were his. And he was done pretending.

That's what he kept thinking while showering.

That he’d follow you to the edge of reason. Crawl through every of your rules to get to you. Fuck his reputation. Fuck his guilt. Fuck the whisper of wrong in the back of his skull.

He didn’t want to protect you anymore. Now he wanted to pin you down. He wanted to fuck you against the kitchen island until you cried. He wanted to ruin you.

And when he did?

You’d thank him. Because you’d been begging for it too, all along.

Once showered and dressed in warm, cozy clothes, Jake made his way down the stairs. But he stopped halfway. Froze.

You.

You were in the kitchen — bathed in the dim golden glow of the pendant lights — wearing that ivory tank top that barely clung to your chest, nipples brushing against the fabric, teasing shadows, and that long cotton skirt hugging your hips like it was made to be pulled up. You were slicing cake on the kitchen island, licking a thick ribbon of cream off your fingertip like you didn’t know he was watching. Or maybe you did. God, maybe you always did.

Jake watched you like he’d never seen a woman before.

Like he’d never seen you before, not like this.

Every flick of your wrist, every sway of your hips, the little twitch of your tongue tasting frosting—it was a fucking performance. For him.

And when he realized that, really realized it, it hit him like a goddamn wrecking ball.

He liked watching you.

No—he loved it.

Loved how brushing your teeth could turn him hard. How folding laundry made his mouth dry. How watching you apply lotion had once made him jerk off so violently he had to lie down after. It broke something in him. Snapped it in two and rewired it all wrong.

Hours of porn? Worthless. Cam girls? Useless.

You—doing absolutely nothing—had become his favorite fucking show. And he was the most devoted, depraved audience.

And those pajamas you’re wearing now ? He remembered them.

The first night you moved in. Your hair was shorter, your eyes wide, your smile unsure.

You wandered that big duplex like a lost lamb, bumping into corners, unsure of where to go. You’d smiled at him when you got turned around, laughing at yourself.

Jake had probably fallen for you right then. That simple, soft moment where you looked just as displaced and unclaimed as he always felt.

He told himself he’d be good to you from that day on. He recognized something in you. A mirror. Two kids shuffled from house to house, two pieces of pretty furniture passed down and placed where others decided.

But you were walking into his cage. Not the other way around. And God, he wanted to decorate it for you. Make it soft. Make it warm. Make you stay.

So Jake vowed—he'd make you feel safe, even if it meant pretending. Pretending to suck at school. Pretending he needed help picking out new sheets just to buy the softest, girliest ones for your bed. Pretending to be sick so you'd spend the day with him on the couch. Pretending he didn’t know how to cook, just to watch you make pancakes in your pajamas.

He wanted you from the first second. You healed him in ways.

And in others, you broke him wide open. Made him into a pervert. A voyeur. A stealer.

He knew the moment he started skipping outings, leaving parties early, racing home just to catch the scent of you in the hallway. That faint trace of perfume clung to everything you touched — the couch cushions, his hoodie, the sheets. You smelled like a fucking sin. And smiled like temptation wrapped in faux innocence.

He tried convincing himself you were just being polite tho. That you were older. Uninterested. That you saw him as this shy, harmless boy who needed help with coursework and still blushed too easily.

That you didn’t know what you were doing to him. But you actually did… Wow. Not everything sure, but still…

Did you know ? That in private, he did very real things. He’d pick up the panties you “forgot” with shaking hands every time. Always lacy. Most times he resisted. Actually, he didn’t. No, he pressed them to his face and breathed in your scent like it was oxygen. Fisted his cock so hard on them to the thought of you bending over his bed, he distorted them a bit.

And you never said a word. You just kept smiling. Kept laughing at his dumb jokes. Kept running your fingers through his hair while letting him lay his head in your lap, until his brain went quiet.

You called him “kiddo” in that soft, mocking tone that made him want to shove you down and make you choke on him until you forgot that word.

There wasn't a single place in this house he hadn’t imagined ruining you on. The sofa. The kitchen island. Wanted to fuck you breathless in the hallway without caring who walked in. Bent you over the balcony railing, your thighs trembling, your voice wrecked. Raw in your room. His cum leaking from your pussy like it belonged there in the bathroom.

He imagined gaming with you riding him, headset slipping off while he whispered filth. He pictured you sitting on his face, shocking him silent with how good you tasted.

Fuck, he wanted you now.

His body moved before his mind did. Down the stairs, across the room — straight to you. You turned to face him, and the look in his eyes must have said everything, because you froze.

But it was Jake. And Jake was your sweet boy.

He didn’t jump you, he dropped to his knees. Wrapped his arms around your waist like a lifeline and buried his face in your stomach.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you murmured, shivering at the feel of his lips.

He tilted his head up, puppy-eyed, and pressed soft, slow kisses to your belly, licking where your skin was bare.

He smiled at your reaction.

"...Making you feel good..." he mumbled, voice thick with want.

The shift in him — from predator to worshipper — scratched something deep in your brain. The submission in his voice sent heat racing down your spine.

You laughed, trying to stay grounded. "Get up. Let’s eat your cake. It’s still your birthday.”

But Jake didn’t move. He tightened his hold.

“What about my gift?”

You blinked at him, half amused, half breathless. The look on his face wasn’t as childish as his attitude —it was dark, intense, almost dangerous in how calm he was about wanting you.

"What do you want?" you asked, voice soft, laced with heat.

He didn’t answer.

He moved. Slid between your thighs. Pressed his face into the soft spot between them. Rubbed himself against your heat like an animal, breathing so heavy you could feel it through the layer of your skirt and panty. His grip hurted, but you loved it. Because he was unraveling.

He moaned your name into your thigh.

“Jake—” you gasped as his grip bruised into your skin, desperate, clumsy and intoxicating.

He was trembling. Hard. Leaking through his pants. You shoved him back gently, but not far. Just enough to meet his eyes.

"You have to tell me what you want for your birthday," you said, tone suddenly sultry, dominant.

Jake’s hands slid under your skirt, gliding up your calves, slow and reverent. He stopped just before your thighs, as if asking for permission with his touch.

“Please,” he moaned. “Please let me have you. I’ll do anything. Anything you want me to. I swear—”

God. You loved when he begged. So you lifted his flushed face with your knee.

“If I let you have me,” you whispered, “what are you gonna do to me?”

He whimpered your name like it hurt. One hand slid up to grab your panties and the hem of your skirt in one fist.

“I wanna eat you,” he said, kissing your thigh. “Wanna fuck you on this island until you scream, and beg.”

you hum.

“Wanna fucking lick that pussy until your legs give out.

Wanna watch you fall apart, over and over, on my cock until you forget how to walk.”

Wanna fill you so deep you feel me for days.

“I want this pussy. I want it to take my shape,” he said, voice wrecked. “And ache for my cock whenever I’m gone.”

His words burned.

You climbed onto the kitchen island, spreading your legs like you were displaying for him.

“Fuck, Jake, do it,” you exalted. “Happy twenty-one…”

He slid your skirt up so freaking fast, smirking. Kissed the inside of your thigh like it was his last meal. When his tongue finally touched your soaked lace, he groaned like he’d been starved.

“You taste like… fuck— there’s nothing like it,” he muttered, already pulling the lacy fabric in his mouth. His tongue felt thick and ungraceful, so messy, licking like he was trying to consume you, not please you.

He groaned against your folds, loud and vulgar, smiling like he’d found the secret to life in the taste of you.

“Fuck—fuck, you’re even sweeter than I imagined,” he breathed, dragging his tongue up your slit again, messy and deep, slurping you into his mouth like he couldn’t get enough.

And then, he ripped your panties.

Didn’t even slide them off — just grabbed the damp lace and tore it with a grunt, like it offended him to be kept away from what he wanted.

You gasped, jolting when his tongue returned to your clit with zero control, his lips and chin glistening, sloppy, aggressive — but hungry, so hungry it made your stomach twist.

“Hold still,” he muttered, though he was the one moving like a man possessed, hands fumbling on your hips, trying to anchor you and explore you at the same time.

He was learning your body with every stroke of his tongue, every misstep that made you twitch, every accidental graze of teeth that made you jolt and whimper. But the more you reacted, the crazier he got. Each sound you made made his cock throb in his sweats. He kept going, like he was chasing your high just to see what it would do to you.

“C’mon, let me—fuck—let me hear it,” he groaned, pressing his tongue flat against your clit, sucking harshly, noisily, spit mixing with slick, until you couldn’t help the moan that spilled from your lips.

Your back arched hard. Too hard. The pain bloomed in your spine but you didn’t care. Not when he was doing this — devouring you like you were his first and last, one hand splayed against your belly to keep you down as your thighs began to tremble.

“Fucking hell,” he whispered into you. “The way you move—like you’re gonna break. I’m gonna break you, yeah ?”

You whimpered, shaking more, lost — too far gone to process the feral glint in his eyes.

He was memorizing every twitch of your body. Every flutter of your lashes. Every ragged inhale. Your pleasure became his experiment — and he was failing, adjusting, trying again, obsessed with getting it just right, obsessed with watching you crumble.

“You feel everything, don’t you?” he murmured, dragging his tongue down, then up again in a filthy line. “You’re so fucking sensitive. Look at how your hips move, how your legs shake—”

He pushed two fingers into you without warning, a little too rough, but your body swallowed him so eagerly that his jaw dropped.

“Oh god —fuck. You’re so tight, so warm—God, you’re—” he couldn’t finish.

Because you cried out. Because your head fell back. Because your mouth formed his name like a prayer and your thighs clenched around his head.

And it broke him.

His cock bounced, twitching uncontrollably in his pants, and he let out a pained moan, as if the sight of you like that — undone because of him — hurt more than it healed.

“Say it again,” he gasped, fingers now curling just right inside you. “Say my name like that.”

He was trembling. Worshipping. Grinding his hard length on air like a dog in heat, like he couldn’t stop himself. His mouth returned to your clit with vengeance, tongue swirling, sucking, licking—too rough, too clumsy, but desperate.

Your entire body was spasming now. Jolting. His nose bumped against your folds, fingers curling deep, knuckles wet, palm slick as he fucked you with his hand and his mouth at once.

It was too much. And he was watching. Eyes locked on you, wide and greedy, like he was filming the entire thing in his mind.

Then, in a shaky whisper, he asked:

“Can I really do anything to you?”

The words came soft, begging— but beneath them was a dark edge, a simmering madness just barely caged.

You didn’t hear it. Or maybe you were too far gone to understand it.

Because your mouth fell open, your mind blank, every nerve shredded and sparking as your orgasm built in a violent wave.

“Y-yeah, JAKE, JAKE, JAKE !!” you breathe out, barely coherent, nodding so frenetically it’s almost pitiful.

Jake doesn't wait.

Like a switch has flipped, he slips out from between your legs and props himself beside you on the kitchen island, his thigh brushing yours, one arm braced over your head against the cabinets. He stares down at your soaked center with eyes wide, dazed, reverent—and then he shoves his fingers into you. Hard. Deep.

You jolt so violently your back slams against the cupboards.

The squelch is immediate, obscene, echoing like wet slaps in the wide silence of the room—and so loud it drowns your breathless cries.

“Please—please say it again—say my name. I wanna see your eyes roll. Wanna see you fucking cry. Wanna ruin you so good you forget your own name.”

“Jake—!” you choke, your hands scrambling for purchase—his arm, his shirt, anything—before your fingers end up clawing at the collar of his tee, yanking him closer until your foreheads collide. He’s flushed, trembling, his mouth parted and panting as he watches the way your body thrashes against his hand.

And then he does it harder.

His palm starts slapping your clit on every drive, a sloppy wet percussion that sends you screaming through gritted teeth. He’s moaning with you now, completely enthralled, forehead against yours, sweat sticking between your skins. He’s watching every twitch of your mouth, every tear in your lashes, like you’re his goddamn religion.

“Y-yes, yes—fuck, don’t stop! Jake !” you beg, voice breaking as your hips roll helplessly against the rhythm.

“You’re mine,” he whispered in your ear. And your eyes plead for a kiss—anything to ground you—but Jake is gone. Lost in the ruin he's causing.

It’s only when you sob his name again, needy—“Jake—�� a shattered sound— that he seems to come back to himself. He crashes his mouth into yours like a man who’s about to die without it. The kiss is messy, desperate, teeth clashing and tongues tangled, like he’s memorizing how you taste before he’s allowed to devour you again.

And you come.

So violently the island creaks under you. So fast it blinds you.

Your body convulses around his hand and he holds you through it like he’s proud of breaking you. Like he’ll never get enough of it.

He pulls back to look at the mess on his fingers, his lips parted in awe, and then—moaning—he licks them clean, slow and trembling, savoring you like something holy.

“I swear,” he rasps, “I could eat nothing else for the rest of my life.”

His cock is leaking now leaving a patch of wetness, pushing hard against his waistband like it’s about to burst. And his restraint ? Gone.

Jake scoops you up in his arms, bridal style, despite how unsteady he is—lips dragging kisses on your throat, cheek, temple as he carries you into his room.

The second you hit the mattress, he’s on you.

He undresses you in between wet kisses—pulling at your clothes like he’s unwrapping a gift he’s been waiting his whole life for. His hands are shaking. His teeth nip. He murmurs how pretty you are. How perfect. How soft.

Your panties? Gone.

“ That’s mine,” he whispered under his breath, fingers slipping through your folds again, already obsessed with how wet you still are. “Fuck…”

Then he undresses, cock springing out—thick and flushed and leaking so much it shines. Not too long, but wide. Thick enough that your thighs tense up on instinct. It twitches as he catches you staring.

“You okay?” he asks—but he’s already pushing your thighs apart, not waiting. Not anymore.

He lines up and slides in too fast—only halfway—and you cry out, back arching with a jolt.

“Too much?” he gasps—but his hips twitch forward another inch like he can’t stop himself. “You’re squeezing so tight—shit—it’s like your cunt doesn’t wanna let go—”

You’re trembling under him, moaning through your teeth, barely able to breathe around the stretch.

Jake looks like he’s losing it—jaw clenched, eyes glassy, watching every twitch of your mouth like he’s chasing the moment you break.

“I—can’t move yet,” he grits. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

You nod weakly, adjusting your hips—but it’s too slow for him. He shifts, trying to pull back, but your body sucks him in deeper. His knees buckle.

“Fuck. Fuck. I’m gonna…”

When you finally push him to lie back and straddle him—easing yourself down inch by fat inch—his head falls back with a groan so loud it shakes your chest.

“God, yes—ride me, ride me. Take it—please—I’ll be good—just move—just fuckin’ move on me—”

You grind down slow, gasping every time the stretch hits a new edge, your gummy walls gripping him like fire. And Jake? He watches with wide, disbelieving eyes, like he’s never going to recover from this. Trying to touch every patch of skin he can touch.

He doesn’t last long.

By the time you start bouncing, it’s over for him—his hands gripping your hips too tight, his head dragging against your chest, hips punching up into yours like he’s trying to leave a mark inside you. He moans your name again and again, like a curse.

He finishes inside you, painting you with the thickest load you ever felt. He barely pauses before flipping you onto your back in front of him, and lining up again.

You try to speak—protest, tease, something—but then he’s thrusting back in raw, and your body seizes under him with a high scream.

“Oh my god—Jake—”

His cum is still slicking your walls. He groans, watching the mess.

“You’re gonna take it all,” he moans, fucking deeper, slower. “Gonna keep it warm for me—let me fill you again.”

He keeps going—harder, deeper, wetter. His rhythm is messy, almost frantic. He’s not careful anymore. He’s not pretending. He grabs your hips like handles and slams in, again, again, again—

“Want this pussy loose from my cock,” he groans. “Want it to miss me—want it dripping so bad it calls for me in the middle of the night—”

You scream his name again, legs kicking as the next orgasm builds too fast. He watches you come undone with wild, manic pride—like every second of your pleasure feeds something dark and bottomless in him.

It's too freaking fast for you, but it’s too good to stop.

When he pulls out, his cum drips from your stretched, fluttering hole, and Jake stares like he’s been hypnotized.

“…It’s perfect,” he whispers.

He dips down. Licks your lips clean. Moaning, tasting himself on your cunt like he’s tasted salvation. You suddenly feel his fingers scissoring you just to measure the new gape he created. “Fuck, I hope it stay like that… Mine only.”

