#other forbidden five content

[starlightink]

I am so excited to see more of the forbidden five and all its members and cool fanart and designs and stuff

But Drix will be the death of me

I have such a massive fear of bugs and especially close ups of bugs that they genuinely make me wanna cry and throw up

This is just a skill issue on my part but good gods this will haunt me for the rest of my ninjago days

[witchywcmans]

PLEASE, EAT. | LAIOS TOUDEN

synopsis ━━ after you've been bitten by a sea serpent, you know the consequences are either death or the possibility of turning into one yourself. thankfully for you, laios touden is the devourer of all things monster and he is dedicated to getting that venom out of you. (laios x f!reader.)

content warnings ━━ sex pollen-adjacent, cunnilingus + fingering, praise, breath play (kinda, if you squint), semi-public sex, multiple orgasms. nsfw (minors + ageless blogs dni).

word count ━━ 3k

song inspiration ━━ too sweet, hozier / more than friends, isabel larosa

author's note ━━ this is the first time I've ever written and posted an x reader one-shot on here, so please be gentle with me lol. I usually only write x oc fics bc I'm a yapper and I love creating characters. but alas...I was perusing the laios x reader tag and wanted to read something with this plot, couldn't find it, so I figured I'd just do it myself 🫡

🪽 part i: PLEASE, EAT. / part ii: FORBIDDEN FRUIT. / part iii: TOO SWEET.

This was definitely one of the worst situations you’d been in.

You had joined Laios’ adventuring party just a few months prior. They had found you on floor 3 of the dungeon, shivering and mourning the loss of your father. His body, dead in your arms, and beside him lay the lifeless body of a ghoul you had killed. At first, the party’s leader, Laios Touden, had only been interested in taking the ghoul's body so they could use its bones for utensils after the flesh rotted off. But it was Marcille who noticed the tears in your eyes, how you trembled from the cold, and suggested they take you in. You almost declined, not wanting to leave your father’s body, but knowing he’d soon turned into a monster left you with only one option. Your father had been with you for the past twenty-five years of your life, and now, you were leaving his dead body in a dungeon to travel with a group of strangers.

You soon came to appreciate your new party, though, and you felt your father’s spirit within each of them. Marcille had his kindness, Chilchuck had a comparable wit, Senshi was gifted with excellent cooking skills, and Laios … well, you were still figuring that out. And surprisingly, it was Laios who you began to connect with the most. His knowledge of monsters was unmatched, and he had a passion for learning how to prepare them while they traveled deeper into the dungeon. He was overtly blunt, much like you, and possessed similar advanced fighting skills due to both your fathers' teachings.

Sometimes … sometimes though, you found yourself staring at him more than you should have. His face was abnormally perfect, as if he’d been carved by an artist. His tousled ash-blonde hair reminded you of a lion, and his eyes … sometimes you could’ve sworn they were made out of gold, shimmering like molten lava. Each time you thought this way, you smacked yourself when no one else was looking. I mean, Laios was your friend, your party leader. Having a crush, especially in circumstances like these, was unethical. You had always been focused on one thing: helping your party and making it out of this dungeon alive, for your father. You wouldn’t let a little crush deter you.

Everything had been all well and good until today, when you and your party reached the end of floor 4. When Laios had struggled to fight off a sea serpent, you joined him in the lukewarm water, using your crossbow to shoot the creature in the head. Finally, Laios was able to step in to slice the serpent’s head off … but not before the creature could snap its jaw, tearing one fang down your hip. You jumped back, screaming as you felt the venom seep into you instantly. Some said sea serpent venom would kill you immediately, others said it turned you into one of them, cursing you to haunt the waters with them as penance. As soon as the head was cut, Laios carried you away from the water, and the last thing you heard was Marcille cursing him out before you were rendered unconscious. 

You were woken up – hours, maybe days later – by a drop of water hitting your face every few seconds. Lifting your head from the makeshift tunic pillow, you took in your surroundings. You were at the entrance of floor 5, in a damp corner of cobblestone, while water dripped down onto the floor every so often. There was a moist bandage covering your side where the serpent’s fang had cut into you, part of your tunic ripped to shreds. Hunger boiled in your stomach, making you groan and rub your head. Laios was sitting just a few feet away, a small fire in front of him to keep warm. Marcille had to have helped him with that; there was no way to craft a fire in an area this damp.

“Am I dead?” You asked softly. 

Laios immediately turned in your direction, his mouth lifting in a smile. “Of course not.”

Your stomach did flip flops as you took in his smile, hunger consuming you. You needed something to eat – bad. Your body felt hot and sweaty, and you wondered if it was just from the humidity, even though Laios didn’t look affected. Sitting up, you informed him, “Well, that was one of two options my father said would happen from a sea serpent bite. Which means …” You lifted the bandage up, noticing the gills that started to form on the healing wound. A turquoise hue surrounded the gills, almost like a bruise. “Oh, fuck,” you muttered.

Laios stood, looming over you while asking, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the other option,” you replied, too hungry to cry. “The bite is –”

“– Turning you into a sea serpent,” Laios finished. “Honestly, I thought that was just a myth. But when the bite didn’t kill you …” His mouth twitched, tongue darting out to wet the corners of his lips. “We have to suck the venom out. That has to stop the mutation.”

Your head snapped up. “Huh?” 

But as soon as your eyes met his, you started to wondered if what you were experiencing was hunger after all. Perhaps … a different kind of hunger. Laios stared down at you, the sparkling gold replaced by a dark hazel. It was just you two in this little corner of the dungeon, but you suddenly felt exposed, so naked, under his gaze. Your body was hot all over, sweat sticking to uncomfortable places. And your thighs … a burning need emerged between them, soaking the thin linen of your undergarments. This had to be a symptom of the bite, but it suddenly didn’t matter anymore. Your worry had been replaced by an ache that only he could fix.

No – absolutely not. You couldn’t. You shouldn’t. You were turning into a sea serpent.

But the need between your legs still throbbed.

“It’s like when a snake bites you on the surface,” Laios said, crouching down to your eye level. His closeness made your heart rate pick up. You realized then that he had shed his armor, kneeling in front of you in just his gambeson, which clung to his muscles and wide frame. “A sea serpent is part snake. Sucking out the venom should stop the mutation. You’ll probably experience symptoms from the bite for a few more hours, but they’ll stop eventually.” 

He started to peel back the bandage, taking a look at the gills forming on your hip when you gripped his wrist. Immediately, his skin burned, making you even more hot. You ripped your hand away from him, and with sweat trickling down the side of your face, you said, “Don’t you think this is … weird? Maybe Marcille should do it.”

“Marcille and the others just went back to another part of the level to find dinner. They won’t return for an hour, at least. This can’t wait.” He inspected the turquoise gills with concern, before his eyes snapped back to yours, noticing the way your black pupils filled almost the entire iris. “Do you not trust me?”

“Of course, I trust you. It’s just …” What exactly was the reason again? Oh, yes, it was pulsating hunger dripping between your legs from the bite, and you were terrified how you’d react the second his lips wrapped around your wound. The symptoms would just get worse. But he was right – this was the only way. Fuck, this had to be the most embarrassing thing you’d ever experienced. 

“Fine,” you finally relented, lying back down on the cobblestone. You did your best to get comfortable, but the makeshift pillow hardly provided much cushion between you and the floor.  “What should I do?”

“Nothing, just lay back and let me take care of it.” Laios lifted your tunic a smidge, and just the tenor of his voice made your ache even worse. “We’re just gonna … get this out of the way. And then …” His fingers hooked on the waistband of your pants, and you immediately clutched his collar. If you touched his skin again, you were sure to moan.

Laios looked from where your hand was gripping him and back to your eyes. “Your pants need to be off so I can have better access to the mutation. It’s on your hip.” You swallowed hard, knowing he was right, and your hand started to slip off his collar. “We’re friends, right?” He asked.

You nodded weakly.

“Good,” he smiled again, and you struggled to hold back a plea for him to touch you. He pulled down your pants, tossing them to the side. For a moment, he paused, taking in your soaked underwear and running his fingers over the mutation on your hip. He licked his lips again, and then said in a rather blunt tone, “You’re so –”

“Don’t say it,” you cut in, snapping your eyes shut to prevent further embarrassment.  Though you had never minded Laois’ occasional lack of social cues, this was one of those moments you needed anything but. “Just get the venom out.”

Laios tugged your underwear down a little to see if the mutation had spread. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he informed you, lowering his head to your hip. “I’ve read that these bites can have a multitude of internal symptoms. Nightmares ... sweating … fever …” He ran his tongue over the gills, making your breath hitch instantly. “… And especially, arousal. Neat, huh?” He chuckled, and just his warm breath on the gills made you even more wet. “Don’t worry, I got you,” he assured before finally wrapping his mouth on the wound.

Your body burned even hotter than before as soon as his lips touched your skin. He sucked the venom out of you, spitting out blue globs every other second. His hands gripped your side, digging into your flesh and leaving crescent shapes from his nails. As you felt the gills start to close up, you couldn’t help but moan and arch into nothing. This felt better than any time you masturbated … any time you imagined your party leader above you … Fuck, who would’ve thought sucking sea serpent venom out of you would feel this good? Thank the gods the rest of their party was off catching dinner. You couldn’t deal with them possibly hearing this.

It surprised you when your orgasm flooded through you like a crashing wave. As Laios finished sucking out the last of the venom and the mutation closed, your arousal came to a definite peak and you let out a whine. You grabbed his arm, cumming from absolutely no stimulation.

Laios didn’t seem to mind though. In fact, he was mostly preoccupied with inspecting the area. You opened your eyes, your cheeks tinged pink, and saw the globs of venom to the left dissipate to nothing but water. You pinched the bridge of your nose, “I’m sorry, I –”

“The mutation closed. I was right!” Laios looked down at you, a big grin covering his face. “How do you feel?”

“Well, I definitely don’t feel a second set of lungs on my hip anymore.” You lifted your hand when you noticed a trickle of blue staining his lip, wiping it away with your thumb. “But I … my body is still …” The ache inside you had simmered slightly, but it was still there, lingering underneath the surface. 

This was genuinely humiliating. Maybe you should’ve just decided to turn into a sea serpent after all.

Laios grabbed your wrist before you could pull away from his face. He leaned into your palm, running his long nose down to your inner wrist. “Your skin is so warm. I can still smell how aroused you are from the serpent bite.” His eyes burned into yours, keeping your hand close to his face. “I can help. Do you need another release?”

Your cheeks got even more red when he acknowledged your orgasm. Shaking your head, you said, “I couldn’t ask you to do that. I can just –”

“I’d be honored to,” he replied, quite gruffly and persistent. His fingers tugged your underwear down with precision and ease, despite the damp fabric clinging to you. He spread your legs wide and placed them on his shoulders. Lowering himself down, he inhaled the scent of your climax and hooked his arms around your inner thighs. He smiled up at you – your pretty face red with embarrassment – all dopey-eyed and grateful. “You lot like to call me the devourer of monsters. Perhaps I should devour the last bit of monster out of you.”

He inhaled again, groaning like he typically did when he was hungry. His hot breath against your achingly wet pussy made you whimper with desperation. “You smell so good down here,” he whispered. “I’d wager you taste even better.”

You gasped as soon as he dove between your legs, licking a stripe through your folds, tasting your recent orgasm. He flicked his tongue over your clit before sucking on it with feverish excitement. Slick gathered on his tongue and he whined, needing more. So much more. You were the most delicious meal he’d ever tasted. Better than any monster, better than anything on the surface. 

“So good,” he muttered into your pussy, lapping against your clit, doing anything that would get him more of your arousal. “You taste so, so good.”

You whimpered out his name and attempted to close your legs, but he held them opened with all his strength. His arms wrapped around your thighs went tight, bruising the sensitive flesh. Your jaw went slack while your own hands scrambled for purchase, eventually landing in his cropped hair. You tugged, hips bucking against his face, making him groan even more. This allowed him to hold your hips a little higher, and his tongue finally dipped into your leaking entrance. You heard him grunt the second he plunged his tongue deeper, his nose nuzzling your clit. 

He devoured you like a starved man. He devoured you like you were a boiled scorpion, or roast basilisk, or – even better – like sweet, delicious homemade cheesecake. 

“Laios,” you whined, feeling your fever dissolve with each lap of his tongue. “Laios, it’s … fuck – it’s okay, I feel –”

“Need more,” he muttered, his voice low and laced with need. He was practically humping the stone floor as he buried his tongue as far as it could go inside you. Your hips couldn’t stop bucking forward, riding his face as you felt your orgasm building at the base of your stomach. Laios was completely transfixed. He wanted to be here, nestled between your thighs, for every meal. He’d take you away from the rest of the group before dinner, lapping away to the sounds of your pleas and whimpers, so help him gods. He’d do this every day, every night, whenever you wanted, for as long as he was alive. Fuck monsters. He could survive off the taste of you for the rest of his life.

Slipping his tongue out of your hole, he went back to sucking on your throbbing clit and feeling your legs start to tremble. You had to be close to another release, and he was desperate to taste it. He paid all his attention on your clit, snaking one hand up and sinking two fingers knuckle-deep into your entrance in tandem. “Fuck,” you moaned, tugging on his hair once again, “fuck – gods, Laios. I – I’m s-so close –”

“Please,” he begged, smearing your slick all over his mouth. “Please, you’re so good. Need to see how you taste when you release on my tongue.” His own hips continued to buck against the floor.

You choked on a cry when you finally came all over his tongue. He groaned, loud and drawn out, when he finally got a taste of your sweet climax, knowing that it was him that brought you to this point. The orgasm felt long, like the ocean bringing you in and out, and your whole body trembled. He continued lapping at your clit as it pulsed under his tongue, his fingers curling inside you through your orgasm. When you finally breathed out and started to come down from the high of it all, Laios stayed between your thighs, allowing his tongue to gently swirl your clit. Maybe if he continued, he could taste a little more of you …

You found your voice, hoarse from overstimulation. “Laios, please, you have to stop,” you begged, yanking his head up from between your legs. His mouth was covered in your slick, and then he was giving you that dopey expression again, making your heart clench. Your body was no longer hot and sweaty. Laios had completely cured you of the sea serpent bite with that expert mouth of his. He unwound his arms from your thighs, bringing his fingers that were still covered with your wetness to his mouth, tasting the last of your orgasm. You watched him, eyes wide and cheeks blushing, until he was looking at you again with those golden doe eyes.

“That was amazing,” he said, like he was in a haze. When your eyes flickered down, you realized he was hard in his pants, but it wasn’t like he even noticed himself with the way he was staring at you. “We should do that again sometime.”

He stood up, and you scrambled to pull your clothes back on before the group came back. You stammered, “It’s okay, uh – we don’t have to. Especially if you don’t want to. We could just –”

“I want to,” he cut in, a determined look in his eyes. “What are friends for, right?” 

[writesvani]

dear me — jeon jungkook

lawyer! jeonjungkook x privatechef! reader

estranged childhood best friends-to-friends-to-lovers?

comment here for Dear Me taglist;

find Dear Me on wattpad!

SUMMARY: Once upon a time, Jungkook and you were everything. Best friends who shared every moment, every secret—except one: you were in love with him. But life changed. High school ended, real life began, and slowly, you drifted apart, the distance between you growing too wide to cross.

The end. Except it isn't.

One day, after a long day at work, you open your email to find a message from 13 years ago—written by your younger self. A letter you’d forgotten, sent by a service you paid to remind you of your youth, your love for him. As the emails keep on coming and you keep reading, the flood of memories hits you, and you realize something heartbreaking: you never stopped loving him.

But now, it’s too late. Jungkook is about to marry someone else. Or is he?

TRIGGER WARNINGS: angst, fluff, smut (all characters are of age), YEARNING, explicit language, pinning, misunderstandings, forbidden love, JK being torn (but so is Y/n), this is NOT a cheating fic, arguing, cursing, substance use (alcohol & cigarettes), nostalgia, happy ending (probably)

word count: 62,2k & more coming soon!

ꪆchapter index୧

— chapter one: Me VS. Me

— chapter two: It's you – well me again, UGH

— chapter three: Saturdays are for Yoongi

— chapter four: The House

— chapter five: Us & immaturity

— chapter six: The Orbits

— chapter seven: The Family Games: May the Pettiest Win

— chapter eight: Fifteen Years and a Pinky

— chapter nine: Play It Again

— chapter ten: Tethered Threads

— chapter eleven: The Secret

— chapter twelve: The Morning Ghosts

& more soon!

ꪆdrabbles + extras୧

— dear me moodboard

— i'm gonna be his wife; (pending...)

— the way we were; JK's pov (pending...)

— the egg yolk incident; (pending...)

the drabbles in this story are part of the DearMeVerse, so i highly recommend reading them to get a deeper understanding of the plot. as the story unfolds, new drabbles will unlock, and they’re designed to enhance the experience. i suggest reading the chapters in order, and in the author’s notes, i’ll let you know when’s the best time to dive into each drabble, as they’ll be posted after certain chapters.

but don’t worry — reading the drabbles isn’t a MUST. they won’t change the story, but they’ll add extra layers to it, helping you connect with the narrative in a more meaningful way.

DISCLAIMER:

I do not own Jeon Jungkook, BTS, or any of the real people mentioned in this story. They belong to themselves — and as much as I'd love to claim them as my own, I am not that lucky. This is purely a work of fiction, written by a fan who enjoys imagining what could happen if their lives were a bit more dramatic and a lot more fictional. Any resemblance to real-life events is purely coincidental, unless it involves them being cute, in which case, I’ll take credit for that part. This story is just for fun, and no harm was intended in its creation. Please don’t sue me, I promise I’m just here for the fic!

all works published here are created by me (@writesvani on tumblr). i own all rights to my original works, including any written content, original characters, and plotlines. copying, redistributing, translating, or posting my works on any other social media without my explicit permission is strictly prohibited. all rights reserved.

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | Masterpost (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆status: completed

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader, Hoseok x female reader, Namjoon x OC, Jin x OC, Jimin x OC, Taehyung x OC and others.

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters have mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆total word count: 218.5k (lmao my fingers slipped)

☆a/n: I got the idea for this fic just a little over a year ago, following a power outage that lasted for a few days where I live and Jungkook's live where he kept coming back with different outfits (the white dress shirt hit me right in the gut). It took me a long time to write, as I was working on multiple other projects at the same time, but I am so so happy to be ready to share this baby with you guys <3

☆Thank you to @moonleeai and @jessikahathaway for beta-ing this monster <3 (and for all your encouragement and support)

☆And a special thank you to @wintaerbaer and @btsborahaee for encouraging me and supporting me whenever I screamed to you about this fic

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆discord server link here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

➳Teaser (Jungkook pov): the day he met you (1.1k)

You fucking touch her, you're dead.

➳Chapter one: when the Incident happens (11.8k)

Jungkook is Tae's best friend.

➳Chapter two: when Jungkook teases you (10.2k)

You know I hate that nickname.

➳Chapter three: when Valentine's Day happens (13.1k)

You know, Taehyung doesn’t have to know everything.

➳Chapter four: when you and Jeon Jungkook clash (9.5k)

I was just going to say that we should keep this between us.

➳Chapter five: when you have to go back to reality (12.1k)

We just pretend nothing happened, no?

➳Chapter six: when Jungkook hosts his friends over (9.6k)

I really want to kiss you right now.

➳Chapter seven: when doubt makes you question everything (15k)

Why do you want to believe the worst of me so bad?

➳Chapter eight: when secrets are unveiled in New York (13.5k)

I want you.

➳Chapter nine: when a party makes Jungkook jealous (11.2k)

You make me insane.

➳Chapter ten: when time slips through your fingers (10.1k)

I don’t want to lose you, peach.

➳Chapter eleven: when Jungkook visits Taehyung in Paris (8.4k)

Can’t wait for you to be back.

➳Chapter twelve: when it breaks (7.3k)

I can’t be with you.

➳Chapter thirteen: when it's too late (8.9k)

I have to talk to him.

➳Chapter fourteen: when the truth comes out (12.2k)

We never told each other how we felt.

➳Chapter fifteen: when you find your way back to Jungkook (7.4k)

You came?

➳Chapter sixteen: when Jungkook takes you out on a date (8.9k)

I think I was waiting for you my whole life.

➳Chapter seventeen: when forever awaits you (9k)

Getting to love you is the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to me.

Drabbles in Jungkook's pov (might add more as the story goes on)

➳Chapter 1.5: the first party (1.6k)

Then why are you bringing him home, peach?

➳Chapter 3.5: Valentine's Day (1.1k)

We should have hung out like this before.

➳Chapter 4.5: a walk through campus (852)

You love it, peach.

➳Chapter 5.5: the return to reality (2k)

You wanted to talk?

➳Chapter 6.5: hosting his friends at the apartment (4.4k)

What the fuck is wrong with you?

➳Chapter 7.5: when he realizes (2.5k)

Isn't she Taehyung's sister?

➳Chapter 8.5: the engagement party (6.6k)

Have fun while it lasts.

➳Chapter 9.5: jealous jungkook (3k)

Shouldn’t I prove to you that you’ve got nothing to worry about?

➳Chapter 10.5: the morning before Paris (1.7k)

I promise I'll come back to you and make it work.

➳Chapter 11.5: the kiss (1.2k)

Just this once.

➳Chapter 12.5: after losing you (4.6k)

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

➳Chapter 13.5: returning home (4k)

What am I supposed to do?

➳ Chapter 14.5: losing you again (3k)

I can't believe you've been wearing the necklace

➳Chapter 15.5: a conversation with Taehyung, and his reunion with you (2.6k)

It’s never been like that with her.

☆☆☆☆☆

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[ninisdollie]

brighter days - park sunghoon 𓈒ིུ ❤︎ ˖ ݁

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ . Demigods series

Synopsis: Park Sunghoon, the forbidden son of Zeus, is admired and respected by everyone at halfblood camp, but he prefers to keep to himself and avoid the crowds. With his reserved and somewhat grumpy attitude, his peace is constantly interrupted by your relentless energy, the daughter of Apollo. Outgoing, cheerful, and full of life, you never miss an opportunity to approach Sunghoon, who knows you have a crush on him. However, his temper and desire to maintain his distance lead him to reject you time and time again. Despite his attempts to avoid you, Sunghoon begins to notice that, behind your spark and laughter, there is more than just a girl chasing him. As he struggles to maintain his wall of coldness, you, with your boundless light, are determined to break it, proving that even the coldest heart can be touched by the warmth of the sun.

Content: +18MDNI fem!reader x sunghoon, pjo au! zeus' son! sunghoon x apollos daughter! reader, grumpy x sunshine plot, smut, kind of enemies to lovers but not really, virgin! reader, fluffy ending, explicit sex.

hate comments will be deleted and blocked, like and reblogs are appreciated !!

The clang of metal echoed across the training arena, rhythmic and sharp, slicing through the warm afternoon air like thunder before a storm. Camp Half-Blood buzzed with life in the distance, shouts from capture the flag, laughter near the strawberry fields, but here, near the sparring dummies, stood Park Sunghoon.

Broad shoulders tense, dark brows furrowed, and golden light catching on the sweat along his jawline, he looked like he was carved from Olympus itself. Each movement was flawless. Precise, deadly. He swung his celestial silver sword with a controlled rage that made the ground beneath him feel electric.

You watched him from behind the archery pavilion, propping your chin on your hand as you ignored the bow resting in your lap. The way he moved, like the storm he carried in his veins, untouchable, unbothered, beautiful, had your heart doing all sorts of embarrassing things.

“He’s gonna catch you staring again,” Taki, your brother muttered, nudging you.

“I hope he does,” you grinned, unashamed. “Maybe this time he’ll finally realize it’s love.”

Everyone at camp knew you had a thing for the forbidden son of Zeus. How could you not? Sunghoon wasn’t just a demigod—he was the demigod. Taken in at five after monsters nearly tore him apart outside the safety of camp borders. Trained harder than anyone, rose higher than any other camper. And at eighteen, while most of you were still sneaking out for midnight snacks, he was off saving Olympus on a solo quest that made the gods themselves tremble, some swore Ares himself had a battle with him and turned out coming out wounded. Because he was that strong, that fierce, that powerful. Others said his power was actually a curse, because he could never leave camp for more than a few hours, every monster, every enemy was after him, they wanted the most dangerous Demigod dead. And even with that, Sunghoon walked around so relaxed, so confident, it was like he wasn’t scared of anything in the world, and you admired him so much because of that.

He was just a dream.

And you? You were the complete opposite. Apollo’s favorite daughter, according to literally everyone. You could shoot an arrow through the wings of a fly at fifty feet, compose a haiku in ten seconds flat. You had tons of friends from all cabins, and some swore the sunshine followed you wherever you moved, or even better, that you were the sunshine. Always happy, always smiling, always talking to much and laughing with your whole chest. You trained a lot, you really did, after all you were like every other demigod, you wished for glory and power too, but still, you had enough energy to flirt shamelessly with Sunghoon in front of the entire camp. A girl can have hobbies, right?

He’d rejected you so many times, you’d lost count. He scowled, rolled his eyes, muttered things under his breath and turned on his heel before you could finish half a sentence. He was never super mean to you though, he just wasn’t like that, and you knew he found you extremely annoying, but he never really said it, because you knew he was good, he had a good heart beneath that cold facade.

Still, you chased him. Not just because he was handsome (though gods, was he. With his dark hair and his perfect skin and his thick eyebrows and that damn mole you so wanted to kiss), but because every time you looked into his stormy eyes, you swore you saw something flicker. Like lightning trying to break free from thunderclouds.

So yeah, maybe everyone thought you were wasting your time.

But you were the sun. And even the coldest storms couldn’t outrun the morning light forever.

Your eyes trailed down the line of his arm as he twisted to strike again, the muscles beneath his skin rippling with each perfect swing. It was like watching war poetry in motion. And okay, maybe you should’ve been practicing too, but what was a daughter of Apollo if not a shameless admirer of beauty?

You sighed dramatically. “He’s just so—”

“Grumpy?” your sibling offered, not even looking up from their quiver. “Emotionally unavailable? Terrified of human connection?”

“Hot,” you finished with a dreamy smile.

He snorted. “Tragic.”

But then, just as you were mid-swoon, Sunghoon paused. Not dramatically, not like a movie, just the smallest hitch in movement. His shoulders stiffened, his grip faltered. And then, ever so slightly, he turned his head.

Your heart stopped.

For a split second, your eyes met.

Oh, gods.

His gaze was unreadable, intense, stormy, laced with the kind of quiet warning that made your skin prick. You blinked, heart stammering. His eyes dropped to your bow, then flicked back up to your face like he was mentally calculating how much time you’d spent staring instead of training.

Then—

He rolled his eyes, annoyed.

You squeaked. Like actually squeaked. Heat flooded your face as you slapped a hand over your mouth.

“Oh my gods,” you hissed under your breath. “He saw me. I looked like a total stalker.”

“You are a stalker,” Taki whispered with a grin.

You buried your face in your hands, groaning into your palms. “Why does he have to be so pretty when he’s annoyed?! That’s so unfair.”

When you dared peek through your fingers, Sunghoon had already turned away. Back to training. Back to pretending you didn’t exist.

But you saw it.

The tiniest twitch of his mouth.

A smirk.

And just like that, your day was made.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

Sunghoon hated a lot of things.

He hated sunny days, because it was so hot and sweaty that he could barely stand being in his own skin. He hated dumb people. He hated loud music, because his ears were sensitive even if he was literally born from the god of lighting. He hated the camp t-shirt, because he also hated the color orange. He hated Ares children, because they were violent for literally no reason. He hated wars, hated problems, hated people hungry for power. Like every other demigod, like every other god. Like his own father.

Zeus.

The name sat like acid in his mouth. The god of gods. King of Olympus. The one whose power shook the skies. The one who should have been proud of him.

But he never was.

People at Camp Half-Blood whispered about Sunghoon like he was some kind of legend. The forbidden son. The lightning in human form. The boy who went on a solo quest at eighteen and returned with scars no one asked about. Everyone wanted to be around him, everyone respected and admired him, everyone looked at him as if he was the best warrior to ever exist, and probably he was, to the eyes of everybody.

But they didn’t know. They had no idea what that quest really was.

They thought it was glory, honor. A chance to prove himself.

But it wasn’t. It was a setup. A battlefield dressed up as a trial. Monsters he could handle—he’d been fighting them since he was five. But gods?

Even he couldn’t see that betrayal coming.

It was Zeus himself who tried to strike him down.

Not Cronus. Not some ancient titan rising from the depths.

His own father.

Because Sunghoon was too powerful, because thunder cracked when he screamed, because storms listened to him when he was angry, because the sky shook when he bled. Because he was born with a power not even himself could be able to control fully.

And gods didn’t like things they couldn’t control.

So Zeus tried to erase him. Sent him to die alone and made sure it looked like a test of strength. A rite of passage.

Sunghoon survived. Barely. He clinged onto life with blood and nails and teeth, and he ended up returning as a hero.

But something in him had died out there. Something soft. Something warm. The most painful and deadly betrayal he’d ever faced, permanent wounds that weren’t just physical, and the constant, eternal feeling of failure. For everyone else, he was a hero, but for himself, he was just the son that had a father who not only hadn't care about him his whole life, but also hated him. And that, that’s what truly killed every last drop of warm light inside of him.

Now all that was left was discipline, blade, and silence. He spent his days training, getting better, until his body physically couldn’t take it anymore, until the constant thoughts in his head went away. He enjoyed it, he really did. He liked his quiet life, and for most of the times, he could ignore he was the child of the storm.

Well, mostly. Because his quiet life was constantly interrupted by you.

Gods, you.

Y/N.

The golden girl. Apollo’s favorite. Laughter in human form. You were everything he didn’t understand, everything he didn’t trust.

Too bright. Too curious. Too persistent.

You talked too much. You asked too many questions. You walked around under the sunlight, bathing you like a second skin, you trained with a permanent smile in your lips, you joked around, you sang your favorite songs with your whole chest, you played the lyre with delicate fingers, you laughed too loud, you were shameless and energetic and annoying and…

And you smiled at him like he hadn’t been hardened by betrayal. Like you could fix him.

But you couldn’t. No one could.

Still…

Still, his eyes found your earlier today when you thought he wasn’t looking. Bow in hand, sunlight catching the highlights in your hair, that little furrow in your brow when you concentrated—

You were good. Insanely good. Your arrows moved like light itself, precise, fast, radiant.

You belonged to the sun. To music. To warmth. Everyone adored you, everyone liked you.

He had no business watching you the way he did.

But sometimes, he did anyway.

Until you opened your mouth.

Then it was over.

Because every word that came out of you was so… you. Bubbly, relentless, stubbornly optimistic. And he just didn’t know what to do with that kind of joy. Didn’t trust it. Didn’t understand how someone could be so untouched by the same kind of rot that lived inside him. How a daughter of a god could be like this, he even maybe felt envious.

So he rolled his eyes. He walked away. He told himself over and over that he couldn’t stand you.

But he still looked.

And that terrified him more than anything.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The first time you confessed to Sunghoon, you were ten.

It was a warm summer afternoon, and you were sweaty, grass-stained, hair messy and tangled, and absolutely, irrationally determined. Sunghoon, twelve years old and already taller than every other kid in the arena, was off by himself near the creek, sharpening a blade that was nearly the size of his torso. His face was serious. Focused. A tiny storm cloud in the body of a boy.

You marched up with a flower crown in your hand, one that you made with help from the Aprhodite girls, chest puffed out, heart thumping like a war drum.

“Hey!” you’d chirped, practically vibrating with excitement.

He glanced up, brows twitching just enough to show he was already tired of this conversation.

“What?” his tone was cold, too cold, but you still melted.

“I like you.” you just said, biting your lip, squirming in your heels.

There was a beat of silence. A frog croaked in the creek. Somewhere, a Hermes kid screamed about a beehive.

Sunghoon stared at you.

“...Okay?”

You beamed. Smiling widely, you handed him the flower crown, but he didn’t take it, just stared at it, for a few seconds, then your face, expression still very serious.

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

He blinked. Twice.

“No.”

You dropped your shoulders, your heart breaking just a little bit. But you weren’t done, he would be yours.

“Is it because I talk too much? I can shut up. Watch—” you slapped your hands over your mouth and made muffled noises of restraint.

He sighed, tired.

“It’s because i’m twelve.”

You lowered your hands, frowning. Then smiled again, the sunshine falling on your face.

“So you’re saying there’s a chance when you’re not twelve?”

Sunghoon stared at you like you were speaking Ancient Greek backwards. Then, without another word, he got up and walked away.

“Wait!” you’d called after him. “You forgot the flower crown!”

He didn’t look back.

But that night, when you snuck out to leave a daisy crown on his cabin doorstep, you swore you saw someone peek through the window.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The sun was at its peak, golden rays filtering through the trees, spreading warm light over Camp Half-Blood, it was a beautiful summer day. Sweat gleamed on your temple as you wiped your brow with the back of your hand, your hair braided falling over one of your shoulders, bow in your grip and a mischievous grin tugging at your lips.

Archery practice had officially ended fifteen minutes ago—but you were still there, refusing to leave until you landed the shot.

A single red apple rested delicately atop the training dummy’s helmet, mocking you like it wanted to be destroyed.

You squinted, lining up your shot. You were getting into that headspace again, where everything melted away and it was just you, your bow, and the sun humming beneath your skin like a second heartbeat.

Then you heard it.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Boots on gravel.

Your heartbeat tripped. You didn’t have to look, You’d memorized that sound ages ago.

Sunghoon.

You could feel his presence before you saw him, like a crackle of static in the air, like the world holding its breath. Like a grey cloud covered the ray of sunshine. You glanced over your shoulder, trying to keep your expression casual, but your pulse was skipping like a pebble across water.

There he was.

Stormcloud incarnate.

He was walking past the range, jaw clenched, shirt sticking to his back from training, a sword strapped across his back. His hair a little messy, a little wet from the sweat, he cleaned a few drops falling from his forehead, clearly annoyed by the heated day. And gods, did he look incredibly good in the sunlight. Like something carved from marble, kissed by thunderstorms and arrogance.

You knew you had no business liking someone like him.

But you did.

And you were nothing if not bold.

“Hey, Zeus-boy!” you called, loud enough for half the camp to hear.

He stopped mid-step, like he was contemplating whether to respond or keep walking and pretend he didn’t hear you. But after a heartbeat, he turned, his expression already dipped in exhaustion.

You beamed at him.

“I bet I can shoot that apple blindfolded.”

His eyes flicked to the dummy. Then to your bow. Then to your very cocky stance. Sughoon sighed, deeply, and rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“You’ll miss,” he said flatly.

You tilted your head, smirking, confident.

“What’s the matter? Scared I might bruise that ego of yours?”

His eyes flicked, his posture straightened, his face completely serious, not a clue of even a little smile.

“Scared?” he scoffed. “More like dreading the noise you’ll make if you actually hit it.”

Your heart fluttered. Not that you’d ever admit that.

“So what you’re saying is… you don’t believe in me.”

“I believe you’ll shoot the dummy in the face.”

You suppressed a laugh, he was always like this, trying to underestimate you. Cocky boy.

“Harsh. But fair.” You grinned, already reaching into your quiver. “How about this—we make it interesting.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Define ‘interesting.’”

You looked at the sky, pretending to think, finger against your chin, and he breathed deep again, leg bouncing like he was losing his patience. Then, you smiled again, snapping your fingers.

