#Pride forced to surrender

[hayatheauthor]

How to Make Your Characters Almost Cry

Tears are powerful, but do you know what's more impactful? The struggle to hold them back. This post is for all your hard-hearted stoic characters who'd never shed a tear before another, and aims to help you make them breakdown realistically.

The Physical Signs of Holding Back Tears

Heavy Eyelids, Heavy Heart Your character's eyelids feel weighted, as if the tears themselves are dragging them down. Their vision blurs—not quite enough to spill over, but enough to remind them of the dam threatening to break.

The Involuntary Sniffle They sniffle, not because their nose is running, but because their body is desperately trying to regulate itself, to suppress the wave of emotion threatening to take over.

Burning Eyes Their eyes sting from the effort of restraint, from the battle between pride and vulnerability. If they try too hard to hold back, the whites of their eyes start turning red, a telltale sign of the tears they've refused to let go.

The Trembling Lips Like a child struggling not to cry, their lips quiver. The shame of it fuels their determination to stay composed, leading them to clench their fists, grip their sleeves, or dig their nails into the nearest surface—anything to regain control.

The Fear of Blinking Closing their eyes means surrender. The second their lashes meet, the memories, the pain, the heartbreak will surge forward, and the tears will follow. So they force themselves to keep staring—at the floor, at a blank wall, at anything that won’t remind them of why they’re breaking.

The Coping Mechanisms: Pretending It’s Fine

A Steady Gaze & A Deep Breath To mask the turmoil, they focus on a neutral object, inhale slowly, and steel themselves. If they can get through this one breath, they can get through the next.

Turning Away to Swipe at Their Eyes When they do need to wipe their eyes, they do it quickly, casually, as if brushing off a speck of dust rather than wiping away the proof of their emotions.

Masking the Pain with a Different Emotion Anger, sarcasm, even laughter—any strong emotion can serve as a shield. A snappy response, a bitter chuckle, a sharp inhale—each is a carefully chosen defence against vulnerability.

Why This Matters

Letting your character fight their tears instead of immediately breaking down makes the scene hit harder. It shows their internal struggle, their resistance, and their need to stay composed even when they’re crumbling.

This is written based off of personal experience as someone who goes through this cycle a lot (emotional vulnerability who?) and some inspo from other books/articles

[vanillinwrites]

surrender to me

Thinking about how utterly humiliating it'd be to be forced to ride your yandere-

Tw: non-con, dub-con, extreme feelings of guilt and shame, reader is an active participant in their own assault 

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It's bad enough when he pins you down to whatever surface is nearby, taking whatever he wants from you, forcing you to take whatever he gives you. It's bad enough that you're helpless to his advances, that he can so easily overpower you, use you like his own personal toy. It's bad enough that he fucks you so good, hitting that spot that has you nearly screaming, keeping up the relentless pace until your legs shake, and making sure you always cum at least once, though he always always tries for more.

It's worse when he pulls you on top of him. At least when you're underneath him you can say it's not your fault, that you have no hand in what happens to you.

But now, as you straddle his waist, his cock buried deep inside you, he tells you to "ride me, come on, just the way you like it" you feel shame wash over you. He's your kidnapper, he took everything from you, and now he wants you to be an active participant in your torment. Everything in your rebels against the idea, tells you to fight it, to hold onto your pride at any and all costs. But it's not like you have a choice, you know what disobeying him means- you've faced too many punishments to risk another.

Shame eats at you as you begin to move, hesitant and humiliated, but unwilling to disobey. You rock your hips, trying not to shutter with every drag of his length along your walls. You're so wet for him and you know he can tell. You close your eyes, you don't want to see the way he's looking at you, can't bare to see the adoration in his eyes when you fuck yourself on his cock and he can't help but whisper that you're "such a good girl for me".

You hate that it feels good, that even your leisurely pace is making you bite back moans and fight the urge to ride him harder, to make yourself cum, and to feel him cum too. He grabs your hips, guiding you to pick up the pace a little, and you curse that he knows exactly what you like. He knows just how to guide your movements to make you tremble and whimper as he fucks you, he knows exactly what will have you moaning and gushing around him. He knows exactly how to make you his perfect little whore.

It's too much- the absolute misery of the situation is more than you can bear. You're riding your kidnapper, moaning and crying out for him, feeling your orgasm creep up on you too fast. It’s humiliating in a way that nothing else can compare to, nothing he’s ever done to you has been quite so potently horrid. 

You can't tell if he's still forcing your hips into the rhythm or if you've given into it, can't really tell if he's thrusting up into you or if your just bouncing on his cock that hard- but you're so close, and he feels so good inside you, and you want to cum so bad. You should be fighting this, but you’re not. You’re rocking your hips against his and whining his name and begging for more. 

"Gonna cum?" He asks, voice a little bit teasing but mostly breathless at the way you move above him and the way you feel around him. He tells you all the time that he loves you, that you belong to him, that he’d do anything to keep you all to himself. In moments like this, it’s easy to believe that. You nod, desperate for release. "Go on, then,” he encourages, moving his hips against yours to meet you halfway as you move. 

You do- with a desperate cry of his name you feel your orgasm wash over you, crashing down on you and you can think of nothing else but his length filling you up, hitting so deep inside you and stretching you out so wide. It's so dirty; knowing you threw away all your morality and pride for this- you let yourself be used by man you should hate just so you could get off, you practically begged him for it. 

Because no matter how your mind tries to convince itself this isn't what you want, your body knows this is exactly what you want. 

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[joelsgoldrush]

“never is a promise” | 12.4k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: You are everything Logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, Charles' caregiver.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ mentions of drinking. angst. some fluff. old man!logan x caregiver!reader. implied age gap (reader’s in her twenties). miscommunication. slow burn. pining. reader is shorter than logan and has long hair. charles in his cupid era. petnames. minor injuries. wound tending. mentions of blood. virgin!reader. dirty talk. cum shots. fingering. handjobs. oral sex (m receiving). loving sex. sex with a lot of feelings (is that a tag?). unprotected p in v.

A/N: i just want to fall in love with him. that’s it. that’s the reason why i wrote this long ass fic 😭 while doing so, i had “never is a promise” by fiona apple and “cool about it” by boygenius on repeat. give them a try if you haven’t listened to them (your lives will be CHANGED) (also, thank you for reading <3)

No matter how often you play chess with Charles, you never manage to beat him. 

“You’ve been staring at that knight for five minutes. It’s not going anywhere, I promise.”

Chuckling at his sarcasm, you fold your hands in your lap, lifting your eyebrows in mock surrender. “Okay, I get it. You’re the master of chess,” leaning back in the chair, you cross one leg over the other. “Can we play something else?”

“I’m quite entertained, thank you,” Charles says, sliding the board closer to you across the table. “Your turn.”

“How is it that you don’t get tired of this game?” you mutter under your breath, eyes fixed on the board as you weigh your options, hovering your hand indecisively over the chess pieces. 

“Please do something before I’m forced to make a dash for the toilet.” He hangs his head, pinching the bridge of his nose—a telltale sign of one of his irritable days.

His words spur you into action, encouraging you to finally slide the knight into position. You glance up, meeting his gaze with a hint of challenge. “You go now.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate, and he moves a bishop. “Check.”

Fuck. You hadn’t seen that coming. “I’d prefer to walk away with my pride,” you joke, pushing your chair back and pretending to lose interest in the board.

That makes him smirk, a barely there grin dangling on the corners of his wrinkled lips. The truth is, you wouldn’t stop playing for anything in the world—not even if this old man kicks your ass every single time he suggests playing chess. “You’re not out of the game yet.”

Quietness settles over the tank while you allow yourself some time to come up with a new strategy. After a moment, you decide to go for a pawn, using it to block his bishop.

He doesn’t stop grinning, studying your move with an amused glint in his blue eyes. “Not bad, but you’ve left your king exposed.”

You gape at the board, your fragile confidence faltering for a split second. "I still have some pieces in play."

Charles nods, his brows drawing together in thoughtful consideration. "True. But sometimes, it’s not about how many pieces you have left—” He reaches out, carefully sliding his queen across the board. "It’s about where you place them.” He relaxes, hunching over, his eyes searching for yours. A smile that’s all teeth welcomes you. “Checkmate."

“Damn.” You blow out your cheeks, your gaze tracing the path of his queen. Somehow, he’s trapped your king with no easy way out.

He leans back with a satisfied grin. “That’s three games in a row. My suggestion is that you start rethinking your strategy.”

“Or maybe you’re just a better player,” you admit, a mix of frustration and admiration palpable in your tone. “No more chess for today, though.” You stand up from your seat, gathering the board and chess pieces. As usual, they find their place under Charles’ bed, and you turn back to him, beaming with delight. “I think you owe me one after all this.”

“You’re a terrible loser, my dear,” he says, his eyes twinkling as they take you in. “Reminds me of someone I know.”

At that exact moment, you hear the familiar creak of the tank’s door opening, followed by a cough you immediately recognize.

Without thinking, you straighten your back as Logan steps into the room. Charles notices it, but says nothing in return.

It was an infatuation—or at least, that’s what you try to convince yourself of. Logan is a very good-looking man, probably the most handsome you’ve ever laid eyes on.

The fact that you live with him doesn’t help at all. You think that if you only saw him occasionally, this—this anxiety that grips you whenever he’s around or when you hear his voice—wouldn’t happen in the first place.

Whether it’s good or bad luck, you’ve been sleeping under the same roof as him for over a year, and the crush you’ve had since the first time you exchanged words with him only seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

What you figure out over time is that men like Logan aren’t the dating type. He’s never brought anyone home, and for that, you’re secretly grateful. The last thing you need is to see him with another woman—thank you very much. Still, the thought gnaws at you: he could easily be meeting someone elsewhere.

In fact, it’s more than likely that he’s hooking up with other people. It doesn’t have to be at—

Alright. You don’t need this either.

Logan’s heavy footsteps resonate even louder, his presence more imposing, and he seems especially pissed off. Then again, he always has that demeanor—angry, grumpy, locked in a constant battle with life.

But today… today, you haven’t seen him this troubled in weeks.

“Look who’s joined us,” Charles mumbles, steering his motorized chair to meet him halfway. The chair bumps against Logan’s legs with a thud that sounds almost cartoonish, and Charles scrunches up his nose, his nostrils flaring in disgust. “You smell like shit.”

“Yeah, I missed you too, Pop,” Logan grunts, shoving his hand into the pocket of his suit, searching for something. That’s when you notice the bloodstains on his shirt, smeared across his chest, and the missing buttons at the top. Your breath catches in your throat, and you bite your tongue to keep from asking any foolish questions. “They gave me new ones,” he mutters, looking you in the eye as he tosses the pill bottle at you.

You leap forward to catch it mid-air, your heart skipping a beat. Logan holds your gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before giving a slight nod and turning on his heel to storm out of the tank.

When your attention goes back to Charles, you see how his eyes remain locked on the pills you’re holding, his head lowering in defeat. “He’s waiting for me to die.”

“Don’t say that.” You squat to be at his eye level, momentarily hiding the meds from his view. Still, you struggle to make him shift his gaze. “He’s taking care of you, which is something completely different.” You place your hand on top of his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You’ve had this same conversation innumerable times, yet each time feels like the first. He offers you a melancholic but knowing look as you softly say: “You have to take them, Charles. I’m sorry.”

He raises a hand, his trembling fingers curling around your wrist, examining you, trying to find an answer in the lines. “Don’t be. At least you’re here.”

“I’m sure Logan’s tired; that’s why he doesn’t stay any longer. Haven’t you seen him?” You rise to your feet, moving behind him to guide his chair. The tank sort of has a chill in the air, metallic walls that seem to press in around you both. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to play chess with him. Rest assured I’ll always let you win,” you murmur next to his ear, succeeding in eliciting a chuckle from him.

After that, you help him with his daily routine. Charles isn’t heavy, and you manage to get him onto the bed, his frail body yielding to your gentle support.

You slip the rest of his body beneath the blankets, tucking him in carefully before handing him two pills and a glass of water. “All the way down, okay? And I wanna see that tongue after you swallow them.”

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under, covered in dust and dirt. Charles sticks his tongue out, putting the glass down on his nightstand. “Happy?”

“You’ve got no idea how much,” you say, adjusting the covers. The silence of the tank surrounds you both, and you can sense his gaze lingering on you. You flick your eyes up, furrowing your brows as you sit in the small space beside him on the mattress. “What is it?”

“You fancy him, don’t you?”

Freezing on the spot, your eyes narrow. “I—I don’t—” you trail off, pushing the words out with some effort. “Are you trying to read my mind?”

His whole chest rumbles with laughter under your touch. He finds your hand once again, intertwining your fingers with his. “Don’t be so naïve. I don’t need my abilities to see the way you get all flustered when he passes by. Why do you think they say older people are wiser?” he inquires, his lips forming a straight line. “We’ve lived too much not to notice the most common things, my dear—and let me tell you that you do a horrible job at pretending.”

“Of course I like him. Logan’s a good man, he keeps us safe.” You glance down at your hands—his, weak and delicate, in evident contrast to your own. “I’m not in love with him, Cupid.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen him years ago,” Charles says, his eyes glazing over as he drifts back into the past. His body remains here, within the confines of the room, but his mind is elsewhere, somewhere far away. You give his hand a gentle tug, trying to bring him back. “When we took him in, he was pursuing a career as a cage fighter. I had never seen anyone like him in all my years of educating mutants. He was so… different from the rest. Reserved, didn’t talk much at first. But I gave him a family, I—” His voice falters, overcome by his own emotions. 

That’s when you realize he’s no longer with you, his gaze unfocused, looking around the tank as if seeing it for the first time. It pains you to see him like this, completely disoriented and disconnected from reality.

“Why are we here? What has happened to the rest? Has he told you anything?”

These are the questions he asks every day without fail—questions that you can’t, nor want, to answer. Since you’re not exactly sure the explanation would soothe his troubled mind, you feel forced to play dumb.

“I don’t know, Charles. We don’t really talk that much, Logan and I.” You stand from the bed, not without pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before. You smile at him, hoping he doesn’t realize the gesture lacks authenticity. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll let you know if I hear anything worth sharing.”

Once you close the door behind you, you settle back into it, releasing a shaky breath. Being Charles’ caregiver was a challenging task, especially in moments like these, which required immense internal strength not to crumble in front of him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you adjust to the harsh sunlight, fighting to regain your composure. When you finally scan the area, the only thing that meets your eye is the deserted smelting plant you now call home.

You open the sliding door, the noise breaking the stillness and forcing Logan to look up from his plate. He’s eating like a starved man, casually drinking from a small bottle of whisky on the table, already half of it gone. After those long drives through the nights and the early hours, he always returns hungry.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee, setting it on the stove to heat. Neither of you says anything for a few minutes: he eats, and you sip your hot coffee in silence, not wishing to disturb the breakable peace that hangs by a thread.

Thinking this is how the noon will continue, you begin to walk toward your room until he clears his throat, stopping you in your tracks. That simple gesture makes you whirl around, anticipating something.

“This is delicious,” he acknowledges, pointing to his plate with his fork, the rice with veggies and meat you cooked last night nearly gone. Dipping his chin, he adds in a low voice: “Thank you.”

You’re taken aback by his unexpected willingness to engage in conversation. Moments like these are as rare as seeing Halley’s Comet, so you proceed with caution, as if you’re approaching a skittish animal—one wrong move, and the opportunity is lost.

Setting your mug down on the table, you sit on the chair opposite him. Deep down, the hammering of your heart echoes in your ears, and you hope his sharp senses don’t pick up on it.

“I’m glad you liked it. Charles ate two bowls of it,” you explain, unable to suppress a smile. Logan hums, tilting his head to the side as he keeps devouring his meal. You take another sip of your coffee, blowing on it in a futile attempt to cool it down. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Huh?”

“Charles. He—he asks to see you a lot,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think it would make him feel better if you spent more time with him.”

The sound of a distant train rumbles through the walls, amplifying the silence between you. Logan doesn’t utter a word; instead, he puts down his fork, the clinking noise making you jump slightly, the intensity of his stare becoming overwhelming.

“You’re right about one thing—what I do or don’t do is none of your goddamn business.”

Just like that, the buildup dissolves in a matter of seconds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, nodding absentmindedly. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. How stupid were you to think he might want to talk to you?  “I just—I want to be of help.”

“Just take care of Charles. That’s all you gotta worry about, all I’ve ever asked you to do,” he barks, clenching his jaw, and you can tell he means each word.

When he talks to you in this tone, it makes you think more rationally—it reminds you that you don’t really know him, and yet you agreed to work for him in exchange for a roof over your head and food on your plate. He’s not your friend, and he’s excellent at making that crystal clear every time you cross the line.

Logan pushes you away like you’re nothing, like you’re just another of the many burdens he has to deal with.

It should be enough to send you running to your room, but despite the knot tightening in your belly, you somehow remain rooted in place, your eyes sharp like daggers.

As another train echoes in the silence, you come to terms with the knowledge that one more question will drive him away.

And sometimes, you speak before you think, as you do now: “Whose blood is that on your shirt?” you ask, voice steady and cold. Perhaps it’s you who wants him to leave this time.

He shakes his head with offense, frustration crinkling his eyes. “I don’t need this shit,” he groans, his gruff voice loud enough for you to hear it. He gets up from the table, placing his plate in the sink without much delicacy. At last, he heads to his room, slamming the door with a deafening thud that reverberates through the entire place.

It’s not a crush, that voice deep inside you insists as you’re left alone in the kitchen. And it’s valid: a mere crush wouldn't cause this kind of pain, wouldn’t make your chest feel this heavy and your limbs numb.

Whenever he leaves, he takes a part of you with him, never to be returned. By now, you’re certain he’s stolen all those missing pieces from you, and you’ve got no idea how much longer you can endure before you shatter completely.

You seem to have won this battle, but what you end up losing is far greater than any fleeting gratification.

Loving Logan is maddening, to say the least.

To this day, you still recall every detail of the night that altered the course of your life—the night you met Logan.

The memories are rather vivid in your mind, and you revisit that moment on nights like these, when you can’t sleep and the past appears to be much more appealing than your present.

Pressing your cheek against the cold pillow, you let your eyelids drop, reconstructing the full scene behind your sealed eyes.

It was your third week working at that restaurant, and you were still getting used to its daily rhythm. Waitressing was working wonders for you—you had a good memory, and people often gave you generous tips.

Everything was going well: you were the only waitress on shift, and your boss had left for a brief errand, promising he would be back soon.

During this lull, a group of men entered the restaurant, already drunk or high—probably both. They sat at one of the empty tables, immediately calling for you.

One of them, a tall blonde, was the loudest. “Come here, baby.” He pointed his finger at you, gesturing for you to approach him. The nickname felt wrong rolling off his tongue, and as you obliged, he shoved a handful of bills into the front pocket of your apron. He clutched your waist, dragging you nearer. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Think you can do something special for me?”

His friends cheered him on, laughing and pounding their fists on the table. You managed to slip from his grasp and asked them what they wanted to order.

While they took their time deciding, you noticed a limousine parked in the distance, probably the vehicle that had brought these morons here. The driver rolled down his window, hanging his arm from the armrest.

Though you couldn’t see his features, the interaction alone was enough to make you look away.

An hour went by, and the men refused to take off. They’d eaten, drunk, and danced—and driven you crazy in the process. The rest of the customers had decided to leave once they realized the night was far from finishing for the noisy group of friends. You apologized, feeling incapable of doing anything to change the situation.

Your sanity felt threatened as you turned off the TV, ending the sixth round of karaoke, their shouts and hoots ringing in your ears.

“We’re closing in ten minutes,” you informed them, starting to collect their dirty plates and glasses. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the blonde man standing right beside you, his piercing blue eyes burning holes through your skin. He attempted to graze your shoulder, but you quickly stepped back, keeping a safe distance between you. “How do you plan to pay? Cash or credit?”

“How about with a kiss, huh?” He inched forward, his face dangerously close to yours. Unaccustomed to being approached in this manner, you ducked your head, unsure of your next move. His breath reeked of beer and vodka, a horrendous combination that had you nearly gagging on the spot.

As he backed you against the counter, one of his large hands cradled your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. “I swear I can be very, very nice. You haven’t given me the chance to show it yet.”

“Hey, pal. You said one hour.”

The first time you heard his voice—low and husky, the kind that could send shivers down your spine.

Your eyes locked with Logan’s, your pleading gaze seemingly stirring something in him as he got a grip on the situation. His brows bumped together in a scowl, and you didn’t miss how he limped as he made his way into the restaurant.

There was something about him—how he moved, his stance—that felt strangely familiar.

“We’re busy in here, chauffeur,” the blue-eyed man protested, slightly losing his balance while still holding your cheek.

Your rescuer squared off against him, their noses practically brushing. He worked his jaw, his half-lidded, tired eyes taking in the sight of you. “I’m no fortune-teller, but I don’t think she’s into you, bub.”

“Come again?” the blonde guy released you, much more concerned with defending his bruised pride. “What’s the matter, Grandpa? Is it past your bedtime?”

“I want you to pay me for the ride, and for waiting a fucking hour and a half for you and your friends,” the older man spat, jerking his thumb toward the limousine. “I’m not taking you back to the hotel. You might want to start looking’ for another driver.”

The group of men closed in around him, their anger bubbling. “That’s not cool, dude. We had a deal,” another voice snapped, but Logan couldn’t seem to care less.

“Well, the deal’s off. And leave the girl alone, will you?” he retorted, his tone dripping with disdain. “So, where’s my money?”

He couldn’t have predicted it. One of the men behind him swung a plate, striking him in the nape and catching him off guard. Logan collapsed to the floor, clutching his head in pain. The others took the opportunity and began to pummel him, kicks and punches landing wherever they could.

You screamed at the top of your lungs, desperately trying to intervene. You grabbed at their clothes, digging your fingernails into every patch of exposed skin you could find, but they shoved you aside with brutal force. Your back slammed against the nearest wall, a jolt of sudden pain making you wince.

The blood in your veins turned to ice as you watched, paralyzed with fear that they might kill him. But then—

Three metallic claws emerged from his knuckles, and he used them to push himself upright. Despite the blood smeared across his nose and mouth, he managed to stand, his quickened breathing coming out in short puffs.

The men backed away in shock, leaving him alone amidst the chaos. 

You stared at him, your hands trembling as recognition dawned: it was The Wolverine.

The familiarity, the sense of having seen him before, all made sense now. It all flooded back in a rush—the comics, the news, the rumors.

“Get the hell outta my sight,” he growled, pressing his claws against the fabric of the blue-eyed man’s jacket, making him flinch.

You couldn’t make out what you were feeling. It wasn’t fear, but intrigue. Even as the group of men fled the restaurant, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. At first, he avoided your gaze, focusing on his shoes as he retracted his claws.

Once the immediate danger had passed, he slumped forward, groaning. You gently draped one of his arms around your shoulders and helped him into a nearby chair. His weight felt like a thousand bricks, but you accomplished to get him seated.

He rubbed a shaky hand over his graying beard, his face twisting in pain as you pressed a makeshift towel of napkins against his lower lip, where blood continued to flow.

Taking the towel from you, he continued tending to himself. You scanned his features, scrutinizing him.

“You are…” you began, the words feeling inadequate at the moment.

Logan nodded hesitantly, his silence confirming your suspicion. “Yeah, that’s me,” he tugged at his shirt collar, exposing some of his chest hair, fresh blood staining his work clothes. Your gaze fell there, and you quickly chided yourself.

The poor guy was bleeding, and you were checking him out. Jeez.

Kneeling by his side, you introduced yourself. “Thank you for stepping up for me,” you said afterward, and he shook his head dismissively. “They were a pain in the ass. I don’t know how you even managed to drive them here.”

“Money’s money, darlin’. Doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as—” he was interrupted by a coughing fit, and your concern deepened as you continued to spot more of his injuries. “I’ll heal,” he reassured you, his expression softening in an attempt to calm your anxiety.

Your eyes pierced his with an intensity that seemed to unsettle him. Warmth crept into your cheeks as a question surfaced in your mind: “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You don’t owe me anything, kid,” he replied, a hint of gruffness in his voice.

“But I could help you,” you persisted, your voice betraying a touch of eagerness. Stifling a cough, you tried to mask your enthusiasm, and sighed. “Are you hungry? I could cook you something, or pour you a drink. We’ve got plenty of liquor—”

Logan interrupted you, placing the towel down on the table. “Have you ever taken care of an old person?” 

Tilting your head, you considered his question. “How old?”

“Ninety-somethin’.”

You nodded, memories of the events from years ago surfacing. “I lived with my grandparents for most of my life. When they fell ill, I spent a lot of time with them. My mom had to work long hours, and I—well, the point is, I did take care of them,” you paused for an instant, his expression unreadable, though you perceived a slight relaxation in his posture, as if your answer had put him at ease. “I like being around old people. They have stories to tell,” you added, a genuine smile breaking through, “and I’m a good listener.”

“Then I suppose there is somethin’ you can help me with.”

And so began a new chapter in your life.

The very next day, you were moving in with him and Charles. It took several weeks for the latter to warm up to you and get used to your presence.

Initially, he was hopeful that you might also be a mutant, but his disappointment was palpable when he discovered you lacked any supernatural gifts. Leaving that aside, he valued your company.

“The shots mellow the seizures. The pills keep them from happening,” Logan had once explained, detailing the medications Charles needed. You recalled the psychic attack from a year ago and its consequences, but that wasn’t a topic to be discussed with Logan, and you understood why.

“Where do you get these?” you asked, examining the bottle of pills with a curious glance. “Without a prescription, I mean.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know.”

Soon, you got adapted to the whole package: his unpredictable temperament, his mood swings, and his nightmares. Logan Howlett was a puzzle box of surprises, one you could never quite unlock.

Fast forward to the present day, you realize it must be already late, because Logan’s heading to work. You stand on your tiptoes, peering out of your bedroom window. Your humid breath fogs the glass as his eyes find yours, and then he slips into the vehicle, blending into the shadows of the night.

The distant rumble of his limousine signals his departure, your forehead pressed against the glass, as if somehow that could take you with him.

There goes another piece of you.

You find yourself shaving Charles the moment worry takes over your senses.

He’s retelling a familiar story: that one time Logan, Scott, Jean, and Storm saved Rogue from Magneto.

On any other day, you wouldn’t mind listening to his stories, despite having heard them countless times. This one in particular is your favorite.

But today, it’s hard to focus on it, even more when one of its main characters is missing in action.

Logan hasn’t come back home yet.

It’s been an entire day, and he’s usually back by morning to rest. Now, after having cooked dinner and helping Charles shower, you’ve run out of distractions. There’s nothing left to occupy your thoughts, nothing to ease the building anxiety gnawing at you.

