#I don’t know god/fate/ chaos hates me

[lady-grinning]

My life is a joke. Like seriously what the fuck

[ma1dita]

partners in crime

luke castellan x fem!dionysus!reader [the trouble!verse]

MAIN SERIES MASTERPOST [COMPLETED]

summary: few things are certain in this life as a demigod, but one thing is for sure— you can’t fight fate when it pulls you and luke castellan together, over and over again. two young people who hate the gods are more like them than they think, for better or worse. annoyances to best friends to lovers

things to know: dionysus!reader's nickname is trouble & mostly canon-compliant (mostly.)

here's a playlist (spotify & apple music links now available!)

child of dionysus headcanons!

trouble!verse moodboard 1 & moodboard 2 & college!trouble by the lovely @24kmar

deleted scenes from a different universe (AUs)

play the extended cuts (blurbs from in-between)

character study: luke castellan & trouble

any works, updates, thoughts, musings, etc about this series will be tagged under #trouble!verse !

key: fluff - ☼ angst - ☽ smut - ☆ jo's favorites - ᥫ᭡

[rewind to before] pre-established relationship

trouble always finds me (trouble!reader origin story) 1.7k ☼

The one where he could tell you were trouble from the day he met you. (You're an annoyance, but not an enemy)

entropy 3.6k☼

The one where you both blur the lines between annoyance and admiration. (the promise of becoming partners in crime)

buddy system 4.2k ☼

The one where he comes with you to rescue your younger twin brothers, Pollux & Castor. (this is as close to a real quest that Mr. D will give you--might as well take someone you trust!)

somebody's angel 4.4k ☽

The one where you convince him he’s pretty, even with a scar. (songfic - Die Alone - Finneas)

feed the fire 1.2k ☼

The one where his focus is not on spilled food, but on you. (Luke realizes this is more than playful banter)

bedtime stories 2.4k ☼

The one where night shift with him runs late, but you don’t mind at all. (the both of you have feelings you want to admit, but duty calls!)

crazy little thing 3.4k ☼

The one where he uses all his drachmas to make you smile on Valentine's Day. (the Apollo kids are better matchmakers than Aphrodite, sometimes)

anything you want 1.6k ☼

The one where you and him have your first kiss. (You've always loved teaching the story of Orpheus and Eurydice; except when your Orpheus runs away from you)

said he likes crazy 2.1k ☼ ☽

The one where only he can help you with a bad day, even if he's avoided you since your first kiss. (For being a son of Hermes, he has a way of calming your nerves)

[pause and remember us like this] established relationship

play pretend 5.1k ☼

The one where Mr. D catches you two in the act, but you and him aren’t exactly together yet. (Drunk words are sober thoughts. Your dad just wishes Luke told you instead of him)

a wish your heart makes 1.4k ☼ ☽

The one where you share dreams, burn cookies, and it still reminds him of home. (The dryads will probably ban you from the kitchen after this)

star crossing 4k ☼

The one where both your dreams come to life for a night (Crossing the stars for love is easier said than done)

to see the chaos through 4k ☼☽

The one where he remembers he was never a good guy, just yours. (Luke makes the ultimate deal with the devil in order to save you)

not your goddess 8k ☽

The one where you both know the best of days eventually have to come to an end. (songfic - Goddess - Laufey)

don't blame the kids 7.6k ☼

The one where you both chaperone a trip to Mount Olympus. (the Olympians are bigger gossips than you thought they'd be)

trouble's coming for you 3.7k ☼

The one where Percy meets his two favorite counselors at Camp Half-Blood. (three times Percy is oblivious (and in the way) and the time he realizes you and Luke are in love)

now that we're older 3.5k ☼

The one where he asks if you can stay the night even if all of cabin 11 makes fun of him. (Luke is tired of the routine. He just needs his girl)

if you need to be mean (be mean to me) 1.5k☽

The one where he leaves before you wake up. (songfic - I Don't Smoke - Mitski )

[fast forward until we meet again] post-tlt

lovers, or partners in crime 2.1k ☽

The one where Annabeth and Percy think you’re guilty too. (the last day leading up to Luke's betrayal)

love like a blister: the five stages of loving losing luke 4.7k ☽

The one where you learn to mourn someone even if they’re still alive. (the five stages of grief after facing a loss)

to catch a thief 3.7k ☼ ☽

The one where duty calls at Camp Half-Blood. Again. (Your reunion with Luke isn't quite what you expected.)

solipsism 5.3k ☽

The one where you finally pray to Hestia to keep your home safe, even if he's also trying to destroy it. (the four times Luke uses Backbiter to visit you during college ft. the first time you trust a god to help you)

forever falling: luke castellan & his four great loves 4.3k ☼ ☽

The one where he falls from grace and still thinks of you. (the four great loves of Luke Castellan’s life and how it will end up killing him)

love me dry 4.5k ☼ ☽

The one where he meets you at his mother's house, though both of you didn't expect the other to be there. (a glimpse into May Castellan's idea of a perfect day)

when the curtains close 5.3k☽

The one where you lose two people in the Labyrinth that day. All strings are cut. (Annabeth and Pollux find out the biggest difference between you and Luke.)

asking for trouble 7.8k ☽

The one where Luke's final wish is to see you. (He's himself again, and all he wants is to find out if the trouble was worth it all)

as above, so below 10.4k ☽☼

The one where you plead your case with the gods of Olympus. (The one thing the fates didn't expect was how much you'd both be like your fathers; in a way, you and Luke didn't see it coming either)

roll the credits [ a tribute through webweaving]

[brattypagansub]

Things Simon has said to you as your best friend in no particular order with little to no context

You’re the reason why I have high blood pressure

Why did I let you talk me into this

I’m… not even sure where to start but I do know this is the last time I let you run off without me

If I move you over here open that door and see a body I’m going to be pissed

Why do you have random baggies of dirt

You’re the reason why faucet knobs have directional arrows

Oh yeah.. Halo infinite was really fun, as I get sniped out of the air by you on a banshee zooming by at Mach Jesus

And? You made that for me so I’m gonna carry it around.. get over it.

What’s his name? I only want to talk.. *wrestles the weapon out of Johnny’s hands after planting one on him as a distraction* I promise we’ll just talk to him

My arm isn’t here to protect her.. it’s to hold her back

And you thought to call me to be your bad date get away driver.. *steps out of the car closing the door behind him* where am I going? To go have a talk with him.

Get your ass back here now before I spank you

Say ‘harder daddy’ one more time and see what happens you little terror

Thank you for catching the bat for me… I’ll go make you those brownies now

I’d ask… but then that means I have to listen to you talk about how you simp for Pyramid Head

Between gods righteous star spangled man with a plan and mask fetish choke me like you hate me? You’d end up with Rumlow.. walking red flag is your type. I’d smash all three though at the same time.

Fine I’ll go get changed *accepts his fate grabbing the purple shorts and green body paint* say hulk smash though and I’ll go smash Johnny and leave you stranded

And you thought the best course of action was to launch yourself at me like a sleep deprived chaos missile

Not falling for it.. last time I wore this hairstyle you sang ‘I’m a Belieber’ for a month

That mouse was scary you don’t know it could’ve had the plague.. thank you for saving me but sing M-I-C-K-E-Y one more time and I’ll thump ya

[jinmindeulle]

die with a smile | jeon wonwoo

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 jeon wonwoo x fem!reader

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 4.1 k

𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 angst, fluff

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 well, it's the end of the world and walkers (zombies) are around --- but nothing too sad happens here!

this piece was highly inspired in the song that gives it its title and one of my favorite shows before they ruined it --- the walking dead.

When they said the end of the world was close, naturally, you didn’t believe it. It had happened multiple times throughout your lifetime, so you knew it would be no different.

Except it was.

Although it was hard to keep track, you estimated that chaos had erupted about five years ago. It had been a pretty normal day — and your birthday.

You had woken up to your alarm clock and your mother’s smile, congratulating you with a small chocolate cupcake covered in pastel pink frosting and heart-shaped sprinkles, with a white candle already lit. She had sung Happy Birthday with her soft voice and had waited for you to think about your wishes and blow it out. 

“Bea said she’s coming over tonight,” she had whispered as she hugged you. That was the last thing you had heard coming from her.

Because you had never seen your mum again. And your sister had never come. Only God — whether He existed or not was something you still had trouble with. How could He let this happen? — knew what their fate had been that treacherous morning.

Now, looking down at the half-cut strawberry pieces that were adorned with a single match emulating a candle, tears welled up in your eyes. You hated this, but Wonwoo had insisted, and you couldn’t find the courage to fight him. He liked to make people feel good and cared for, even when they felt like they had nothing left to do on this Earth.

“Do you think they are still out there?” you asked him, shutting your eyes and getting rid of the tears. You felt his calloused thumb caressing your right cheek, and this time, you decided to let him in — your birthdays were an emotional rollercoaster.