“If I hit the apple, you admit I’m better than you at something. Just one thing. Anything. I don’t care if it’s archery or baking or making people laugh—your choice.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow.

“And if you miss?”

“I won’t talk to you for an entire week.”

He blinked. A few seconds passed, and your heart was still racing in your chest, he was thinking, of course, he would be happy of you leaving him alone for a few days, you weren’t that dumb to not know.

“…That’s the best offer I’ve heard all day.”

You smiled.

“Oh, so now you want me to miss.” You raised an eyebrow, your grin sharp. “But I won’t.”

He exhaled through his nose, looking up like he was praying for divine patience. Then, arms crossed over his chest, he said

“Fine. Hit the apple, sunshine. Impress me.”

Your heart leapt. Not because of the bet. Not even because you loved a challenge. But because he stayed. And he called you sunshine, even if it was obvious sarcasm, you still liked it.

You pulled the blindfold from your bag and slipped it over your eyes. The world went dark, but your body remembered everything: the position of the apple, the direction of the breeze, the way the sun pulsed on your skin like it was trying to guide you. You prayed to your father mentally, please, please dad, don’t let me miss this shot i promise you i will make you proud for the rest of my life…

You drew your arrow.

Breathed in deep.

Held, your bringes brushed the arch with a familiar force, you knew the movement, the position, the feeling by heart. It was running through your blood.

Released.

Crack.

A perfect, clean split. The apple burst apart in two pieces, toppling off the dummy’s helmet.

Someone nearby gasped. Someone else clapped. You tugged off the blindfold, a bright, victorious smile already on your lips.

You turned to Sunghoon.

He was staring. Not at the apple. At you.

His eyes were unreadable, but there was something in them. Not shock. Not irritation. Something softer. Like confusion wrapped in awe.

Just for a second.

And then—his face closed off. Same serious face as before.

“Lucky shot,” he said gruffly, turning away.

You blinked. Your smile faltered just a little.

“That wasn’t luck,” you said, trying to keep your voice light.

“You always think it’s skill until you miss,” he muttered.

You opened your mouth to respond, when someone bumped into your shoulder from behind, jostling your arm. The arrow in your hand slipped from your fingers and whipped through the air.

Thunk.

Right into the toe of Sunghoon’s boot.

Silence. A breeze rolled through the range. Your heart stopped beating in your chest, your whole face red with embarrasment, you begged to Hades to take you to the underworld in that exact moment. Of course you had to ruin it.

Sunghoon looked down slowly.

You froze, hands halfway raised like you could rewind time with enough desperation. Then he spoke, voice calm, low as always.

“…Are you trying to kill me?”

You widened your eyes, shaking your head.

“No! I—I swear that wasn’t my fault! I was bumped and—and—oh my gods, are you bleeding?!”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Because if I hit a toe vein or something I can totally fix it—”

“There’s no such thing as a toe vein.”

You moved closer before he could stop you, already kneeling to inspect the damage. He stepped back instinctively, and you almost fell on your face into the dirt.

“Y/N—”

“Hold still! Let me—oh. Okay. Yeah. That’s gonna bruise. You probably shouldn’t walk. Do you want me to carry you?”

He stared at you like you’d just asked him to marry you. You couldn’t even lift him anyway, he was much taller than you.

“I will ban you from this entire camp,” he said, voice tight.

You stood, brushing off your knees.

“Well, now you’re just being dramatic.”

He yanked the arrow from his boot and tossed it to the dirt with a low growl. Annoyed, a bit angry too, his brows frowned as he talked between his teeth.

“You’re lucky I don’t—”

“I’m always lucky,” you chirped. “It’s part of my charm.”

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he stalked away without another word.

You stood there, heart pounding in your chest.

He’d looked at you.

Just for a moment, he looked like he saw you.

You glanced down at the arrow in the dirt. Picked it up gently. Held it in your palm like it meant something.

Then you turned and walked the opposite direction, still smiling.

Even if he didn’t admit it, even if he rolled his eyes and glared and walked away like you were the most annoying thing on Earth…

You saw the flicker.

And gods help you, you were going to make it burn.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The locker room was empty, save for the steady drip of water echoing from the showers. Sunghoon sat on the bench near the back, shirt discarded, cleaning the scrape on his shoulder with practiced, irritated hands. The skin was already bruising, a light, angry red smeared with dirt and blood from where the arrow had nicked him.

Stupid.

He wasn’t even supposed to be near the archery range today. He had just finished a brutal solo sparring session and wandered there for some damn reason, and that reason was currently embedded in his skin.

He hissed as the antiseptic hit raw flesh.

Your voice echoed in his mind.

He could still see the way you looked at him, wide-eyed, half-laughing, half-panicked, your hand fluttering uselessly near your mouth like you could wave the accident away. And then you’d giggled. Like it was funny.

He clenched his jaw.

It wasn’t funny. It wasn’t cute. And it definitely wasn’t supposed to make his chest feel weird the way it did.

He threw the bloody cloth into the sink harder than necessary.

Why were you always there? Why did your voice carry across the training fields like it was trying to find him? Why did the other campers look at you like the sun walked when you did?

And why did he notice every damn time you smiled?

He didn’t even like you. Not really. You were loud, you talked too much, you stood too close. You said his name like it tasted sweet on your tongue, and he hated that he noticed the difference.

You were Apollo’s favorite. Everything about you was golden, your laugh, your smile, your damn aura.

Sunshine, he thought bitterly. All light and no sense of self-preservation. Not even sense of danger, it was like you went through life without realizing how dangerous it is for a demigod.

And yet… you could shoot with terrifying precision. You ran faster than half the Hermes cabin. You took hits without flinching. He’d watched you. Too many times.

More than he should have.

Pathetic, he told himself.

This wound wasn’t even that deep, and it didn’t hurt a lot either. He was used to the pain, to the blood, to the stings, his own father tried to kill him years ago.

He wasn’t mad about the arrow. Not really.

He was mad that the second he looked at you, just a glance, just one tiny slip, you’d smiled like it meant something. And worse, something in him had tightened. Not in fear, not in anger. But something softer.

He scrubbed at the wound harder, hissing through his teeth, his jaw hurting from how hard he was clenching it.

She’s a distraction.

Just like Zeus always said. “Distractions will ruin you. You were made to be more than human. So act like it.”

Sunghoon gritted his teeth. Wrapped the bandage tight. Stood up and grabbed his shirt again.

He didn’t need distractions. He didn’t need softness.

He needed distance. From you, from everyone.

But even as he walked out of the locker room, storm brewing in his chest, the faint echo of your laugh trailed behind him, sweet and sunny, like the warmth he swore he didn’t want.

And for a second—just one traitorous second—he wondered what it would be like to let it reach him.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The woods were quiet. Too quiet.

Birdsong had gone silent, wind stilled in the leaves. You and Sunghoon walked with an unspoken tension between you, your steps crunching over twigs and leaves as dusk swallowed the sky. You weren’t supposed to be out this far. But when Sunghoon snuck off with that stormy look in his eye, of course you followed.

Chiron had sent him to a little small quest just to check around camp, to see if there was any suspicious monster activity. And of course he’d say yes, always being so brave even though he knew the danger that would be waiting for him if he got outside for even 10 minutes.

You had just finished a small session of lyre practice, and your siblings wanted a few hours to rest, so you didn’t have much to do either, that’s why you went with him, even if he clearly was not very happy about that.

He didn’t even look back when he caught you trailing him. Just muttered, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

You grinned, softly.

“Neither are you.”

He rolled his eyes and kept walking.

It was almost funny, how predictable this little dance had become through the years. He brooded, you brightened. He snapped, you teased. He ran, you followed. It was like a little fun dynamic, one that you enjoyed, you liked his company even if he kept frowning his eyebrows and rolling his eyes and ignoring you. A little bit delusional, but you didn’t care.

But for some reason, tonight felt different. There was something electric in the air, like the sky was holding its breath.

You kept walking through the woods, the only sound being of your steps, your boots covered in mud, your arch clenched tight to your side. You weren’t scared, you had fought monsters before in small quests, but still, when the air turned colder, every hair in your body jumped, something was wrong.

And then it struck.

A blur of darkness. The smell of sulfur. The low, throaty growl of something ancient. You barely had time to register the hellhound before it lunged at Sunghoon from the trees. You widened your eyes, grabbing your arch, a small scream leaving your throat.

He moved fast, faster than anyone you’d ever seen. Blade drawn, lightning crackling at his knuckles. His first strike hit, but the second didn’t land. The beast was faster. Stronger. And it wanted him.

It slammed him into the ground with a sickening crack.

“Sunghoon!” you shouted, without thinking. And then you ran. Faster than you’d ever did before.

You were by his side in seconds, he was bleeding, his side torn open, breathing shallow. His sword lay feet away, knocked from his hand. The monster towered over him, muscles rippling, eyes glowing. It was ready to kill.

You didn’t hesitate.

Your arrow flew true, straight into its neck. It reeled back with a howl, giving you just enough time to get between it and Sunghoon. Bow discarded, you drew your dagger, heart pounding so hard it hurt. But you weren’t scared of the monster, you were scared of losing him.

“Get away from him,” you growled.

You fought like you were born to do it. Fast. Sharp. Precise. You moved around the monster with unrelenting speed, slashing, ducking, dodging, not stopping even when its claws grazed your arm. A gasp left your mouth, and you saw the blood starting to run, your delicate arm almost destroyed.

“You dirty ugly thing! That fucking hurt!” You screamed at it, and it responded with a loud growl that made the trees around you shake.

But you didn’t flinch, you passed your blade to your other arm and slammed it right into its face. Rage, because of the wound, because that thing was brave enough to touch him. And while you were alive, nobody had the right to hurt the man that you loved.

Sunghoon watched from the ground, stunned, more by you than the fight.

Because you weren’t just good.

You were exceptional.

And gods, you were furious. You didn’t stop until the hellhound collapsed, snarling, non-stopping, your hair sticking to your face as you moved around and fought with all your force.

One last strike before it dissolved into dust at your feet.

Your chest was heaving, your arm bleeding. But you were alive. The world felt a little hazy, your skin stang too much, the pain almost numbing.

But you didn’t care.

You turned to him immediately, dropping to your knees. “Sunghoon, are you okay? Are you—?”

He shoved your hand away as you reached for his wound. And you freezed, trying to smile like it was ok.

“I didn’t need your help.”

You blinked, breath catching.

“What?”

“I had it handled.”

“No, you didn’t.” You gestured to the ground. “You were on your back, unarmed—”

“I had it,” he snapped, voice sharp and cold. “I didn’t ask you to jump in.”

You couldn’t believe it. He was always annoyed by you, a lot. But this was another level, you just saved his life, you just killed a monster for him, you just showed him how much you cared.

And he still didn’t see it. Or refused to see it.

“I wasn’t going to let it kill you,” you said, louder now, trying to keep the shake out of your voice. “Gods, what is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with you?” he snapped back. “You think because you shoot sunshine out of your damn fingertips you can just insert yourself into everything? I’m not some project you get to fix. I don’t need your stupid golden glow or your pity or—” he paused, eyes narrowing, “whatever this crush is you think you’ve got going.”

You stared at him, and suddenly the pain from your arm wasn’t that bad, because something in your chest was heavier. Your shoulders dropped.

He said it so easily. Like it meant nothing.

“I wasn’t saving you because I have a crush,” you said, voice tight. “I saved you because I care. Because I didn’t want to see you die. Is that really so horrible?”

He didn’t answer. He just stood, slowly, painfully, pressing a hand to his side.

And then, in a voice like thunder under pressure:

“Just stay the fuck away from me. I mean it, once and for all.”

You flinched, actually flinched. His words sliced deeper than any monster’s claws. And for the first time… you didn’t push back.

You didn’t joke. You didn’t smile. Because suddenly reality hit you like a train, he really didn’t like you, not ever, not after all this years, not after proving yourself for him.

You just stood there, eyes wide and shining in the dying light, and whispered, “Okay.”

And then you turned.

And walked.

And didn’t look back.

Sunghoon stood there in the wreckage—blood on his side, dirt on his face, and something breaking deep in his chest. He watched the sun disappear with you.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The lake shimmered under the afternoon sun, water glittering like it was mocking you. Like it knew.

You sat on the edge of the dock, feet dangling just above the surface, heels knocking softly against the worn wood. Around you, Camp Half-Blood was alive with summer noise, laughter echoing from the climbing wall, the thud of swords from the arena, the occasional burst of campfire song drifting on the breeze.

But you felt like you were somewhere else entirely. Somewhere quiet, somewhere hollow.

Your fingers twisted a daisy you’d picked, tearing it apart petal by petal.

“He loves me,” you mumbled, letting the petal float away on the water.

“He loves me not.”

Another petal.

“He loves me.”

Pause. Your throat tightened.

“He loves me not.”

You crushed the last petal between your fingers.

Why does it still hurt?

You hadn’t spoken to him in days. Not since the hellhound. Not since he bled on the forest floor and looked you in the eyes like you were the problem. Not since he told you to stay the fuck away like you hadn’t just saved his life.

And gods, you had. You did save him.

But he didn’t want saving.

Especially not from you.

And it wasn’t the rejection that stung, not really. You knew Sunghoon was all sharp edges and storm clouds, and you never expected softness from him. But what hurt was the way he acted like he didn’t want to be seen. Like your kindness was some kind of threat. Like he didn’t think he deserved to be helped, let alone loved.

You had your hand on his chest, pressing his wound, your fingers trembling and slick with his blood, and all he could say was  I didn’t ask for this.”

You had laughed it off to everyone else. Joked like it didn’t matter. But now, alone with only the breeze and the lapping water to witness you—

“I don’t like him anymore,” you whispered, voice soft, uncertain.

Then louder.

“I don’t. I don’t like him. Not anymore.”

You swallowed hard and clenched your fists. “He doesn’t deserve it anyway. He’s mean. He’s impossible. He’s—he’s cold and rude and he hates when I talk and he probably hates when I breathe and—”

Your voice cracked.

And suddenly it was too much.

Your shoulders hunched forward, and the tears you’d been holding back for days slipped past your lashes, warm and silent. You pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes like that would stop them. Like you could push the ache back in. Like you could pretend you weren’t breaking.

But you were.

Not because he rejected you. You were used to that, he had rejected you many times before, since the first time you confessed. But because for a second—just a second—you really thought he saw you.

All of you.

Your spark, your fire, your light. Your strength, that you were actually more than just a girl with a stupid, embarrassing crush.

And you thought maybe he didn’t hate it.

Maybe he even… liked it.

But he didn’t.

He hated it.

He hated you.

More tears fell, faster now, wetting your cheeks, dripping onto your knees. You hugged them to your chest and buried your face in your arms.

“I don’t like him,” you whispered again, broken this time. “I don’t. I don’t.”

But the lie didn’t hold. Not anymore.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The sun had set hours ago, but the clouds still hovered low, thick and heavy in the dark sky like they were waiting for a reason to break open.

Sunghoon sat on the slanted roof of the Hermes cabin, legs stretched out, back leaning against the chimney. The air was cool, cooler than usual, but he didn’t feel it. Not because he was used to the cold. But because he was too wrapped up in the tight pull in his chest and the lingering sting of words he couldn’t unsay.

You weren’t looking at him anymore.

Not in training. Not at meals. Not even in passing. You just trained, talked to your friends, then stayed inside your cabin all day.

The absence of your gaze, it should’ve been a victory.

It wasn’t.

His jaw tightened as he glanced down at the campgrounds. Everything looked… normal. Someone from Hephaestus cabin was still tending to the garden torches. The Aprhodite kids were still braiding each others hair under the dim light of the sunset. Apollo’s kids—your siblings—were singing around the fire like they always did.

And you weren’t there.

He hadn’t seen your laugh in five days. He hadn’t heard your humming while walking past him, or seen your stupid bright smile you always wore when you were about to say something too fast, too loud, too you.

You were quiet now.

And all because of him.

“Good,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “That’s good. She’s finally listening.”

He should feel at peace. This was good, this is what he’d been wanting for years, just distance from you.

He didn’t.

Instead, he felt this… gnawing weight in his chest. Like guilt, but heavier. Like regret, but sharper. And under it all, fear.

The same fear that always haunted him.

Because this wasn’t just about you.

It never was.

It was about who he was. What he was. The son of Zeus.

The mistake.

The threat.

People called him a hero, a legend, a symbol. He was the boy who stopped Olympus from burning. The one who survived a solo quest against a Titan army. The one who stood under a blackened sky at eighteen and thought—for one second—he had done something worthy.

Until the sky turned against him.

Until he saw that lightning bolt twist in the clouds, not towards the enemy, but towards him.

He still remembered the sound it made. The sharp crack. The way the earth split just inches from where he stood. The voice that followed, low and cruel, echoing in the wind.

“You were never meant to live this long.”

He’d stood in the wreckage, skin burned, blood on his lips, and realized—

His father had sent the bolt.

His father wanted him gone.

Because he was too strong. Too unpredictable. Too much like a god.

Too dangerous.

Sunghoon blinked hard and looked up at the clouds. There was no thunder tonight, no sign of his father. Just the heavy stillness of a world that hadn’t changed. The world he so much hated, the world that he didn’t belong.

No one knew. Not the other campers. Not the counselors. Not even Chiron.

Sunghoon carried it alone.

And now? He’d hurt you.

You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve to get dragged into his chaos. You were light, warmth, all the things he wasn’t, and being near you felt like standing in the sun after years in the dark. And before, when you saved him from the monster without hesitation, without thinking about you first, just about him, just about his life. He couldn’t believe how you were that selfless, that warm-hearted.

But that was the problem.

Because eventually, even the sun burns.

And he was tired of fire.

So he said things he didn’t mean, he pushed you away like you were the threat. Like you were the one who might ruin him, not the other way around.

He told himself it was safer this way. You couldn’t get too close if he kept building the wall. You couldn’t look at him with those soft, hopeful eyes. Couldn’t touch his arm like you wanted to stay. Couldn’t see the cracks in him if he never let you close enough to look.

But now?

You were gone.

And he hated how much he noticed.

How quiet the world felt without your voice, even if he used to love his quiet life. How training didn’t feel like an escape anymore. How his victories felt hollow. How every time he shut his eyes, your beautiful face was there, angry, hurt, distant.

He pressed his palms against his eyes, breathing out slow and heavy.

“I’m not him,” he whispered, barely audible.

But he didn’t believe it.

Not when he saw the way your shoulders trembled as she walked away. Not when he remembered the look in your pretty eyes, like he’d destroyed something you didn’t even know you were handing him.

I’m not him. I’m not my father.

But every time he pushed someone away… every time he chose silence over kindness… every time he used his power to isolate instead of protect—

He saw Zeus in the mirror.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The sky had been rentless for days.

Even without a prophecy, even without Chiron’s grim warnings, everyone felt it, that gut-wrenching tension in the air, like the gods themselves were holding their breath. The barrier at Camp Half-Blood had been flickering at the edges like a candle about to go out, and the atmosphere felt like it was pressing down on the campers’ chests. Tighter and tighter.

You had been quiet all day.

For once, not joking. Not smiling. Not chasing after a certain grumpy son of Zeus who hadn’t even looked in your direction since your last fight. Your body ached from training, but your heart ached more. And the silence in camp? It felt too heavy to carry alone.

You stood by the archery range, fingers gripping the polished wood of your bow, eyes scanning the shadows of the woods. Something was wrong, you could tell, but you didn’t quite put your finger on it.

The air felt different, heavy, like something really bad was about to happen. And the clouds were gray, the day so gloomy, about to rain.

You sighed before starting to walk towards your cabin, planning to stay in bed all day so you could avoid looking at Sunghoon.

But then—a snap.

A branch. Far too close. Far too intentional.

You turned just in time to see a ripple, like something slicing through the barrier. A tear. Then it broke. Ripped, as if by claws.

The air screamed. Your heart stopped in your chest, your eyes widened, your legs trembled.

A deafening roar shattered the silence, and then all at once, chaos descended.

Monsters. Not one. Dozens. Charging through the weakened barrier like hell had opened its gates. Hellhounds, cyclopes, dracaenas dark, massive, frothing creatures spilling into camp like floodwater.

The storm broke overhead.

And it poured.

It was all too fast, all too blurry, like a nightmare come to life.

Campers screamed and scattered, grabbing weapons, dragging younger demigods to shelter. Magic flared through the sky, flashes of green, blue, orange, but the monsters were relentless. They came in waves, more than anyone had ever seen inside the borders.

You didn’t hesitate.

You sprinted towards the east ridge, losing arrows as you ran. Your eyes scanned for anyone injured, for anyone alone, for your siblings, but it was too fast. A hellhound lunged towards you, and you flipped out of its path, spinning mid-air to shoot an arrow clean through its eye.

Thud. Down. Another behind it. Then another.

It didn’t stop. They were too many, and you were running out of arrows, out of breath, but you kept going.

The ground was soaked with mud and blood, and you could barely see through the curtain of rain. You ducked as a spear flew past your head, rolled, and landed hard on your side.

That’s when you saw it.

A chimera. Twice the size of the one in the old training books. Foaming, frothing, fire curling from its lion mouth and venom dripping from its serpent tail. The demigod killer.

Your breath caught, panick starting to rise, but you didn’t let it take you over.

It charged.

You fired once, twice, three times, all hitting, but barely slowing it down. Your chest was heaving, the blood in your veins running fast. It barreled through a group of campers, swiping one aside like a rag doll.

And then its eyes locked onto you.

“Oh, no,” you breathed.

You tried to run—slipped, the grass was soaked.

The tail struck first, slicing across your side, sending you skidding across the wet ground. Your bow flew from your hands. Blood rushed from your ribs. Pain bloomed white-hot in her chest. You shut your eyes, screaming, your hands shaking against the open wound.

But you stood.

Gritting your teeth, clutching your side, you reached for a dagger and faced the monster head-on.

“I’m not done yet,” you whispered, even as your knees buckled.

It lunged, and you raised your blade, ready to strike.

But then, BOOM.

A thunderclap exploded above you, followed by a bolt of lightning that struck mere feet from the chimera. The impact sent the beast reeling.

From above, slicing through the rain like a blade, he came.

Sunghoon.

Drenched, furious, glowing with power. His sword flashed silver in the stormlight, and his eyes burned with a rage that seemed to come straight from the sky. He didn’t yell. He didn’t need to.

He moved.

His blade danced in arcs, calculated, violent, beautiful. The chimera snapped its jaws, tail lashing, but Sunghoon dodged every strike with impossible grace. He struck again, slicing across its shoulder, then spun, slamming his boot into its head and sending it crashing to the ground.

But it rose again, roaring fire toward him.

He raised his hand, and lightning answered.

It struck the chimera square in the chest, setting its fur ablaze. It screamed once, then dropped, twitching in the mud. Dead.

Silence followed. Deafening. Campers stared from the tree line, breathless.

Sunghoon stood over the corpse like a war god, untouched but seething. He proved once again why he was the strongest warrior to ever exist.

And then you spoke, voice weak because of the pain, from both your wounds and your broken heart.

“Of course,” you groaned from where she was still on the ground, soaked, bloodied. “Here comes Zeus Jr.”

His head snapped toward you. Eyes narrowing, that same damn expression you once loved but you were starting to get tired of.

“You’re bleeding,” he said.

“No kidding,” you muttered, struggling to sit up.

He took a step closer.

“You should’ve stayed back.”

“I was back,” you shot, dragging yourself upright with the help of a tree. “It found me. I didn’t ask for a knight in electro-shining armor.”

Sunghoon clenched his jaw, sword still on his hand.

“I didn’t do it for you.”

“Sure.”

The rain poured harder.

“Stop trying to be a hero,” you said, bitterly. For the first time talking to him in this tone “You’re not the only one who can fight.”

“I know,” he snapped.

You scoffed, but there was no fun in your face.

“Then why do you act like I’m weak?”

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do!”

“Because you don’t belong in the middle of this!” he shouted suddenly, and you flinched, blinking. “Because if you get hurt, it’s not just about you anymore, it’s—fuck.”

He turned away, fists clenched, rain soaking his clothes, his dark hair, his beautiful face.

Your expression shifted.

“Then what is it about, Sunghoon?” you asked, stepping closer despite the blood dripping down your arm. “Why do you keep pushing me away like I’m the enemy? Why do you act like I’m something to be afraid of?”

He didn’t answer. And you were furious.

“Why do you think you’re not allowed to be loved?”

Crack. Thunder rolled like a growl, and you flinched again, the sky reflecting Sunghoon’s expression.

He turned, eyes blazing.

“Because I’m a monster too!” he shouted, voice breaking. “Because I was born cursed. Because my father—the king of the gods—tried to kill me. Because every time I care about someone, the gods take it away. Because I saved Olympus and he still looked at me like I was wrong!”

You froze. Lightning split the sky behind him. A knot built in your throat, you couldn’t speak. This confession, it finally made sense to you. Why he was like that, why he pushed people away, why he was so focused only in training. And you realized too, Sunghoon wasn’t just brave because he was Zeus’ son, he was because he had no choice. Because deep down, where nobody saw him, he was actually really scared.

Of himself, of his lineage, of everything that his life meant.

You swallowed, opening your mouth but the words just didn’t come.

“I push you away because I don’t know how not to, Y/N,” he said, quieter now, throat tight. “Because I see everything I want in you, and I know I can’t have it.”

Silence. The rain softened just a little.

He couldn’t look at you, his gaze was on the ground, but you saw him. Not Park Sunghoon, the forbidden son, the strongest warrior, the child of the storm.

Just Sunghoon, the little boy you’d been in love with since you were ten, the little boy who had a cold wall around him, and he never let anyone in. The little boy who grew up alone, scared, and the little boy who’s own father tried to kill.

Then, softly, you said.

“You already have me,” you whispered.

And without thinking, you reached for him. You could barely walk, but you did anyways, fast, your heart pounding in your chest, but for the first time it wasn’t just because of a stupid crush, but for the immense affection you had for this man.

He flinched, but didn’t move.

And when your arms wrapped around him, something broke.

Not the sky.

Not the storm.

But him.

His sword dropped. His head fell to your shoulder. He grabbed you tight, as if he never wanted to let you go, or never wanted you to let him go.

And he let himself be held. For the first time ever.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The storm had passed, but Camp Half-Blood still bore its scars.

The training fields were torn apart, trees splintered, the ground muddy and red. Campers moved in hushed voices, some bandaged, others limping, the weight of what had happened still lingering like a bruise beneath the skin.

No one died, thanks to the gods.

The golden glow of the Apollo cabin had always felt warm, comforting in a way that mirrored its occupants. Now, that same golden light bled through gauzy curtains and danced across your skin as you laid on your bed, propped up by a nest of pillows, half-wrapped in bandages. Your laughter, soft and airy, filled the space, a balm over the storm the camp had just endured.

Your siblings buzzed around you like hummingbirds, fussing over your hair, feeding you sweetened nectar, adjusting your blanket, whispering far too loudly about a certain brooding demigod who’d taken post at the far corner of the room.

“Is he still there?” Taki whispered, not quietly.

“He hasn’t blinked in twenty minutes,” another added, munching on a cracker.

“He literally dragged her out of a battlefield like some tragic hero in a war movie,” a third said dramatically, hand on heart.

You groaned, pressing the heel of your palm to your forehead. “You guys are so embarrassing.”

“And yet, you’re blushing,” your sister teased.

“I’m injured!”

“Yeah, but not blind. He’s still standing right there.”

And he was.

Park Sunghoon.

Leaning silently against the far wall, arms crossed, a bruise blooming on his jaw, dark hair damp from the rain that still drizzled outside. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, exposing a long scratch that was half-scabbed and half-healed. Despite every opportunity, he hadn’t left since you were brought in, just stood guard like he didn’t know how to do anything else.

You glanced at him from beneath your lashes, a teasing smile playing at your lips. That same feeling in your chest, in your heart, that you’d had for him. It never went away.

“What can I say?” you murmured to your siblings, dramatically pressing a hand to your heart. “I’m so lucky.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flicked toward you.

He rolled them, visibly, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. A ghost of something softer. Maybe amusement. Maybe relief.

But he still owed you a conversation.

“Okay, out,” you said, waving your siblings away. “Shoo. Give a girl some space to die tragically in peace.”

One by one, your siblings peeled away with dramatic groans and cheeky winks, until the cabin settled into a golden silence, filled only by the hum of cicadas outside and the steady beat of your heart.

He looked at you again, serious, as always, but there was something different in his eyes this time, something warm.

Sunghoon hesitated before walking over. His steps were quiet. Measured.

You shifted as he sat carefully on the edge of your bed, hands resting on his knees, posture rigid like he was still braced for a battle that hadn’t come yet.

“You stayed,” you said softly, eyes flicking to his face.

“You got hurt,” he replied, his voice low.

“I didn’t need you to come.”

“I came anyway.”

That silenced you. For a moment.

Your fingers picked at a loose thread on her blanket.

“You haven’t said anything since.”

“I didn’t know what to say.”

“Well, you could start with I’m glad you’re not dead,” you joked half-heartedly.

He didn’t smile. But his jaw worked, like the words were stuck somewhere between his throat and his chest.

“I am glad,” he said, quieter this time.

You blinked.

Something inside you, tight and aching, twisted. You thought about his words from before, how he crashed out as if he’d been carrying with the heavy weight of what happened for years, how he’d been suffering alone.

“…Sunghoon?”

He didn’t look at you.

Instead, he exhaled deeply, and then… he started speaking. Slowly. Like he was trying to figure out how to make himself real for the first time in years.

“When I was five, the monsters wouldn’t stop. My mom said it was like I had a target painted on me. They were relentless.” His voice was flat. Detached. “She brought me here to keep me alive. Dropped me off and i never saw her again.”

You didn’t move. You barely breathed. You just let him talk, a bulge starting to built inside your chest.

“When I turned eighteen, the gods sent me on a solo quest. Olympus was on the verge of war. I stopped it. Somehow.” He swallowed. “They called me a hero. Said I saved everything. But…”

He looked at you then.

And you saw it.

The storm that lived inside his eyes.

“…My father was there. Zeus. He watched. He… waited. And then he tried to kill me.”

Sunghoon’s voice shook for the first time. “He said I was too powerful. That I could become a threat. Said it would be easier to eliminate the possibility.”

Your eyes filled with tears. “Oh, gods…”

“No one knows.” He shook his head. “Not Chiron. Not the other gods. I never told anyone. What would it matter? I lived. That should be enough.”

“It’s not,” you whispered fiercely. “It’s not enough.”

He looked away again.

“After that, I stopped trying to feel. I train. I fight. I do what they ask. Because if even my own father thinks I’m dangerous… maybe he’s right. Maybe if I let my guard down for a second, I’ll turn into him.”

You reached forward, your hand trembling, and touched his fingers.

He let you hold them, not flinching, not avoiding you like all of these years, just letting himself be real with you, letting you give him of some of your warm.

“Sunghoon… you’re nothing like him.”

His eyes met yours. His voice cracked. “Then why do I hurt people?”

“You don’t mean to.”

“I hurt you.”

You smiled through your tears, a shaky laugh bubbling from your lips.

“Yeah. Well. I kinda deserved it. I’ve been annoying you since I was ten.”

His mouth twitched again. This time, for real. You saw him smile for the first time, and it was the most beautiful sight ever. Your heart fluttered inside of you.

“You haven’t changed.”

“And you’re still grumpy.”

You stared at each other for a long moment.

Then Sunghoon reached out, fingers brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered on your cheek, thumb catching a falling tear. Your skin jumped, his hand was cold, too cold, but it felt good, sweet, gentle and you leaned to his touch, his eyes sparkling.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured, voice almost pleading.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Shut up.” You sniffled. “You just trauma-dumped on me, i have feelings.”

He laughed quietly. A little broken. A little healed. But it was the most gorgeous sound ever, you wanted it imprinted in your mind forever. You realized that, maybe you were in love fully of this man, nothing he’d do would ever make you hate him.

Not after he told you his deepest secret, not after he saved your life, not after he opened with you.

You looked at him again, in silence, and his gaze never left yours. It wasn’t a cold look anymore, it was warm and bright, like the first rays of sunlight after a storm. The kind of warmth you’d always believed lived somewhere inside him, hidden beneath layers of scars and silence. And now, it was there. Open. Soft. Yours.

The breath caught in your throat. Every moment that had led to this—every time you’d chased after him with a smile, every time he pushed you away with gritted teeth—suddenly made sense. It was all leading here. To this quiet, breathless second.

Then he leaned in.

And kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, or greedy, or anything like the heat that had been simmering between you for so long. It was slow—almost reverent. Like he was tasting sunlight for the first time. Like he was terrified it might burn him, but he wanted it anyway. His lips were soft but certain, moving against yours with a quiet desperation he’d never let himself show. One hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin as if grounding himself in the reality of you.

You melted into him, hands sliding up his chest, fingertips trembling. A soft noise escaped your throat, half a gasp, half a sob, and he responded with a deeper kiss, pulling you closer like he couldn’t get enough.

The room was quiet except for the soft sound of your breaths, quick and shallow, his heavier, more labored. Your bodies were still pressed close together, but everything had changed.

Sunghoon was hovering over you, eyes dark and searching. The way his fingers brushed across your skin was reverent, like he was afraid of breaking something if he moved too quickly. And yet, the way you smiled at him, your hands drifting over his chest, made him feel like everything about this was exactly what he needed.

You were still catching your breath, lips tingling, heart stammering in your chest. You searched his face, his storm-dark eyes, the way his jaw flexed like he was trying to hold back everything he felt. But you could see it now. He wasn’t hiding anymore.

You leaned in again, brushing your lips against his in a softer kiss this time, almost shy despite everything. And he chased it. His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, anchoring you as his mouth moved with more intent. A low sound escaped from deep in his throat, and you felt it everywhere, your spine, your stomach, the tips of your fingers.

He pressed you gently back onto the bed, following you down, lips never leaving yours. Your hands found the edge of his shirt, fisting the fabric as you tugged him closer. There was no more hesitation now, only want, only need, and the comfort of finally being seen.

When you parted for air, you were breathless, cheeks flushed. “Sunghoon…”

And when you shifted, pulling him just a little closer, he froze.

“You’re still hurt,” he rasped, pulling back slightly, his hand flattening over your bandaged side.

“So are you,” you replied.

“That’s not the same.”

“I’m fine.”

“You almost died.”

“And you didn’t leave.”

His jaw tensed. You reached up and pressed your fingers to his cheek, drawing his attention back to you.

“I want this,” you said quietly, honestly. “I want you. Not just the hero. Not the demigod. Just you.”

His walls nearly went up again. You saw it, the flinch in his eyes, the way his shoulders stiffened like he was about to retreat. But then, slowly, he exhaled. Let himself be seen. Let your words settle into the softest part of him.

“…Stay still,” he murmured.

You blinked. “What?”

“I’m gonna kiss you again.”

Your heart stuttered. “Then what was—?”

He kissed you before you could finish. Gentle. Deeper. Slow like the sky opening after a long storm. His hands found your waist, easing you back into the pillows, careful of your wounds, but not afraid to touch touch now. You opened beneath him, heat sparking low in your belly, breath hitching as your bodies aligned, as your hands dragged across the slope of his shoulders, his back, his chest.

He kissed your collarbone, then lower, taking his time. Every touch, every kiss felt like a promise, not just of desire, but of something more. Something real. His fingertips grazed the hem of your shirt, and he paused again, looking up at you with something deeper than just want.