You chuckle, regaining a stable breath. And when you think he might be done, might finally let you breathe, he climbs back over you again. Cocks already twitching back to life.

“You said I could do anything I wanted, Yeah ?” he whispers, voice hoarse.

You nod with questioning eyes—still dazed, spent—and Jake smiles.

That smile? It’s not shy anymore. It’s hungry and deeply perverted.

Your body’s still trembling when Jake pulls you up by the hips, flipping you like a ragdoll. You barely have time to whimper before he yanks your ass up, knees under you, back arched high—exposed, dripping, ruined—and so perfect for him.

He grabs your ass with both hands, spreading you wide. His cock, still wet from the last round, nudges your slit again.

“Fucking look at this,” he breathes, voice shaking. “God—you’re still gaping. I can see where I came in you. You’re still so open waiting for me.”

Jake’s fingers tighten around your hips, he’s yanking you upright by the arm—his other arm circling under your chest, palming your breasts like they’re sacred and obscene all at once. Then he trusts again, slow but brutal, every fat inch meeting with your convulsing gummy wall.

“Look,” he pants into your neck, breath scalding, hips still twitching. “Look at how full you are—fuck, you’re dripping, it’s leaking down your thighs, and it’s still warm in—” He groans, not even finishing the thought as he runs his fingers down to catch it, spreading the slick mess over your lower stomach before pressing it back into your folds like he can’t stand to waste a drop. “You were made to be full like this.”

He thrusts his hips forward once—just to feel the bulge press against your stretch again—and exhales something close to a sob.

“I want to keep you like this. Plugged.”

You barely catch your breath before he shifts again, guiding you back to all fours, but not letting go of your breast, tweaking the sensitive peak as your spine arches.

“Want to stretch you wider, ok ? ‘m gonna push deeper than last time. Make it stick.”

He presses into you again—slower this time, but deeper—and you feel every fat inch of him slide back inside, your walls fluttering around him in overstimulated spasms.

He groans loud, needy. “So fucking warm. So tight. You’re perfect. You know ? You were made for me— You take it so good— I could die.”

You whimper into the mattress, already unraveling.

“I’ll ruin this cunt until it remembers me,” he growls, losing himself in the thrust. “Every time you sit.” He goes harder, “Every time you walk.” Again, “You’ll feel me.”

He thrusts hard—brutal and fast now—slapping into you with the force of a fevered obsession. His hand claws at your hip, pulling you back into him like he can’t bear even a millisecond of distance.

“Tell me I can fill you again,” he begs, voice cracking. “T-tell me you want it—fuck—tell me I can keep going until there’s nothing left.”

“Jake—” You gasp, trying to push up on shaky arms, but he shoves you back down, pressing between your shoulder blades with possessive weight.

“Say it,” he groans. “Please, say I can wreck you. That you want it.”

“I—” your voice breaks as he hits a spot next to your cervix, so deep your toes curl. “Yes! Fuck, yes, Jake—don’t stop—!”

He loses it. One hand fists in your hair, the other gripping your waist so hard it bruise. He pounds into you, groaning curses and sweet nothings between breathless cries of your name, like he’s chanting a prayer.

“God, I’ve thought about this—fucking obsessed. Couldn’t sleep. Had to jerk off just thinking about this ass bouncing on me, this pussy milking me dry. You don’t know what you do to me—what you make me into.”

Every thrust feels like a claim. Every sound he rips from your throat is one more piece of you handed over. You thought he was prey—but he’s devouring you. He’s been playing the long game. And now that he’s got you?

He’s never letting go.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he pants, voice splintering with madness, like it’s the only truth keeping him tethered. “Tell me you’ll take it all again. I’ll pump you so full you’ll forget your name—only know mine. Tell me.”

“Jake—”

He snarls, hips slamming into you with dizzying rhythm, cock hitting a spot so deep your vision spots. “Tell me you want me to fill you until this tight little cunt can’t forget me. Until it stays open for me. Until no one else can even fit.”

Your whole body spasms. You reach back, fingers blindly digging into his hip, trying to hold onto something.

“I love it,” you cry out, head lolling back. “I love what you’re doing—I love you ruining me—Jake—fuck, I love it—!”

You feel him twitch inside, feel the moment he breaks again—spilling inside you like it’s the only thing he was ever meant to do. He stays buried deep, shaking, moaning, pressing his hips against you with frantic desperation still spilling the remaining seeds, like he wants to seal it inside.

He collapses forward, chest against your back, kissing your neck like a sinner desperate for mercy.

And then, softly—shattered and breathless—he begs again:

“You love it ?”

Your voice is wrecked, but you find it. “I-I love it, good boy— I love what you do to me.”

He exhales, trembling, and chuckling darkly into your skin. “Then I’m never stopping.”

And you believe him. Because you’re not the one holding the leash anymore. You never were probably. You just didn’t know how good it would feel to be the one hunted.

Your eyes flutter open to the soft drag of warm fabric between your thighs.

He’s there.

You blink the haze from your eyes, watching through half-lidded lashes as Jake crouches at the edge of the bed, his face pink and still damp, hair sticking to his forehead, shirtless, the early haze of dawn casting soft shadows on his skin. He’s focused, wiping you clean with shaking hands and too much gentleness for someone who left you gasping and broken just hours ago. Every inch of your body aches in places you didn't know could feel pleasure, And he’s biting his lip—focused, like touching you now requires permission.

You stir, but he doesn’t flinch. Just looks up at you slowly. His eyes are red-rimmed but not tired. They're quiet. Obsessively quiet. Like he’s holding himself back from crawling up and kissing every bruise he left.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “I—I went too far. I got lost. I couldn’t stop. You were so—” He breaks off, clenching the cloth in his fist. “I need you to know I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You blink. Not because you’re afraid. But because something in you knew. Deep down, you wanted to provoke this side of him. But still… you didn’t expect it to be so uncontainable.

So overwhelming.

So real.

“I’m okay, Jake” you say softly. He lets out a breath like it’s the first air he's had all morning. You reach for him—touch his jaw gently. He leans into it like it’s the only thing keeping him together.

“You ruined me,” he mumbles, kissing your hand slowly, voice low and trembling. “You don’t even know it. I can't think straight anymore. Can’t stop needing to make you feel everything I feel.”

Suddenly, you pull yourself up, trying not to look too exhausted. Your feet now set themselves on his thighs. Seeing him in this position, kneeling under you makes you exalted.

His Head bowed, hands folded in his lap, waiting. The silence is electric. His breath stutters, when your legs slowly part just enough for his eyes to drift upward.

“Is this what you want?” you ask, voice steady, even if you’re burning on the inside.

His eyes close for a second like it physically hurts to contain it. He nods with shame.

“Y-you know I do. P-please. I’ll do anything. You—you can hurt me, use me, ignore me—I don’t care. Just don’t make me stop loving you like this.”

Something in you softens and sharpens all at once.

You grip his jaw tighter. “Then show me what that looks like when I’m the one in control.”

He hesitated a bit. Then kneels his head on the floor—beautiful, trembling. You let him simmer for some minutes, then, you tilt his chin up, slowly, watching the way his eyes glaze the second you touch him. “If you want me,” you say quietly, “you’ll have me. But only on my terms. You’ll kneel like this. You’ll ask for everything. You’ll learn to wait.”

His breath catches. His hands dig into his thighs, and his gaze—still glassy—locks on yours with desperate intensity.

“And if I say no?” you ask, teasingly.

He leans forward without thinking, resting his cheek on your thigh, voice small and broken:

“Then I’ll wait until you say yes. Even if it kills me.”

Your fingers thread through his hair, stroking him, calming him—but also owning him. His eyes flutter shut, his breath syncing with yours, his whole body melting into that position like it’s where he was always meant to be.

You smile.

He doesn’t know it yet—but you’re going to let him have you again. You want him too.

But next time ? You’ll tame him just enough to remind him who he belongs to.

And if he snaps? God, you almost hope he does.

Because nothing has ever felt more like home than the arms of the beast who chose to kneel.

Thank you so much for reading!

This is my first time posting (even though my drafts folder's overflowing). I’ve been sitting on this idea for a while, and with Enha comeback hitting me hard, I finally said, “Screw it—just post it!”

Originally, this was meant to be a one-shot of mutli ver. Step bro enha, but the word count and inspo had other plans, so I split it into two parts:

Jake’s: HUNTED

Heeseung’s: TRAPPED

(And possibly a third: Sunghoon’s: CHAINED)

I’d really appreciate any feedback—good or bad! It helps me improve, and honestly, just knowing someone read it means the world 💗

I’ll be doing a bit of proofreading and maybe polishing up the rest if people are into it.

xoxo~ 💋

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a-hermit-pining · 4 months ago

Text

A Reflection of Him

AN: Plot bunny bunny comes to life! Warning- I bawled my eyes writing this.

Pairing: Sylus x fem reader

Genre: fluff and so much comfort

Summary: "Is that not the best thing to wish for? That the people you care for were loved, even before you came into their life?"

(I do not own these characters)

"Happy Father's Day, Dada!" Raul shrieks, launching himself into Sylus' lap.

Your husband barely has time to react before he’s tackled—first by the dogs, then by Mephisto, and finally by the twins, who have long since lost any fear of rebuke. Not after witnessing their fearsome boss being carried out of the delivery room at the mere sight of birth.

A flurry of limbs, paws, and claws moves before your eyes, a chaotic mess of yips, shrieks, and laughter. And your heart blooms at the sight.

Some pluck love like petals. Some treasure it like pearls. And some...some deserve to be smothered by it.

Then, your eldest walks in.

She stands beside you, clutching your hand, trepidation flickering in her eyes. For a moment, she is once again the little girl you let go of at the kindergarten gates.

With a gentle pat on her head, you smile, then lovingly shove her into the crowd of limbs.

He had hit his head when he first found himself on your couch. He didn’t remember much...just funny colors, static noises... Probably a concussion.

How embarrassing.

Sylus lay there, eyes rolling back as he groaned at the thrumming pain in his skull.

"Say aaa," a small voice rang in his ear before something plastic was shoved into his mouth.

Squinting his eyes open, he found a pair of familiar eyes staring back at him.

Yours, only on a smaller, plumper face.

"You have a fever," the little voice chirped, inspecting the plastic thermometer now thoroughly drenched in his saliva. "200 degrees. Don't worry, I’ll make you better." Small hands patted his head with absolute confidence.

"Lilia!" You scooped your daughter up with a sigh. "Didn't I put you to bed already?"

"But the doctor says it’s serious," Sylus croaked dramatically. "Who will treat me now?"

"Rein in your horses, mister. Lay down and do not strain yourself," you scolded, shooting him a glare as you set down the glass of water you'd gone to fetch.

"Come, Lilia. Time for bed. Playtime is over." You carried your daughter toward her room, but not before she twisted around to make the most ridiculous faces at Sylus over your shoulder.

That was how he met her.

Your daughter, who, at age four, was the only doctor bold enough to diagnose him with a 200-degree fever.

"He was a… we were in college. It was all so new… we were from the same town," you say, staring at the hazy photos of your college dorm.

"It was easier to tackle Linkon with him. And then he was gone... he couldn't bear it. People weren’t kind to him. He…" You sigh, clutching the photo tighter. "He is no more. You don’t have to seek anyone for vengeance or revenge. But if you ever hurt Lilia, I will kill you."

And Sylus knows, that is the truth.

You would kill him.

But for the first time, he does not wish for it. Not if it means leaving you alone. Not if it means becoming nothing more than a painful photograph in your hands.

"She is all I have, and I am all she has," you murmur, looking up at him. The house stands still, the only sound the slow, rhythmic tick of the clock.

Sylus flips through the album, stopping at a photo where you cradle an infant in your arms.

"I’m glad," he says finally, voice quiet. "Whoever he was, he left you with Lilia. I’m glad you were loved. And that Lilia grew up being loved by you."

He exhales, eyes lingering on the photo.

"Is that not the best thing to wish for? That the people you care for were loved, even before you came into their life?" He smiles taking your hand in his, next to a mountain of toys that Lilia had insisted on showing to him before leaving for school.

Luke and Kieran sit on tiny chairs, sipping water from plastic cups. Seated beside them is the esteemed council of plushies.

"Mr. Luke, do you like the tea?" Lilia beams, dressed in a princess gown and tiara.

Luke nods, his mask off, before turning to his twin, only to find Kieran’s face covered in stickers.

"Yes, Princess Lilia," Kieran says solemnly. "The tea is excellent. You should serve this to Boss once he returns."

It is simply delightful to witness the head of Onichynus joining the council of plushies for an exquisite tea party.

Makes for an excellent photo, too, one they manage to sneak in with Mephisto’s help.

Lilia grins, "Yes! We must! And I will ask, mommy and Mephisto to join. We can have a ball."

"Boss!" Lilia tugs at Sylus' sleeve as he carefully straightens her bow.

"Hm?" he hums, though his heart is beating wildly. Just a few rooms away, you were waiting for him, ready to walk down the aisle.

"Do you want me to sneak photos of Mommy?" Lilia asks, her eyes glimmering with mischief. "Am I not your best woman? I should do it, right?"

Standing tall on the stool, his best man is doing an excellent job of keeping his nerves in check.

Sylus exhales a laugh, shaking his head. "How much did your mother bribe you to sneak a photo of me to her?"

Distantly, he makes a note to have a word with the twins, after the wedding. They were definitely behind this. He and you had worked way too hard to get Lilia to stop calling him Boss, only for it to come right back at the worst possible time.

The room stills when your daughter hands him the papers.

You quietly pull Raul into your lap as Sylus takes them, his hands trembling.

"Happy Father's Day," your daughter says, standing before him as he reads frantically.

"People say we're both equally stubborn," she continues, her voice steady but thick with emotion. She clutches his hand. "That we're both sore losers. That we both love anything shiny..."

Sylus looks up at her, his tears unrelenting, just like hers.

"But they don’t know," she says, voice breaking, "that all of this comes from you. From the years, the months, the weeks, the days, the hours, the minutes, down to the very seconds, you have spent looking after me."

She swallows.

"It’s because... how could I not want to be like you?"

Sylus' breath catches.

"From four to sixteen, you've been here for so long... and I don’t want to call you Sylus. I want to call you Dad. I want you to be my dad"

Beside them, you sniff quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of Raul’s head as he watches, wide-eyed and troubled by the sight of both his sister and his Dada in tears.

"Will you be my dad?" she asks, sinking to her knees.

And Sylus, your husband, your love—falls.

He pulls her into his arms, holding her as if letting go would break the world.

"A thousand times over," he whispers. "In every lifetime, in every form. I hope to have you as my daughter."

Tags

@perla-drg, @codedove, @crazy-ink-artist, @desiree-archive @softiepeachess @otome-addictionproblem

#fluff #love and deepspace #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #platonic relationships #istg he is girl dad coded #love and deepspace x reader #luke and kieran #mephisto

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aliesbienish · 1 year ago

Text

Dastardly Plans

Summary: You plot revenge, Anthony finds it incredibly attractive.

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

“Would you be so kind as to help me plot a murder,” You stated as soon as you stepped foot into Anthony’s study.

“I’m sorry but what did you just say my darling wife, I must of misheard you?”

“I need help with planning a murder, do keep up my love. Maybe you were the wrong choice, perhaps I shall approach Eloise instead, she seems a bit more quick witted”

“Don’t you dare. I was just making sure I heard correctly, I never said no. But just out of curiosity who are we killing and why?”

“That silly Miss Connors. Francesca just confided that she’s be coming up to her at every ball saying hurtful remarks. She even had the audacity to step on her gown causing a terrible rip. The wretch is clearly jealous of Franny, and I will have none of it. So I’ve been thinking the best way to get rid of the Miss Connors problem will be to never have to see her face again. Argo murder! Really it’s a two birds one stone situation because it will show the Ton the consequences of messing with the Bridgertons, especially while I’m Viscountess.”

Anthony started at you, his mouth wide open in awe and his eyes shining with desire. Your defence of his siblings was not only endearing but incredibly sexy.

“Honey, you still there. Yes or no to murder, I don’t have all day.”

“Absolutely yes. In fact I know Colin mentioned a substance he came across on the continent which was deadly yet odourless. One drop in the dreadful girls tea and mission accomplished”

“I knew I married you for a reason” you smirked, bringing Anthony in for a kiss.