“We have to keep fighting. That’s the only way we'll know.” As he took your shoulder and nudged you to press against his side, you placed your head on the crook of his neck and enjoyed his warmth. It was not so bad after all. 

Because at first, you had evaded him. He had wanted to break down your walls, and you had shoved him away. You didn’t want to get attached to someone who could die the next day. Who could abandon you just like your mom and your sister had. But sometimes, in vulnerable moments like this, Wonwoo was your only comfort.

“Who is doing rounds tonight?” you asked, hanging on to the fabric of his sweater. Winter was close, and you had realized that it was getting colder and colder as the years went by.

“Either Soonyoung with Jihoon, or Jared with Gael” he whispered against your hair. “It’s been awfully quiet lately.”

“That’s no good,” you sighed, moving away from him to take a piece of the strawberries that laid in the plastic plate in front of you. “Wouldn’t it be easier if I stayed with them? I know the area better than they do, and I can dissuade walkers faster.”

“You don’t get to boss me around” he gave a soft but deep laugh and took the strawberry from your hand to shove it into his mouth “They have to learn. I will be near”

You had wanted to boss him around ever since you got to the safehouse. But to be fair, Wonwoo was too natural at it — he was deeply observant and an analyst at heart, characteristics that you lacked, which made him clearly fit for a leader role. And at that, he was extremely good. You had noticed those traits of his ever since you met him.

After everything went downhill, you had woken up laying on the floor of your bedroom, curled up under your desk. Your room had seemed to have been destroyed by an earthquake or a similar natural disaster. Your head and your jaw were hurting. You had a busted lip. Something had hit your skull and you had collapsed head first — that had been your assumption. When you called for your mother, silence had hit you.

You had tried to leave the house, but it was quite literally upside down. The door had been blocked by a concrete pillar and you had to force your sore body to climb out of the biggest window. 

No matter how dark it was, you had meant to find your mother at her workplace and, if possible, Bea at her apartment building which was on the way. 

To your surprise, both of them had been empty. The city was empty. How long had you been laying there? Where had people run to? What had exactly happened?

Fear had frozen you for hours, silently staring at your mom’s workplace building. Silence had slowly started to hurt your eardrums. The realization that you were all alone in a place that you had called your home for twenty two years had hit you, and you had collapsed, landing hard on your knees, sobbing.

Millions of questions clouded your mind as you felt your throat tightly closing up, air barely getting to your lungs. You had gasped and fisted your hands in the gravel, your breath getting faster as you tried to concentrate on each movement to finally take control.

“Hey!” 

Everything that had happened next had felt like a blur. A man — that you now know to have been Wonwoo — wearing round glasses, dressed in a baby blue shirt, dress black pants and shoes was kneeling in front of you, taking your wrists with his hands and helping you get back to your normal breathing. 

“That’s it. Breathe.”

As you look at him munching on your birthday strawberries, you silently thank whoever decided to put him in your way to help you breathe all those years ago. People had come and gone, some with good intentions, some trying to take advantage of you and your hard work to survive. But Wonwoo had stayed — he had fought to stay. And he had taken care of you even when you had treated him like trash.

“I know it’s late” you whispered, following his movements with your eyes as he cleaned up his fingers with a piece of cloth “But I’m not sleepy-”

“You’re not doing rounds” he interrupted, taking your face with his hands and staring at you “We can stay up to talk and giggle, but you are not working on your birthday” he sentenced, pressing your cheeks together.

“I cbnt tbolbk” you whined through your squished cheeks “Bwonbwoo!!”

When he bursted into laughter and finally let you go, you took your time to admire how his eyes lit up when he was happy — a rare occasion, if you may add. In times of chaos, happiness was not on the plate. 

“I’m gonna do my check ups. Finish your incredible birthday cake in the meantime” with a soft smile, Wonwoo kissed your forehead and stood up from the floor, where you had been sitting for your 12:01 surprise.

In these circumstances, getting ready to go to bed depended on how well things were going — when explorations were on the go, less people were around the safehouse, which meant that you wouldn’t be sleeping at least two nights a week to keep an eye on the surroundings. 

Children were part of your community now, and Wonwoo and the rest of the leaders had decided to double up the people that stayed alert during dark hours. The safehouse was still big enough to house everyone altogether, as he had preferred ever since the beginning. 

Leaving the building had merely started as a way to collect food and water, but as time went by, it had become a way to help people and grow the community — your community.

Tonight, however, you knew that Wonwoo had stayed back to be with you on your ‘special day’, even though there was nothing special about it. He rarely missed explorations, and when you stayed back, he trusted your safety to Seungcheol, that amazing brother-from-another-mother that he had helped a couple of months after he had found you, partnering with you as soon as he met you. But you were Wonwoo’s weakness and he wasn’t afraid of showing it to anyone, let alone you, so he had declared that he was spending the night with you. Whatever that meant. 

Laying on your back, you stared at the ceiling. On the rare occasions that Wonwoo decided to accompany you, he had been silent. By that point, you knew each other like no one else, but there were parts of your past lives that had remained hidden, and you both were aware of that.

One question had been caught on your throat for quite some time, and as he came back to your side and laid next to you on the mattress on the floor, you put your weight on the left side of your body and supported your head with your hand to look at him.

“Everything alright?” You asked, following his movements as he mimicked you to look at you in the eye.

“Yep. The group reported a signal, they found some walkers trapped behind a fence not too far away. Took care of them. Now they are on the food quest” his voice was low, signaling that people were already asleep. The small rooms were one next to the other, so quietness was a must during rest hours. 

“Any news on Chan?” 

“Nothing” he shook his head, softly taking a strand of hair out of your face “It’s like the Earth swallowed him” 

You felt how your eyes flooded with tears, and at the mere sight of your sadness, Wonwoo brought you close to his chest. “I hope he’s okay”

Chan was like a little brother to you. You had found him trapped on a roof, trying to get away from the then new threat — the walkers. You were still figuring out what they were, how they behaved, and most importantly, how to get rid of them. But by that time, some things were clear — walkers, or the dead, as some people called them, were looking for people who were alive to turn them into one of theirs; movement (and smell?) triggered them; aiming at the head was the safest way to get them over with.

Chan was surrounded by them, but thankfully, your group outnumbered the walkers, and all of you had weapons.

You had been the first to get to him and offer some water before you ran to the exit, where Wonwoo waited for you with his rifle ready to shoot. The youngster had held your hand all the way, and he had spoken to you and you only. After you had safely gotten to the building you had recently started to call ‘home’, Chan hardly ever left your side. 

But the only time he did, you never saw him again.

“I bet he is. He was getting better everyday” he whispered, caressing your hair. “He even started using my rifle. That’s a wild move coming from him”

“You never let anyone touch it. Not even me”

“Chan needed confidence. I’m glad I let him.” You sighed and slid your arm around his waist, getting closer to Wonwoo’s body warmth. “Woah. That’s new” he gave a small smile, welcoming your touch with a caress to your cheek. You never showed signs of wanting physical contact, so you were as surprised as him. 

“I guess turning twenty seven is making me clingier… and more curious” 

“I like that.” Wonwoo nodded, placing a hand on your waist. “What are you curious about?”

You slowly took your arm away from his body and hugged his hand with yours, caressing his fingers with a newly found confidence “Your ring”

When you heard Wonwoo sigh, you understood that that was a sensitive topic. He had let you brush his fingers with yours, but he didn’t move. So you did, returning to your initial position.

“You had it on for two years. You have never used it ever since I turned twenty-four.” you started, your hand still on his “May I ask why?”

He stayed silent for some minutes, and you decided not to push him. He usually took his time to answer, especially when he was in charge of big decisions. It seemed like this one was another one.

“I was engaged” he confessed, returning his eyes to yours. “When everything happened… She and I had a fight. I saw some things I wished I didn’t, she said some things I hoped no one ever said to me. But I was worried about her, and my heart weighed more than my brain when it came to her.”

“Were you looking for her when you found me?”

He nodded, gently squeezing your hip for support. “I was hopeful I would find her at home, but when I got there she had taken some of her basic stuff. So my only conclusion was that she had left me behind. I put two and two together”

“But… Why did you keep the ring for two years? If you knew she was being untruthful?”

“I took my time to make the decision. For how things were going, I was not gonna see her anytime soon. So every time we were not busy surviving, I just went back to what I had and analyzed every little moment, ever since we met until the day we last saw each other. I gave her a chance for two whole years. But the night of your birthday it all became clear to me.”

He slid his hand away from yours, and placed it on your cheek, giving it soft strokes. “It was the first time you had let me in. I saw you crying because I made you a birthday cake with an apple and a match. You hugged me, and clung to me. You said everything I had wished for her to have said that day. And by that, I just mean the ‘I appreciate your efforts to make me happy’ part. I realized I was not asking for a lot. She just wasn’t willing to give it to me. But you were.”

“Wonwoo…” you whispered, touched by his honesty, by his gentleness. 