“Are you sure?”

You just nodded, biting your lip, your heart pounding with so much force.

“I’ve been waiting for this. I…I saved myself, for you.”

It took him a full second to register your words.

Then another to believe them.

And when they did, they hit like a tidal wave. His hands tightened in the sheets, his breath stalling in his throat as he stared down at you with something between awe and desperation.

“You…” he rasped, swallowing hard. “You can’t say shit like that to me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m barely holding on here,” he growled, dragging a hand down his face. “Because if you keep saying things like that, I’m going to stop pretending I can control myself around you.”

You shifted beneath him, fingers sliding into the hair at the back of his neck.

“Then don’t.”

That undid him.

With a strained sound, he kissed you again, deeper this time. Like he was drowning in you. Like everything he’d kept buried for years had broken through the surface and surged forward with no intention of retreating. His body pressed closer, mouth warm and hungry on yours, the air between you thick with heat and emotion.

The air between you grew hotter, heavier. He groaned softly as your nails scratched lightly down his back, and you felt him shiver, his body flush against yours now, every hard line of him pressing into your softness. He lifted your shirt over your shoulders, carefully, his touch cold but gentle, and you whimpered when his hands trailed down your torso, slow, but needy. You were left in the lacy white fabric of your bra, and he looked at you like trying to memorise every inch, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"You're so beautiful" his voice came in a weak whisper, and you bit your lip, blushing.

His touch wandered more freely now, fingers tracing the delicate lace before gently sliding the strap off your shoulder. He kissed the skin he revealed, soft and slow, and you shivered. Sunghoon’s hands finally found their way beneath the lace, warm palms cupping your breasts with a reverence that made you gasp. His thumbs brushed your nipples and your back arched off the mattress instinctively, pressing yourself harder into him, into his touch, into the heat that coiled between your legs.

“Fuck,” he breathed, the word a low growl against your skin as he kissed down your throat, teeth grazing gently. “You’re driving me insane.”

You couldn’t help the breathless laugh that escaped you.

“Told you I was dangerous.”

“Yeah?” He lifted his head, eyes dark with desire and something deeper, something raw. “You’ve been playing with fire since the day I met you.”

“And look at you,” you whispered, dragging your nails lightly over the taut muscles of his abdomen. “Finally letting yourself burn.”

He groaned, then kissed you again, no hesitation, no restraint. His mouth was hungry on yours, his tongue sliding against yours with a desperation that made your toes curl. His hips rolled against yours and you felt him, hard, needy, pressing right where you ached most.

“Sunghoon,” you gasped, legs falling open to cradle his hips.

He gritted his teeth, one hand sliding down your stomach and unbuttoning your jeans with one swift motion. You felt like you were dreaming, you had been thinking about this moment for years, and it was finally happening. It wasn't just lust, it was something more, something that you felt inside of you, like you belonged to him.

You helped him shove the denim down your legs, leaving you in nothing but your underwear, flushed and breathless beneath him. His hand brushed over the damp heat between your thighs and his breath caught.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, voice wrecked. “Is that all for me?”

You bit your lip, teasing even now.

“Guess I have a type. Grumpy, sword-wielding sons of Zeus.”

He looked at you with disbelief, but then he laughed. His laugh was low, strained, as he hooked a finger in the side of your underwear and pulled it down slowly, watching the way you squirmed beneath his gaze.

“Keep joking like that and I’m not going to last.”

You smirked, a little shy, a little wrecked.

“Then maybe stop teasing me and do something about it.”

That was all it took.

He slid two fingers into you without warning, and your head fell back with a choked moan. His movements were slow but deep, curling just right, hitting that spot that made your thighs tremble. Your pussy clenched around his digits as if it had been waiting for this moment too, soaked walls pushing him in, and he bit his lip watching his fingers glisten with your arousal, thrusting them, still gentle, but with skill, wet sounds starting to build.

“You feel like heaven,” he whispered against your throat, pressing kisses to your collarbone, then lower, until his lips wrapped around your nipple and you gasped, his body grinding against yours. “So fucking perfect.”

“More,” you gasped, hips moving against his hand. “Please, Sunghoon—need you.”

He sucked your nipple softly, soaking it with his saliva, and he twitched his wrist, his movements becoming faster, more purposeful. The wet sound of his fingers thrusting into you filled the air between your ragged breaths, you clung to him like a lifeline, the heat blooming under your skin, spreading like wildfire.

Your fingers tangled in his dark hair as he moved between worship and hunger, his lips dragging from your chest to your neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin. Then his thumb found your clit, slow, torturing circles that made you whine and rock your hips against him again, as he curled his fingers and brushed your g-spot.

Then, with shaky hands, you found the hem of his shirt, and slid it out of his body, throwing it on the floor. Your gaze trailed with sparkly eyes, he was a real life god, you were sure about that. His pale, glistening skin, the line of his abs, the muscles on his arms, and the perfect v-line in his hips, you moaned again, because it was the most beautiful sight ever. You took your time touching him, your warm, delicate fingers running through his torso. You felt his muscles flex beneath your touch, each slight tremor in his body feeding the dizzy heat growing inside you. He was still working his fingers inside you, coaxing out every soft gasp and whimper from your lips, but now he was shaking too, not from exertion, but from holding back.

"You really are the man of my dreams." A small smile painted on your lips, and he smirked softly, kissing you again.

He kissed you like he was learning every part of you, the pace, the sighs, the way your mouth moved against his. His tongue swept gently along your lower lip before slipping inside, claiming you all over again.

You whimpered into his mouth as his free hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing just under your eye with surprising tenderness.

“You feel like you were made for me,” he murmured against your lips. “Every inch of you.”

Your hands moved lower, tracing the lines of his torso, the sharp dip of his waist, until they reached the waistband of his pants. You hesitated for a heartbeat, eyes flicking up to his.

He nodded once, barely, but his gaze was molten, like he was begging.

You pushed them down slowly, revealing more of him, inch by inch, your fingers brushing over the firm muscle of his thighs. He was trembling now, barely holding himself back. His breath came rough and shaky, and he watched your every movement like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever witnessed. His length was hard and throbbing under his boxers, and you wasted no time in stroking him with your palm, slow, but still needy, your mouth watered, and he hissed between his teeth, hips bucking against your touch.

“You’re perfect,” you said, voice shaking. “So perfect it scares me.”

Sunghoon leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours, his body still pressed against yours like he couldn’t bear to pull away.

Everything about him, his scent, his skin, the sound of his voice murmuring your name against your throat, was imprinting into your senses. You never wanted to forget a single second.

And when he finally slid his fingers out of you, slow and slick, you gasped again, your walls fluttering around nothing, and he brought them to his lips, eyes locked with yours as he tasted you. A low groan slipped from his throat.

“You taste like fucking heaven.”

You blushed, overwhelmed, by the pleasure, by the lust, but also by his gaze, he looked even more ruined than you. You turned your face to hide your blush, but he caught your chin gently, guiding you to look back at him.

“Don’t,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse. “Don’t look away.”

His words settled deep in your chest, and you felt it, how everything in this moment had shifted. It wasn’t just lust. It wasn’t just longing. It was years of tension, of biting words and lingering stares, soft smiles and silent hopes, finally unraveling.

Then he straightened just a bit, knees against the mattress of your small bed, and he slid his boxers down, a gasp left your throat, and you squirmed at the sight. His cock was thick, hard, veins popping under the skin, red tip leaking, glistening, and not being cheesy, but it really was the most beautiful, not that you'd seen a lot, anyways. The thought made you chuckle, and you covered your face again, he looked at you with an eyebrow raised.

"Are you seriously laughing right now?" his tone was something between annoyed, horny and amused, and you laughed again, biting your lip.

"I'm sorry, i'm sorry! I was just thinking that you have a really beautiful dick"

He blinked, clearly not expecting that, and for a moment, his expression was priceless, caught between pride and disbelief. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned over you, arms braced on either side of your head. He grabbed your thigh, strong, but not violent, and wrapped it around his waist, spreading you just for him, and you felt it again, your needy, leaking pussy clenching around nothing. But not for so long, because he grabbed himself by the base, leaning against your entrance but not pulling in yet, just rubbing his tip against your soaked folds, and you whined, arching your back.

"Beautiful, huh?" he murmured, his voice low, teasing now, brushing his nose lightly against your cheek. "You’re unbelievable."

You gasped, cheeks flushed, your body burning with anticipation and need.

“Sunghoon…” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I’m yours.”

And the way he looked at you in that moment, like you were both his salvation and his undoing, told you that no matter what came next, he was already too far gone to turn back.

With that, he pushed into you slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside, and your breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut at the stretch, the burn, the overwhelming fullness.

You gasped when he filled you completely, the stretch stealing your breath, a rush of overwhelming sensation blooming deep in your core. He was so big, and your body trembled from the way he held you, so tightly, so completely, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go. And gods, he was warm, inside and out, melting away the ache that had lodged in your chest for years.

You blinked up at him, vision blurred with tears you hadn’t realized had welled in your eyes. Not from pain, no, not at all, but from everything. Every laugh you’d chased him down for, every time he’d brushed you off with that grumpy scowl, every moment you told yourself it didn’t matter that he didn’t want you… and now, here he was. Inside you. Holding you like you mattered. Looking at you like you were everything.

He groaned low and long, grabbing you by your hips with one hand and cupping your cheek with the other, kissing you, hot breath and spit and tongue, and you moaned against his lips when he thrusted just a little bit, holding himself back because he didn't want to hurt you, not anymore.

You gasped when he bottomed out, his hips flush with yours, his arms trembling from the effort of holding back.

“Breathe,” he whispered, brushing your hair from your face. His forehead pressed to yours. “Just feel me.”

You did. Gods, you felt everything.

The way he filled you, stretched you, moved with you. Every slow roll of his hips made your legs shake, made you cling tighter to him, every vein stimulating your sensitive walls, how he throbbed inside of you. You never imagined he could be this gentle, this attentive, like every part of him was focused solely on you, like you were the only thing anchoring him to the world.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice rough but soft, one hand trailing down your side, soothing over your skin.

You shook your head quickly, biting your lip, blinking up at him with glassy eyes.

“No, just… full. So full.”

Sunghoon cursed under his breath, pulling out a fraction and thrusting back in. Your back arched and you whimpered, your thighs wrapping tighter around his waist. He was so deep, so thick inside of you, stretching you, the whole world around you disappeared, and the air was so hot, your heart pounding inside of your chest, your body full of pleasure.

“You’re so tight,” he murmured against your ear, voice filled with lust and affection “feels like you were made for me.”

The words hit you harder than they should’ve, and a helpless sound escaped your lips, somewhere between a sob and a moan. His rhythm faltered for a second.

“Are you crying?” he asked, panicked.

You laughed through the tears, arms still around him.

"This is like the climax of my crush ok, don't judge me."

Sunghoon groaned and kissed you again, this time deeper, tongue sweeping into your mouth and stealing your breath. His thrusts picked up speed, the heat between your bodies climbing, burning. He was fully fucking you now, still gentle, but needier, messier, his hips rolled into you with strength, making him go deep inside of you, and your walls swallowed his cock, wetness dripping between your legs until they soaked the sheets under you.

Your fingers slid through his hair, nails lightly raking across his scalp, and the way he groaned into your mouth made you moan in return. He was losing control, unraveling with you.

His thrusts deepened, and his hand found your clit, rubbing tight, perfect circles that sent you tumbling over the edge.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered against your lips, his movements growing more desperate, more erratic. “And I’m so fucking lucky you didn’t give up on me.”

“I never would,” you panted, your nails digging into his back as he fucked you deeper, harder. “I never could.”

He shifted, adjusting your hips, grabbing one of your thighs and pulling it over his shoulder, and suddenly he hit that spot—the one that made your eyes roll back, the one that made your legs tremble violently around him.

“There?” he asked, lips ghosting your throat.

“Yes,” you cried, breath hitching.

He kept his rhythm, each thrust precise and devastating. Your moans filled the room, blending with the sound of skin on skin, the ragged pull of your breaths. The pleasure built higher, stronger, until your body was strung so tight it was hard to think.

“I’m close,” you gasped, your fingers gripping his hair. “Sunghoon—please—”

“Let go,” he whispered, staring into your eyes like he could see right through you, forehead against yours, voice broken “Come for me.”

His hand slid between you, rubbing your clit fast, messy, and you cried out, clutching him tightly, your body shaking with the intensity of it, a blinding, all-consuming wave that crashed over you and didn’t let go. The orgasm hit you, and your walls clenched around him, pulling him with you, and he groaned against your shoulder as he followed you over the edge, shuddering with each deep pulse inside you.

Sunghoon’s breath hitched as your body tightened around him, and the sound of your moans, soft, breathless, utterly overwhelmed, pushed him over the edge. His hands gripped your hips, holding you flush against him as he spilled into you with a low, broken groan, the kind pulled from somewhere deep in his chest, warm seed filling you up so good. His whole body trembled with the release, muscles taut, jaw clenched, forehead still pressed to yours like he needed to feel every part of you as he unraveled.

It wasn’t just physical. It was everything he’d kept bottled up, every wall he’d built, every fear he’d buried. They all crumbled in that moment, coming out in the way he whispered your name against your skin, reverent and raw. His heartbeat thundered against yours, syncing with yours in the quiet aftermath, breathless and heavy.

He didn’t move right away. Just held you. As if he was afraid the moment would slip away, like it wasn’t real.

You brushed your hand through his damp hair, both of you still flushed and dazed, and for the first time in a long while, he felt something dangerously close to peace. Then, with a slow movement, he pulled out, and you whined softly, feeling his cum drip from your core.

But he stayed there, against your chest, just feeling your heartbeat.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, voice hoarse, like he didn’t know what to say but needed to say something.

You smiled, kissing his head.

“You mean aside from the fact that I’ve just lived every single fantasy I’ve had since I hit puberty? Yeah. I’m thriving.”

He groaned. “Gods, you really can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’. “You knew what you were signing up for.”

Sunghoon chuckled under his breath, soft and rare, and pulled the blanket higher over your bodies.

“Remind me why I like you again?”

“Because I’m charming. And hot. And because I’m the best archer in camp.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly trying not to smile.

“Delusional.”

“Mm, and yet here we are,” you whispered, pressing a lazy kiss to his jaw. “You, in my arms after you confessed your tragic backstory and fucked me senseless.”

“You’re so fucking weird.”

And despite everything, his fears, his walls, the storm still brewing outside, Sunghoon held you close and let himself smile, because somehow, with you, the weight didn’t feel quite so heavy.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

You weren’t training today. Just watching.

You stood at the edge of the sparring circle with your chin in your hands, resting your elbows on the wooden fence, eyes fixed on him.

Sunghoon.

Your boyfriend.

The son of Zeus, war hero of camp, and, more recently, absolute heart-stealer.

He was currently fighting two Ares kids at once like it was child’s play, sword glinting in the sun, movements precise and confident, like he didn’t even have to think. His dark hair was tied up messily, loose strands falling into his eyes, his jaw locked in concentration, but he wasn’t scowling anymore. There was something lighter about him now. The storm inside him had settled, quieted.

And gods, you were staring.

Again.

Just like that day weeks ago. The same spot. The same boy.

But everything had changed.

Someone nudged your arm.

“You’ve been watching him for like… fifteen minutes straight,” one of your Apollo siblings whispered beside you.

“I’m admiring my boyfriend,” you whispered back dramatically.

“He hasn’t even looked over here—wait—nope, there he goes.”

Your heart skipped.

Because it was true.

Sunghoon had just looked up mid-swing, knocked an Ares kid flat on his ass with his sword’s blunt end, and locked eyes with you. You expected the usual eye-roll. Maybe a sigh or a sarcastic shake of his head.

But instead, he smirked.

Smirked.

And then he called out across the sparring field with his deep, rough voice loud enough for half of Camp Half-Blood to hear:

“You gonna keep staring at me like that, or are you finally gonna come over here and kiss your boyfriend?”

You blinked.

The training field went silent for like two whole seconds before everyone exploded into chaos.

Teasing whistles. “Get it, Y/N!” someone from Hermes cabin yelled. Chiron turned around so fast it looked like he was rethinking letting you both stay in camp. Your siblings screamed like they were in the stands of the Hunger Games. Even the Ares kids were impressed.

You covered your face with your hands, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Oh my gods.”

Sunghoon just stood there, smug and sweaty and stupidly hot, sword resting on his shoulder like the cocky menace he was.

And you?

You jumped the fence and ran to him.

When you crashed into his chest and kissed him, breathless, laughing, in front of everyone, he kissed you back with everything he had, arms wrapping tight around your waist, forehead pressed to yours afterward like it was just the two of you in the world.

“You’re so annoying,” you whispered, smiling.

“I learned from the best.”

“You love me.”

He looked at you like the storm had never touched him. “Yeah,” he murmured, lips brushing yours. “I really do.”

So yeah, maybe your annoying crush for the forbidden son of Zeus finally, finally was reciprocated.

thank you for reading as always <3 hope you guys liked it, i didn’t proofread so sorry for the possible mistakes, i’ll fix them later !!

taglist: @gulicore @bussolares @vixialuvs @berryloveseunghan @lilifiedeans @m1kkso @usuallyunlikelyfox @jayjw16enxp @starfallia @bellsjakesgf @zuwishii @cutehoons02 @immelissaaa @nyxtwixx @kayjiguki @emisluvr @k1ttyjwon @cherrymaria58 @koizekomi @crysieberry @add-this-to-that @ii-mimii @luumiinaa @firstclassjaylee @elicheel @vintaegegirl @petalsofink @mariegibeau @tunafishyfishylike @kristynaaah @stercul1a

[stiltonbasket]

Short crack Prompt:

Wei Wuxian inherited many things from his mother, but he got his father's hair, thick, long, lustrous and silky. His hair has always been longer than most and darker than midnight. He doesn't want to cut it, but hates it coming onto his face, on his hands on his sword while he's doing anything, THUS, ✨he braids it✨.

It's a long thick braid, reaching below his thighs and sitting on his shoulders without his permission. Whenever he turns around or is sword drilling, it swishes behind him like it has a life of it's own.

Bonus: wwx in braid is many people's gay / straight awakening. Jc and yzh has to keep away suiters (and creeps) behind wwx , cuz he's oblivious to other's crush on him. As he's busy looking at lwj 🙃

"Lan-xiong," Nie Huaisang says one afternoon, while Lan Wangji is trying to meditate in the courtyard behind the Yashi. "There's something you ought to know before the guest disciples get here."

Lan Wangji squints at him.

"What is it?" he says flatly. Knowing Nie Huaisang as he does, he guesses that Huaisang intends to relay some piece of gossip; but as telling tales about others is strictly forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, Nie Huaisang ought to know better than to attempt such a thing before the clan's Head of Discipline.

"It's about Yunmeng Jiang," Nie Huaisang says.

"What about Yunmeng Jiang?" Lan Wangji has had little to do with the cultivators of Yunmeng Jiang, but he doubts that a class of their most talented disciples could cause much trouble at the lectures. "Have Jiang-zongzhu's daughter and her shidimei decided not to come?"

Nie Huaisang waves his fan in dismissal. "Oh, nothing so serious as that. It's only—well, have you heard of Wei Wuxian?"

"Briefly. He is Jiang-zongzhu's head disciple, is he not?"

The aforementioned Wei Wuxian's instatement as head disciple was an occasion of some note in the Jianghu, Lan Wangji remembers. For one thing, Wei Wuxian is not a bloodline member of the clan: though this is not so uncommon amongst the latest generation of head disciples, especially in sects where clan disciples are not the majority. For another, Wei Wuxian was apparently disfavored by his shimu from the day Jiang Fengmian first brought him to Lotus Pier at the age of five—and when the news of his appointment reached Lanling Jin last year, there was a great deal of murmuring about how Yu Ziyuan had taken it.

"He is the head disciple," Nie Huaisang says gravely, "but that is of no importance here. The trouble is—oh, it's just a word, don't look like that—is that Wei-gongzi is a calamitous beauty, and his shidimen wrote to me asking whether the Cloud Recesses would be willing to assist in his protection during the lectures."

He holds out a letter and passes it to Lan Wangji. "Here. Jiang-xiong explained everything."

Much to Lan Wangji's regret, the letter's contents are exactly as Nie Huaisang described them. Apparently, Wei Wuxian—referred to in the letter as da-shixiong, as it had been penned by Jiang Wanyin and his biaodi Yu Zhenhong—is both too handsome for his own good and dangerously charming; and as a result, Jiang Wanyin professes, his shixiong leaves a trail of broken hearts wherever he goes.

The last time we visited Lanling—which we would not have done if we had any choice, but the fact of my sister's betrothal ensured that we had precious little say in the matter—five of Jin Zixuan's cousins came to blows at the sight of my shige, each insisting that she and no other would be engaged to him in the future, Jiang Wanyin writes. One of the girls jilted her intended on the spot, vowing that she no longer wished to see him again as long as Wei Wuxian walked the earth; and her intended tore off the yaopei she had gifted him and flung it into the nearest koi pond before declaring that she need not worry about keeping their engagement, for he no longer had any love for her and now wished to bring our da-shixiong into his clan as a bride.

Lan Wangji looks up in dismay. "What?"

"Read on," Nie Huaisang advises grimly. "It gets worse."

Yesterday, he stole a flower from a local bun-girl and went to market with the bloom behind his ear; and later, we received news that the sight of him caused six carriages, nine produce wagons, and two riders on horseback to crash when he stopped to cross the street. He returned home after buying all the ruined produce and helping the women who were bruised in the melee, without the slightest idea that it only occurred because the driver of the first carriage was blinded by the sunlight reflected upon his hair; and the next morning, Fuqin received so many petitioners asking for Wei Wuxian's hand in marriage that he hung a sign at the gates to announce that he would entertain no suitors until after Wei Wuxian comes of age.

"Guanyin in heaven," Lan Wangji hears himself croak, stunned. "How—?"

Nie Huaisang shrugs. "If you ask me, it's the hair."

Lan Wangji shakes his head and looks back down at the letter in disbelief.

Thus, it is my hope that you will inform the second Young Master Lan about the two latest incidents, and impress upon him the importance of restraint in the Lan disciples—and in all the others who will come to study under Lan-laoshi—well before we arrive. (This passage is written in a more graceful hand, likely Yu Zhenhong's.) Our seventh shimei once fell off the pier and into the lake because da-shixiong smiled at her, and no trouble came of it because Lingxi-shimei is a strong swimmer; but if Lan-laoshi's disciples keep falling down the mountain because da-shixiong braided his hair instead of putting it up, someone might truly end up coming to harm.

"This beggars belief," Lan Wangji says doubtfully. "Can one man truly...?"

"I've seen him," Nie Huaisang replies. "And yes. Keep reading."

"'And if it would not be too much trouble,'" Lan Wangji reads aloud, "'please also consult Lan-er-gongzi or Zewu-jun on the subject of da-shixiong's safety.' Safety?"

Nie Huaisang winces. "Wei-xiong is very lovely to look upon," he offers, "and from his dress, it is not always clear that he has the backing of a great sect. Some men do not take well to being told no by a beauty."

"And by some men, you mean the men of Lanling Jin?"

"One never knows where such dangers may come from," Nie Huaisang tells him. "But if you ask me, you ought to keep an eye on the Jins anyway. Apart from Jin Zixuan, I doubt there's a single man in this year's course who doesn't hate Wei Wuxian for enchanting all the Jin girls."

Lan Wangji nods and rises to his feet. "I will handle this matter," he says decisively, turning towards the open door to the Lanshi. "You write back to Jiang-gongzi, and inform him that the Cloud Recesses will be duly prepared for his shige's arrival."

The Lan disciples are prepared accordingly; for over the next week, Lan Wangji orders all the male disciples between fifteen and twenty-five to copy the sect precepts concerning restraint, and ensures that none of the maiden disciples over the age of twelve will have cause to meet Wei Wuxian save for his own sect sisters. Fortunately for everyone concerned, Wei-gongzi is said to be twice as brilliant as he is beautiful: which means that Shufu is easily persuaded to place him in the advanced lectures reserved for disciples who would be hampered by study with the rest of their age-mates. Lan Wangji is the sole male disciple allowed to attend those lectures; so for much of his time at the Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian's only classmates will be a pair of married women and Lan Wangji himself.

Lan Wangji thinks better of the arrangement three weeks later, when he is carried to the infirmary after meeting Wei Wuxian on the mountain path and falling thirty feet into a copse of trees below.

"I'm so sorry. Lan-er-gongzi, I'm really sorry," Wei Wuxian gasps, gripping Lan Wangji's clenched fists as Xiongzhang and one of the healers set his broken legs at the other end of the bed. "You can hold on as tightly as you like, all right? Zewu-jun is nearly finished."

Lan Wangji closes his eyes tightly.

"What have I done?" he hears Wei Wuxian mutter to himself. "I'm so clumsy. I'll look after you until you're better again, second Young Master, just say the word and I—"

"Lan Zhan."

Lan Wangji feels his brother's fingers twitch against his knee.

"What?"

"Not—not Lan-er-gongzi," Lan Wangji wheezes. "You may call me Lan Zhan."

Wei Wuxian beams at him with tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. "You're not angry?"

"No."

His eyes fall shut again, provoking a sound of utter desolation from Wei Wuxian. "Here, I'll take that ribbon off," Wei Wuxian says soothingly, his rough hands stroking Lan Wangji's hot forehead. "Your ears are burning up. You'll feel better as soon as it's gone."

At the foot of the bed, Lan Xichen makes a choking sound: but Lan Wangji cannot bring himself to care.

"Mm," Lan Wangji sighs, smiling. "Thank you, Young Master Wei."

[cbeargyu]

im not sure if your comfortable w this trope but... stepbrother!taehyun 😔

𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍

summary: five years ago, your dad married his mom. you were never close. not really. but the tension, the kind that lingered in your glances and accidental touches... was always there, waiting. one summer night, you catch him in a moment of private pleasure... and neither of you are able to pretend anymore.

pairing: stepbrother!taehyun x stepsister!reader

genre: smut, angst, stepbrother!au, slow burn, forbidden romance, power struggle, unresolved tension.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), masturbation, voyeurism, rough sex, dom/sub power struggle, use of protection, spanking (light), strong language, taboo themes (step-siblings, but no blood relation), sexual tension, minor exhibitionism, suggestive dialogue, awkward morning after

wc: 2,2k

notes: wow, thanks anon, honestly, i’m comfortable with this. i actually have a similar fanfic with soobin that i never dared to post because i was scared it might make people uncomfortable or be poorly received. please read all the way to the end if you want to hear more about my thoughts on the theme.

five years ago, your father married taehyun’s mother. it was a small ceremony, nothing extravagant, just close family and friends gathered under a blush-colored sunset. everyone smiled. everyone said it was beautiful, that you were now a family.

family.

the word always tasted foreign on your tongue whenever you looked at taehyun. it didn’t matter how many dinners you sat through, how many family vacations you forced yourselves to smile for. the truth lingered just under the surface—he never felt like your brother. not really.

your dad and his mom were head over heels in love, and tried so hard to make you two feel like a happy little blended family. but you and taehyun? never siblings. never even close.

there were rules, of course. unspoken ones. you would both pretend. you would play along for your parents’ sake, acting like siblings when necessary. but behind closed doors, when the charade dropped, it was something different. it wasn’t family. it wasn’t hate either. it was something heavier. something that lived in stolen glances across the dinner table, in the way your fingers would brush when you passed each other in the hallway, in the too-long eye contact when no one else was watching.

you tried, at first, to ignore it. god, you tried. but some things grow wild when you starve them, and the tension between you and taehyun was one of them. it twisted and stretched over the years, thickening every time he slung his arm too casually over the couch where you sat, or when you caught him looking at you like he was memorizing every inch of your skin. you never talked about it. you never named it. but it was there, pulsing and alive, hiding just underneath the way he would call you “sis” with a smirk that never reached his eyes.

summer in your house was unbearable. not because of the heat, although the humidity clung to your skin like a second layer, heavy and suffocating. but because of him. because taehyun was always there—shirtless, loud, smug—and every corner of that damn house seemed to vibrate with the memory of your fights, your glares, your unsaid words.

if anything, you were rivals.

your personalities clashed constantly—both of you stubborn, both too sharp for your own good, both used to getting the last word. your parents called it banter. you called it warfare.

and still… there were moments. fleeting seconds when the air got too thick between you. when you brushed past each other in the hallway and his hand lingered a little too long on your waist. when you fought about the remote and he leaned in too close, the curve of his smirk brushing your cheek. when he called you princess in that mocking tone, and your stomach twisted in ways it shouldn't.

you never spoke of it. never acknowledged the heat. it simmered quietly, dangerously, waiting.

and then came that night.

you can’t sleep.

you're wearing his hoodie, one you stole from the laundry days ago, pretending it doesn’t still smell like him. you wander the dark hallway, heart thudding, feet silent on the cold floor.

it was past midnight. the house was silent, your parents long asleep. you'd been tossing in bed, craving something cold, something sweet—maybe the popsicles hidden in the freezer behind your stepmom’s meal preps. you padded barefoot into the hallway in the big hoodie and cotton panties, yawning, eyes half-closed.

and then you heard it.

a low, sharp gasp. the creak of a bed. a muffled curse.

you paused at the end of the hallway, heart stuttering.

his door was open. just a crack—but enough.

enough for you to see him.

taehyun, sprawled on his bed, shirtless, bathed in moonlight. sweat-slicked chest rising and falling. eyes half-lidded, jaw clenched, hand wrapped around his cock, stroking himself with slow, angry precision.

you froze.

his head tilted back, a broken sound escaping his throat.

“fuck…” he muttered, breathless. “just like that…”

your knees almost gave out.

you should’ve turned around. you should’ve walked back to your room and pretended you never saw a thing. but your body betrayed you, burning from the inside out, and your mouth moved before your brain caught up.

“you left the damn door open, idiot.”

his whole body jolted. he sat up abruptly, hand still around his cock, wild eyes meeting yours. his expression twisted in horror and frustration and—something else.

“shit!” he hissed. “what the fuck, are you spying on me?”

you stepped into the room, fire rising in your chest. “you wish. i came down for a snack, not to watch you jerk off.”

“then go back to your fucking room!” he snapped, yanking the sheet over his lap too late. his cheeks were flushed, pupils blown wide, lips parted.

you didn’t move.

his jaw flexed. “get out.”

he threw the blanket off, stood, and you could see the line of his muscles, the tension coiled in his body, the fact that he was still hard.

“i said—”

“make me,” you whispered.

“always fucking arguing,” he muttered. “can’t even let me jerk off in peace.”

“you wanted me to see you.”

you folded your arms, leaning against the doorframe, deliberately not looking away.

“i won't tell you again.”

“why would i? you don’t seem to mind the audience.”

his gaze dropped to your legs, the hoodie, the way it barely covered your thighs. when he looked back up, something had shifted.

you felt it—like a snap in the air.

“you’re always running your mouth,” he said quietly, rising from the bed without breaking eye contact. “acting like you’re in control. like you can handle shit you don’t even understand.”

“oh, and you do?” you shot back, heat pooling between your legs. “you think jerking off in the dark makes you some kind of expert?”

he laughed. low. dangerous.

“i think it means i know exactly what i want,” he said. “and how to take it.”

you scoffed. “you wish you could take me.”

in a heartbeat, he crossed the room, chest to chest with you, body radiating heat. his breath was all over your lips, your cheeks, your throat. you refused to back down, tilting your chin defiantly.

“try me,” you whispered.

his hand caught your wrist. tight. his other hand gripped your waist.

it was too much.

too much heat. too much tension. too many years of pretending, of ignoring, of brushing past each other in narrow hallways and acting like neither of you felt the static.

taehyun was still holding you against the wall, breath ragged against your ear, fingers pressing bruises into your hips.

“tell me to stop,” he murmured, but his grip tightened.

you swallowed, breathless. “no.”

his forehead dropped against yours. his body was burning, chest rising and falling against you. he wasn’t smirking now. wasn’t playing games.

“fuck,” he muttered, like he hated himself. “i don’t—i don’t think i can stop.”

you exhaled shakily, threading your fingers into his hair.

“i don’t want you to.”

a harsh, sharp breath left him. his thumb dragged along your jaw, down your throat, over the racing pulse there.

“you—” his voice broke. “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do this.”

your knees went weak. “taehyun…”

he lifted you onto the bed, lips ghosting over your collarbone, your shoulder, your jaw.

and then—softly, desperately—

“tell me you’ve thought about it too.”

your stomach tightened. you forced yourself to meet his gaze, the way his pupils were blown wide, his lips parted.

you could lie. you could keep up the game.

but you were too far gone.

“i think about you when i touch myself,” you admitted, voice raw.

taehyun let out a sharp exhale, like you had just wrecked him.

“fuck.”

his fingers dug into the sheets beside your head, body trembling as he stared down at you like he wanted to devour you whole.

his hand slid up your thigh, slow, deliberate.

“say it again,” he whispered.

your cheeks burned, but there was no going back now.

“i think about you,” you repeated, fingers gripping his shoulders, dragging him closer. “about your hands. your mouth. about how bad i want you.”

his breath stuttered. his forehead dropped to your shoulder, a soft, wrecked groan escaping him.

then he kissed you. hard.

like he was claiming you.

his fingers curled into your hair, his other hand slipping under your waistband, finding just how wet you were.

he let out a low, dangerous chuckle against your lips.

“you really have been thinking about me, huh?”

you clenched your jaw. “don’t get cocky.”

he kissed the corner of your mouth, then lower, trailing down your throat.

“don’t start what you can’t finish,” he growled.

“then shut up and finish it.”

and when his fingers dipped inside you, slow and teasing, you knew you were fucked.

he pulled back only enough to look at you—his lips red, his breathing shaky.

"i need to fuck you," he whispered, like it physically hurt to hold it in. "need to feel you lose control under me."

you clenched around nothing, nodding before your pride could get in the way.

"then do it."

and that was all it took.

his mouth was back on yours, hungry, biting, tongue fucking your lips open as his hands dragged down to tear at your shorts. you lifted your hips, eager, desperate, and he growled when he felt how wet your underwear was.

"fuck, baby," he hissed, dragging the soaked fabric down your thighs. "you’re dripping. did just confessing turn you on this much?"

"shut up," you breathed, tugging at his shirt, nails scratching up his back. "less talking, more fucking."

he smirked against your neck, then you heard the distinct sound of a condom wrapper being torn open—he'd had one in his drawer. you felt his cock, hard and heavy, brush against your thigh as he rolled it on. you raised an eyebrow.

“what, you just keep those around?”

he didn’t even blink. “you live here, don’t you?”

you were breathless at that. angry and turned on and god, you hated how much you liked that answer.

“fuck you,” you whispered.

“that’s the plan.” he tore the foil open with his teeth. “you’re lucky i’m responsible,” he muttered, pressing the blunt head against your entrance.

you bit your lip, eyes fluttering.

“you’re lucky i’m letting you.”

that made him groan.

"fuck, you’re perfect."

he slid in slow, watching every inch disappear inside you like he wanted to burn the sight into memory. you gasped, legs wrapping around him, arms pulling him closer.

and when he pushed inside you, slow and thick and unforgiving, you saw stars.

he wasn’t gentle.

he wasn’t rough.

he was intense.

every thrust was a dare. every moan a power play.

you tried to take control, to ride his rhythm, to drag him under your pace—he resisted, holding your wrists down, pinning you by the hips.