You texted him multiple times—no answer. You even called—also nothing. Every time Charles asks if Logan’s at work or sleeping, the knot in your chest tightens. That’s when your mind starts to spiral, and you’re convinced you’ll burst any moment.

After putting him to bed, you pace the kitchen, picking at your nails and biting the raw skin around them. The sting of pain is there, but it’s faint, not enough to overshadow the real fear clawing at your insides.

All these what-ifs that storm through your mind make you feel nauseous: what if he’s dead? What would you do with Charles? How would you provide for both of you without a salary?

Just as you’re about to dial his number again, Logan materializes out of thin air through the sliding door.

He’s got a dark bruise under his right eye, and his once-white shirt is littered with bloodstains. You stare at him—he’s limping harder than usual, each of his movements slower.

Walking towards him, your hands cup his face. His skin feels rough beneath your fingers, and he lets out a grunt as you graze his split lip. “What happened?”

“They were followin’ me. Had been doin’ so for a few days now,” he says, making no effort to pull away.

“Did you kill them?” you wonder out loud, still inspecting his injuries. The pad of your thumb hovers inches away from his bruised mouth.

Covering your hands with his, Logan ducks his head, closing his eyes for a brief second and swallowing thickly. “Somebody had to do it, sweetheart.”

You limit yourself to a nod, because you know there’s nothing you can reproach him for. You were no stranger to the idea of him killing. It was an implicit truth between you.

“I thought—I was so scared, and I—” your voice wavers, and you feel your eyes watering, the tears prickling at the corners. “I thought you—”

He doesn’t let you finish, already knowing how it would end. “Hey, look at me,” he’s the one touching you now, tilting your chin up. Your eyes keep flickering over the cuts and old scars you spot on his cheeks, his neck. Logan forces a pained smile, unable to hide his discomfort. “It’s fine, I’m alright. Just a bit fucked up, but nothin’ you haven’t seen before,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, and it works. You bite your lower lip, suppressing your grin. “I always come back, don’t I?”

“But you can barely stand,” you whisper, not sure why you’re speaking so softly. You make him turn his back to you, helping him shrug off his coat. As expected, remnants of dried blood decorate his shirt like highlights. “Let me help you.” 

“I don’t—”

”There are cuts all over your back. And your chest—you’re not healing properly,” you say, turning him to face you again. The look on his face suggests only one thing: he’s about to throw in the towel. “You don’t have to do everything on your own.” You think you’ve never been this close before, his proximity both intoxicating and comforting at the same time. “Please.”

He ends up giving in to your persuasion, allowing you to guide him to the bathroom. Logan sits down on the toilet, watching you gather supplies to clean his wounds. When you come back, he’s still staring at you, his eyelashes fluttering together each time he blinks.

Starting with his cheek, you press a damp towel to his skin, and he hisses. It takes everything in you not to flinch in sympathy.

“How’s Charles?” he asks, probably trying to distract himself as you continue to clean his wounds, the towel darkening with his blood over time. 

“He’s doing great. Asked for you a lot, actually,” you take a look at his jaw, where one shallow cut is already starting to fade away thanks to his healing ability, something that never fails to amaze you.

Logan hums, tilting his head. ”I’ll check on him in the morning,” he murmurs, and you flash him a quick smile, finishing with his face. He’s now free of dirt and blood, his brows furrowing as he pauses to collect his thoughts. “The other day, when we talked—”

You cut him off, turning to the sink as you rinse the towel, watching the water get red. “Forget it.”

“No, it wasn’t okay—how I acted,” he stands up from the toilet, and you feel his presence behind you, the alarm inside your head going off as the space between you shrinks. “I know you just want what’s best for him. For us. I’m sorry I was a jerk,” his voice comes out even huskier at this time of the night, sounding afraid of waking someone, even though it’s just the two of you here.

“Apology accepted,” you swirl around to meet his gaze, only to find yourself nose-to-nose with him, and you lean back against the sink, your spine pressed into the cool surface.

Logan places his hands on both sides of the vanity, caging you with his body. Like the most beautiful tree, he stands tall in front of you, and you take a deep breath, getting drunk on his distinctive scent. “Are you… okay?”

You watch as he lowers his head, pursing his lips before muttering: “Imma need you to do something more for me,” he says, almost pleading, and you can’t avoid the amount of thoughts that rush into your mind.

Gone was your decency when you had to deal with him.

That’s when he looks up to find your eyes, his harsh expression evolving into a more vulnerable one. “Have you ever removed a bullet?”

If you thought listening to Logan’s nightmares was painful, nothing could have prepared you for the sounds he makes while you pull several bullets from his wounds. 

He sits shirtless in front of you, grunting at each of your careful movements. As you remove one bullet lodged near his ribs, Logan practically yells, and you rest your cheek against his, desperate to ease his suffering.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Almost done,” you whisper into his ear, hoping your words might bring him some relief. He lets his head fall forward, resting it on your shoulder, trusting you enough to tend to his injuries, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

It takes you half an hour to clean both his chest and back, but Logan doesn’t complain. When you’re finished, he goes straight to his room, flopping onto his bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. You see the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing still labored.

You wish you could lie beside him, even just for a few minutes, but your last shred of self-control stops you from doing such a thing.

“Get some sleep,” you say leaning against the doorframe, your advice sounding more like a plea. He looks exhausted, dark circles sunken beneath his eyes. 

Logan lets out a bitter laugh. “Do I look that bad?”

You roll your eyes at that, your fingers curling around the doorknob. Glancing back at him over your shoulder, you catch something in his look—a glimmer of something you struggle to put into words, but you decide not to look further into it. “Good night, Logan.”

“Good night, darlin’—and thank you,” he murmurs, holding your gaze until the door shuts between you.

Then you sprint to your room, gently closing the door before biting back a smile, replaying the last hour in your mind. How close to you he had been, how comfortable he seemed around you.

You hadn’t just crossed lines—you’d broken them. You almost pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

Somehow, your racing mind calms down, and you fall asleep, one hand tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting against your chest.

You’re a light sleeper. The sound of something shattering wakes you, leaving you startled and disoriented.

Dawn is just breaking, the first rays of sunlight slipping through your window. You sit up, pricking up your ears as you scratch the back of your head, listening attentively.

Logan’s voice filters into your room—he lets out a string of profanities, and you stifle a giggle, throwing off your covers and putting on a sweatshirt that matches your pajamas.

Barefoot, you walk down the hall, stopping at the kitchen’s entrance. Logan is kneeling beside the table, gathering the shards of a broken mug. It seems like he’s just gotten out of the shower, tiny droplets of water trailing down his neck.

“That was my favorite one,” you say in a low voice, teasing him. His back muscles flex under the material of his shirt, and he turns to look at you, his expression a silent apology. “I take it you’re not using your glasses?”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Rising to his feet, he grunts, digging his fingers into his lower back with a grimace. “They’re called readers for a reason.”

You decide to let him have that one, grabbing a new mug from the shelf and handing it to him. He accepts it, thanking you, and fills it with freshly brewed coffee.

“Was it a nightmare?” you ask, watching as he sinks into the couch, spreading his thighs apart with a sigh while you take a seat at the table instead.

Logan gives a nod, sipping some of his coffee. “At least I slept for a few hours.” 

“Are you really going to stay up? It’s pretty early.” You stretch your arms over your head, a yawn escaping you before you can hold it back.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You hesitate for a moment, but then comes your question: “Can I join you?” You prop your elbows on your knees, any trace of sleepiness now gone with the wind.

He squints his eyes, his unrelenting stare boring into you. “Feel free.”

So here you are, studying him as he drinks his coffee, his fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic. There are so many things you want to ask him—about how he’s feeling, if his wounds have healed—but it seems you’ve entered a silent staring contest without even knowing it.

Not that you mind him looking at you—you just want to know the reason why.

You snort, and he arches a brow. “Do I have something on my face?” You decide to ask him, straightening your back.

“I guess I can’t help but wonder why you agreed to all of this,” he says, setting the mug down with a soft clink. By this, you understand he’s referring to being Charles’ caregiver and leaving your old job behind. “I mean—you could be doing better things with your life. Why would you choose to do this?”

“I told you before: I wanted to help you,” you shrug, trying to keep your tone light even as your stomach tightens with nerves. You watch as Logan folds his arms, the muscles of his biceps becoming more visible. “Plus, I love being around Charles.

“I don’t think people your age would be that interested in spending their days like this,” he says, and you toy with a lock of your hair, wrapping it around your finger.

“Well, good thing I’m not like most people my age then.”

His silence hangs heavy in the air until he speaks again. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know that feeling when life seems like a race? And you just have to keep up with certain things that everybody else is doing, or you’ll be left behind?” You pause, the words falling more naturally than you’d expected.

Logan nods, making it seem like he understands what you’re trying to say. Whether he truly does it or not, you don’t know.

“When my friends started going to parties, getting boyfriends… I couldn’t. My family wouldn’t let me. And even when I could, it felt like it wasn’t really what I wanted.”

Inhaling sharply, you stop yourself. The conversation suddenly feels far too personal.

“You never had a boyfriend?” He gets more comfortable on the couch, his voice gruff as he rubs his chin, waiting for a reply.

A familiar heat settles between your legs. “I went out with some guys, but it never led to anything serious,” you say, your cheeks getting warmer the more details you share with him. “I guess I wasn’t the kind of girl they were looking for,” you add, not missing the way his lips twitch momentarily.

“How could they not want you?”

“They didn’t think like you do.”

“That’s because they were boys, not men,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to your hands before returning to your face. “Did they treat you right, those boys?”

Swallowing hard, you can hardly register the uncertainty in your own voice. “I mean… yes, I think they did. They were nice to me.”

There it is—the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. “Nice doesn’t mean good, though.”

You dig your nails onto the table, your pulse quickening, trying to hide how affected you are by his words. “What is it that you want to know?”

“Come sit with me, doll.”

Doll. Doll. Doll. Inside your chest, your heart gallops, your legs trembling as you get off the table, moving closer to him.

Feeling lighter with every step you take, you plop down beside him, and Logan sits straighter, his knees almost bumping into yours.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him—this is happening, just like in your filthiest dreams.

His hand slides up to yours, not applying any sort of pressure. He scrutinizes your skin, bringing your hand to his lips, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

It tickles, it burns—it ignites a fire inside you, one you know you can’t ignore. A gasp attempts to escape you, but you suppress it.

“Did you let them touch you?” he whispers, attaching his mouth to your neck, brushing the sensitive spot where your jaw and ear meet.

This time, you moan, any possible rational thoughts turning into putty, melting with the way he’s touching you. “Logan,” you purr his name, begging for something, anything he’s willing to give you. Your thighs, once shoved together, spread of their own accord, and you hear him click his tongue.

“I asked you something.” His teeth graze your pulse point, forcing you to close your eyes.

“I didn’t. They wanted to, but I—I wouldn’t let them,” you answer, and as if he’s rewarding you, his fingers begin to tug on the hem of your sweatshirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the floor, admiring you.

“Why?”

Goddamn.

“Because I was waiting for the right guy,” you manage to get out, grasping his hand and positioning it on top of your right breast, encouraging him to go on with what he had started. His pupils widen further, and he squeezes your tit roughly, eliciting a moan from you. “I think I’ve found him.”

Logan scans your face, searching for any sign of repentance in your expression. “I’m going to hell for this,” he murmurs under his breath, his hard-on noticeable through his tented sweatpants. “Lay down.” You obey his command, easing yourself onto the couch, and sinking into the cushions as he presses himself to your side.

He peppers your neck with kisses, playing with the waistband of your shorts. “I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.”

You accept his offer, knowing that you’ll probably regret it in a couple of hours. Right now, it doesn’t matter. You need his electrifying touch, his fingers, his—

With a swift motion, your shorts are yanked down your legs, and his calloused hands part your thighs even wider. A damp spot on your underwear sells you out, and his thumb rubs gentle circles over that area, causing you to lift your hips.

“So this is what you look like when you touch yourself, huh?” He edges his fingers closer to your clit, his breath tickling your ear, and he dips his tongue into your collarbone. “I hear you all the fuckin’ time. You’re not as quiet as you think.”

It should embarrass you, the fact that he has listened to you pleasuring yourself. But in a moment like this, it only succeeds in fuelling your desire. “Please. You said you’d make me feel good.”

“And I will, but you’re greedy as hell,” he says, his movements more deliberate now. You feel hot all over as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your glistening cunt.

Logan’s on the verge of drooling all over you, reaching for your folds and spreading your wetness. “Men aren’t strong creatures, honey. You’ve got no idea how hard it is to hold back.”

“D-don’t hold back,” you stutter, losing your composure when he returns to your clit, his fingers coated in your arousal while they flick your swollen bud. “Oh, Logan…”

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he rasps, mouthing at your jaw, though as you try to kiss him, he slows his pace. “What’s wrong? Am I not giving you enough?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you whisper, fascinated by how big his fingers look in comparison to your pussy. “I’m just—”

“Needy, I know,” he finishes for you, and he picks up his merciless rhythm again. Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and you can’t help but arch your back every time he teases you, grazing your entrance with his middle finger. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You dig your nails into his arm, relishing the way his body responds to your touch. He grinds his cock against your hip, his teeth nipping at the column of your neck. “I want to come. Please, make me come,” you sob, letting out a shaky breath.

A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead, and Logan locks eyes with you after what feels like an eternity. “Please, Lo.”

The nickname snaps something inside of him. His fingers circle your clit with a fervency you hadn’t experienced before, your pleasure seemingly being his primary focus. “The shit I’d do for you.”

You warn him, telling him you’re close—so so so close—until the fire in your belly flares, and blood rushes to your ears. You collapse against him, holding his hand firmly against your core, hips jerking as you ride your orgasm.

The world narrows down to this—this moment, your most desired fantasy.

Logan holds you as you go limp in his arms, rubbing your clit ever so slightly, murmuring soft praises. “Y’did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your temple, burying his nose in your hair. You’re still out of breath, the pulsing between your parted legs persisting long after your release. “Told you you weren’t quiet.”

A giggle bubbles up from your chest, his beard tickling you as he slides his hands up under your shirt, finding your nipples.

“It was n-nice,” you tell him, your voice faltering the more he toys with your hardened peaks. Your skin heats up again, heart racing at the thought that he isn’t done with you yet.

“Just nice?” One of his hands makes its way back into your pussy, ghosting his fingers over your hole, and he smirks when he feels you squirm. “You surely know how to hurt a man’s pride.”

“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—” You can’t structure a proper sentence, not when he’s playing with you like this.

Logan rubs your arousal between his fingers, as though he wants you to see how slick you still are, even after coming. “Are you going to touch me again?”

He hums, feigning uncertainty. “What do you think, baby? Should I make you come with my fingers now?”

It’s like a switch flips in your mind. He knows exactly how to make you beg and which buttons to push, using that power to his advantage. “Yes, please. I want it,” you plead, intending to buck your hips into his touch, impatient for more.

“Do you fuck yourself with your fingers?” 

“Sometimes, but I can never finish—Oh my God.” He slips one finger inside you, causing you to curse, your voice barely above a whisper. You clench around the intrusion, your head falling back onto the cushions. “Fuck me.”

“In a minute.” He begins to thrust his finger in and out, gathering your juices every time he goes back to hammering that sweet spot in your interior. Soon, one finger becomes two, and he reduces you to a panting mess.

Tears threaten to swell in your eyes, and you whine as he involves his other hand in the matter, furiously rubbing your clit. “Your fingers feel much better than m-mine, Lo.”

“I can tell.” He curls them just right, and you push back against his thrusts, tilting your pelvis to meet him halfway. “There you go. Take what you need, sweetheart. I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

Everything feels frenzied, fast, the way your inner walls spam and contract around his fingers as you chase your second climax.

Once you come down from your high, your blurred vision catches him tugging the waistband of his sweatpants down. His cock springs free, and he fists himself, stroking his length angrily.

You watch as some pre-cum dribbles from the head, and you lean forward, watching it closely.

“You look goddamn beautiful when you come, darlin’,” he murmurs through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched tight. Hovering over you, he rucks your shirt up until he can see your tits from above. He alternates between your breasts, squeezing them while he continues to stroke his girth. “Want to see these all dirty.”

Logan truly loses it when your hand reaches out to him, tracing a bulging vein near the head of his cock. You meet his lustful gaze, batting your lashes, and then you feel his come splashing against your bare chest, a choked moan escaping Logan’s throat, spurts of his hot seed landing on your skin.

“Fuckin’ hell… fuck,” he grunts, still tugging at his cock, enamored with the masterpiece he’s created. When it’s finally over, he lies beside you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, and he nuzzles further into your touch with a groan. “I’m too old for this.”

Minutes pass as both of you seem to grasp the gravity of what has just happened. Eventually, Logan rises to his feet, disappearing for a brief moment before coming back with a towel to wipe his come off your stomach and chest.

He’s gentle with you, his gaze trained on his task until his eyes flick up to meet yours. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, pulling your shorts back up.

“Like what?” 

“Like you want to see right through me.” He adjusts your shirt to cover your body again, but the towel remains in his hand, a reminder of the previous events.

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

You don’t have to talk about it. You definitely don’t. 

Two days later, he’s the one who comes looking for you.

You’re nearly asleep when he knocks on your door. “Come in,” you mumble, a bit of drool having dampened your pillow. You dry your mouth with the back of your hand, your back turned to the door.

He steps into your room cautiously, as if navigating a minefield. The mattress dips under his weight. “Were you sleeping?” he asks, caressing your leg over the covers. 

You shift onto your back, your body responding before your mind. There’s no blood on his clothes—that makes you feel a bit better, and you shake your head.

“Good.” He looms closer, fumbling with his belt. His thumb applies little pressure to your lower lip, and your mouth parts to let him in, salivating.

This is just like Pavlov’s dog experiment—except that Logan isn’t an experimenter, and you aren’t a dog.

Yet, when he approaches you like this, you can’t help but respond, settling into a routine where you both take take take from each other.

Logan doesn’t fuck you, even when you beg him to. He gets you off with his fingers, his thigh, his mouth—but his cock remains out of the equation. 

“Just the tip,” you plead, voice laced with pure need, when he’s got his face nestled between your legs. 

As he stops eating you out, his beard shiny with your arousal, he’s still got that angry look on his face. Your cries don’t get to him.

“That lie’s older than me.” He slips his fingers back inside you, aiming to make you drop the subject. “Come on, baby. Gotta get ready for work, but you need to come first.”

Nor does he stay the night after telling you you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen in his life. Just when you think he’s fallen asleep, his legs intertwined with yours and one of his large hands under your head, you drift off.

By the time morning comes, he’s gone. You just know that when night falls, he’ll be back for more, drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

Despite all that, Logan won’t kiss you. He keeps his promise, and you hate how determined he is. 

“Not even once?” you ask him one night while going over the scars on his back. You’re in his bed this time, and he has his nose buried in his pillow, moments away from dozing off. 

“No,” he answers, squirming slightly under your touch. “I’m tired. Stop doing that.”

“How did you get this one?” You trace one scar that’s close to his shoulder, resting your chin just inches from it.

He turns his face to see your eyes. “Well, I was doing Pilates, and I—Hey!” He laughs when you pinch the skin near his ribs, tickling him. “I don’t even remember. Must’ve got it a long time ago.”

“Did it hurt?” It’s a dumb question, but he doesn’t mention it.

His index finger grazes your cheek, and he chuckles at the way your eyelids flutter. “In the past, they all did. But not anymore,” he replies, though you wish you could believe him.

You know he’s in pain most days. That when he goes down on you, and he’s on his knees for too long, he has trouble standing up without cursing. That no amount of alcohol, or his healing ability, helps him with it.

You kiss each of his scars before curling against his side, brushing your nose against his. “And now?” Your eyes fall to his lips, silently hoping he’ll say Yes.

Instead, he sighs. “I think we should go to sleep.”

So despite the lack of kisses, the miscommunication, and the fact that he won’t fuck you even though you know—you feel—he wants to, things are good between you.

Charles notices it, openly expressing his recent realization. “He looks happier, doesn’t he?” he asks says after winning two games of chess in a row, startling you. 

“Logan, you mean?”

“Yes, my dear.”

You glance down at the board, fidgeting with the pieces. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he parrots your previous words, raising an eyebrow in doubt. “Look at me,” he says, and as you do it, he points a shaky finger toward your neck. “I assume mosquitos have taken a liking to you.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, your hand flying up to cover the hickey you had completely forgotten about in the first place. “Charles, I’m—“

“Are you happy?” he interrupts you, and you nod, because you are. 

A nagging thought lingers at the back of your mind. You don’t know if you’re asking for too much, but it still feels like something’s missing.

One morning, you accidentally overhear a conversation between them. The door of the tank is ajar, and right before you step inside, you recognize Logan’s voice in the distance.

“Charles, I’m fine, alright? I don’t need your advice.”

There’s a pause before Charles responds. “You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.”

Logan doesn’t say anything in response to that. And if he does, you don’t stick around long enough find out, because you’re already turning on your heel.

A poet once said: “Blowjobs are fucking amazing.”

Actually, you might be wrong. Those may not have been a poet’s words, but your best friend Keira’s from high school.

You remember the sleepovers at her place—she had a boyfriend at the time, a boy she had met at a party you hadn’t been invited to. 

“Welcome to blowjobs 101,” she had declared one night, holding a hairbrush like a microphone. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll tell you everything you need to know when the moment comes.”

Luckily, many years later, that moment arrived.

Just ten minutes ago, you were cooking dinner, sniffling back tears while chopping onions, so lost in thought that you didn’t realize Logan was already home.

He tossed his keys onto the table, hugging you from behind seconds later. You leaned back against his chest, enjoying the scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, his lips planting soft kisses wherever they could.

“How was work?” you dropped the knife, wiping your tears as you turned to face him, throwing your arms around his neck. Logan pulled you in tighter by the waist, giving your ass a firm squeeze.

“Hell, as usual,” he looked into your eyes, finding them all glossy. “You miss me so much you started crying?”

Of course, you didn’t talk about it—but words aren’t the only ones who can convey meaning.

You’re not sure how, but one thing led to another, and now you’re on your knees, Logan’s cock filling your mouth. Your lips, swollen and red, suck hard at his tip, pulling the foreskin back, and his hips jerk deeper into your throat. “That’s it, fuck. Doin’ so good.”

Your movements are far from graceful. As a matter of fact, it’s all too sloppy and desperate. Saliva drips down your chin, some of it coating his balls, and you fondle them at the same time you bob your head.

Keira’s advice plays on repeat in your mind, and you pull out every trick you know to make Logan roll his eyes.

So far, you think you’re doing pretty great, judging by the way he’s gripping the back of your head.

“H-how is this your first time suckin’ cock?” he slurs, more to himself, his voice strangled as you make eye contact with him. He brushes your hair out of your face, bewitched by the sight of him disappearing into your wet mouth. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

Taken aback by his sudden confession. you involuntarily gag around him. He pulls you off his cock, not even sparing you a glance, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Wait, Logan—”

“Not now,” he mutters abruptly, withdrawing into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

But still, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

How bad is it to tell somebody you love them and then avoid them?

Yeah, it’s absolutely terrible, right? Tell that to the idiot himself—Logan Howlett.

It’s been over a week, and no matter how many times you press him for an explanation, he keeps dodging it.

Things go back to how they were before you two started fooling around, and Charles’ questions don’t take long to come: “I thought you two were getting somewhere.”

“Me too,” you admit, your voice quieter as you try to appear indifferent.

You have no answer for him. Not that you don’t want to discuss your relationship problems—it’s just that you don’t know what went wrong.

When evading you isn’t enough, he works longer hours, which only adds to how little you see him. At least he lets you know if he’s going to be late, sparing you from waiting up.

But apart from that, your interactions have dwindled to nothing, and it’s eating you alive.

You’re madly in love with him. You thought you knew that already, but now that he’s distant, the depth of your feelings has become clearer than ever.

He’s everywhere you go, just not physically—he has conquered your mind.

And it should be funny, loving someone who used to be no more than a myth for you. Though Logan is real—maybe too real for your own good—and he hasn’t been the mutant you once read about for quite some time.

This morning, he’s having breakfast at the table when you walk into the kitchen. You hold your breath as your shoulders brush for a microsecond, his gaze following your steps.

You’re no longer accustomed to sharing the same space with him, so it makes sense that you stay as far away as possible.

After an awkward silence, he stands up and mutters something about checking on Charles and giving him his meds, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It’s infuriating, how collected he seems. Why isn’t he miserable like you? Doesn’t he miss you? Didn’t you two have something… special?

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

The shit I’d for you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

Not now.

The memory of his words lingers, seared into your unconscious, though the sound of his phone jolts you out of your thoughts.

It’s ringing beside the coffee machine, and you try to ignore it, determined to be the bigger person.

But after five minutes of the relentless ringtone echoing in the empty kitchen, you’ve had enough.

Unknown caller—interesting. What could he possibly be hiding?

Charles, you better keep that asshole busy, you think to yourself, swiping right to answer the call.

Before you can say anything, a woman’s voice fills the line.

“James! Thank God. It’s Gillian. You didn’t reply to any of my texts, and I was starting to get worried,” she lets out a giggle, the sound grating against your nerves.

As your grip on the phone tightens, your knuckles start to go white.

“Look, I know you said you weren’t available, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that ride. I didn’t see any ring on your finger, so what do you say, huh? Will you let me take you out?”

Red. You’re seeing red.

“James? Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

At last, you clear your throat. “Hey,” you greet her, pacing around the kitchen. “I’m deeply sorry, but James can’t talk right now.”

“Excuse me?” she snaps, her high-pitched voice echoing through the speakers, and you pull the device away from your ear. “This is James’ number. Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you who the fuck I am, you intolerant piece of—”

Before you can finish, the phone is yanked out of your hand, the call hastily ending.

There is no use in playing dumb, not when Logan’s standing right in front of you, observing you like you’re a child who’s made a severe mistake.

His deep, brown eyes pierce your soul, shattering any chance you had of coming up with an excuse.

“What where you doing with my phone?” It’s the first thing he asks you, his voice still steady, the calm before the storm.

Perhaps you’re not as mature as you thought you were—your forehead furrows, unwilling to back down, and you fall silent. He takes a step forward, as if he can’t believe your attitude. “Think I asked you somethin’. Why did you answer?”

“Gillian sounds like a lovely lady. Tell her I said ‘Hi’ the next time you see her,” you croak, attempting to walk past him, but he doesn’t budge, his solid frame blocking your path. You collide with his chest, and it feels like trying to move a brick wall without success.

“We’re talking. You can’t just leave.”