————

Hope you all enjoyed. Feel free to send through any requests x

#bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfic #anthony bridgerton #anthony x reader #anthony x you #Anthony Bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton fanfic #Anthony Bridgerton x you #Anthony Bridgerton x reader

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lover-from-the-past · 26 days ago

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“I’ll Crawl Home to Her.”

Sir Crocodile x reader

Sir Crocodile’s name was shrouded in infamy after his encounter with Strawhat in Alabasta. Leading Baroque Works to overthrow a kingdom and siphoning the water to destabilize the government, all while publicly being a hero? It was scandalous; especially because he was a Warlord, appointed by the World Government to be one of the “good” pirates. His defeat landed him in Impel Down, stripped of his title and power, left to rot below the sea.

But he was a clever man. He allied with Luffy, escaping the World Government after the mess that was the fight at Marineford.

Now, in the dead of night, he returns to the home he saw in his dreams during those long months chained away.

The home was small, cozy in a way he was unfamiliar with. It sat on the beach of a small island, one he hid away long ago.

Chimes rang out as he approached the door, ducking inside the doorway quietly. The house was dark, and even in his time away, nothing seemed to change; your favorite mug still sat on the wooden table, books piled up beside it. Your shoes still sat neatly at the door, your coat and umbrella beside them.

He made his way down the familiar hallway, his eyes catching on the pictures lining the walls. Inside gilded frames was your shining face, glowing and proud, with his own face beside yours. His lips curled as he exhaled smoke, tendrils of it curling around the images.

Quietly, he opened the door at the end of the hall, stepping inside the room and taking in the scene. The windows behind the bed were open, the soft linen curtains floating through the balmy beach air. In the bed, you were curled around a pillow, the sheets tangled around you. Slowly stepping towards the bed, he put out his cigar in the ash tray you had gifted him long ago. He put a knee down on the soft mattress, planting his hand down and crawling over the expanse of the bed to wrap you in his arms, careful not to snag you with his hook.

Taking your still sleeping head in his hand, he pressed a kiss to your temple, inhaling the lingering scent of your perfume from the day before.

Looking at your face, he was reminded how lovely you were. How much he had missed you.

As your eyes fluttered open, something in his chest settled as he met the eyes that had haunted his dreams when he was imprisoned in Impel Down.

“You’re back,” He heard you say, your voice sleep heavy. As your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him close, he pressed a kiss to the skin of your neck.

“I knew you’d come,” You told him, stroking his hair, “The moment I heard you were free, I knew you would come back home to me.”

He would, and he did. During the long days in Impel Down, he thought of little more than you; what you might be doing, what you might be reading, what you might say when he returned. And sometimes, when it was late into the night, he pondered what he might do to you, once he escaped.

And now, here he was, back in your arms. He could plot in the morning, devising all the ways in which he would get his revenge on those who imprisoned him, create plans to gain back his wealth and power, strategize new alliances and partnerships. But for tonight, he would hold you in his arms and finally rest.

a/n: this is probably very ooc but it was self indulgent because I love him a lot so hopefully others enjoyed it too! Thanks for reading!!

Also I saw live action Chopper and he’s SO CUTEEEE!! My only wish was they made him chunkier like in the anime but I’m so happy with his design!! I’m also SO happy to see the next season bc everyone on there is so fine omg

Also I might start writing for AOT… I’m undecided so lmk if that’s smth you might want ok bye

#sir crocodile x you #crocodile x reader #sir crocodile x reader #crocodile one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #op x reader #sir crocodile #reader insert #sir crocodile x y/n

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woesoftheirwretched-if · 15 days ago

Text

death, life, is there a life after death?

WOES OF THEIR WRETCHED.

| “You will be getting your revenge, no matter what the cost is and whom you have to use..”

Main blog : @pearldvs || other if blogs : none....

LINKS :

DEV-LOGS || FAQ || WARNINGS || SECRET ROS & FLINGS || MASTERLIST || BUG REPORT || THE SEED verse 9:80

PLOT: a recommended 18+ interactive fiction (that contains disturbing/dark subject matter that is not for everyone)that takes place in a mix and alternate universe of ancient medieval times. Nothing in this story will be historically accurate. Woes of their wretched (wotw-if) is where you play as a consort of a cruel king, Leif. You are going to get your revenge for yourself and possibly for other reasons but you will play as a consort and a parent.

| 18+ themes such as described nudity, graphic depictions of blood and gore, depression, rape, abuse, forced Marriage, morally questionable behavior, toxic and unhealthy relationships, child abuse, and more(you can check out the full warnings down above)

note | you will not be able to pick the gender of your child, you will have a son. the main character will start off as a bad parent towards their son and later on the game, you can still be a bad parent or try to be a great, how you choose will affect your life, other characters, and your son's life.

| mc will get pregnant regardless of gender due to magic (if amab)

FEATURES

=Choose the person you wish to be, customize your name, gender, sex, sexual orientation and appearance, you can also choose what kind of parent you want to be; loving and caring or unloving and uncaring as well with choosing what kind of lover you wish to be; loving, lying, manipulative, toxic, healthy…

=Choose your endings and life : There are bad and happy endings for anyone. Yourself, Your Son. It's all up to you, what you can get.

=Build or break your relationship with characters such as ros(romance options) and your son. Even though you can help them, there is no way to make everyone happy but it’s your choice to pick who can be or not.

=Romance anyone of the eight romance interests and 6 secret romance interests(and a few that would be seen as conversational)…but some are not really romance options, a few might die, betray or reject you… will you pick the right ones and be possibly happy? ( 14 ros in total and 4 flings )

DEMO: Prologue 0.5 —on itch io [40k words] : has beem uploaded.

| currently : working on the rest of the prologue part one...

Note: as of currently, I cannot use butlers on Itch io due to my chromebook being messy, if you want. You can download save files or export it.

NOTE; EVERYONE IS THE GAME IS MESSED UP, SICK AND THEY'RE AWARE, DO NOT BABY ANY CHARACTERS (-the kids ofc)

ALL 8 ROMANCE OPTIONS[ros] & OTHER NON-DATEABLE CHARACTERS BELOW

All romance in this story is optional and can be skipped all together if preferred. Still, the platonic relationships will be rewarding and deep on a different level. There are currently no options for poly relationships but I will think about it..

[MAIN CAST]

THE VOICE [unknown] , ?? - ◇

??? : the voice is something or someone that has been with you ever since your mother had died when you were ten years old.

?? : your mother had the voice inside of her mind for a long time when her father was killed, this voice seems to be from your mother's side and it says it is a demon.

| the voice and mc will have a complex relationship and throughout the game, the voice will be a bastard and judge you throughout the game and later on you can have a nickname for it.

#wretched : voice

MC 'DOVE' AUGUSTKINGS (ALCOTT) [genderselectable] , 21 - ☆

Backstory: You are a outcast as people would say, just in the shadows with the title of 'one of Leif's many consorts' as people would say...

📎 A person, with gold eyes and customize-able to your likings.

#wretched : mc

| customized-able looks except for eyes (gold)

° | mc will originally be a bad parent towards Emil(your child) due to trauma, its up to if you want to be a bad parent or a great parent... your child's faith will lay on your hands.

EMIL AUGUSTKINGS [male] , 7 - ♧

Backstory: your child, you had no interest in him, born out of force and no love for him, but you realize that you can take your revenge - a possible heir of the throne, your ticket to revenge.

📎 An young boy, he has light brown skin, he has gold eyes. He is short in height (4'0). His hair is dark green and short that reaches to his ears and it is neatly combed. His body is skinny and petitle.

#wretched : emil

| you are unable to name him but you can give him a nickname later on, if you wish so.

MIRSELL CONSTAN [female] , 57 - ◇

Backstory: A old woman that takes care of consorts' children, a nanny but she seems to take care of your child more. - A elderly woman, a nanny people would say. She calls herself, Emil's Mother. Not around you, obviously.

📎 An older woman, she has brown skin tone, she has black deep eyes, she is short in height (5'4) and her hair color is fully grey and white and it is shoulder length and tied in a bun. Her body is leaning towards chubby.

#wretched : mirsell

| you can choose her faith later on the game, she can die or live also she can hate or love you later on.

ARTHUR IOVMISE [male] , 47 - ○

Backstory: A man, he is an assistant of the king, he also helps the consorts - He is a strong man that is also seen scolding the consorts, his daughter was also a consort of the king but rumors say that he helped her flee.

📎 An man, he has a tan skin tone and he had dark blue eyes along with his height being tall(6'1) and his hair being dark green with some grey hairs(he has facial hair), it is short and reaches to his ears, his body type is lanky and tall.

#wretched : arthur

| depending on your choices, he can hate or love you as his own.

SONA(SOPHIA) BELLWON [male] , 25 - ☆

Backstory: A servant, he is having an affair with one of the consorts, a young woman named Emilia - He is a servant that is related to Lady Mirsell, his grandma, well not really but he says he is.

📎 An man with fair skin, he has hazel eyes and he is average in height(5'11) and he has a color that mixes of grey and blue, his hair is shoulder length and is tied in a low ponytail. His body type is lean and average.

#wretched : sona

| sona will either help you or betray you depending on a very important choice you will make and he will be important as well.

LEIF AUGUSTKINGS [male] , 56 - ♧

Backstory: He is a man that was raised by a cold mother and a ill father, he is cold as well - He is your husband, he wants a heir, a strong one. A son. Every daughter is ignored, you're lucky.

📎 An man who has two different colored green eyes with dark blue and brown skin, he is tall(6'4) and his hair color is dark green and it is ear length along with his beard which is a stubble and his body is quite muscular.

#wretched : leif

| he will die in a lot of endings except the bad endings and he is one of the main problems with your life and trauma.

ESME DAWN-BALDASSARE [male] , 18 - ☆

Backstory: your brother, despite being younger, has taken care of you, he is your sweet brother and he love you and Emil. - your his only family left and he is yours, he doesn't do much but stays at king Leif's castle at your request.

📎 An man with olive skin that is your younger half brother, his eye color is ruby red, and his height is short(5'4) his hair color is purple but with natural highlights of ash blonde and it reaches up to his shoulder and often tied in a small pigtail. His body is lean.

#wretched : esme

| no matter what you do, esme will always be there for you.

MOTHER ALCOTT [female] , 29 - ☆

Backstory: your mother, none hardly used her name in the castle, she was like a curse - she had died when you were younger, around 8. Just taken away by your father and his guards.

📎 An woman whom you called your mother, she has gold eyes like yours, she is quite tall(5'12) and her hair color is black and unevenly cut, and it is left loose. Her body is thin and bony.

#wretched : mother

| no matter what you do, she will always hate you.

+ more *on codex in the game, more characters will appear on there once more chapters are released... i will make a separate codex for more characters since putting all of them in one would be too much. (Important characters only will show or who have more appearance than others)

[ROs] 8 known ros, 6 secret ros and 4 flings

(ros : 14 in total w/ 4 flings) + poly routes

| one or more of those romance options(ros) can die, betray your or your child or even reject you. you can be healthy or toxic towards characters, romance options, and even your son.

| most ros will start with slow burn, flings, and towards you can confess your feelings where some might reject or accept you but some ros are not really ros, dont trust anyone. (some ros might not like your child and will try to convince you to get rid of him, everyone is a red flag including mc)

| note. one of the ros is legally your step-son but none of the consorts(leif's consorts) feel like family and one the flings is your cousin. again, its up to you, if you want to romance the ro or sleep with the fling. One of the ros is older and does know mc when they were younger(not really but they do know and see mc when they were a child meanwhile they were an adult) and it might be seen as uncomfortable, one fling is married just uses mc for pleasure. (Again, everyone is toxic and might not show their true colors)

× RO ART | micela, luceydell, fayette

MICELA LENN [female] , 25 - ☆ [she/her]

Backstory: a young woman who was hired to be a nanny for the children like Mirsell but just younger - she takes care of children, she seems fond of your son, Emil. She also takes care of you, when she can. Maybe she admires you.

📎 An woman with brown skin and dark green eyes. She is short in height (5’4). Her hair is a deep shade of black, short and tied in a short messy bun. She has a lean body type . She has a gap between her two front teeth along with a small scar on her nose. Maria is seen mostly wearing her nanny’s outfit–a black dress with puffy sleeves and a white apron– but when she isn’t working, it would be a dress–a cool shade of blue dress, long that covers her knees and her arms, like an sundress– that her mother brought her before she left her home.

#wretched : micela

| she can be in-love with you or hate you in the first part of the game, depends on you.

LUCEYDELL RICHNESS [male] , 20 - ☆ [he/they]

Backstory: another consort of Leif, he is closer to you than any other consort, he seems fond of you. he is seen as feminine and often is dressed and he was originally a consort of a deity called "wraith". there are some rumors that he is the favorite.

📎 A male with light brown skin and pink eyes. He is around average in height (5’7). His hair is a very light shade of white, long that reaches his chest and tied in drill ringlets. He is average but leaning towards thin, he has beauty marks about everywhere on his face and a birthmark of something that seems like a fingerprint. Luce is seen mostly wearing his robes; it's completely white with gold undertones and has ribbons and many ties on it.

#wretched : luceydell

| he will be kind of a cock block during other routes and also toxic (more on the yandere side)

FAYETTE IRVINE [female] , 34 - ☆ [she/her]

Backstory: a dancer, a woman who has born and brought into a work of dancing and more, she is often brought by the king to perform - she often dances and has her own personal room despite her work, she is seen with kids. She cannot give birth to her own, she once said.

📎 A woman with light brown skin and dark green eyes. She is short in height (5’2). Her hair is auburn brown, long and tied in a low ponytail. She is thin in size and weight. She has a beauty mark under her eye and mouth. She mostly wears a long blue gown that is tied with many laces and noble, it is see through but not much.

#wretched : fayette

| this is the ro who knows and seen mc when they were a child but fayette never payed attention to young mc until present day(chapter one) and fayette doesn't remember them but can still be see as uncomfortable.

PANDORA AUGUSTKINGS [male] , 25 - ☆ [he/him]

Backstory: one of the king's children, they hate their father and is wanting to get the throne to avenge their mother - They are technically your step-child since marriage to the king but not really, none feels like family, they seem rude and often bothers you.

📎 A man with warm ochre skin and deep black eyes. He is tall in height (6’1). His hair is a deep shade of black like jet-black along with natural purple highlights, short that reaches up to his chin and left well-combed and slightly slicked-back with some strands in his face. He has an average built. He has two scars, one across his cheek to his other cheek, that goes across his nose and the second one on his neck. He is seen mostly wearing a royal suit–that is white and has blue undertones.

#wretched : pandora

| he is the stepson (legally by marriage) soo... also hates you but hey, hate-fuck/j

SALLY FIORISE [male] , 24 - ☆ [he/him]

Backstory: a baker and florist, he is a young parent like you - he is working at the castle since he is the town's delight and gets paid well!

📎 An man with peach skin and black-hole eyes. He is average in height (5'9). His hair is dirty blonde that reaches his ears and it is messy but yet noble looking. He has a lean; body type. He has one beauty mark under his eye. He has scars on his hands and fingers due to his job. He wears a white undershirt with a black apron with a white bandanna on his head, with black trousers and brown shoes.

#wretched : sally

| he has a daughter that is overprotective of him, depending on your choices, you can be happy or mad with sally.

EMMY GREENBRIAR [f/m] , 27 - ☆ [depending on choice]

Backstory: a knight, your personal knight ever since an attempted murder, the king has brought you a knight. - they are always near you. Visible or not. They will stand by your side.

📎 An person with tan skin and dark green eyes. They are very tall in height (6'2). Their hair is short black hair that reaches chin but bit above and is tied up in a small low ponytail. They have a musclar build and a strong body. They have more scars on their body that is scattered every where, face, neck, legs, back. They wear a knight's amour at all times and without it, is just wearing a loose black shirt with brown trousers.

#wretched : emmy

| regardless of gender, emmy will still be very tall and very strong since some people might like a strong woman with muscles!

ADEN BASTARD [f/m] , 23- ☆ [depends on choice]

Backstory: ironically by the last name, They are a bastard. Born out of incest, their parents both siblings, surprisingly no birth deflects well they were born with an illness - They are a noble and stays close to you after their castle was burnt down, they are soon to be betrothed to an other.