"you like thinking you're in charge, huh?" he growled against your throat.

"i am in charge," you spat, pushing your hips up hard, making him stutter mid-thrust.

his eyes darkened.

"not tonight."

he fucked you deeper, harder, making your back arch off the bed, your voice rising.

"say it," he hissed. "say you want me in control."

you refused.

so he angled just right.

and that was it.

you broke.

"taehyun—fuck—yes, okay, yes, yes."

he kissed you, like he was sealing a deal.

and when you came, shaking, crying out his name, he didn’t stop. he chased his own release like a man possessed, groaning your name when he finally let go, collapsing over you, breathless and trembling.

you lay there for a long minute, tangled, sticky, ruined.

neither of you said a word.

because saying something meant admitting what had just happened.

and admitting it meant figuring out what came next.

the clink of dishes. the sound of the news playing quietly from the living room. the smell of coffee and peanut butter.

your parents were already seated at the table, sipping tea and chatting about some neighbor’s new garden.

you stood at the kitchen counter, still in pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt, trying to spread peanut butter over a stubborn piece of toast without thinking about how your thighs still ached.

taehyun walked in.

you didn’t even have to look to know. you felt him—his heat, his presence, the weight of what you'd done.

he walked right behind you, headed for the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

but as he passed, his palm landed on your ass. not hard. not loud.

just enough.

your breath hitched and you gasped, body jolting forward slightly, the knife nearly slipping from your fingers.

"everything okay, honey?" your dad asked from the table.

you blinked. blinked again.

"i—uh. almost dropped the jam," you stammered, holding up the glass jar. "it’s slippery."

your mom smiled politely and went back to her tea.

behind you, taehyun popped open the bottle of water and chuckled, quietly.

the bastard.

you turned slightly, eyes narrowed.

he just raised an eyebrow, took a sip, and leaned in close enough that only you could hear:

"you moaned so pretty last night."

your face burned.

you wanted to punch him. or fuck him again.

or both.

my honest reaction to that req

[sukunahs]

to distant lands - ch.6: fear | ryomen sukuna

pairing: ryomen sukuna x fem!reader (medieval fantasy au)

summary: ryomen sukuna, your father's favourite knight, has been assigned as your personal guard. You find that your dislike of him slowly develops into something else as he tangles himself in your life in ways you never could've expected.

word count: 14k

chapter content: 18+ mdni, smut, princess!reader, enemies to lovers, slow-burn(ish), forbidden relationship, medieval fantasy setting, protective sukuna, angst, anxiety, depression, attempted sexual assault, kidnapping, torture, broken bones, threatening, coercion, blood, loss of virginity, tit-sucking, fingering, praise kink, biting, piv

major warning for this chapter: there is attempted sexual assault in the first third of the chapter (not from sukuna ofc!).

authors note: been so excited to write and share this one with you all so I hope you enjoy! sorry this chapter ended up being sooo long I really wanted to end it at a certain scene!

series masterlist | AO3 | chapter one | previous chapter (five) | next chapter (seven)

It was completely dark when you awoke, and it took a few moments for your groggy mind to comprehend that your vision was obscured by a blindfold.

Fear and confusion coursed through you instantly, struggling to piece together where you  were - why you had woken up sitting upright on cold ground, rocks digging into your back and your hands bound uncomfortably behind you. 

You should be in your soft, cozy bed. Still unhappy and lamenting over Sukuna, yes. But at the very least you should’ve been unhappy and lamenting in a comfortable environment.

This was something else entirely.

As your brain finally started to wake up, the memories from the castle kitchen began to come back to you. Mahito, the scarred servant, had fed you poison. He’d tied you up and you’d passed out and now you were…wherever you were. 

And you had no idea if anyone would be able to find you. 

Hopefully they were aware of your disappearance back at the palace by now. Your quick decision to drop your necklace when Mahito was abducting you should’ve helped with that - but ultimately how would that help them locate you? You could be anywhere, they might’ve even taken you out of the Cerulean Kingdom. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed since you’d been drugged. If it had only been a few hours then you definitely still had hope of being rescued. If it had been days…you weren’t sure you wanted to think about it. 

Sukuna would find you, right? 

You had to have faith that he would come for you. 

What else did you have? 

You found yourself freezing up as you heard voices not far from you. One of them was definitely Mahito, but you could hear two others who were totally unfamiliar to you. A man with a soft silky voice, and a woman who spoke in an odd tone. They weren’t making any effort to be quiet, their conversation booming around you - the echoey quality of their voices making you wonder if they had you in a cave. 

Unfortunately, knowing that you were in a cave was useless information - there were hundreds of caves hidden across the Cerulean Kingdom and its neighbouring countries. It did little to narrow down your location. 

“We need to get moving tonight.” The man with the silky voice said solemnly. “If we don’t get her over the border soon one of Kashimo’s men might stumble across this place.” Your heart was racing at the thought of being transported out of your country, but at least their conversation confirmed that for now you were still within Cerulean borders. 

“We can’t leave yet.” Mahito responded. “If they are searching for her out here and we’re stumbling around in the dark we’ll be caught for sure - we’ll wait for the break of dawn and cross through the mountain pass.” 

“That’s more dangerous than scrambling around at night.” The other man hissed. “It'll just give them time to catch up to us. Pack your shit - we’re leaving tonight, I’m not going to keep the King waiting.” 

The King? You supposed that the man could be referring to any one of many Kings, but considering all of the Zenin activity lately you were almost certain that he was talking about Naobito. You wondered if Naoya’s presence at the Banquet had all been part of a bigger plan to situate spies in the castle. It had worked perfectly if that was the case. 

“Nooo.” Mahito whined. “I don’t care about keeping him waiting, I’ve been working non-stop for weeks. Give me a break Kenjaku.”

There was a moment of silence, and you strained your ears a little trying to figure out what was going on. It seemed almost as if they were having some sort of stand-off, because when Mahito next spoke it was with reluctant agreement with the man he’d referred to as Kenjaku. 

“Fine! We’ll do it your way. But give me an hour or two, I did all the work getting her here so I want to play with her a bit first.” Your blood froze at Mahito’s words, a fearful shiver running down your spine. You tried to keep your breathing as even as possible, not wanting them to realise that you were awake yet. 

“She needs to be untouched.” The woman cut in. “The prince wants her for himself, he’ll execute you if you spoil her innocence.” 

There was a part of you that was very relieved by the woman’s statement, grateful that at least for the moment Mahito would have to stay away from you. But her words were also terrifying. You were certain now that they were delivering you to the Zenins - you could think of only one prince that wanted you so desperately. 

Knowing that these brutes were planning on bringing you to Naoya Zenin against your will, and the idea that if they succeeded you’d be warming his bed in no time, had bile rising into your throat. You supposed that he’d known at the banquet that you weren’t going to be offered to him willingly, and had decided to take you by force. 

“Oh, give it a rest Hanami.” Mahito snapped. “I’m not going to fuck her, maybe I’ll just make her get me off with her mouth or something.” 

Your heart dropped, and you found yourself reflexively letting out a sharp cough to try and dispel the sticky feeling of vomit gathering in your mouth, instantly regretting the way it drew attention to you. 

“Oh perfect!” Mahito exclaimed. “The little princess is awake.”

You heard footsteps approach and a moment later the blindfold was ripped from your face. No time was needed for your eyes to adjust to the light - the cave was very dimly lit, only a couple of torches lined the walls, likely to ensure that the location wasn’t easily discovered. 

Mahito was standing over you, shooting you that sinister grin that he’d flashed back in the kitchen. The sight of him made your skin crawl. You shouldn’t have been so polite to him, should’ve just told him that you wanted to be left alone and gone on with your day. Your kindness and obsession with your image as a princess had been your undoing. It was so stupid. 

You couldn’t do what you wanted in public, couldn’t be with the person you wanted to be with, and now you had to deal with being kidnapped. What was even fun about being a princess beyond getting to live in a castle? If only you’d been born as someone else, maybe none of this would be happening to you. 

“Nice sleep?” Mahito asked as he crouched down before you. You said nothing, your eyes frantically darting about over his shoulder, trying to map out your surroundings as quickly as you could. Maybe if you were clever you could find a way out - catch your captors off guard and rescue yourself. 

Your hopes were dashed at the realisation that the cave only had one narrow passage leading in and out. You were located at the back of the cavern, arms and legs firmly tied with rope, and between you and the exit stood Mahito’s two allies. 

One was a large, pale woman, covered in criminal markings not unlike Sukuna’s. She had flowers woven into her hair and a large wooden club sat at her hip. Beside her stood a tall slender man with long black hair - he bore a striking resemblance to Gojo’s adviser Geto, so similar that you would’ve easily mistaken the two of them if not for the long scar across this man’s forehead. 

“Whatcha looking at, princess?” Mahito asked, snapping his fingers in front of your face. “They ain’t gonna help you.” 

You moved your gaze to him, hair standing on end. You hadn’t wanted to jump to conclusions when you’d first encountered him in the castle, but his appearance had frightened you even back then. Now, in the dim light of the cave with you at his mercy, he was downright terrifying. He ran his tongue over his lips grotesquely as he examined you, leering at your body.

“Let me go.” You said with as much bravery as you could muster, but you couldn’t quite conceal the tremble in your tone.

Mahito laughed in your face. “Aww you want to go back home?” You said nothing as you stared back at him, knowing exactly where this conversation was going. “That’s so cute. Guys!” He whirled around to face his friends. “What do you think? Should we just let her go?”

“Mahito.” Kenjaku warned sternly, but Mahito didn’t seem to care. 

“How about this princess - I’ll untie you and I’ll give you ten seconds to start running. That’s fair isn’t it?” 

You weren’t stupid, it was obvious that there would be a catch, that if he was willing to give you a chance to escape it wouldn’t be out of the kindness of his heart, but out of a desire to play some sort of twisted game with you. 

But you had no idea if anyone was going to find you in here, at the very least if you could make it out of this cave and scream loud enough someone might be able to hear you and come to your rescue. It was better than nothing. 

“Okay. Untie me.” You said, your gaze unwavering as you met his. You were terrified, but you couldn’t let him know that. Just for now, you needed to be brave. 

“Mahito, stop.” Kenjaku spoke again, taking a few steps forward this time. “We’re not playing any games, we’re to deliver her to the Zenins as soon as possible. If we lose her it’ll be our heads on the chopping block.” 

“Don’t worry.” Mahito said with a grin. “I’m not gonna lose her. I just think it would be nice to see the light fade from her eyes when she realises she can’t escape.” 

You were burning with rage at his arrogance. What did he know about your capabilities, how was he so certain that you wouldn’t be able to escape? As long as you could make it out of the cave before he started chasing you it was all to play for. 

The two men shared a look for a moment, before Kenjaku backed down, stepping back and allowing Mahito to do as he pleased. It wasn’t clear to you what had caused him to change his mind, but you were grateful that he did - you’d take any opportunity you could get. 

Mahito turned to you and crouched down, pulling out a knife to start cutting through your bindings. “Ten seconds sweetheart, that’s all you get in this little game. And if I catch you…well, let's not ruin the surprise!” 

Your heart was hammering as he cut through the final bit of rope. You couldn’t think about failing. This had to work. You stood as quickly as you could, staggering a little as you did so, legs unaccustomed to movement after sitting for so long. Desperately you willed your feet to move, jolting forward towards the exit. 

You could do this.

But you only managed to make it a few steps before a sharp kick to your ankle had you careening to the ground, impact jolting through your wrists as you managed to get your hands out in front of you to break your fall. 

Letting out a yelp of surprise, you scrambled against the ground to try and make it back onto your feet, but you weren’t given a chance. Standing over you leisurely, Mahito brought his foot down hard onto your left ankle, laughing gleefully at the sound of the bone snapping. You screamed out in agony, nails digging into the dirt beneath you as you tried to withstand the white hot pain flooding through you.

Tears were starting to fall from your eyes as you wailed softly, the pain increasing as you tried to flex your foot. Mahito watched over you, casually counting up to ten. Realising that your opportunity was slipping away, desperation seized you and you tried crawling across the floor, making it hardly any distance before Mahito finished counting. 

He crouched down over you, digging his knee into your back and holding you in place. “You know, the Zenins wanted you unharmed, but they said that we could use force if you tried to escape - which you did.” 

Horror gripped at your chest. It had all just been a trap, a chance for him to exercise force on you. 

You felt frustrated, you should’ve anticipated this, should’ve known that he wasn’t really going to give you an opportunity to run, that this was just a means of fulfilling his sadistic desires. 

You supposed you could hold on to the hope that if they did manage to deliver you to the Zenins that perhaps Naoya would kill this man for damaging you like this through trickery - but putting any faith in the Zenins felt like a fool's folly. What you really needed was for Sukuna to find you, for him to put an end to Mahito and the others without a second thought and bring you home. 

That’s all you wanted. 

But as Mahito put more pressure on your spine, gripping your hair in his fist and yanking it so hard that pain prickled through your scalp, the hope the Sukuna would come for you and end this torture seemed harder and harder to hold onto. This was happening now, and you were powerless to stop it. 

“I’m nice, you see.” Mahito seethed against your ear, the feeling of his warm breath against your skin making your stomach turn. “So I’ll let you choose how you want to be punished.” Your body was trembling. The pain in your ankle wasn’t as intense anymore but you knew if you made any effort to move it would come back in full force. 

Allowing you to choose how you would suffer? You were certain that was a trick considering the opportunity for escape had been one. Perhaps it was better to stay silent. 

“So.” He continued. “I can break some more bones - I don’t think you’ll be able to run on that ankle anyway so maybe I’ll just break some fingers this time? See how many you can withstand before you pass out?” You let out a little mangled cry of fear. 

You didn’t want your fingers broken - the majority of hobbies available to a princess such as painting and embroidery required agile fingers, the thought of being back in your own castle or in the Zenin castle and just being a broken ornament was a terrible fate. 

“Or…” Mahito continued, noticing your reluctance at his first suggestion. “You could do something for me. I can’t take your virginity, the Zenins would kill me, but I’ve always wanted to know what it was like to fuck a princess so your mouth or ass will do.” 

Revulsion coursed through you as more tears gathered in your eyes. You despised the idea of giving up your body to this repulsive man. You’d always known that one day you’d have to sleep with someone you didn’t want to - such was the life of a princess: an arranged marriage and a duty to provide your husband with children - sex with someone you didn’t love was inevitable. 

But this was something else. This was violent desire born out of this disgusting man’s sadistic whims. There was no duty in this, only suffering at the hands of a man who had you completely at his mercy. 

If you were being honest, the only man you ever wanted to touch you was Sukuna. 

The tears were streaming freely down your face now, trying to weigh up in your head which option was worse, knowing it was an impossible decision. Yes, your fingers would heal one day, but that relied on a clean break, you’d have to trust that this man wouldn’t mangle them beyond repair. Based on how he stamped on your ankle you doubted he’d take any care when snapping your fingers. 

If you instead chose to let him fuck you, you could grit your teeth and bear it - you’d been preparing to do that for your husband for as long as you’d known what sex was. But who knew what kind of mental ramifications that would have, how much physical trauma he’d cause you. 

Besides, the thought of letting Mahito touch you filled you with an odd sense of guilt, a feeling that it was wrong to allow anyone but Sukuna near you. 

“Come on princess, make a decision or I’ll just do both.” 

You looked desperately up at the woman, Hanami. She’d spoken in favor of Mahito leaving you alone earlier, perhaps she’d put a stop to this sadistic little game he was playing with you. But as your gaze met hers she simply averted her eyes. It didn’t seem like this was the first time she’d seen Mahito do such a thing. 

Kenjaku was watching with interest. He’d been disapproving of Mahito allowing you to try and escape, but now he seemed amused by the situation, all but egging Mahito on. 

Mahito’s hand tightened in your hair, pulling you closer to him. His other hand was still gripping the knife that he cut you free with, and he brought it to your face. You let out a cry as he skimmed the tip of the blade across your cheek, before moving in closer and licking the blood from the wound. 

It was vile, the sensation of his tongue against your skin, and you tried desperately to wriggle away but his grip on your hair was far too firm. “Last chance princess, or I’ll snap all of your fingers and then fuck you.” 

With a shaky voice, you made your decision. “Please don’t break my fingers.” You whispered, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried not to think too hard about what that decision meant for you, whether it was truly the path of less pain. 

“Well done!!” He said, clapping enthusiastically as he released your hair. “I was hoping you’d choose that, I didn’t want to deal with you crying about how much your fingers hurt the whole way back to the Zenin castle.” 

You tried to keep your breathing even as Mahito removed his knee from your spine, rolling you over so that you were laying on your back and looking up at him. You winced in pain as your ankle moved against the dirt, confident that the bone had been well and truly shattered. 

Mahito admired you, crouching down with his knees positioned on either side of your hips. His cold hand reached out and brushed your face almost tenderly, tracing your features with an unsettling smirk.  

“You really are a different class of woman.” He said. “I always heard that royalty were special, different to commoners. I always thought it was bullshit, but looking at your pretty face…maybe they’re right.” 

You looked up at him blankly, offering no reaction. You didn’t really feel special, or better than anyone else. You had more dresses, more physical things, more people admiring you - but that was just through luck of your birth. You didn’t believe that your beauty was any greater than anyone else's, and even if it was, right now it felt like more of a curse than a blessing. 

“Can’t wait to brag about what it's like to take a princess.” He snarled, tearing apart the front of your dress and exposing your undergarments to him. You bit down on your lip, not wanting to make any sound, certain that he’d enjoy this much more if you gave him a reaction. But you couldn’t quite stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks. 

Closing your eyes once more, you tried to drift away, to imagine that the hands brushing against your skin were Sukuna’s, to pretend that you were back in your own room, in your own bed, with him beside you. 

Mahito’s hands moved to your undergarments, starting to tear at the lace and you braced yourself to be fully exposed to him. 

But before he could pull the fabric apart his hands suddenly stilled. He made an odd gulping sound and you tentatively opened your eyes at the feeling of a hot liquid dripping onto your face. 

Your eyes flew wide open at the sight above you, Mahito with a knife embedded in his neck, blood flowing freely around the metal of the weapon. You scrambled away desperately, trying to ignore the pain in your ankle at each agonising movement. Your ears were ringing, and there was a distant sound of clashing blades behind you. 

As you turned around to take a look, you found yourself flooded with relief. 

Sukuna. 

Your Knight was here. He looked terrifying, the expression on his face was cruel and merciless, his red eyes cold and filled with anger. Blood covered his longsword as he shoved it straight through Hanami’s chest, withdrawing it in an instant as he turned to the other man. 

This was a less easy fight, Kenjaku was a little more prepared than his ally had been, drawing his sword and sparring with Sukuna. But you knew it wouldn’t be enough. Sukuna was a force to be reckoned with, as long as he was here you were safe. 

Mahito, despite the throwing knife lodged in his neck, was miraculously still standing. His face contorted with rage, he began to stagger over towards you while Sukuna was still preoccupied with Kenjaku. You made your best effort to crawl away, but Mahito was a man on a mission, and just as Sukuna embedded his blade into Kenjaku’s throat, Mahito grabbed you, pressing his own knife up against your neck. 

He’d yanked you forcefully up to your feet, and you let out a scream at the blinding pain that shot through your left ankle. That caught Sukuna’s attention, eyes instantly drawn to you, a flicker of anxiety crossing his face before his expression hardened, focussing on Mahito behind you. 

“Stop.” Mahito sputtered out. More blood spilt from the wound on his neck as he spoke - he couldn’t have long left to live, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t enough time for him to hurt you. Your body froze as you looked desperately at Sukuna. 

Sukuna was standing between Mahito’s two dead comrades. He was completely still, his armor and cloak covered in blood and his expression lethal. In that moment, even you felt scared of him - more grateful than anything that you weren’t the subject of his ire, that his rage was on your behalf. 

Mahito showed him no fear. Despite all of the odds being stacked against him, he stood strong behind you, pressing the blade a little harder into your neck, small beads of blood appearing against the metal.

“I’ll kill her.” Mahito rasped, forbidding Sukuna to come any closer. 

Sukuna paused, clearly considering what to do. His red gaze flickered over you, worry evident in his expression and it made your heart leap with need. He was so close, right there across the cave. He was here. 

Even through all the fear, even with the blade at your neck, with Sukuna standing so nearby you felt safe. You trusted that he’d keep you protected - no matter what. Now that he’d found you there was no way that he would let Mahito stand in his way, you’d be going home with him.

“Princess.” Sukuna spoke softly, his eyes fixed on you, as though Mahito didn’t exist. “Stay still, okay?” You did as asked, body frozen as Sukuna rushed forward, his blade braced and ready to strike. 

At his approach, Mahito pressed the blade harder into your neck, more blood spilling from the shallow cut. But before he could cause any fatal damage, Sukuna’s blade was meeting his neck, cutting a deep gash into the skin and knocking Mahito down to the ground. The scarred man’s knife skittering across the floor. 

Without Mahito holding you up, you collapsed into the dirt, bringing your hand up to the wound on your neck as you watched Sukuna pounce on Mahito. Your Knight had the man pinned to the ground, and by the sheer amount of blood that was gushing from Mahito’s neck you were confident that his wounds were already fatal. 

But that didn’t seem to be enough for Sukuna. 

Switching his grip on his longsword he brought the pommel of it down on Mahito’s face, the force behind the strike creating a sickening thud as it made impact with the man’s nose. Sukuna brought his sword back once more and struck him again, and again, hitting him ceaselessly until Mahito’s screams finally stopped and his body stilled, his face completely unrecognisable.

Sukuna stilled for a moment, breathing heavily and staring down at the man, wiping at the blood that had splattered up against his face before spitting on Mahito’s corpse.

You were frozen, captivated by the scene before you. It felt like you should’ve been disgusted by what you’d just seen, unnerved by the severe display of brutality that Sukuna had just put on for you. But you weren’t. You felt nothing but relief, perhaps even awe at the lengths that Sukuna would go to protect you. 

Mahito had deserved to suffer, and Sukuna had made that a reality. You were more grateful than anything that he’d made it hurt, that he’d let you watch. 

Sukuna turned to look at you, and slowly you dropped your hand from the wound on your neck, feeling suddenly uncertain under his gaze, at a total loss on how to react. You tried opening your mouth to speak, but found that only sobs escaped you, fresh tears springing to your eyes as the weight of what you’d just encountered caught up to you. 

Eyes softening at the sight of you, Sukuna sheathed his sword and approached, kneeling down in front of you. His expression was concerned as he took in your appearance, eyes darting from the shallow wounds on your face and neck, to your ripped dress, and down to your misshapen ankle. 

“Are you okay, princess?” He asked gently, his worry palpable, as though his fear at your disappearance had been just as heavy as your own fear that he wouldn’t find you.  

You shook your head pathetically, shuffling towards him and burying your face in his chest, clinging to him desperately as you cried, desperately seeking out the comforting warmth of his body. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you, pulling your smaller body close to him and gently petting your hair as he let you sob in his arms. 

“It's okay.” He whispered. “I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.” He was rubbing comforting circles into your skin with the hand that was secured around your waist, and the soothing motion of his other hand in your hair had your heart rate calming down a little. 

It was okay, you were secure, he was here now. Mahito was dead, he couldn’t hurt you anymore. But you couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t find any words to interact with Sukuna - the fear and adrenaline rushing through you was too great. He seemed to understand your condition, because he held you close for a while longer, letting you bask in his warmth. 

Or perhaps he just didn’t want to let you go either. 

“We need to get you out of here, angel.” He spoke finally, unaware of what that term of endearment was doing to your heart. “There might be others in their group, and we need to do something about that ankle.” His voice wavered a bit as he said that, a guilty look crossing his face for a moment. 

You nodded, still unable to find your voice, reluctantly pulling away from him.

He let you go for a moment, quickly searching the cave and the bodies for anything of interest. You imagined that he wanted evidence on who was behind this, even if you were already very familiar with who the culprits were. 

Taking a quick look at your ankle, he seemed to decide that he wasn’t happy to move you without attending to it. He grabbed some rags from your captor’s bags and tenderly wrapped the fabric around your ankle, making sure it stayed firmly in place. You weren’t sure what difference it would make - you wouldn’t be able to walk on it whether it was bandaged or not, but you trusted Sukuna enough to let him do whatever he wanted. 

Once he was satisfied, he carefully scooped you up into his arms, holding you close against his chest, making sure to move slowly and precisely to avoid knocking your ankle against the wall as he walked through the passage towards the exit. 

His eyes kept flickering down to you, as though checking that you were still real and breathing, evidently concerned by your lack of vocal response, but unwilling to push you right now. 

You needed to get away from here first. 

—

Sukuna placed you on his horse that was stationed outside the cave, propping you up in front of him as he mounted the creature, pulling you back against his chest as he grabbed the reins. He let out a sharp whistle and one of your father’s hunting dogs appeared from the trees, running along beside you as Sukuna spurred the horse on. 

“He helped me track you.” He explained, as he noticed you looking down at the dog. “Got him to smell some of your clothes and he led me right to you.” Sukuna paused for a moment. “It was smart that you dropped the necklace, it might’ve taken us a few more hours to realise what had happened without that…” 

The way that his sentence trailed off made it very clear what those extra hours would’ve meant. Mahito would’ve had his way with you, and perhaps they would’ve even gotten you over the border. 

You’d been extremely lucky. 

The two of you rode for a while, and you found yourself drifting in and out of sleep, finding great solace in the warmth of Sukuna’s body behind you, letting the tension flow out of you and allowing your subconscious take over, struggling to separate dream from reality until Sukuna finally brought his horse to a stop a couple of hours after he’d rescued you. 

You assumed that it had still been the evening when he’d come to your rescue, because the sky seemed even darker now, especially under the cover of the forest. You’d expected Sukuna to take you directly back to the castle, but you must’ve been taken further from the palace than you’d expected.

Before you stood a rustic looking hut. A nice homely looking place similar to those that hunters would use for refuge when out deep in the forest. Sukuna dismounted, leaving you on the horse for a moment while he approached the hut, unlocking the door and disappearing inside for a few seconds before coming back out to lift you down from the horse. 

He carried you carefully inside and placed you down on a soft bed in the corner of the single-room cabin. You couldn’t see anything through the darkness, and Sukuna firmly told you to stay put while he tied up the animals and went to retrieve firewood from the porch. 

It took him no time at all to get a fire going, which gave you a chance to examine your surroundings. It was a lovely, cozy room - filled with animal skin blankets and rugs, with beautifully crafted wooden furniture in every corner of the room. The bed that you were on was particularly lovely, one of the comfiest that you’d ever laid upon. 

Or perhaps, you were just really tired. 

“This is my place.” Sukuna explained, noticing the way you were looking around. “Your father gave me lots of land after the war as a reward for my service. I come out here to hunt sometimes, or if I just want to be alone.” 

You tried giving him a tired smile, but you weren’t sure that it was actually showing on your face by the way that his eyebrows knitted together with concern. He stood up, satisfied that the fire was roaring, and moved over to the bed, taking a seat on the furs. 

“Can you talk to me, princess? I’m worried about you.” There was a great deal of fear evident in his tone, and it made your heart ache. 

You were quiet for a moment, as you tried to find the strength to speak. 

“You found me.” Your voice came out small and meek, but Sukuna still managed to hear you.

“I did. I promised that I’d always look after you.” He offered you a gentle smile, the relief in his eyes making it clear just how desperate he’d been to hear you speak. 

“Thank you. I thought that he was going to– uh-” You couldn’t even find the will to say the next few words, the reality of the situation too unpleasant for you to bear. But it was clear that Sukuna understood your meaning just fine. He reached out and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, softly running his fingers over your exposed skin. 

You’d hardly acknowledged that your dress had been ripped to shreds, that you were really just in your undergarments before him, and you suddenly felt a little shy. It was a different sense of embarrassment than how you’d felt when Mahito was stripping you, this was more akin to butterflies in your stomach. It was much more pleasant. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I failed you. I should’ve been with you in the castle, this never should’ve happened.” 

“You’re here now. You kept me safe.” Sukuna winced at your words as he pulled back a little, your skin feeling suddenly cold at the absence of his touch. His eyes were fixed on your damaged ankle - it was clear that guilt was eating away at him as he moved one hand to his disheveled hair, running his fingers carefully through it and sighing. 

“I let you get hurt. You were scared, all because I couldn’t keep my feelings in check long enough to protect you properly.” 

“It's not your fault.” You didn’t like seeing Sukuna like this, didn’t want him to blame himself. 

It wasn't his fault that he couldn’t have you, that the two of you had ended up in this situation where he needed space to avoid causing problems for both of you. You got it, you really did. It hurt more than anything, especially now that you were finally talking again after weeks of avoidance, but it would never be his fault. 

These were the roles you had to play. The timing of your kidnapping just happened to be massively unfortunate. 

“Oh stop, princess.” He said coldly. “I hate it when you do this, when you treat me like I’m just some other commoner that you have to be kind to for the sake of your image. You should hate me for how I’ve been treating you lately, and you should absolutely despise me for allowing you to get kidnapped, for putting you in the position where that asshole had his hands on you.” 

Your lower lip started to tremble at his words. You were too tired and confused to fight him, to give him what he wanted. If he’d prodded at you like this back when he first became your Knight you would’ve risen to it, would’ve yelled at him, but right now you just didn’t have the energy and your yearning for him was so great that you desperately didn’t want to push him away. 

Not when this was the most attention you’d gotten from him in weeks. 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. “I don’t know what else to do. I don’t hate you at all, I don’t think I’m capable of that anymore.” Sukuna’s eyes widened in surprise at your words. “All I could think about when I was in there was how much I wanted you to rescue me. How much I believed you would rescue me. And you did.”

You lowered your head for a moment, finding it hard to look him in the eyes as you found your next words, feeling a little uncomfortable at the realisation of how vulnerable you were right now, your emotions running haywire after the evening that you’d had. 

Tears were dripping down your cheeks, and you kept your eyes firmly trained on your hands clasped in your lap as you spoke. “I like you Sukuna. I like you so much that it hurts. I know that you don’t want to take the risk, I get it, I forgive you and I don’t hate you, I’m never going to hate you.” Your voice was trembling, and you desperately started to wipe at your face with your hands, trying to slow the tears which seemed to just keep falling. 

It hurt, to say it all out loud, to admit to him what you really wanted. It was sharper than a wordless kiss in the night, much more of an open wound - a vulnerability which would lead to a far more stinging rejection. You couldn’t look at him, wouldn’t be able to bear it if you raised your head and saw pity on his face. 

“But it doesn’t matter anyway.” You said quickly, desperate not to hear him turn you down. “I’m just happy that you came to rescue me because I was so fucking scared. You don’t have to like me back like that, I get it, I can be happy just going back to the way we were, I’m sorry I made it complicated.” 

You moved to continue your rambling, words practically pouring out of your mouth at this point. But before you could say anything further his hands were on your face, softly wiping tears away with his thumb before leaning in closer, gently planting kisses on your cheeks and forehead, before tilting your chin up and kissing you sweetly on the lips. 

The sensation took your breath away, and your eyes were wide in surprise at the feeling of his soft lips against yours. For a moment you kissed him back, forgetting all of your strife and sinking into him. 

Before memories of that night in the garden came flooding back and you pulled away, unwilling to experience the same hurt as the last time this happened. 

His red eyes were examining you carefully as you moved back, his gaze filled with desire, and it took all of your willpower not to lean back in and kiss him again. It was unfair how beautiful he was. 

“We can’t.” You rasped. “You said we can’t.” 

He was being unfair. 

“You’re right.” He said softly. He was quiet for a moment, and it felt like the silence in the room was pressing down on you. “But you have no idea just how badly I want you.” He confessed. 

You could feel more tears gathering in your eyes. That was exactly what you wanted to hear, but somehow all you felt was pain. He wanted you as much as you wanted him but it meant nothing. It didn’t change anything. This kidnapping attempt might gain you enough pity from your father to delay your betrothal but you would eventually be married to one of those many suitors, it was inevitable. 

Sukuna’s confession meant nothing, and that hurt.

“So you’re just going to keep avoiding me until you don’t want me anymore?” You asked defeatedly. You weren’t sure that your heart could take much more of his presence or his absence. No matter which way you looked it felt like heartbreak. 

“No.” He hesitated for a moment, seemingly deep in thought before letting out a deep sigh of defeat. “I was going to suggest that we just give in.” 

You looked up at him in surprise, his suggestion completely throwing you for a loop. In every scenario that you had considered the two of you never even tried to be together - either Sukuna disappeared entirely from your life or he went back to just being your guard, without any of this weird tension. Sukuna had always seemed to draw the line on this issue, making it clear that being together wasn’t an option in any form. 

Because really it wasn’t - not publicly at least. 

“What?” You asked. 

“I’m sick of pretending, I’m sick of seeing you mope around the castle like some kicked puppy because of me, especially when I want to be with you anyway - it’s so fucking stupid.” Your heart was racing at where he was going with this, a glimmer of hope igniting itself in your chest. 

His hand reached for yours, tenderly running his fingers over your knuckles for a moment before continuing. “If you want me, if you really want me, we can do this.”

You felt like you needed to pinch yourself, as though you were caught in some dream that you’d awaken from in a few moments in more despair than ever. 

This was real. 

There was a vulnerable look on Sukuna’s face, an uncertainty that you weren’t familiar with him showing - as though he thought you’d turn him down on this just like you’d pulled away from the kiss. It was the same uncertainty that had plagued your mind for weeks, a lack of confidence that the other person truly felt the same way, the feeling that rejection was imminent. 

Maybe Sukuna wasn’t quite as good at reading you as you’d thought, because how could he believe even for a second that you’d turn him down?

“What about my father?” You asked cautiously, glancing up at him, trying your best not to look too giddy at the thought of being with him. 

Sukuna shrugged, trying to act nonchalant but it was clear that the lack of instant rejection from you had done a lot to ease his tension. “We’d have to keep this secret - that’s the cost of all this. It’ll suck but you’re worth it for me.” The way that he was looking at you so tenderly had your heart skipping.

You wondered if there was any way that you could convince your father to allow you to marry Sukuna, but you came up short - he was no noble after all. Perhaps you’d at least be able to stall your father on getting you married, so that you and Sukuna could have more time to figure out a plan on how to be together. 

“If we get caught, he’ll kill you.” You whispered.

“I know that, princess.” Sukuna said with a sigh. “I just don’t think I care anymore. When you got taken all I could think about was how much I regretted not holding on to you. I’m not making the same mistake twice.” 

Anxiety twisted in your stomach, knowing what this would mean. You’d be defying your duty as a princess, just as he’d be going against his as a Knight. It would put you both at risk - forever. 

But that was another day’s problem. For now you were exhausted and you’d just been offered everything you’d ever wanted from Sukuna. Future problems aside, there was no way that you were going to throw away this opportunity. The troublesome side of it could wait, you could figure it out together. 

For now you just wanted to give in. 

Sukuna’s gaze was flitting over you, evidently impatient to hear what you had to say to his proposal. “Okay.” You whispered softly. “I want you. I really really really want you.” You were gazing up at him adoringly, and a satisfied smile crossed his lips. 

“Hopefully you won’t regret those words princess, because I’m never letting you go.” He said, before capturing your lips in a deep kiss, one of his hands finding its way around your waist while the other slid around the back of your neck, pulling you close against him. 