“You must know by now how much I like you. I fell for you and the team we are. We work so well together. We find time to lead, to care for the community, and to come back to one another like we did at the beginning of this torn world. I am certain that you are the partner I have always wanted to have by my side. But I also know that you are not easy to fool into this romantic thing. That you have fears, that finding your family and Chan is your priority. So that’s why I have laid low, testing the waters. I just want you to feel safe around me, and come to me when you need me. I will wait forever if it means I get to have you like this from time to time”

You had sensed that he had become more and more concerned and attentive to you ever since that birthday apple cake day, but you had brushed it off as him being the responsible leader he was. You were, day by day, less hopeful to find your mom and sister alive, so he had naturally been by your side on those harder days. You just never realized Wonwoo had been looking at you with heart eyes from that moment on.

When you opened your mouth to speak, he interrupted you “You don’t have to say anything now”

“But I want to” you nodded, placing your hand in his, still on your cheek. “I am a little taken aback, not gonna lie. I thought you were just being you.” you chuckled “You know me so well that you are aware of my fears and priorities, and I appreciate you considering my feelings before advancing. But… I lost a mother, a sister, and Chan. He was here, and the next day he wasn’t. How would I keep on living if something ever happened to you? If my partner suddenly disappeared, leaving me and all these people behind? My heart won’t be able to handle it, Woo” you shook your head, tears already making their way down your skin, and your hands. “I don’t want to lose a boyfriend” 

“You won’t lose me” he brought you back to his chest, legs tangling with yours “I promise, y/n. I have fought for this community and for us for a long time. I want this to work out so we can get our lives back, but I don’t want any of this if you’re not gonna be with me every step of the way”

“I will always be here, Wonwoo”

“You know what I mean. I’m afraid I won’t be able to contain myself any longer. I want to kiss you whenever I want to. To have the right to call you mine. To hold you and lay here with you. To give you some hope for the future.”

The way your body fit with his and seemed to not want to let go anytime soon gave you the idea that you had always wanted him like that too. The panic that you felt every time he left for an exploration and the relief that travelled down your spine when you saw his smile flashing through the entrance on his way to hug you was making sense now. But that same panic was the one keeping you at bay — if you started loving him a little more than you already did, the day he never again walked across that door, just like happened with Chan, was going to come. And you would lose the only reason you had to wake up everyday in this fucked up world. 

“Can you let me think about it?” you asked, afraid of breaking his heart just now. 

“Of course. It’s been three hard years. I am a patient man, darling” The endearing term melted your heart, so you let yourself loose on his warm caresses, hoping this moment to last forever.

But you knew better, and in times like these, emergencies were more common than you’d like them to.

“Sorry to bother you” a voice was heard behind the thin wooden door. Jihoon “But the team is on their way back. They found Chan”

You had never ran that fast. Not even when walkers were behind you.

When Chan wrapped his freezing arms around you, you felt your heart regaining some of the life it had lost over the years.

“Happy birthday, noona” the tremble in his voice was heartbreaking and relieving at the same time. 

“Oh Chan” you sobbed, hugging him with all the care you could muster “You’re my gift”

It hurt to feel how thin he had gotten over the three weeks he had been missing, but now that he was under your care, you knew Chan was going to get better. He was your responsibility and you swore to yourself that he was never going through anything similar ever again. 

You heard as Wonwoo and Seungcheol commanded everyone around you to help in some way — getting the first aid kit, some warm food and a new set of clothes to help the young man recover his normal body temperature. 

A calloused hand hugged your shoulder and without even having to turn around, you knew Wonwoo was asking you to step back a little. 

“Wrap this around him” he handed you a blanket, and you thanked him with a small smile and tears in your eyes. 

You spent your first hours as a twenty seven year old watching Chan finally sleeping under as many blankets as you had deemed necessary, softly pressing your hand on his forehead from time to time to check his temperature. He had tolerated some warm can soup and water while one of the older girls, Savannah, had warmed some water for him to wash up.

After finally being sure that he was breathing normally and was not dying of hypothermia, you headed to Wonwoo’s small place, right next to yours. 

You saw him fast asleep, with his glasses still on and his old and torn notebook open and spread on his chest. A silver pen was lying by his hand, and you remembered how he had found it in one of your first explorations after joining the community. He had kept that in his pocket even since then. 

You didn’t want to wake him up, but at the same time, your answer couldn’t wait any longer. Chan was back. He had proved that not everyone disappears. And if they do, they eventually find their way back to you. Your mother and your sister were on their way — even if it took them years. They were out there looking for you.

And you also knew that the man sleeping in front of you was the first one to have found his way to you. He had never let you down — Wonwoo was not only physically there for you, even if it was just by lying next to you a feet apart, but he was also keeping his feelings from you in order not to put pressure on you and increase your hardships. He had given you time to see who he was to you, and to prove that you would never find anyone like him.

You would die if he died. No matter the label of the relationship you had. 

It was going to hurt the same. Because you had already fallen for him the day he had saved you.

“What are you doing here?” His question took you out of your trance, and when you saw him sitting up and rearranging his glasses to see you well, you found the courage to sit on the mattress next to him.

“Chan is sleeping like a baby. Looks like he will recover pretty fast”

“He’s young. And athletic. I’m just worried about the struggles he had out there”

“I’ll talk to him as soon as I see him ready” you nodded, looking down to your fidgety fingers.

“But that’s not why you're here for, though” 

You hated how well Wonwoo knew you. He could read you like a book and as much as you wanted to glare at him, your shyness was overpowering you.

“Mhm” you muttered, trying to find the words. “Getting Chan back got me thinking”

“I like when you think” he gave a soft smile and you had to raise your head to look at him.

“That was not a compliment, if you were thinking of it as one” you pouted.

“I have better ones, yes” he chuckled, and slowly took one of your hands in his “Stop the fidgeting. Talk to me”

You had to fight the urge to press your lips to his, because he would need an explanation first — that was how Wonwoo worked. But… maybe not this time. You really didn’t know how he would act around you as his girlfriend.

His girlfriend. Wow. That sounded great.

“What I said earlier. About you ever leaving me”

“I won’t leave you, y/n” he shook his head, eyes still bored into yours. 

“I know. And even if you did… It would hurt the same. Whether you are more than a friend or if you keep being my friend, I would cry the same. I would let myself die the same. So…”

“That’s too tragic for a love confession, darling” Wonwoo gave you a wide-eyed grin and you couldn’t help but laugh too.

“That’s me. Take it or leave it”

“I’ve been waiting exactly three years for you to let me take it. Pouring my heart out here” he wiggled the notebook on his other hand “so I didn’t have to say all that to you. So bold of you to assume that I would leave it”  

And with that, he freed his hands to cup your jaw and guide your way to his mouth. When they finally met, you felt a warm explosion in your chest — Wonwoo was gentle, caressing your lips with his to make you feel safe first. But you wanted more, and when you parted your lips, he swiftly transformed it into an open mouth kiss. 

And you melted.

“Thank you” he muttered in between kisses “Thank you”

If this was the end of the world, you were glad you had found Wonwoo before it finally ended. Maybe it had taken the Earth to collapse, and dead people to come to life in the form of zombies for you to get to the one and only man you would let in.

Even though you were still fighting to get the rest of your family back, you were sure that you would die with a smile if Wonwoo was next to you.

[eroselless]

─────────the shores we left behind // down to the riptide

summary: you helped the daring champion through the labyrinth but will you get your happy ending? [3.6k]

[carlos sainz x reader]

Greek!AU, theseus and ariadne

dttr masterlist

warnings: smut, loss of virginity, potential historical inaccuracies, angst, themes abandonment and betrayal, religious/theological references (its a greek mythology story ehmm)

note: holyyyy, my writer's block has been insane lately, especially in relation to the fics and series  I’ve been wanting to put out for you guys. In addition, I’ve started the last stretch of my degree (ahh I graduate in June wtf) so my mind hasn’t been able to properly focus. In hopes of fighting all of the chaos and wanting to still feed y’all, I've gone back to my roots and melded together my favourites.  I hope y’all like these in the meantime while I get back to my series, love y’all <3

The kingdom of Athens is hectic, streams of champions pouring in to pay tribute to the glory of Crete—your father’s obsession. The labyrinth looms large—a twisting maze of stones and shadows. Nestled within its endless walls is the Minotaur, cunning and brutal. Death waits for the champions, claiming lives as quickly as one takes a step inside. Your fingers tighten around the spool of golden thread you’ve stolen from your father’s workshop, the delicate filament glowing faintly in the moonlight. You shouldn’t have it. Your father would call it treason, your people madness. You’ve always hated the labyrinth, hated what it represents, but until tonight, you’ve never dared to defy it.

But you can’t stop yourself. You saw him today, standing among the tributes, his eyes dark and unwavering as your father outlined their gruesome fate. There’s something about him that seems to lodge itself deep in your chest, like a stray arrow. He met your eyes once—a split second, and you would have missed it. In that glance, you saw your undoing.