📎 An person with a fair skin tone with red eyes. They are around short and average in height(5'6). Their hair is a natural blue, it reaches their shoulders and it's tied in a low ponytail that lays across their shoulder. They have a skinny body type due to the illness. They easily bruise and often is seen with bruises on their skin. They wear a mix of a nightgown and that still scream nobility instead of sleepwear, it's completely white with some red undertones.

#wretched : aden

| you can help them from the unwanted marriage or not but depending on your choices, they will no longer be a ro if they do get taken away.

MARRYJOY WHITEFIELD [nonbinary] , 22 - ☆ [they/them]

Backstory: not much is known but they are quiet and mysterious, weirdly the king is very interested in marryjoy - they are a mage but a fortune teller, the king seems happy around marryjoy, they have a secret.

📎 An person with a brown skintone and has hazel eyes. They are average in height (5'8). Their hair is black hair and long that reaches their past their shoulder that is left loose. They have a average build; a mix of skinny yet some chubby-iness on them. They have eye bags on their face along with a circle birthmark on their forehead. They wear a mages robe almost all the times.

#wretched : marryjoy

| marryjoy will be a problem at the start and will be seen at chapter one but rarely.

woes of their wretched.

@interact-if | @pearldvs

#interactive fiction #if #interactive game #twine #twine wip #if wip #wip if #interactive story #woesoftheirwretched #dark fiction #dark content #dark if #dark romance #writing #demo yes

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fruitidykebackup · 3 months ago

Note

hi!! i had a request for you! maybe a paige x fem reader imagine/short story based off this tik tok prank? 🥰❤️❤️

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8jSawNH/

The Purple Ribbon 𐙚

Paige Bueckers x Fem!Reader Word Count: 700

You and Paige have been dating for a little while now. She was busy with basketball usually, yet it was now summer, so after the college year ended at UConn, she decided to make her master plan of going on a 'world tour' with you.

A few days before you two left Connecticut, you saw a TikTok prank, a girl pretended to show her partner a new “bathing suit” she’d bought, only for it to be nothing but a ribbon. You loved pulling dumb little pranks on Paige, and this one? This was gold.

So, you got it all ready, putting a purple ribbon, Paige's favorite color, tucked neatly into an empty swimsuit box you had stashed in the closet. As you were waiting for her to finish up her shower and come back outside to the living room, you set your phone up in a spot you knew she wouldn’t see, pressing record and sat back down on the couch with the box in your lap.

Soon, you heard the soft shuffle of feet and the squeak of the bathroom door. She soon reappeared from the bedroom, her damp hair back in a ponytail wearing a tank top and Nike basketball shorts.

“Guess what came?” you said excitedly, holding the box up and turning to look at her.

She tilted her head as she walked over to the couch, her brow slightly furrowed. “What did you buy??” she asked, sipping the water bottle her hands.

You grinned and lifted the lid of the box. “I ordered a new bathing suit for when we go to Miami!”

Her face lit up, at least for a second.

“Aww, it’s purpl—” she gets out, watching as you pull a ribbon out of the box. “Wait… what is that? Is that- where’s the rest of it?” She completely paused her train of thought trying to wrap her head around the fact your ‘new bathing suit’ was literally going to cover nothing.

You pulled out the ribbon. “It’s just the top that came today...The bottoms are arriving in a few days.”

She blinked. Her face was caught somewhere between concerned and confused. Then, a sigh escaped her nostrils as she stared at the purple strand in your hand.

“If that’s what the top looks like…” she mumbled pointing at it, “I’m scared to see the bottom, baby.”

You held it up to your chest like you were modeling it. “But isn’t it so cute, P?”

“Nah… nah, what the hell is that gonna cover, baby?” she said, laughing. “How much was that?”

“Well, the top and bottom together were seventy-five-”

“Seventy-five DOLLARS??” she choked on some water, her jaw practically dropping. Paige was completely shocked you even spent that much, especially on this? Usually, you were 10x better than she was with money. She held it to your chest, like it would grow in size from when you held it up a few seconds ago.

You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back a laugh watching her.

She stared at you in disbelief, holding the ribbon like it was a foreign object. “It’s… something. But I’m not letting my girl walk out on the beach in this.. thing.”

She messed with it, putting it around her shoulders, around her chest… just trying to see how the hell this was a bikini top.

“You don’t like it?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

She looked from the ribbon to your face, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Is this a prank…?” she asked quietly, almost like she didn’t want the answer.

That’s when you lost it. A giggle slipped out before you could stop it.

Paige’s mouth dropped open as realization hit. “You’re the worst,” she muttered, yet she was laughing too, dropping the ribbon into your lap and falling onto the couch beside you. She draped her arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

“I got you soooo good,” you teased, reaching for the phone to stop the recording.

“You did,” she admitted. “But now I’m gonna spend this whole trip plotting my revenge.”

You just winked at her with a cheeky grin still plastered on your face. “Better make it a good one, Bueckers.”

A/N: hiii guys I learned this is probably ass but I triedd. If you have any feedback or suggestions pls let me know but this was fun for being my first story and I hope that I did good at understanding the idea <3 Have a good day/ night and stay safe

#paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers headcannons #paige bueckers #uconn women’s basketball #uconn wbb #paige buckets #fanfic

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miabebe · 8 months ago

Text

Camp Seventeen: Chapter 3

Pairing - Afab!reader x ot13 (Reader x Jihoon for this Ch)

Word count - 16K

Genre - Greek Demigod AU! We’ve got crack, smut, fluff , angst, hurt, comfort, all of it in this series, buckle up! Warnings below the cut

Previous chapter

Chapter summary - As the days in camp seventeen unfold the many burdens you had tucked away in your heart, you dive into the sorrows you had presumably left behind. Thankfully (or not) a musical moment and a menacing monster serve as unforeseen distractions.

A/n - I do have a taglist so comment on this post to be added! This chapter is a bit heavy, the plot is thickening so please do take your time with it - I promise things will make sense eventually!

Special thanks to @monamipencil! Your comments made my day Lola <3

Warnings - Handjob, fingering, music trance(?), stripping, masturbation (f), unprotected sex (no glove, not love), riding, creampie, making out

“Chief.” Soonyoung took a worried step forward, hand slipping out from yours. “Is everything okay?”

“If you’re here it's either not serious enough or it's too serious.” Minghao frowned at Seungcheol, crossing his arms. “My guess is the former.”

“The camp is under attack.” Seungcheol sighed, running his hands through his hair like he was embarrassed. “Of….”

“Of what?”

“O-of geese.”

“Geese??” Soonyoung looked at him stupidly. “Like plural of goose, geese?”

“What other kind of geese do you know, you dumbass.” Seungcheol rolled his eyes.

“I don't know. The kind of geese I know don’t attack human establishments??”

“It’s obviously some elaborate prank by the children of Nemesis, considering it's their companion.” Muttering, Seungcheol stuffed his hand in his pockets. “Those winged brats are just wreaking havoc everywhere - they’ve broken all of the farm's tools, they’ve made a mess of the dining hall, they’ve shat all over the houses-” Both boys groaned. “-it's a catastrophe.”

“Are we sure it’s not Jeonghan?” Soonyoung narrowed his eyes. “We all know how much he enjoys stuff like this….”

“Jeonghan also loves to watch the consequences of his very well planned antics.” Seungcheol scoffed. “And he’s not at camp - he said he was going to the city for….. something, I don’t know but no, it’s not him.”

“If it's not him then how did these birds enter camp at night?” Minghao raised his eyebrows confused. “They shouldn’t have been able to pass Wonwoo’s nighttime defenses.”

“He says they might have sneaked in during the shift handover. Apparently Hansol and the hounds were the only ones patrolling when he was settling up because Jihoon was busy elsewhere.” Seungcheol looked straight at you, almost accusatorily.

What the hell, how was this your fault?

“There’s no need to look at her like that.” Minghao took a step forward, half covering you behind his frame. “You should talk to Jihoon about being more responsible with his time.”

“That’s not the point now.” Watching both men glaring at each other, Soonyoung tried to ease the tension. “We should be discussing how we can get rid of those menaces.”

“We've been trying.” Seungcheol groaned. “But neither Jun nor Hansol are able to communicate with them for some reason. It seems like they are some weird mix of domestic and wild.”

“That's strange.” Minghao frowned, lost in thought.

“Something does seem off.” Soonyoung agreed. “Not only have they breached Wonwoo's protection but they're also some sort of unheard half breeds? Two anomalies cannot be a coincidence.”

“Moreover, it's not like the children of Nemesis to prank.” Minghao frowned, staring at the ground. “Pettiness isn't their nature.”

“What other reason could they have to do this?” Seungcheol crossed his arms, muscles tense. “Revenge?”

“Maybe, or it might not even be them.” Sooonyoung looked lost in thought. “Seungkwan and I will speak around with our contacts. I’m sure we can find out something.”

Seungcheol nodded, “In the meantime we need to clear them from camp premises before they cause more destruction.”

“Then why aren't you at camp doing that chief?” Minghao narrowed his eyes at the leader. “Why is it that you're here, like there's more important things to worry about?”

You didn’t have to look to tell that Minghao was glancing at you over his shoulder.

Soonyoung didn't seem to think his presence was suspicious. “He's the Son of Zeus, Hao. Geese and him don't really go well together.”

You vaguely recalled Jihoon telling you something in the Iliad about Zeus, geese and the Helen of Troy.

“Is that it?” Minghao raised his eyebrow amused. “Big ol’ chief afraid of some feathered friends?”

“I’m here for Soonyoung.” Seungcheol gritted between his teeth. “And I asked for the message of the attack to be passed to him alone.”

Your eyes followed Soonyoung’s which focused on the group huddled in the corner - a bunch of the most beautiful people you had ever seen, snickering away.

“Fucking Aphrodite’s children.” He muttered knowing all three of you were purposely misled here in the interest of creating a scene.“How can I help, chief?”

“We were wondering if your ability to induce intoxication can calm them down so they can be captured?” He looked unsure. “Hansol and Jihoon were ready to shoot down the birds but if this really is a prank, we don’t want to harm their animals and seek trouble with the other camps.”

“Even though this might be their fault?”

“We have enough on our plate this season, Soonyoung.” It was very apparent that Seungcheol was trying his best not to meet your eye. “The last thing we need is more camps to be against us.”

Soonyoung nodded like he understood. “We should leave then but Chan is too drunk to drive-”

“I got here on Wonwoo’s bike.” Seungcheol waved his hand, dismissing the younger one’s concern. “You and I can head back first and the rest of the team…...Minghao, are you sober?”

The man in question nodded.

“Good, gather everyone immediately and make sure they reach camp safely, especially….”

Seungcheol glanced at you, his expression a lot softer but the anger you felt for him had not changed.

“I’m not leaving yet.” You spoke up for the first time, earning the leader’s confused look. “I don't want to.”

“Are you drunk?”

“And what if I am?”

“It’s a Thursday night Y/n, we have training tomorrow morning-”

“Ugh I don’t care.” You grabbed a canned cocktail from the nearby table and popped it open, ignoring Soonyoung’s widened eyes. “Your camp, your rules, whatever the hell you’ve got going on, I don’t care for it Cheol- oh sorry, Seungcheol.” You corrected yourself. “I will leave this party whenever I feel like I want to leave this party.”

“Stop being a child.” Seungcheol was clearly holding back his anger. “There’s enough going on back at camp now for you to-”

“Exactly, go deal with it chief. I’m sure you’ll all fare better without the “weak link” around.”

“Y/n I…” He sighed, watching you drink in big gulps. “First of all, you shouldn’t be drinking that-”

“Can someone please explain to this man that I’m not going to listen to him.”

“Cheol.” Minghao looked pointedly at his leader who was on the verge of snapping. “I’ll bring everyone back to camp safely…. everyone.” He emphasized again. “You and Kwon should get going now.”

“Yeah.” Soonyoung nodded before turning to you and grabbing the bottom ends of Minghao’s jacket, aligning them as his voice fell to a whisper. “Y/n, that’s a sex potion too.”

Eyes popping out, you nearly spat out your drink. “I thought it was just the beer??” He nodded. “Yeah, so did everyone, hence the improvisation.” He pulled the zip up, adjusting the jacket on your shoulders. “Take care sweetie.”

You nodded, eyes briefly meeting Seungcheol over Soonyoung’s shoulder. He looked…..indifferent as he stared back.

“Come on Kwon.” He muttered, turning away as the Soonyoung dropped a kiss on your forehead before taking a step back and jogging away to catch up with his leader. You only let out a breath as their figures disappeared in the rain that only got heavier.

Before you knew it, a familiar feeling began licking up your spine, warmth spreading all over your being just like it had earlier. As you slowly turned to Minghao, embarrassed to meet his eye, he straight up shook his head, looking amused.

“Nah uh. Ignorance I can understand but stupidity?” He scoffed. “That's your problem.”

“Minghao-”

“Fight it Y/n.” He grabbed a macaroon, stuffing it in his mouth as he began to walk away from you. “Fight it.”

Unlike Seungcheol’s house, the room you woke up in did not have sunlight streaming in.

Stretching on the large king size bed, you glanced at the now empty space beside you - the man who had given you company last night was no longer there and rightfully so considering it was way past training hours.

Ignoring the pain in your head, you swung your feet off the mattress, glancing out the window. The view is much nicer than Seungcheol’s house - there all you could see were endless trees and hills but here you could see much more of the camp, particularly the common cabin, where everyone was slowly walking towards after hitting the showers. Slightly annoyed and very bothered that yesterday’s events were about to repeat, you sighed, heading down the stairs, making your way to the dining hall. Unlike yesterday though, no one spared a glance at you as you walked in.

You could tell they were all tired - you saw much of the aftermath of the geese ambush as you returned to camp late last night. Considering everything looked normal today, you figured the boys must have spent all night cleaning up before reporting to train in the wee hours of the morning.

“Y/n,” Mingyu’s voice called out to you from behind as you turned to him. “You left this in my workshop last night….”

As you glanced at the jacket in his outstretched hand, the eyes of the other boys flickered between the two of you.

“That's mine.’ Minghao walked up, swooping his garment in his hands as the attention of the room shifted to him. You gulped as he walked away from the hall wordlessly.

You figured you should say something considering the silence was only getting worse, maybe apologise for missing training yet again but before you could say it, Seungcheol got up and walked right past you without saying a word.

Lips parted, you watched him leave once more, refusing to say anything, refusing to listen to you, simply being stubborn like he always was.

Fine, if he was going to be a bitch, so were you. Following his suit, you walked out of the hall in the opposite direction, leaving everyone inside baffled.

The heat of the water just wasn’t comforting.

You knew it was hot, there was steam all around, the tiles of the shower were covered in condensation and designs you had mindlessly traced with your finger. But rather than scalding your skin off, the boiling hot water just felt like a tickle. Annoyed, you turned off the pouring water and grabbed the towel, wrapping it around your body, tucking it in front of your chest. As you ran your hand through your wet hair, you looked at yourself in the mirror.

Water was dripping from the wet strands, running down the many darkening, reddish purple marks on your neck and shoulder. You knew they would get darker as days passed but you didn’t expect them to look so bruised up already. Running your finger across them you sighed - last night was a horrible mistake. Sure you were under the influence of some messed up concoction but sleeping with more than one member of the camp was ridiculous to say the least.

What was more burdensome was the idea that maybe there was more than the concoction involved…. Soonyoung had broken up with his girlfriend because of you but neither he nor you were sure about what exactly he felt for you and Minghao? You had noticed he was generally protective of you since you had joined camp and thought it was just because he was nice, but the way he pulled you away from Soonyoung every time the two of you were a little more intimate? That did not seem very ‘general’.

Shutting your eyes, you tried to push the details of last night out of your mind. Thank god you listened to your trainer when he told you to fight it. Otherwise when you asked Mingyu if you could crash at his place in order to avoid Seungcheol and found yourself sharing his king size bed, maybe you would have allowed yourself to make another mistake. You couldn't make another one so soon.

Tightening the grip of your towel, you turned towards the changing rooms, slightly startled by the figure that just walked in.

Wonwoo - also in his towel, hanging low at his waist, moving as silent as a shadow as he walked towards the showers. You should have felt exposed, more conscious, given you were barely dressed, and covered in innumerable hickies but you didn't feel a thing. Because Wonwoo hadn't spared you a glance. He walked past you like he couldn't care less, like you weren't there.