You leant into his kiss, your hands finding their way to his back, clinging to him desperately. He felt so warm, it was comforting to have him pressed up against you. Even though you’d only kissed once before tonight, it felt so familiar for you to be close to him like this, as though it was where you belonged. 

His tongue flicked lightly at your lips, and you opened your mouth for him, allowing him to deepen the kiss. You felt a little shy as he did so, worried that your inexperience kissing might put him off - but he didn’t seem to mind, taking the lead as he moved his tongue against yours, his hand moving to rake gently through your hair. 

Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of its ribcage, and as you both pulled back for air the sheer amount of butterflies in your stomach had you shaking. He was grinning at you boyishly, his red eyes filled with desire and you realised that you’d never felt this wanted before. 

Sure, you’d had suitor after suitor thrown your way throughout your life, and had experienced plenty of men like Naoya and Mahito leer at you as though you were some pretty object that they could own. 

But the way that Sukuna was looking at you right now was different to anything you’d ever experienced. 

He knew you beyond just the surface. He’d truly seen you, had unravelled you as a person beyond just you as a princess, had seen your sadness and the traits that you hated most about yourself, had seen you be everything but perfect and sophisticated and he was still looking at you like that, like you held his whole heart in your hands. 

“You’re so pretty, baby.” Your eyes widened a little at the new nickname, unprepared for such a compliment. You didn’t feel pretty right now, with your clothes dirty and torn, and a fresh wound across your cheek. But the fact that he thought it, even with you in this state of disarray, had your stomach doing somersaults. 

“Thanks.” You squeaked out, feeling suddenly shy as you glanced down. You’d been putting so much of your focus on yearning for him that now that it was actually happening you were suddenly hyper-aware of how out of depth you were when it came to men. The kiss had been impulsive, it was easy to just react to what he was doing. 

But what would come next? 

The compliment alone had your brain running haywire, and the thought that the two of you could now do something more than kissing had you ready to explode with anxiety and anticipation. 

Because even for all the reading of your smutty book, you had no real idea of how all of that stuff worked. 

Sukuna, in his ever-perceptive way, seemed to catch on to your train of thought instantly, letting out a soft chuckle and tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “Already overthinking everything, princess?” He asked. 

“I- sorry, it's just- I feel like I might end up being a disappointment to you…”

He tilted his head in question, his expression a little humorous, evidently finding your nervousness amusing. “Oh? How so?” 

“You’ve been with lots of women right?” The words tumbled out quickly. “I heard lots of rumors about it…and I don’t really have any experience with relationships in general, and also with uh- you know…” You trailed off and hoped he wouldn’t ask you to elaborate any further, the embarrassment at the thought of spelling out to him that you didn’t know anything about sex was way too great. 

The big grin that had been spreading across his face as you spoke was infuriating, he’d always loved taking pleasure in your humiliation. “I don’t know, you’re going to have to enlighten me.” He teased. 

You glared at him, cheeks burning bright red. “Please don’t make me.” You begged. 

“Aw come on baby, use your words for me.” His eyes were glinting with mischief. 

“I don’t know anything about sex.” You lowered your voice a little, practically whispering the final word to try and spare yourself the embarrassment. 

He laughed, ruffling your hair softly. “Good girl.” He praised, those words mixed together with his low tone had your stomach twisting itself in knots, a needy sensation pulsing through your body. 

“To answer your question.” He continued. “Yeah, I’ve been with a lot of women, but only ever for sex. Generally it would be a one-night only type of thing, so my experience with relationships isn’t particularly better than yours anyway.” 

“Oh.” You weren’t sure if that came as a surprise to you or not, but in a selfish sort of way it made you feel good - special even, that he’d chosen you. 

“And yeah, I’m much more experienced with sex than you, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

“It's not?” You asked innocently. You couldn’t imagine that being with someone who didn’t really know what they were doing would be better than being with someone who did. 

“No.” He said with a smile. “I can teach you everything you need to know. Besides, I like the idea of being the only person who’s seen you like that, it makes me feel like you’re really mine.” You blushed, feeling warm at that idea, more grateful than ever that Sukuna had managed to rescue you from Mahito before that disgusting man could do anything to you.

The nagging thought that you could never really just be his wormed its way into your head, but you pushed it away quickly. 

A bridge to cross when you come to it. 

“I think,” Sukuna continued, “that you don’t quite understand how much I like you. I know what your experience is and I couldn’t care less, I just want you.” 

You nodded, but as desperately as you wanted him too you could feel uncertainty blooming in your chest at the thought of him taking your virginity. He was the man that you wanted to do it, there was no question in your mind about that, but if you were going to be married in the future, if you and Sukuna couldn’t find a way to avoid that, would your new husband know that you’d been tainted? 

Could it give the whole game away and lead to Sukuna’s execution?

Sukuna seemed to notice the worry in your eyes, because he was hasty to put you at ease. “We don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to, there's no rush to do anything right now.” He promised. “We can take things as slow as you like, after what Mahito tried doing to you I wouldn’t be surprised if you were scared-” 

“It's not that.” You interrupted. If anything, what had happened with Mahito made you more enthusiastic to lay with Sukuna, to let the object of your desire have his way with you and claim you as his before some horrible fate could befall you first. The thought that Mahito was almost the first man to be with you made you feel sick. 

“Then what is it, baby?” He asked. 

“It's just- a princess’s virginity is just seen as this sacred thing. My whole value is dictated around me being pure, that’s what any suitor would expect from me. If they find out that I’m not and they put two and two together they could execute you, Sukuna.” 

“That’s a risk I’m prepared to take for you, princess.” Sukuna said solemnly, the hand that he had gripped around your waist moving slowly up and down your side. “But we don’t have to do anything, I can leave your innocence intact if that’s what you want, I’m not going to push you into anything.” 

You were quiet for a moment, basking in the feeling of Sukuna’s fingers moving against your waist. It felt so good, having this conversation with him, him freely touching you like this - even with all the worries that would come with your situation, he was what you really wanted and he was right here in front of you. 

“I want you to take my virginity.” You said finally, looking up at him. His expression was surprised, as though he wasn’t expecting you to make a decision right away. 

“Okay, princess.” He said after a beat of silence. “If that’s really what you want, once we get back to the castle-” 

“I meant right now.” Your tone was firm, your gaze unwavering as your eyes fixed on his red ones. That really caught him off guard, pink eyebrows raising in surprise as he removed his hand from your waist and ran it through his hair. 

“You’re not thinking straight, princess - you’ve just been through a lot of trauma, I don’t want to take advantage of you being scared and confused.” He responded. Your heart swelled at the care that he displayed for you, how gentle he was capable of being when it was the two of you despite the gruff nature that he displayed with everyone else. 

This legendary Knight, who you’d just wanted brutally murder three people, was flustered about the idea of laying with you, about the idea of potentially hurting you.

“My head’s never been clearer, Sukuna.” You spoke softly. “Please, I’ve had the world’s worst day, and I want you so much that it hurts.” 

You peered up at him, your eyes filled with need and desire, and you could see his resistance crumbling. He wanted you just as badly as you wanted him. 

“You’re really hard to say no to sometimes, princess.” He grumbled as both his hands found their way to your waist, very gently pushing you to lay back on the mattress, careful to avoid nudging or moving your injured ankle as he clambered on top of you. With his knees on either side of your smaller body, he leaned in close, his nose brushing against yours. “Always looking up at me with that cute little pout, you drive me fucking insane.” 

His lips met yours once more in a gentle kiss, pressing his chest against yours and taking his time exploring your mouth before pulling back for a moment. “I’ll give you what you want, baby.” He promised. “But please tell me to stop if you change your mind, I don’t want to hurt something so precious to me.” 

You nodded before craning your head up to kiss him once more, your hands snaking behind his head and into his pink hair, pulling him closer. It felt nice to finally touch his hair, it always looked so soft, and you’d spent plenty of time wondering how it would feel to have your fingers tangled in it. Sukuna groaned softly against your mouth as you played with the strands, clearly enjoying the feeling of your touch. 

Slowly, his hands slid up your sides, making their way to the front of your ripped dress. Goosebumps started to rise as his fingers brushed against your bare skin for a moment before starting to undress you. He pulled back from the kiss as he slid your tattered dress down your body, leaving you only in your undergarments.

He leant down and brought his lips to your neck, kissing and nipping gently against the exposed skin. It was a feeling like nothing you’d ever experienced before, leaving you squirming against his body as he left a trail of hot kisses against your skin. 

“Fuck princess, keep pressing yourself up against me like that and I’m not going to be able to hold back.” 

“I don’t want you to hold back.” You pouted. 

Chuckling softly, his hands found the straps of your undergarments, removing the lacy material from your body in a swift, practiced motion. 

A shy, anxious feeling settled into your stomach as the fabric covering you disappeared, leaving you completely naked beneath him. No one outside of your handmaids throughout the years had ever seen your bare form. He was the first man to ever lay eyes on you like this. It was exposing, vulnerable, nerve-wracking even at the thought that he might not like what he sees. 

Sukuna sat back for a moment, eyes sweeping over your naked body. You found yourself moving to cover your breasts with your arms, uncertainty weighing heavily on you. Sukuna caught your wrists before you could conceal yourself, easily holding your arms out of the way so he could properly admire you. 

“You’re beautiful.” He said breathlessly, his hands releasing their grip on your wrists and moving to your waist, fingers running along your exposed skin all the way up to your breasts. He shot you a quick look to check for any discomfort before gripping at your breasts softly with his hands, squeezing gently and running his thumbs over the peaked buds, watching with fascination as you jolted and whimpered at the new sensation. 

It felt so good to have him touch you there, you felt so sensitive - every gentle touch sent pulsing desire straight between your legs, the wetness growing significantly with Sukuna’s unwavering attention. 

“Does that feel nice, baby?” He asked. 

“Mhmmm.” You let out a contented little sigh, blinking up at him innocently. He looked so pretty above you, and the feeling of his calloused hands against your breasts was practically driving you crazy. You couldn’t believe that this was really happening. 

Your eyes trailed down his body. He’d taken off his armor when he’d entered the hut, leaving him in his simple black tunic and trousers. You reached up and tugged at the fabric needily, imploring him to take it off. “What?” He asked teasingly, fingers still slowly massaging your breasts. 

“Take this off.” You mumbled impatiently, gripping more tightly at the cloth. 

“So bossy.” He said with a little laugh, but complied easily, pulling the tunic over his head and discarding it across the room. The sight of his bare chest had you gasping - his body was gorgeous, so perfectly chiseled with his dark tattoos running all over his skin. Fascinated by his muscles, you found yourself running your hands over his abs, enjoying the warmth of his body beneath your fingers. 

“See something you like?” He asked, an amused expression on his handsome face. 

“Obviously.” You grumbled, refusing to entertain his teasing. He watched you trace the lines of his tattoos down his chest for a moment longer before pulling back and discarding his trousers, leaving him in only his undergarments. Your eyes went straight down to the final piece of fabric covering him, a deep red blush filling your face at the sight of the large bulge between his legs. 

You were quick to look away. It was silly, to feel embarrassed to look, but you’d never seen a man like that before - it felt wrong, scandalous even. 

Sukuna said nothing, leaning back over you. His fingers pinched firmly at your nipple, causing you to arch your back in pleasure before he moved down to start kissing along your chest, trailing open mouth kisses across one of your breasts until he reached your nipple, teasing the peaked bud with his tongue for a moment before taking it into his mouth, sucking on the sensitive skin.

A soft moan of his name fell from your lips, and you found your hands grasping at his hair, pulling him closer to you, desperate for more. He was happy to oblige, flicking his tongue against one nipple while his fingers deftly tweaked the other, drawing out more and more whines from your mouth. 

You felt so good. You’d never imagined that someone could make you feel like this. You were certain that none of the suitors that your father had lined up for you would ever be able to make you writhe and squirm with desire beneath them like this.

No, only Sukuna was capable of this. 

As he continued to lavish your breasts with attention, his free hand slid down your body and came to settle between your legs. You flinched as the pads of his fingers brushed against your aching clit, almost embarrassed as his hand came to rest between your folds, allowing him to realise just how wet you were all because of him. 

“You really do want this huh, princess?” He spoke teasingly, fingers running lazily through your dripping folds. In any other situation you would’ve told him to shut up, scolded him for his words, but you knew that there was absolutely no way he’d take you seriously considering the way that you were pathetically mewling from his touch. 

One of his fingers prodded gently at your opening, and you instantly tensed up with anxiety. You’d masturbated before, but never using penetration. The most you’d ever do was touch your clit and get yourself off that way - the thought of having anything inside you had always been a little bit intimidating. 

“Can I?” Sukuna asked, red eyes focused on you, waiting for your permission before he went any further. 

“Will it hurt?” You asked quietly.

“It might.” Sukuna responded honestly, not prepared to sugarcoat it for you and give you any false hope. You appreciated that. “But I’ll be as gentle as I can be - if you endure it now, it won’t be so bad when I fill you up with my cock.” 

His crass use of words had you feeling flustered. Such talk wasn’t really common around you after all, people were generally always so proper and polite when it came to princesses. Not to mention, you hadn’t yet quite processed the fact that he would be filling you with his cock later - that this was really happening, he was going to take your virginity. 

You gave him a brave nod, and slowly he pushed one finger into you. Sukuna’s fingers were thick, and one alone already felt like a lot. It was an odd sensation, having something inside you for the first time. You’d expected it to be painful, but it felt strange more than anything else.

He kept his eyes on you as he started to very slowly pump his finger in and out of you, getting you used to the sensation of having something foreign inside you. Satisfied that you weren’t in pain or experiencing any trauma from the experience he went back to licking at your nipple, distracting you as he slowly slipped a second finger into you.

At this intrusion you seized up a little. The stretch was much more intense now, but the pain dissipated almost as soon as it appeared, Sukuna expertly moving his fingers inside you against a spongy spot that had you forgetting all about the stretch, too preoccupied with how good each flick of his fingers felt paired with the pressure of his mouth against your breast. 

“You’re doing so well.” He murmured against your skin as he scissored his fingers inside you, trying to stretch you out as much as he possibly could, clearly concerned about how you’d react to taking his cock if he didn’t put in the work here. 

The palm of his hand was rubbing against your clit, and you could feel that familiar tingly feeling of an orgasm building up as he added a third finger into you. A soft cry of pain left your lips and Sukuna added more pressure to your clit with his palm, hand rubbing up against it as he moved his fingers, overwriting the pain with pleasure as all three fingers scraped against that nice spot inside you. 

“Need to get you nice and ready for me, princess.” He purred. 

Your breathing quickened and the sensation in your gut grew with each flick of his wrist. It never felt this good when you tried getting yourself off - having his long, thick fingers buried inside your pussy was an entirely different level to just playing with your clit alone in your room. 

You needed more of this. 

Sensing that you were close to release, Sukuna sped up the movement of his fingers, taking one of your nipples between his teeth and tugging gently. The painful pleasure of the action sent you crashing over the edge, your pussy clenching and gushing around his fingers as you came for him for the first time. His name left your lips as a cry, and he pulled back from your breasts, capturing your lips in a deep and possessive kiss. 

He moved his fingers slowly inside you for a few more minutes as he kissed you, waiting until you stopped trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm before removing them from you completely. 

It felt a little embarrassing to see his fingers all covered in your slick, and you had an internal panic that he’d find it gross. But as he pulled them out of you, he didn’t skip a beat as he brought his fingers up to his mouth and sucked your juices off of them. 

“You’re so sweet.” He said affectionately, and you had no idea how to react, feeling completely out of your depth with all of the new things that you were experiencing so quickly right now. 

He didn’t give you too long to linger on it, because all of a sudden he was pulling off his undergarments, setting his cock free, and the sight of that cleared your mind of any other thoughts.

His cock was huge. It hung heavily between his legs - long and thick with a prominent vein running up the side. 

You felt intimidated. You’d expected him to be big, that’s what girls always gushed about when they’d spread rumors about him after all, but you didn’t expect him to be this big, and you found that your mind was running wild with anxiety, wondering how you’d ever fit that inside you. 

He seemed very smug with your reaction, something that you were certainly going to scold him for later, after you’d managed to survive having him fill you up. 

“Sukuna.” You whispered. “I don’t think it’ll fit.” 

“We’ll make it fit, princess - I wasn’t prepping you for nothing.” His expression softened at the fear in your eyes. “Just trust me, I’ll make sure it feels good.” 

You did trust him. In all the time that he’d been your Knight he’d always done right by you, always protected you when you needed it - why would you think that this would be any different?

Positioning you carefully amongst the furs, he hovered over you, admiring your body and running his cock through your folds, gathering slick along his tip before positioning himself at your dripping entrance. 

“Are you sure about this?” He asked quietly, his red eyes fixed on your face.

You blinked up at him. Your mind was still a little hazy from the first orgasm that he’d given you, and from the realisation of just how big he was, but you were aware enough to know how much you really did want this, even if it might hurt. 

You nodded at him, worried that the nerves might seep into your voice if you spoke your agreement aloud. He looked at you for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. “Tell me if it hurts.” He said sternly. 

You’d heard plenty of horror stories in your life about how bad a first time could be, and considering just how big Sukuna was you were almost certain that it was going to hurt - if he could fit himself inside you at all. But you couldn’t really bring yourself to care, your mind too overtaken with lust and desire for him, too enamoured with the thought of finally being that close to him. 

“Okay.” You managed to whisper, and that seemed enough agreement for Sukuna as he finally started to press the tip of his cock into you. 

Despite the time that he’d taken carefully stretching you out on his fingers, you weren’t at all prepared for the stretch of his cock. It was so big - even just the tip, and you found yourself aching immediately as he slowly inched himself into you. 

You squeezed your eyes closed, desperately trying to focus on anything other than the pain, tears springing to the corners of your eyes. He’d only managed to get around a third of the way in when he was halting his movements, his thumbs tenderly wiping away the tears dripping down your cheeks as you whimpered softly. 

“It's okay baby, you’re doing so good for me.” He cooed. “You feel so good, like you were made for me.” 

It was obvious that was a lie, considering how little of his was actually fitting inside of you right now, but you were in no position to argue with him. 

“You just need to relax.” He murmured soothingly. “If you tense up it’ll just hurt more.” You could understand that in theory, but it felt like an impossible ask when he was splitting you apart so thoroughly. 

At the realisation that you couldn’t easily relax on your own, Sukuna brought one of his hands to your clit, his fingers circling the bundle of nerves in a practiced manner. It didn’t take away the pain completely, but it did blend the ache together with an odd sort of pleasure, the tension in your muscles easing ever so slightly. 

“There we go princess, just relax.” A small whine escaped your throat and Sukuna took that opportunity to continue sinking into you, moving slowly and rubbing at your clit until he was fully sheathed inside you. 

You felt full, unbearably so. Your body was shivering a little, completely unaccustomed to having something inside you like this. But at the same time there was an odd sensation of pleasure, of elation from having Sukuna pressed up against you so intimately. A burning desire in your gut that wanted him even deeper inside you. 

“Doing okay?” He asked, his free hand stroking your hair as he planted kisses all over your face, staying as still as he possibly could to let you adjust to his size. It was clear that he desperately wanted to start moving - you could feel his cock twitching with need inside you. 

“Y-yeah. You’re so big.” You whimpered quietly, and a cocky smirk grew across Sukuna’s face.

“I am.” He agreed, and you tried not to roll your eyes at how proud of himself he sounded. “Want me to start moving, princess?” 

You gave him a little nod, and Sukuna began to move his hips, pulling himself almost all the way out of you before filling you up once more. He started off with a relatively slow pace, examining your expression as he moved, ready to stop at any hint of pain. 

The ache was still there, but it had been subdued a little now, and you found yourself moving your hips against his, trying to pull him closer to you. It felt so good, having his big, warm body on top of yours, feeling his even heartbeat against your skin. You’d never thought that you’d get to feel this way with anyone - sex had always been something that you’d viewed as an obligation, an act you’d have to partake in as a princess.

But as Sukuna’s cock slid in and out of you, you realised just how good it felt, how much you wanted more of this, to cling on to your Knight and never let him go. 

Content that you seemed to be coping, Sukuna sped up his pace. He gripped your hands in his, pinning them on either side of your head as he leant in closer to you, capturing your mouth in a sloppy kiss as he slammed his hips into yours. 

It felt incredible, his cock hitting spots so deep inside of you that you were seeing stars. Over and over again he abused one pleasant spot forcing the coil in your stomach to tighten and your eyes to water. You couldn’t hold back the moans that poured from you mouth, whimpers of his name as he fucked you so good. 

You squeezed tightly at his hands, enjoying the attention that he was giving you, his lips exploring your face and neck, groaning out your name each time your pussy squeezed around him involuntarily. 

He must’ve noticed the way that your body was starting to tremble, the way that your moans were becoming breathier, because he released one of your hands, bringing his fingers back down to your clit, rubbing his thumb up against it, making you arch your back in pleasure. 

“Are you close, baby?” He asked breathlessly against your ear, the tickle of his breath against your skin making your pussy clench desperately around his cock.

“Y-yeah.” You whined, the feeling in your gut growing almost unbearable, so tightly wound that it could burst at any moment. 

“Then cum for me.” He ordered. You did as you were told, allowing yourself to let go, your orgasm crashing over you, letting out a desperate cry of his name as your body convulsed with how good it felt. You were squeezing him more tightly than ever and he let out a low groan, evidently trying to hold off on his own release for a little while longer. 

He stilled for a moment, admiring the way you were twitching beneath him, brushing a few stray hairs out of your face and planting a soft kiss on your lips before maneuvering you into a new position, giving you no time to come down from your orgasm. 

Wrapping his arms around your back, he pulled the two of you up into sitting position, keeping his cock buried inside you as he did so. He placed you on his lap, the two of you sitting face to face with your breasts pressed up against his chest. Affectionately, he nuzzled his nose against yours before kissing you deeply, slowly moving his tongue against yours as his hands went to your ass, gripping tightly and shifting you up and down his shaft as if you weighed nothing. 

A moan escaped your mouth, surprised at how good this new position felt as he started to fuck you again. It was as though he was much deeper inside you like this, and with each thrust you could swear that he was in your guts. It was euphoric. 

Lazily, he bounced you up and down on his cock, taking the time to explore your mouth properly with his tongue before moving his lips down to your shoulders, sucking purple marks into your skin where he knew your dress could cover them. 

You wished that he could mark you everywhere, enamoured with the thought of him leaving purple bites all up your neck - but no matter what your lust-fueled brain wanted in the moment, that would spell an almost immediate end to your secret relationship, so for now you’d have to do without it. 

You dropped your head to his shoulder, mirroring the actions he was performing on you, gently nipping and sucking at the skin on his shoulders, leaving your own little purple marks. Your hands traced delicately along the tattoos on his upper body, enjoying the way he shuddered and his cock twitched when you dragged your nails down the lines on his back. 

“Fuck.” He groaned, huskily whispering out your name. “Not gonna last much longer like this, baby. Squeezing me so fucking hard.” 

Your heart skipped a beat at the praise. You’d been so worried about not appeasing him - that he’d be disappointed with your lack of experience even with his assurance that wasn’t the case. The confirmation that you were making him feel good did something to you. 

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed at you for a moment, as though he’d noticed something interesting. He leant forward and pressed his lips against your ear. “You’re such a good girl for me.” He purred, and you instinctively clenched around him, the praise going straight to your pussy. 

He chuckled softly against you, feeling the rumble of his laughter through his whole body. “Aw, you love being praised, huh?” He teased, starting to move you more quickly up and down his cock, the slap of skin against skin echoing around the cabin. “Can feel that pretty pussy squeeze me everytime I throw you a little compliment, how cute.” 

There was a part of your brain that was telling you to feel embarrassed by his words, but for the most part you were too caught up in how good it all felt to really be mad at his poking. What was the point in getting frustrated when he was right?

“Were you like this before? Did I make you all wet whenever I was nice to you?” His voice was coming out raspier now, it was clear that he was reaching his own release, and you could feel that familiar pressure building up in your gut once more. “Did you ever lie in bed and touch yourself to the thought of me? Read your dirty little book and imagine me as the evil prince making you feel so good?” 

Your face was bright red, and you tried to save yourself from the humiliation of his question by burying your face in his neck, clinging to him as he hit that wonderful spot inside you over and over again, focusing on nothing but your incoming orgasm. 

But Sukuna seemed hellbent on teasing you, because he slowed down his movements for a moment. “Come on pretty girl, you gonna give me an answer?” 

You tilted your head back to glare at him, meeting his mischievous grin as he waited patiently for you to speak. He’d ceased his movements completely now, holding you still in his lap, his cock buried fully inside you. 

“I’ll need an answer if you want me to let you cum.” He teased, completely aware of how much of an upper hand he had over you. You wanted him to keep going, wanted him to let you unravel in his arms once more. 

“I did.” You whispered, so quietly that it was almost inaudible. 

“What was that?” He asked with a grin. “Couldn’t quite hear you.” 

“I did.” You spoke a bit louder this time, hoping that your response would be satisfactory enough for him to get back to fucking you. 

“Hmmmm, you did what, princess? I need you to spell it out for me.” His fingers were on your clit again, circling it lightly, not giving you nearly enough pressure to get anything out of it beyond need and frustration. You squirmed desperately, but as you stared up at him you knew that he wasn’t going to give in until you gave him what he wanted.

You sighed. “I read the book and thought of you, okay? I touched myself to the thought of you after we kissed. I even had a dirty dream about you way back when you first became my guard!” That last one just slipped out, catching even you by surprise - he definitely did not need to know that. 

Sukuna’s eyes were wide with surprise, but he was only caught off guard for a second before a smug smile was making its way onto his face and he was bouncing you on his cock again. “Oh? Isn’t that amusing, who knew you were so desperate for me?” 

You tried pouting up at him, but you weren’t sure that you conveyed your frustration with his teasing all that well, with little whines slipping from your lips as he bounced you faster and faster on his cock, driving into that spot that made you feel so good. You were squeezing hard around him now, face buried into his skin and your fingers gripping desperately at his shoulders as another orgasm hit you. 

This one was even better than the previous one, Sukuna not slowing down his pace at all as you rode it out, abusing that squishy spot inside you over and over again until tears were dripping down your cheeks from how good you felt. 

As your pussy constricted hard around his length, he reached his own release, his cock twitching and releasing his cum into you, filling you up to the brim with his seed. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind you were aware that what he’d just done was dangerous, that if you become pregnant with his baby it would be over for the both of you, but in that moment with his warmth flooding into you, it was hard to bring yourself to care. 

His arms were wrapped tightly around you, holding you in a firm embrace against him, softening cock still deep inside you. It was lovely, just to be that close with him. But after a few minutes, the cum dripping from you was growing cold, the sensation unpleasant and Sukuna reluctantly pulled himself out of you. 

An attempt was made for you to pull yourself to your feet, temporarily forgetting about the drastic state of your ankle, but Sukuna was quick to stop you, pushing you back into the plush comfort of the bed, insisting that he’d clean you up himself. 

He grabbed a towel, wiping himself off first before delicately cleaning the mess he’d made between your legs. Somehow this felt like more intimate of an act than sex itself, suddenly shy about your exposed body in the firelight. Sukuna seemed completely unbothered, content to sit naked beside you as he cleaned you up. 

“How’re you feeling?” He asked, as he finished wiping your thighs.

“Good.” Your voice was a little shaky, your body still in that light, floaty feeling as you came down from your third orgasm of the night. 

“Good.” He responded, but his brows were knitted together in concern as he looked at you. “Do you...regret it?” The uncertainty in his tone caught you off guard. Had it not been obvious to him how much you’d enjoyed it? 

“No- no!” You stumbled a little on the words at the speed that they came out, evidently catching Sukuna by surprise at the energetic response. “I think that was the best I’ve ever felt.” You said honestly. “Thank you.” 

Sukuna's shoulders relaxed and he let out a sigh as he discarded the towel and turned back to face you, gesturing for you to shuffle out of the way as he peeled back the furs on the bed and motioned for you to move beneath them. 

“I thought you were going to be disappointed or something.” He confessed, in a surprising display of vulnerability from him. You tilted your head in confusion as you looked up at him, waiting for more of an elaboration. “The only thing you knew about sex was from that book of yours, right? I thought it might not live up to your expectations.” 

“Oh!” You responded, looking away from him in thought for a moment before continuing. “It was way better than the book.” 

“It was?” Sukuna asked. 

“Yeah. The prince in the book is some random guy, why would I ever prefer that to having you?” 

Sukuna’s red eyes were wide with shock for a moment, before he smirked at you, his ego very obviously stroked by your response. “Right…” 

“I guess you have no idea how much I like you.” You said with a soft giggle, an action that seemed to light up Sukuna’s whole face. He let out a little scoff before clambering beneath the furs next to you. His arms snaked around your body, positioning one of them comfortably beneath your neck, and wrapping the other firmly around your waist, pulling you close against his chest. 

You held onto him tightly with both hands, heart racing from being all snuggled up with him like this, your legs instinctively tangling together beneath the furs, allowing you to be as close as possible. He smelt so good, a pleasant sense of contentment settling over you at being wrapped up with him, the constant rise and fall of his chest keeping you grounded and calm. 

You wanted to stay here, limbs tangled with his, for the rest of your life. 

He kissed you softly on the top of your head and you closed your eyes, grateful to be spending the night here in his arms, having avoided the grizzly fate Mahito and his men had in store for you. 

“Sukuna.” You whispered quietly, after a few moments of you both laying in silence.

“Mmm?” 

“We’re going to be okay right?” You asked. “We’ll figure out how to make this work?” 

Sukuna was silent for a long time, so long that you almost wondered if he’d fallen asleep - it had been a long night after all. 

“I’m not letting you go.” He responded finally. “Come what may, you’ll always be mine. I’ll make sure of it.” 

And as you curled up closer against his body, drifting off to sleep in that comfortable bed, the flickering light of the dying fire illuminating both your bodies, you desperately hoped that was a promise he could keep.

next chapter | series masterlist

a/n: thanks for reading, we finally got them together!! but i've still got lots more on my plan for this fic! should have the next chapter up next weekend.

Fun fact, the kiss scene was inspired by guts and casca's first kiss in berserk, those panels always send my heart RACING.

Just let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! thank you for all the support on this fic, reblogs and comments are appreciated as always <3

Taglist: @ccazimi @ryomeowie @qardasngan @poopooindamouf @pick-pookie @noooo-onee @ravenwitchh @wobblewobble822 @being-blue-is-better @sukubusss @kittsoraxx @lanaleanne @cherixheri @kunascutie @karvokr @jungkookyeager @cosmotoic @rie-star @fushiguroooozzz @rinofcike @weebgirl21 @keiameeee @sanriodork @lillyxsj @eepydeepysleepy @surgikull @pinkpookiebear @saltypuffin1040 @peachysweet-mwah @therealjustpeachesback @gamerhere @yeagersss @madison777x @rahluvskunatoru @mikari73 @weeezeerrss @osteawb @00frenchfries00 @squishedcockroach @i0lovepink00 @ragaliafox @illnweol @ilovesmolkittycats @ayameeyurei @sleezzsister

© sukunahs

[jaysbaefie]

double trouble | nrk

series synopsis: in which years of petty pranks and hallway hexes with the slytherin twins turn into stolen glances, forbidden kisses, and a whole lot of trouble you definitely weren’t ready for.

genre: hogwarts au

pairing: blonde!riki x afab reader x brunette!niki

warnings: will be specified in the beginning of each chapter.

wc: in progress

note: there will be no mature content for the first 5 chapters. this is because all characters are going to be minors.

𓆙

year one - the first curse

synopsis: in which a spilled drink starts a seven-year war with two smug slytherin twins.

read here

year two and three - petty is a love language

synopsis: in which the pranks get pettier, and you learn the twins never forget a grudge—or a target.

read here

year four - lines begin to blur

synopsis: in which they flirt just to mess with you… or so you tell yourself.

read here

year five - i hate you but…

synopsis: in which they get jealous, you get reckless, and things start to feel a little less like hate.

read here

year six - undeniable

synopsis: in which you’re forced to work together, tensions snap, and one things leads to another.

read here

year seven - ours

synopsis: in which you stop pretending you don’t want them, and they stop pretending they’ll ever let you go.

read here

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

[edenspoem]

𝐧𝐨 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐧.

summary. ★ ┆ in this numbing winter wood guarded by her hunting-adroit family, ellie believes she is safe. but her tracking methods are not so familiar with the intelligence and vigilance of sadistic creatures—of invisible kinds. reader discretion heavily advised. ★ ┆ dark content (not dubcon/noncon, think of murder, manipulation and abuse), smut, angst, horror, major character death, prey!hunter!ellie x predator!vampire!reader (prey and predator dynamic, the kink is sort of involved), enemies to lovers to enemies again, apocalypse au, lore-centered, flashbacks from centuries ago, ellie is almost a dead-ringer lover, religious references, biting, blood sucking, reader is a bit of a stalker (vampire behavior), reader is an undeniable evil, gunshot wounds (she thought guns would work), bites don't turn people here, forbidden romance with a touch of corruption; starts out sweet, ends up ugly, one instance of physical abuse (that is not endorsed. it is shamed), arguments occur, relationships with wayward and delusional vampires are not for those who fall easy—and deeply. ellie for sure isn't thinking when it comes to you; reader is the first to touch her (she has freaked other girls but never received freak reciprocation, if you catch my drift), sub!leaning!ellie, fingering (e!r!receiving), oral(e!receiving), tribbing, masturbation, subtle overtones of masochism, drugging (with herbal tea, and for reasons that aren't violation), neck and hand fixations, slashing, victim blaming, ellie tends to sub here but energies do match. memo. ★ ┆ here comes a very long-awaited fic (circa five months ago). tried to make this one as long as i could to percolate the tension. expect bittersweetness. actual blood sweat and tears went into this thing i think. info. ★ ┆ wc: 10.9k proofreaders: @baptismbaby, @elstattoo, @meganegatari, @vifilms (thanks to each one of you for ur commentary!) masterlist. discord. palestine masterpost.

𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓

Guns will not save you, sweetheart.

There she is. Sweet opalescent girl, woolen in gear from head to toe, scrunching her nose and squinting her eyes out in the winter clearing, the girl you have long pursued. You are watching her. Chasing her, silently. 

The grove is dense where snow slipped down to die.

She sticks close to her mechanical savior: a coal black rifle up in her arms like a swaddled babe. It befits her act tremendously. She, a human solely, would not want to penetrate this forest every sacred Sunday without her guns. They have provided her plenty. Pelts, savory meats, skulls above the fireplace, fabricated potential. Some guns even go as far as scoring her family the thinning rations of a sorry trespasser.

But they will not save her.

She knows somebody—or something, is out there. Lurking in alder, hounding in spectacularly painted shade. You can tell her treading is expectant, and alert. Even the way in which she points her gun is inviting. But, on the other side, a paradox invites you.

She is paranoid. Paranoid people are alert, but easy targets. Vampires feed on easy. She hears everything in paranoia; she hears her muscles shift. Bones scrape. Eyes wake. Heart race.

But, of course, never you.

Lastingly, a forever has passed; the Millers have bid no farewell to their scriptural, woodland acreage, and never plan to. So, graciously, your recent years have been ones of watching. After all, you do have all the time in the world, so you spent some learning about this girl in the blind spots she's oblivious to. The romanticism of her not knowing you, or your presence, is that you know nearly everything about her. Much about that is to be smiled over. Even the memorable, quaint little name she has.