When you slip into his chambers, your heart races with the thrill of rebellion. Carlos is sitting by the small window, sharpening his blades. He looks startled when you enter, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. You press yourself against the door, your breath stuck in your chest, as if letting out any air would betray you. His hair is wild, as if he’s spent the better half of the day threading his hand through it. He looks breathtaking, painted in despair, as if he knows his fate will lie with the gods the moment the sun rises.

His eyes lock on yours, searching for an answer in your silence. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says, his voice low and steady.

You step forward, holding out the golden spool of thread and a rolled parchment with trembling hands. “This will guide you,” you whisper. “The labyrinth is a maze designed to confuse even the gods, but with this, you can find your way out.”

He knows the tales of the labyrinth—of its ever-changing walls and how even the fiercest warriors emerge with fear dripping from their tarnished armor. And how so many never emerge at all. His eyes flicker from you to the spool and back again. Rising slowly, he towers over you, his brow furrowing as he looks at your offerings. “Why would you help me?”

Because there’s something in me that can’t bear the thought of you dying, you want to say. Instead, you lift your chin high, summoning a strength you don’t feel. “Because it must end. The bloodshed, the sacrifice. The gods can’t possibly want this.”

He takes the spool, his fingers brushing yours. The contact sends a spark through you, almost reverent. “And what do you want in return?” he asks knowingly.

You hesitate. You’ve rehearsed this part in your head, but now, as you go to speak, the words feel heavy in your mouth. “Take me with you when you leave,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Promise me.”

His gaze softens as he looks at you, the weight of your request sinking in. “I promise.”

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

You can’t sleep that night. Hypnos seems to evade you, taunting you with the presence of his sisters, the Keres. Every breeze, every creak of the palace feels as if the labyrinth itself is breathing, reminding you of the danger awaiting Carlos. When the sun rises, casting a shadow over Crete, you stand among the crowd gathered in the arena around the mouth of the labyrinth. One by one, you watch, your hood drawn low, as each champion disappears into the dark opening in the earth.

Hours pass. The crowd grows restless. Whispers of failure ripple through them like waves. The Keres linger, waiting patiently as vultures do, ready to lay claim to the dead. You shift in your spot, nails digging into the flesh of your palms as you fight to keep your composure. Your way out of here will vanish if he doesn’t return.

But then, as the sun begins to dip below the horizon, a figure emerges, leading the tributes out from the darkness. His armor is smeared with blood, his stride steady despite his exhaustion. The Minotaur’s severed head dangles from his hand as he displays it to the crowd triumphantly.

The crowd erupts into cheers, but you can’t move. Relief and awe wash over you like a tide. It worked. He did it and survived. Athens is free.

The champion’s eyes find yours, and the chaos of the crowd falls away.

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

You leave under the cover of night, the ship cutting through the waves with ease. The crew works quietly, none questioning your presence on the ship, none asking why the princess has taken refuge with the demi-god. You sit beside Carlos at the helm, your pulse quickening every time your shoulders brush. There is a weight lifted from your shoulders—the weight of Crete, of your father’s legacy. It fades on the horizon, disappearing with every mile you put between yourselves and the labyrinth.

As the days pass, you and Carlos seem to tangle more and more with each other. He isn’t like most of the men of Crete, brash and cruel in their power. He is gentle, kind. He teaches you the names of the stars and the constellations that guide you. He shows you the maps of Athens, sketching the streets with a steady hand. You find yourself watching him when he isn’t looking, tracing the curve of his jaw, the slope of his brows, the way his lips curve in a faint smile when he catches you staring.

“We should be there in a few days’ time,” he says one evening as he charts the final stretch. You don’t know where “there” is. Naxos is a mystery to you, a paradise kept from your eyes.

His hands move in delicate arches over the map, deep in thought. He is quiet today, as if he isn’t quite ready for the journey to end. To have to return to the noise of the land, away from whatever this is—the two of you alone on the seas. Poseidon seems to favor your journey, the waters granting you safe passage and comfort.

“They say Naxos is beautiful,” he says finally, his voice breaking the rhythmic hum of the sea.

You turn to him, leaning forward in your spot on the deck. “Have you been?”

“Once, as a boy,” he says, stepping closer. The disappearing sun softens his features, making him look less like the warrior who conquered the labyrinth and more like the man who held you as you fled Crete. “The beaches are white as ivory, the water as clear as glass. There’s fruit of every taste you can imagine. It’s peaceful.”

There’s a beat of silence. “Peace sounds… strange,” you muse, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

Carlos tilts his head, curious. “Strange?”

“All I’ve ever known is duty,” you say, glancing at him. “Being the daughter of King Minos seems like it could have been grandiose and luxurious. It’s always only meant having to play a part. The perfect princess. The obedient, silent subject.” Your eyes stare into the horizon, as if you can still see your spot at the foot of your father’s throne. Seen and not heard.

Carlos studies you, the corners of his mouth twitching into the beginnings of a smile. “You? Silent? I find that hard to believe.”

You let out a laugh, the sound light and genuine, your hand stretching out to swat at his shoulder. It’s a new feeling you’ve learned to get used to, replaying it over and over throughout your journey. “I’m trying to have a moment here,” you cry, a smile gracing your lips.

He raises his hands in surrender, chuckling as he steps away from the barrel you’re standing next to. “I meant no harm. I can’t say I mind your chatter.”

There’s something in the way he says it, his voice low and teasing. It makes your heart skip, sending you turning to the water, leaning on the railing in an attempt to hide the warmth spreading across your cheeks. “You flatter me, Carlos.”

“Maybe,” he smirks, his voice closer now. You glance in his direction, finding him leaning on the rail beside you, his hands dangling over the edge. “You were brave to defy your father, to help me. Most wouldn’t have risked it.”

You hesitate, unsure if you should say the thought clawing its way to your tongue. “I didn’t just do it for Athens,” you confess, your voice a mere whisper.

Carlos turns to you, his expression unreadable. “I know.”

Your breath catches in your chest, just as it did when you stormed into his quarters a mere week ago. The space between you feels charged, as if Aeolus has turned the winds electric. You search his face for a sign, something to tell you this is all in your head. That the look in his eyes isn’t one that sends a current down your spine.

“Do you regret it?” he inquires, his voice soft and smooth, his eyes flickering with something unknown.

“No.”

The word is a confirmation that pulls you closer to him by the ties of your gown. Carlos’s hand cradles the back of your head while the other claims your waist, pulling you impossibly close. He presses his lips to yours, soft at first. It is tentative and cautious, as if he isn’t quite ready to release the feelings that have been brewing in him from the very beginning.

He pulls away, as if to catch your reaction. Your breath is stolen from your lungs, and you gasp, your fingers gripping his tanned biceps. Now it is his turn to search for an answer in your face, and for a second, he fears he has made a mistake. Your eyes are wide as you process what you had hoped for but hadn’t dared to expect.

You meet his gaze once before throwing your arms around his shoulders and pressing your lips back to his. This time, it is heavier, fierce, and consuming. Your hands tangle in his dark locks as his find their way to the curve of your hips, squeezing them and pulling your body closer to his.

Together, you stumble below deck, away from prying eyes and into the cabin Carlos has claimed for himself. Your movements are hurried and clumsy in the dimming light of the oil lamp. Your back hits the door as he kisses you again, his hands roaming over your sides, your back, your chest. His lips trace a path down your neck, the heat of his breath against your skin sending shivers racing down your spine.

He mouths at your breasts through the fabric of your gown, dragging his teeth over your pebbled nipples as they rise at his touch. The sensations send your heart pounding in your chest, and when his voice breaks through the haze, it is hoarse and filled with need.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, his forehead pressed against yours, his hands steadying your trembling frame.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice resolute. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

That is all the reassurance he needs. Slowly, he begins untying the laces of your gown, his hands steady despite the storm of emotions roiling in his chest. You watch him carefully, your breath hitching as his fingers move with practiced precision, his lips parting in concentration.

When the gown falls to the floor, you feel exposed, vulnerable. You’ve only been this bare in front of your amphipoloi, your attendants, when bathing. Your arms gently cross over your chest, suddenly shy under the gaze of the man before you.

Carlos doesn’t rush you. He traces his fingers along your bare arms and the sides of your breasts, his touch reverent, as if you are something precious.

“You’re so beautiful,” he marvels, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your cheeks flush as your hands move to the ties of his tunic, fumbling slightly in your nerves. He chuckles softly, his hands enveloping yours as he helps you, the fabric soon joining yours on the floor. Without another word, he lays you down on the bed. The sheets and pillows smell like him—a mixture of salt and bourbon. It’s familiar and uniquely him.

His mouth drops to your lower abdomen, his lips leaving a hot trail in their wake. He goes slowly, dragging his tongue through your folds before suctioning his lips over your clit. It's a sensation you’ve never known and it pulls a sharp gasp from your lips as your fingers tangle in his dark hair. You back arches off the bed, giving Carlos the opportunity to pull you in closer. His arms wrap around your thighs, keeping you still as his tongue prods at you. Soon enough, two fingers pushed into you, your cries filling the air. 