“What is your problem?”

After days of watching this man behave so unnecessarily indifferent to you, you finally spoke up, mind already disturbed by a hundred and one things.

“Why do you always behave like I don't exist?” You crossed your arms, staring him down. “If you're an introvert, I can understand, Hansol doesn't interact with me much either but at least he doesn't behave like I'm invisible, like he can see right through me-”

“Because I can.” His voice left him deep and cold as he turned to you. “Because I can see right through you.”

You scoffed. “What-”

“Because regardless of what you pretend to be in front of others, I can see the real you. I know things about you that you won't even admit to yourself.”

“What-” You emphasised again. “-can you possibly know?.”

“What can I know?” He raised an eyebrow. “I know you're a loner Y/n. You've been one your whole life. Your biological parents never cared enough about you, you don't have any siblings, you've never bothered to make friends, you've always been alone.” He took a step forward. “Even though it was circumstances that drove you to loneliness, you always told yourself that it was your choice, that you wanted to be alone because it’s easier that way. It’s easier to tell yourself that you chose to distance yourself from everyone rather than admit that you were rejected. You knew you would never be accepted. You knew no matter where you were and what you did, you would never fit in. You knew you were a freak.”

Eyes widening, you stared at his nearing figure.

“But now? Now you're finally in a place where you belong. You are finally with your kind but you're still terrified - you're scared that maybe, this isn’t where you’re meant to be either. You're scared that if you accept these people and they find out what you really are, they'll leave you too. They'll break the heart you've been safeguarding for all these years.”

Your heart was quite literally in your mouth.

“That's why you rebel. That's why you call this place 'camp' and never ‘home’. You say things are hard and you're having trouble adjusting but what you're really trying to do is establish that you always are and always will be an outsider - you’re trying to escape the pain that will come when you're finally abandoned. That is why you'll always look for reasons to leave this camp. You'll never let yourself belong, you'll never let yourself become one of those here. So tell me, why do I have to try and bother with your existence when you’re just looking for the first chance to run?”

And somehow, now you could feel the heat all over. It was uncomfortably coursing through your whole body, burning you inside out in a way that made you want to rip out your skin but you already felt so bare, so naked in front of this man.

But before any words could leave you at all, Wonwoo took a step back and then another till he retreated out of sight and into the showers. It was only when he disappeared that you finally let out the breath you were holding.

Maybe the more logical thing to do was to dive into the lake before you hit the showers but here you were, stripping into just your inner wear and jumping into the ice cold waters, desperate to cool yourself off. As you submerged yourself further in the waters, you shut your eyes, submerging into the darkness as well.

The fire burning inside you because of Wonwoo's words was just not dying. For the first time ever, it felt like you had truly looked into a mirror because every single word that came out of that man's mouth was true. So, so true.

And he was right when he said you've never admitted these things even to yourself because you were never really one for introspection. It wasn't like you to explore your thoughts, understand your nature, figure out the intentions of your actions. No, none of that.

You were impulsive. You dived head first into things. You made decisions, then considered the consequences. You were reckless, you lived fearlessly, you lived like no one and nothing else mattered.

Because nothing else did matter.

Ever since you were young, you were on your own. You were not even sure when your mother left you, you had no memories of her and your father? The man who was barely ever present, abandoned you 3 days before your 12th birthday. From then your life had been just yours alone. You worked odd jobs to feed yourself, you worked hard to study, you studied harder to work better and life just went on like that. You didn't have many friends to compensate for the solitude either. Making friends was somehow not very easy for you - how were you supposed to explain the shambles of your life to people? How were you supposed to establish any kind of relationship with anyone when the only ones you ever had, walked out on you?

You were better off alone. You were always better off alone.

That was until one incident turned your entire life upside down.

The days leading up to your arrival at camp are still a blur to you. The flames, the masked men, the court, the meeting of dozens of people - it all still felt like a fever dream. But one moment was still very clear in your memory - the moment when you were standing at the shrine of your mother, in front of her statue.

Goddess of the hearth, home and hospitality they said. The old man beside you was going on and on about her. About her powers, about what a wonderful woman she was, about how delighted you'd be to meet her.

You, though, felt like you were stabbed in the heart you had so carefully locked away.

When the masked men revealed the truth of your parentage, when you learnt about your mother, you let that hope in you grow again. You thought maybe with this big secret finally out you’ll finally get to meet her. That she would finally be a part of your life.

That’s why when they gave you a choice at the swearing in ceremony to join camp seventeen or go back to your mortal life, you chose the former. It was for her, it was to be with your mother, it was to finally feel home.

But as you stared at her statue, offering your respects after the ceremony, it was like someone was drowning you in cold water. Nothing about the expression on her face felt remotely homely, nothing about her felt warm and loving to you - she did not feel like a mother. Rather she felt cold, distant and unwelcoming, just like you imagined the woman who abandoned you would look like.

And with time, you realised your fear was right.

Ever since you arrived at camp, all you did was wait. Wait for just one conversation, maybe an explanation, or even just a glimpse. But there was no indication of her. She didn’t drop by the camp, she didn’t respond to your invocation at the temple, she didn't care at all, just like she hadn’t in the last twenty five years.

The pain of being re-abandoned was so strong that, with each passing day, it began to gnaw on your insides. The breaking point was perhaps realising that you were her only progeny yet you didn't matter to her. It was a blow you had refused to accept but one that had most definitely broken you internally. You had uprooted your whole life for her, you made this new world yours but at what cost - daily incessant instructions to train, classes after classes teaching you how to fit in, members continually trying to make you feel at home. You didn’t want this home, you didn’t want these people, you only wanted her.

Wonwoo was right, you were never here to be a part of this camp, it was merely a stepping stone to your final goal. You were indeed looking to run.

But before you could wonder about how Wonwoo knew all these things about you, a hand wrapped around your waist. In a flash it pulled you out and tossed you onto the bank as you launched into a coughing fit, throwing up water.

“What the hell Y/n?” A worried voice patted your back. “What were you thinking?”

In between your fit, you raised your head to meet the sight of a set of extremely well chiseled abs, rivets of water dripping down them. Gulping you cleared your throat and scooted back, suddenly aware that you were very very minimally dressed.

Your saviour Seokmin, looked away from you realising the same as he grabbed the shirt he had tossed into the grass before jumping into the water and handed it to you. Taking it from him, you slipped it on.

“What is wrong with you?”

“What?” You frowned. “I'm fine.”

“You were underwater for so long, I thought you drowned…” Seokmin muttered, pushing his wet hair off his face. “Are you okay?”

“I'm okay.” You mumbled. You weren't but you knew he wasn't referring to your broken heart.

“You looked distressed.” Or maybe he was.

“I just… had some thinking to do.”

“Well underwater isn't the best place for that if I'm being honest.” He chuckled. “Unless you're Poseidon's child.”

“What, only you have a claim on water?”

“No, only we can breathe underwater.” He somehow looked embarrassed. “Though I was well into my teens before I discovered that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was terrified of water as a child, wouldn't go near it.” He laughed. “Ironic for the Son of the Sea right?”

You scoffed. “A little.”

“When my aura got stronger, my father found me and helped me get habituated to the waters, that's how I-”

“Your father?” You gulped, knowing the answer even as you asked him. “Your father as in Poseidon? Poseidon helped you?”

Seokmin nodded like it was obvious. “I was so scared of any kind of water body, he would lure me in with my favourite snacks. As I got older, I stopped falling for such tricks so he took me to Olympus and made sure I was personally trained in those olympic size pools-”

“Fucking hell.” You got to your feet, much to Seokmin's confusion, tripping as you did.

“Y/n careful!” He quickly got up, catching you before you hit the ground again. “Are you okay-”

“No.” You shook your head.“I am not.”

And with that you walked away from there, body alight with a different kind of fire now. You needed to find someone immediately.

“Jihoon, we need to talk.”

As you slammed the door of Jihoon’s house open, you were met with silence.

This was the first time you were in his residence and somehow if you had to picture how his home looked, it was nowhere close to this. You assumed the son of the Sun would prefer whites or lighter colours but most of the minimal furniture in his house was a dark black, standing out starkly in the small room. But right now wasn't the time for you to ponder about his interiors, there were more important things you needed to talk to him about.

Turning on your heel, you shut the door behind you, wandering into this backyard instead. You knew Jihoon had his own personal gym somewhere there and if Soonyoung was right about his tendency to work out, it was highly likely you would find him there.

“Hi Cow.” You waved at the half asleep animal under the tree, lazily blinking at you. As though it read your mind, it pointed its head towards the small path on the side before tucking its head between its legs and dozing off. You followed its directions, reaching a large tinted greenhouse and when you opened the door you were greeted by two dozen gym equipment. In the middle of it all was the man you were looking for, his bare back facing you as he hung off a bar, pulling himself up with way too much ease.

“Y/n.” Well it was no surprise he recognised you without even a glance. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Why has everyone on camp decided to be shirtless today?” You mumbled, walking in, looking around.

Chuckling, Jihoon jumped off, turning to you as he landed. Eyes running down your body, he cocked his head. “Is that why you chose to go bottomless instead?”

And it was only then that you realized you didn't fully dress yourself before storming away from the lake in just Seokmin's shirt.

“I was hot.” You shrugged, pulling down the shirt.

“Hot you are.” He mumbled, sitting down on the bench, grabbing a pair of dumbells. “There's way too much heat in your body, which means you're either mad or ovulating and I'm not sure how I can help with either.”

“The former.” You rolled your eyes. “And only you can help with it.”

“Go on.” He sighed, curling the weights, his biceps bulging with every move. Tearing your eyes away, you cleared your throat.

“I want to meet my mother.”

“Which one?”

“Hestia.” You crossed your arms. “I have something to ask her.”

“I'm still missing the part where I can help.”

“You said you'll teach me how to reach out to her.”

“I did.” He grunted, focusing on his workout. “And I will, every Thursday at 4-”

You grabbed the dumbbell with surprising ease and put them down before leaning over the man before you, expression threatening.

“Lee Jihoon, I swear to god, if you don't help me right now…”

Your words trailed away as his eyes shifted down to your neck, the shirt no longer hiding the bruises that were littered all over it. You glanced down before straightening yourself, taking a step back. Jihoon got up, pushing his hair back, eyes fixed on you.

“I just…” You sighed. “I just want to meet her once.”

“Then go to the camp temple and invoke her presence.”

“I have, everyday. She doesn’t respond.”

“Then there’s no way I can help you Y/n.” He grabbed his towel, wiping the sweat off his arms. “One can only meet Gods if they wish to meet you and I think your mother has made her wishes very clear.”

“I don’t care what she wishes.” You spoke between gritted teeth. “And you said if I played my cards right, my mother would come looking for me.”

“I also said it would take years of training to become worthy of that.”

“I don't have years, Jihoon. I want to meet her as soon as I can.”

“And why the newfound urgency?” He frowned. “What changed overnight?”

Wonwoo.

“Seokmin said his father taught him to swim, that as a child he took him to Olympus.”

“So?”

“So how come my mother never cared, Jihoon? Why is it that she still doesn't?”

“I already told you-”

“I don't buy that.” You shook your head. “How can a mother be ashamed of having a child? Of her only child?”

“You'd be surprised.” Jihoon looked at you pitably. “Gods aren't like humans.”

“Then let her say that to me.” You took a deep breath. “Let her give me that closure so I can stop losing my mind over this. I just want one meeting with her please, is there really no way?”

“There is one.” He hummed, crossing his arms, his pecs bulging behind them.

“And what is that?”

“By doing a sacrifice.”

“Sac-sacrifice?” You looked at him shocked. “Like those cult stuff?”

Jihoon rolled his eyes, forgetting just how little you knew about this world. “Sacrifice is an age-old tradition made by our ancestors to please the gods, to gain their favours.” He leaned against the treadmill, slipping into his professor role, just like he had yesterday. “At times of droughts, they used to call on Zeus for rains. When crops were ravaged by pests, Demeter was the one to turn to. When they were at war, Ares was their savior. But,” He sighed. “calling upon a god was not so easy - it required time and perseverance and procedure-”

“What kind of procedure?”

“It was insanely complex.” Reaching for his bottle, Jihoon began walking out of the greenhouse, you following closely behind. “First, men would have to climb to the top of mount Olympus to get holy fire, then they would gather items for sacrifice. Every god has a set of items that they just cannot refuse. Dionysus loves his gemstones, Poseidon will do anything for seasalt. Artemis is harder to please, she likes a very specific kind of wildflower. If one offered enough of these to please the gods, then they would appear and were obliged to extend one favour in exchange. But ‘enough’ was where the problem lied.” As he bent down to pet Cow, you stared far off at the horizon, lost in thought. ”The Gods were incredibly difficult to satisfy, it took large amounts for anything to be ‘enough’ for them. There were demigods who had spent ages trying to invoke them, even losing their minds in the attempts.”

“That’s degenerate.” You frowned, as he stopped again, this time to grab a bunch of herbs from the wall of his house.

“It was.” He began plucking the leaves, grabbing handfuls. “Eventually, when the Oracle of Delphi was made in charge of the Demigods, things changed. Any demigod who wished to do a sacrifice had to obtain a scroll from her - the Scroll of Sacrifice. A piece of paper that would explicitly state just one thing that the gods wanted in exchange for a favour.”

Pushing the nearby door open, he stepped in.

“So you’re saying,” You followed him into his house. “-the only way for me is to go to the oracle, get a scroll, sacrifice whatever is needed and then in exchange I can earn her favour and make her answer my questions?”

“Theoretically yes, but in reality,” He shook his head, opening yet another door and walking in. “it won’t be that easy.”

“Why not?”

“Delphi only hands scrolls to very few demigods, ones she deems worthy and even if she does, they're incredibly difficult - the sacrifice demanded in exchange is almost always impossible to let go.”

“How hard can it be?” You frowned. “What kind of sacrifices do they ask for?”

Jihoon sighed, the incessant questions finally getting to him. “You do know your weekly classes are for exactly such information right?”

“But I want to know right now.”

“Can I at least tell you without having you stare at me getting dressed?”

Oh.

Apparently you had walked behind him straight into his dressing room.

Muttering an apology, you stepped out as he shut the door behind you.

“So,” You half spun on the balls of your foot. “You were saying?”

Another one of Jihoon’s sighs reached you before his voice. “The Gods are not fond of being obliged to hand out favours - that's why they make sacrifices nearly impossible. I heard Apollo asked for a demigod’s sight and the boy fell to his death before he could even ask for what he wanted. Aphrodite made one of her own children give up her ability to love….. it drove her to insanity. And one of those who prayed to Zeus has been chained to a rock on an abandoned island for nearly twelve years and he still has five more years to go. There are endless stories like this Y/n and each of them will only tell you not to opt for such madness.” He opened the door, now fully dressed, a pair of shorts in his hand. “Here.”

You took it from him, looking a little stumped. “Please wear them Y/n. I can barely look at you…” He muttered walking away again and you quickly slipped on the pair that was just a little too big for you. Following him past a room full of what seemed like musical instruments, you walked into a small pantry.

“What about Hestia?” You gulped, images of her cold face flashing before you. “What has she asked in exchange?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” He threw the herbs he had gathered earlier into a motor. “I’ve never heard of anyone who’s really seeked her favour.”

You scoffed. “Of course not, what would they ask her help for? Light up their fireplace?”

Jihoon looked up from the paste he was crushing, slightly miffed. “Your mother is no minor goddess Y/n. She's the caretaker, the protector. Hestia is worshiped in every place called home.”

“How ironic.” You smiled sadly. “Her own daughter has never had a home.”

“Unfortunately, no god considers it their responsibility to take care of their bastard children.” He looked pointedly at the counter. “Sit.”

“Why?”

“Just sit Y/n.”

“But why?”

Sighing, Jihoon rolled his eyes and grabbed you by the waist, hoisting you onto the counter effortlessly as you bit back a scream. As though nothing happened, he continued to do whatever it was he was doing while you tried to calm your uncharacteristically racing heart.

“It's also unfair to blame Hestia for not having a home when your mortal parents were the one who were supposed to care for you.”

“I know.” You muttered looking down at your fiddling fingers. “This may sound insane but finding Hestia might be easier than finding my mortal parents…. I don't know a thing about them.”