The nerve of this man.

“You can’t be serious,” you retort, staring at him, wishing the emotion in your tone could capture even a fraction of what you’re truly feeling. “Weren’t you the one who walked away first? After telling me you loved me?”

You search for any sign of the man who once held you close, but he feels miles away, hidden under all these layers that smell like cheap whiskey and gasoline. “You didn’t mean it.”

“I did. I meant every word,” he growls, his fists clenching at his sides, and you don’t miss the exhaustion in his eyes, the dark circles that expose the fragile façade of control he’s so desperate to maintain. “Goddamit! You’re doing that thing again!”

“What thing?” you exclaim, your mouth hanging open in frustration. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are! You’re trying to see through me, like you can read my mind.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a fucking mutant. I just have eyes, Logan.” You throw your arms up, exasperated. “People actually look at each other when they have a conversation, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re testing my patience,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

“And you are testing mine.” You rest your back against the table, raising your chin. “So, who is she?”

Logan drops his shoulders, slamming his eyes shut. “I drove her once, last week. It was a long ride and she… wouldn’t stop talking. Didn’t shut up for a single second. She hit on me, but I told her I’m off the market.”

“Why? ‘Cause she talked too much?”

“No. Because I love you,” he says, pure awe transforming his expression, like he doesn’t believe he has said it out loud. “I don’t know when I started feeling like this, or if I’ve always felt it, but—I do. I love you.”

Oh.

You had heard those words slip through his lips before, but now they sound different. It might be that keeping him at arm's length has felt like death by a thousand cuts, or perhaps it’s the realization that this is the first time someone’s declaring their love for you.

Fuck. He loves you. As in, he’s in love with you?

“Then why do you keep running?” You edge closer to him, your eyes trained on his. “I’m done with the chase, Logan. It’s tiring—I am tired. I’ve been sleeping like shit, trying to figure out what—”

His arms surround your body, cutting you off and pulling you close. The hammering of his heart matches yours, and you return the hug, nuzzling your nose against his neck.

You fear that this might be all you’ve ever needed, feeling as if the pieces he took from you in the past are finally falling back into place.

Logan holds you as if in a past life he lost you, but now, he’s decided to never let you go.

This profound sense of completeness, of being where you’re meant to be, makes you realize you’ve found home in the warmth of his embrace.

“I’m sorry. This… this scares me, alright?” he murmurs next to your ear, raking his fingers through your hair. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I could feel anymore. That’s what I’m running from—the part of me I thought was gone. But you… you brought it back.”

You feel a deep urge to curl up and cry, wondering why on earth he would ever think he was unworthy of being cared for. “Logan, I…”

“I sound pathetic, I know. It sounded way better in my head.”

“Don’t you dare say that.” You retreat a bit, looking him in the eye. He stares down at you with a tenderness you’ve never seen before. “It’s not pathetic to voice how you feel. I want to know it all, want to know everything about you.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything. But I need you to promise me that you won’t run away anymore. I know it’s difficult, but it’s not fair to any of us.”

His eyes peer directly into yours, and he gives a nod. “I promise to do my best.” He presses your foreheads together, and that’s when his mouth turns into a grin. “You’re not going to say it back?” he teases, gripping your waist. “Come on, I said it first. Twice, for the record.”

Lifting your shoulders in a half-shrug, you find it hard to conceal your smile. “I may need a bit more convincing.”

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

Before you know it, his lips are on yours, almost making you lose your balance. You whimper into his mouth, tightening your arms around his neck as his tongue wastes no time in finding yours, stroking it sensually.

The wait had been definitely worth it—you’d do everything all over again if it meant having him kiss you like this at the end of the day.

He tilts your face so that he can deepen the kiss, and a whine gets caught in your throat when his fingers pull gently at the hair at your nape, nibbling at your bottom lip. 

“I love you, too. Very much, to be honest,” you blurt out against his mouth, pleased with the way he laughs at your reaction, squeezing your hips. “But I still have some ideas in mind.”

“I’m all ears.”

Here goes nothing. “Fuck me like I’ve been asking you to.” You cup his cheek, guiding his lips into yours one more time. “Please,” you mewl, standing on your tiptoes. “Want you to be my first.”

If it were up to you, you would’ve begged him to take you right there on the kitchen floor. But Logan, ever the gentleman, insists on moving things to his room.

Each of his movements is slow, igniting your skin with a burning heat, leaving his name imprinted where his teeth sink into your soft flesh.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear by the time he murmurs: “Let me take my time with you.” He trails his lips down your chest, your stomach, until he’s planting several kisses along your ankle. “I don’t know how I got so lucky, baby. Look at you.”

Under his gaze, you feel shy, your eyes snapping to the ceiling instead. “Shut up,” you say, tugging at his shirt to undress him, your fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen before you pull him into a bruising kiss, sucking on his tongue.

He strips out of his black slacks and hovers over you, his clothed cock grinding against your throbbing core, eliciting a moan from both of you. “So goddamn beautiful. Can’t believe you’re mine.” His tip grazes your entrance through the fabric, making your toes curl in ectasy. “I’m gonna make you feel good, I swear.”

At first, he’s extremely careful, making sure to stretch you out with his fingers while you stroke him, pumping your fist to match his rhythm. “Keep that up and this’ll be over sooner than expected,” he warns, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

It doesn’t happen like it does in the books or movies. No foreplay could’ve prepared you for the moment he enters you.

You move clumsily beneath him, your nose bumping into his forehead as he eases the first inch of his length inside.

For a moment, you’re not certain which hurts most: the dull ache in your nose or the way he’s splitting you open. 

Logan freezes, his eyes wide in concern. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay?” His hand cradles your face as he props himself up on one forearm, pushing your hair back while you adjust to his size. You laugh despite the sting, and he wipes away your tears with his thumb. “You’re laughin’?”

“I’m just happy,” you manage to get through the lump in your throat, raking your nails down his back, feeling the rough texture of the scars beneath your fingers. “I love you. Since that day at the bar, I—” you pause for a second, gasping at the sudden wave of pleasure when he twitches inside you. “I’ll always l-love you. Forever.”

As you wrap your legs around his waist and tell him you’re ready, something inside him shifts.

He feels like a madman, his eyes fixed on your face the whole time, searching for any hint of discomfort, though he occasionally glances down at the place where your bodies meet and become one, entranced by the sight of you taking him in, slick coating his length. 

Your heels dig into his lower back, pulling him back to the present—back to you, with your pretty tits bouncing each time he pistols his hips, the intensity of his thrusts increasing.

“All those times you took care of me, when you—Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your jaw to regain some of his composure, his humid breath dampening your skin. Your scent drives him wild, and he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You made me feel loved when no one else did. My girl, love you so f-fucking much.”

His pace is nothing more than a voiceless testament to everything he feels but can’t find words to express.

With each minute that passes, your dripping cunt grips him tighter and tighter, his thrusts losing finesse. He needs you to come first—why does he feel like a virgin?

When you tell him you’re close, the world around him turns into a musical. You cling to the sheets, the mattress creaking noisily as he clutches the headboard, determined to find that angle that will push you over the edge.

“That’s it, sing for me,” Logan mutters from above, hypnotized by the crease forming between your brows. “Come on, let go.”

Time seems to slow down as your muscles tense and you clamp around him, your body sagging against him. His name spills from your lips in breathy whimpers, like an endless prayer, and your mouth engulfs his, tongues and teeth clashing in a fevered kiss.

Soon after that, he surrenders to the coiling tension deep within him, pulling out just in time to stroke himself once, twice, before emptying his hot load across your mound.

You gently thumb the head of his cock, coaxing out every last drop of his hot seed. He’s panting as he comes down from his high, his brain foggy and blissfully blank for a while. 

Logan loses track of how many times he tells you he loves you—he does it when he pulls you into his chest, when his lips press against your temple, and when you crack that smile, the one that resembles the very purpose of his existence.

“So this is what it feels like.” His voice sounds low like a murmur near your ear, and you stir, half-asleep.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, baby. Just thinkin’ aloud.”

You don’t have to talk about it, at least not now. Deep down, he knows that whatever thoughts run through his mind will somehow find their way into yours.

This is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.

And God, is he feeling it.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[astrologydray]

The Sun Through the Degrees

The Sun represents your core identity, life force, purpose, and ego. The specific degree of the Sun in your birth chart adds extra depth to your personality, revealing how you express your individuality and approach life.

0° Sun – The Pure Self

• Radiates raw, unfiltered energy.

• Strong sense of identity but may act impulsively.

• Has a natural leadership presence.

1° Sun – The Pioneer

• Courageous and ready to initiate new paths.

• Highly independent and self-reliant.

• Can be impatient or impulsive.

2° Sun – The Builder

• Grounded and focused on long-term stability.

• Prefers a steady approach to life.

• Can be stubborn but dependable.

3° Sun – The Expressive Spirit

• Charismatic and lively, enjoys self-expression.

• Loves being noticed and recognized.

• Needs to balance confidence with humility.

4° Sun – The Structured Leader

• Organized and values tradition.

• Takes responsibility seriously.

• Can be rigid in their beliefs.

5° Sun – The Bold Creator

• Passionate about making an impact.

• Highly creative and enjoys taking risks.

• Needs to control ego-driven tendencies.

6° Sun – The Perceptive One

• Highly intuitive and emotionally aware.

• Seeks depth and meaning in life.

• Can be overly sensitive to criticism.

7° Sun – The Spiritual Seeker

• Deeply connected to spiritual or philosophical beliefs.

• May feel like they have a bigger mission in life.

• Can be detached from practical concerns.

8° Sun – The Powerful Influencer

• Naturally magnetic and authoritative.

• Draws people in with confidence and presence.

• Needs to be mindful of power struggles.

9° Sun – The Enthusiastic Adventurer

• Loves exploring new ideas, places, and experiences.

• Optimistic and full of energy.

• Needs to learn patience and commitment.

10° Sun – The Determined Achiever

• Hardworking and committed to success.

• Takes pride in accomplishments.

• Can be too focused on material success.

11° Sun – The Visionary

• Thinks ahead and embraces innovation.

• Often feels different from the crowd.

• Needs to ground ideas into reality.

12° Sun – The Emotional Intuitive

• Deeply sensitive and emotionally aware.

• Can easily pick up on others’ energies.

• Needs to balance emotions with logic.

13° Sun – The Transformational Leader

• Goes through major personal transformations in life.

• Highly intense and passionate.

• Needs to learn surrender and adaptability.

14° Sun – The Magnetic Personality

• Naturally draws people in with charm and warmth.

• Has a strong presence but can be overwhelming.

• Needs to ensure authenticity in self-expression.

15° Sun – The Balanced Individual

• Strives for harmony and fairness.

• Can see multiple perspectives in a situation.

• Needs to be decisive and firm.

16° Sun – The Purpose-Driven Soul

• Feels called to do something meaningful.

• Often takes on leadership or guiding roles.

• Needs to ensure they follow their own path, not others’.

17° Sun – The Competitive Spirit

• Loves a challenge and thrives in competition.

• Can be extremely determined and ambitious.

• Needs to learn humility in victory and grace in defeat.

18° Sun – The Deep Thinker

• Reflective and highly intellectual.

• May take a philosophical approach to life.

• Needs to take action instead of overanalyzing.

19° Sun – The Risk-Taker

• Bold, adventurous, and always seeking excitement.

• Thrives on change but must avoid recklessness.

• Needs to commit to something long-term.

20° Sun – The Hardworking Visionary

• Combines discipline with big-picture thinking.

• Highly focused on making an impact.

• Needs to find balance between work and personal life.

21° Sun – The Creative Thinker

• Expresses themselves through art, ideas, or innovation.

• Has a natural talent for communication.

• Needs to ensure they follow through on ideas.

22° Sun – The Master Strategist

• Highly intelligent and calculated in their approach.

• Can be a great planner or organizer.

• Needs to be mindful of over-controlling tendencies.

23° Sun – The Confident Leader

• Natural ability to lead and inspire others.

• Highly self-assured and ambitious.

• Needs to remain humble and open-minded.

24° Sun – The Passionate Creator

• Puts their heart into everything they do.

• Has a strong emotional connection to their work.

• Needs to manage intense emotional highs and lows.

25° Sun – The Loyal Defender

• Extremely dedicated to loved ones and personal beliefs.

• Can be protective and stand up for others.

• Needs to ensure they don’t become overly possessive.

26° Sun – The Hidden Power

• Has a quiet strength that others may not see immediately.

• Doesn’t always seek the spotlight but holds great influence.

• Needs to trust their abilities and step forward when needed.

27° Sun – The Dreamer in Action

• Inspired by big visions and spiritual ideas.

• Has a deep sense of purpose but must stay practical.

• Needs to balance imagination with grounded action.

28° Sun – The Worldly Explorer

• Drawn to different cultures, philosophies, and ideas.

• Always seeking new knowledge and experiences.

• Needs to find stability amidst constant change.

29° Sun – The Karmic Leader

• Carries deep wisdom and lessons from past lifetimes.

• May feel a strong sense of destiny or mission.

• Needs to overcome final challenges before stepping fully into their power.

[luvsick-chivalry]

knights who are tense, wound tight and spring-loaded after battle, ready to fight at a moments notice. their bodies carrying the heavy ache of their armor with stoic determination, even after the danger has passed.

there is nothing more rewarding than the noises they make as you wring that tension from the meat of their shoulders, pushing survival instinct and hard knots from taut flesh until they’re melting into the touch.

force them to remember a life outside the battlefield, one where they can surrender their pride, place their face in the sheets, and lay their safety and trust in you as you pull them apart, piece by piece

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

𝜗ৎ. 🍓 FALLING FOR WAR ?!

ໃ𑄺. paring : god of war mydei x mortal warrior male!reader

ໃ𑄺. synopsis : You are nothing but a mortal warrior—fragile, fleeting, and yet, you have defied the God of War himself. Mydei has crushed entire civilizations under his heel, yet no matter how many times he cuts you down, you rise again, bloodied but unbroken. He should end you, make an example of your defiance, but instead, he finds himself enthralled. Your stubbornness is infuriating, your resilience intoxicating. So, he decides to break you in a different way, to make you surrender, not to war, but to him. And when he finally has you beneath him, trembling and breathless, you realize that even the strongest warriors can fall.[GOD OF WAR SERIES.] ૮ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა

ໃ𑄺. warnings : nsfw/smut, man handling, size kink, rough mydei, anal sēx, mild dumbification, multiple of rounds, semi-public sēx, creampie, blowjob, face sitting (reader reviving), praise, degradation, squirting, mild dubcon and slūt shaming.

ໃ𑄺. note : this took forever to write because its my first time writing male reader.

You should have died days ago.

Maybe weeks.

Time blurred together in the haze of blood and broken bones.

Again and again, Mydei’s sword had torn you open. Again and again, his fist had driven you into the dirt like a nail.

And yet — every morning, you rose. Breathless. Shaking. But unbroken.

A mortal.

Frail. Weak.

You shouldn’t have been able to survive this long.

"You don't know when to fall, do you?" Mydei snarled today, golden armor gleaming with the blood of your comrades, his towering form looming over your battered body. "Pathetic little thing. You should be begging me to finish it."

Instead, you grinned up at him, cracked lips pulling into a bloody, stubborn smile.

"You’ll have to try harder...god."

Something inside him—something dark, something ancient—snapped.

In an instant, he was on you, sword clattering to the ground as he grabbed your throat, hoisting you up like you weighed nothing. His hand nearly wrapped around your whole neck, the size difference dizzying.

"You want harder, little mortal?" he growled against your ear, breath hot, hungry. "Then beg for it."

You tried to speak—tried to curse him—but your vision blurred from the pressure.

And gods, you hated it—hated the way your body reacted, cock stirring against the ruined fabric of your pants, heat pooling deep in your gut.

Mydei saw it.

Of course he did.

A slow, predatory grin stretched across his face. "Tch. Look at you. Getting hard just from being manhandled like a filthy little slut."

With a crash, he slammed you against a nearby stone pillar, the impact rattling your bones, the world tilting. Before you could recover, he shoved you down to your knees.

"You’re not a warrior," he sneered, grabbing your hair and forcing your face against the bulge straining his armor. "You’re weak."

You whimpered, shame burning under your skin—and still, you opened your mouth obediently when he tugged open his belt.

His cock was massive, just like the rest of him—thick, heavy, the kind of thing that would tear a man apart.

And yet... when he tapped it against your lips, smearing precum across them like a brand, you leaned in.

"Tch. Desperate little thing," Mydei growled. "You pretend you're strong... but all it takes is a real god to put you in your place."

He forced himself between your lips, groaning deep in his chest when your throat struggled to take him. You gagged, eyes watering, gripping his thighs for balance as he set a brutal pace, fucking your mouth without mercy.

Each thrust made your vision dance with stars, your nose pressed against his musky skin, the taste of salt and sweat flooding your senses.

"My stubborn little warrior..." he rasped, voice thick with arousal. "Look at you. All that pride... and you're drooling over my cock like a common whore."

Tears ran down your cheeks—whether from the choking or the humiliation, you couldn't tell.

You hated him.

You hated him so much it hurt.

And yet—your cock was throbbing, dripping precum into your ruined pants, aching for more.

Mydei pulled out with a wet pop, letting you collapse forward, gasping for air.

Before you could even think, he grabbed you again, turning you roughly, shoving your chest against the pillar.

"You wanted to fight me?" he snarled. "This is your reward."

With a brutal, merciless thrust, he speared into you, splitting you open in one stroke.

You screamed—half in pain, half in desperate, shameful pleasure—as he bottomed out inside you.

He was too big, stretching you until you felt like you might tear, the sensation riding the line between agony and ecstasy.

"F-fuck—!" you choked, fists pounding weakly against the pillar.

He just laughed, low and cruel, hips snapping forward with brutal force.

Each thrust knocked the breath from your lungs, his cock hammering deep, claiming you.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the ruined temple around you—obscene, loud enough that anyone wandering nearby would hear.

And gods, the thought of it—of being caught like this, used like a ragdoll by the very god you tried to defy—made you clench around him, shame flooding you.

Mydei felt it.

"Filthy," he growled, slapping your ass hard enough to make you yelp. "Tightening up like a fucking whore just ‘cause you’re getting bred by a god."

You could barely think anymore—words slipping from your mouth in broken, needy sounds.

"F-fuck... please...!" you sobbed, hips moving on their own now, chasing every punishing thrust like an addict.

"That's it," Mydei growled, voice dark and triumphant. "Knew you’d fall eventually. Knew you’d break."

You didn't even notice him lifting you at first—didn't realize he was carrying you, impaled on his cock like a trophy, until your back slammed into another stone slab.

You whimpered, trembling in his grasp as he pounded into you even harder now, using his full strength, fucking you so deep it felt like you could taste him in your throat.

You were nothing but a ragdoll in his hands now, babbling, eyes rolling back, pleasure white-hot and brutal in your veins.

Your cock throbbed between your bodies, untouched, leaking precum in thick spurts against his stomach.

"You gonna cum, little warrior?" Mydei mocked, rutting into you with savage intensity. "Gonna cum just from getting your guts rearranged?"

You nodded frantically, unable to form words.

He laughed, low and cruel.

"Pathetic."

With a final, vicious thrust, he pushed you over the edge, and you screamed—squirting, cock pulsing, white spilling messily between your bodies.

You spasmed helplessly in his grasp, body clenching around his cock, milking him.

Mydei groaned deep in his chest, hips jerking erratically as he finally found his release, flooding you with hot, heavy ropes of cum, so much it leaked out around his cock and down your trembling thighs.

You slumped against him, boneless, mind numb and broken, gasping for breath.

And still, he held you there, impaled and stuffed full, grinding lazily into you, like he never wanted to pull out.

"Look at you," he murmured against your ear, voice almost tender now. "Mine."

You shivered—whether from fear or something darker, you didn’t know.

But as Mydei began to move again, slow and punishing, it became clear:

You had fallen.

Not to war.

Not to death.

But to him.

And you would never escape.

Mydei didn’t let you rest—not truly.

Every time you thought he’d had his fill, he dragged you back onto his cock, bruising you from the inside out, claiming you again and again.

You were his now.

Not a warrior.

Not a hero.

Just a conquered thing.

He lounged atop his fallen temple throne now, one powerful thigh thrown lazily over the stone armrest, golden armor glinting.

You were spread out across his lap, legs dangling over his knees, chest pressed to his stomach, stuffed full of him once again.

The god of war was massive underneath you, thick and twitching inside your ruined hole, still leaking hot seed from the last time he'd emptied himself into you.

"You’re lucky," Mydei rumbled, dragging a heavy hand down your back, the touch both mocking and fond. "Most mortals die screaming beneath my heel. You? You get to be kept."

You whimpered, grinding down helplessly, the tip of his cock pressing against something devastating deep inside you.

"Still hungry, are you?" he chuckled darkly. "Tch. Filthy little thing."

He grabbed your hips, lifting you easily, nearly pulling out—before slamming you back down again.

You cried out, body jerking, hands scrabbling weakly at his chest for balance.

"You belong here," he growled, bouncing you lazily on his cock, his hands gripping your waist so hard you knew you’d have bruises in the morning. "Split open on my cock where you were meant to be."

The worst part?

You loved it.

You fucking loved it.

Your cock throbbed between your bodies, smearing precum across the hard plates of his armor, soaking the golden sheen with your desperation.

"You were never a warrior," Mydei snarled, thrusting up into you so deep you screamed. "You're a fuck toy. A seat for your god."

As if to prove it, he shifted you—pinned you down against the throne now, forcing you onto your back, legs folded up to your chest.

The new angle made his cock drive impossibly deeper, battering your prostate with every brutal thrust.

"Take it," he hissed, sweat dripping from his temples. "Take your god like the desperate little thing you are."

Your mind was mush now—body shivering, drooling, mumbling incoherent prayers as he rutted into you like a beast.

Somewhere distant, you heard voices—soldiers passing the ruined temple gates, perhaps—but Mydei didn’t stop.

If anything, he fucked you harder, proud of ruining you where others could hear.

"You want them to see you?" he sneered, voice sharp as a blade. "Want them to see what happens when you defy the god of war?"

You could only sob and nod, your body betraying you completely.

With a growl, Mydei grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand, the other spreading your thighs even wider, hips snapping like a piston.

"You’re mine now," he snarled into your mouth. "Say it."

You choked on a moan, words tumbling out between ragged gasps.

"M-mine—yours—fuck—yours—!"

He roared low in his chest, slamming into you one final time, cock twitching violently as he spilled inside you again—hot, thick, endless.

You felt it flood you, dripping out around him, filthy and perfect.

He didn't pull out.

Just stayed buried deep, panting against your neck, hips rocking lazily to keep you stuffed full of him.

"My pretty little ruin," he rasped, nipping your throat possessively. "I'll make sure you never walk again without remembering who broke you."

You whimpered brokenly, trembling in his grasp.

And when he shifted again—lifting your weak, pliant body to straddle his face, dragging you down onto his mouth—you didn't even fight.

Just sobbed out a needy, humiliated moan as he began to devour you, tongue forcing you into another helpless, overstimulated orgasm.

Squirting against his mouth, against his smirking lips, against the god who owned you now.

You had fallen.

Not with glory.

Not with honor.

But on your knees, trembling, broken—and utterly his.

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

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[count-on-mi]

Whatever it takes... (Nayeon)

“Enter, Nayeon,” you command, your voice low and authoritative. “Close the door.”

She swallows hard, her throat dry, and obeys, the heavy door sealing her fate with a soft thud. The room is stark, with bare walls and a single desk where you sit, exuding control. Nayeon’s practice outfit—tight sports bra and shorts—clings to her lithe frame, accentuating her curves. Your eyes linger, predatory, as you lean back, fingers drumming the desk.

“You know why you haven’t been chosen for TWICE yet, don’t you?” you said, your voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of menace. “Your singing is decent, your dancing passable, but you lack… something special.”

The words cut deep, slicing through her pride like a blade. Nayeon bit her lip, her knuckles whitening as she clutched the resume. She knew she wasn’t the most talented trainee, but she had poured her soul into this—how could she lack anything? Her mind raced, searching for a defense, but her voice came out weak, trembling: “I… I can work harder. Please, give me a chance.” The plea felt like a betrayal of her dignity, each word a step closer to surrender.

You rose from your chair, your movements deliberate, predatory. Circling behind her, your shadow loomed over her like a dark cloud. The air grew heavy, and she felt the heat of your breath on the back of her neck, carrying the faint scent of cologne. Her body stiffened, every muscle tensing as fear and shame coiled in her gut. She wanted to run, to scream, but her legs felt rooted to the floor, trapped by the weight of her dream. This is for TWICE, she told herself, but the lie felt hollow, a fragile shield against the truth she refused to face.

“Chances?” you murmured, your voice a low, mocking purr. “Chances are earned, Nayeon. What are you willing to give for yours?”

Her heart sank, the implication of your words sinking in like poison. She understood now—this wasn’t about her talent or her effort. It was about something far darker, something that would stain her soul. Her lips trembled, and she tried to deflect, her voice barely a whisper: “I don’t know what you mean…” But she did know. Deep down, she knew exactly what you wanted, and the realization filled her with a suffocating shame. She was a good girl, a dreamer, not this—not whatever you were turning her into.

Your hand landed on her shoulder, fingers sliding down her arm with a slow, deliberate touch that sent a shiver through her. The warmth of your skin contrasted with the cold dread pooling in her stomach. “Don’t play innocent,” you whispered in her ear, your voice dripping with sick amusement. “You know how to please me. Strip.”

The command hit her like a physical blow, and her knees nearly buckled. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. Her mind screamed in protest: No, this isn’t me! I’m not that kind of girl! But the dream—the years of sweat, the sleepless nights, the endless rehearsals—loomed like a specter, demanding she pay its price. She tried to speak, to beg for another way, but her voice broke: “Please… I’ve never…”

“Strip, or get out,” you cut her off, your tone icy, unyielding. “No debut. No TWICE. Nothing.”

The finality of your words shattered her. The dream she had clung to for so long was slipping through her fingers, and the cost of keeping it was her dignity, her purity, her very sense of self. Tears streamed down her cheeks, silent and scalding, as she reached for the hem of her sports bra with trembling hands. The fabric slid off, exposing her pale breasts, her nipples hardening in the cold air, a humiliating betrayal of her body. She hesitated, her hands hovering over her shorts, but your impatient glare forced her to continue. The shorts and underwear fell to the floor, leaving her naked, defenseless, her skin prickling with goosebumps under your ravenous gaze.