He can feel you shaking with every stroke, voice at high pitch as you beg him not to stop. You were seeing stars, eyes squeezed shut and face contorting in passion. Please, please, please you implored, your voice breaking. You didn’t quite know what you were begging for. He could lie here and taste your forever, Carlos thought, he’d never get tired of your taste. 

Carlos hums as he feels you clench around his tongue, coming up to look at your properly. His fingers continue pumping in and out, reaching for a button he knew would send you off the edge. Your jaw drops, a whine escaping. You meet his eyes, fingers loosening their grip on his tresses before trailing lightly down his face. There’s a glint in his eye as he uses his free hand to pull your fingers into his mouth, matching the pressure to your hole to the swirling of his tongue around your digits. He can feel the tension in your body grow, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

You let out a broken sob as you fall apart and Carlos lets go of your fingers with a pop. His fingers press slowly in and out of you in soothing strokes, bringing you down from your high. Your thighs tremble as he presses his lips once more to your sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re heaving, your cheeks flushed and skin prickled with goosebumps. 

His fingers brush gently along the inside of your thighs, kissing the soft skin as he takes in the sight of you. 

“You okay, princesa?” he asks. He realizes how deeply this must have affected you; as a princess, you weren’t exactly expected to partake in acts like this.

You nod slowly, lips curling into a breathless smile. “Mhmm, yeah,” you whisper, propping yourself up onto your elbows. 

He raises to his full height, propping one knee up on the bed before crawling over you. You get a good look at him, there's a few gashes that have scarred on his chest, and one that cuts diagonally across his hip. There are some lingering ones on his arms, not fresh but not quite healed yet, most likely from the maze. 

He slots himself between your legs as they part for him. He lifts his hips, pushing the tip of his cock against your sensitive clit. He loves the sound that falls from your lips as he does so. He pushes himself in slowly, careful not to move too fast against you. It’s different from his fingers, different from his tongue. It was a slow ache, a stretch you can’t quite place. You feel as your face contorts, the ache slowly dissipating and turning into something else. 

He rocks gently against you, the air ripping right out of your lungs as you feel him bottom out. He searches your face for a sign, waiting for you to give him the green light. “Need you to move.” you moan out. 

His strokes are languid, gentle at the beginning. His fingers snake between you, rubbing circles against your clit. His head lays between the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his tongue licking stripes onto the sensitive skin and teeth nipping gently at your jaw. Soon enough, his lips press against yours as he continued at a slow pace. Your breaths mix together as his hips snap against yours just a little faster.  Both of you are a mess, the sounds of skin on skin echoing through the cabin. 

Collecting both your hands in one of his, he pulls them up over your head. There's a sparkle in your eyes as you feel yourself teetering closer to the edge once more. “Carlos, I—” your voice breaks, body arching into his. 

“Cum... cum for me,"  he beckons, pressing fleeting kisses to your chest. Your walls held onto him like a vice, clamping down on him as you fell apart once again. 

He groans as he feels you break, chasing his own climax. Curses fall from his lips as his hips piston in and out of you. Yes, yes, yes. There’s a groan that falls from the both of you as you feel the hot ropes of his spend coat your walls. He falters momentarily before pressing his lips to yours as a moan fell from his lips. He stills, letting his body drop on yours gently.

Your arms wrap around his toned back, fingers dipping into the valleys of his muscles. Slowly, he pulls himself away from your aching core. You both watch as his cum mixed with yours drips out from you. Reaching for a discarded rag, he clears off as much as he can before tangling with you in the narrow bed. 

Your head rests on his chest as he cradles you. The lull of the waves place the two of you into a peaceful silence. You can hear his steady heartbeat thumbing through the expanse of his chest. His fingers drag gently over your shoulder and back.

“I don’t want this moment to end,” you murmur as Hypnos begins to pull you away, your own fingers languidly tracing the scars on his otherwise smooth chest. 

“These moments never do,” he replies as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. There’s a blanket of melancholy that falls over him. An ache settling in his chest as he feels you fall asleep against him. He dreads what’s coming next, the one step the gods demanded of him, but who was he to defy their will?

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

It's the next evening that Naxos appears on the horizon. You stand at the bow of the ship once more, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. Carlos stood at your side, silent but present. 

“Is this it?” you asked, turning to look at him. 

“Yes,” he answers, his tone betraying nothing. 

There was a shift in him the morning. His once cheerful demeanor exchanged for a colder, sharper one. You look for the face that had kissed you tenderly. The one that had shown you the stars and the word beyond Athens. You couldn’t find it and it churned your stomach with dread. 

“What happens next then?” you ask, feeling your chest tighten in anticipation.

He doesn’t answer right away, eye trained on the island as it comes closer. He spoke in a low voice, laced in pain. “This is where I leave you.”

Your heart stopped in your chest. “What?” you question.

“Carlos,” you say, trying to get him to meet your gaze. “What do you mean?” your voice trembles as you turn him towards you. His jaw is tight as he finally looks into your eyes. The whites of his eyes are red, turning the brown in his irises green. There was a pain in his eyes, shadowed by something she couldn’t name. 

“It is the will of the gods,” he insisted."They command me to leave you here.” 

“And you’ll obey them?” you demand, a flare of anger and pain blooming in your chest. “Even if it breaks you?”

“Carlos,” you call for him. His jaw remains clenched as he looks away from you once again. “I stood against everything I’ve ever known. I risked my own life. I defied my father, my role, my future. I chose you. Not the gods, not duty, not the life I was supposed to lead. You.”

He grips your biceps as if trying to shake the words out of himself. “You don’t think I know that?” he snaps, voice cracking. His eyes fill with tears as he looks at you, eyes just as hazy. “Do you think I wanted this? To leave you here, alone? If I defy them, they’ll punish you as much as they punish me. Their wrath will destroy us both.”

Your eyebrows furrow, a sob threatening to pop in your chest. “Then let them. Let them destroy us together—” You reach a hand up to caress his cheek but before it can make contact he pulls it away, turning from you to face towards the island again. 

“It is the will of the gods.”

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

He watches you get smaller on the dock of the island, slowly fading into it. He thinks of your laughter, the way you would banter with him. The way your voice sounded when it called out for him. The warmth of your body as it had fit so perfectly against his.  

He thought of how scared you must’ve been to take the golden spool he twisted in his hands. How you left everything behind, to help him. 

Your story was meant for the gods, destined to dwell among them rather than at his side. Yet, while part of you belonged to them—part of you would always belong to him.

Index:

Hypnos - Greek god of sleep and the personification of sleep itself. The Keres - Greek goddesses/spirits that represented violent death. Poseidon - Greek god of the sea, storms, earthquakes, and horses Aeolus - Greek god of the wind

a/n: a little fun fact, I almost got a minor in greek and roman studies before COVID hit and I had to withdraw from a whole bunch of classes, boo

[causeimhappinesss]

Rome's Devotion (part 12)

Warnings: Emperors Geta & Caracalla are warnings themselves, (slight?) blasphemy, slight non-con/dub-con, misogyny (Ancient Rome, so…)

Pairing: Geta x Christian!reader x Caracalla

Words: 4,3k

Disclaimer: English isn’t my native language (I’m french), so you can correct me if you spot some mistakes :)

Masterlist

-

Days later

The Colosseum hums with the fevered energy of tens of thousands of souls, each voice adding to the deafening storm of sound that crashes against my ears. The scent of bodies pressed together, of spilled wine and perfumed oils. My fingers brush the silk of my stola, embroidered so finely it feels like liquid against my skin, yet the weight of it, the opulence, suffocates me. It is not my own. It belongs to them. At that moment, Geta stands at the edge of the balcony, wrapped in white and gold, the embodiment of imperial grace. The sun catches in his hair, turning the curls to bright copper, and the laurel on his head gleams with the weight of power. Below him, the Colosseum swells with voices, a sea of hands lifted toward their emperor, their devotion so easily given in exchange for the promise of bloodshed.

I stay beside him, on his left, my movements careful, deliberate. Around me, those granted the honor of these seats settle into place, such as Lucilla, draped in silks so sheer they are almost scandalous, offers me a brief glance, a flicker of acknowledgment before she returns to her idle conversation with her husband: General Acacius. The soldier’s face remains unreadable, his scars catching the light like old battle relics. Behind us, with Acacius and Lucilla, Macrinus watches everything with the sharp eyes of a man who trusts no one.

The Colosseum’s arena, transformed into a vast lake, glistens beneath the sun. The sight steals my breath. A feat of engineering so impossible it feels like magic. An entire battlefield drowned, turned into an ocean fit for war. On its surface, miniature warships rock with the motion of the water, the men aboard them nothing more than figures waiting to be swallowed by history.

The people chant, hungry for the violence they have been promised. They don’t care for the spectacle of the water itself. They don’t marvel at its creation. They only want to see it turn red.