“I know someone on camp who can help-”

“But I don't want to find them….yet. I don't know what to ask them.” You looked up as Jihoon pulled out a ladder from the side and began climbing it, reaching for something on the higher shelves. “I’m not prepared to find out if they know the kind of monster I am.”

“Why would you say that?” He looked at you over his shoulder, frowning. “You don’t even know what your powers are, right?”

You gulped, staring at the floor, mind racing back to a conversation last night........

“Try not to touch anything.” Mingyu warned as you strolled along his workshop in the faint light of the moonlight. “I’m not really sure if any of these are still hot. I don’t really…. feel heat.”

As if you did.

Hanging out with Mingyu wasn’t really on your cards today. After Minghao had left you to deal with your little problem on your own, you had silently made your way out of the house and down the street, searching for a pharmacy. It must’ve been a good twenty minute unsuccessful walk before Mingyu, who was driving around on his bike looking for you, spotted you. You told him you were looking to buy some pills for a headache so he offered to drive you to the nearest store. He didn’t need to know what you really needed was some plan B. After you had procured what you wanted and he started heading back to camp, you told him to take the longest route possible. While he obliged, you wrapped your arms around his waist and drifted off, not wanting to think about all that was plaguing your mind. Not wanting to think about Seungcheol.

But he’s the first thought on your mind the moment the bike halted at the camp gate. You didn’t want to see him, not now. Mingyu was generous enough to agree when you muttered wanting to take up his offer to crash in his residence. He didn’t question the change of heart, instead he carefully walked you through his workshop, bringing you to the stairs on the other side, leading you up to his house. You though are far too enthralled to follow him.

“You’ve got quite the space here.” You pursed your lips impressed, stripping out of the jacket as he smiled proudly. “Must never be boring.”

“It isn’t.” He admitted. “Making weapons doesn’t take me too long, leaves a lot of time on my hands for other experiments and endeavors.”

“Such as?”

“I like creating little automations.” He shrugged. “Machinery that allows me to be creative and makes life easier. Like the one that's currently out there chopping up wood, for your house.”

“Oh.” You raised your eyebrows looking around. “What else have you made?”

“Too many to remember.” He laughed. “But my best creation is probably my bike. It took months of trial and error. Couldn't have done it without my best buddy.”

“Wonwoo?” You had noticed the two were significantly closer than the rest. There was definitely some story there.

Mingyu laughed. “Yes Wonwoo is the best but no, I'm talking about that little guy.”

He pointed behind you and you turned, finding yourself about 500 meters away from a not so little three headed dog, snarling at you with all three of its mouths, drooling leaking from the edges. You took a careful step back and another, crashing into the chest of Mingyu who had sneaked up to you.

“What is that?” You whispered, voice shaking just a bit.

“That’s Cerberus, my pet.”

“That’s a pet?!”

“It’s Wonwoo’s actually….. But yes, he’s a pet and he’s really friendly, don’t worry.”

“Huh.” You breathed, not believing his words but only relieved cause you noticed he was chained. “And he helps you with your experiments?”

Mingyu nodded, steering you away from there, walking you toward his house once more. “Cerberus is a very powerful creature - he’s immensely strong, uncharacteristically intelligent and most importantly, he’s my fire source.”

“Fire source?”

“The most important tool for a blacksmith like me is the flame - you see those.” He pointed at big cave shaped structures lined neatly on the edge. “Forging presses like that require fires that cannot be ignited by tiny matchsticks. It takes a powerful source to work them, like Cerberus.”

You tensed, just a little. “So Cerberus can create fire?”

“He breathes fire.” Mingyu clarified. “Cerberus is from the Underworld, like most mysteries in our world. So yeah, he is one of the few creatures that can create fire.”

“C-can’t you?” You scratched the back of your head, trying to seem casual. “You said you don’t feel heat so can’t you… make fire too?”

“Don’t be silly Y/n.” Mingyu scoffed. “Fire is one of the five natural elements. Even the gods, your mother included, can only control fire, not create it.”

You were right. Even here you were a freak, even here you didn’t fit in.

None of Mingyu’s excited explanations about the various projects he was working on went into your head. There was only one thing you could think about - You didn’t belong here and you needed to leave before everyone realised that.

“...and that’s why I don’t have a guest bedroom but don’t worry, my bed is king sized.” Mingyu leaned against the stairs with a small smirk dancing on his face. “Though I can’t promise I can keep my hands to myself.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing him to lead the way up. The only thing that gave you comfort as he laughed was the knowledge that if you burned, Mingyu was perhaps the only one who couldn’t hurt with your fire......

“Y/n.” Jihoon hopped off the ladder looking at you quizzically. “Where are you lost?”

“I….” You cleared your throat. “I just meant, I don’t know, what if my mortal parents are aware of any kind of powers I might have? What if… that’s what kept them away from me?”

“Then that’s all the more reason you have to find them.” Jihoon shrugged. “It would help us-”

“No.” You firmly shook your head. “Just…let me just talk to Hestia first, everything else can wait.”

“As you wish.” He held up the bowl of whatever concoction he was mixing, a green paste staring at you. “In the meantime…”

“What is that?”

“It's my special ointment for bruises. Makes any and all scars and wounds disappear.”

“I’m not hurt….” Your voice faded away as Jihoon’s eyes landed on the red, purple and blue trail of hickies on your neck.

“Are you sure you want to go around parading the evidence of your threesome last night?”

“I’m not trying to…how do you even know it was a threesome?”

“Those are clearly marked by two different men.”

You rolled your eyes. “Is this another one of your body reading tricks?”

“Yes but anyone who knows you were at your first Aphrodite rager last night will be able to guess that much.” Jihoon shrugged, standing right before you. “In fact, three is a rather small number there, most scenes tend to involve a minimum of five people.”

You felt your jaw hang as Jihoon looked amused.

“So do you want it gone or not?”

“Why?” You cleared your throat. “You think I should hide all this in case the other boys make assumptions like yours? That I ought to have some shame?”

“Not shame, I thought you might appreciate some privacy.” He shrugged. “Given there’s someone who you have been particularly wary of these days.”

Seungcheol.

How did this man know everything?

Sighing, you gripped the edges of Seokmin's shirt and pulled it over your head, baring your neck to the man before you. Trying not to smile, Jihoon slotted himself between your dangling legs, pushed the hair off your shoulder, gently tending to your bruises.

“It might sting.” He warned right on time as you grabbed his bicep with your free hand, feeling pain shooting up your nerves as the cold ointment touched your skin.

“Breathe.” He instructed, softly running his fingers along your collarbone. “It’ll pass.”

You figured listening to the expert might be better so you did, trying your best to ignore the intimate proximity between the two of you.

“While we are at it,” You looked away as he blew on your wounds, cold wind caressing it. “Do you also have something for potential STDs or…. You know, ensuring our kind doesn’t replicate?”

Jihoon chuckled. “Again, demigods don’t get sick Y/n, STDs don’t mean anything to us and we don’t ‘replicate’ either so there’s really nothing to worry about.”

Suddenly, every cell in your body stopped functioning. “What do you mean?”

Jihoon blinked at you like he was only just realising what he said. “Uh…. Demigods are barren Y/n, we…. cannot have children.”

Though you were sitting it felt like the ground had been pulled from under your feet. Like everything around you had stopped. Like everything had ended.

“Y/n are you okay?”

How could you be? You just learnt that you could never have children, that you could never be a mother. All your life you didn’t have a family but now? Being a demigod had robbed you of your chance to ever have one in the future. You wanted to peel that part away, rip it and throw it somewhere far away, get rid of this side of you that had done nothing but make everything worse.

Jihoon seemed to have understood the storm inside you. Or felt it. He was quiet as he grabbed a washcloth and slowly wiped away the ointment, the bruises beneath it starting to look a lot lighter already. As the sting ebbed away, the pain in your heart felt more apparent, coursing through you, hurting everywhere.

At that moment your eyes trailed over the soft and sharp features of his face burrowed in concentration, your admiration for it overpowering every other thought.

That’s it. That’s what you needed again. A distraction.

Now that his job was done, Jihoon tried to move away but your grip on his arm was like a vice. He glanced at it then at you with a raised eyebrow.

“So you're telling me-” You cocked your head at him. “-even though I let two men cum inside me yesterday and if my prediction is right, another will get his turn today - I'm not at the potential risk of anything?”

Jihoon raised his eyebrow. “No you're not but pray tell, since when did the daughter of Hestia dabble in predictions? I thought that was in the hands of Apollo's prodigy.”

“It is.” You ran your hand down his arm, feeling every ridge of muscle under your touch, voice leaving you in a whisper. “The possibility of my prediction coming true or not is in your hands really.”

Jihoon’s eyes darkened as your tongue darted out to lick your lower lip slowly. Before you knew it, his hands gripped the thickness of your thighs and with a quick jerk he pulled you closer to him, your legs wrapping around his waist. Jihoon looked up at you and you down at him, breaths mingling in anticipation.

“I know what you're doing Y/n and I know why you're doing this.” He spoke ever so softly. “But I'm not a distraction kind of guy so if there's ever a time you really want me, then you'll have me.”

With that he pulled you off the counter and let you lower your legs on to the floor, looking away. Given the kind of tension and the comfort you had grown to have with him and most importantly how unbelievably hard he was, his length right below your ass, you didn't think he'd say no. It was fair, he was allowed to. It wasn't his fault you were looking to jump any given person just to take your mind off things.

Nodding, and mumbling a soft thanks for the ointment, you grabbed your shirt and walked past him, only stopping by the corridor to return what was his.

“Sorry.” Muttering you slid off his shorts and placed it on the shelf beside you.

Jihoon surprisingly let out a soft groan. You thought it was because you were suddenly minimally dressed but you noticed his eyes were gazing between your legs, on the wet spot of your underwear. You tried to press your legs closer, suddenly feeling very exposed but all it does is darken the spot, making things worse.

“Fucking hell.” Jihoon muttered and in a flash you were pushed up against the wall, trapped between it and him, caged by his arms on either side. “I'm only just a man Y/n.”

Your eyes flickered down to his pants, the outline of his hard on starkly visible. “Uh huh.”

“Do you still want this?”

You cocked your head, hand running down his chest and over the tent in his pants as you smirked. “I predicted it.”

“Allow me to make a pre-” His words faltered as you squeezed his length. “-prediction as well.”

“By all means.”

“You're gonna cum three times before I do.”

“Oh really?” You raised your eyebrows and spat into your hand, slipping it past the waistband of his pants, wrapping your hand around his length. “I don't think so.”

“That's….” He half panted, watching your hand do its job, his own hands still against the wall like they were taped to it. “Getting a headstart is cheating.”

“You're slow.”

“I'm savouring.” He smiled, leaning closer. “I'm in good hands and I know you're soaked. It's only a matter of time before you're begging.”

You chuckled softly as though you were amused by his assumption but true to his words, your walls were already fluttering, clenching around nothing as your legs squeezed together. Jihoon, like the master of reading your body that he was, put his hand right in between, cupping you over your underwear, the pressure of his palm on your clit ever so light. From the soft sigh that left your mouth you both knew you were faring far worse than he was - truly, it was brave on your part to challenge him.

“Jihoon….”

He hums in response as the pace of your hand falters.

“Touch me.”

“I am sweetheart.”

“More.” You wrapped your free hand around his wrist, breath shaking and Jihoon allowed you to lead him exactly where you wanted him - past the hem of your panties, right where the wetness was pooling between your legs.

“Good fucking god…” He swore like he didn't expect you to be this drenched. What a funny guy. What did he think was gonna happen when he was this undeniably hot?

You on the other hand expected him to be a tease, to draw this out, to make you beg. But to your complete surprise, he wasted no time in sliding two thick digits in, making you squeeze his length at the sheer stretch of the intrusion.

“Sweetheart, you're gonna kill me.” He muttered, shutting his eyes tight.

You wanted to apologise, you really did but whatever words were leaving your mouth didn't seem to be making any sense. Not when Jihoon was picking up the pace, taking turns pumping, curling and scissoring his fingers inside you. You felt your back arch on its own, head thrown back as an unholy moan left your being. Fuck he was right, you cannot possibly think of anything else now - this man was capable of turning you into a complete wreck before you could even get a moan out of him.

“Your bruises have nearly disappeared.” He noticed with your neck bared to him once again. “It was prettier marked.”

“Mark it then.” You panted, composing yourself, getting back to stroking him again. “Do whatever you want.”

And that's enough to break his resolve, as you felt his fingers slowing down while his teeth ran across the skin of your shoulder. Taking advantage of his momentary fixation, you ran your thumb across his slit, feeling the precum spill onto your fingers. Jihoon groaned, his mouth getting more aggressive on your neck as you gripped his bicep again, sinking your nails into it.

Fuck, there it was.

That tightening in the pits of your being, there it was, slowly climbing as you felt your legs starting to shake and Jihoon smirking against your skin, reading all the signs like he knew your body inside out. Thank god he could because just when you needed it, he slid in another finger and curled them up, reaching that sweet spot that had you instantly snapping, falling apart.

He stilled his movements as you convulsed around his fingers, holding onto him tight but before you could even come down from your high, he started moving again.

“Ji… Jihoon.” You whimpered, chest heaving. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

And before you know it your barely ebbed orgasm blended into a second one and you were practically gushing out into his hand.

“Damn sweetheart.” He smiled at you like he was a little too pleased with himself. “You're an easy one.”

Excuse me?

You could barely get a hold of yourself but that wasn't the most pressing matter - how dare he dismiss you so easily?

Given your mouth was dry you swallowed on nothing, and shoved him back with just a small push. Jihoon looked at you confused initially, then his eyes widened as you dropped to your knees and he realised what you were up to. But just as your hand reached the waistband of his bottoms and he pushed the hair off your face, more than ready to fuck your mouth, a loud sound rang through the silence of the afternoon.

“Shit.” Jihoon muttered pulling you up. “That's code purple.”

You groaned. “Why are there so many fucking colours?”

Frowning, he threw you your clothes before leading you to a small basin to wash your hands and his. “We need to go. It’s an emergency team meeting.”

As he scurried around grabbing his things, his bow and arrows to be specific, you dressed yourself once again, watching him. Guess neither of your predictions were coming true after all.

Noticing you were still lost in your thoughts, Jihoon sighed and grabbed you by the hand, leading you out of his house and to the dining hall of the common cabin where apparently all team meetings were held.

When the two of you had reached, thankfully only Soonyoung and Seungkwan were there and though their expressions were full of questions, they asked none. Before you knew it, everyone had gathered and whispers going around as they settled in their seats but the moment Seungcheol raised his hand, they died down.

“What's the matter?”

Seungkwan nodded at Soonyoung who stood up, looking around.

“Kwan and I sent some messages out today asking about the geese attack last night.” He shook his head slowly. “It seems no camp is responsible for it.”

Minghao spun the blade in his hand with a frown. “So it wasn't a prank or an act of retribution?”

Seungkwan shook his head. “Considering how we all thought their nature was odd, Hansol connected us to some Hunters of Artemis.” He laid out a map with four red crosses. “They gave us four locations where birds like this were sighted.”

“So this was just like any other animal attack?” Seokmin leaned back, looking relieved.

“I'm afraid not. It may or may not be a coincidence but the Hunters also claim that all four locations have been frequently exhibiting very high energy signals, signals that might belong to…” Seungkwan gulped. “The Chimaera.”

A strange silence descended upon the room as glances were exchanged. You looked at Jihoon questioningly but he looked troubled.

“The fire breather.” Chan let out a low whistle. “It hasn't been heard of in centuries.”

“It seems to be on the move off late.” Hansol tucked the arrows he was polishing into his quiver. “It's hunting.”

“And I think the geese are its agents.” Soonyoung pointed out. “Geese have always been symbols of vigilance and surveillance. Whatever the Chimaera is hunting, I think it's using the birds to trace it. That's why neither Jun nor Hansol could understand them, because they aren't wild or domestic - they're monsters.”

“Chan,.” Seungcheol straightened himself. “Alert Olympus, tell them we need troops-”

“It seems Olympus assigned the hunt to Artemis, ” Seungkwan added. “And you know how the Hunters function. Their goal is to capture the beast, not kill it so they have been taking their time to strategize.”

“Well we can't wait for them to figure things out.” Jeonghan stared at the map on the table, a hundred things running in his mind. “We're going to have to hunt the monster on our own.”