Her arms instinctively moved to cover her chest, a futile attempt to shield herself from the shame that consumed her. She felt like a specimen under a microscope, every inch of her body exposed to your scrutiny. Her cheeks burned, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the reality of what she was doing. This is for the dream, she repeated, but the mantra felt like a lie, a justification for the degradation she was enduring. Her mind churned with self-loathing: How did I end up here? I’m supposed to be a star, not… this.

“Hands down,” you ordered, your voice a whip that cracked through her thoughts. She obeyed, her arms falling limply to her sides, her body fully exposed. The humiliation was unbearable, a crushing weight that made her want to disappear. Your eyes roamed her body, lingering on her breasts, her flat stomach, the untouched space between her thighs. A cruel smile curled your lips. “Not bad,” you said, your tone dripping with condescension. “Your body’s worth more than your voice.”

The words stung, each one a fresh wound to her pride. Nayeon’s chest heaved with silent sobs, her tears pooling on the floor. She felt like a commodity, reduced to flesh and curves, her talent and hard work discarded in favor of her body. The shame was a living thing, wrapping around her heart, squeezing until she could barely breathe. She wanted to scream, to claw her way out of this nightmare, but the dream—the cursed dream—held her captive.

“Get on the table,” you commanded, your voice sharp with impatience. “Spread your legs.”

Her stomach lurched, the order amplifying her humiliation to an unbearable degree. She climbed onto the table, the cold surface biting into her skin, a stark reminder of her vulnerability. As she parted her legs, the act felt like a violation of her very soul. Her virgin pussy glistened faintly under the harsh lights, the exposure making her feel like a whore, a betrayal of everything she had ever believed about herself. Her hands gripped the edge of the table, her nails digging into the wood, leaving crescent-shaped marks. She stared at the ceiling, trying to dissociate, to pretend this was happening to someone else. But the shame was relentless, a tidal wave that drowned her in self-disgust. I’m filthy, she thought. I’m nothing.

You shed your jacket and unbuckled your pants, revealing your erect cock, thick and menacing, veins pulsing with anticipation. Nayeon’s breath hitched, her eyes widening in terror as she saw it. The sight was grotesque, a symbol of her impending ruin. Her mind screamed: No, please, not this! But she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, paralyzed by the weight of her dream and the crushing shame that bound her.

“Look at me, slut,” you snapped, forcing her to meet your gaze. Her eyes, red and swollen from crying, locked onto your cock, the sight filling her with dread. “Virgin, huh?” you taunted, your fingers brushing the inside of her thigh, creeping toward her untouched core. She nodded, tears streaming down her face, her shame intensifying with every second. The word “virgin” felt like a brand, a reminder of what she was about to lose—not just her physical purity, but her identity, her pride, her humanity.

“Good,” you said, your voice thick with sadistic glee. “I love breaking in virgins.” Your fingers paused at her entrance, teasing the sensitive flesh, sending a jolt of unwanted sensation through her. Nayeon’s body tensed, her mind recoiling in horror. This isn’t me, she thought, but the mantra was losing its power, eroded by the relentless tide of shame.

“Please… be gentle,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, a desperate plea born of fear and humiliation. The words felt like a surrender, a final admission of her powerlessness. She hated herself for saying them, for begging, but the terror of what was coming was too much to bear.

“Gentle?” you sneered, your fingers plunging into her tight pussy without warning. She screamed, the pain sharp and searing, her walls clenching around the intrusion. “You’re here to serve me, whore.” You thrust your fingers in and out, rough and unrelenting, her body jerking with each movement. Her thighs trembled, blood and arousal mixing in a sickening cocktail that dripped onto the table. The sound of your fingers moving inside her was obscene, a wet, rhythmic squelch that echoed in the silent room, amplifying her shame to a deafening roar.

Nayeon’s mind was a battlefield, shame and pain warring for dominance. Every thrust of your fingers felt like a violation, not just of her body but of her very being. She was supposed to be a star, a beacon of hope for her fans, not this—this degraded, broken thing. Her tears fell faster, her sobs choking her as she tried to cling to the fragments of her dignity. But the shame was all-consuming, a black hole that swallowed her pride, her dreams, her self. I’m disgusting, she thought. I’m nothing but a toy for him.

You withdrew your fingers, licking them clean with a grotesque smirk. “Sweet little cunt,” you said, savoring her taste. “Time for the real thing.”

You positioned yourself between her legs, your cock pressing against her entrance, the swollen head teasing her slick folds. Nayeon’s breath hitched, her body trembling with a mix of fear and unwanted arousal. The shame was a living thing now, a serpent coiling around her heart, squeezing until she could barely breathe. She knew what was coming, knew it would destroy her, and yet her body betrayed her, responding to your touch with a heat she couldn’t suppress.

“Beg me to fuck you,” you ordered, your voice a low growl. “Beg me to take your virginity.”

Her lips quivered, the words stuck in her throat like shards of glass. The humiliation of begging for her own violation was unbearable, a degradation so profound it threatened to unravel her completely. Her mind screamed: Don’t say it! Don’t give him that! But the dream—the cursed dream—loomed like a guillotine, ready to sever her last hope if she refused. “Please… fuck me… take it…” she choked out, her voice breaking, each word a fresh wound to her soul. The shame was excruciating, a fire that burned through her pride, leaving only ashes.

You didn’t hesitate, thrusting forward with brutal force, tearing through her hymen and burying yourself deep inside her. Nayeon screamed, the pain a white-hot lance that split her in two. Blood trickled from her stretched pussy, pooling on the table, a stark symbol of her lost innocence. Her walls clamped around you, tight and unyielding, the sensation both agonizing and strangely intoxicating. You groaned, relishing the resistance, and began to move, each thrust a deliberate assault on her body and spirit.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” you growled, your hands gripping her hips, nails digging into her flesh. Your thrusts were merciless, each one driving deeper, slamming against her cervix with a force that made her body quake. The table creaked beneath her, the sound mingling with the wet slap of skin on skin, a perverse symphony that filled the room. Nayeon’s hands clawed at the table, her nails splintering the wood, her body writhing in a futile attempt to escape the pain.

The shame was a tsunami now, drowning her in its relentless waves. Every thrust felt like a public execution, her dignity stripped away before an invisible audience of her own shattered dreams. She was no longer Nayeon, the aspiring idol, the girl who danced with hope in her heart. She was a whore, a vessel for your pleasure, her body a canvas for your cruelty. Her tears fell in a steady stream, her sobs choking her as she tried to hold onto some fragment of herself. I’m filthy, she thought. I’m nothing.

Your fingers found her clit, rubbing it with a cruel precision that sent unwanted jolts of pleasure through her. Her body betrayed her again, her pussy growing wetter, lubricating your brutal thrusts. Nayeon’s mind recoiled in horror, the pleasure a twisted mockery of her shame. No, I can’t feel this! she screamed internally, but her body didn’t listen, her hips twitching involuntarily as the sensations built. The shame was unbearable, a crushing weight that made her want to die. She was supposed to be pure, untouched, a symbol of innocence—yet here she was, her body responding like a slut’s.

“Look at you, whore,” you taunted, leaning down to bite her neck, your teeth leaving angry red marks. “Your cunt loves this. You’re just a filthy slut pretending to be pure.” Your words were poison, seeping into her mind, amplifying her self-loathing. Nayeon’s sobs grew louder, her body shaking with the force of her shame. She hated you, hated herself, hated the dream that had led her to this moment. But the pleasure was relentless, a dark tide that threatened to pull her under.

You felt her walls tighten, her body on the brink of climax. “I’m gonna cum in this virgin pussy,” you snarled, your thrusts growing erratic, each one a hammer blow to her sanity. Nayeon’s cries turned to whimpers, her mind fracturing under the weight of her shame and the unwanted pleasure coursing through her. “No… please…” she whispered, but her body betrayed her, her pussy clenching around you as her orgasm crashed over her. The shame was apocalyptic, a cataclysm that obliterated her sense of self. She was coming, her body surrendering to the very act that was destroying her, and the realization filled her with a despair so profound it threatened to consume her entirely.

With a final thrust, you buried yourself deep inside her, your cock pulsing as you unleashed a torrent of hot cum into her womb. The sensation was overwhelming, a violation so intimate it felt like a theft of her soul. Nayeon’s body shuddered, her orgasm mingling with the searing shame of your release, her pussy milking you against her will. Cum and blood dripped from her ravaged entrance, pooling on the table, a grotesque testament to her ruin.

You pulled out, your cock glistening with her blood and fluids. “One hole down,” you said with a cruel smirk, wiping yourself clean as Nayeon lay trembling, her mind a wasteland of shame and despair.

Nayeon collapsed on the table, her body limp, her breath ragged. The shame was a physical thing now, a weight that pinned her to the table, heavier than your body had been. Her pussy throbbed with pain and unwanted pleasure, the sticky mix of blood and cum seeping from her, a constant reminder of her degradation. Her mind was a storm of self-hatred, each thought a lash of the whip: I’m a whore. I’m filthy. I’m nothing. She tried to cling to the dream, to tell herself this was for TWICE, but the lie felt hollow, a cruel joke at her expense.

You grabbed her hips, flipping her onto her stomach with a rough yank. Her face pressed against the cold table, the wood slick with her tears and sweat. You spread her ass cheeks, exposing her tight, untouched asshole, a pink, puckered ring that clenched instinctively under your gaze. Nayeon’s heart stopped, a fresh wave of terror crashing over her. “No! Not there!” she cried, her voice raw, desperate. The idea of you violating her there was unthinkable, a degradation so profound it made her previous shame seem trivial. Her mind screamed: This is too much! I can’t do this!

“You don’t get to say no,” you snapped, spitting on her asshole, the warm saliva trickling down her crack. The act was so degrading, so humiliating, that Nayeon’s sobs grew hysterical, her body shaking with the force of her despair. The shame was a living thing, a monster that devoured her from within. She was being reduced to nothing, her body a series of holes for your pleasure, her dreams a cruel bait that had led her to this abyss.

You pressed your cock against her asshole, the swollen head forcing its way past the tight ring of muscle. Nayeon screamed, the pain unlike anything she had ever felt, a burning, tearing agony that made her vision blur. Blood seeped from her stretched hole, the coppery scent mingling with the musk of her arousal, a sickening reminder of her body’s betrayal. You thrust deeper, her asshole gripping you like a vice, the tightness almost painful for you but excruciating for her.

“Fuck, this ass is perfect,” you groaned, your hands gripping her hips, nails drawing blood. You fucked her with savage intensity, each thrust a brutal assault on her body and soul. The table rocked beneath her, the wood creaking in time with her sobs, a perverse rhythm that filled the room. Nayeon’s mind was a void, her shame so overwhelming it threatened to swallow her whole. She was no longer a person, just a collection of orifices, a thing to be used and discarded. The thought was a knife to her heart, each thrust driving it deeper.

Her body betrayed her again, the pain giving way to a twisted pleasure that made her want to vomit. Her asshole clenched around you, the sensation both agonizing and intoxicating, a violation so intimate it felt like a theft of her very essence. Nayeon’s sobs turned to whimpers, her mind fracturing under the weight of her shame. I’m disgusting, she thought. I’m a slut, a filthy whore who enjoys this. The realization was a death knell, a final blow to the girl she had been.

You reached around, your fingers finding her clit, rubbing it with a cruel precision that sent shocks of pleasure through her. “Cum for me, you dirty bitch,” you commanded, your voice a lash that stripped away the last of her resistance. Nayeon’s body obeyed, her asshole spasming as another orgasm tore through her, the pleasure a grotesque mockery of her shame. She screamed, her voice raw, broken, the sound of a soul being shattered. The shame was absolute, a black hole that consumed her, leaving nothing behind.

With a final thrust, you buried yourself in her ass, your cock pulsing as you filled her with cum. The hot, sticky flood was a violation so profound it felt like a desecration, a final mark of her ruin. Nayeon’s body shook, her sobs choking her as the reality of what had happened sank in. She was broken, defiled, a shell of the girl who had walked into this room.

You pulled out, your cum leaking from her gaping asshole, mixing with blood and dripping onto the table. “Two holes down,” you said, your voice cold, triumphant. Nayeon lay still, her mind a wasteland of shame, her body a monument to her degradation.

Nayeon was a husk, her body sprawled across the table, her breath shallow, her mind numb. The shame was a physical thing, a weight that crushed her, a poison that seeped into every cell. Her pussy and asshole throbbed with pain and cum, the sticky mess a constant reminder of her ruin. Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes vacant, but beneath the emptiness was a flickering spark of self-loathing, a hatred so deep it threatened to consume her. I’m a whore, she thought, the words a mantra of despair. I’m nothing.

You grabbed her hair, yanking her off the table and forcing her to her knees. The pain in her scalp was nothing compared to the shame that burned through her, a fire that left only ashes. “Time for your mouth,” you said, your voice a cruel promise of further degradation. You gripped her head, your fingers digging into her scalp, her hair tangling in your grasp. Her knees ached against the hard floor, the position a humiliating reminder of her powerlessness.

You rubbed your cock across her face, smearing her with the remnants of her own blood and cum. The scent was overpowering, a nauseating mix of musk and copper that made her gag. Nayeon’s sobs grew hysterical, the shame of this final act threatening to break her completely. Her lips trembled, her mind screaming: No more! I can’t take it! But the dream—the cursed dream—held her captive, a chain she couldn’t break.

“Open your mouth, slut,” you ordered, your voice a whip that cracked through her despair. She obeyed, her lips parting, her tongue recoiling as you shoved your cock inside. The taste was vile, a mix of her own fluids and your musk, a final degradation that stripped away the last of her dignity. You fucked her mouth with brutal force, your cock hitting the back of her throat, making her gag and choke. Her saliva dripped from her lips, mixing with tears and blood, a grotesque cocktail that pooled on the floor.

Nayeon’s mind was a void, her shame so overwhelming it threatened to swallow her whole. Every thrust of your cock was a reminder of her fall, a confirmation of her worthlessness. She was no longer Nayeon, the girl with dreams of stardom. She was a whore, a vessel for your pleasure, her body a canvas for your cruelty. The shame was apocalyptic, a cataclysm that obliterated her sense of self. She hated you, hated herself, hated the dream that had led her to this moment.

You gripped her head tighter, your thrusts growing erratic. “You love this, don’t you?” you taunted, your voice a lash that stripped away the last of her resistance. Nayeon’s body betrayed her one final time, a faint pulse of pleasure stirring in her core as your cock filled her throat. The shame was unbearable, a crushing weight that made her want to die. She was supposed to be pure, untouched, a symbol of innocence—yet here she was, her body responding like a slut’s.

“Beg me to cum in your mouth,” you commanded, your voice a knife that cut through her despair. Nayeon’s lips moved, her voice a broken whisper: “Please… cum in my mouth…” The words were a final surrender, a complete capitulation to her shame. Her mind screamed: I’m disgusting! I’m nothing! But the pleasure was relentless, a dark tide that pulled her under.

With a final thrust, you buried your cock in her throat, your cum flooding her mouth in hot, thick spurts. The taste was overwhelming, a violation so intimate it felt like a theft of her soul. Nayeon gagged, her body shaking as she swallowed, the act a final mark of her ruin. Cum dripped from her lips, mixing with her tears, a grotesque testament to her degradation.

You shoved her away, and Nayeon collapsed on the floor, her body a trembling heap of flesh and shame. Her mouth was half-open, cum leaking from her lips, her breathing shallow. Her body was a map of her ruin, covered in blood, cum, and sweat, her hair matted to her face. Her eyes were vacant, but beneath the emptiness was a sea of self-loathing, a hatred so deep it threatened to consume her.

“Still got time, slut,” you said, your voice cold, triumphant. You stood over her, aiming your cock at her face, and began to piss. The golden stream hit her face, soaking her hair, running down her cheeks, pooling in her mouth. The stench was overpowering, a final degradation that stripped away the last of her humanity. Nayeon coughed, choking on the acrid liquid, her body shaking with the force of her despair. The shame was absolute, a black hole that consumed her, leaving nothing behind.

“This is where you belong,” you said, your voice dripping with contempt. “In the filth, like the whore you are.” The words were a final blow, a confirmation of her worthlessness. Nayeon’s sobs grew silent, her body curling in on itself, a broken thing in a pool of piss and cum.

You kicked her ribs, the impact sending a dull thud through the room. She gasped, her body folding further, her breath hitching in pain. “Shut up, whore,” you snarled. “You don’t even deserve to stand.” You continued to piss, the stream soaking her body, a final mark of her ruin. The clock’s shrill beep signaled the end, and you stepped back, zipping up your pants.

Nayeon lay in the filth, her body trembling, her mind a wasteland of shame. “Good luck with your debut, you useless meat toilet,” you said, your voice a cold farewell. You turned and left, the door slamming shut behind you, leaving her alone in the darkness.

Nayeon remained on the floor, her body a broken relic, her mind a graveyard of dreams. The piss and cum dried on her skin, a crust of degradation that marked her as something less than human. Her ribs ached, her breath shallow, the pain a constant reminder of her ruin. She tried to move, but her body refused, too weak, too broken.

The mirror reflected her shattered form, a stranger staring back at her. Her hair was matted with filth, her face streaked with tears and piss, her eyes hollow. She whispered, her voice barely audible: “Why… why me…” The words were a lament, a cry for a life that no longer existed.

Outside, the laughter of other trainees echoed, their voices full of hope and innocence. The sound was a knife, cutting through the last of her resolve. Nayeon closed her eyes, tears falling, mixing with the filth on the floor. . Her dream, once a beacon of hope, had become her damnation, a chain that bound her to this moment of utter despair.

[yuriartillery]

defeated

You’re on the back foot. You have been for months. This war began with the wind at your back and the Goddess of Victory in your corner, but everything has fallen apart. And the origin of your sorrows now casts open the door to let in the news of your ignominious defeat.

“It’s over.” The Hero’s voice is matter of fact. She speaks softly, but her words are born by servants unseen across the throne room to your ears. “There’s no more reason to fight.”

That incenses you. How dare she? She who has been given everything and demands more. She who has never once compromised or bent for anyone. She for whom the very stars in the sky rechart their celestial trajectories. Of course you will fight. You will not be ruled. 

“Your generals have surrendered.” she approaches now, padding across your polished stone floors with bare feet. “Save one who remains awaiting your commands. He and his men won’t stand down without you.”

Her presence fills the space like the sunrise. The soot-choked ceiling bearing the chandelier and crystal sconces glitter like faint stars as the clear blue skies of the hero stretch across the ceiling. At the centre she stands now, positively radiant. Unarmed and unarmoured, she has come to you in only a loose white summer dress. The glare is too harsh, you can’t make out the expression on her face. She begins again as she takes two steps closer.

“I’d rather not you force my hand. This is over, after all.” You catch a hint of firmness in her voice. She has already decided how she might kill you. Hatred for her burns in the back of your throat like your own sick. Now you stir from your throne, uncoiling like a serpent. With a flick of your wrist the doors behind the Hero slam shut, severing the flood of daylight. Her radiance doesn’t dim though, and finds itself reflected in what little petty baubles you've hoarded. What was once a moonless night now has become a sea of stars.

A second gesture ignites the sconces, painting the room in cruel reds and oranges, contrasted by stark shadows. Your pride demands that you do not roll over and accept defeat. Even if you have no hope of victory as she says, you will make a mark on her perfect body. She cannot have everything just as she wants it, you will never allow it. Backlit by hate, your shadow stretches covetously towards her.

“Over?” you ask darkly. “You think cowards that surrendered to you wouldn’t cross back over at the instant of your death?” You gesture languidly for emphasis. She has no response yet, so you continue. “I have innumerable reasons to fight you, so-called Hero. Beyond the threshold of your death lies all of my wildest fantasies, and I will indulge each and every one till I am bloated and sick with them.”

She is looking at you, the corona of light rendering her expression still unreadable at this distance. You stride forward a step, the points of your heels clicking against the stone. Still she says nothing, prompting you to continue further.

“When I look at you, hero, I see arrogance unalloyed. I know you. Not once have you measured less than a challenge required. Not once have you sacrificed for what you believe. Not once have you ever lost anything at all.” You gesture broadly with your cloak. “And now you enter my castle, my throne room, uninvited and expect me to roll over without a fight? Truly I name the sin of pride yours, hero.”

“So I stand against you. How could I not? I have everything to gain from opposing you and nothing to lose. And you, hero, deserve what is coming to you. It will be my utmost pleasure to deliver you this long awaited defeat!” You’re gasping for air by the end and your heart is pounding in your ears.

“Is that all?” she asks plainly. 

She doesn’t even have the decency to coat those barbed words with an affect of boredom. It’s as if a doll had delivered the question. You clench your right fist to your chest and foment the malice in your bosom. A thousand unavenged defeats and humiliation, now as unchanted hatred given direction by your outstretched left hand as your face contorts with anger at her unserious response.

“How dare y-” You are cut short. As you begin channeling your barrage, she crouches like a lion before prey. When the first syllable leaves your lips she is already leaping towards you, starfire sparking in her right hand. Before you can finish the third she drives a stake of divine light through the back of your palm into the floor, bringing you crashing to your knees.

She’s close enough to you now that that damned glow of hers doesn’t obscure her face. There’s a spatter of your blood up her arm and on her cheeks. The pain makes your vision go blurry for a moment, but you focus on her face. There are tears in her eyes. She lets go of the stake and stands above you. You scream in pain and frustration, she again waits for you to finish.

“I’m sorry. There’s still time for you to surrender. This doesn’t have to be to the death.” The tone of her voice is unchanging, even after depriving you of one of your hands. It hurts. Your hand is alight from within. You can barely feel the floor against the tips of your fingers. Healing magic isn’t your speciality. You’re going to lose this hand. At least it wasn’t your dominant one. Instead of responding you choke gasps for breath.

“I did tell you it was over. I thought you knew how weak you were. But that’s al-” This time you cut her off. While she admonished you like a child you cursed her to death silently. She’s obviously unprepared for a surprise attack. You grasp desperately at her. If you even graze her now she’s dead. 

“-right. Now you should know for sure.” It was with a spear of light this time. Your fingers just inches away from her pristine feet. She didn’t move at all to do this to you. The magic at your fingertips is fading fast now and your screams of pain are broken up by sobs. Your blurry gaze is fixed on the floor.

“Kill me then!” you spit out. She gets on her knees, staining her white skirt with your blood and softly takes your face in her unmarred hands. You hear her sniffle quietly as she turns your face up towards hers. Her expression is still blank, but the tears are streaming now. 

“Not unless you make me.” She shuffles until her knees are beneath your head and rests you there. You are pinned like an insect and entirely at her mercy and she has given you, her greatest foe, a pillow of her lap. You feel the insides of your hands slowly burning away. “And you can’t make me now. It’s alright.”

“Why not? This is-” you have to stop to catch your breath again. “All of this is my doing! Am I not evil to you!?”

“You are part of the world I must save.” she answers. She runs the palm of her hand over your silky black hair, as if she were a mother soothing her child. “If it is within my power to save you too, then I must.”

Now you realize, too late, that this hero is not human. This is not how a human thinks, these are not things that humans want, no matter how much they claim they do. From the very beginning you were contending with a monster you can only now begin to describe. She continues to pet you as you sob into her lap, as her weapons still pierce your body, as her radiance fills your dark chambers.

Time passes indeterminably. Your sobs quiet to whimpers and when they do she begins to sing to you. Either she doesn’t think or doesn’t care to remove the pins. It becomes boring and boredom dulls the pain. She isn’t going to let you go unless you agree you’ve been saved, but then what? She may have forgiven you. No, that’s wrong, she may think there is nothing she needs to forgive, but what of the real humans? Surely her grace alone isn’t enough to spare you.

“Hero,” you begin warily. She perks up and ceases her lullaby, all her attention fixed on you once again. “Your allies must surely think me unforgivable. Dozens have died by my hand and thousands by my command. Can you save me from them as well?”

This gives her pause. You know that the possibility would have never occurred to her unless you broached it. She smiles slightly. She’s evidently thought of a solution, but it unnerves you to see any expression at all on her doll-like face.

“I will keep you by my side. First it will be to convince the last of your army to surrender and to aid in building society again. Then you will remain with me thereafter.” She closes her eyes and tilts her head. “Like a house cat.”

[chrattsbrat]

* SWITCHING POSITIONS

summary: matt is usually in control but he lets you take over this time.. but not for long.

warnings: rough sex, course language, cry, begging, teasing, demanding dom matt, mentions of chris

"sweetheart" matt groaned, his voice filled with a mix of pleasure and frustration as you slowly rode his cock, teasing him with each agonizingly slow thrust. matt was used to being in control but this time he surrendered to you hoping for a different kind of pleasure. Matt realized that he immediately regretted his decision. the longing to take charge again consumed him.

his hands were bound to the headboard of the bed as your hole consumed his cock. extremely too slow for his liking. he felt like he could cry. all he wanted was to flip you over and slam into you, hear you cry and moan and beg to be allowed to cum. but he was playing by your rules now. he couldn't do anything but lay there and take it.

"what is it baby?" you teased and god did matt want to slap that smug smile right off your pretty face. he knew you were taunting him, wanting him to submit and become a whining mess like you usually would.

"faster" matt groaned in what sounded like an order and you weren’t having that. you continued the slow pace of teasing matt.

"princess if you don't go faster, i'm gonna break these fucking handcuffs and fuck you until you can't walk!" matt growled through gritted teeth, forgetting he wasn't in charge here. with a sudden, unexpected force, you delivered a sharp slap across Matt’s face, mirroring the dominance matt had shown you before. the sting made matt wince, a mix of surprise and arousal coursing through his veins. "did you forget you're not in charge this this time matt? be a good boy and be patient or i won't let you cum at all." you explained, forcing matt to hold eye contact.

matt whined pouting up at you, trying his best to look as sweet as possible but he was just playing along with you "princess?" he moaned breathlessly catching your attention "i need to touch you, please!" matt begged, trying his absolute hardest to sound sweet and innocent, doing whatever it took to get his hands free and on you.

"yeah? are you gonna be a good boy for me?"

"i'll be good. i promise," matt responded and that was a bold lie. he didn't plan on behaving at all. it seemed to be enough for you to give in, moving to undo matt restraints and freeing his hands from the bed. a sadistic smile played matt lips as he got what he wanted, but he made sure you didn't catch a glimpse before his hands were finally free.

and as soon as his hands were free he eagerly gripped your hips, flipping them over so he was now on top and eliciting a surprised gasp from you. he immediately attacked your mouth with his own, their lips and tongues moving together so perfectly. You surrendered to the pleasure, your dominant facade fading away. matt let out a sigh of relief as their warm bodies finally pressed together, and he began a rapid pace of thrusting into you. his cock stretched your eager hole with every thrust and the head continuously abused your clit. the room filled with their erotic moans and cries into each other's mouths.

matt watched your eyes roll back, a sense of pride mixing with the pleasure. he loved making you feel this way.