Ellie.

And, for a lasting time, she has been your unrequited wife of obsession.

Gorgeous girl. Thin, smart, a labyrinth of limbs and sunspots and reclused words. Hibernates in her room, as far as you can tell. She always has these interludes of solitude, cried on by sunlight, and you linger by the window whenever so. Invisible, of course, but there. Observing how long it takes a human of artistic design to perfect a mere stroke. Once on the canvas, twice, and thrice over. And sure, she ceases seclusion some days to help in pastoral tendings, hunting and patrol; but she always crawls back inside her little paintings, and shuts the hinges on relatives. She is a protagonist of silence.

No lovers, little friendships, a small existence in a small room. Alone, as of late. Never too fond of wayfaring strangers that trickle in like maple seeds. And yet today you have herded her, silenceless, to the throat of this thick forest. Confused by the sounds it produces. 

“Where the fuck am I?” she grumbles to herself, voice husky under her snared lip. The intricacies of her gun creak as she points in restless circles, aiming the long spire everywhere. She is inclined to kill the next noise. “Swear to god, if that bunny ran off already..” For a second, she looked like she wanted to bail and forget about it. But a heavy sigh falls, and the reluctance in her body goes cold. “Too deep now, Ellie. Gotta come back with somethin'.”

She is desirably late; the bunny in question is already disposed in a berry bush off the white avenue. You had to be quick, as she is too. It's almost impressive. Rather than her invigilance in sleep, or solstices of the day, you prefer her now.

Running.

Yes, a strange fixation—you are wary. However, where is the thrill in feeding if not in the chase? This is tradition.

Wonder how sweet she is.

“Shit.” Her startled whisper blurts at a spitting distance, not that far. Careful footsteps crunch in your ear. “Who got you?” You left a ribbon of blood on the ground for her to find, which she did, and now she is investigating it. This opens her up.

From your place, you could lunge and snare her now. Bite her, even. Nothing inhibits you, and her flesh is singing to you, but you want to wait. My, that invigorating sound of her blood rushing and her heart thumping. You often listened in by her windows, speculating what occurred based upon the volume; a healthy and vicious rhythm was rage, and you fucking loved the sound of her rage. It gulps the mind. Pounds the somnolent heart.

Even inches away, you can hear it.

Scent is markedly a distant world, though. All these hardships at home; you can smell the regret outside her window sill. Alcohol, sweat, wounds. Those are the main ones you use to track her, and heed the elusive, perfect moments to leave trinkets for her.

Flora, odd bones and bits—guns off the usual unsuspecting victim. You often killed things with your own two hands, and dragged them over for her, too. Makes her the lesser hunter, huh?

There is a revolver stashed in her waistband, one you left for her. 

“Not seein' anything out here,” she rasps.

Pocket knife, too. She came prepared, just not for you. With her focus swallowed, and mind inside of her gun, you stroll up from behind. Your hand plants on her shoulder before she can brace herself.

“Looking for something?” The question makes her snap around, but you behave like light.

Shoving her into the crisp ground goes smoothly, but not without a first impression. A gunshot is cracked from her rifle before you can disarm her of it. When you manage to, she flits into flight mode. Violent protests writhe under you.

Her pale face is screaming red. “Fuck! Get the hell off me!” Milk and roses, like the rest of her. She pounds her fists into your chest.

She is not easy. She is a rainstorm under your control. You have to put the weight of the world on her to chastise and limit the struggle, pinning her wrists into the snow and straddling. This subdues her, given your vampiric stamina, and your nose has never been closer. Her neck—a secodont temptation in human flesh. The scent filling you makes you laugh delightedly.

Her soft pink mouth is slightly agape, and filtering cold breath in your face. It envelops your eyes, fogs up her features, yet watching it enter, and leave her lips, fascinates you. Love is a rooting thing; you look once, and you never want to stop looking.

“Hey pretty eyes,” you allure, honey escaping your throat instead of venom. You never sound this sweet. “What are you doing so far from home?”

Ellie appears clueless to your nature. Rather, what things lie inside your mouth—sharp, and starving things. She flickers her eyes like a violent womb over your face, your blinkless eyes, and mentions nothing of it. Therefore, besides this being an obvious first encounter with a vampire, she won't expect it. Not like she can combat it, really; your strength precedes you.

Her chords tremble quietly, angrily, brows anchored low. “Fuck are you doing?”

Experiencing her voice so close and so personal makes you visceral. Lust enshrouds. “Hunting.. gathering..” you fade into a seductive coo, lips rolling over her neck. “Same as you.” Muscles in it flinch when you steal a short stroke with your tongue. Every part of her flinches.

Disgust then crosses her expression, and she blurts, “Are you a fucking cannibal?” Turning her head away. This only exposes her ripe neck more.

Either your tone, or the fact that you might be a flesh-eating killer, lifts her heart into her throat; pulses thump against your lips, so intoxicatingly. You want them in your mouth, in your memory. Somewhere they can exist and nurture you forever. “Mhh, so close.” You try to give her a hint by scraping your fangs along her sensitive carotid. 

It seems to work.

She whimpers.

This was it, in her shallow mind. Eternal rest is calling, and she has nothing but her paintings and thoughts alone to rot without her. Ellie would die and have to bear the winter sun as her witness—her only witness. God, her heart breaks just thinking: Joel will be confused. Tess will send a rescue team for a corpse, and Joel will be lost when he has nobody to give the ol' regulation lecture to. Nobody to be a worried, old man for. Simply because of something she thought only existed in fiction and fairytales. How fucking rich!

“Fuck you!”

The night has a thousand eyes, and the day has but one.

You comb three attentive fingers into her hairline, and tip her head back. The gesture is too gentle for how ugly, mangled and sanguinolent the bole of her breaths is to be made. You are too gentle doing this. Scraping your teeth, wetting her skin; you have the social grace of a sycophant, and the conduct of a lover. Eat her whole, why don't you? She is your apple to keep. Eat, eat, eat.

You crumple the sage collar of her jacket, whispering, “Hold still for me, huh?” Quiet, and cold as the forest she relies on. As your opening lips.

And that is just what she does. Tighten as your teeth sink, motionless as these very trees. When you take her blood inside, you find her absolutely celestial. And you carve your teeth into her like she is a pietistical mural to make impure. Dying as a falling angel, she squirms. The penetralia of her throat is the main thing moving: tensing muscles, swallows pushing out a river of subtle, pained sounds. Crimson breaks, and draws in lithe lines down the base. Stains the crossroads of your sucking lips.

You make a soft-spoken voice crawl out of her. “Fuck,” she curses. Her teeth leap from her plush lip, and stay open. You imagine the pain is a gentle torture for your inexperienced victim. You are feeding on a sensitive silhouette, and she is staring up, quietly at the thistle drapings above. Misty-eyed, probably. Fingers tugging on your clothes just the way you need them to.

Blood thickens as your composure thins. She tastes sickeningly sweet. There is a pure hideosity reaching under your chin and down to your collarbones, because your hunger is beginning to precede you. Some ancient, voracious and cacodaemoniacal thing is wanting, and wanting hard. From your throat, from the cavity of your torso; somewhere desperate. Wherever it is, it wants a deep mouthful of Ellie, and you aren’t morally-deposed to take her to that dark there quite yet.

Your hungry grunt stifles. She has gone soft and pliant now and is holding your arm. As a grounding measure, you think, but it sends a pricking through your spine. 

“Mhh,” you hum, slowly extricating from the side of her neck. Stronger gushing flows from the holes left behind as if the wound was crying in ease. Heaven, crying.

The cracked partings of her mouth shudder around a soundless gasp, and she reaches for the intrusion you left. Something was given and something was lost; she feels the raised punctures. Gets blood on the precious tips of her fingers. Lets her still-alive pulse hit against her palm. You took from her lifeline, and left a cruel epilogue. 

Are you truly this savoring with it?

Maria said that something was out there—something uglier than infected. Creatures lie dead rampantly, and in cryptic, clean ways that denote sentient procedure. Nothing a brainless, living dead would have the capacity to do. So now that she has drawn you, a secret world exposed, snapped like bone, she has to say something. Do something. Joel drilled that incentive.

It knocks her into fleeing like fucking hell.

As in any exciting, horrific prologue, it begins in a scatter. Ellie clambers with milk knuckles in the self-same snow, grappling to slide out from under you, and manages a slim much. Her countenance is kneeled eyes and a gaping mouth, puffing clouds every which way. The face of escape; as if she had woken in a surrounding of her own blood, which is an embroidered, but hovering truth.

You watch with an empty one. She stands up and wrestles the approaching mist for her disposed handgun, flecking up snow with her footsteps as she dashes.

Adrenaline flees with her. If she is wise, a search team will be enlisted after your whereabouts. Carnage will break in these white woods an evening hence, under vacant cover of night, and she will no doubt be a curious murderer; searching for you under a false sense of safety, in the grove here.

But if you are wise, you will be there. Waiting for her.

𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋

Evening begins in a whimper.

Or in sequences of them.

Troops shall not be drawn out, she decided. It grates her to sift this weight of knowing, this imperative information. But she is a waking potential, who has slipped her head under a crossroad and found a world of gnashing. She does not want to be the girl who cried vampire.

Well, winter is tired now. Snowfall has whirled, died, and crepuscule has crept in through the window sill. Everyone succumbed to it, except for her; still awake, still remembering. Hunched on her bed, she wads an alcohol-dredged cotton ball to the sickly white punctures on her neck, sipping harshly through her teeth. Stings like a fucking bitch. “Shit.”

But why is she still alive?

Ellie still feels the shape of your teeth in her neck. Skin flushing and pumping around them, or engraving some sort of scriptural curse. It was not painful, so much as it pained like death to think she would die. But she is here, and she feels misplaced. Watched, her faith in safety loosening.

The cotton ball is agitatedly discarded into a drawn-out trash bin, littered by all the cotton fumbled before. She pushes up at the knees and drags her ankles into the bathroom, fingers already reaching for the sink. 

“Just gotta sleep this off, Ellie.” The faucet cries, its gentle stream pouring right into her asking palms. She uses it to splash her eyes, fingers rubbing around them to wipe the water away. Rinse, and unlearn the memory.

Try, at least.

She needs solacing rest. Forest duties will call her name in the youngest morning, and without a shroud of doubt, will be the warm, shepherding drawl of her father. She is fortunate enough to hang from him, his good name, who is the least bit hard on her. But others—such as her in-a-sense, patrolaholic aunt—would reproach him for his tender loving. 

So, to cut the bullshit, she tries to lead a responsible life. Before, it was imprudence plentiful. But taking the inebriation, the heartbreakers, and the snuck-in cannabis out of her grasp has led her somewhere good. Somewhere she can feel like a worthwhile girl in one fucked up socket of the world. It seems to be valuable; she holds the highest count of infected shot in a single patrol.

Her concentration is immeasurable.

But she begins to doubt her resilience as she stares into the center of her sullen eyes.

She snags her lip to the left, contemplating. Ellie is alive for a reason. She fucked up; forgone each principle of the forest, of the hunt, omitting the signs and senses that beheld her in the stout snow. Yet, here she is, flesh in the mirror. And something else clicks: the inescapable leaving of unusual objects on her window sill face trial too. All that clattering and scratching at walls she thought was a rodent seems to align with it pretty well. Not to mention the disembodied touchings of her head and hair in deep-sleep dreamings, and awoken to in chapel-cold sweats to find nothing there.

It distressed her mind: how long should a human wonder, until it is lethal?

She concludes with the idea of a stalker.

Fucking vampire stalker.

It introduces a shiver. “Okay.” One she has to pursue genuine warmth for; she crosses her arms and kills the bathroom light, the ends of her fingers lingering up her sleeves as she crosses the threshold. Between a introspective bathroom, and an infiltrated bedroom. 

Neither are soft with the home; its safe wood walls, weeping willow scents, and inborn temperatures. She is open to the outside. She is the centerpiece for the thousand eyes of night. Cold, bare. The bed welcomes her weight in a billowing hollow for her body—yet, is the most unsettling thing she has slipped against her skin. The question of whether you manifest on this meaningful night, or let your eluding presence delude her into searching for it, begs for sleep before it can transfigure into an answer.

Her quiet, petal-soft lids droop closed. Trying to sleep conceives like death; it’s as if the air seeping her bedroom is a miasma, each breath in getting her drowsier and drowsier. Soon, all sound fades, and the inhibition whether or not hunger will find you at this crescent of night, and on her pale neck, is forgotten. 

Time is forgotten.

𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

This is where she nestles—dreams. Pretty, isn’t she?

She is water and the way it settles. She is poetry scribed in the summer month of June, feeding on its younger, more innocent, springtime chassis in which it longs to return to. Gentle petrichor, plush skin, and lashes of an auburn fire. She is beautiful; but much harrowing is to be combed inside, underneath.

Dreams and pain lulled you. But after you first sought her, watching over her in the deepest sleep on the most painful of nights, it became ritual for a farther reason: 

You fell in love. Again; love is a rooting thing; you look once, and you never want to stop looking.

Never.

Seams adore and finish the girl with eliciting interest. Low-cuts under the arms, in between the legs; it leaves less frou-frou and forest to the imagination than raised with. She really is auburn all over. She really, really is. You could not desire it any different. Peek-ins to temporal changes—when she strips plaid from pale and peels rough, woven blue and button from her muscled hips—excited you before, and they excite you now. Flesh has never been dangled in front of you as it’s in this time.

An arm is slackly risen above her pillow, and she clads a sleeveless. You can see it; the autumn forest.

But the instinct to protect, and nurture from her is worse now. And with the precedes of last afternoon—yesterday, the first of her blood taken into your vitals—you feel evermore lustful for it, leading you here at the foot of her bed. She looks peaceful now: unlatched lips, ribs that swell and wane, moon-shine on her neck. Your eyes land, in particular, on the sleeping shape of her fingers, curling slightly into her palm, which is against lilac-colored sheets.

Gods, she has the sweetest, speechless gesture of telling you where to bite.

You sidle upon the edge, tucking both legs and straightening both arms into a slow crawl until you reach that hand. It, limp at the wrist, delicately fits in yours, and you take it to your teeth.

Before you intruded her somnolent skin and trickling veins with your lust, you admired the feel of her freckled flesh against your lips. The hairs there tickled. The scent made you feen; a heavenly sigh stretching through your throat. And that sigh led your mouth open. 

You bite the apple.

She slowly creaks awake—the hinges of her eyes fluttering with a slow, white surprise. “Uhn—what the?” And when she notices, they blow wide with an olive ring. “Fuck!”

She stumbles up on her bottom. The wrist in your mouth supplied you a sip of blood before it was ripped from you and fled in excretions of that crimson nectar—wasted. It stains her sheets. Writes the event in blood. Crucifies the affrighted face of the auburn girl who grips her leaking wrist with a pressure you can hear tighten.

And she bleeds, and she bleeds—and you watch.

Like a lover.

You fawn, pouting all sick-and-sweet. “You know you could injure yourself more. Doing that.” It contorted a sicker-looking sharpness in her glare; staring from under her pricked brows. You unwind, and reach for her, “Here, let me.” But she flinches, a fitting punishment for a monster.

“Who are you?” She sounds instinctive, grit in her tone. “And what the fuck do you want with me?” The old, frightened-lamb act of her afternoon self seems to have diminished, painting her a volatile violence. She weaponizes her eyes; lacerates your red ribbon secrets into a bleed. Tries to, at least.

You never made it simple.

Well then, resilience it is. Quite stunning when she stomachs it up from her throat—a pretense swollen from hiding. Perhaps, this relenting will entertain you more. “Mmm, a secret admirer,” you intone, limning circles on the bed with your pointer. Then, you remember the situation, and chuckle. “Not so secret anymore though, I suppose.”

She looks the least bit impressed.

You still your finger, sighing. “Right.” And you plummet sights upon the silent, clothing-riddled carpet in spontaneous thought. 

Her stare wanted to carve an entire confession out of you, and unfortunately—your truth is ancient, and incomprehensible. Not the safest knowledge for humans. But seeing as she said a precise ‘who’ are you, and not a ‘what’ are you, implies she knows enough not to require too much more. Eager to soften her, though, the portion she carves is a thimbleful of sugar; a sweet, harmless idea. 

It starts with breath filling your windpipes. “Infected make life impossible, but you already understand that perfectly fine. At least on your end of things.” You squint, contorting the somethings of a musing expression.  

She gulps, and it pulls her lids with it into a pensive blink.

“We vampires, on the other hand, have it so desolate.” Your voice is softly crawling inside of her. “It makes us desperate.”

Her brows narrow. “So, you still feed on unsuspecting victims?”

“Well, is that not just the naturalistic nature of vampires?”

“Tch,” she scoffs, kneeling up from the bed. “Fucking pathetic.” Her footpath to the window is sharp. The latch clangs under her finger, and the panes are palmed open, swallowing inside the cold airs of the forest. “Now, if you don't mind—could you get the fuck out?”

You cock your head and immerse. To her, you are a thorn in the flesh; some creature she did not invite into the home of her body, and certainly not her life. You staring at her makes her want to rip out of her skin.

“What, am I supposed to empathize with you or some shit?” Her hand casts out, shrugging at you with a disinclination she conjectures as obvious. “No fuckin’ way.” It drops to her thigh.

Thus, you relapse. The mind bends into itself and what it sees is springtime—her most earning months, and you, victorious to have earned her heart that is caged. Being aware of her nature made it easier done than said, but you have your secret stash of lilies; your thornless guise. You want it to be real. You would utter anything for it to be real. 

“You're lonely,” you blurt, smooth and seductive, evocative of the moonlit shadow you sit sedentary in. Tension is born in a confounded gulp from her you hear so clearly. “You starve for some sort of company, right?”

She tuts, stares off. “Not with you.”

“Who else?”

You prick a nerve.

And her countenance seems eager to linger: lips tugging over her teeth in such a simmering fashion—so you begin again.“See—Ellie, I myself am quite alone too—”

“‘Course you know my fuckin’ name.”

“I know you watch the stars every night. For a reason, too.”

She softens at the mouth. What you said gets her skin raised; it has nothing to do with the original conversation, yet makes an eerie sense. Of course you know.

Bring up space, and she is all ears.

“Did you ever wonder how alone they are, too? Big, blindingly bright things in the sky that yet have an eternal cling to the empty, cold nothingness?” Your voice reflects the poignant contents. And in that poignant, in-between silence, your stares are battling each other. “I know it well. It drives you to rather deplorable things.”

She still says nothing. Her eyes are shifting with a million things she could, but she casts them aside and settles her lids.

“You know too.”

The sound creases her brows.

Hopeful creatures prance in the night. It is night; you are a creature. The bed rustles with your hopeful movement—legs pouring from the edge to the floor, and drifting your way over with so much as a quiet prance. You intend not to scare her, or harm her, but to persuade her of your good—in other words, ambivalent—will and soul. “Think of my feedings as a special little hello. I don't regularly interact with the human world as much as I fend from it.”

Ellie repositions herself along the sill when you join her, a chastened flinch.“Huh.” She crosses her arms. “Okay. But, like—what do you want outta’ this?” she questions, and her brows have a stronger downpour when she espies you; clenched, cautious things.

“Sanctuary.”

Her breath groans. “English, please?”

“I speak as you do.”

“Wh—okay well,” Her tongue stumbles. Articulation is never her strong suit, unless it is an articulation of rage. She pinches the bridge of her nose, crumpling her inner-eyes and pitches herself to the window, leaning on it. “Forgot you're like fuckin’ ancient, probably.” 

You thought you forgot how to laugh—but there it springs, the age-old sound. And you expect her to be offended because of it, but she eyes you in her hung position without a crack in her expression. Nothing-faced. Throat cold and tongue soft; this must be what compliance looks like. If it is, then it’s all you need.

Self-indulgence steals you. You enclose the warmth of her hand in your palm, and shape it like an alcove. Her rough skin made for a captivating texture.“Smart girl.”

You expected her to scoff—least of all, to blush, and conceal it by turning to the paned, outside world—scoffing.

Tingles run down your spine.

“So, am I granted?”

Ellie blankly snaps her head from the window. She blinks for a couple beats. “Huh?”

“To stay here—it’s what I was asking of you before.” You take a step forward, prudent and slow. Her soundless mind made you preclude; you cannot read it, but you understand where her heart is and its sensibilities. She is logical, she wants reasons. Chances are, her response will be apprehensive, and you intend to reel it out without it snagging on the gentle inside. You need to be on her level. “Housing is scarce and less sustainable than it ever has been. Surprise, surprise.”

She also loves sarcasm.

“Tch—” She straightens her spine, slipping in a fleeting smile. “What’s wrong with where you live now?”

“The others are all heartsores,” you deplore, tone elongating. “Groaning on and on about tradition and ethics.”

“By others, I’m going to assume you mean.. other vampires?”

“Indeed.”

The conversation interludes with a sigh, deep in her chest. She covers it with her arms crossed. The question then seems to fester; her lips rub together without an answer—but more thinking, and then her eyes thread up through another inhale. “Fine,” she says. With a heart softened. “Guess an invisible roommate wouldn’t be so bad.” Loneliness has convinced her. The window locks shut with a clack, a flick of her fingers. “My blood is one-hundred percent off-limits, though.” She shoots you a half-serious, half-sarcastic face—intending one over the other.

“Ah,” you wince, bending at the knees to accentuate your comment. “But it’s so sweet.”

And she cringes at it, but with faux mirth; a guarded, disgusted chuckle. “Don’t say that, either.”

You heed her wish with a small sound, “Hm.” and a mirrored smile. The sentence itself feels as though it will become repertoire. Several things do. The events here today are a stain, a crimson, violent-smelling one that cannot be washed out.

You hear the sound of fabric shifting. “Take the couch.” An indigo, plaid wool blanket is stripped from her bed, and chucked onto the quaint window-seat across, which is satin-like with moonlight; an edgeless, dull gleam reaching for it. It drapes with erratic procedure. “Don’t leave my room, don’t leave the house during the day, and don’t drag in any dead animals..”

“Do you think me uncouth?”

“Well—ugh.”  She pinches her eyes together. Then, she rolls her head around.“You know what I mean. Just act like a human and don’t get fucking caught.”

“Oh, I won’t.”

She huffs. “Good.”

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐓

She promised you it was off-limits.

But still it persisted. The ancient hunger, the memories of her inside. 

Humanity can be a limiting thing.

There, a conflict was born. You could eat from any tree you wanted. Tear it apart, watch it foam at the mouth for mercifulness. Nothing—not a thing that is tangible—is stopping you, or stopped you in the past. So, what meaning does that conviction hold when you spot the most beautiful, available, and abundant tree; beautiful with her freckles, available in her sleep, and abundant with the thing she lives on to survive and you drink to survive?

The indolent sound would not leave. It would not soften, it would not climb.

It would flow, and flow mercilessly.

It was upon her bed the night she resigned. “Fine,” she sighed, and it was said so softly in spite of the original promise. Time around you had softened her. “Just a little, right?” 

But even as it left her lips, her fingers were reluctant in folding up the hem of her sleeve. You noticed the careful pace. The second thoughts in her eyes, whispering to her fingers that this would be a potential regret, and soon a routine. The implications in her features scrunched as she watched you come closer.

“Just a little,” you reaffirmed. You kissed that node in her wrist with it, too. “Nothing more.”

The moon hung a little past three in the morning when she was up, and you were hungry. Slightly hungry. Soft urges are enough a reason.

Sensations were high that night. Teeth buried into her leather-cushion skin and it felt like a velvet drug; Ellie loathed and loved, whined and writhed for you. It fed you and silenced her. That is a sanctioned schedule. You would drink it in a this-or-nothing, soft-fondling manner and she would give it past midnight—all nights. Most times, sleep would befall, and she would need your voice to guide her awake before you decided to feed. As long as you are in accordance with time, place, health and spectation—she never minds.

Weeks flowed, and it persisted.

“You have a strange-ass routine. ‘M still not used to this,” she laughed, bolstering fatigue in her tired eyes that fluttered. Down, and down.

Perhaps you loved opportunities.

Her skin fits tight and warm in your mouth; alive and pulsing and ever so whistling blood. It was no longer massacres under your lip, it was clean, and she made little sound—besides when she had something dull to weigh in. 

Your lips sutured together, imbibing that last stria of delicate red. “Me?” you pitched, and secondly smiled as her laugh riled it in you. “You wake at this hour regardless for inessential nothings. You are strange.” 

She scoffed with character. “What?” And had it in her to laugh a little louder—praying it didn’t bleed outside the room: that and the beheaded nonsense. “The only reason I get up this early is because I have.. shit to do, people to feed..” She crinkled her nostrils and sniffled.

“Taking care of yourself for me?”

“Uh, what makes you think that?”

“Your skin tastes of honey,” you declared this alongside your caressing fingers, rolling over the fresh wound, the honey skin in question. It met like silk. “Do you want to impress the impressed?”

Either it was your question muddling her—or your statement and its ring of truth, that made her features crinkle up.“No?” Such a failured liar. She conserved not a clue about the accumulating chaos in her bathroom, whom she had no mind other than hers to blame: herbs all around, sweet liquids, ingredients you find in self-made soaps but nonetheless in heaps and scattered. She thought you were clueless to it. She tip-toed around it. “Fuck, is this just you wracking my brain again with your weird phrases and your.. old—”

“Don’t play dumb with me, darling.”

Her cheeks seemed to redden on the spot.

This unadulterated sweetening to her flesh was a decision. Raw, home-harvested honey that she lathers to sanctity herself—or satisfy you. It added up to this this little, unspoken—but traceable—secret she had slipped into, though exposed; she hadn’t treaded the feeling in years. You saw her, heard it beat in attempts to catch up with her running thoughts.

She likes you. 

Her behavior reminded you of your darling years abounding the Enlightened Age: in love with a pair of frilly, fern eyes that often wandered, and robin-bellied hair: a girl who roamed the court with gut and courage, but could not pave it through the same.

You loved her.

But she was taken from you.

Ellie mumbled,“Not dumb,” with her mouth under her fingers and pupils disengaged. She wiped at the corner with the crook of her thumb until she thought of something else. The tone was written on her face beforehand. “Just being.. considerate?” She knew it wasn’t the right one. So, she laughed and spared you her timid stare, shrugging. “Dunno’. You tell me.”

You laughed too, scornful. But not harsh. “Bit of a brat today, huh?”

Staying acclimated this other hunger. This pure, gentle, moan of a hunger. It is simple to say you believed in love; wished it upon others, witnessed it, longed a little for it. But it isn’t your function. Isn’t your toy to play with. You denied it. 

There reached a strange night: your spine was against the black-wood headboard and sacrum further down, blooming with an old sensation, and your hands were on her. Groping, guiding. Admiring the naked skin of her hips, which twitched, and writhed with sounds and sights you prefer to have faith in no one else seeing. Not in a while, at least. These lines of midnight-light wavered over her movement, her teardrop breasts, even catching the mess in between her thighs she tried to hide rubbing in between the spreading of yours. Wet and wanting and abandoned and—you remember all too much. 

She is beautiful down there.

Tears form in your heart.

Ellie was close to the edge. You could hear it in her voice. “Fuck—if you'd just stop playing hard to get, coulda’—uhn, had this way sooner.” 

The phrase confounded you. “Hard to get?” Lots of her speech confounds you; there was a love-hate relationship to be had with that. On her side, though. You found it cute.

“Just—shut up, please.” She climbed a partial note, turning grunts into whines. As soon as she said that, her fists crumpled and her tension released. You, in your long life, have never seen such an overwhelmed girl. Her cheeks were smitten-red. Cum was trickling down the stretch of her shaking, muscled thighs, and she could not help it; she was lead with it. Ellie was wobbling once you were finished.

But she loved it.

Then, there it was in the derelict chapel. The strangeness again. Down her panties was your hand, training back the seam, and in the air her cries. Angelic ones. Pushing you into substantiation; you did love her.

And you felt selfish.

“You are too paced for yourself. Go slow, like this.”

You had pushed her own hand out prior. She was palming herself in a book-sprinkled office a short couple minutes after initial arrival. You aren’t even supposed to be here with her, in this house of God, scavenging for supplies—let alone outside. She should be paired with someone Joel trusts, someone Maria has seen kill. Human, good-hearted. 

The quick, and snagging circles she performed with her fingers never compared to the attention and care you made with her. Like she was in a rush, and you had a blade to stab into the axis of the world. It did constitute sense: she was blushing with shame when you walked in on her—jeans almost off her hips—giving you the idea that she meant to finish in a dreamlike minute. But she didn’t slap her own hand for its perversion. She wore the helpless look.

“How long before you decided to tell me?”

“When we left.” The heart of her thighs compressed your hand. She was getting restless under your touch, twitching into your hand to earn more friction, biting down on her lip. Ellie can only do so much as huff when you rearrange the twining of her legs again. “It was aching s’fuckin’ bad, babe.”

You are certain that she lied. She had the velvetiness, drip and need of someone who hasn’t handled their problem since morning; it was pooling in her underwear. “Before a house of God?” you whispered, your voice a small softness in the mush of her mind. “You really are a strange one, my girl.” She couldn’t care less. You were tugging her just right and that was all she attended to. Numb-locked.

She mouthed a curse. Breath hitched in her throat. “Bite me,” she breathed out.

“Oh, you want it?”

Her face was pinching with pleasure. “Mhm.” Lips rolling over each other.

The once isolated and responsible Ellie you coerced for blood, was now tilting her chin up like a sunflower in bloom. Sometimes, she rolled her shirt up or pulled her pants down, letting you feed in clandestine places; her open thighs became a fast favorite, and dipping in between to that slickened parting made you want to write a poem with your teeth. An introduction to the core. For the thrill, for the devotion—it set the belting green in her eyes thin no matter the bite. 

It made her feel loved. 

But should it; being a strange thing to love?

Cracked moans curled out her neck. You noticed their swell, their added breath when your tongue caught her clit and wrote with it in circles, pulling her wound-ridden thigh over your shoulder. Lips, pinker than her vestal love, dropped open. You trained her voice to not be so swallowed, hidden, and conscious of being heard. You would not stop without hearing it. “Come on, Ellie,” you would coax. “Let me hear you.” And she would use it. Splutter it. Choke it.

“Fuck!”

“There, there..”

She is no virgin. She was no virgin. But, her mind made by the girls of Jackson she poured eyes—or poured lips—over, most in for casuals, or nighttime flings, neglected itself. She gave, and never seemed to receive. Ellie didn’t know if she was ever going to; then, there you were. Her heartbeat was running centuries ahead, and it gave you life.

You assumed, with an assuming inherence, to protect her from that loneliness. The loneliness you get from other people—not from the lack of them. You have her in that sort of catching grasp that feels suffocating, but ends up a pleasant surprise.

She thought you must be magic for that reason.

And the Devil for another.

“Jesus—are you listening to me?” Her voice wanted to break. It wanted to flood, it wanted to sting, it was a rough invocation that you never heard before, and her hands pranced the air. In anger. “You dragged a dead animal in here. You did exactly what I fucking told you not to!” Then, they crossed into her warmth, and the thrash song of her heart went muffled. “You fuckin’ kidding me?.” 

Everything in the world went silent to listen in. The birds, the trees, the surrounding matter. But your guilt was just as quiet when, for a change, it should have been sobbing loud. 

You caressed the words strolling from your mouth, a complacent gesture. “I was careful,” you tempted, tracing circles around that facetious hole in your face. “So careful.”

Her fingers turned to fists. “You..” Her mouth, in contrast, was a pert snag. But it soon had to face a laugh for coping. “You don’t get it, do you?.”

“I do.”

“Right.” She flinched into the light. Moved into the cold.

You get it when blood in droves leaves distasteful secrets, clinging to hardwood floors. You get it when others are involved and get dragged into it. What you do not get is the desire to see it happen. The stomachs that turn at you for not fitting into their forgivable frame. What should one expect?

Is she really this soft?

Oh, how your poor heart aches watching her not watching you.

Ellie continues at the mouth. Irritated fingers drag her under-eyes from their sockets. “Shoulda’ known this was a fucking mistake, Ellie.”  Though your oral worship was stunted; you couldn’t see her whisper these things, you knew they were real. You knew she meant them.

You knew it would ring in her head. 

That night, an attempt to instill a different idea ends in a laceration, and a throb in your nail beds. Because you thought she had done the one thing you would bleed her for:

Stopped loving you. 

You rhymed her with reasons. You extorted your very own, amended morals for relief, with palms cupping her cheeks—and she cut a statement too deep: “Huh. Doesn’t fuckin’ seem like you’re any different than those bastards you ran with until—”

Her hair was the last thing you felt before the tear.

No, no, no. You are different.

Crouching, you clutched her chin with sharpened, hidden fingers, and a controlling thumb. You stole her tears from the wardrobe panel they wept to. “My darling,” you coaxed—as sickening as the dull blade. She twisted you inside herself; staring up at you through her soaking, shining lashes, made for internal conflict she could not put a finger on. “Does it hurt?” She is right, under the condition that you are gospel. What was she thinking?

She wiped her fingers in the openings of her blood, and examined them. A sniffle cut between looking at them, and looking toward you. “Y-Yeah.” It was a painfully awkward, and docile croak. Her irises were thin with shock, breathing laboured.  

Ellie was bleeding from her cheek, to the tip of her philtrum, and to the edge of her apologies. Yet, you only cared how it..

Tasted.

“Shh, shh..” You swept her stained fingers from her face. “Let me take care of it,” whispers scattered. In her head, she was packed in litanies of heavy cotton; woolgathering. Paid the littlest bit of attention to your tongue, it lapping up her septum, furling back with blood, and how it should feel strange. But, it did not. She felt nothing. She felt the same. She still wore that lost, dreaming-eyed stare.

Why?

It is vile.

All is forgotten in time.

𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄

“Ah, shit! Fuckin’ knife.”

Ellie hasn’t been her usual.

And neither have you.

You have been feeding less this cycle, and it’s put her into this stir. Divine, enigmatic stir. Questions upon worries upon interventions—headstrong hands and kitchen knives—curdle up in her gut. Are you bored of her? Has her nectar gone sour? Have you found another source? The silence in the room is louder than usual. Whether it was your intention, or its own result, Ellie has gotten used to this agriculture of give and pleasure; she inclines her wrist without your word. She opens her neck without your teeth.

The cabin, for once, is empty this day. So is her head.

You’re stood off to the side. 

Ellie—who loves getting called stupid by her girl—pricked her finger for you. She was handling delicate produce on the counter, and her far more delicate fingers stood stockstill in their position, meeting the sharp tip of that knife in that headstrong hand. Her brows rucked, or already were; she had something on her mind. Some enchanting idea.

She sidles up against you. “Hey, babe.. mind cleanin’ this up?” Ellie wiggles her finger in an awkward and sultry manner, signature to she and she alone. There is a small, shining, seed of blood forming on the wound. 

You consider it. For a second, or more, you consider feeding into her sweet little game. And she continues to pitch that finger east and west like a last chance, but it comes into question first. “Should you be handling that knife?” you answer—and she lets a disgruntled sound slip. 

Also, you have seen your guaranteed share of slit fingers. That girl in the court had a graceless aptitude.