A pulse beats at the base of my throat. How can such cruel game exists? Why people are so entranced? Life is too precious and none of them seem to realize this…

“You’re amazed.”

Caracalla’s voice, smooth and dark, cuts through the noise like a blade.

I refuse to turn my head, to grant him the satisfaction of my attention.

“How could I not be?” I half lie.

Of course, the Colosseum, filled with water, is splendid. However, I hate the idea of war so close to me…

His laughter barely carries, a low, amused thing meant only for me. He leans in, his breath warm against my temple.

“There are sharks in the water.”

The words crawl down my spine. I blink and focus on the shadows beneath the surface. They glide with unnatural ease, dark shapes slipping between the wavering reflections of the ships. A sharp taste rises in my throat.

“You’re lying…”

Caracalla shifts closer. I can feel the heat of him, the power coiled beneath his skin like a lion at rest.

“Am I?” He chuckles, his gold tooth shining under the sun.

I don’t know. That’s what unsettles me most.

A trumpet sounds, slicing through the chaos, and the entire Colosseum stills. Quickly, I sit on my eat, next to Geta’s one. The crowd holds its breath as if the gods themselves demand silence. The gates at either end groan open, and the combatants appear, stepping onto their assigned ships, their armor gleaming, their weapons ready. Some of them are slaves. Others, condemned men with nothing left to lose. None of them will leave unchanged. If they leave at all.

Geta lifts a hand, and the hush deepens.

My chest tightens.

He is going to announce it. My betrothal. My fate. My future, decided without my consent.

The crowd waits, eager for his words.

And all I can think about are the sharks in the water.

The cheers are deafening. The Colosseum, already a sea of restless bodies, erupts into a frenzy of shouts, stomping feet, and clashing fists against wooden benches. The people love a spectacle, and today, I am the center of it.

My breath catches in my throat as Geta rises from his own seat, the sun striking his golden tunic, the red fabric flowing like the robes of a god. His presence commands silence before he even speaks. His hand lifts, and the roar of the crowd quiets, not out of obedience, but in anticipation. They wait for him to give them something, a promise, a reason to continue their feverish adoration.

He gives them Rome. He gives them the future.

“Rome stands eternal,” he declares, his voice strong and unyielding, carrying over the vast amphitheater. “An empire that stretches beyond the edges of the known world. A force that will not falter, that will not crumble, but only grow.”

The people erupt again, fists pumping in the air, the echoes of their shouts rolling through the arena like a storm over the Tiber.

Geta waits, unshaken, allowing them their moment before raising his hand once more. Silence descends again, tense and expectant.

“No ruler, no empire, stands alone. Strength lies in blood. Strength lies in legacy. And I will give you that legacy.”

His fingers tighten into a fist. A murmur spreads through the senators seated in their reserved places. The equites lean in, their whispers barely audible over the distant clang of preparations for the naval battle below. The people catch on slower, but soon, the Colosseum vibrates with excitement, hands clapping, voices shouting their approval.

My blood turns cold.

I know what he is about to say before he says it.

“I will take a wife.” Geta announces, turning to me. “Rome will have an empress.”

A fresh wave of cheers erupts. A name passes through the mouths of the people before he even speaks it.

“Aurelia!” they chant. “Aurelia!”

My stomach twists. Geta’s hand reaches for mine. He doesn’t hesitate or ask. The world blurs for a moment as he pulls me to my feet, the weight of thousands of eyes pressing down on me, their scrutiny stripping me bare despite the silks and gold draped over my body. His fingers enclose mine, firm, possessive, unyielding.

“Lady Aurelia, daughter of Senator Aurelius! Your future empress!”

The ground seems to shift beneath me. The walls of the Colosseum feel impossibly high, the sheer number of people suffocating. The roar of their approval crashes over me like a wave, drowning out my own thoughts, my own voice. I am no longer a person to them. I am a name, a symbol, a decision already made. I force myself to stand tall, to keep my shoulders squared even as my heart hammers against my ribs. Lucilla moves first, stepping forward in a rustle of expensive fabric, her expression carefully composed. She reaches for my hands, her grip cool and deliberate. Her lips curl into a smile, but her eyes remain sharp, searching, assessing.

“The gods smile on you,” she says smoothly, her voice meant for the ears of the crowd as much as for mine. “And on Rome.”

There is something in her tone, an unspoken warning. I barely have time to process it before General Acacius approaches. His armor gleams under the sun, his posture rigid with military discipline. He inclines his head in deference to Geta before turning to me.

“A wise choice.” he remarks. He studies me for a moment, then adds, “An emperor needs an empress who can endure.”

Endure.

The word settles over me like a weight.

Macrinus follows, his expression unreadable, though something flickers in his gaze, something calculating. His mouth curves into what might be amusement. Or something colder.

“May the Fates weave you a strong future, Lady Aurelia.”

The applause swells again, louder than before, a deafening thunder that makes my pulse pound in my ears. I stand beside Geta, my hand still locked in his. I don’t smile. I do not bow my head. I meet the eyes of the people, the senators, the warriors, the men who will decide the course of my life from this moment forward. I don’t let them see how my hands shake.

When I turn my head towards Caracalla, this one is still seating, his legs shaking, while he bites his lower lips, his darkening blue eyes on me. At that very moment, I know he’s thinking what the wedding will grant him: access to my body, as his mind creeps into mine.

The horn’s blare reverberates through the Colosseum, a sound so deep it feels as though the stone itself hums beneath us. The crowd surges to its feet, their cries of anticipation rolling like thunder. Beneath the open sky, the great amphitheater is alive, a beast of marble and bloodlust. The arena, turned into a shimmering lake, reflects the golden light of the afternoon sun. Warships, their wooden hulls adorned with snarling sea creatures, glide into position, oars cutting through the surface in perfect rhythm. The men aboard, clad in gleaming armor, prepare for battle, gripping their weapons with grim determination. The scent of damp wood and burning oil mingles with the sweat of thousands of bodies packed together. Excitement thickens the air, stifling, suffocating. I shift in my seat, my silken robes heavy against my skin, my pulse hammering beneath layers of gold-threaded fabric.

Geta sits beside me, his posture relaxed, the white and gold of his tunic pristine despite the dust that clings to everything. His expression remains impassive as he watches the scene unfold. He seems utterly at ease amid the chaos, as though he were born to preside over such violence. The second horn sounds.

A brief silence falls over the Colosseum, a hush filled with bated breath.

Then, the battle erupts.

The first clash of metal against metal rings through the air. Arrows streak across the water, slicing through the sunlight like falling stars. The warships collide, sending up sprays of water as soldiers leap from deck to deck, swords flashing. A man lets out a guttural cry as he is struck across the chest, his blood fanning out in a bright arc before he tumbles into the water. I stiffen, my breath stuck in my throat, as my fingers grab the armchair.

Another warrior is shoved overboard, his arms thrashing wildly. The crowd roars with approval, fists pounding against wooden benches. Some chant for their favored side, others laugh at the doomed men struggling in the depths. A third man, young, no older than myself, is struck down, his helmet rolling across the deck before his body crumples lifelessly beside it.

My stomach twists.

I lower my gaze, hands clenched in my lap, but the vision of death lingers behind my eyes. The water, once pristine, darkens with spilled blood.

“Are you well, little lamb?” Geta asks with his smooth voice, edged with amusement.

I swallow, forcing myself to meet his gaze. His dark eyes flicker with something unreadable, as though he finds my discomfort… endearing. Or perhaps simply expected.

“I…” My throat tightens. I nod, though the motion feels unnatural, stiff.

The corner of his mouth curves, showing he doesn’t believe me at all.

“You will have to grow accustomed to this, it is part of the empress’ role.” he murmurs, fingers brushing idly against the gold cuff at his wrist.

A wave of heat rushes over me, though it has nothing to do with the sun. Another scream shatters the air, high and strangled. A man, wounded and desperate, attempts to hoist himself onto the wreckage of a shattered ship; he doesn’t get the chance. The water beneath him churns violently. Then, in the space of a breath, he’s gone. A song of whispers spreads through the crowd, a mix of delight and awe. Caracalla leans towards me with a huge smile on his face.

“These sharks are doing a good job.”

My body goes rigid as the ginger man chuckles softly, pleased by my reaction, and leans back in his seat. Geta, still watching me, merely tilts his head, as though curious to see what I will do. Instead of flinching, I stay still, I don’t allow the horror to twist my guts are enough me to show on my face. Unfortunately, my hands shake against my lap, and deep within me, something fragile cracks. I press my lips together. Then, with as much composure as I can summon, I fold my hands tighter and cast my eyes toward the heavens.

The people of Rome delight in this carnage.

But I won’t.

I offer a silent prayer to a God they don’t know, for the souls of the men slaughtered at their feet.

The Colosseum keeps pulsing with energy, the air thick with sweat, heat, and the stench of blood. The games are still raging when the change comes, subtle at first. The rhythm of the crowd falters, their cheers turning to something more uncertain.