"god you're so fucking hot" matt growled into your ear and it made you twitch at the words, feeling impossibly closer to the edge. eyes rolling back. moaning and whimpering pathetically. matt leaned down to capture his lips again, his tongue swirling around yours.

"matt- i'm gonna cum!" you exclaimed, a plea for permission laced with desire. matt, with a mischievous smirk and heavy breaths, glanced down at your pulsating pussy. his thumb teasingly swirling around the sensitive bud, digging his thumb into the slit, causing your body to jolt with pleasure, accompanied by a whimper that escaped your lips. biting down on your lip, your back arched.

"yeah? you wanna make a mess on this pretty cock?" matt taunted, kissing your jaw. "you gotta beg for it baby." Matt explained.

"please let me cum? feels so- fuck- so good! so good!" you cried, eyes streaming tears from them.

"such a good girl for me." matt praised. you would never admit how much he secretly loved when matt spoke to you like that.

"fuck baby, i'm gonna cum." matt moaned and that's when you lost it. you loved making matt feel good. within seconds you were spilling warm pearly white all over Matt’s cock and the pillow beneath you with a loud cry. your body jolted and trembled as the aftershocks of your orgasm hit while matt continued to fuck into you before stilling his hips completely. cock shoved all the way inside your tight hole. Matt came inside with an animalistic moan before he pulled out and collapsed onto you, your bodies entangled and your chests rising and falling with each breath. sex always exhausted you both. So you both lay there, panting and trying to catch your breath. when Matt finally caught his he kissed your forehead before pushing up "here let me clean you up." you immediately missed the warm, comforting feeling of matt on your chest.

"we should ask chris to join us next time ." you sleepily stated making Matt’s eyes go wide eyed in shock of the bold statement. "yeah? you want chris to fuck you too baby? want him to use you while i use your pretty mouth?" matt whispered in your ear. your eyes rolled back at the filthy words fueling the filthy thoughts in his mind.

"imagine how pretty you’d look all tied up while we fuck you." matt smirked as you twitch at his words.

"should i tell him you want him to use you baby?"

"fuck! matt stop saying shit like that or i'm gonna get worked up again." you whined.

[vividxpages]

༉‧₊˚🕯️❀༉‧₊˚. "the craving"༉‧₊˚🤍❀༉‧₊˚. PART 1

Read Part 2 here 🤍

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!Reader

words: 6300

summary: after a long day of scouting together, your betrothed Jacaerys and you are forced to seek shelter at an inn when a storm is raging outside. The only "problem"; there is only one, tiny bed for the two of you.

warnings: sexual tension, they're both virgins, but the Targaryen ancestors wrote a kamasutra for future generations and Jace has read it ;) , only one bed trope, cuddling/spooning, sexual content (making out, vaginal fingering, a little bit of dirty talk from Jace), aftercare

a/n: I had a lot of fun writing this story and it's my longest one for Jace so far, hope you like it! <3 I also have some ideas for a potential part 2 👀....

𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃

It was a rare occurrence for you, being chosen by the Queen to scout for the day, patrolling the sky and the lands underneath it from a safe distance. 

You were a princess of Dragonstone, but you were also a dragonrider, even if you were still young and an honor like this filled you with undeniable pride.

It was an even rarer occurrence that she allowed Jacaerys to join you.

Your recent betrothal to the prince had been a blessing, making your strong bond of friendship weave itself only tighter, but it also had brought up feelings you'd thought you simply could've brushed aside before.

Jace had gotten more...protective of you, more tender and you could not help but feel yourself being drawn to him too, longing for the mornings spent together at breakfast after saying goodnight to each other on your doorstep the night before.

Of course, there were rules, things to do when courting and things to avoid, such as sharing a room before marriage and the things that could happen in said room…

But you were never the one to follow rules lightly and weren't you going to be married anyways? All you needed was a little push until you'd surrender your heart and your body to Jacaerys...

And somehow, you had a feeling you weren't alone with these forbidden desires.

Today had been mostly spent in the sky, flying together as if you had never done something else. You were a unit, always knowing where the other was and what they did and it seemed like your dragons were delighted as well by the recent development of your planned union. 

You couldn't help but laugh with the wind when they playfully snapped at each other, both making little besotted growls from time to time, like Jace and you were interrupting a date.

Everything would've been alright if the storm hadn't moved into your direction.

It was getting darker and darker and both of you couldn't make your dragons move any faster, since they were young just as you and Jace were. Situations like this couldn't exactly be trained beforehand.

When the rain hit you, your mood dropped instantly.

"It's getting late!" You heard Jacaerys' familiar voice calling over to you through the wind and rain. "The weather isn't going to get any better and we are too far away from Dragonstone to make it back before midnight. We have to find a place to spend the night, it's no use."

You knew he could see the frustration on your face, worrying what your people back in the safety of Dragonstone's walls would think if the future of a more hopeful realm did not return as punctually as expected.

"She's going to be worried out of your mind for you." You called back, but the rain in front of you was blurring your vision and you kept pushing your hair out of your face.

Vermax let out a displeased growl as thunder rolled through the clouds. Jace squinted his eyes to make you out next to him, the storm getting stronger and stronger by the minute. "I'm not going to let us get struck by lightning! There's a merchant route right under us, if I remember it right. We land, now."

You reluctantly tugged the reigns of your dragon tighter around your fists and steered her down, following Jace and Vermax through the clouds as they descended. You couldn't argue with him, but a stop in an unknown region was risky. Even if you two were in the company of your dragons.

By the time you had landed in a clearing of the forest Jace had spotted from up above, your clothes were dripping wet on the ground.

Climbing down your dragon's back, you couldn't help but snort as Vermax immediately seeked shelter underneath the massive pine trees from the weather, his rider fondly shaking his head at his companion. 

As you approached, Jace sighed and squinted up into the sky above you. "I know you dislike this, as I do. But I'm not taking a risk. It's better to wait the night instead of getting attacked in a thunderstorm, don't you agree?"

"Yes…" You looked at him, still a little conflicted. "But we can only hope our people at Dragonstone agree with you as well."

Jace smiled at you, raising both his hands in defense. Like this, eyes bright and wet hair curling around his already beautiful face, he was a vision, making you permanently weak in the knees. "They will agree, because I am protecting the princess, my betrothed, as you are protecting yours."

Yours.

You involuntarily shuddered, the promise of being married to him one day never tiring of sending lightning through you.

While you understood the Queen's choice to wait with marrying you because of the war, you were growing tired of being denied what you craved so badly; not the ring on your finger - a beautiful thing you knew Jace had already commissioned to being forged, one of Vermax' scales sitting in its silver center - but the boy you were dreaming about at night, visiting you in the quietness of Dragonstone, sliding underneath your warm covers to-

"Everything alright?" Jace had stepped to your side, one hand on your shoulder. 

You nodded, swallowing thickly. "We should stop and rest at the first place we can find."

The traveler's road was empty and no one noticed the two of you stepping out of the forest and making your way over to the first building you saw, a small inn with its windows alight from the inside.

You shivered at the thought of a warm fire and wrinkled your nose at your clammy leathers. On top of it, your belly growled and Jacaerys and you shared a look.

A little smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Don't worry, I'll find you something to eat even if I have to hunt it myself tonight."

You blushed, his words always managing to touch something deep within you.

Jace and you entered the inn, immediately enveloped by its delicious warmth and sociability. As Prince and Princess, you were not used to a civility like this and for a moment, you wondered what it'd be like to live like this, leading a simple life with Jace where no one would know you and you could do whatever you pleased. What a dangerous thought this was...

Just before you and him reached the small reception counter of the inn, Jace placed one of his gloved hands on your lower back, a secure and telling gesture that made your skin underneath the riding leathers burn pleasantly.

"Good evening." He spoke confidently. "My wife and I are looking for a place to stay for the night. The storm has caught us off guard on the road."

The innkeeper looked at you and although you knew he didn't want to hear it, you silently said a prayer of gratitude for Jace's beautiful dark hair and eyes. If he'd have silver hair, all could be lost, depending on the opinion of the inn's staff on this ongoing war.

You tugged your cloak tighter around you, hiding the riding leathers on your body, and looked back calmly. You forced your bottom lip to wobble as if you only now remembered the cold haunting your bones. How fast could you make your way back to the forest and your dragons before the whole house was up on their feet for two Targaryens in its midst?

"It caught us off guard alright as well, good sir." The innkeeper said goodnaturedly after a moment and you sighed on the inside. "The taproom is bursting at the seams tonight. I can only offer a single room, but I'm sure it's no problem for two young lovebirds like you. Dinner will be served for you, too, if you require it."

Jace swallowed thickly, not meeting your gaze at the prospect of a tiny room for the two of you. 

So far, your betrothal had consisted of courting each other quietly and sweetly, the long promised wedding pushed back again and again, much to your frustration. To share a room with Jace before you were married - it sent a shiver down your spine and you couldn't say it was a bad one.

"We require it. And thank you for the room. We will pay in advance, of course." Jace produced a small sack of coins from his cloak and you stepped aside and peeked into the full taproom, trying to calm your racing heart.

When he was done, Jacaerys stepped up to you and smiled encouragingly, although you could see through him instantly and saw the same nervousness possessing you. This was no place for you two and yet here you were.

"Dinner, my lady?" Jace asked under his breath and with a snort, you let yourself be led into the taproom, carefully avoiding any curious eyes on you as you found a quiet corner in the far back where hopefully no one would disturb you or have questions. 

Quickly, two plates with bread, cheese and tomatoes were brought to your table and Jacaerys and you began to eat, tense in your wariness for your surroundings but comfortable in each other's presence. 

He politely declined the waitress's offer of beer, but made her bring you a pitcher of clear water, the day spent underneath the sun having dried out your bodies like nothing else.

After a while - you were still munching on your bread and Jace looked about to be finished - he took a few of his tomatoes and placed them on your plate, a silent encouragement.

"Thank you." You said quietly and ate them too while he kept watch, over you and the room behind you. But in all the hustle going on in there, no one had time or interest for a young couple on the road and soon, your plates were empty and you retreated upstairs and down the narrow corridor.

The last door was yours.

Your eyes widened shortly as you took in your room for the night. There was a window where rain splattered against the glass, a small table with a chair and a bed, although it could barely be called that if you thought of your enormous bed at Dragonstone.

Beside you, you could feel Jace pausing as he locked the door, his eyes darting back and forth between you and the tiny bed in the corner of the room. If only one of you could fit, it'd be a miracle and the floor was in no condition to be slept on.

You took off your cloak and threw it over the chair, opening your mouth to speak just as Jace did.

"I'm taking the floor." He declared and you wanted to roll your eyes and also kiss him for his selflessness.

"You will not sleep on this floor, Jace." You argued and as you wrung out your damp hair, the last droplets of water fell onto the boards, blooming in the dust covering them. 

Jace stayed silent for a moment, wrapping a cloth from within his cloak around the doorknob and tying a tight knot, so you wouldn't be disturbed by any unpleasant visitors tonight.

"Please don't be ridiculous now." You tried again, softer this time. "You had a long flight today, too. We slept side by side when we were kids sometimes, remember? We'd fall asleep in the gardens of King's Landing while we watched the clouds, dreaming of riding our dragons someday."

"But we are not kids anymore." Jacaerys said quietly.

No, you weren't. 

And as you looked at him, reaching behind himself to unclasp his cloak, his dark curls still framing his serious face, you knew there was not an ounce of childlike innocence in you when it came to him.

"And I-" He interrupted himself as his cloak joined yours on the chair and you did not step back, only shuffling closer to rest your hand on his nape. 

What had gotten into you? This boldness, it was dangerous and misplaced and- very much exciting.

Jace slowly looked at you, his dark eyes like burning embers, bringing the heat to your cheek you so desperately needed.

"I'm afraid I cannot control myself around you, princess." He confessed hoarsely and for a moment you thought the wooden floor underneath you had turned into water and you were trying to dance on top of it, unsteady.

You exhaled shakingly, tongue tied in your shock at his confession, but a burning heat swirling pleased in your stomach. 

After a moment, he forced himself to tear himself away from you and cleared his throat. "I mean this in the most chivalrous manner, but I think we should take off our leathers if we don't want to be sick in two days."

You agreed and the two of you turned away from each other, the spell broken.

You faced the wall by the bed as you reached behind yourself, your fingers fumbling with the laces of your uniform. Whoever had invented dragonrider clothes had not intended them to be taken off without the help of half a dozen maids.

Your movements were clumsy and unpracticed, used to getting attended to by your maids for these kinds of things, preferably followed by a hot bath after a long flight.

But now, you were helpless and frustration grew quickly in you until you tilted your head back and let out a tired sigh.

"Jace?" You spoke over your shoulder and heard shuffling. 

"Yes?" 

"I...I can't take them off myself." You admitted, risking a look behind you to see his leather uniform draped over the table, only thin linen pants and a matching top remaining on him. You had never seen him like this, never could've imagined what was laying underneath his princely attires. He looked...innocent, like a boy with big eyes as he watched you. Biting your lip, you added: "Could you help me, at least with my laces?"

"Of course." He breathed and stepped closer as you turned around again, holding yourself completely still as you felt his warmth radiating against your back.

Suddenly, his hand was in your hair, brushing in awe over the wavy strands. "Can I…"

"Yes." You breathed, your nerves fluttering. "Please."

You shuddered as he carefully brushed your hair over your shoulder, exposing your tightly laced back to him.

Then, with surprisingly skillful fingers, he began to swiftly unlace you, his hands dancing over your spine and making their way down your back.

You were sure neither of you was breathing, your mind growing a bit foggy as you let him attend you like this, the task of a maid replaced by the care of your betrothed.

"All done." He whispered after a while and you were snapped out of your dreamy thoughts. You could already breathe more lightly as the riding leather dangled down on your sides, the front only held up now by your hands on your chest.

"Thank you." You whispered back. What would happen if you turned around now and faced him? Were you too far gone already or would you be able to remember yourself before it was too late?

"I'll light some candles and I...I won't look." Jace said flustered and turned away again, giving you as much privacy as he could as he busied himself with the unlit candles by the table.

Quickly, you slid out of the rest of your uniform until only the thin dress you wore underneath remained. With only these undergarments on you, you almost tripped as you slipped under the covers of the bed and pulled them all up to your chin.

The cold rushed back into you tenfold and you pressed your lips together to keep your teeth from clattering. 

Silently, you watched as Jace lit the last candle and checked the doorknob for one last time to make sure you were safe for the night.

When there was nothing to be done about the state of the room anymore, he met your gaze and asked one more time: "Are you sure?"

I'm afraid I cannot control myself around you…

You nodded, shuffling to the wall as far as you could. There was barely space left for another person, even like this. "Yes. We both need rest."

It seemed like your shivering only intensified as you felt his weight dip on the mattress, joining you as carefully as he could without bumping his knee into your side.

When he was settled, on his slim back while you laid on your side, facing away from him to hide your burning face, he drew the blanket over the two of you, trapping you in for a tight fit and combined warmth, hopefully.

The silence in the room was thick, loaded by something you could not name yet. 

"Try to sleep." Jace whispered to you in the darkness. "Tomorrow, at sunrise, we'll take flight."

You tried your best, you really did. 

But there was no use, not when he was laying so close to you. You were too aware of him, too overstimulated by the mere thought of his body so close to yours, his body heat radiating off of him while you still missed your own.

You were sure the whole mattress was shaking with your quivering, your lips blue and limbs clammy from the cold that had soaked into you on dragonback. Squeezing your eyes shut, you prayed for a slumber that wouldn't come. 

Jacaerys couldn't bear it anymore.

Seeing you, feeling you shiver so pitifully, he had to put an end to it. It was what a good husband would do.

"Princess…" He whispered into the darkness and you tensed. "You're freezing. If you'd let me...I want to help."

"Help?" You echoed, looking over your shoulder. Like this, you could only make out his eyes in the dark, his silhouette tempting and comforting at once.

Jace swallowed thickly, shuffling until he laid on his side and could support his head with his hand. "If we'd be...closer, I could warm you."

Your heart skipped a beat at his suggestion, his boldness surprising both you and himself. As scandalous as it was, you already felt yourself drawn to him, your cold bones screaming yes, yes, yes.

"If I won't inconvenience you." You murmured shyly. "I'm shaking like a leaf."

"I'll do my best to change that." Jace promised dutifully, darkly, and shuffled even closer.

Now, you were sure your heart was going to give out. 

Underneath the blanket you shared, Jace pulled you to him, his arm sneaking around your waist as your back met his chest.

You sighed, a small sound of relief as the warmth of him enveloped you and you could feel it also leaving his chest, as if you were two pieces melting together into one.

It was a lover's embrace, there was no doubt about it, but the line between you had already been blurred tonight, ever since he had called you his wife downstairs.

It should've surprised you more, how well your bodies fitted together, how natural the curve of your spine found its place against his lean torso. With his arm securely around you, making sure you'd stay connected, you were not sure if you could not breathe anymore or were finally able to.

"Is this good?" He asked you quietly after some time, your heads now sharing a pillow, a space, an embrace.

No. You needed more.

"Yeah...you are really warm." You breathed out and he chuckled and gods, you could feel the sound against you and thought nothing about this was real, not the inn, not tonight, certainly not him.

You shifted in his embrace, trying to get a little more comfortable when he suddenly let out a low hiss, your bum brushing against-

Oh.

Oh.

You wanted to combust.

You wanted to turn around and kiss him stupid. You wanted to do everything and yet, you were frozen in place, hotness rushing through you at the thought that your prince had gotten aroused while he laid with you like this.

"'m sorry…" He whispered near your ear and in front of your inner eye, you saw his eyes closing in defeat, having given in so quickly to his carnal desires.

You were about to be a very bad betrothed.

Innocently, you moved back against him and he choked on his breath, his mouth now hovering over your nape, the damp hair you wished to be out of your way now to feel him better.

Your hand rested on his forearm around you  and you traveled your fingertips upwards, brushing over his knuckles until you could entwine your fingers, squeezing him reassuringly.

"Princess...we can't." You wanted to chuckle at his unconvinced tone, an unfamiliar strain to his voice like he was trying his best and most to hold himself back from giving in to you.

"We can." You whispered back, kissing his hand in yours and hearing him sigh behind you. "I want you so badly, I feel like I'm dying."

It was too much, to hear those same words he only dared to think in his mind, it shattered the last bit of self control Jacaerys could muster up. He had been aroused ever since he helped you undress, the dreams that usually had him waking up in a sweat in his chambers at Dragonstone now coming true right in front of him.

"Please, Jace." You added with a sigh, pushing back against him. "Give in, please."

He surged forward, his lips making contact with your neck and setting you aflame.

You let out a low moan, the sight of the wall disappearing in front of you as you closed your eyes blissfully, focused only on the feel of Jacaerys lapping at your neck.

It was like he tasted something exquisite and unique, taking his time as he brushed your hair aside, his other hand delicately holding your jaw as he suckled the sensitive spot underneath your ear, making you twitch back in surprise against the outline of his hard cock.

He stifled a groan, something final snapping in him and he turned your head, his finger swiping over your chin and cheek as you both stared at each other, pupils gone wide and dark with desire.

"May I kiss you?" He asked huskily and you nodded quickly, your hand finding its way into his curls, tugging him closer until his hot breath grazed your bottom lip.

"Yes." You let out breathlessly. "Kiss me, please, I-"

He closed the distance between you, engulfing your mouth in a hot, desperate kiss, both of your lust and longing for each other too grand to think clearly anymore.

Still gently holding your jaw and you in his arms, he kissed you passionately, his lips moving slow and relishing against yours. You sighed happily against him, your fingers tightening their hold on his curls and making him groan, his free hand spreading itself out on your stomach.

Heat sloshed through you as your tongues danced, the kiss so much more than what you'd ever could've dreamed of. You never wanted to stop again.

His embrace was possessive, with not much room for you to do anything else but give yourself over to him, caged between the wall and his lean body.

You wanted to drown in his kisses, never to be seen again.

When the air in your lungs got thinner, making you lightheaded, the two of you pulled apart, panting and staring at each other with kiss-bruised lips.

Your hand fell over his own on your stomach, the fabric of your undergarment dress worthy to you of being burned in the heat of the moment.

"Can I touch you?" Jace gasped into your ear, almost a plea.

You nodded frantically, but he shook his head, his curls brushing against your cheek. "I need to hear it from you, love."

Gods, you were truly going to die by his tender hands.

"Yes…" You hissed, your mind already drunk on him. "I want you to touch me, Jace, I need it so badly."

You ground your bum back against him and Jace released a moan, the sound going right into your core, where wetness was pooling between your thighs and making a mess of you.

He peppered kisses on your cheek and jaw, relishing the way your back arched against him as his hand dove underneath the blanket and fumbled with the seams of your gown, tugging up the fabric as he went.

His hand slid over your naked leg, the skin still a little cold and covered in goosebumps he hoped were his doing. Up and up he went and you were panting by now, mind and body controlled by arousal for him, just for him.

Resting a gentle hand on your inner thigh, he spread your legs open, just a little, and kissed you once again, so he could feel the exact moment you'd-

"Ah-" You gasped in his mouth as his fingertips touched your clit and it shouldn't have been enough, you wanted so much more, but you already felt like you were able to find release from just this.

"Gods, you're driving me insane." He groaned, burying his face in your neck and suckling on it as he slowly began to rub circles onto you, his hand dipping down further to gather more of your wetness on his fingers. 

You shuddered at the sensation of his hand between your legs and then you keened as he obscenely spread your own juices over your clit, swirling his finger over the aching bundle of nerves.

"Fuck…" You whispered, your mouth falling open as he started a careful rhythm, letting you adjust to the sensation of having your clit pampered like this, easy circles and slight rubs.

Laying on your side only seemed to heighten your senses.

Your quivering legs tangled, bodies firmly pressed together, his hands around you like vines protecting a precious secret. You did not know anymore if you were tense or melting as he played with you, experimenting with the direction his fingers could go, gently tapping against your sensitive flesh which made you see stars...

And of course, your thighs - becoming sticky with your own juices, his finger being joined by another one and carefully massaging your most intimate part. With every round they went on you, your grasp on control slipped a little more and soon, you were a writhing mess, bucking your hips against Jace's hand as he continued to kiss your neck and relished the delicious little sounds you made because of him.

"You're so wet." He murmured, in awe of you and your body and you moaned, slumping against his back as he gently plucked on your clit, shiver after shiver running through you and ruining you. "I only dreamed of you like this, princess. You are a sight to behold."

You wanted to say something, anything, but it seemed like your brain had melted, mewling as he cupped your whole core and slowly shook his hand, the friction intensifying only more as vibrations were sent through your pussy.

"Where did you learn all this?" You asked breathlessly and he chuckled, blushing and nuzzling your sweaty neck lovingly as he dipped his fingers lower, almost where you needed him the most.

"The library at Dragonstone can be very...educational. On many different topics." He murmured melodically and you were still, awaiting, as he pushed your undergarments up more, his hand drifting up over your stomach and towards your chest. "Some of the books our ancestors kept there are very...interesting to read. Diaries of fiery encounters and instructions on love making. I had to resist taking notes when I read some of those passages, on how to please women when I could only picture you in my head."

A guttural, broken moan left you when he mouthed at your neck, licking over your exposed throat.

It distracted you just enough that he nearly sent you into an early release as his wet, glistening thumb circled around one of your rosy buds before he raised the same finger to his lips and had a taste.

You both groaned in union, your thighs squeezing together as you stared at him, his own eyes closed in bliss at the taste of you. Just as he had imagined…like honeydew.

He slid his hand underneath your neck so you could rest your head on his strong arm, the same hand coming down to cup one of your aching tits. Like in everything else; you were perfect for each other here. His hand had just the right size for you.

You eagerly spread your legs again as his other hand snaked down your body again, both his and your remaining clothes drenched by sweat, the room smelling of sex.

"I'm dying to know how you feel around my fingers, princess." He confessed and you bit your lip, trying to fight the urge to cross your eyes as his fingers ghosted over your wet clit again; and losing. "Can I? Can I have you like this, my love?"

What a dirty tongue your betrothed had…

If your mind had been any clearer and not as fucked out, you would've asked him if he also learned that in his books, but that was a conversation for another day.

"Yes." You gasped instead, bucking once again against his hand over you, cupping your core and squeezing your clit between two of his digits, making you moan brokenly. "Please, Jace, I need you to fuck me, please, fuck me-"

You knew he couldn't, you both couldn't, at least this much of both your composures remained. But there were other ways to find release and apparently, your sweet betrothed was an expert at executing them.

He raised himself a little, peeking over your shoulder so he could look at your heated face, rosy cheek and wet, parted lips just for him. Jace pulled you into a kiss, sweet and slow this time and you moaned right into his mouth at the taste of yourself on his tongue.

Your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks and you were overwhelmed in the best possible way as Jace's finger slid through your juices once again before he entered you.

You could've sworn you heard his and your dragon roar triumphantly in the distance as he slid his finger into your drenched core, your moan loud enough to go beyond the walls of your room and raise questions - or brows at such distasteful actions behind closed doors. If they only knew.

He groaned at how tightly you squeezed his single digit, fantasizing how you'd feel around his cock. Jace twitched against your back and you held him only tighter, your hot walls eager to let him in. 

You were so wet, it was a slippery little affair and as he let you adjust, his thumb rubbed soothing circles on your clit, his rhythm reflected in the way your core clenched up deliciously.

You locked eyes with him, half-lidded and ready to die a sweet death at his hands, begging him softly: "You can move. It's okay, you won't hurt me." 

It was like you were playing your wedding night and he let out a shuddering breath, needing to stay in control before he threw it out of the window and deflowered you right here, in a bed and place that wasn't worthy of you. He'd never forgive himself if he would not make it special.

Slowly, he pushed forward and further into your heat, his finger quickly becoming wet and slippery and covered in you.

You let out a satisfied sigh, letting yourself be kissed as he oh so gently began to build up an easy rhythm, not brave enough yet to sink to the knuckle into you, but feeding your soaked cunt more and more of him, his mind alert to spot any discomfort in you and ready to stop and wait for you.

But you had wanted him for far too long to need any more caution from him.

And the sounds - gods, the sounds were driving you insane. You were so wet, your pussy was making slurping sounds at the intrusion of his finger and you bit your lip blissfully when he finally found his pace, light and easy on you, but no less hot and intense.

Only the rain splattering against the windows and your little moans and gasps could be heard as he fingered you gently, the pads of his finger dragging over your walls and trying to find the one tiny spot he had read about, enough to make a woman lose her mind and all final restraints if done right.