Ellie finds a smile to laugh at you with: insulted, asymmetrically dotted, with all the crinkles of someone who thinks so different of themselves—but it’s pretend. A softened wire in her brain molds into the warmth of your perception. She did it for Joel, once. “Guess not,” Ellie mumbles, bringing her finger down to stare at it. It almost bugged her that it wasn’t immediately in your mouth. The blood long-reaching.

Instead, you enamored yourself with the syrup-orange tea in front of you. Stirring, stirring. 

Her throat clears. “What’s that?”

You turn, at last, with knuckles bending around the base of the porcelain cup seeping with heat. It feels cold in your hands. “For you.” You press it to the middle of her chest. 

Her fingers come up to palm it, glancing at your face for a sign that another word would leave your throat. Eyeing up, and then down; she hopes you will make sense. You just hand it off to her. “Well, that answers my question halfway,” she sighs, cocking her hip against the counter. “Thanks.”

You lop a smile as nothing else seems to spring to mind. Turn away, turn away.

How should you begin—to a girl you met at the pulse of a throat—explaining that the contents in that cup can and will send her to sleep? Should you distress concern and mention how she has been missing it? Should the room go silent, and she as well? 

A confession has been smothering your thirst for weeks.

You are bored.

Vampirical instincts have sat restless and upset in the sockets of your fangs. You feel tired, you get cravings that seem to climb and climb each hour, and at the crest of night, you prowl the short corridors in this house with suffocated footsteps, listening to the heartbeats of others with a small, specking guilt. You can quench it however you please, but the one thing that will not change is that you are a winter-blooded predator. You should be hunting; you are not. It nags at you. Months with her in your hands, in your mouth—and it isn’t enough. It was never going to be. 

Last night went as usual. You rush to fill the bed before she finds it empty. Then, as you are shifting the sheets, her sleeping tosses and turns find you, and on your waist, her slender hand finds a spot made for her to fill. Her lips find something in her dream to grin about.

You brushed it under your thumb. “My sweet dove.”

Beside her, she assumes you sleep well. Then, in the morning, she mistakenly traces her mind for a memory recording her forgetfulness, tapping the unshut window, contemplating. The animal blood isn’t in her palms— you somnambulist. 

Tomorrow, you would let instinct feel hunger again. Hunting is a desideratum. A deep-in, desired ultimatum.

Then, tomorrow came.

On the couch, you give in and draw her cut fingertip into your mouth. Sucking, silent and sensual. Ellie had the tea swirling around her limbs: weighing down her arms, slumping her legs, and her nose twitched with each escape from nodding off—and yet, she was still stubborn to lie down. Though you, twirling and twirling two fingers on her arm, inspired no help for her either. Perhaps, the swirling affect is a dreaming cling to you; your touch is a sleeping reverie.

Ellie jabs, with her free thumb, into her waterlines and digs around the stiffness. She can hardly lift them. Then, a low grunt follows. “Ugh, so tired.”  She is the softest thing in this room. Nothing could compare, not you—not ever. “How did I get this tired?”

Your stained lips peel from her finger. “Abandon at night?” Clasping the tip as you talk. “You avoid sleeping.” Sucking blood from its tip feels more pretentious than it used to. Your tongue is climbing out, wasting time to be sure she watches you do it with your eyes shut in concentration, and she does.

Her eyelids droop imperceptibly watching you; a gait that out-performs centuries; your cold-fleshed lips wrapping around her warm finger, hands cupping hers, and suctioned as if it were your mortal first. The careless sanction is gone. The inaction to eating her whole—is gone. You deepen the length her finger reaches, and it hits near the back of your throat, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Licking each ridge of it, quietly cannibalistic.

Loving left and swept with you, greed.

“Babe..”

Ellie has moonshine eyes when you open yours. Green irises that no longer hold their color. Eyelids that are dog-eared, deepened and—brown-lashed, saddening. Not the eternal same. Spring is coming; why is there nothing?

After a silent pause, she answers. “I can’t sleep.” Rasp in her chords.

You dislodge her finger from your mouth once more. Sigh in the warmth fleeing you.

She ruffles her hair. “But it’s never this bad. Jesus, I just can’t fight this.”

The innocence, and lack of detection present in her springtime-longing attitude feels wrong—and is perfectly your fault. So, that conflict scars. You tighten your throat. Cause a hesitant strangle. Forever has passed; you believe you are tasting your own blood.

You flinch into partial shadows. Drop her arm. “Just—get some rest.” 

Ellie frowns at your abrupt resistance. You can hear it when she tries to plead you backwards. “Hey,” her voice cracks in that special, air-pitched tune that stops your feet against hardwood: a tired Ellie, and the couch shifts with the sounds of her sitting up. “What are you doing? Don’t go.” 

You imagine that arm is reaching out to you now.

“Cleaning up.” Stifled breath leaves you with a drop of your shoulders. “You will see me, first thing when you wake.”

She giggles. “Hm, okay.” So willing to trust.

For the first time, it sickens you. And for the last time, it make sense in your head full of heart what you can be. In her world—painted and threaded and canvas-white underneath—you can be her secret. But in yours, you are her open wound; latching condition. With no color but red. Everyplace, in every opening, red. She sees so much more than that. But she, afraid to blotch outside the lines, and you, bleeding throughout and into others, made for a conflicting pact. Messes, everywhere. And then, you understand it seems right that you feel sick.

She just assumed you were faithful to take care of them. “Love you, babe.” Even if you never pled for her faith, and her warm voice doesn’t stop you now.

You need to eat.

𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

The mourning sun wept, for what you hoped, was the first and final time.

In your Georgian years, you were introduced with transubstantiation; you often tripped on your own flounces as a little girl, but carried into bridalhood with the pearl-blue poise a faith-wielding-mother-to-be should have. No longer did you intimidate crowds with ill etiquette, but rather, with what you became—and who you turned to in fawning innocence.

Wise men. Innovators, practitioners, maestros of trade. All of them had futures under their belt, and you had a single, untouched one. God, did men feed on that.

It was temporal. Men later found your intelligence to be intimidating, and in personal accords, offensive—for a woman. Your heart was a church on fire; knowledge crept in and you crawled out of your own mouth, spreading those words. Disgusting, secular truths. The court censured you for it. Kept you from attending banquets, beat you with threats of asylum, and rose torches to your beloved solace for it. It was a quiet hatred hailed, and yet performed so loud: your ears throbbed in pain each night.

But it never stopped you.

“Why do they cast you out here?” A voice—curious and delicate—whipped your intrigue out of your head, for a change. You peeked, with wide eyes, from under your brow and quivered over the silhouette leaning against the quaint terrace opening. It nudged off, and only then did its fern and fox-orange features become apparent, small pockets of light raining across. “With the dogs?”

Then, you knew it; it was her. Smiles creased in your throat. “And why do you wear pants?” But you showed just one, a subtle one. “And come to banquets smothered in coal?”

Albeit, she was clean; the wares of her straining day in the mines clung to noses. She pinched her coat open, and sniffed out either a truth, or a lie. The flinching of her nostrils proved one. “Ah—damn, guess I made a pitiful attempt at washing my own coat, huh?”

Her self-blaming quip pushed those smiles right up. Even, in your eyes. “Mhm,” you hummed, and it seemed to peel her lips back even more, off-centered teeth shining.

You tried to get her to simper, always. Seeing the slight gap in her teeth, all while inappreciable, pounded your unsettled heart.

Spring came in droves. It came with the bushels, it tore with the rain, and it ended with lips against your ear that promised you the period inbound was helpless. The summer was going to be helpless to your happiness.

“You don’t care for their thoughts,” she told you. “You grant yourself everything. It’s beautiful.” 

Her white-hot breath burned through skin. Where did your sense of abandon go—you wonder? She was telling you to be free, but with lissome arms around you, you wanted a limit. You would rage without a hand to settle you where it wanted. And when you got too quiet, it moved; your invisibleness to being a lover menaced her to bits, but it was just that—invisible. There, buried. Low in the meadow.

Your arm leapt from rest. It wrapped with care. “No,” you whispered, a scared tremor in her hold. “Don’t go.”

Refusing her romances for little whiles, she never expected it—but expected you.

She laughed. “See?” Because you do get what you want.

You do lose your freedom.

Rain clung to blades of grass. Your phrase was foreseeable, but you had your ears folded and feet bare in the garden. The meadow before, beheld by two, and now yourself alone. At least, you assumed you were alone. If loneliness—and happiness, medlied together—felt as pasture and moisture did free under the pallets of your toes, the wet blades between, then it was fine. You would be fine with it, with this. The latchet heels you refused to wear, as a girl and then, hung from your fingertips.

But staring at that puncture of light high up made your concepts swell. Fine is not fine enough, if her being there made your days even finer. Love couldn’t abide longer; you tossed your heels in the vendure, lifted your drapings, searched for her through the atrium openings and contended with a stride that made it to the exits.

And out of them again.

Sharp fingers clutched you from behind, and it sent you a shrill. Your throat grated with it. “Let me go!” But as soon as the world rolled upside and around your throat, it collapsed being pounded into the ground tandem with insertion of pain. You constricted with prayers left inside.

Strange, pitched siphons of a dead kiss; a pair of coldnesses attached there—faceless as it lies too close—and drained the blood. You went silent. You were terrified feeling drips of blood escape your carotid and the mouth of the thing, ending up in that green grass. Pitiful, the tears. Vision gone wet and dull, this was it. In your mind, gentle for some end: this was it.

And then, you became again.

The creature replaced loss with a new fiber. While you were drifting into numbness at a glacial pace, no longer staring beyond your eyes, sudden flows of cold liquid were pushed and bursted. The pain waned, then it abated. Warping into a strange, something-else phenomenon. For a second, all the sound in the world emptied and nothing replaced it. Even in the hollows, where air is invited and dismissed, it was hauntingly quiet; you weren’t sure if you were breathing at all. Then, as a whip is lashed, it pops.

The first sound of this life, was a gasp. “Oh, god!” you choked from the air present inside you. It almost hurt to breathe, and your windpipes suffered a severe whiplash, strangling you to cough, cough, and cough until whatever pearl-shaped bane that was in there—was out. But as you clutch the flesh upon your chest, your heart drops. You are sitting up—free, without a thing to hold you in place. 

Was it a dream?

For mornings you relapsed to the same conjecture; waking up felt no different than falling asleep. Cotton breathed, winter continued, and sunshine eclipsed in real life as it does in a dream. In the prologue of summer, you could never fall asleep. You were never tired enough. Wanted less of light and more of night, and you could not put a finger on it.

It became an ode to transient living—which you could sing no more.

But, something ached. From your throat, to the seedless pit of your stomach, something was wanting for you—wanting hard. 

Conniption. That was all you needed. Tangled ligatures of conniption, a communion, and the weapons to do it. You went prepared: a knife was laced tight into your undergarment, accessible from the breach of your pressed breasts, but not once did you evince it. You did not need it.

You figured that out with your first victim. The blood—oh, it poured from the base of his voice into his shirt and it wrote your name in the stone tiling. In red, it whispered to you. Luring, convincing. You imagined claiming the possessions on his person, and returning your stolen virtue to its place in-heart was his result, but then you began to precede yourself. 

Thoughts from another age trickled in. His skin, pulsing inside your teeth before you made the bite. It was meant to be.

Inside chapel doors, it was quiet and cold. To you, it was; the temperature perceived has a scattered origin. Summer heat coagulates against the windows, pulses inside the stone and almost boils the pool of blood under his head, but you are what you have changed into. Sucking, with hunger and without a stomach, it warms your lips before it chills and dissipates. Weird—love often operates as so.

Those doors groaned open. Behind your attention. 

A relieved sigh starts. “God, I was searching all about for you,” that familiar voice said. Her knowledge was perfect, but on a peripheral edge; she had figured you were inside because your equine presence was outside, but she did not see you as soon as she entered. Blood left a curious trail. “What in.. God..” Into a forest of devotional pews.

God abandoned centuries ago.

“Joel!” Ellie reaches for him with a scream. “Get the fuck off him!”

With a mouthful of blood, her pale lips are focused on. You rise, teeth crimson, and she is standing there in the melting numb with nothing to protect her but flannel, wide-eyed with this waking world. Had the tea not kept her? “Ellie,” you rasp. The hole in your throat left with the fear of your failure—factured to her being here, and not on that couch. She hates. She hates your guts. She is staring at you, watching, and it is a shifted stare you hope upon none. Your throat goes swollen: understanding it.

You wanted to protect her.

Her fingers writhe in careful spasms. Lips fold in. “Joel?” She wants to be confused. But her guts sinks considering if she were to have slept, she would have missed this. Missed Joel, in confusion.

The swollen sounds that so much as struggle, and die in the windpipe. “I couldn’t do it, Ellie.” You draw the last breath you feen to kiss her with. You scrape toward that chance; step in a careful line.

Ellie regresses—she denies your approach. Her flinch is all too familiar. “You..” she trembles, and deprives you of beholding the one thing that fascinates you from reason: her unprecedented eyes, a green gift from the mother underneath. Tears dilate in the corners. Lumps in the throat toughen her swallows. “Couldn’t do it?” Her mind is hers, again. “You fucking killed him!” 

Him?

When she wails, is when she trades you her look again. Brighter, sharper, raging and horrible. Space between your bodies diminishes as she closes it, but it is a meant punishment; to reach the man behind you. She comes near, and not near enough. “Joel..” Sobs will her mouth unhinged. “Joel, please..” Heaven cries.

Is he more special than you?

Both knees thud into the ground. She bare-hands the blooded snow, clenching it into a fist. Screaming, mouth wanting to curl into itself—louder, louder. “You killed him.. You killed him!” Ellie chants, and snow crumbles from her grip as she replaces it with the fabric over her blue heart, hysterical. Her own throat chokes her. “He’s fucking dead.. Look, he’s fucking d—d..” Icicles could form on her philtrum if it were a month earlier. Hunger admits; it could have been.

Really, you never learned who he was to her. Father, saviour, a nevermind-stranger. To you, or for you, everything about this home was a secret. The doors, not to touch. The floorboards, given to screeching. Other humans—she made sure your eyes kept her way. His firewood scent lit the halls at night, pulse calm; your judgement relied on the stories you felt throughout the house.

The smell of estrangement.

God, it reeked. Alcohol settled on his windowsill for nights along months. It seemed foreign. Not meant to be. Misplaced, you attempt to recall. You wipe at the blood that won’t go away.

Curious thing: you don’t recall his name being a craving.

Winter fills you again, and when you decide to sidle up against her in the snow waning to spring, she does nothing. For a moment, she is still curled—deadened—to his chest. That stubborn auburn strand has shifted from its tuck, adhering to the snot on her lip. You touch her to return her some life.

It works, to your disbelief.

She sniffles.

You breathe out, “Ellie?” close to her nape exposed, gentle enough not to shatter silence. “My girl?” But it gets fabric to shift under you. Attention to be given.

She turns slowly, and without a word. Stares without a drought in her waterlines. Your reflection consumes you in them, as both hands consume her at the sides, cupping her delicate, mourning-blue face. You could eat her. Sweet as an apple: round, shining, blooding whooshing to the surface. But you would begin with her lips. From her lips, to her love, as you did your girl before.

Yes, see? You are different.

You are different, and she loves you. “I love you.” You kiss her. Unrequited and soft. Though, the gesture snags curls into her lips. Yes, yes—please keep smiling.

Her lips part to utter something. Throat moves with the shape of a word. But, it does not dislodge. She swallows it, her lips snaring with it, pushing into this frown of undelight you could never have foreseen; doll-wide eyes and knife-point brows cutting into her own flesh. And then, puncture.

Your chest opens up.

It burns. It slides in. What is this sensation?

Out of that sudden choke-up, you drop your interests to the foreign parting. Seeing it, you stop living; silver protrudes from your chest, ribs holding it in place, and her hands are the guide. Fingers wrapped with love and promise, whitened from the pressure, around this blade and its hilt. No, not the blade you left for her; this one is a stranger, intrusion. The sacred invitation.

Its embrace is warm, not cold.

The dense snow is not when you plummet spine-first into it. It is warmest thing soothing your body ever since her last touch. You’re staring up at your freckled angel, high up—hopeless, but not confused. She has nothing more on her mind that you need to hear.

Revenge is her concept.

You cannot intimidate her to return. There is none. There is no return. This is not a punishment.

Your happiness is helpless; it is spring.

perm taglist: @whore4abby @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @fleshunger @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @beemillss @elsmissingfingers @maleelee @seraphicsentences @ravyaryn @sunnsh1ne @kaykeryyy

fic taglist: @vanillachic @bartshart @666killz @lianxian33

[let me know if you'd like to get on that perm taglist]

[hwaslayer]

wildfire (cs) | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—general warnings: cussing, mature language/implied sexual content, forbidden love kinda thing, age gap (oc is 25 & san is 32), other members in the fic are also aged up, very general/vague descriptions of mice research work!, unprotected sex, alcohol consumption, party scenes - additional warnings will be posted for each chapter.

—release: 8/15/24

—table of contents | spotify playlist | moodboard (ty @binniewalrus 🖤)

intro: professor choi

one: rotations

two: warm welcomes

three: a subtle curiosity

four: emergency purposes

five: drunchies

six: me and you

⇢6.5: all he knows

seven: your new TA

⇢7.5: the symposium

eight: cloak & dagger

⇢8.5: starry eyes

nine: pieces to the puzzle

⇢9.5: you should be here

ten: slippery slope

⇢10.5: blurred lines

eleven: the switch up

⇢11.5: yes/no

twelve: teacher’s pet

⇢12.5: love does (not) conquer all

thirteen: love

fourteen: be this way

⇢14.5: in the end

fifteen: your side of the bed

sixteen: a paintbrush on canvas

seventeen: endgame

eighteen: dreams

[writesvani]

the fallen one — jeon jungkook

devil! jeonjungkook x witch! reader

exes-to-lovers, enemies-to-lovers, second chance romance

comment here for The Fallen One taglist;

SUMMARY: Jeon Jungkook was once a perfect being — an ethereal angel, pure and untouchable, the very definition of goodness. That was until you came into his life — a powerful, immortal witch who seeped into his veins, corrupted his soul, and dragged him into darkness. You poisoned him, and in his downfall, he was cast out of heaven, exiled to the fiery depths of hell. Abandoned in his misery, Jungkook became the twisted King of Hell — a living nightmare, feared and reviled, a cautionary tale for centuries.

But fate has a cruel way of reconnecting lost souls. After all this time, you and Jungkook cross paths again — but the hatred between you burns hotter than ever. Now trapped on Earth due to a series of disastrous events, Jungkook is at your mercy. You’re the only one who can send him back to hell and restore the balance of the world.

Forced to spend time together once more, you uncover the devastating truth: maybe neither of you are the monsters you’ve become. Maybe, just maybe, there's more to your story than a fall from grace.

A tale of forbidden love, redemption, and the battle between light and darkness — where even the devil might find salvation.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: angst, smut, fluff, explicit sexual content, emotional manipulation, toxic relationships, religious themes, implied past abuse, blood, violence, betrayal, heavy emotional themes, guilt, shame, immortality themes, abandonment, enemies to lovers tension, suggestive language, morally grey characters, power imbalance, mentions of death, supernatural violence, graphic imagery, emotional distress, dark fantasy elements

word count: coming soon

ꪆchapter index୧

– chapter one: the fall

– chapter two: crowned in fire

– chapter three: witch's bargain

– chapter four: old blood, new rules

– chapter five: the first crack

– chapter six: salt and flame

– chapter seven: mercy is a knife

– chapter eight: heaven’s eyes

– chapter nine: the devil we know

– chapter ten: redemption isn’t quiet

ꪆdrabbles + extras୧

– tfo moodboard

– tfo playlist

DISCLAIMER:

I do not own Jeon Jungkook (sadly). He belongs to himself. However, every cursed, angsty, witchy, seductive, slightly unhinged plot point in this fic is mine — born from too much caffeine, too little sleep, and an unhealthy obsession with fallen angels and morally questionable romance. Steal it and I’ll hex your crops, your Wi-Fi, and your taste in men.

all works published here are created by me (@writesvani on tumblr). i own all rights to my original works, including any written content, original characters, and plotlines. copying, redistributing, translating, or posting my works on any other social media without my explicit permission is strictly prohibited. all rights reserved.

[xo2dee]

🗨️ ENTOMBED

PAIRING: Vergil/(Fem)Reader. WARNINGS: MDNI/18+ ONLY. Implied Sexual Content, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved!Vergil, Mentions of Violence, PTSD. WORD COUNT: 975. SUMMARY: He was not used to wanting in such a desirable sense. Not until you.

A/N: touch-starved vergil is real

source: me

DMC MASTERLIST

Touch had been a foreign concept to him for so long.

On the surface level touch was just the one of the five senses he was aware of – perhaps heightened to an extent more than he would’ve enjoyed but one he relied on in the expanse of his life. He was used to it mainly doing what he did best… fighting. Fighting and surviving.

For the longest time, Vergil’s only idea of touch was that of a destructive means (only distant memories of his mother’s soft embrace remained, or his twin’s incessant kicks diving into his ribs as they slept when they were nothing but toddlers). The only thing he knew about touching another was if his sword slid through their flesh and he had to flick the blood off of his blade –

(Or his own sword was through his gut, broken off as the shards in his flesh dipped and cut into his pancreas and intestines. His skin greying and pulling itself apart as he ripped off blackened armor bonded into his bones that he’d been a slave to for more than half of his life. His fingers with broken nails tracing the cracks that had manifested into his face as his arm jerked when he could feel the faint presence of the Yamato.)

– but other than that, he never cared for (and maybe even shunned) the idea of touching another living, breathing person.

He was well accustomed to touch and everything it’d done to ruin him. What he wasn’t used to was the wanting of a touch. Normal mundane things: a body brushing against his, hands ghosting by his own, or even something bold like the whisper of lips like silk pushing into his. His dreams were of fire and bloodshed, a crumbling home and the faces of his broken family, but never had they strayed into a territory of indulging in another’s body. Once he’d done it and even then, only a hollow hole remained in the place where he yearned for something far from his grasp; desiring a touch only made him feel sick.  

He was not used to wanting in such a desirable sense.

Not until you.

The first time your hand skimmed his cheek, he almost cursed whenever he felt his head lean into the warmth of your palm – chasing a touch he had no purpose for receiving.

Then the first time you kissed him Vergil nearly felt his brain short-circuit from the rush of endorphins, and then he realized he would never be able to get enough and that he’d never be able to let you go.

And the first time he was able to feel your naked body lie down next to him, he couldn’t help the flinch his body gave born from the idea of seeming so… vulnerable. Yet, the memory and feeling of it was forever engraved into his mind and forbidden to ever leave the consciousness where it resided. The first time had been rough, from his teeth to his hands, to your nails and gasps, only knowing touch through a violent means, but then times after became nothing but a security of safety and perfection brought on by a soothing touch of your presence.

Your body glistening in the moonlight, the beads of sweat trailing down the expanse of your skin (so unmarred and too soft for his undeserving palms), and the heave of your chest were pleasing enough, though it was the heat your body that he gravitated the most towards. He hated how he felt like a hormonal teenager again when it came to you, completely entrapped by emotions he was sure he had completely got rid of years ago. However, he supposed he was able to blame it on the absence of having control over his own body for more years than he’d like to remember, and having free reign over himself was birthing an influx of emotions he was struggling to control.

And yet, even throughout all the difficulties he may have brought and the agonizing gap you must have felt waiting for him to come around, you stayed there for him.

Vergil could never help himself when his head would lay against your chest, telling himself it was only to listen to the steady thrum of your heartbeat – just a reminder that you were real, alive, and that you were allowing him to do so, but really it was a sense of safety to cradle himself in your warmth and comforting smell. He would lie to himself and say his body wasn’t relaxing whenever your fingers ran through the thick tresses of his hair, being cautious in the way you would do it as if you were afraid he’d up and run away. And maybe he’d thought about it before, too much of it overstimulating him and unfamiliar, but he couldn’t find it in him to rip himself away from you when the tenderness your body gave to his was unlike nothing he’d ever felt before. He practically layered himself into you every time your arms curled around his back, an unbidden fear in the back of his mind that you would disappear like everything else had from him.

Though each morning when he woke you were still there, still offering the same solace you continued to bring him as you always had. And perhaps sometimes a dark part of his mind still haunted his ears briefly by a voice he’d long since shut out would whisper that the feeling wouldn’t last long, and sometimes he might’ve listened, but you still remained there bathed in the light waiting for him to come back from the deep recesses where he’d retreated and offering up the comfort your soul brought.

As long as you still smiled and held him, Vergil would believe himself to be worthy of your touch.

[arxiwon]

Survival Instinct

Genre: Dark, Smut, Angst, Apocalypse, Horror Warnings: Graphic Violence, Death, Explicit Sexual Content, Dubious Consent, Trauma, Gore, Psychological Manipulation

Synopsis: The world is in ruins—corpses rot in the streets, and the air reeks of decay. Seoul is no longer a city but a graveyard, overrun by the undead and worse—humans who have lost their morality in the name of survival. Leading a small group of survivors, Jungwon carries a weight heavier than most. But survival means making choices, some darker than others. When desperation turns to desire, and lust becomes a means of control, the line between protector and predator blurs.

Chapter 1: Jungwon - The Reluctant Leader

The world had long since collapsed into chaos. Streets once bustling with life were now littered with corpses, the scent of death thick in the air. Seoul had become an endless labyrinth of crumbling buildings and bloodstained alleys, where the dead roamed hungrily, seeking flesh. Amidst the decay, a small group fought to survive, led by none other than Yang Jungwon.

He hadn’t asked to be a leader. It just happened. When the outbreak started, when society fell apart, people naturally gravitated toward those who could keep them alive. Jungwon was sharp, quick on his feet, and had an innate ability to strategize under pressure. But the weight of responsibility pressed heavy on his shoulders. He had already lost too many.

Tonight, the air was colder than usual. The group had found temporary shelter inside an abandoned convenience store, its glass windows smeared with dried blood, shelves ransacked. Jungwon stood by the entrance, gripping the metal baseball bat that had saved his life countless times. His dark eyes scanned the darkness beyond, ears tuned for the groans of the undead.

“Jungwon, you should rest,” your voice broke through the silence.

You had been with him since the beginning. A survivor in your own right, hardened by loss and desperation. You stepped closer, your presence a temporary relief to his ever-growing burden.

“I can’t,” he murmured, not looking at you. “Someone has to keep watch.”

“We have shifts for a reason,” you countered, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinched at first but didn’t pull away. “You’re exhausted. Let me take over.”

Jungwon exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his disheveled hair. “It’s not just the zombies. It’s the people, too. The ones who’ve lost their humanity. We can’t afford to let our guard down.”

You nodded, understanding all too well. The undead were predictable in their hunger, but humans? Humans had become the real monsters.

The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words. When he finally turned to you, something in his expression had shifted. The tension wasn’t just from survival; it was something else, something primal. His fingers brushed over yours, a hesitant yet deliberate touch.

Your breath hitched. The weight of fear, of exhaustion, of needing to feel alive in a world that was crumbling—it all combusted in that single moment. Without another word, Jungwon pulled you close, his grip firm, his lips crashing against yours in a desperate kiss. The cold, the hunger, the world outside ceased to exist as you both surrendered to something forbidden, something that reminded you that you were still human.

For tonight, survival meant more than just breathing—it meant feeling, burning, losing yourselves in the fleeting moments before the sun rose on another fight for your lives.

Chapter 2: Jungwon - The Breaking Point

The sun had barely risen when the sound of distant gunfire shattered the fragile peace. You jolted awake, body sore from the night before, memories of tangled limbs and whispered moans still fresh in your mind. But there was no time to dwell—Jungwon was already up, his expression cold, calculating.

“Pack up. We leave in five minutes,” he ordered, strapping his bat to his back.

You didn’t argue. In this world, hesitation meant death.

The group moved silently through the ruins of Seoul, every step calculated, every breath measured. The streets were empty, but that meant nothing. The danger was always there, lurking beneath the surface.

Jungwon led the way, his grip tightening around his weapon. His mind was elsewhere—you could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his shoulders tensed. Last night had been a moment of weakness, a fleeting lapse in control. And Jungwon did not like losing control.

“We need to find more supplies,” he said, scanning the buildings. “Food, weapons, anything we can use.”

You nodded, following as he moved toward an old pharmacy. The door was half-open, the inside ransacked, shelves overturned. It looked empty—but looks were deceiving.

“Stay close,” he muttered, stepping inside.

The moment you did, the door slammed shut behind you.

A blade pressed against your throat, and a rough voice whispered in your ear, “Drop your weapons.”

Your heart pounded. Jungwon had already turned, his eyes dark with rage. He didn’t hesitate.

A gunshot rang out. The man behind you staggered back, blood spurting from his skull. Jungwon lunged, his bat connecting with another attacker’s ribs, the sickening crunch echoing through the store.

It was over in seconds. The bodies lay motionless, blood pooling on the cracked tiles.

Jungwon turned to you, chest rising and falling rapidly. His hands were slick with blood, his face unreadable. And then—

He grabbed you.

Pinned you against the counter, his breath hot against your skin. His hands were rough, urgent, teeth grazing your neck.

“This world is hell,” he whispered, voice raw. “And I won’t lose you to it.”

His lips crushed against yours, the taste of blood and desperation searing into your senses. The danger, the adrenaline, the need—it consumed you both.

There was no morality left, no line between right and wrong. Only survival. And this—this was survival.

Outside, the dead groaned, the sun climbing higher in the sky. But inside, nothing else existed but him, and the way he made you feel alive in a world of death.

Chapter 3: Jungwon - Blood and Ruin

The night was cold, the wind carrying the distant screams of the dying. Jungwon sat in silence, his hands wrapped around a knife, its blade still wet with fresh blood. His body was tense, every muscle coiled, his mind trapped between what he had done and what needed to be done next.

You watched him from across the room, the shadows casting eerie patterns over his face. He hadn’t spoken since the ambush. He hadn’t even looked at you.

“Jungwon,” you said softly, stepping closer. “Talk to me.”

He exhaled, finally turning toward you. His eyes were dark, unreadable. “I killed them,” he muttered. “Without hesitation.”

You reached out, fingers brushing his wrist. “You saved me.”

His jaw tightened. “And I’ll do it again.”

Then, he was on you, hands gripping your waist, dragging you into his lap. His lips crashed against yours, rough and unrelenting. There was no softness left in either of you, only desperation, only the knowledge that at any moment, the world could take this away.

His hands explored, claimed, possessed—because in this hell, you were the only thing he had left to hold onto.

Outside, the dead waited.

Inside, Jungwon burned.

Chapter 4: Jungwon - Possession

The fire inside Jungwon had been burning for days. He felt it every time another man looked at you, every time you spoke too softly to one of the survivors, every time you smiled in a way that wasn’t meant for him. And tonight, after witnessing one of them—a man from another group—get too close, touch your wrist like he had the right, Jungwon had reached his limit.

You were his.

The tension between you had been thick since returning to camp, the makeshift shelter barely holding the illusion of safety. You knew something had shifted in him the moment you stepped inside the dimly lit room you shared. His eyes were dark, his jaw locked tight. He hadn’t said a word since he killed the man who thought he could take what belonged to him.

You stood near the cot, peeling off your jacket, feeling the weight of his stare. “Jungwon—”

“Shut up.” His voice was low, dangerous.

You turned to face him fully, but before you could speak again, he was on you. His hand wrapped around your throat, backing you against the cold wall. His body pressed hard against yours, heat radiating from him.

“You think I didn’t see the way he looked at you?” His grip tightened just enough to make your breath hitch. “The way he touched you?”

“He didn’t—”

“He did,” Jungwon growled, his other hand sliding up your waist, pushing your shirt up roughly. His fingers dug into your skin, claiming, branding. “And I let it happen. I let him think he had a chance.”

You gasped as his lips crashed against yours—raw, bruising, filled with an unrelenting need to consume you. His tongue forced its way inside, taking, dominating. His teeth scraped against your lower lip before he bit down, making you whimper.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your lips, his hands tearing at your clothes, impatient, desperate. “Say it.”

You panted, fingers clawing at his back as he pressed his knee between your legs. “I’m yours, Jungwon.”

He let out a sound—part relief, part possession—before yanking your pants down, your underwear following in one swift move. The cool air hit your exposed skin for only a moment before his fingers replaced it, slipping between your thighs, stroking, teasing.

“You’re already wet,” he smirked, voice dripping with arrogance. “You like it when I get like this, don’t you?”

You couldn’t deny it. The way he took control, the way he burned for you—it ignited something deep inside you, something primal.

Jungwon didn’t wait. He didn’t give you time to think. He lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the cot. He dropped you onto the mattress, his body covering yours in an instant. His clothes came off in a blur, revealing toned muscles, a body hardened by survival and war.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered, leaning back to watch.

Your breath hitched at the command, but you obeyed, sliding your fingers down your stomach, parting your thighs for him. His eyes darkened as he watched you, hunger written all over his face.

“Enough,” he growled, grabbing your wrist, pinning it above your head. “That’s mine to touch.”

Without warning, he thrust inside you, stretching you, filling you completely. A cry left your lips, back arching at the overwhelming sensation. He didn’t start slow. He didn’t give you time to adjust. He pounded into you, his hips snapping against yours with a force that had you seeing stars.

“Say my name,” he demanded, his teeth grazing your neck before biting down, marking you.

“Jungwon,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

He groaned, moving harder, deeper. “Louder.”

“Jungwon!”

His pace grew punishing, his grip on you unrelenting. He wanted to own you, to make sure everyone in the camp knew who you belonged to. He wanted you wrecked, ruined, unable to think of anyone but him.

“You take me so well,” he murmured, his fingers slipping between your bodies, finding your most sensitive spot. He rubbed circles, his movements precise, calculated, designed to drive you over the edge. “Cum for me.”

You couldn’t fight it. The pleasure built, your body tensing, your cries echoing through the room as you shattered beneath him. The world blurred, the only thing anchoring you was Jungwon—his touch, his voice, the way he kept thrusting, chasing his own release.

“Fuck,” he cursed, burying himself deep inside you as he reached his peak, filling you with his warmth. His body trembled against yours, his breath ragged.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. His forehead rested against yours, his fingers lacing with yours. The possessiveness in his touch softened, turning into something tender, something real.

“You’re mine,” he whispered again, but this time, it wasn’t a demand. It was a promise.

And in this cruel, broken world, he was yours too.

[lilbluustar]

they don't know about us

pairing— idol!reader x idol!anton

content— fluff, drama, secret relationship, idol!au, forbidden love, slow burn, confession, first kiss, established relationship, angst with a happy ending, comfort, sm au, based on real feelings, weverse posts, hidden moments, public reveal, emotional rollercoaster.

note— woooow, this is the longest drabble i've written so far! 🫣 i really enjoyed writing something completely different from what i usually write hahahah, btw: i think i'll end up writing a drabble with every 1D song at this point, but hey! thanks to these i get quite a few ideas, hehehe

it all started with a casual conversation.

anton didn't know you personally, but he had seen you. several times, actually.

in the break room. walking around with your coffee in hand. rehearsing with your headphones on and your head down. Always discreet, always with that air of being in your own world.

and though he wouldn't admit it, there was something about you that left him wondering.

he kept looking at you.

until one day, Shotaro, with the subtlety of a train, came up to him and said:

"hey… y/n is amazing, you know?"

"y/n?"