Then, a sharp whistle cuts through the din.

Before I can react, the arrow strikes.

It buries itself into the carved wooden balustrade just behind the emperors, right between them. The force of impact sends splinters flying. My breath catches in my throat.

For the briefest of moments, everything stills.

Geta and Caracalla turn their heads, their expressions twisting from boredom to something utter fear. Their eyes meet, then flick to the arrow quivering between them. They yell and quickly moves. Everything happens really fast.

The Praetorian Guard surges forward, armor clanking, blades flashing. A hand seizes my wrist. Geta.

“We must move.”

Everything happens too fast.

Lucilla is already standing, her expression sharp and unreadable. Macrinus and Acacius bark orders, his voice lost beneath the roar of the chaos. A shield rises in front of Geta, another in front of Caracalla and another one in front of me. Strong hands guide us back, pushing us toward the safety of the inner corridors. The passage beneath the Colosseum is cool, damp, the scent of smoke and earth thick in my nose. The flickering torches cast jagged shadows against the stone walls. My heart pounds, my pulse a frantic rhythm in my ears.

Then Geta exhales, almost amused.

“I do believe someone just tried to kill us, brother.”

Caracalla leans forward, elbows on his knees, lips curling into something too close to a grin.

“Or perhaps they meant to warn us.” His fingers trace the polished wood, stopping just shy of the arrow’s shaft. “A bold statement, wouldn’t you say?”

A scream erupts from below. Then another. Panic spreads through the arena like wildfire. People shove against one another, spilling out of their seats, hands raised in desperate gestures. Dust kicks up, choking the air. Caracalla is the first to break the silence.

“I want that man found.” His commands, his voice low, laced with something dangerous.

His hand full of golden rings flexes at his side.

“Alive, if possible. But I won’t grieve if he arrives in pieces.”

A guard bows his head.

“It will be done, my Emperor.”

Geta exhales, brushing dust from his tunic.

“It could have been anyone. A poor shot. Or a message.”

His gaze slides to me, lingering.

“You’re quiet.”

I swallow hard, my throat tight as I blink, not sure what I should answer.

“Would you rather I scream? I didn’t know it’s what you’re expecting from your future Empress.”

If his lips twitch, he doesn’t answer, while his twin laugh, applauding me for being bold with Geta. Lucilla choses this moment to step closer, before she clears her throat.

“The people saw.”

Caracalla licks his lips, scoffs and shrugs.

“Let them.”

His eyes gleam in the torchlight, his smirk sharp enough to cut.

“Rome forgets quickly.”

*

The morning light spills gently through the windows and casts a soft glow over the room. The seamstresses are already busy, their hands move with practiced precision as they arrange fabrics across the long wooden table. The smell of fresh linen and wool fills the air, mixing with the faint scent of lavender from the small vase beside me. I sit at the edge of the table, as my fingers shake slightly while I take in the array of choices before me.

The tunica recta is to be my wedding garment, the most sacred of all the attires a Roman bride could wear. White wool, simple yet elegant, the embodiment of purity and chastity. It seems such a small thing, this simple dress, but it feels like the weight of the Empire itself rests upon my shoulders as I sift through the fabrics. I touch each one, testing its weight, its texture, until I find the perfect piece: a soft, almost ethereal wool that will sit lightly against my skin.

Beside it, the saffron-colored flammeum catches my eye. The veil. It will cover my hair, hide my face from the gaze of the crowd, a symbol of my transition into something more. Something the people will watch. It’s so delicate, the fabric like sunlight, almost translucent but still holding a subtle strength in its color. The pale yellow hue is the color of fire, of burning passion and sacrifice. It is fitting.

But it’s not just the garments I must choose. My heart sinks a little as I reach for the Hercules knot, a reminder of the role I am about to assume. A symbol of my fidelity to Geta, to Rome. The knot is intricate, woven with delicate strands of golden thread. It will hold the fabric of my tunica together, but it will also bind me. Bind me in ways I’m not sure if I’m ready for.

I pick it up and my fingers brush the smooth, silky strands. The room feels suddenly too warm. Too small. The weight of what I’m about to become presses down on me like a stone. The door opens behind me, and I barely have time to look up before Geta steps inside, his presence filling the room like a storm. The seamstresses immediately bow their heads, offering him their deference. He pays them little mind, his focus entirely on me.

“Ah, there you are!” He comments with a smile, his voice low and rich.

It’s the same voice that’s been haunting my dreams, the one that holds the promise of power and control.

“Are these your choices?” His words are easy, but his gaze is sharp.

As soon as he asks that question, he moves toward me and presses a hand lightly on my shoulder. His touch feels warm, familiar. I nod, not trusting myself to speak, not trusting my voice to remain steady. He looks over my choices with care, his eyes scanning the fabrics. The tunica, the veil, the knot. His approval is clear in his expression, though it doesn’t feel as reassuring as it should.

“Good taste, just like me. The tunica is simple. It speaks of grace, of purity. And the veil…”

He pauses as his fingers brush lightly against the edge of the saffron fabric.

“It will suit you. You will be perfect.”

His eyes catch mine then, and I see a flicker of something in them. Something I can’t name.

I swallow hard. The fabric beneath my fingers feels suddenly too heavy.

“And the knot?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I don’t know why I ask it. I know it must be part of the ensemble. But there’s something about it, the knot, an element that feels like a chain I can’t undo. He looks at the knot and his eyes suddenly gleam.

“It is a symbol of our bond, a reminder of what is to come, what we are about to begin. It looks perfect to me.”

I glance down at it, then back up at him, unsure how to respond. His gaze doesn’t leave mine. There is something unsettling about it.

“I have no doubts you will wear it beautifully.” He adds, as though it’s already decided, as though it’s already written in stone.

I force myself to nod, but it feels like I’m being led into something I can’t escape.

Geta turns toward the table where the jewelry is laid out. There are necklaces of gold and silver, bracelets set with precious stones, rings gleaming with emeralds and sapphires. All of them are exquisite, all of them are meant for someone who belongs to the Empire. And yet, as I walk toward the table, it all feels like another world. A world I’ve never truly known.

“These will look well on you.” Geta says, picking up a delicate bracelet from the table.

The gold gleams in the soft light, and I can’t help but reach out to touch it. He’s right. It would look beautiful, resting against my skin. But it feels too much. Too heavy. He turns to me, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that makes me want to pull away. But I don’t.

“The golden hue will complement the white and saffron.” He explains, his voice smooth, so smooth it’s a privilege. “It will show everyone who you are. What you are becoming.”

I nod again, though I don’t feel like I’m becoming anything at all. I feel as though I’m betraying other people, servants, but also God. He places the bracelet down and picks up a necklace, one with a gold chain and bright green emeralds, their deep color reflecting the light in a way that makes them seem almost alive.

“What do you think of this?” He asks, turning toward me with the necklace in his hands.

I look at it, the way it catches the light. The way it would rest against my neck, marking me, claiming me.

“It’s beautiful.” I admit with a shy smile.

He smiles too, though there’s a glint in his eyes that makes me feel small, vulnerable.

“It is beautiful because it is meant to be worn by you, the most beautiful woman of Rome.” He declares, his words low, almost a whisper. “It is meant to mark you as mine.”

I feel a chill run through me. I don’t know how to respond to that.

I look away, my gaze falling to the floor. The weight of what I’m about to become, of what I’m about to do, presses down on me. It’s not a future I chose, but one that’s been thrust upon me.

Let’s hope I’ll be able to use my power to help other people, to soften these cruel Emperors…

“You will shine. Everyone will see your radiance. And they will know who you are.”

Unfortunately, I don’t feel radiant, most like I’m about to be swallowed whole. With these words, he presses a soft kiss on my forehead, his soft lips so warm against my burning skin. My heart hammers wildly in my chest. A sigh escapes my mouth, as it feels too good, too kind, to be true. Is he able to love someone else? Except his mother and his brother?

“Follows, I want to walk with you.”

Soon, the warm sun in the garden warm my skin, the kind of warmth that feels both comforting and unsettling all at once. The gardens stretch before us, a riot of color and scent, but it’s almost too much. Too bright. Too perfect. It only reminds me of how little I belong here, how little I understand what is happening. Geta walks beside me, his pace steady and confident, as if everything is exactly as it should be. His arm brushes mine, but it’s a casual touch, probably meant to reassure me. I look at him, at his face, but there’s nothing there that tells me what he’s thinking.

“You don’t have to worry about anything else, you know.” He suddenly says. “A month’s time, that’s when we’ll be married, after the Kalends.”

A month.

Right after a religious celebration dedicated to the gods and the coming month’s prosperity. It was also a day for settling debts.

I can’t even wrap my mind around it. A month until my life changes forever, until I am no longer just Y/N, a servant, but something else entirely. Something that belongs to Rome. The weight of that responsibility is heavy on my shoulders, and though I try not to let it show, I feel the pressure building inside me, crushing me little by little. The words are still heavy in the air, hanging between us like a barrier, and I can’t stand it any longer.