You were mewling, gripping his arm over your chest tightly and occasionally biting his skin softly to stop you from being too loud. 

"You are so beautiful." He slurred against your temple, keeping his eyes only on you to capture every one of your reactions and keep it in his mind.

You moaned wantonly, maybe because of the praise or because his thumb dragged over your pulsing clit, he didn't know. But oh, how he wanted to find out.

For just a moment, he stilled his movements and you looked at him with wide eyes, your hips trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, but him not letting you. 

Jace watched you closely, quickly kissing your quivering lips before his voice dropped low and he murmured: "Your cunt feels so good around my fingers, my love. You're squeezing me so tightly, ñuha jorrāeliarzy, you are the most beautiful thing in the whole realm and all mine."

"Yours." You echoed and whimpered, solely because of his words.

He couldn't help but smile besottedly, storing the effect of his words on you away for another time and  resuming to fingering you gently. 

Soon, after you whispered you were ready for one more, two of his fingers were now softly pumping in and out of you and you knew you could not last much longer under his sweet tormention.

Your hips had begun to move on their own and he watched you with both fascination and love as you rode on his fingers, your eyes closed and your lovely mouth opened in the sweetest o-shape. 

If he'd still now, he knew you'd continue to fuck yourself on him and god, how he wanted to see it, but there was still one ace up his sleeve and he couldn't wait any longer to try it.

He crooked both his fingers upwards and you tensed in his arms, moaning into his arm and losing yourself almost completely as he touched a part of you you didn't even know existed.

"Jacaerys, gods, I-" You whimpered as the pads of his fingers rubbed against that rough little spot in you, your hips twitching uncontrollably.

"Let go for me, princess." He encouraged you, kissing your cheek and nuzzling his face against yours sweetly. "I can feel you dripping around me, your perfect cunt weeping for me…"

You were floating, only held back by Jacaerys' arms around you, playing your body like a delicate instrument as one hand played with your tit while the other still rubbed against your sweet spot, eager to bring you to release.

His thumb came back onto your clit and your hips arched, pressing yourself forward against his sticky hand as he rubbed delicious circles on you.

"Come for me, my love, I need to see, need to feel you." He coaxed you further, smiling against your neck and adding in a whisper: "Let go for me, my sweet wife."

That was it.

You exploded, coming hard around his fingers, whimpering pitifully as tears of pleasure and overwhelm escaped your eyes. 

You rode your high, your hips helplessly bucking against Jacaerys as he kissed your tears away, softly talking you through it and soothing you down with gentle hands from a peak you had no idea how to recover from…

Jace watched you closely, fascinated and so, so in love, as he slowly slipped his fingers out of you, an obscene string connecting them to your wetness he could not see.

To make sure you would not feel too empty, his hand cupped your mound, keeping you warm and secure as little aftershocks ran through you and you were panting and peppering little kisses on his arm, clinging to him with all your might.

"You were so good…" Jace whispered lovingly, kissing whatever he could reach of you, his body keeping you warm and sated in the aftermath of both your actions. "So, so beautiful…"

You hummed, tired and thoroughly happy as you slowly calmed down, relishing the feeling of his warm hand still on you, carefully avoiding your spent parts so you wouldn't feel overstimulated.

Exhaustion clung to your bones, a mixture of the long day on dragonback and the oblivion of good sex, but you still felt Jacaerys hard against your back. He had not yet found his release and you were eager to give it to him.

You tried to turn around, to reach down between you and touch him, but he was not having it.

"Sh sh, this was only about you, my love." He shushed you, his strong arms efficiently stopping you from wriggling against him. He soothed his hands over your sides and kissed your temple. "When I take you to bed properly, it will be at Dragonstone where I can take care of you as a loving husband should."

You shivered at the promise, without any coldness left in your veins.

He smiled against your cheek, his fingers lightly drawing circles onto your hip bone as he leaned closer and whispered into your ear: "And then, I'm going to take my time with you, princess, learning how you taste on my tongue...ravishing that sweet little cunt of yours…"

Your core deliciously clenched up at the thought, but you were also sleepy, your eyelids already betraying your intentions as they drooped. You snuggled yourself closer against Jacaerys, stifling a yawn.

"Don't worry, we'll have all the time in the world…" Jace lulled you closer to sleep, the sweet nothings he whispered to you being like a warm blanket draping itself over you.

"Jacaerys…" You mumbled, feeling your grasp on staying awake slip further as his hands ran softly over you, making your mind hazy and blank. "Thank you...I- I'm very warm now…"

He laughed quietly, his chest blooming with happiness as he felt your body slump against his. 

Jace closed his own eyes, resting his chin on top of your head and holding you against him protectively. He was the luckiest prince of the realm tonight and forever if he only had you.

And you, his princess, were warm and sated and in the embrace of the one you belonged to.

And suddenly, as you drifted off into a long and peaceful slumber, flying back to Dragonstone in the morning did not look so dreadful anymore...

𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃

my taglist: @princesschimchim1325 @cecestea @jacesvelaryons @princessvelaryon @diannnnsss

[missadangel]

The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

All Chapters List

I. Heal the Heart 

Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, nescio. Sed fieri sentior et excrucior.  I love you and I hate you.  Why I do this, I have no idea.  But I feel it happening and I’m in agony. [Catullus]

Following the conquest of Egypt and its incorporation into the Roman Empire, there was a growing interest in its ancient culture. Over time, many in Egypt began to express a desire for greater autonomy and control over their own affairs. Dissatisfaction with Roman control over Egypt became part of the Egyptian psyche.

This is precisely why, immediately following the death of Emperor Septimius Severus, preparations for revolt began in Egypt. His emperor sons, Caracalla and Geta, were mainly focused on quarreling with each other, drinking, and enjoying themselves, while their subjects faced starvation. They organized games, watched gladiators fight, and took pride in their activities. Even when informed of the revolt in Egypt, they continued their indulgent ways, showing little care for anything beyond their own pleasures and daily pursuits.

The Egyptians were, of course, aware of their limitations; they knew they could not be as strong a soldier as their emperor father. They were confident that the day would come when, with the help of the Greeks, they would overthrow the Roman governors in Egypt. After all, they had been preparing for this since the death of Severus. Among them were also Jews, all eager to establish the sovereignty of ancient Egypt. However, there was one crucial factor they did not consider or pay much attention to.

General Marcus Justus Acacius.

They say, you can feel the ground shake when he walks on it. He makes his opponents feel certain of their own death at the very moment he draws his sword. A daring commander with few who could stand up to him. It is unclear whether this is an exaggeration or not, but it is still rumored that he cut a lion in half in the Colosseum.

A beast in every sense of the word.

More than that, he is a leader who manages his legions very well and spurs them on to achieve success during the war, a man who has not yet tasted a failure and has well-earned the title of general in every way.

Since it was obvious that no one else could succeed in suppressing the rebellion, he was immediately sent to the region with the intervention of his Empresss Julia Domna, the mother of the two emperors.

Just like she guessed, he had succeeded in putting down the rebellion; of course, no doubt, as soon as his name rang through, the rebels, along with all the inhabitants of Egypt, knew that they were already defeated.

Some were forced to surrender, those who resisted and fled were found and killed by the Roman soldiers, but not all. The general didn't kill the surrendered ones, he took them as captives which was pretty fair for a beast. In contrast to him, the ones who fled were not, they were so desperate that they didn't know what to do and they started attacking everything and everywhere like rabid dogs.

They even attempted to violate the laws of war and mapped out a plan to kill the General and his soldiers, and even all the medics, in the night at their camps. It was a suicide mission, but they were on the verge of success.

"Has anyone seen the General? He’s not in his tent!" A burly soldier entered, gripping his sword, which was stained with the blood of the rebel he had just killed. He quickly searched through all the tents, wearing a look of concern on his face.

The clinking of swords echoed in the darkness as the soldiers cut down the last remaining rebels to death with their swords.

Soon, the soldier ran to his General, relieved to see him, but he was wounded in the abdomen moments ago. As he gently pressed his hand to his injury, a small amount of blood emerged, shining like rubies under the moonlight as it dripped from between his strong fingers onto the grass. His attackers were no longer alive, they were all lying on the ground, were literally cut to ribbons. They attacked him in his sleep when he was wearing nothing but his tunic, catching him off guard. He nodded to the soldier, demanding assistance as his white tunic transformed into a crimson hue. He had been wounded many times before, countless times, but this was nothing like before and was undoubtedly the worst injury he had ever sustained. "I think I… got…," he groaned; it hurt much even when he spoke, feeling like beneath the wound, his blood was boiling. "…poisoned." These were the last words spilled from his lips before his enormous body slumping to his knees, collapse altogether to the ground.

The woman with waist-length with black hair was dragging you along with her as she walking across the meadow, you were struggled, couldn’t control your feet, as if the ground was sliding under. She had her hands outstretched at her sides, even though her back was turned, it was not difficult to see her smile by the sunlight reflecting the curve of her chin. She abruptly ceased her movement and bent down to gather a few herbs in a meadow. She plucked them, gathered them in her palms, and kissed them. You heard the whispers between her lips and the harmony of the wind rippling through your ears. It was clear that she was blessing these herbs. When she turned to you, you staggered backwards, hypnotized by her face, so beautiful, mesmerizing, her eyes hypnotizing yours, it was impossible to look away, no escape from them.

Perhaps even more surprising than anything else was that her face and eyes were identical to yours. It really was truly astonishing. She handed you the plants like they were rare jewelry. You could see her arms shone in the sun, and her skin looked like fine marble. It was impossible to believe that it could be human skin; it must have been that of a goddess, but why did her face resemble yours?

'Heal the heart, child,' her voice sang through the meadow like a gentle breeze. You couldn't move your lips, but she heard you anyway.

‘Heart?’

A warm wind blew, and the silhouette of the woman came closer, startling you. Her hazel eyes were turning green under the sun. As she slightly opens her lips, you locked your eyes on them and waited eagerly for the answer.

‘The heart of Rome,’ almost whispers, ‘Serve it,’ a little loud now like commanding, ‘Heal it...’ again whispers then gently puts the herbs on your hand.

A strong wind blew, and the silhouette of the woman danced with the wind. The sunny sky burst into a starry night as the wind embraced the silhouette and rose to the sky, to the stars. You felt the ground under your feet, but your eyes were drawn to the enchanting sky.

As the wind finally gave way to the silent night, you looked at the herbs you were holding in your hand. These kind of herbs you were used to seeing almost every day, but what you were not used to seeing was that they were sparkling like diamonds between your fingers. It was as if you could feel their healing power on your skin.

Abruptly, you heard the voice again, echoing across the meadow. Your ears were once more caressed, blessed, but this time, the words were different.

‘Cure him…’

You barely heard your name being called and your body was shaking, slowly opened your eyes, you saw a familiar but worried face.

‘Wake up, please, you need to get up now,’ the concern in the man's voice brought you back to reality, the effect of the dream disappearing like a cloud of dust between the stone walls and dissipating into the air.

‘Uncle?’

You had rarely seen this face of your uncle who had taken you in when you were an orphan, who cared for you, protected you and raised you well more than any other father or mother ever would.

You sat up from the firm mattress you were lying on, ‘I thought we were travelling tomorrow night?’

‘No, no, that's not why I woke you up,’ he put your big dark cloak over your head. ‘You need to hide.’

You were startled to hear shouting and footsteps coming from outside the wooden door of the room. This was not the sort of noise you would normally expect to hear in this Valetudinarium (hospital, clinic) at this late hour. 

‘What is going on?’ You rub your eyes with your fingers, trying to figure out the situation.

Your uncle tucked your hair deeper into your cloak.

'The Roman soldiers are gathering all the medici (psychians). I have to go with them.'

'Roman soldiers? I thought they left after they put down the rebellion, and slaughtered thousands. Besides, they must have a medicus in their camps, why would they-?'

He grabbed you by the shoulders, his anxiety evident.

'I heard that some rebellious individuals killed the Medici in their tents, and then-'

A soldier's voice was heard from one of the nearby rooms. You both turned your heads in that direction, startled, and then looked at each other again.

'Their general was targeted. The rebels attacked him in his sleep. He managed to fight back, but he was poisoned. Now, they want me to save him.'

“Poisoned? But Uncle, he might already be dead! If you can’t cure him, they’ll blame you or punish you!”

“Don’t think about that now. You need to hide. Remember, as a woman, you aren’t allowed to be here. You have to conceal yourself and wait for my return.”

The soldiers’ voices were heard nearby.

"No, I’ll come with you. If it’s aspis venom (a venomous snake found in the Nile region), we’ll use the same techniques as we did with the boy last time. It would take too long to make the antivenom alone. Let me help you."

"It’s too dangerous for you, my dearest, to go among the soldiers. Even if you wear men’s clothes, we can’t hide the beauty of your face."

You walked over to the cauldron in the fireplace and ran your hands over the soot that had accumulated beneath it.

"It worked before," you said, rubbing a bit of soot on your cheeks.

"That was only at the market. This time it’s more dangerous. I’d never forgive myself if I couldn’t protect you there."

"I was going to give this to you tomorrow, as I promised last time, but there's no time now. If anything happens to me, you will open it. Everything about your true family is in here."

You took the envelope from him with shaky hands. It had been sealed by the former emperor himself, and you wondered what was written inside.

Your uncle grabbed your shoulders and shook you to ensure you understood the importance of the letter. "No one should ever see this. Do you understand me? No one! After you open it, hide it. Do not let anyone see it. But don't lose it; hide it as if your life depends on it. You'll understand why."

You nodded firmly and swallowed hard, tucking the letter into the bag hanging around your neck. You hid it at the very bottom under the medicine bottles, causing them to rattle in the process.

"Aya, you’re going to have to choose," he said, looking at you intently before leaving the room.

"Choose what, uncle?"

"To run or to stay. It’ll all make sense when you read the letter," he said, glancing down the hall before grabbing your wrist. You were confused, but you knew you had to think about this later.

"We have to get out now; soldiers are outside. Quick!"

'I was going to give this to you tomorrow as I promised last time, but there's no time now. If anything happens to me, you will open it. Everything about your true family is in here.'

You took the envelope from him with shaking hands. The previous emperor himself had sealed it. You wondered what it meant.

Your uncle grabbed your shoulders and shook you, making sure you understood how important this letter was.

‘No one should ever see this. Do you understand me? No one! After you open it, hide it. Do not let anyone see it. But don't lose it, hide it like your life depends on it, you'll understand why.’

You nodded firmly and swallowed hard. You tucked the letter into the bag hanging around your neck and hid it at the very bottom under the medicine bottles, making them rattle in the process.

‘Aya, you’re going to have to choose,’ he looked at you before leaving the room.

‘Choose what uncle?’

‘To run or stay. It’ll make sense when you read the letter,’ he checked the hall and grabbed your wrist. You were so confused but you had to think about this later.

'We have to get out now, soldiers are outside, quick!'

The soldiers had gathered all the medici they could find at the army camp headquarters near the tents. There were seven of them, but they were unable to find a solution for the General's injury. As you and your uncle were next in line, a burly soldier of higher rank approached you both. You kept your head down, avoiding eye contact. Everyone was in a rush, nearly all mobilized to save the General's life. Your gender didn't matter to them at that moment. Just as you were about to follow your uncle into the tent, the soldier raised his hand to stop you.

‘Only the medicus.’

‘My aide, sir, let him in. He's as expert as I am.’

As your uncle is their last hope, he let you in but did not follow you inside, standing guard outside the tent. The General's squire stood next to him, looking at you with tears in his eyes. It was a heartbreaking sight. The sorrow had enveloped everything inside the tent, and you could feel it deep in your bones.

The General lay on a mattress in the west corner of the tent. He was unconscious, but you noticed his lips moving as if he were murmuring. You stepped forward to take a closer look at his face, which you had been so curious about.

His face was exactly as you had imagined, yet somehow different. He had numerous scars, as if he had been born with them, and his light brown skin embraced them. His mustache and beard were partially gray, and his nose and chin were perfectly shaped, as though Prometheus himself had spent extra time crafting this man. His face was stunning, causing your heart to race. You had never felt this way about any other man, though you had never had the opportunity to do so.

You were somewhat disappointed to see his eyes closed. You longed to know what they looked like and were eager to see his expression when he opened them. You were momentarily surprised by the desire to touch his face. For an instant, you forgot why you were there. Meanwhile, your uncle had picked up the sword with which the General had been wounded and was examining the blood on it. You moved over to help him, keeping one eye on the General, who lay there with his imposing build and half of the white tunic he wore stained red.

Your heart constricted with pain, and the dream you had came vividly to mind.

‘Cure him.’

"We need to check his wound!" Your uncle's loud voice startled you, and you squinted at him, feeling ashamed.

As your uncle gestured for you to come closer, you saw that the wound was not deep, but the skin around it was turning pale from the venom, and the edges were curling inward.

"He doesn't have much time. Let's start making the antivenom now," he said, swallowing hard. The situation was worsening, and you knew you had to cure him no matter what. Perhaps this was why the gods had shown you this in your dream; they had warned you in advance that your life depended on it.

The process of making the antivenom took slightly longer than you had anticipated, but you persevered admirably. Your uncle cleaned the wound to neutralize it while you sweated through your clothes. Finally, when the antivenom was ready, your uncle carefully applied the antidote to the wound, but he was exhausted, his fingers shaking. You stepped in to help despite feeling weary yourself. Your eyelids felt heavy, but you managed to see your task through to the end.

The soldier from earlier entered the tent to check on the situation. You bowed your head and stepped back.

"We've cleaned the wound, and once it's neutralized, we applied the antidote. We just need to wait now," your uncle informed him, wiping sweat from his forehead. "We need to give him some time and ensure he drinks water soon to avoid dehydration."

As the soldier examined the wound, you turned your head to look at the squire boy, who had been sobbing just moments ago but had now already fallen asleep. Poor boy, you thought.

The soldier then ordered you to leave the tent and wait outside.

You felt your arms and legs go numb with fatigue and collapsed to the ground, sitting cross-legged and trying hard to stay awake. Your uncle was in the same state, but he still struggled to resist sleep. In the end, he couldn't keep his eyelids from closing.

You woke up to the sound of soldiers shouting and arguing. Turning your head, you couldn't make out what they were disagreeing about, but their noise was overwhelming.

"You better go in and make sure the General drinks some water. He needs to stay hydrated," your uncle said firmly, likely keeping an eye on the soldiers outside.

The tent was empty except for the General. A soldier from earlier was outside, reassuring the other soldiers. You approached the General to check on him. His forehead was covered in sweat, and his body was fighting off venom. You quickly grabbed a damp cloth and pressed it gently against his forehead. Then you touched his lips with your thin, fragile fingers. An intense feeling grew inside you. As a secret medicus, you had touched the faces and bodies of many men and women to heal them. However, touching this man's face and lips felt different from the others.

You took a deep breath to steady yourself. This was nonsensical.

You opened his lips carefully and dipped a rag into the fresh water in a copper pot. You pressed it against the General's dry, pale lips, squeezing it gently through his mouth.

After doing this several times, you decided you had done enough. Just as you were about to withdraw your hand, the General's strong hand suddenly grasped yours with a firm grip. You were shocked and winced in pain, causing you to open your hand with pressure, and the rag fell to the ground.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as you gazed at his face. He opened those eyes you had been so curious about and looked at you with a cold, calculating stare, squeezing your wrist so tightly that you felt it might break at any moment. You suppressed a scream and moaned in pain. 'Sir, I'm trying to help you!' You sounded as if you were crying, then he groaned in pain, throwing his head back and closing his eyes.The effort must have exhausted him. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he breathed quickly.

When he finally released your wrist, you threw yourself backwards for dear life, rubbed your wrist with your other hand and stroked it, praying to the Gods to take the pain away. You could have sworn to Jupiter that if he had squeezed your wrist any harder, you would have heard a cracking sound coming from your bones.

How could he possibly be so strong even when exhausted, so close to death?

As the pain receded, you took a deep breath and forced yourself to calm down. Your thin wrist was marked in red, like poppies, as if the shadows of his fingers were engraved on your skin.

You glanced timidly over your shoulder; he was still lying there with his eyes closed. But you had just made a terrible mistake—he must have heard your voice and realized you were a woman. Only the gods knew what he would do when he regained consciousness.

You had to leave immediately. Wrapping your wrist in a clean piece of cloth, you tucked the sleeve of your dress into it to hide the bandage. As you stepped out of the tent, your uncle grabbed your arm and pulled you behind it.

“Uncle, the general opened his eyes for a moment and heard my voice. He might remember when he wakes up,” you whispered, hoping no one had overheard you.

“Gods have mercy upon us,” he murmured, glancing down. Then he grabbed your shoulders. “It’s time to go. You need to leave now. Follow the path through the woods. Some soldiers are having a disagreement about something; I think they have found out—”

“You! Medicus! Come over here!” one of the soldiers shouted at your uncle. He gestured to you with his eyes, silently urging you to go.

“You too!” you gasped as you realized that the soldier was waving his hand at you.

“Sir, he should stay with the General…” your uncle interjected, stepping in front of you to protect you.

“I said come, both of you, now,” the soldier replied, his tone unmistakably commanding.

As you took tentative steps towards the group of soldiers forming a circle around your uncle, your heart raced as if it were about to burst. These were the soldiers who had just argued, fought, and you found yourself wondering whether they had been injured, but you could see no visible wounds on anyone.

On the contrary, they gazed at you with curiosity, and only at you.

“That’s nonsense, Dimitrus; this boy can’t be a girl,” said one soldier, pointing at you with a small knife in his hand.

Your uncle stood beside you, his worst fears realized, his face taut with worry. As the soldier, whom you guessed was named Dimitrus, approached, your uncle stepped in front of you. But the soldier easily overpowered him and shoved him aside. With a scrutinizing gaze, the soldier examined your body from head to toe. You bowed your head and clenched your fists, your heart pounding in your chest as your breathing quickened. He yanked down the hood of your cloak with his large hands, drawing the attention of other soldiers who now gathered nearby for a better look.

When he saw your hair tied up at the back of your head, his grin widened. He drew a dagger from its sheath, and as you caught sight of your uncle's worried face behind the soldier's formidable arm, you began to pray to all the gods.

Dimitrus grasped your bun and quickly cut the hair tie with his dagger, causing your golden-brown wavy hair to cascade over your shoulders. The soldiers laughed and whistled, while Dimitrus looked at them with a cocky smile before turning back to you.

“Such long hair for an aide boy, huh?” he chuckled.

“A girl, indeed,” replied another soldier, looking at you in disbelief.

“I told you I could smell a woman from a mile away,” he laughed, his voice booming.

“Please,” you pleaded, feeling powerless. A wave of despair washed over you.

“What is going on here?” The burly soldier approached, eyes wide with astonishment at your new appearance. Dimitrus grabbed your hair, pulling you closer to him. He then seized your chin and turned your face towards Octavius.

"Look at her! You didn't even notice that the medicus brought a girl with him, Octavius? In our camp? And you're supposed to be the general's right-hand man!" 

You struggled to move, but he was too strong. 

"Hey, I can’t see her face clearly!"

You closed your eyes tightly as someone threw wine in your face. Dimitrus roughly wiped your face with his big fingers.

“Gods, no ordinary beauty,” he said, looking at you like a hungry wolf. He leaned in closer, inhaling the scent of your hair, making you feel nauseous. You tried to look away, but your eyes met your uncle’s desperate gaze.

“That's enough, Dimitrus. Let her go. Is this what you all think while our General lies there, fighting for his life?”

You rushed to your uncle's side as his hands released your hair. "He's already dead; I've never seen anyone get up after being poisoned," he says, as if he were looking forward to his death.

Octavius unsheathed his sword with a sharp "schwing" sound. "How dare you! Say that again and I'll cut your tongue off!" he barked.

Dimitrus' followers drew their swords as well. Octavius looked at each of them with anger and disbelief. He had been betrayed. "You treacherous filthy rats! I'll kill you one by one!" He waved his long sword at them.

Dimitrus grabbed your uncle by the collar. "Start with this one then. Who knows what he gave the General instead of medicine?"

"Aye, he must be punished!" shouted one of them.

"Punish him, Octavius!"

They were all yelling at him by raising their swords, you were thinking a way out but there wasn’t any.

"If you won't, I shall," Dimitrus pointed the end of his sword at your uncle.

"No!" you shrieked, but your uncle stopped you, raising his hand.

Then, as Octavius raised his hand and was about to lunge at him to prevent him, Dimitrus plunged his sword through your uncle's stomach, the poor man groaning in pain and falling to his knees, and as you ran towards him, he drew back his sword, his blood splashing in your face with the force of the draw. Your body began to shake, and you felt paralyzed as you watched his lifeless body collapse to the ground.

"Dimitrus!" Octavius roared, ‘You've gone too far! What do you think our general will do to you when he awakens?’

You fell to your knees in shock, your body rigid and still, your face expressionless, yet tears streaming down your cheeks.

"General? You failed to save him; you let that medicus get into his tent; you must share his fate! I will let the emperors know that this is all your fault! And I think we must put the general out of his misery-"

Out of nowhere, an axe flew at Dimitrus, piercing his chest. His body shook as he reeled back, then collapsed to the ground, lying backwards and dying in a pool of blood. Everyone looked at him in astonishment and panic. Blood gushed from where his chest had been split open, and when he stopped breathing, he lay there as his eyes remained wide open.

They turned their heads to see who had thrown the axe and were shocked once again. The general could hardly stand near his tent, his eyes filled with rage and his gaze burning with fury. Octavius quickly ran to his side.

"General! Thank the Gods you're finally awake!" 

"What's going on here, Octavius?" His voice was like a roar.

“Sir, Dimitrus and others have attempted to mutiny.” 

Acacius shot a deathly glare at the other soldiers, who immediately kneeled with their swords turned upside down. 

“No, sir, we did not.” 

“Forgive me, sir, it was Dimitrus's doing.” 

“Sir, please forgive me.” 

You gently closed your uncle's eyelids with your fingers as they all pleaded for forgiveness. With your back turned to the General, you felt indifferent about your fate; you no longer cared whether you lived or died. It seemed to you that your whole life was already over.

"If any of you ever dare to do anything like this again," he said as he walked near Dimitrus’ body and pulled the axe from his chest roughly; you were startled by the crunching sound coming from his bones.

"I Marcus Justus Acacius, will make sure that he meets the same fate as this scum!"

He put them in their place, and they all nodded in fear. They stood up at his gesture while bowing their heads, unable to look him in the face. 

“Now get ready; we must sail at dawn!” 

“Yes, sir!” 

They quickly sheathed their swords and hurriedly spread out.