"yeah, you should talk to her. seriously."

sohee, who was eating next to him, just mumbled with her mouth full:

"you literally make good vibes. you have the same kind of weird energy. match made in heaven."

“are you two conspiring to set me up with someone?” laughed Anton.

"not with someone. with her" they said in unison.

it was sungchan and shotaro who started pushing him in your direction. they talked to him about you as if you were a named miracle, as if missing the chance with you was the biggest mistake of his life. at first, he just laughed and said he didn't have time for that… but it was enough to cross you a couple of times in the corridors for him to realize that there was no escape. He already had you in his head.

after that, it was inevitable.

the next time he found you walking down the hallway, he dared to say hello. just that.

“hi.”

“hi” you replied, somewhat shyly.

but that was enough.

because from then on, his greetings became little shared moments.

a “how are you?”, a “did you have a lot of breakfast today?”, a “do you want something to drink?”, a “i like your sweatshirt”.

each one warmer than the last.

the first outing was a “not a date” disguised as a coincidence.

“let's some of us go eat tteokbokki near the studio, are you up for it?” sohee asked you, but you already knew who else was going to be there.

and yes, there was anton. quieter than usual, with his cheeks a little red every time you looked at him.

they talked little. you laughed more. and as you said goodbye, he said to you:

"next time… we could go just the two of us. if you want."

your heart skipped a beat.

you said yes.

the first few dates were as sweet as they were awkward.

a hidden coffee shop where you ordered things that you couldn't pronounce.

a movie in a theater where there were barely five people.

a night walking along the banks of the Han River, just talking about dreams and fears.

places where no one could recognize the both of you.

sometimes you didn't even talk much. you would just stare at each other, nervously, as if each smile could break the air.

he listened to you as if you were a song.

and you looked at him as if you wanted to learn it by heart.

with each encounter, you grew closer.

shoulders brushed. hands trembled.

then came the walks at night, the eternal conversations by message, the hands that sought each other without wanting to.

it was late that night, but you were in no hurry.

they were in a small practice room shared by some groups, just after one of those eternal days of rehearsal. the lights were dim, and the city flickered through the window as if it, too, was breathing calmly.

you were sitting cross-legged on the floor, drinking water, while he looked at you from the mirror, still not taking off his sweat-soaked hoodie. you talked about everything and nothing. about the weather, about your new playlist, about how anton had been learning to cook because he “couldn't live on ramen anymore.”

“you know?” he said suddenly, breaking a comfortable silence. “sometimes i feel like with you i can be me without putting on any masks.”

your heart skipped a beat.

you looked at him, saying nothing at first. You just swallowed saliva.

“and that scares me” he added, looking down for a moment, with a nervous smile. “because i care about you more than i thought i was ever going to care about anyone here.”

you moved a bit closer, without thinking. you were sitting next to him already, but that time your knees touched his.

he looked up and you met there, at that exact spot where you didn't need to talk anymore.

“can i kiss you?” he asked, softly.

and you… you just nodded. with red cheeks, but without looking away.

it was smooth.

short.

like he was tasting something he'd been imagining for months.

and when he broke away, they both laughed softly, nervously, like two teenagers who had just stolen something from the moon.

but it didn't end there.

days later, anton invited you to a nice restaurant, he brought you a bouquet of flowers and you ended up in a gazebo, he was weird, more serious than usual, until suddenly he took your hand in his, playing with your fingers, and then he looked at you again.

“i don't want this to stay just a kiss.”

"no?"

"no. i want to be the one who makes you smile every day. i want… you to be my girlfriend. if you want to, of course."

your response was to stay silent for a moment-just long enough for his heart to clench-and then you hugged him. tightly. as if he had just given you the place you didn't know you needed.

you hesitated.

not because you didn't feel it, but because you were afraid.

afraid of the world.

of the cameras.

of the consequences.

“if i want to, but i don't want anyone to know...” you told him one night, your hands trembling between his. "at least for now. just your friends and mine. no one else."

“then it will be our secret, your rhythm is mine.” he answered you, with a tenderness that made you fall harder for him.

he broke away a little to look at you, and nodded with one of those smiles that sticks to your skin.

and from that night on, anton was not only the boy who made you laugh, but also the most beautiful secret you kept in your heart.

and so, you became sweethearts.

a secret courtship.

made of messages that said “did you arrive well?”, “you look pretty today”, “i miss you”.

since then, the relationship has been a constant game of glances in hallways, when they pass by each other, brushing hands for a second. and when you were in the same performance or backstage, their gazes cross with tenderness and complicity.

“casual” rehearsals that magically overlap, sometimes at the same time, even in the same room if they can convince their managers that sharing space is more “efficient”.

always managed to coordinate their breaks to coincide. and in those 15-30 minutes, you would hide out on the roof of the building or in an empty room where they would sit together on the floor, share a drink and fool around, sometimes just look at each other, hold hands.

would leave notes on paper hidden in their jackets or gear, when you went to rehearse, you would find a note inside your hoodie: “i dreamt about you today, baby.”

when he went to get his drumsticks or his mic, he would find something written from you on the tape: "do awesome, toni. “

anton would also leave a post-it on your locker with things like ”it was beautiful yesterday, baby“ or ”i'll wait for you at the exit, floor 3". you answer him with stickers of little hearts and little bad drawings that he keeps in his wallet.

their safe place; the little prop room, no one would go in there. it's dark, smells like old cardboard, but it's theirs. there you kissed, laughed, cried. it's like their mini world inside the chaos

where you could pretend the world didn't exist. you were experts at disappearing together and reappearing as if nothing had happened. If anyone suspected, they said nothing.

but, over the months, you began to let their guard down.

it wasn't intentional.

it was love.

love that overflowed and could no longer be hidden.

it was becoming more and more evident. your friends didn't even ask questions anymore, they just smiled. and you… you were beginning to think that maybe you didn't want to hide it forever.

and then… it happened.

BACKSTAGE - BREAK ROOM, 11:37PM.

after the dress rehearsal, the staff had almost finished packing up. most of the team had left, and there were only a few left hanging around the place. you had snuck out looking for a moment with anton, and found him in the small break room on the third floor, where nobody usually went at that time.

you walked in without saying anything, just with that complicit look on your face. Anton smiled at the sight of you and immediately hugged you tightly, as if he hadn't seen you in weeks, when only hours had passed.

“you don't know how much i missed you today” he murmured, hiding his face in your neck.

“but we saw each other earlier” you replied, laughing softly as you wrapped your arms around him.

"it's not enough. it's never enough with you."

his words melted you. he sat you on his lap and you stayed in each other's arms, swaying gently as if dancing to a silent song. the air was charged with something warm and dangerous. and slowly, the kisses began to appear: one on your cheek, then on your forehead, then on your lips. short. then long. then... more intense.

anton caressed your waist tenderly, but soon his hands began to move up your back and down a little further to your butt, squeezing it and exploring it with restrained desire. you let out a nervous giggle as he whispered something in your ear that made your heart race and his kisses were beginning to descend on your neck, making you shiver.

“Anton... they might see us” you said, barely in a whisper, but not moving away.

"they're all downstairs...just a little while longer, baby" he said hoarsely, gluing his lips to yours again.

were so lost in their own little universe that they didn't hear the approaching footsteps.

the door burst open.

“anton, did you leave you...?” a voice interrupted by the visual impact.

they both froze. literally. you still had your hands inside his shirt over anton's chest, and he was still holding you by your ass. your faces were millimeters apart, lips still swollen, your gazes terrified.

on the other side of the door: a staff member, with a folder in hand and an expression of absolute horror, shock and a touch of “i'm going to pretend i didn't see this.”

the silence was as awkward as it was long.

“...i ... this i didn't see, okay?” the staff member said, slowly backing away.

“WAIT!” exclaimed Anton, pulling away from you but still holding your hand. “we can explain.”

but it was too late. the staff had already almost run off. you felt his stomach drop to the floor, cheeks burning, heart galloping.

“do you think he's going to tell us anything?” you asked, your voice trembling.

"i don't know. but if you do..." anton squeezed her hand. "i'm not letting go of you. no matter what."

looked at him. And in her eyes, there was fear, yes... but also that security that only Anton knew how to give her.

“if this leaks... i guess we'll have to come up with a plan.”

“or tell the truth.”

"just like that?"

"yes. because i don't want to hide you anymore, y/n."

but you and Anton stood there, your hearts beating a mile a minute.

You knew it wasn't going to stay there.

and you were right.

the next day you were called in to talk.

MANAGEMENT OFFICE - THE NEXT DAY, 3:02PM

kept shaking your leg under the table. although you tried to keep your face calm, your fingers intertwined with anton's betrayed your anxiety. He, on the other hand, seemed calm… but only because he didn't want you to feel worse. In reality, your stomach was in knots.

in front of you, two managers, one from Anton's team and one from yours, exchanged uncomfortable glances, sharing silences that said it all.

"so…“ one of them began, resting his hands on the desk, ”are you going to tell us what you were doing in that break room?

Anton opened his mouth to speak, but you spoke first.

"we were kissing," you said, bluntly.

the silence was absolute.

"mmm… well, it looked like something else was going on," the other manager muttered, looking at the staff report that had discovered them. "but we wanted to hear it from you. how long has this been going on?"

you looked down, but Anton squeezed your hand and replied:

"almost a year."

both managers blinked, dumbfounded.

"a year? and no one knew?"

"we kept it a secret… very carefully" you added. “it never affected the job or our responsibilities.”

“until now.”

the sentence fell like lead. but Anton didn't shrink.

"we know it was a mistake to hide it for so long, but we don't regret being together. we just wanted to protect what was ours."

there was a moment's pause. one of the managers sighed, dropping his shoulders.

"look, we're not dumb. we noticed things...glances, coordinated absences, escapades during off hours. but we never had proof. until now."

you fell silent, holding your breath.

“we didn't want it to happen like this, but we're not afraid to admit it anymore.”

anton looked at you as if the whole world came down to her in that moment.

“i love her,” he said, with absolute calm. "i don't care if it changes things. i don't want to hide it anymore."

the air grew thick, but the managers exchanged a resigned look. there wasn't much to hide anymore.

“the communications department will decide whether they make a statement or not,” one of them said as he stood up." but be that as it may... there was no turning back now.

anton and you got up as well. just as they were about to leave, your manager added:

"and for what it's worth... you look happy. just make sure you do it right."

ROAD HOME - 6:47PM

the car was silent. not because they didn't want to talk, but because they didn't know where to start.

you were looking out the window, watching the city tint with the last rays of the sun. your eyes were a little glassy, but you hadn't cried. not yet. Anton had one hand on the steering wheel and the other… reaching for yours.

"are you all right? he asked, barely a whisper."

you nodded without looking at him, but he wasn't satisfied. he stopped the car on a quiet street, turned off the engine and turned to you with the most sincere eyes in the world.

you turned your face slowly, and as soon as their gazes met, he caressed your cheek with a gentleness that made your soul tremble.

"i don't want you to be afraid," anton murmured. "you can't imagine how much it hurt me to hide you. having to pretend you were just a friend when all i wanted was to scream to the world that you were mine."

closed your eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. when you opened them, the tears were already there.

"sometimes i felt like we were never going to have this moment," you whispered. "that this was just a dream. but now… i'm afraid that we'll get hurt. that this will ruin everything."

anton shook his head and leaned towards her, resting his forehead against yours.

“no one's going to ruin it,” he said firmly, "because we're not going to let you ruin it. i love you, y/n. from the first rehearsal where we pretended we didn't know each other, from every hidden message, every stolen smile... no matter what comes, we face it together, okay?"

you didn't respond. you just kissed him. slow, long, with all the weight of what they had contained for almost a year. And he reciprocated as if his life depended on that kiss.

their lips parted just a little and anton smiled, lowering his voice.

"you know what the craziest thing is?"

"what?"

"that now i can kiss you without looking to see if there's a camera nearby."

you laughed softly, wiping your cheeks awkwardly. he put both arms around you, making her lay her head on his chest while he stroked her hair.

"i promise you we'll be fine," he whispered, ”i swear it."

and there, in that bubble of peace, they finally breathed. as if everything they had been silent about finally had room to bloom.

that same night, the official statement was soon released.

[OFFICIAL RELEASE - SM ENTERTAINMENT]

April 05, 2025

Hello.

We are SM Entertainment.

We are writing to address a situation that has recently come to our attention. Upon internal review, we have confirmed that two of our artists, Anton (RIIZE) and y/n (solo artist under SM), have been romantically involved for some time.

We understand that this information may have come as a surprise to fans, as both artists decided to keep their relationship private out of respect for their careers, their groups and the fandom. However, due to a situation that occurred inside our facilities, in which they were spotted by a staff member, we feel it is important to be transparent with the public and confirm the facts.

Both artists have expressed to us that their relationship is serious and has developed with maturity, commitment and professionalism. The decision to go public has not been taken lightly, but after considering the situation and listening to their voices, we decided to support them.

We ask all fans and the public to respect their privacy and continue to show the love and support they have always given them.

Thank you.

SM Entertainment.

the nets collapsed.

you had the need to say something about it, so you got up the courage and started writing with your heart in your hand.

[WEVERSE - Y/N]

hi everyone.

this is y/n, and i want to write this from a very sincere place.

i know many of you have already seen the company's announcement... and yes, it's true. anton and i have been together for almost a year now. it wasn't easy to keep it a secret, but we did it because we wanted to protect something that has become the most beautiful thing that has happened to us.

it was never out of shame, nor to hide something bad. it was to take care of us, to take care of what we were building. but now that you know, we don't want to lie or hide anymore.

anton is someone who came into my life with light, patience, tenderness and a love that makes me feel safe every day. we have shared laughter, tears, tired trials, long nights and many dreams... and still, we never stopped choosing each other.

we know this may be hard for some to take in, but we also trust that many of you will support us, as you always have. we ask for nothing but respect and understanding.

we are still the same artists who love what we do, and now we simply... love each other too.

thank you for reading this far.

thank you for understanding.

with all my love,

y/n.

a few minutes later, Anton posted something too.

[WEVERSE - ANTON]

hi, this is anton.

i know that for many this news was unexpected, and i want to take a moment to speak to you with all the sincerity it deserves.

yes, it's true. y/n and i have been in a relationship for almost a year now. we decided to keep it private because it was something very precious to us, something we wanted to take care of and protect from outside noise. it wasn't easy, but it was real. and it still is.

y/n is an amazing person. not only as an artist, but as a human being. her heart, her strength, her way of seeing life... i fall in love with her every day. and no, i don't want to keep hiding someone who makes me so happy.

i know some of you may be surprised or even upset, and i understand that. but i also hope many of you can see what's behind it: two people who truly love each other.

i choose her, and she chooses me. every day.

thank you for all the love you always give us.

thank you for respecting us, for supporting us, and for allowing us to be ourselves.

with love,

anton.

the news blew up like a bomb on social media. no one saw it coming, and the fact that they hid it for almost a year left everyone speechless.

fans of both were split between shock, excitement, and a wave of support. many started remembering little hints: shared glances, subtle gestures in interviews, matching outfits… things that now made TOTAL sense.

some fans, the more intense ones, began gathering evidence: clothes yn wore that looked like Anton’s, subtle hints in their lyrics, or days when they both looked extra happy for no apparent reason. suddenly, everything made sense.

most people celebrated the brave, genuine, and beautiful love they shared, cheering them on for defending it publicly with so much confidence and tenderness. fan comments on weverse after the statement:

“y/n, we’re so proud of you. You two deserve all the happiness in the world.” “Anton, thank you for loving her right. We can see it in your eyes.” “You guys didn’t have to tell us, but you did. And that honesty means the world.”

COMMENTS ON TWITTER/X AND WEVERSE:

“wait… ANTON AND YN HAVE BEEN TOGETHER FOR ALMOST A YEAR??? and WE HAD NO IDEA??? the best actors, literally.”

“anton used to smile different around her AND NOW WE KNOW WHY”

“yn and anton saying ‘we hope for your support’ after hiding it for a year?? power couple behavior”

“not me crying because they were so in love they couldn’t hide it anymore”

“sm staff discovering them was the best thing that could’ve happened tbh”

“the fact that he called her ‘incredible’ and said he chooses her every day?? i’m losing it.”

“you can see how in love anton is… yn, i envy you (in the sweetest way). give him lots of kisses from us LOL.”

“this feels like when your parents tell you they’ve loved each other since they were young and kept it a secret… ICONIC.”

“how did they survive hiding it for almost a year??? i can’t even last five minutes without telling someone i like them.”

“who was the staff member that found out about them? i just wanna talk (and thank them).”

“no one cares that they’re idols, what matters is that they look this happy. i support them 100%.”

“YOOO??? THEY WERE DATING THIS WHOLE TIME???”

“iconic statement, iconic couple, iconic relationship.”

@sunlightforyn: “these statements are more romantic than any fanfic i’ve ever read in my life.”

@antonismybf: “them: hiding their relationship for a year me, watching their weird little moments since 2024: suspicious silence”

@softcorecouple: “i love that you can tell it was a relationship full of genuine love and care. like they really protected each other. that gives me peace.”

@kfanupdates: “someone PLEASE make a thread of all the times yn wore anton’s clothes, because there’s legit proof from MONTHS ago”

VIRAL EDIT ON TIKTOK:

clips of yn wearing Anton’s hoodie + him looking at her like she hung the moon.

fancam of both on stage at different events, catching subtle smiles when they pass each other

POV video titled: “me reading the statements like I’m the main character in a romance drama”

background sound: people sobbing dramatically.

most reactions were overwhelmingly positive—fans welcomed the news with full hearts, celebrating the love and bravery of both of them. but, as expected, not everyone agreed. a few people voiced their anger and disappointment online, posting comments trying to dim the moment. still, with so much excitement, support, and joy flooding the timeline, those negative remarks quickly got lost in the wave of love surrounding Anton and yn.

that night, after everything became public, after reading hundreds of messages —some crying with emotion, others surprised that they had suspected it for months—, you snuggled next to Anton on the couch in his bedroom, with a shared blanket and a soft playlist playing softly.

the warm light from his lamp fell over the edges of his face, and you just looked at him, as if you still didn't believe you didn't have to hide anything anymore.

"you know?" you murmured, your voice soft as you ran your fingers along his wrist. "sometimes i thought this was going to blow up... that we wouldn't last because of all the stress, because of what we had to hide. but look at us."

Anton looked at you with a tired but smitten smile, then kissed your forehead.

"i knew you were worth it. even if i had to hide a thousand smiles, a thousand urges to hold your hand in the hallways... you were worth all of that."

you both laughed softly, as if they were still in that first rehearsal where it all began.

"what now?" you asked, snuggling closer. there are no more secrets. No more fear.

he hugged you tight, his chin on your head.

"now we live this... in our own way. no rush. no masks. just you and me. and if the world looks at us... let it look at us in love."

and so, in his arms, you closed your eyes knowing that in spite of everything, in the end all that mattered was that: the love you had nurtured in silence, could now shine without hiding.

[madridnoora]

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Pedri - The Manager's Daughter II

⋆｡˚Pairing - pedri x fem!reader

౨ৎ Summary - You haven't seen Pedri in months, not since that night in Madrid but the day you had been dreading approaches. It's your fathers first El Clasico, and of course he made you attend.

⋆｡˚Word Count - 3.7k

౨ৎ Warnings - angst!, yearning!, forbidden romance! suggestive content.

part one - the manager's daughter.

౨ৎ

The santiago bernabeu was electric, the air so thick with tension and rivalry. El clasico was so much more than just a game, the green turn was no longer a field but a battleground. The centre stage where pride, history and passion all collided.

You sit in the family section beside your mother and siblings, just behind the home bench of your father's team Real Madrid, with a pounding heart because tonight is the night.

It's been five months since you left that room on a summer morning in Madrid, after you had spent the night with him. "Spent the night' seems like an understatement because it stained you for much longer than that. If felt much more than that. He opened you up and found you that night. Lost souls bonding. And then you left like it meant nothing, because it couldn't mean anything. You're white, he's blue and garnet. You're forbidden, off limits. Two bodies that should have never touched.

But you did, and now you're here, sat in a white top with Mbappe on the back and a Real Madrid scarf wrapped around your neck to protect your skin from the kiss of winter.

You tried to get out of coming, tried to make up any excuse but none of it worked. You're father was adamant you be here to support him and you're mother agreed citing the importance of family unity.

For the past five months, you have thought of him every night. Even when you tried your hardest not too. Even when you were wrapped in the arms in another man. The guy you were casually seeing, the one you picked up off a cringey dating app to try and distract yourself from him.

Pedri.

Fucking Pedri.

He came it to your life like a dark storm and destroyed everything in it with his stupid honey coloured eyes, and his stupid lips and the stupid way he touched you like nobody else could.

You bite at your nails, the ones you painted white in the spirit of tonights game. You foot bops up and down and you feel sick thinking about seeing him. In a way you just want to get it over with, see him, feel that gravitational pull of lust and whatever the other strange feeling is that lingers in your chest, then never see him again.

The lights of the stadium illuminates the green turf and the stands which are full of white shirts. Anticipation looms as Hala Madrid! plays through the speakers and the crowd thunders out the words. It's so loud you can feel it beating in your chest. You've never been in an atmosphere like it.

When the players begin to exit the tunnel, you stand up and applaud like everyone else in the stands.

You can't help but smile with pride when you see your father lead them out in his suit and tie. His face so unemotional and focussed, you never usually saw him like that because at home he was just your dad and not football legend Xabi Alonso. That cold look breaks when he comes to stand in the managers box just in front of where you're sat, and his straight lips jump into a proud smile. You wave quickly, because even though your now twenty one you will always be his little girl. His favourite child although he would never admit it.

You don't notice, but Pedri is watching you. His jaw slacked the moment he saw you as he lined up for the anthems and handshakes.

The feeling he had laid awake craving for the past five months came flooding back into the marrow of his bones.

That hunger, that lust, that passion and the ache to touch your soul again.

His eyes trailed you up and down as you stood to give your dad a wave and a quick thumbs up, he knew you had not seen him and he took advantage of it. You're hair was slicked back into a bun, you're skin glowing under the white floodlights rather than the red lights in a club. A real madrid scarf wrapped around your neck, that hurt but it was too be expected.

The jersey hurt more.

Number 9. Mbappe's.

Real Madrid's princess in the jersey of Real Madrid's starboy.

Jealousy and borderline anger swirls in his stomach, the feeling aching his organs. His clenches his hands, only briefly, a fist balled and gone in seconds. His jaw tightens and he rolls his neck out.

Where you and Mbappe a thing? It would make sense. A perfect couple.

Pedri has to close his eyes, and looks away from you. He can't handle it. You make him feel so much of everything. You frustrate him, but you also excite him. He can't tell if he hates you or wants to have you. Maybe it's both. He thinks it's both.

He lets out a big puff of air and locks his mind onto winning this game because if you are dating Mbappe, Pedri is going to make sure to embarrass him in front of you.

In the stands, your eyes drift to him but he's not looking at you. He's focussed and his thick brows are so furrowed that he almost looks angry. His jaw is stiff and sharp, it makes you remember kissing it. His stubble is slightly grown out and it's making you almost purr. Your bodies reaction betraying your mind.

It's all coming back, the memories of that night. The way he felt inside you, and the way he nipped at your skin with your teeth. The way he grunted and groaned your name like it was his gospel.

Lust lingers beneath the surface of your skin like a vibration. Frustration burns it.

You smooth the jersey you're wearing just to give your hands something to do.

A few moments later, the whistle blew and the game kicked off.

The match began. The match in the centre of your chest lit.

You tried to stop your eyes drifting to number 8, but it's hard to stop the pull of a two magnets. You watched as he controlled Barcelona's tempo with every pass and creation of every play. His vision of the game and his skill on the ball was breathtaking or maybe that was just because of how much seeing him made you want him again. He captivated you, and not just with the memories of his tongue running across your flaming skin but with the way he seemed to breath football. The ball was merely an extension of him, connected and controlled.

Minutes felt like hours with the tension in the stadium. This game was so personal, so much more. So much history.

Your father was yelling on the sideline, your hands were in a prayer shape over your plump nude lips. You wanted him to win so bad, wanted your dad to prove to the world just how good you knew he could be.

But Barcelona were making it difficult, Pedri was making it difficult.

He was running riot in the midfield. Interceptions left and right, putting pressure on the boys in white. He even managed to outskill Mbappe at one point. He was giving the best performance of his career. It made you shift in the plastic seat, brushing the white jersey again. Number 9 on your back in black because it was the closest to Number 8.

When half time came, the score was 0-0 but the game had been far from boring. It was so intense, chance after chance, shot after shot. In all honesty it was a goalkeeping masterclass on both sides.

Blood would be drawn but it would come in the second half.

You father didn't even look up as he walked into the tunnel making your brows furrow in sadness. Once you watched him go, your eyes looked back without much thought.

They caught the honey brown orbs of Pedri.

He was watching you already, because when you were near him he couldn't help himself.

Everything fades into a low humming, a ringing in your ears and all you can feel is the strong thrum of your beating heart. You swallow the lump wedged in your throat.

Pedri lifts a gloved hand and wipes the sweat from his forehead, he had just put in the greatest first half of his career. The spanish newspapers already writing their article for tomorrow, but he wasn't thinking about that. He was thinking about you and how he was doing it all just to impress you, just to make sure you realised Mbappe was the wrong guy.

Pedri dropped his eyes first, his own heart pounding more now than it had been after running on the field for forty five minutes straight. Why was it you, the one girl in the world that was off limits, that made him feel this way? His body alive with current and tingling under your doe eyed gaze.

When he saw you it was like being cracked by lightening.

Ignited and sparked.

He walked into the tunnel with his head down, ready to focus back on the game. He needed to win, there was no excuse and everything was still left to play for.

The bernabeu was deafening as it stood around her at the beginning of the second half. The chants, the whistles every time a rival player touched the ball. The place beat with a heart of it's own. White scarfs twisting like small tornados as fans tried to increase the energy of their boys in white.

You sat still. Even though all around you were stood. Pedri's eyes had struck you still. It hurt to look at him and you wondered if it hurt him to look at you.

You played with the tassels of your scarf just to give your hands something to do other than shake.

The camera's panned to you and your family for only a few moments, on the outside you were thankful you looked calm, poised even. A lifted chin and a face filled with pride rather than worry. You looked like the daughter of a legend, but inside you were coming undone by a boy with the potential to be one.

You sit yearning just to feel him again. Your body needs him like flowers need the sun.

In the fifty fourth minute, it happened.

Pedri, with the ball at his feet, danced passed defenders finding gaps that no one else could see. Fluid and precise. He took a shot, outside the box, and the ball soared into the top corner of the net with such powerful force. It was a perfect goal.

A goal that sent the stadium into a stunned silence. Shouts only coming from the Barcelona fans in the away section.

You stood too in nothing but disbelief. You breaths heavy, your chest rising up and down.

You watched him sprint towards the corner flag with his tongue out and arms wide in celebration. His teammates swarmed him. Slapping him on the back and offering him passionate hugs.

It was displayed on the big screen, his smile and his flushed cheeks. His usually puffy hair wet and sticking to the sheen of his forehead. It was cruel of god to make an untouchable man so attractive. It was like some sort of sick joke, like the universe was teasing you. Dangling something you can't have, not in public anyway.

That dull ache bloomed in you're chest like something so fatal, hiding in the creases carved between your ribs.

When Pedri was let free by his teammates, he looked at you and winked. Smugly. So handsomely. It made your stomach flip and your cheeks flush. He's flirting with you so boldly, openly and in front of your father but in a way that only you two would know.

He knows you're watching him, that you have been the whole game and that he's playing the most incredible football he ever has.

He feels unstoppable. He feels like he's got you. He feels like he's just sealed the games fate. He's on top of the world.

But then he's not.

Because minutes later, the man whose name you wear on your back scored. Mbappe's retaliation is beautiful and satisfying. It wipes the smile of Pedri face. It creates a scowl instead, especially when he sees you jump up from your seat and scream in glee filled celebration.

You gave Mbappe a celebration you could never give him.

That jealousy rattled him again. More forceful this time. He yelled into his hands, Spanish swear words flying into his palms in annoyance. Barcelona's defence has switched off, in a game where they had to be on all the time.

Barcelona had to do better if they wanted to destroy their rivals on their home turf.

And after the score turned 1-1, they did do better.

A new life struck them.

The game became even more fierce, and even more fast paced. Gavi thundered into tackles, Bellingham danced the ball with brilliance. Tensions built and built. Words spitting, yellow cards being flashed left and right.

You held your breath when Pedri ended up in an altercation with Mbappe. Hands pushing chests, foreheads pressing foreheads. Players separating them. And even though you're in the stands, you some how feel like you're in the middle of it. That Pedri's frustration comes from the fact you're in another man's jersey.

The game continued on.

Barcelona scored again, a rebound off the woodwork and flicked in by the experienced Lewandowski.

Then, they scored their third in the dying minutes of the game. An incredible volley from the young yamal. It hit the net like a bullet shot from a gun.

The bernabeu was deflated, your father was deflated. Thousands of people sunk back into their seats, head buried in the scarfs they were once swinging. Bitterness lingered in the air, Barcelona had got the best of them tonight.

The final whistle blew. Real Madrid's heads dropped while the men in blue and garnet jumped all around the field in celebration.

You stood up, gathering your things and following your family into the hallways of the stadium to wait for your father to finish his job. Usually, you would just leave but you're mother said it was important to stay and support him on a difficult night, so you stayed. You waited while he went through all his press obligations and as he tried to pick up the spirit of his beaten players.

The rest of the stadium had emptied. The corridors eerily quiet as the fans left. You were walking around aimlessly and with boredem, not really knowing where your feet were taking you but it was more entertaining than sitting in a waiting room staring at a blank wall.

You walked for a little longer until the noise of studs pull yours eyes in a direction.

You have to scoff, because who else would it be.

Pedri.

You don't know where you are in the stadium but you get the feeling you're on territory you shouldn't be because he looks shocked and he's shirtless with damp curls and droplets of water trailing down his toned stomach. Some loose black shorts around his waist and a water bottle in his hand.

Flashes of you on top of him cross your mind but you shake them away.

You felt the sparks flying. You felt his steel hit your flint.

You both stood, paused like you were both scared to move. The silence stretched on, the tension thickening in the air like a morning fog.

Then, he smirked. That stupid fucking smirk. The one of quiet confidence, the one which tells you that he remembers the effect he has on you. The one which tell you that he knows five months hasn't changed a single thing.

His eyes flicker to your jersey.

"Tough luck, Princess," His voice is hoarse and raw, full of charged emotion and arrogance.

You lean on a cocked hip, trying not to stare at his abs.

"You'll lose next time," You say, holding your chin high.

He laughed.

"I'm serious, we'll be better next time," You continue with a furrowed brow.

He looked at you, actually more through you than anything.

"We," He repeated. "Is he, we?,". His tone straightens as he nods to the nine in the centre of your stomach.

"Well, he plays for my dad, so yes,"

"Does he play for more?," You know what he's asking for you and you can't tell if you hate it or love it. You know it makes you hot under the scarf that now feels too tight around your neck, but is that from attraction or anger.

"I told you footballers aren't my thing, I meant that." You tell him with tight lips.

"Si, and then we fucked," He shrugged.

You're jaw dropped, like he had just slapped you. It was arrogant and rude, and your stomach betrayed you by flipping.

"Fuck you,"

Pedri licked his teeth holding back a smile because he loved to see you this wound up. The way your cheeks were tinted with a rose, and the small crease between your eyebrows. The slight vein on the side of your head poking under the smooth skin.

He moved slightly closer, and it was beginning to feel like the club hallway all over again but he's already shirtless. No alcohol to blame either. Just you and him. The raw energy of something forbidden sizzling between you.

You can smell him, he's freshly showered and lingers of jasmine. The cardamon and grapefruit cologne sticking sweetly to his skin.

"You already did," He smiles under his breath because at heart he's still just a boy.

"You're so immature," You roll your eyes, then blinking hard trying to will away the heat between your thighs. Not here. It can't be here. "and annoying," You add on.

He keeps moving closer, backing you to a wall.

"Keep talking dirty," His eyes now gleaming with something like primal hunger and possession.

"God, you're insufferable sober,"

Your back hit the cold wall.

"Then walk away," He challenges.

You stay put because you can't do it, even though your mind wants to your body betrays you in every way.

"Exactly," Pedri whispers with nothing but ego as he inches closer to you, his arm pressing to the wall above your shoulder.

Your whole body was tense, because you knew he wasn't bluffing. You knew that look in his eye -- wild and focused, the same way he looked at you in the club and beneath him in the dark bed sheets you gripped onto.

"I hate you," You whisper against his lips.

"You don't, and that is what you hate,"

Then, like deja vu, he crashed his lips into your again in the middle of your father stadium. You fall into him like a puzzle piece slotting into place. Your hands in his air, his on your hips. You've done it all before but it will never get old.

This feeling would never die.

When you pull apart you're breathless. So is he. You're hands are resting on his bare chest and you can't help the way you're smiling.

"Give me your phone," You order him quickly and quietly, scared of who could come round the corner at any moment.

You type in the address to the studio apartment you had began renting in the cities suburbs. A private sanctuary away from home, one that your father pays half the rent for. That makes this even more wrong.

"It's my place, come at midnight and don't let anyone see you" You spoke quickly, then you push him back and adjust your jersey. You bring a finger and wipe around you lips to rid any smudged lipstick. Then you walk away, not looking back.

He watches you because you're unbelievable and everything you do makes his head a dizzying mess.

Midnight.

Only a few hours away.

-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚-

Your apartment was dark, only lit by a few candles when you heard the knock on the door. Not too loud, not too desperate -- just enough to let you know he was here.

You hesitated a few seconds before you opened the door. Not wanting to seem like you were eager or like you had been waiting for him on the couch for thirty minutes.

00:21

That was the time. He was twenty one minutes late. You thought he wasn't coming at one point but no he just wanted you to wait. Teasing you before he had even arrived.

You answered the door in a grey sweatshirt and some brandy melville teddy bear shorts. Your legs smooth and bare from the shower you had taken. You hair now down and wavy, slightly messy around your bare face.

He stood on the other side with the hood of his black hood up and hiding his face. His hands in the pockets of his grey sweats.

You're purring inside.

You step to the side to let him in and shut the door behind him.

The charged tension is back in the atmosphere around, lingering like a rain cloud about to break free.

It's just you and him now. No jerseys, no football. Just two people trying not to give in to something so obvious.

It was awkward for a few seconds, neither of you wanting to make the first move but when it gets to much and too overwhelming he break its.

He kissed you again with that same passion he always seemed too. A sensual mix of heat, hunger and tenderness.

You fell apart in his arms as you made your way to the bedroom, ripping off each others clothes on the way. Panting breaths and hushed moans the only noise in the place.

Before you can even catch a breath, he's inside you and it feels like home. You're biting at his shoulder to keep quiet, he's grunting into the hair covering your ear. You're skin is sticky with a light sweat.

It goes on like that all night. Different positions, coming undone for him each time, over and over.

Then you fall asleep in his arms, until the morning light wakes you up.

This time, you can't run and Pedri is still here.

The air feels different than last time, like this meant something more.

Like something had snapped into place and you were set on a path you could never stray from.

Like you and Pedri had just become a dirty little secret fated to exist again and again.

౨ৎ

(a/n - let me know if you want this series to continue :P)