“Us?” Minghao looked around. “Do you even understand how powerful the creature is-”

“Should we just sit back and wait for it to attack the camp then?” Jeonghan raised his eyebrows. “Because whatever it's looking for is here and monsters aren't patient creatures.”

“I know, but-”

“Minghao.” Seungcheol interrupted, warning. “Jeonghan is our strategist, we'll let him decide what's best.”

Minghao nodded begrudgingly as Jeonghan pulled the paper towards himself, Soonyoung handing him a pen.

“We'll split according to our assigned partners.” He began drawing out lines and scribbling names. “Seungkwan and Soonyoung, you two head to the demigod union in the city and alert them, in case we need back up. Minghao and Jun, I want you both here for camp protection, Mingyu and Wonwoo as well…” He looked thoughtful. “If the Chimaera decides to attack the camp in our absence, Cerberus is the only chance we have against it.”

As all four boys nodded, Jeonghan turned to the rest.

“The remaining of us will go to the four locations. Everyone will use an energy reader and find the location of the Chimaera. Once you’ve narrowed down its location, alert the team to gather for a hunt. Any foolishness such as going after the monster on your own will not lead to punishment because you'll already be dead.” He glanced around. “Is that understood?”

Mummers of agreement echoed in the room.

“Jihoon and Hansol, you two head to the one in the south, that's the biggest area but your hounds should help cover it. Joshua and I will head east, Chan and Seokmin will head west and Seungcheol…..” His eyes landed on the leader who was very evidently shaking his head. “Seungcheol and Y/n, you two will head north.”

You looked at Jeonghan in disbelief.

“Han,” Seungcheol spoke before you could say anything. “I don't need a partner, I've always been a lone hunter-”

“That was because we were an odd number of members. But now there's 14 of us so Y/n will go with you-”

“It's a dangerous mission and she's untrained.” Seungcheol spoke between gritted teeth. “She will be better off in camp-”

“She will be safer with our strongest warrior.” Jeonghan argued back. “You cannot always be team leader Cheol, learn to be a team player. Y/n will accompany you.”

“No I won’t.” You shook your head. “I have no interest in being where I am not wanted.”

“Y/n, it's not a choice.” Jeonghan sounded tired. “I'm the strategist and this is an order-”

“I don't care.” You got up, firm about your decision. “I'm not going anywhere with this man.”

And with that you stormed away from there, ignoring the faint voice of Jeonghan who sighed and continued giving instructions.

“We leave tomorrow at daybreak.”

You stared at the schedule in your hand wondering why on Earth you hadn't looked at it before you stepped into the classroom. Admittedly all your time went in washing up, changing your clothes, grabbing lunch and rushing for your afternoon lesson, but you should have noticed what was in store for today.

Friday - Quest Strategy (Choi Seungcheol, Yoon Jeonghan)

And you didn't want to see either of them right now.

But before you could grab your things and leave the room to make it seem like you were never here in the first place, Jeonghan arrived, standing against the door, watching you pack up.

“You need to stop running away from everything.”

As he walked in, you looked up, rolling your eyes. “And you need to stop interfering in my life.”

“My decisions as strategist aren't personal Y/n, I do what's beneficial for the camp and its members.” He leaned against the board. "Accommodating your individual preference is not a part of my job profile.”

“Okay, that's great, then be prepared for only one of us to come back alive tomorrow.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes at your dramatic statement. “What happened between the two of you?”

You scoffed at him. As if you were going to tell him.

“Seungcheol has been my comrade since we were teenagers, I know him better than anyone and I know for a fact that he's not the villain you're making him to be.”

“Oh he's not?” You crossed your arms. “Okay then explain why when I was throwing myself onto him for days, he kept avoiding me but the moment I walked away from him, he came chasing? And did the man at least go through with that? No, he decided to leave me hanging yet again and then he behaved like everything that's happening is my fault?” You threw your hands in the air. “No apology, no explanation, he just continued to avoid me and when I finally got him out of my mind, then he decided he wanted to talk to me? I didn't want to, but he couldn't even respect my space and ended up coming to the party and….”

“And?” Jeonghan looked curiously.

“And I think he knows that I slept with Soonyoung….” You didn't meet Jeonghan’s eyes. “and Minghao.”

Jeonghan hummed, nodding his head, taking in all the information, as you added quickly.

“But it was only because all of us were under the influence of aphrodisiacs-”

“That's irrelevant.” Jeonghan waved his hand. “Who you choose to be with and what you choose to do is entirely your choice. But you think Seungcheol is mad about that?”

“I'm not sure. I have a feeling he is.”

“That's not right.”

“Now you see my point?”

“I didn’t say he wasn't stupid.” Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “But I still stand by the fact that he's not a bad person.”

“Okay mate, you need to get your head out of your bestie's ass.”

Jeonghan laughed, shaking his head. You expected him to say something snarky but his expression slowly turned serious.

“Do you know why you're in Camp Seventeen Y/n?”

“Because I'm a demigod?” That was perhaps the first time you had said that out loud.

“Yes but why this camp?”

“The Oracle assigned me.”

“Partly.” Jeonghan nodded. “The Oracle of Delphi only assigns demigods to camps that are willing to take them. Seungcheol was the only leader willing to take you.”

Your lips parted in surprise as Jeonghan continued.

“Do you know what was supposed to happen the night you were kidnapped and brought to the court?”

You shook your head.

“You were going to be attacked.” Jeonghan let out a deep breath. “The sudden activation of your aura after years of dormancy seemed to have drawn in a lot of attention. Days after your little incident, Olympus sent out a report that the levels of monster activity in the city were unprecedentedly high. They said there was a large influx of monsters and we had to be alert but I don't think so. Especially not after what we learnt today.”

“What do you mean?”

“It's not monsters but one monster that came to the city.” Jeonghan looked at you keenly. “I think it was the Chimaera and I think you are what it's hunting.”

The things in your hand slipped and hit the floor with a thud. You?

“You mean… I'm the threat in this camp?”

“You're the one in danger.” He corrected. “But yes you are the threat and more importantly, Cheol knows that. He always knew that. It was evident from the start that you were a monster magnet, that you are some kind of anomaly and that making you a part of our camp would only mean more danger but he said it didn't matter. He said as long as someone needed to be saved, he would do it. He said he would be your protector and that's why you're here Y/n - because Cheol made the choice to safeguard you.”

You blinked at a loss of words.

“Even yesterday, when the geese attacked and we didn't know what was happening at the party, his first instinct was to check if you were okay. That's why he came to the rager. That’s also why he's been so frustrated, why he doesn't want you to accompany him tomorrow. Your safety is his first priority.”

Letting out a deep breath, you ran your hand through your hair, internally beating yourself up. You had no idea.

“Will Seungcheol be coming for the lesson today?”

Jeonghan shook his head. “I don't think so, he's busy at Mingyu’s workshop, preparing for tomorrow, like you should be doing too.”

“I can't possibly learn anything by tonight that'll help me tomorrow.”

“Yes you can.” Jeonghan walked up to you. “We can try and understand why the Chimaera is after you. We can discuss your lawsuit considering it was the root cause of everything and see if it gives us any answers. Let me just call Wonwoo and-”

“Absolutely not.” You quickly grabbed all your things again. Wonwoo was still on the list of people you didn't want to meet. “I need to find Cheol first.”

And with that you swung your bag over your shoulder, rushing out of the classroom, leaving a sighing Jeonghan behind.

When you reached Mingyu’s residence, Seungcheol was indeed in the workshop along with a couple of camp members, inspecting the weapons for tomorrow. Immersed in their discussion they didn't notice your presence until you stepped in and Cerberus let out a low growl, his eyes following you.

“Y/n.” Mingyu jogged up to you, looking concerned. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” You gulped looking at Seungcheol’s back. “I was hoping to talk to Cheol real quick.”

“We're in the middle of a meeting, I'm not sure…”

“Please Mingyu, it'll be quick.”

“I can ask him but-”

“Gyu.” Seungcheol looked over his shoulder. “What's the matter?”

“Y/n is here,” Mingyu raised his voice. “She wants to talk to you.”

As lightning ripped across the sky, Seungcheol let out a deep breath “Send her away.”

And for the nth time you could hear your heart breaking because of Seungcheol.

“Seungcheol I just want to apolo-”

“I don't want to hear it.” He turned to you, voice hard and gaze unforgiving. “Please leave.”

Mingyu looked at you apologetically as did the other members, Jihoon included. Taking a step back and then another you walked out, the low grumbles of the thunder not louder than the thumping of your heart.

Sometimes you really had to remind yourself that Natalie was in fact a pig and not a dog.

You tended to forget given how much she liked to be taken on walks and sniff everything around. Today she took you from Seungcheol’s house to Mingyu’s to Seungkwan’s to the common cabin and finally to the temple where she found a spot of wet mud and decided to roll in it. That was until she spotted Wonwoo walking by, perhaps heading to secure the camp's borders for the night, given it was nearly dusk. You looked away from him but your pet decided to jump up and follow him like she always loved to do.

Sighing, you walked over to the area designated for campfire and sat on one of the logs, picking on the chips of wood nonchalantly. When the cold wind of the evening caressed your skin, sending shivers down your spine, you looked around, making sure no one was watching you. Realising you were all alone you waved your hand, watching the flames dance on your palm before they floated over to the wood in the middle, lighting the campfire. You stared at the orange flames, Jeonghan's words ringing in your head again - I think you're what it's hunting.

It couldn't be a coincidence. A powerful monster, a fire breather that had been quiet for centuries, wanting to find you of all people. That couldn't be a coincidence. Was it possible the Chimaera knew something about you? Did it know why you were such a freak?

And why did Seungcheol choose to protect someone like you? Why won't the man just let you hate him peacefully? He just had to be so righteous and brave and good…. But if he cared about you so much, why did he always pull away? Why did he never reciprocate?

It seemed like life only liked to throw questions at you, never any answers. You were too tired for all this. You just wanted to stop thinking. You just wanted this day to end and let yourself be taken away by sleep so you could forget all this. You just wanted some peace.

As though the universe hated you, at that exact time, Jihoon walked out of the temple, hands shoved in his pockets, mind clearly elsewhere. You were thankful he hadn't noticed your presence and had almost left the premises busy in his own world until he suddenly stopped at the edge of the trees, turning back to see you.

As your eyes locked his, he sighed walking back to you, sitting just over a foot away. He didn't say anything and you didn’t know what to say.

“You're nervous.” He pointed out. “Your heart is racing.”

You shook your head exasperated. “Do people tell you how annoying it is to be around you?”

“Not quite.” He chuckled. “I don't like being around people.”

“Why am I the exception?”

“You came looking for me.”

“You literally just came and sat next to me.”

“I meant earlier.”

“I'm talking about now.”

“I just…” He sighed, turning to you. “I just wanted to say, don’t take whatever Seungcheol says to heart. He has too many pressures on him as leader, especially in situations like this-”

“You know, that excuse is getting very overused. Is his consistent dismissal of me justified just because he's a busy, important man?”

“It's not.” Jihoon shook his head. “But I thought you should know - his heart was racing just as fast when you came to talk to him. It always is around you.”

You scoffed, tired of people telling you the same thing.

“All that tachycardia could be pathological. He should get himself checked-”

“There's clearly something he's unable to tell you, some reason for why he is the way he is.” Jihoon justified. “Give him a chance to explain himself.”

“I have to give him a chance?” You looked at him incredulously. “Did you not see how he sent me away?”

“Yes I did, it was the same way you ran away to a party when he wanted to talk.” Jihoon rolled his eyes. “If you both just keep being idiots like this, things are never going to get better.”

“Honestly things don’t have to.” You tugged on the sleeves of your shirt. “It's not like we are star crossed lovers or something. This infatuation or crush or whatever it is, it will eventually die down. All I hope is for us to at least be courteous with each other but he can't even seem to do that.”

Jihoon stared at the ground. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

That was a question you didn't have an answer to. So you ignored it.

“I just want us to be pleasant over tomorrow's hunt, that's all. But something tells me things might just get a whole lot worse.”

“Are you making predictions again?” Jihoon chuckled. “Have you still not learnt that you're horrible at it?”

“Hey, that's not fair.” You laughed along. “Besides, the day is not over yet.”

“Oh you still think you stand a chance with me?”

You narrowed your eyes at his laughing self. “I didn't say it had to be you. But you said you could make me cum thrice - I only came once.”

“Twice.”

“Once.”

“You're forgetting that I can read your body.” He cocked his head at you. “Twice.”

“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes. “Still less than three.”

“You and I both know if I wasn't interrupted I could've done it.”

“Not true.” You shook your head. “If I blew you, you didn't stand a chance.”

“How ever will we know which of us is right?”

He looked at you, something darker swirling behind his eyes and it made your insides twist. There was a way to find out and given how empty you had been feeling since earlier, maybe you would have, if only Seungwkan didn't walk over, settling down on the log across yours. Although Jihoon and you were already sitting apart, the two of you moved further away.

“Natalie is sleeping in Jun's barn apparently.” Seungkwan informed. “Wonwoo has too much to do today - There won't be a shift handover tomorrow since Hansol and Jihoon will be heading for the hunt.”

You nodded, not really understanding because you didn't really bother to actually. Your mind was entirely elsewhere, wondering about other possibilities.

“We uh should probably sleep early since, you know,-” You got up swinging your arms. “-big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Jihoon followed your suit, slowly standing. “Better get good rest.”

Seungwkan nodded, glancing at Hansol who was walking over, “You two go ahead, the two of us need to have a little chat.”

You nodded as the man in question sat beside Seungwkan, poking the fire with a stick, avoiding your eyes as usual. Unbothered, you turned to Jihoon, catching him already looking at you.

“Jihoon can I-”

“Y/n do you-”

Both of you looked at each other, gulping.

“I uh…” You tried yet again to feign casualness. “I wanted to ask for the ointment you gave me earlier, for bruises. I… have many mosquito bites.”

“Right.” He scratched his head. “I was going to offer you the same.”

“Oh good.”

“Yeah good.”

Seungkwan’s eyes flickered between the two of you but it was only when Hansol looked up that you realised just how suspicious this must seem. Waving an uncharacteristic bye, you quickly left, Jihoon following at a considerable distance as you made your way to his residence.

The events of earlier today repeated in a similar fashion - Jihoon plucked a few herbs and walked into his house. You followed him, straight into his pantry this time considering neither of you needed a change of clothes. He proceeded to grind up the greens in a paste as you leaned against the door, watching the strong muscles of his back. Fuck you’d love to run your nails down that.

“What are we doing Y/n?” Finally stopping whatever he was doing, Jihoon gripped the edges of the counter, his expression unseen.

“I don’t know what you are doing.” You shrugged. “I am just here to prove I was right.”

Chuckling, Jihoon turned to you. When he saw you slowly unbuttoning the shirt you had donned, his eyes darkened. “Straight down then left.” He turned back to whatever he was doing. “Wait in my room.”

Pulling your shirt off your shoulders you threw it at him, letting out a giggle and walking away.

“I don’t like to wait!” You announced, following his instructions. Almost.

On the way your eyes fell on the music room you had seen earlier, legs instinctively taking a detour. There were all kinds of instruments in there - banjos on the wall, guitars lined up beside the drum set. There was a large grand piano too and a huge computer with all kinds of equipment around. It was impressive to say the least.

“I said left, not right.” Jihoon walked in, one hand shoved in his pocket, another holding on to a strange, black drink.

“You have a recording studio here.”

“I would say you're observative but it's pretty obvious so that would be an overstatement.”

“How do you power these?” You turned to him. “Without electricity?”

“Well you’re analytical, I’ll give you that.” He let out a small laugh before he explained. “I’m the Sun’s progeny - a little solar energy goes a long way.”

“So all of these work?” You looked around surprised. “Can I listen to something you’ve made?”

“I don’t think we’re close enough for that.”

You rolled your eyes. “But we’re close enough for you to have your fingers in me?”

“You asked for it.” He shrugged. “And I’m a giver.”

Laughing, you ran your fingers across the piano. “Can you at least play something for me?”

Jihoon looked at you for a solid minute before he let out a resigned breath. Setting the drink down on the counter, he grabbed a saxophone from the wall and aligned it with his mouth. You leaned against the piano, urging him to continue with the tilt of the head.