Acacius staggered slightly as watched them move, his wound still painful, but he tried hard not to show it. 

Octavius touched his arm. "Sir, the Gods have spared your life, but please rest a little longer." 

"Who is this man?" 

You were certain he was referring to your uncle, even though your back was turned to him. 

"The medicus who cured you, sir. Dimitrus got mad and killed him because he thought he couldn't save you."

"As if we haven't lost enough healers tonight. He was clearly mistaken. This man managed to cure me, and I am standing here because of him." He turned to Octavius. "Make sure this man's body is returned to his family. Inform the governor about this; they should make all the necessary arrangements for the rituals."

Octavius nodded, "Yes, sir, I will." 

They both turned their gaze toward you. "What about this one?" 

Your body was frozen; you felt as if the time for your execution had come. You never expected your last moments to unfold like this. 

"I think this is his aide or slave, sir. Dimitrus discovered she was a woman and that medicus was hiding her," one of them said, bowing his head in shame. You swallowed hard. 

Acacius' pain returned, and he groaned. Octavius gently grabbed his waist. "Sir, please rest. You need to regain your strength." 

"Sir!" Acacius' squire rushed over, placing his arm under Acacius' shoulder. 

It was time for him to turn away from you.

"Since her master has died, take this girl to the other slaves. I don't want any more chaos or mishap," he said in a firm voice.

You wiped the tears from your eyes with the back of your hand as their footsteps faded away. Two soldiers grabbed your arms and lifted you off the ground while others carried your uncle's body. As you turned your head and glanced over your shoulder, you caught a glimpse of the General's curly gray hair and well-shaped nose before he disappeared into his tent.

Your body was filled with rage. What you heard only heightened your pain and deepened your hurt. A slave? How could he say that? The one who had healed him was now considered worthy of being a slave?

As the mid-morning sun began to reflect off the walls of Rome through the haze that filled the harbor, the city was preparing to experience one of the most significant days in its history. Everyone who noticed the navy ships approaching from afar—citizens, subjects, foreign diplomats, merchants, civil servants, and porters—gathered at the entrance of the city. They were waiting to welcome General Acacius and the victorious Roman soldiers. On the deck of the large ship at the forefront of the fleet, the General sighed deeply as he looked out over his city, thanking Mars for his triumphant and healthy return.

The journey from the port of Alexandria to Rome took ten days, and it was a challenging experience for you, traveling alongside captives known as slaves. Most of these individuals were Greeks and Egyptians, and the joyous shouts echoing through the streets of the Roman capital meant nothing to them. On board the ship, they were repeatedly told that the slave market in Rome was quite prestigious. They were assured that young girls would be well cared for by certain families, urged to stop their tears, and encouraged to pray to Jupiter so that wealthy families would notice them and buy them at high prices.

You were not like those slaves; you were not a prisoner of war, and your family was neither enslaved nor poor. Your uncle was a renowned and esteemed medicus, part of an affluent family. He and his wife found you on the banks of the River Nile when you were three years old—that is what they told you. The gods had not blessed them with a child, so they loved you as if you were their own. You knew he wasn't your biological father or uncle, but you were very happy with your life and didn't ask too many questions until he revealed the letter the night before everything changed.

As an orphan, you were raised by your uncle, who taught you about Egyptian medicine. You assisted him in countless surgeries, helping to bring many people back to life, including the general himself. Through this experience, you gained enough knowledge and skill to become an expert in the field. However, no one would refer to you as a medicus because you were a woman. Your talents were too remarkable to ignore, yet despite sharing your skills with those on the ship, no one believed you. Even if they did, there was little they could do to change the situation.

As you looked through the small cracks between the ship's planks, your gaze drifted over the seemingly endless sea. You couldn’t shake the thoughts of the dream you had the night before.

‘Cure him.’

Wouldn't it have been better if you hadn’t cured him? Perhaps your uncle would still be alive. Maybe you wouldn’t be sitting on this ship now, resigned to your fate, wondering and worrying about what will happen to you. Is this your reward for healing the great Roman general?

That man ruined your life, and you only did yourself a disservice by saving him. Perhaps the gods were testing you, but what was the lesson?

You observed the shadow of the general’s fingers beneath the cloth wrapped around your wrist. The color reminded you of violets bathed in moonlight from days ago. Now, it was an unmistakably bright hue, and the pain had lessened significantly.

As the ship rumbled into port, you realized that it was time to accept your fate. In the dark and damp bilge of the ship, you and a girl close to your age called Decima took turns using the same swing as a bed, you liked each other and in desperation you became confidants, friends. She was in her early twenties and had a lovely charm about her, while you, in your late twenties, had a stunning beauty that really stood out. Her father was a rebel, probably killed by the General's men, and she was taken as captive. You told her almost everything except the letter that you’re hiding in your bag.

As soon as you stepped into the harbor, the discrimination began. The general and his men moved in the opposite direction, while the slave trader standing in front of you ordered you to go elsewhere.

You frowned as you caught sight of his face in the distance, peeking over the shoulders of the crowd. He looked healthy; his body had managed to overcome the venom of the past few days, and his wound had healed. You remembered how you had spent hours with your uncle trying to cure him and how you had struggled to create the antidote while your arms and wrists ached with pain.

Suddenly, the General's face lit up with a warm smile as he waved to his citizens. To your surprise, all your anger momentarily vanished. You turned your head away; looking at him would only cause you pain. He wouldn't recognize you because he couldn't clearly see your face, not just yet. Besides, to him, you were just a slave—nothing more.

However, Octavius recognized you from a distance. He was the only one who had witnessed your hard work. He was an honorable man, he disliked seeing you among the slaves, but he felt powerless, as it was the General's order.

In the evening of that day, after the slaves were taken to the baths and then to the market for sale, you and Decima were brought by the slaver to a separate cell. From outside, the lively sounds of the market could be heard, where slaves were being sold one by one. There was a great deal of interest in these new slaves from Egypt.

The slaver appeared at the door of your cell with a man who looked to be older and wealthy. Decima immediately stood up, but you remained still. The slaver gestured with his hand, turning Decima around in the center of the cell to show off her arms, face, and feet, while squinting at you.

“Look at these strong and beautiful young girls, sir. I wouldn’t show you any poor slaves; they are both virgins and very beautiful. The great Venus has bestowed her beauty upon them. They would fetch a lot of money in the market, but I thought I would show them to you first, sire.” He was being very flattering, but the man's eyes were fixed on you.

“Doesn't she have any manners? Why isn't she standing up?” “You're right, sir, she must be a bit sick from traveling. She will,” he gestured to you with his hand. “Come on, get up, girl.”

You rolled your eyes and got up, he squeezed your arm hard to warn you first, then did everything what he had done to Decima, opening almost every part of your body for the other man to see. It was incredibly disgusting, you felt like an animal being sold at the cattle market.

"The other one is younger, but this one is beautiful, a rare find," he said, grabbing your arm and looking at you hungrily. "How much do you want for her?"

Your eyes meet with Decima in a silent exchange, as it was time to go your separate ways.

"Eight thousand sesterces, sire."

He pursed his lips in thought, his fingers touching your hair while you closed your eyes, praying for a miracle.

"Ten thousand sesterces!"

A familiar voice of a man echoed through stone walls. You all turned your heads to that direction."General Marcus Acacius offers ten thousand sesterces for this girl!" Octavius appeared, his imposing figure clad in armor that clanked with every step. He tossed a large coin pouch to the slaver, who caught it, a wide smile spreading across his face.

"Sold, of course," he said, counting the coins with a happy expression.

Octavius then firmly grabbed the other man's arm, which was still close to you, lifted it, and pushed it away. He frowned. "This girl now belongs to General Acacius, sir. You must not touch her," he warned firmly.

As the general entered the city in his chariot, the people shouted his name. He waved his hand to them, and the streets were filled with a great enthusiasm as everyone gathered to honour the general and his soldiers. The chariot carrying him soon passed under the triumphal arch of Septimius Severus and turned towards the Curia Julia, the Senate building, where the emperors must have been waiting for him. The general's smile faded. He was tired and not looking forward to seeing them, but he would not go to his villa before visiting the emperors.

As General strode purposefully up the marble stairs, Geta and Caracella leapt down from their golden imperial thrones in excitement. As soon as Geta saw him, he opened his arms wide.

‘How can I reward Rome's greatest general?'

'By letting him catch his breath first,' Caracella smiled widely.

Acacius stopped in front of them and nodded, 'My Emperors.'

'We have been eagerly awaiting for your arrival, general,' Geta clasped his hands together, looking at him with admiration.

'Speak for yourself, brother. My legs ache from sitting for so long,' Caracella said, then laughed loudly. 'But it was worth it, indeed!'

‘Indeed!’ They both laughed once more, but Caracella looking at his brother a bit strange way.

It was hard to tell if Caracalla wanted to embrace Geta or if wanted to take his life right then and there. The relationship between the two of them was quite distorted.

The general rolled his eyes, he was used to these two whiny emperors half of his age bickering at each other all the time, he sighed in frustration at having to put up with them when he could easily take both their lives with a single stroke of his sword. Unfortunately, this unpleasant situation had only just begun.

‘We heard that you were poisoned, how did it feel?’ Geta looked at him with wide eyes and smile.

The news must have reached the emperors before the general had even boarded the ship.

'Painful, your highness,' Acacius stated, a shadow passing over his brown eyes as he remembered the pain again.

'I'm sure it was, it must have been an interesting experience.’ Caracella crossed his arms; smiling just like his brother.

‘Cobra or viper?’

‘Aspis, highness, the viper type.’

‘Oh, I won!’ Geta jumped for joy and gestured to Caracella with his hand, imitating a snake.

Caracella ignored him looking at the General.

‘The rebels must have quite a sense of humour, poisoning a Roman General carrying Medusa on his chest with a snake, quite ironic,’ he touched Medusa on General's armor with his index finger.

Acacius frowned while looking at him, ‘They certainly do, they murdered all our medici mercilessly, fortunately the great Asclepius sent his help, my men brought another medicus from city was able to cure me, it is thanks to him that I can stand here in front of you, highness,’ Acacius remembered the memory when he was unsure whether it was a dream or not but he could not get out of his mind the fingers that touched his lips, the owner of those hazel eyes that came to his aid when his throat was dry from thirst. But it couldn't be medicus he thought, it had to be someone with thin fingers, someone with beautiful eyes he had never seen before. Maybe, since he was too close to death, it was a dream or a goddess has appeared to him, he couldn't be sure.

The first thing he remembers is opening his eyes and grabbing her wrist with his survival instinct. He thought it was a strange looking young man in a hood, maybe another rebel had come to kill him again, but then he heard her voice and thought his goddess had come to heal him. He was in so much pain and seeing hallucinations that he couldn't tell if it was a dream or not. But couldn’t get rid of those thoughts since days.

The emperors didn't seem to care much about the medicis the general was talking about, or how he had recovered, and Acacius seemed bored as they continued to joke with each other.

‘Mother,' Geta ran to her as he noticed the Empress approaching, extends his arm for her.

Julia Domna took his arm as she coming towards Acacius, whispering something into Geta’s ear, without taking her eyes off the General.

‘My lady,’ Acacius nodded to her.

Domna's smile was like Caracella's, you could never guess what she was thinking.

‘General, how good it is to see you return triumphant once more. Rome salutes you, and I embrace you,’ she approached him with open arms and put her hands Acacius’ board shoulders.

Caracella sat back on his throne, a bored look on his face.

‘My Lady, the honour is mine,’ the general said, bowing his head.

‘We shall sacrifice 1000 bulls to honor our triumphant mother!’ Geta clapped his hands excitedly, ‘Let's have a great feast tonight!’

‘Highness, let's give the General some time to rest, he must be tired from the battle,’ Domna removed her hands from the General's shoulders but kept her eyes on him.

Caracella let out a high, shrill laugh that echoed through the white marble columns. Geta sat on his throne and scowled.

‘Acacius, walk with me,’ the Empress turned round, gestured to him.

Acacius sighed, he didn't want to be alone with her, but he had to. Domna walked ahead of him, hands clasped behind her back, he followed her slowly.

‘My sons are glad to see you again, even if they have no idea how fortunate they are to have you serving them.’

'It is my duty to serve Rome.’

She paused and smiled, watching the water in the pool shimmer in the sunlight, the glow reflecting off her bright skin, her expression was difficult to read.

'I think you have a talent for survival.’

She sounded dissatisfied. 'After all, you trained under Maximus, you must have learned a lot from him.’

He looked away, 'I owe where I am today to the remarkable fighting skills he taught me, he was an honourable man, the greatest general Rome has ever seen,' Acacius' eyes were fixed on the great Temple of Venus between the eastern edge of the Forum Romanum and the Colosseum.

Domna looked at him with a feeling between admiration and concern.

‘He, like you, lived to serve Rome, even if he had to kill Commodus,’ she said, and even little children could catch the obvious implication in her voice.

Acacius held his ground, his eyes roaming the curves of the statue of Venus.

‘But unlike him, you are loyal to the emperors, I can be sure of that, can't I?

He turned his head towards her, but did not look at her. His eyes were now on the two spoilt emperors who were talking animatedly to each other between the columns. 'As long as Rome is prosperous for all her subjects, I will be loyal to them, my lady.'

Domna laughed loudly, 'Ah, that's why I want you in the Senate, how long will you refuse?

'I am only a soldier, politics is not my business, nor should it be. Consuls in the Senate -'

‘Those old foxes live in abundance and do nothing, the person who has done Rome the greatest service should be in the Senate.’ Domna glanced over her shoulder at her sons. 'I am concerned that Macrinus has no equal in the Senate and that Caracella dominates him, perhaps if you are in there, you will gain his trust.’

'Your Highness...' He looked at her shaking his head as no.

Domna looked at Acacius, this time with a serious expression on her face, 'For the sake of Rome you must be especially careful with Caracella, as her mother even I find it hard to get my way with him, he is not like Geta, he is a hard-headed child.’

Acacius looked at Caracella whose back was turned, of course he knew this very well, for a moment he thought that he was the real threat to Rome, not the enemy soldiers or the others.

‘Anyway, you should go to your villa and rest, you will have time to think about this alone,’ she said with a forced smile, then turned around to go to her sons.

After praying in the temple of Venus, Acacius walked out, and as he descended the steps of the temple, he felt a stinging pain where his wound had been, the poison had completely gone from his body, but it had left its trace behind.

Octavius was lost in thought as he has leaned against the side of the carriage waiting for him, quickly stood up when he noticed him.

‘Sir.’

‘I see you don't miss your home, as you're still here,' Acacius said as he descended the last step. He got into the carriage and climbed in to sit beside him. Acacius was quite tired so he lay down on the seat, the fact that he felt so comfortable with Octavius was because of their long friendship, he was his most trusted man, more than just a friend, like a brother.

'Are you going to tell me what's troubling you?’ Acacius covered his face with his arm, but he could feel the tension in him.

'Sir, the girl.’

'Oh, I see, a girl? Have you fallen in love with a girl?

'No, that's not it,' Octavius felt embarrassed as he remembered your face. 'That poor girl, It doesn't seem fair that she should be with those slaves, sir, you are an honourable man, but your order-'

Acacius lifted his arm from his face and looked at him, the cart swaying as it moved along the stony roads.

'The girl that medicus hid? Why do you care so much for her? Is there something I should know?’

'After all, they worked so hard together to cure you, perhaps you should have at least let her go home.’

‘Together? What do you mean?' Acacius sat up, his eyebrows furrowed.

Octavius bowed his head.

'Sir, I made a mistake, it was my fault for letting them into your tent, I don't know how I could have been so careless even after the assassination, forgive me...'

Acacius raised his hand.

'Slow down, we will talk about your mistake later, you are saying that girl entered my tent and cured me? How?’

'I didn't look closely at her face and I didn't know she was a woman maybe because of her outfit but I made a terrible mistake, I should’ve known, forgive me sir.’ He bowed his head once more but it made Acacius more angry.

'You haven't answered my question, Octavius,' his voice was loud.

'Yes sir, she did her best to cure you, sir, the girl and Medicus worked hard to produce antivenom all night.’

Acacius was surprised when he realized that he hadn't dreamed that night. He was glad to learn that the owner of those eyes was a real person. But then he thought that she might be on the slave market by now, about to be sold to someone else.

‘Stop the carriage!’ He yelled.

The coachman immediately did as he was told and pulled hard on the horses' harnesses, the horses howling and stamping their hooves on the ground.

'Sir?' Octavius raised his eyebrows in surprise.

'Go and find the girl, I want to see her at my villa tonight, do you understand? Acacius tossed him a pouch full of coins.

Octavius smiled, ‘Yes, sir.’

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[brittle-doughie]

Downstream Part 2: Frigid Lies

The cards come tumbling down

[Part 1]

“And with just a little ingenuity…”

You snapped the rocks together to form enough of a spark to light your fire, Affogato Cookie’s eyes widen as the fire roared amidst the wood.

“You have yourself a strong fire that will get you through the night.”

“Why give it so much effort when I could simply create a fire with my magic. It would save you the trouble..”

“You can use fire spells?”

“Well, I…..”

You gave him a look as Affogato immediately surrendered.

“I don’t.”

“If you want to help me next time, I can give you a hands-on lesson on how to make a fire like I do! It can go a long way to ensure you last out here in the snowy tundras.”

“A hands-on lesson?”

“Yeah, y’know. I put my hands over yours and I direct you on what to do!”

Just imagining your more firm, stronger hands over his made his face flush as he tries to hide it from you.

“O-oh, I am…well aware of what that term entails. I am simply asking if it’s necessary.”

“Are you saying you can handle it on your own?”

“Yes, yes. I can assure you that I can start a fire on my own.”

He takes the rocks from you and gathered leftover sticks and leaves into a pile before trying to replicate what you did. With obvious results.

His form was hampered, he wasn’t placing enough force between the rocks to get that spark going, and he wasn’t holding them firmly enough to begin with.

You creeped behind him and reached forward, holding your hands on top of his as you grip the rocks. This catches him off guard as his face darkened with blush.

“Let me show you how to do it.”

“Spare me the words, I could’ve handle it on my own.”

“Yeah, right. Here.”

You let go at just the right moment for Affogato Cookie to place enough force between the rocks to get a spark going and ignite his pile.

“See? Nothing too difficult for me to handle~”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Affogato. Come on, these rations aren’t going to cook themselves!”

—————————————————

As night approaches, the two of you sit near your fires as you heated your cacao nibs porridge while Affogato preferred what you made for him back at the cabin, a fine serving of rainbow jellies.

He looked away from his meal to look at you, you were gazing at your bowl of porridge with a look of content and….a hint of longing.

“You’ve packed much better than what you have, yet you insist on eating…that.”

“Well, I guess a part of me still misses my time at the Dark Cacao Kingdom. Heh, as much as these things are hardly enough to sustain me long term, they just..bring back my memories serving as the Eighth Watcher.”

“But why look back on a kingdom that’s long turned their back on you? They talk of loyalty, yet showed none for you when they casted you out.”

“Maybe I’ll never know the extent of what I had done to get myself banished, but I respect my King’s decision nonetheless. However unfortunate, he wouldn’t want me to give up so easily and that’s what I plan to do. No matter what, I’ll continue to watch over these snowy lands as the Cookie of the Ridge, from what the locals call me.”

“Eh…..”

He remembers that day, a memory he once looked back on with pride was now a memory he wished he could forget with how things are now.

And with that memory came too his paranoia again.

The Dark Cacao Kingdom will have reorganized and with that will come the possible search parties that will track you down to bring you back. And if he’s with you, an added bonus that the kingdom will charge him for his crimes against them.

He did NOT want to see that come to fruition, especially if that pest was going to be there to personally see him off to the dungeons.

He had to keep the front up. It was either you found out, which was soon. Or the kingdom finds you two, which would be way later.

The choice was clear to him.

“Well, shame on them. Really! They wouldn’t know what a more loyal Cookie looked like if it walked right in front of them!”

“It’s okay, Affogato. I’ve come to accept my circumstances now, but…”

You turn to him with a smile.

“I appreciate you trying to lift up my spirits. Truly.”

“Well, I am simply stating the facts. You are a Cookie that was undeserving of your treatment by that kingdom. You’re better off without them.”

You looked up at the moon in the night sky.

“I wish them nothing but the best.”

—————————————————

You were not alone in your moon watching. Somewhere in the forest, another Cookie was watching the moon from her campsite.

“It’s been a while since I’ve set out on my search, is it even possible to find them here at this rate? Are they even still among these snowy lands?”

Caramel Arrow Cookie was sat in front of her fire, hugging her legs as she looked down at the flame. The more time that went by without progress was time that her worries grew.

She didn’t want to think of the worst. You were a Watcher, being able to live off the land was what you were trained to do. Even so, just where could you be? Were you..hiding from her? That can’t be right, you two were anything but distant back at the kingdom.

She catches herself slightly smiling as she thinks back to those times, where the two of you would spar in the training grounds or when the two of you would go out on missions together to aid the nearby villages.

It really felt like that you were her other half that she didn’t think she could ever be apart with, which only made this mission to look for you all the more dear to her.

She wanted those times back.

She wanted those missions together again.

She was not going to give up!

With a determined look, she stood up and looked at the moon with a clenched fist to her chest.

“No! I won’t give up! No matter what! Y/N Cookie never gave up on me before, so I shouldn’t either!”

And then, as if fate had finally allowed it, she looked down at her surroundings and can faintly make out two smoke stacks in the far distance as she narrows her eyes at them.

“A sign? I have to take it! Hang on, Y/N Cookie. Coming to you.”

She clears out her fire and grabs her things before sliding down the snow hill and hurrying to the direction of the smoke stacks.!

This was it. It had to be!

—————————————————

You and Affogato Cookie were sharing a laugh about another one of your silly little adventures out in the snow when you noticed that both fires were start to wear down and you’re out of firewood.

“Ah! Looks like we’re out of wood.”

“Hmm, it seems so.”

“I’ll be right back with more, don’t get the chills before I return!”

“Please, I’ve never felt warmer, hehe~”

You laughed off his remark as you got your axe and headed out to get some more firewood, leaving Affogato to look into the small fire that was left. With him alone, he felt like this was an opportunity to try to alleviate some of the guilt he was hanging onto.

—————————————————

Caramel Arrow Cookie was coming up on the smoke stacks when a voice makes stop before a bush, she remained still as she listened in.

“Look, I didn’t mean to have this happen to you, it was just misfortune circumstances!”

“No, no…uh, it was a simple mistake. I had not intentionally tried to hurt you…”

“It’s not my fault, simply it was how they managed things in the Dark Cacao Kingdom!”

Caramel Arrow Cookie rolled her eyes as she recognized the voice to be Affogato Cookie’s. He can stay out of the kingdom for all she cared, but what was he even talking about with his-

“Things can work out, Y/N Cookie. If you’re willing to try…”

It was like something snapped in her mind.

He did it….

It all made sense now…

She was not the first to be sent away…

And now here he was, feeding and poisoning you the same way he had done to her King….

Was he the reason you didn’t come back?

Did he mention her?

Was he trying to drive a wedge between you and her?

No….

No no no……

She won’t allow it, she can’t allow that SNAKE to take away someone she held dear as she readied her bow….

—————————————————

Affogato Cookie was standing at the porch to your cabin home, the two fires having since been put out as he watches the snow fall.

He watch the individual bits of snow fall onto the ground softly as he sighs. He knew that it was only a matter of time before you discovered who he really was, he didn’t know what you would do if you did.

Kick him out to fend for himself?

Personally execute him yourself?

Understand him?

Welcome him still?

He doesn’t like to look back fondly about the past, when you were only just another Watcher. Oh, how wrong he would end up being after your time together with him…

It was only a matter of time…

Should he wait until you found out?

Or maybe…he should just confess himself? Would you hate him less for that?

All he could do know was try to lighten up the guilt by confessing to the fire-

*CRACK!*

“GAH!”

An arrow had struck the wooden beam of the cabin mere inches from his head, shocking Affogato Cookie as he stumbled to the side.

Another arrow is shot, but he manages to conjure a shield to block it.

“What is the meaning of this?!”

“I knew it was you…”

A growling voice replied back as Affogato’s attacker emerged from the snowy trees.

“AFFOGATO COOKIE!”

“Caramel Arrow Cookie?!”

He stumbled back against the door to the cabin as Caramel Arrow Cookie slowly approached him, her eyes blazing with anger as she drew another arrow.!

“Y-you found me already?!”

“Already?! Do you know how long I’ve spent trying to look for the Cookie I held dear the most only to see you here?! And just what were you talking about it being a simple mistake? I should’ve known I wasn’t the first, that it was YOU that did this!”

“N-now, now! If you just give me a moment to explain-SUBMIT!”

Affogato Cookie quickly shot a spell at Caramel Arrow, but she simply dodged to the side and shot her drawn arrow at him, which knocks his staff out of his hand.

He goes to reach for it, but Caramel Arrow beats him to it by kicking the staff off further away.’

“It’s over! Now you’re going to tell me where is Y/N Cookie.”

“I don’t know what you’re-“

She grabs his outfit and gets him against the cabin wall, not having any more of his nonsense.

“WHERE ARE THEY?! WHERE IS Y/N COOKIE?!”

“T-they-“

“Alright, Affogato Cookie. I’m back with the fire…wood?”

You had come back from the forest, ready to keep the fire going only to see Caramel Arrow Cookie having Affogato against your cabin wall, the both of them looking at you wide-eyed.

“Caramel Arrow Cookie?”

“Y-Y/N Cookie?”

“Oh dear….”

[fixated-cookies]

Burning Spice and Smilk have a challenge to see who can fill you up the most>>>

AHHH ok ok ok ok, so i've been thinking of how dynamic would play out, of course it would be shadow milk who would dare suggest such a thing because he thrives on tension!! It's a challenge but also a contest, a performance because that's just how he is. And why would burning spice dare turn down such a interesting challenge???

MDNI- SMUT incoming

"Ohh, Great Destroyer, you seem so proud of your strength. But tell me—can you truly dominate what you seek to claim? Or are you all bark and no bite?" Shadow Milk's voice drips with venomous amusement, his mismatched eyes gleaming like a predator who's already won. His smirk is sharp, teasing, designed to prod at the smoldering pride of the beast before him. And it works.

You're caught between them, cruelly trapped—pressed against Shadow Milk’s cool, silk-clad form, the deceptive chill of his presence a stark contrast to the raging inferno at your back. Burning Spice looms, his heat licking at your skin like an unrelenting wildfire, his massive frame a furnace of barely-contained destruction.

And Burning Spice? Oh, he takes the bait instantly. A slow, predatory grin spreads across his lips. His golden eyes narrow, drinking in the cocky smirk Shadow Milk flashes him, challenging him. He doesn’t need words to prove himself—he lets his actions do the talking.