As the sultry sound of his melody rang through the room, you found yourself swaying to it - it was a good piece, a sexy one that definitely worked to set the mood. But you had ways you could do that on your own too.

Nearing him, each step matching the rhythm of the music, you ran your hand along his groin, feeling his erection already waiting for you. Smirking to yourself you got on your knees before him, hands working on his waistband and surprisingly, you heard him mess up a note.

“Uh oh.” You tutted, looking up at him. “No mistakes, no fumbling or I’ll stop.”

Jihoon tensed under your touch, continuing to play his piece, facing turning red but the melody not stopping. Unzipping his pants, you just about leaned in to give the bulge in his underwear a butterfly of a kiss when you felt a chill run down your body. Something was wrong.

As though you’d lost all sense of autonomy, you could feel yourself moving back, sitting on your heels, your hands proceeding to unclasp your bra instead. Sliding it down your arms and throwing it away, you got up and shimmied out of your shorts and underwear in one go. You gulped as Jihoon watched you sit on the black couch across him, breaths shallow and fast, chest heaving because this wasn’t you - you somehow had no control over your body. You didn’t mean to pull your legs up and spread them open or run your fingers along your slit, or slide them into your wet hole as though you were putting on a show for him. Yes you felt good but none of this was you.

Jihoon watched with hooded eyes as you pumped your fingers in and out, free hand moving up to squeeze a boob. Everything moved to its own accord, working you up with a vigor you would have never used on yourself, the sound of the wetness and your moans almost drowning out the song. Your back arched as you felt everything tense, but your eyes did not leave Jihoon’s who finally could not take it anymore, setting the sax aside, leaning over you.

His own fingers found your clit, rubbing onto it in a way that unmistakably tightened the coil in you. Whimpers left your mouth and though it felt like you were in control of yourself again, you couldn’t stop. Not now, not when you were feeling so good, not when you were so close…. Not until Jihoon whispered.

“Come on sweetheart, cum for me.”

And you did, around your own fingers, eyes seeing white as he continued to tease your clit, a groan rumbling across his chest.

“Wha…” You panted, slowly coming down from your high, arousal leaking out of you. “What the hell just happened?”

“That-” Jihoon smirked, straightening himself. “-was my prediction coming true.”

“But why could I… why could I not…”

“Control yourself?”

You nodded.

“Because the song you just heard is what we call Apollo’s Anthem.” He cocked his head at you victoriously. “If mastered, the one who plays it can make anyone dance to their tunes, like you just did.”

“That….” Your eyes widen with realization. “That was you? Making me do all that?”

He nodded.

“Now that's cheating.” You huffed, pulling your legs together, pressing them. “I demand a rematch. We're gonna have to redo-”

“Next time.” He fisted the material at the back of his neck and pulled his shirt over this head. “Right now there's another prediction we need to work on.”

You furrowed your eyebrows as Jihoon stripped out of his pants, baring himself completely given he had gone commando underneath.

“For fucks sake, I've been hard since the afternoon and there's nothing I can think other than cumming inside you.”

A triumphant smirk danced across your lips as you leaned back, watching his callously stroke his length.

“You know, I had my fill with three orgasms today and I'm quite exhausted. I see no reason I have to indulge.”

Jihoon blinked at you. “Didn't you want to be proven right?”

“Nope.” You shook your head. “My math teacher always used to say, the truth never needs to be proven, it always reveals itself. He was a hot man, now that I'm thinking about him, very irresistible.”

“Can we please not talk about your hot math teacher while I'm jerking off?” Jihoon groaned. “Now I'm thinking of my math teacher and he was a gnome of a man.”

You laughed, watching as he picked up the pace, desperate to finish himself.

“Is your right hand satisfying enough?”

“No but I'll have to settle for imagining it's you.” He whimpered. “Albeit it's not even close to how tight you were.”

You hummed, suddenly feeling both pity for him and curiosity as to just how much a dick as thick as that could stretch you out. “Do you still want to fuck me?”

“Why is that still a question?”

“I'll allow it.” Spreading your legs again, you ran your fingers along the folds again, this time wantonly, smearing the remnants of your previous orgasm all over. “But only because you've to hunt tomorrow and I don't want you to be distracted, thinking about dicking me down-.”

“Stop talking and move over.” He muttered and finally you listened, shifting to the side as he sat beside you. Wasting no time, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into his lap, his dick grazing against your clit, sending a jolt down your body. As you held his shoulders, he pumped himself a few times before aligning the tip right at your hole, dragging it along the wetness agonisingly slowly.

“Jihoon for god's sake, just put it in.”

“Say you want me to fuck you.”

“You want me to fuck you.”

Your bratty-ness was met with a painful spank on the ass.

“Say it.” He rubbed the area softly, before spreading the cheeks, the head of his dick ever so slightly entering you. “Say you want this as much as me.”

You tried to chase that feeling, sink further down his length, but his grip was strong and unnerving.

“Fuck Jihoon please.” You whined as his mouth wrapped around your nipple, sucking it. “Let's just do this already.”

“Can’t hear you.”

“Jihoon…” You begged as he pulled out, leaving you clenching around nothing.

“Walls are soundproof sweetheart.” He reached up, nuzzling your neck. “Let me hear you.”

“For fucks sake, fuck me already Jihoon!” You babbled, desperate to not lose the feeling of him sliding into you again. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me-”

“Ride me.” He whispered, pushing you down on his cock, the sheer thickness of it nearly splitting you open. “God you're so tight.”

“And you're so big.” You moaned, as you bottomed out on him, feeling every inch of his thickness against your fluttering walls.

Jihoon allowed you to adjust to his length, mouth working on marking your breasts instead but when you began involuntary squeezing him he pulled away, biting his lip like he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Y/n....” He mumbled, fingers gripping your waist tighter. “Move.”

And you did, like your life depended on it, knees digging into the couch taking support. With his hands sliding down to your ass again, he helped too, bouncing you on him with a pace you could not have managed on your own. You threaded your fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck, head thrown back, guttural moans leaving you. Jihoon seemed to enjoy all of it, the way you sounded, the way you felt around him, the way you gripped his hair as your core began to tighten threateningly. You could tell from the way he chose to hold you in place instead, thrusting himself up into you and your arousal dripping down his length filthily that you were close but he was far from ready for this to be over.

Oh this was going to be a long night.

“Y/n wake up.” It was the soft shaking that drew you out of your sleep. “It’s nearly dawn.”

Jihoon’s face hovered over yours, looking tense. You stretched awake, blinking your eyes open, looking around - you were still in his music room, lying on his couch. You must’ve slept here last night, you didn’t even realise when you went into a deep slumber. From all the bedding on the floor you figured Jihoon crashed in here with you despite having a room of his own in his own house. Slightly thankful that he was gracious enough to not leave you alone, you sat up, pulling your hair into a bun.

“The boys are done washing up if you wish to hit the showers.” He gathered the remaining of your clothes on the floor, which was really just your bra and handed it to you. “You should also eat something. We skipped dinner last night.”

Of course you did.

You’d never had sex this intense before last night. You vaguely remembered cumming nearly three more times - once while you were riding him, right before he emptied his load right into you and two more before he pulled you off him and had you on your knees on the couch, your ass and his cum dripping out of you on display for him as he fucked you and filled you one more time. After that, right before you faded into a deep sleep, you also recalled him cleaning you, handing you that black drink from earlier and helping you get dressed - eating was not even on your agenda before you passed out.

But now admittedly, you were hungry and also in desperate need for a shower so you swung your legs off the couch and got to your feet. Taking a step was particularly difficult though, given how sore you were.

“Here.” Jihoon handed you a glass of the same potion. “It’ll help with the pain.”

Muttering a small thanks, you downed the bitter juice in one gulp. As you returned the glass he handed you a small box of a very familiar green ointment, looking pointedly at your neck. Apparently he had given you his own set of the very bruises he had healed yesterday. Scoffing, you took it from him, walking away, towards the main door.

“Are you okay?” He asked from behind as you nodded, looking over your shoulder.

“Thank you Jihoon, for everything.” and with that you shut the door, stepping out into the darkness before dawn, taking a deep breath.

Something about Jihoon’s expression told you he was expecting you to say something more but you didn’t have anything else to say. He was a distraction, you were successfully distracted and now you were back to your reality and the real world. Now it was time to face Seungcheol again.

Realising the sun would be out in a while, you quickly headed for a shower keeping your head down not to meet the eyes of the boys busy loading the cars at the edge of the camp. As you walked into the bathhouse you wondered if you would meet your regular bypasser at this time of the day too and brushed off the possibility but to your complete surprise, Wonwoo, fully dressed for a change, was right there, leaning against the lockers as though he was waiting for you.

“You're on time.”

“And I don't have the time for you.” You rolled your eyes, grabbing your towel, heading towards the showers.

“Careful Y/n.” Wonwoo called out from behind you, his voice a lot less nonchalant than it normally was. “The Chimaera is no small monster. It's dangerous, manipulative and feeds on chaos.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder as he continued.

“If things take a turn and you're forced to face it, do whatever it takes to fight it. Don't think, don't analyse, just do it.”

Frowning, you turned to him, wondering why he was suddenly saying all this but without explaining himself any further, Wonwoo straightened himself and simply left from there.

By the time you had arrived at the dining hall, right around the time the sun had begun to peak from behind the mountains, all the boys had gathered around the table, dressed in armours and gear. Jeonghan was leading the meeting again, walking around handing something that looked a lot like a golden medallion.

“Keep your energy readers close to you at all times - the Chimaera is a very intelligent monster but it's not very fast, so in a critical situation, early detection may be what saves your lives.” Noticing your presence, he walked up to you, holding the medallion out. “This is an energy reader. The way demigods have auras, monsters do too and this little handy thing can pick up on it. The closer you are to a creature, the warmer it gets so pay attention. If the medallion manages to pick the right frequency, it will morph into an image of the monster so you'll know exactly what it is. Understood?”

You nodded.

“Turn.”

And you did, as he pushed your hair onto a shoulder and secured the chain at the nape of your neck. You ran your fingers across the golden indentation of the surface curiously - it was kind of heavy.

“Your armour is in Cheol's car.” Mingyu piqued from his seat. “So are the flares and your looking glass.”

You turned to Jeonghan who understood the confusion etched on your face.

“You are, at no point, allowed to abandon your partner but on the off chance that you are separated, send a flare and it will help him identify your location and a looking glass-” He pulled out a small pane of glass from his pocket. “-is how you can communicate with the members. Just say the name of whoever you want to talk to and they'll appear on it.”

Finally understanding you nodded, as Jeonghan handed you one last thing - a folded paper.

“This is a copy of the map. Seungcheol will be driving so be sure to guide him properly.”

You looked over his shoulder at the leader who seemed tense.

“Whatever is going on between you two, please just keep aside for one day.” Jeonghan looked at you pointedly and sighing, you nodded. You would be courteous with him, you could do that much.

As the boys began shuffling around, getting to their feet and leaving the hall, a hand on your arm stopped you from following.

“Breakfast.” Jun held out with a small box that looked like it was filled to the brim. “Eat on the way. You'll need your energy.”

Muttering a grateful thanks, you took it from him, glancing at Minghao who was standing beside him, arms crossed.

“I know you're not fully trained but every demigod should have a weapon on them when they're out in the real world.” Your trainer put a pair of daggers in your hand. “Twin blades. I think they'll suit you.”

You turned the sheathed weapons in your hand, liking how light they felt. Minghao seemed proud of how comfortable you were.

“Stay safe doll.”

He called out as you left, a new unknown fear coursing through you as everything got more and more real.

By the time you reached the gates, everyone else had already taken off, leaving only Seungcheol leaning against his G wagon, waiting for you. The things Mingyu mentioned were in the passenger seat, neatly folded when you opened the door. As you tried to quickly slip them all on, Seungcheol waited, not offering to help, not even looking, just staring out at the woods. When you finally clambered in, he got in too, turning on the engine and taking off swiftly. You stared at the map on your lap - fuck, it was a long ride.

In the 2 hours that the two of you had been driving, the sun had fully risen, you had finished your breakfast and not one word that was irrelevant to the route had been exchanged. You stared out of the window, watching the trees whizz by - you had crossed much of the town houses in the outskirts and the road was getting narrower and lonelier now. It made sense why a monster would hide out here.

“How much further?” Seungcheol asked, fingers drumming the wheel.

“Until we reach the big olive tree.” You peered at the map trying to understand the images instead given you couldn't read Greek. “There we turn left.”

Seungcheol hummed, then silence descended once again.

It was a miracle you went through so much time without saying anything to the man beside you. Considering it was just the two of you and neither of you could run, it was the perfect time to talk about everything going on but you found yourself complying with Jeonghan’s instructions and keeping quiet. Perhaps because you had too much on your mind.

As nonchalant as you tried to seem, the Chimaera terrified you. It wasn't because it was apparently a big scary monster but because it was seeking you. You were no idiot - you knew that if a creature that powerful wanted to kill you, it could have at many instances when you were being particularly reckless. This one definitely wanted something else from you and the thought of that was more terrifying. What could a monster possibly need from you?

You didn't know. And maybe like most things in your life you wouldn't get to know. Like you didn't get to meet Hestia, or didn't understand why your powers were so different, or didn't know how to cope with the fact that you could never be a mother. It was perhaps just another thing to add to this never ending list.

“Y/n.” Seungcheol's hand on your arm pulled you out of your thoughts. “How many times do I have to ask? Is that the tree?”

You glanced at it and then back at the map and nodded. “Yeah, sorry, that's the one.”

Shifting gears Seungcheol slowed down, turning left like you told him to but to both of your surprise, the road ahead led straight into a forest that was submerged in darkness despite it being so early in the day. Confused, Seungcheol turned on the headlights as he drove ahead but the moment the car moved ahead, the lights turned off.

Frowning, he tried again, only to receive the same result - the lights kept turning off.

Annoyed, he stopped the vehicle, grabbing a rather large lighter from the dashboard and stepped out, opening up the hood. Unbuckling your belt, you followed him.

“Sit inside Y/n.”

“How are you supposed to hold the lighter and fix this thing?” You grabbed the light from him and held it over the engine. “Is there a problem?”

Seungcheol peered at the machinery, frowning. “I don't think so. I don't know why…..” He trailed off like a realisation hit him. “Did you say the tree we crossed was an olive tree?”

“I think it was?” You held out the map for Seungcheol to see. “I can't read Greek.”

“That’s not an olive tree and this isn't any ordinary forest….” He turned to you, both your faces illuminated by the faint light of the fire. “This is the Forest of Nyx, the Goddess of the Night.”

“Is that why the lights won't work?” You whispered, feeling a chill run down your body. “Is that why it's so dark?”

“It's always night at her realm. No light, no Gods, no eyes are allowed here.” He gulped as though he suddenly realised the proximity between the two of you. “No one can see us here.”

You frowned not understanding what he meant when he shut the hood, the headlights surprisingly flaring up again. Before you could even process what was going on, he pulled you up against him, the lighter dropping from your hands due to the sheer force as your body pressed against his.

“Cheol-”

“No one can see us Y/n.” He whispered, eyes drifting to your lips. “No one.”

And in a flash, his mouth was on yours - hot, wanting and desperate.

You gripped his arms, taken aback by the suddenness but when he pulled you closer like he didn't even want air between the two of you, you ran your hands up his chest and neck, threading them into his thick hair. Taking that as a sign of approval, he moved his hands down, briefly squeezing your ass before catching hold of your thighs and lifting you with unsurprising ease, wrapping your legs around his waist. You moaned when you felt his tongue slip into your mouth, his hands annoyed by all the armour as though they wanted to rip it out.

It was only when you felt breathless and pulled back that he finally let you go. Looking up at you equally breathless, eyes almost pleading, the words that you'd been dying to hear left his mouth at last.

“Fuck I've wanted this for so long.” He groaned. “I wanted you for so long Y/n, please….”

You gulped, stiffening when you understood what he was begging for.

Choi Seungcheol wanted to sleep with you.

Next Chapter

A/n - aaaaand scene hehe

If you've managed to make it till the end, congratulations, this was a long one, I'm sorry buttttt Cheol enthusiasts (aka everyone) y'all are in for a ride next chapter hehe, stay tuned!

And if you enjoyed reading, please don't forget to leave feedback in the comments or tags - we've got lots of chapters to go and hearing thoughts really helps <3

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