"Hah. You talk too much, clown." His voice is low, rough, like the growl of a beast about to strike. He leans in, towering over Shadow Milk and you, his presence suffocating, his sheer heat almost unbearable. The air around you warps with his intensity.

"Let’s settle this—see who truly leaves their mark."

And just like that, you've become the battlefield.

Don't worry these two beast are not taking turns either.

Shadow Milk thrives on control, on making a spectacle of it, on weaving the entire experience into a performance where he's always center stage. He wants to see Burning Spice falter, to prove that brute force means nothing against sheer cunning and precision.

And Burning Spice? He’s destruction incarnate, a force that doesn’t wait, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t yield. He doesn’t care for games or theatrics—he wants to win, to conquer, to leave behind something irreversible.

Shadow Milk scoffed, fingers weaving through your sweat-dampened hair, tilting your head up just enough to trap your gaze within his mismatched eyes. "Overpower?" he mused, voice laced with a cruel, knowing amusement. "How utterly barbaric. You’re all brute force, no elegance. You don’t understand the art of unraveling someone piece by piece—until there’s nothing left but the truth I decide for them." He ended his words with a slow, indulgent kiss, drinking in the dazed little sound you made, his tongue tasting the sweetness of your surrender. But just as he was deepening it, a sharp tug on your hair wrenched you away.

So while that may end up with you squished between them while they rut their cocks into you mercilessly it at least comes with saying they have a motive. Just forced to lay there and take their cocks while growling into your ears, after all, these are beasts. You'll be stuck panting and gasping frayed at the edges while they take what they want. Both cocks gaping you into absolute ruin.

Shadow Milk Cookie clicked his tongue, eyes glinting with amusement as he leaned back, watching Burning Spice Cookie with a smug smirk. "Tsk, tsk. All that strength, all that bravado… and yet, look at them—so exhausted already. Maybe if you had a little more finesse, they wouldn’t be gasping like a fish out of water." He muses as if he's not fucking into you like his life depends on it. Burning Spice Cookie let out a low, rumbling growl, his molten eyes flicking toward you before settling back on the trickster. "Hah. You think your little mind games make you any better? All you do is toy with them. You stall. I act. I conquer." His grip tightened possessively onto you hips. "Your tricks won’t change the fact that I will always overpower you." He grinds up into your aching hole harshly to prove a point. A harsh whine leaving you.

Burning Spice’s grip was firm, unyielding, his ember-lit eyes glaring down at the trickster with scorn. "And that’s where you fail," he murmured, his voice low and heated against your ear. "Because in the end, it doesn’t matter how many pretty words you whisper—what matters is who they’ll remember leaving them breathless…" His fingers curled possessively, his smirk dark and triumphant. "And filled."

He let the words linger, letting them burn between you all before throwing a smug glance at the other Cookie. "And that, trickster," he growled, "will not be you."

--

AHH IM SORRY I RAN OUT OF IDEAS TOWARDS THE END LALALA. I COULD ONLY FOCUS ON THE TEASING PART AAHHHH!! THATS WHY ITS SO SHORT AND UNINTERESTING WAHHH. IM SO GLAD YOU GUYS LIKE MY WRITING THO THANK YOUUUYY

[tokoyamisstuff]

Hear me out…

Variants finding out that reader who is their S.O in their universe is dating somebody else in this one

All the possible reactions from them ESPECIALLY if the seeing reader again was their main motivation for coming to this dimension in the first place

(Pretty please can you include No goggles Mark and the variant that got blown up with Rex,,,,he had such an evil yet sweet and soft voice it still scratches my head so good)

Warnings: every red flag imagineable, forced relationship, abduction, manipulation, canon-typical violence + death, not proofread

He's calm. Too calm. Because he knows exactly how to resolve this.

You'd surely hate him if he was to kill your mate - which wouldn't be a hindrance, but still bothersome - so instead he resorts to more sophisticated measurements.

Got your partner dangling helplessly in the air while making it crystal clear that if he was to ever approach you again, the consequences would be worse than death.

Of course he'd be there to comfort you immediately after you get broken up with 'out of the blue'. You'll never know.

Surprisingly, I think he'd be the most chill about it. After all, he knows best what it's like to try and fill the void with meaningless partners.

But anyways, it's time you stop this bullshit, because your real soulmate is here now. He wouldn't even feel threatened by this nobody, confident that you'll eventually see just how much better he is in every way.

However, he is not a patient man. If you take too long to accept your fate, he might have to become a little more aggressive in his attempts.

Oh, so you want to make him jealous? Cute. Challenge accepted.

But don't be fooled by his confident facade, on the inside he is seething with rage and heartbreak. There's no way to calm him down, couldn't care less and didn't ask for your opinion, feelings, or whatever excuse you'd come up with to soothe his hurt pride.

He'd keep your 'pathetic attempt at replacing him' around, torturing him for his own amusement, and also as means of punishment because you 'cheated' on him. To 'mark his territory', he will constantly force your partner to watch the things he does to you.

In between his cruel way of venting his anger, he'll have brief moments of weakness, revealing just how desparate he is for your affection.

Won't harm your partner if you comply and come with him. They're insignificant either way.

He's pretty chill about the whole situation, certain that given time you'll surrender to your new circumstances. Treats you strict yet caring - as far as he is able to be - and gives you clear instructions of how to act around him.

Other than that, you'll be granted a rather peaceful life with as much freedom as he is possible to give to make you adapt easier. Asks you to never mention your ex in any way, though. Sore topic.

As far as he's concerned, your life before his arrival never existed.

This whole situation is weirdly amusing to him. He'll have a fit of laughter seeing you with this fucking loser, slapping his ankle and acting all silly, while degrading them and also you for choosing someone like this.

Will challenge your partner to a 'duel to win your favor' just for the fun of it. Might even let them land a hit or two, just to toy with them. We all know how this ends, but hey, it got the point across pretty well.

Afterwards he'll act all cheerful and whimsy, twirling you around and expecting you to be thrilled that he's here and got rid of this 'disgrace' for you.

Would be very underatanding. You are not to blame, after all. It's just that your kind is so weirdly obsessed with the concept of love, that you'd rather stay with the wrong companion than be all alone.

But now he has arrived, and by Viltrumite logic you should practically launch yourself onto the superior choice.

Acts as callous and neutral as always, claiming that this union is strictly strategical, but in reality it's eating him alive that he keeps failing to recreate a bond similar to the one you had with your partner.

At some point he pours out his heart, despite having a hard time to verbalize those feelings he was never taught. It's a beginning, though.

Amused, at least initially. But his mood is pretty erratic in general and can switch drastically.

Depending on your reaction, he might either adapt to the situation pretty easily or do something he regrets later. It's a thin line honestly, and there's no right or wrong action.

Most likely he's a petty bastard and will disregard your partner completely. Flirts with you constantly like a damn bully that tries to steal someone's girl in the most disrespectful way possible. And given his power he just knows neither of you have the guts to resist his antics. If you do play hard to get however, it only spurrs him further!

He can work with whatever you decide on doing.

This is his breaking point.

As soon as the reality of the situation sets in, he'll have a complete mental breakdown. You're finally in reach and yet so far away, with someone better that can provide a normal life for you.

Without any hope to hold onto, he'll start destroying everything in his path in a nihilistic fenzy. Without you, nothing matters anymore - it's better to end it all and take everyone with him.

You'll sacrifice yourself by making the heroic offer to stay at his side if he spares your world - and really, he'd rather have you like this than not at all.

Abducts you right then and there, no questions asked.

This man is so lost in his delusions that he seamlessly continues where he left off with his world's version of you. He refuses to acknowledge that you're a completely different person and gets unstable if you act any different than he expects you to.

The most horrifying thing is that he's a talented manipulator without even trying to be. Gaslights you into obedience by claiming it's the only way to keep you safe, and his gentle way of tending to you in huge contrast to his true nature. Over time he's able to actually make you care for him in a twisted way.

His intentions might be pure, his methods on the other hand are anything but that.

But hey, he never seeked out to be absolved anyways. All he wanted was to have you back.

Be prepared to hear all insuslts in the book being hurled at you.

Kills your partner out of a whim, but regrets his approach later on since he should have made them suffer way more. You can be glad he has a soft spot for you in his heart, otherwise would've died right then and there together.

Better make up to him after your 'mistake' by every means necessary. Get on your knees and beg for his forgiveness - even though you have no idea who he is or what he is talking about.

But hey, luckily he just can't be mad at you for too long.

Bonus: Retro Invincible

"I'm not mad, just disappointed" he states flatly with that smooth, balmy voice of his. He is definetly mad. Run.

Takes his sweet time ending the life of the person that dared defiling you with their unworthy touch, making you watch the entire thing so you'll 'learn your lesson'. And don't you dare to scream or even cry for them, or he'll unleash pain a thousand times worse.

Becomes awfully possessive afterwards. Even while holding you in captivity he'd still find reasons to lash out randomly at people he deems suspicious. You are always under his scrutiny, and the fact that you'll never truly be his is slowly driving him insane.

What a cruel turn of fate for both of you, eh?

[randomshyperson]

Wanda holding hands 13 bc Ur smut is the best :D

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

prompt: linking hands together during sex | warnings: (+18) smut.

challenge masterlist | general masterlist

“Are you sure this is safe?”

Wanda lets out a giggle at your nervousness, sitting on your thighs, her hands resting on your stomach, she stares at you, her head slightly tilted.

"Are you questioning my magical abilities?" she counters your question with another one, receiving an offended snort in return.

"Of course not!" You mutter. You were looking at her before, but ended up looking down, where the toy conjured by the witch attached to your waist vibrates softly as if it were as desperate to feel her as you were half an hour ago when you both stumbled inside the rented room at the Harkness Mansion, where Wanda has been learning all sorts of magic for the past few months. Clearly, she has learned other interesting things, outside of the mandatory curriculum.

Your hands caress her thighs, but Wanda still notices the tension in your shoulders. She softens her gaze in your direction.

"It feels good, doesn't it? No need to worry." She rations, pleased to see you bite your lip as she tentatively caresses the plastic member. When you gasp at the stimulation, she feels a twinge of pride at her successful spell, too. "You can trust me."

"I trust you, darling." You assure her, a little out of breath and sweaty. It's round two already, and Wanda just proved her point by groping your new magical member, a squeeze that almost makes you lose your train of thought. "It's me I don't trust. What are we going to do about my strength? Are you sure-"

"That's exactly why I'm on top, silly." She cuts you off, adjusting herself on your lap in a way that brings her heat right where you want her. Your grip on her thighs tightens just enough to bruise. It's her time to bite her lip. With a deep breath, she stares at your eyes. "You just need to relax, and let me take charge. I bet you'll love it."

It's your turn to look at her adoringly. "Of course I will, it's you." You comment romantically, earning a shy smile from her. But then, there's a shift in her gaze. Wanda is still looking in your eyes as she adjusts the toy into her own entrance, teasing gently before slowly sinking down. She's able to feel every inch, filling her up to the bottom.

Your hands leave her thighs to grip the sheets, and she smiles breathlessly at your visible difficulty in keeping still, your jaw tensing as your stomach muscles tighten.

"See? I told you I'd like it." She teases, still getting used to the sensation of being full. She's pleased to know she got the size right, even though she can't help but imagine trying a bigger one in the future. "I'm going to start moving now, okay baby?"

But her body was betraying her. She was still quite sensitive, coming twice before for your fingers and tongue, she didn't imagine she'd be so affected so quickly when she switched to the toy. But the sensation was truly overwhelming. It was really different to feel you filling her like that, and in the attempt to grind against your lap, her body protested, as ready for climax as she had been when she started.

You came to her rescue immediately. Sitting, one of your hands brushed her hair away from her face, to get a better look at her before kissing her. Your other hand went down, wrapping around her waist and taking control of her movements. Wanda rewarded you with an affected moan against your lips, her thighs trembling on either side of your body as you forced her hips to move against yours. She didn't want to come so fast, but she couldn't help it. Being held like this, she felt so safe and loved that the knot in her lower belly exploded almost at the same moment you whispered "I got you, lovely". 

In the ecstasy of her own climax, she didn't notice your determination to hold back, unable to surrender without worries. It was only when she calmed down, breathless and still trying to get back into orbit, that she realized. Hugging you by the neck, she kissed your skin before speaking again. "I told you to trust me."

You sigh, caressing her back with open palms. "I do, but I don't want to hurt you." You murmur. Despite being bigger than Wanda, you suddenly seem very small. "Every muscle is amplified by the serum, Wands, you know that. I'm afraid I might-"

She cuts you off with a determined kiss. Wet and rough, it makes you gasp and grab her cheeks, pulling away for air. Wanda arches her back, teasing and baiting you, the image of her naked figure making you gasp. You stare at where your bodies connect, but don't move.

She grinds, and you groan. "Jesus, Wanda."

"You won't hurt me, I promise." She assures you, equally affected, having trouble keeping her eyes on you, her brow furrowed due to the roughness of her own hips' movements. Doing this, you kept hitting a sensitive spot inside her, and it was a hard feeling to ignore in order to speak. "It's part of the magic. Can you, for all that is holy, trust what I'm saying?"

You don't contradict, mainly because you're unable to hold back when Wanda is riding you so eagerly. You tense up then, panicking once you feel your climax reaching you, but to no avail, it's your attempt at holding it. An animalistic moan rips its way through your throat, and you grab Wanda's waist, holding her in place as you empty yourself inside her. She whines affectly, grabbing your shoulders as she feels the hot shot inside her. 

For a second, not only the toy soften but your body too, going heavy on her. She holds both of you to the bed with her thighs around your waist, a hand caressing your hair as she tries to ignore the way your cock is still pulsing and leaking inside her.

“Need a break, baby?” She asks softly but you groan deeply, hands suddenly firming around her to flip both of you in bed. She gasps when her back hits the mattress, but her surprise is turned into something else when you pound into her with strength. “Fuck.”

Her hands fell into the bed with the shifting in the position, and Wanda's eyes widened a little when you reached for them, holding them together above her head.

This was new and Wanda was definitely not complaining.

“We should have tried this ages ago.” You say, your voice husky due to the efforts and the previous orgasms. Wanda thinks you look beautiful like this, out of breath while you fuck her. “I could be gentle but… something tells me you don't want me to.”

Your free hand moves down to flick her swollen clit between your fingers and Wanda cries out, her back arching on the bed. You smirk, adjusting just so you could move the toy that slipped out back inside her.

There's a quick teasing from your part, pushing just the tip of the toy into her overstimulated dripping pussy, but sooner than later, you push all the way inside. Cursing under your breath as Wanda fights against the hold on her hands. She wants to hold you so badly that it physically consumes her and you end up pitying her pleasing eyes and needy moans. 

But you don't free her hands, instead, you entrelaces your fingers together in a deep grip that anchors her when your movements resume.

The pounding is rough, it cracks the bed and takes Wanda to a state of colorful eyes and magic emanation. The only noises in the room are the shared moaning and the obscene sounds of your cock pushing into her aching heat, the moisture of your last climax leaking into the bed. When she comes, all the lights in the bedroom flash. You follow her this time, groaning into her neck as you come. 

For a second, none of you are able to say anything, all but breathless gasps leaving your lips. Then, there's a shared giggle, and your fingers, still interlaced, squeeze before letting go, only for you to remove the sweaty hair away from her face.

“Hey, you.” She smiles at your words, tired eyes threatening to close as she looks at you. “Enjoying yourself aren't you?”

“Don't tease me, when you're just whining three seconds ago.” She retorts, getting a chuckle from you. Wanda let her hands cross behind your neck. “Wanna join me in the shower?”

“Honey, if I ever say no to that, you can bet I lost my mind for good.” You joke, muffling her and giggling with your mouth.

[kathaelipwse]

Heyyy.Can you write a roommates(rivals) to lovers for Seungcheol. I didn’t really find anything similar to this trope of him😭

Mine to Ruin ☾ C.Seungcheol

Genre: Romance, Smut (minute), Angst, Rivals to Lovers Synopsis: Forced to share an apartment with your infuriatingly cocky roommate, Seungcheol, every argument turns into a battle of wills. But when one drunken challenge leads to a night of heated, reckless passion, the line between rivalry and desire begins to blur—until neither of you can pretend it’s just hate anymore. Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Strong Language, Jealousy, Rough Sex, Soft Moments, Light Dom!Seungcheol, Semi-Public Tension, Mutual Pining Word Count: 1.9K Author's Note: This is a filthy, tension-filled roommates-to-lovers fic with all the teasing, jealousy, and desperate confessions you could want. If you love bickering, unresolved tension, and the sweet taste of surrender, this one’s for you. Enjoy!

The moment you became Seungcheol’s roommate, you knew you were signing a pact with chaos. Not the fun, spontaneous kind, but the meticulously orchestrated, infuriatingly charming kind. It wasn't just the sheer audacity of his presence, though that was a significant factor. It was the way he commanded the space, the way his laughter echoed through the apartment, a constant reminder that he was there, impossibly, frustratingly there.

He was, to put it mildly, a force of nature. Bossy? That was an understatement. He treated the shared apartment like his personal kingdom, dictating everything from the temperature (always too hot for your liking) to the arrangement of the furniture (his preferences, naturally). Stubborn? He could argue with a brick wall and convince it to change its mind. Insufferably cocky? He wore it like a second skin, a perpetual smirk playing on his lips, as if he knew something you didn't – and, frustratingly, he often did.

It wasn’t just the personality clashes, though. It was the physical presence that sent your senses reeling. The way he’d emerge from the shower, a damp towel slung low on his hips, water droplets clinging to his sculpted chest, a casual disregard for your existence that somehow made your breath catch in your throat. The way his cologne, a heady mix of sandalwood and something distinctly him, lingered in the air, a phantom touch that made your skin tingle.

He had a way of invading your personal space, not in a threatening way, but in a teasing, almost predatory manner. He'd lean over your shoulder as you studied, his warm breath ghosting over your neck, and ask, "Having trouble?" in that low, husky voice that sent shivers down your spine. Or he'd stand just a little too close in the kitchen, his hip brushing against yours as you both reached for the same ingredient, his eyes glinting with amusement as he watched your reaction.

His teasing smirk was a weapon, a constant challenge. It was there when he won an argument, when he snagged the last slice of pizza, when he beat you to the shower. It was a silent dare, a constant reminder of the unspoken tension that crackled between you. You wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, to prove him wrong, to show him that you weren't intimidated. Or, if you were being brutally honest with yourself, you wanted to kiss him senseless, to silence that infuriating grin with your lips.

But you’d rather swallow your pride and endure a thousand more petty arguments than admit the truth: that his presence, his infuriating, intoxicating presence, was slowly unraveling you. You'd rather die than admit that the rivalry, the constant push and pull, was fueled by something far more complex than simple annoyance. That the way your heart pounded when he was near wasn't just irritation, but something akin to… desire.

And so, the unspoken rule was set: whoever broke first, lost. It was a game of wills, a battle of pride, a constant dance of provocation and denial. Arguments over the thermostat were legendary, escalating into full-blown debates about the merits of arctic temperatures versus tropical heat. Battles for the last slice of pizza were fought with strategic maneuvering and tactical snark. The war over the shower was a daily struggle, a race against time and a test of your ability to withstand his smug victory dance when he won.

Every snide remark, every playful shove, every lingering glance was a calculated move, a test of your resolve. You'd snark back, matching his wit with your own, always stepping closer, always pushing the boundaries. He'd throw it right back, his eyes sparkling with amusement, always invading your space, always making you wonder if he was trying to start a fight or something else entirely. The tension thickened with each passing day, a tangible force that filled the apartment, a silent promise of something more. But neither of you dared to cross the line, to break the unspoken rule, to admit the truth that simmered beneath the surface.

Until one drunken night.

It started as a challenge—because of course it did. A game of ‘truth or dare’ at a party, both of you already buzzed, fueled by pride and liquid courage.

“I dare you to kiss me,” Seungcheol had smirked, leaning in, eyes locked on yours.

You scoffed, unfazed. “That’s not a dare. That��s wishful thinking.”

“Scared?”

Your blood burned. You never backed down from a challenge.

So you grabbed his collar and kissed him.

And that’s when everything fell apart.

Because the moment his lips crashed against yours, the rivalry shifted. The push and pull turned into hands gripping at each other, mouths colliding like you were both starving. That night, he pinned you against the apartment door the second you got home. He kissed you hard, hands wandering, tugging, claiming. Clothes hit the floor. Words turned into moans. And by the time he had you writhing beneath him, both of you breathless and sweat-slicked, he smirked down at you, voice wrecked and possessive.

“You love this, don’t you?” he murmured, dragging his lips down your neck. “Letting someone you hate make you fall apart.”

You would’ve slapped him if you weren’t too busy moaning his name.

The next morning, neither of you talked about it.

Which should’ve been the end of it.

Except it kept happening.

Every argument now ended with Seungcheol pushing you against the nearest surface, hands in your hair, lips crashing into yours like he needed to win.

“You talk too much,” he growled against your mouth one night, his hands gripping your waist as he lifted you onto the kitchen counter. “Should I shut you up?”

“Try me,” you shot back, legs wrapping around his hips.

And he did.

Then there was the night he came home late from a party, jaw tight, eyes dark with jealousy.

“Didn’t like seeing me with someone else?” you teased, pushing his buttons, testing his limits.

His response? Dragging you to his bedroom, slamming the door shut, pressing you against it with a heated glare. “I don’t share,” he growled, before kissing you hard enough to steal the breath from your lungs.

His lips weren't gentle. They were possessive, demanding. He nipped at your lower lip, drawing a soft gasp from you, before trailing down your neck. His teeth grazed your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He lingered at the sensitive spot just below your ear, his breath hot against your skin, before moving to the curve of your shoulder. He kissed and nipped, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

He then lifted you, and brought you to his bed. His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, tugging it up and over your head, his eyes never leaving yours. He traced the line of your collarbone with his fingertips, before dipping his head to press a kiss to the delicate skin. His hands moved lower, to the waistband of your pants, and with a swift motion, they were gone.

He knelt between your thighs, his eyes dark with desire. His hands moved to your inner thighs, tracing the sensitive skin, before moving higher. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your skin, before pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. He lingered there, his breath hot against your skin, before moving higher, his lips tracing a path towards your core.

He moved above you, his eyes locked on yours. “Mine,” he growled, his voice rough with desire.

The world narrowed to the feel of his skin against yours, the sound of his ragged breathing, the taste of him on your lips. He moved with a controlled ferocity, each thrust a claim, each gasp a testament to the raw, untamed desire that burned between you. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you, controlling you, until you were both lost in the storm of sensation.

You never called it anything. Never admitted it meant more than pent-up frustration. But then one night, in the middle of it all—your nails digging into his back, his lips buried in your neck—you moaned something different.

You moaned, “Cheol.”

And he froze.

Because no one called him that. Not you. Not like that.

For the first time, he didn’t fuck you like he had something to prove. He moved slower, kissed deeper, held you closer.

And that was the night everything really changed.

Seungcheol avoided you after that.

Stopped teasing you. Stopped touching you. Started acting like the past few weeks had been nothing but a fever dream. And maybe you would’ve let him get away with it.

Except one night, after another fight—this one raw, real, full of things neither of you wanted to say—he grabbed your wrist before you could storm out.

And he whispered, “Don’t go.”

And that was all it took for the dam to break.

He kissed you like an apology. Like a confession. Like he was terrified and desperate and utterly lost without you. And this time, when he pulled you into his arms, when he murmured against your lips, “Mine,” you didn’t fight it.

Because you were his.

And he was yours.

The shift wasn't just physical. It was in the quiet moments after, when the air was still thick with the afterglow. Seungcheol, who used to roll away with a smirk, now held you close. His large hands traced soft patterns on your skin, lingering on the curve of your hip, the dip of your spine. He'd pull the blankets up, tucking you in against his chest, a low rumble vibrating through him as he held you.

One particularly intense night, after you'd both pushed each other to the edge, he held you close, his breath warm against your ear. "Are you alright?" he whispered, his voice laced with a tenderness you'd never heard before.

"Yeah," you murmured, snuggling closer. "Just... tired."

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple. "Sleep," he murmured. "I've got you."

And he did. He held you through the night, a silent promise in the steady beat of his heart against your back.

The forehead kisses started subtly. A soft press of his lips against your brow as you drifted off to sleep, a gentle reassurance in the darkness. Then, as your final year of university wore on, with job interviews and looming deadlines, they became a daily ritual.

Standing in the kitchen, coffee brewing, you'd feel his lips brush against your forehead. "Good luck today," he'd murmur, his hand lingering on your cheek.

Those small gestures, that quiet affection, became your anchor. It was a stark contrast to the fiery passion that consumed you both in the bedroom, a gentle reminder that beneath the rivalry, beneath the possessiveness, was a genuine care, a deep affection that bloomed in the quiet moments.

You were both in your final year, the pressure of finding jobs and building a future weighing on you. Seungcheol, with his natural charisma and drive, had landed a promising position at a design firm. You, with your sharp wit and analytical mind, were navigating the world of marketing, juggling interviews and presentations.

The apartment, once a battleground, became a sanctuary. Late nights spent working at the kitchen table, the soft glow of the lamp illuminating your papers, were punctuated by quiet conversations, shared snacks, and the comforting presence of each other.

One evening, after a particularly grueling interview, you came home to find Seungcheol waiting for you, a warm meal laid out on the table. "How did it go?" he asked, his eyes filled with concern.

You slumped into a chair, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. "It was... okay," you sighed. "I don't know."

He sat beside you, taking your hand in his. "You'll get something," he said, his voice firm. "You're too talented not to."

And he meant it. He believed in you, even when you doubted yourself. That unwavering support, that quiet confidence, was a balm to your frayed nerves.

You still bicker. Still play tug-of-war over stupid things. Still pretend like you don’t love each other just to get a rise out of him.

But now, when you steal the last slice of pizza, Seungcheol just smirks and pulls you into his lap. “I love you but you’re gonna pay for that, baby.”

Now, when you fight over the thermostat, he shuts you up by pressing you against the nearest wall and kissing you breathless.

Now, when you tease him, he doesn’t just argue back—he ruins you for it.

“Still think I’m unbearable?” he murmurs one night, voice husky, lips ghosting over yours.

You grin, tugging him down. “Yeah,” you whisper. “But I love you anyway.”

And for once, Seungcheol doesn’t argue.

He just kisses you instead.

The morning after, as you both prepared for work, he paused, his hand cupping your cheek. "I'm proud of you," he said, his eyes sincere. "No matter what happens, I'm proud of you."

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, a silent indication of 'i love you'

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