“Days ago, I forgot to ask… What about the Senate? Has the Senate actually validated our marriage?”

At the sound of my voice, Geta stops walking. I can hear his shoes scuff against the gravel path, his figure pausing just ahead of me. For the briefest of moments, I think he might be irritated by my question, but then he turns to me, a slight smile curling the edges of his lips.

“Of course, my heart. Two days before the naval battle.” He explains with a casual shrug, as if it’s nothing at all. “I submitted my plan to them. They had no choice but to accept. What else could they do? It was done, and they couldn’t argue with it. Not after everything that’s happened.”

He tilts his head slightly, looking at me with something like amusement.

“And anyway, you’ve become the perfect candidate. The daughter of a senator. The people love that. The Senate has no reason to deny it.”

The words hit me like a slap, and I have to force myself to breathe. The perfect candidate. That’s all I am in his eyes, in the Senate’s eyes. A piece of the puzzle, a move in the game. His smile is so easy, so practiced, like he’s made peace with all of it. But me? I’m not sure if I can.

-

I hope you enjoy this chapter! I know not much is happening, but I’ve been dealing with nonstop migraines lately, which has really impacted my writing. On top of that, I’ve decided to focus on writing the upcoming smut scenes before Lent (it’s my first time doing this, and I don’t want to fail)! I absolutely have to finish before midnight tomorrow… Wish me luck! lol

That's why the next chapter may take a little longer to come.

My AO3: BetrayedWriter

-

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[wlw-imagines]

A Crystal Ball - Olivia Benson x Reader (Law & Order: SVU)

summary: Olivia Benson doesn’t believe in magic... not in happy endings, not in fate, and certainly not in crystal balls. But after a strange encounter with a woman who claims to see visions, Olivia begins to pull away, retreating behind walls you thought had started to fall. Maybe it wasn’t just fiction after all, maybe the vision hit a little too close to the truth she’s been too scared to face.

Part of May Prompts: Day Seven, a crystal ball

The street fair is exactly the kind of chaos Olivia usually avoids, children with sticky hands, food on sticks, teenagers screaming at carnival games. It was Carisi’s idea, of course. “Team morale,” he’d said brightly, flashing that grin that makes it impossible to argue. Amanda had seconded it, her eyes already darting toward the funnel cakes. Even Fin, ever the skeptic, agreed to swing by, mostly for the food. So Olivia grumbled but came anyway, still in her blazer, a coffee clutched in her hand like armour.

The booths line the street in cheerful disorder, colours too bright under the late afternoon sun. Olivia keeps a healthy distance from most of them, sipping her lukewarm coffee and half-listening as Amanda drags you - her colleague, and lately, the quiet ache behind Olivia’s stern glances - toward a ring toss booth.

“Come on,” Amanda calls over her shoulder. “Don’t be such a grump. You could win me a goldfish.”

“I don’t want a goldfish,” you say dryly, already letting Amanda press a handful of rings into your palm.

“You don’t get to decide until you try.”

Olivia leans against a lamp post, half-smirking behind the rim of her cup, watching you toss with exaggerated laziness. You miss the first one deliberately, make a show of the second, and somehow land the third, to Amanda’s loud cheer and a plush frog being thrust into your arms.

“You’re welcome,” you say, deadpan.

Amanda grins. “You’re such a softie.”

Just behind the ring toss booth is a tent, decked out in beads and glittering scarves, a cracked sign above it reading: Madame Zeta: Visions of Your Future.

“Oh God,” Olivia mutters, eyeing it like it might bite her.

You snort. “Twenty bucks to be told I’ll meet a tall, dark stranger,” you say, eyebrow raised. “Waste of money. I already met you.”

Olivia turns to you with a dry smirk. “I’m not tall.”

Amanda doesn’t miss a beat. “Perfect, then. Get in there.”

Before either of you can object, Amanda shoves you inside, and Olivia follows, protesting only a little. The tent is dim, filled with the scent of incense. A woman in layered scarves and oversized earrings sits behind a dusty crystal ball, muttering something indecipherable.

“Welcome, seekers,” she intones, gesturing theatrically. “The spirits speak… of unspoken feelings, of doors left closed, of timing too tender to trust…”

You blink, unimpressed. “Wow. She nailed it. I’m tragically repressed and in love with someone too emotionally constipated to notice.”

Olivia chokes on her coffee.

The psychic doesn’t even flinch. She just waves her hands over the glass again, muttering about “guarded hearts” and “emotional wounds” and “the pain of silence.”

Amanda looks delighted. You look amused. Olivia… looks anywhere but at you.

Later, as you emerge from the tent, your arm brushes Olivia’s. Your voice is quieter now, less mocking. “You okay, Captain?”

Olivia offers a tight smile, the kind that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Fine. Psychic nonsense.”

But something shifts in the air between you, subtle as a breeze. Something about being seen, even by a fraud with a scarf and a prop, has cracked the surface just a little. Olivia feels it and hates it. You feel it and don’t know what to do with it.

Amanda tosses a piece of cotton candy into her mouth, watching you both like she’s just won a bet.

“Let me know when the wedding is,” she says sweetly.

Olivia rolls her eyes. You laugh. You hope you can leave it at that.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The street fair faded into memory with the scent of popcorn and sugar still clinging to your clothes. You told yourself it was just a moment, just a joke inside a fake psychic’s tent. But something about the way Olivia wouldn’t meet your eye afterward stuck with you like a splinter under the skin. She hadn’t laughed. Not really. She’d smiled, the kind of practiced thing she wore like a uniform, polished and distant. But when your arm brushed hers… she flinched. Not away, but inward. Like something inside her tightened and wouldn’t let go.

Back at the precinct, the warmth of the afternoon vanished into fluorescent lighting and paperwork. You sat at your desk pretending to read over a report. She stood across the room, pouring herself another cup of coffee she didn’t need, her posture rigid, her jaw tight.

You could still hear the psychic’s words: guarded hearts, emotional wounds, the pain of silence…

“I think I freaked you out,” you said finally, keeping your voice low, conversational. Your screen was still glowing in front of you, a half-finished sentence blinking like it was waiting for something braver.

Olivia didn’t turn around. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But her tone lacked heat. It was more deflection than denial.

You leaned back in your chair, studying her in the reflection of your monitor. “C’mon. I was kidding. Mostly. You know that, right?”

She turned just slightly, eyes catching yours for the briefest second, and then skittering away. “It was inappropriate.”

You frowned. “To joke? Or to have feelings?”

That hung in the air like smoke from a match. You watched her swallow it down.

“I don’t have time for this,” she said, almost gently. That was the worst part. Not the cold shoulder, not the avoidance. It was the softness in her voice when she pushed you away. Like she thought she was doing you a kindness.

“Right,” you said, nodding like it didn’t sting. “Me neither.”

But that wasn’t true. You had nothing but time when it came to her. Time to sit in silence across desks. Time to notice how often she looked at your hands when she thought you weren’t watching. Time to wonder what it meant when she touched your shoulder longer than necessary or brushed by you in the hallway without moving quite far enough.

You closed the report, eyes burning.

The squad room buzzed around you. Carisi was laughing at something on his phone. Amanda was arguing with Fin over pizza toppings. Life moved on. But Olivia stood by the coffee pot like she’d forgotten how to move.

And you stayed at your desk, fingers curled into your palms, pretending not to wait.

You didn’t speak again that night. You didn’t need to. The silence said everything, and nothing, like it always did.

But when you finally stood to leave, you felt her eyes on your back. And it felt like maybe, just maybe, she’d started listening to the quiet between the words.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Days passed. A week, maybe two. You stopped counting after the third time Olivia avoided you in the hallway by turning sharply into the break room. She never used to do that, not with you. But now it was all clipped nods and polite distance, her voice measured like every word was run through a filter before it could reach you.

You weren’t innocent either. You kept conversations short. Stopped cracking jokes. Left the bullpen early and took longer lunches. You told yourself it was self-preservation, giving her space. But if you were being honest, it was punishment too. A quiet kind. You didn’t know whether it was for her or for you.

You missed her.

Not just in the obvious ways. Not just the warmth of her voice when she said your name or the safety you felt walking beside her on a case. You missed the stupid stuff, the way she’d tilt her head when something didn’t sit right in a suspect’s story, the way she offered you gum on long stakeouts like it was some sacred ritual.

You missed how easy it had been. How right it had felt, until that goddamn psychic cracked open something between you that neither of you knew how to name.

“Hey,” Fin said, nudging your arm with his elbow as you sat hunched over a file. “What’s going on with you and Liv?”

You looked up, caught off guard. “Nothing.”

He gave you a look that made it clear he didn’t buy it. “Right. You’ve been walking around here like someone cancelled your favorite show and murdered your goldfish.”

You opened your mouth, closed it, then tried again. “I think I said something I shouldn’t have. And now she’s… avoiding me.”

Fin raised a brow. “Olivia avoids people all the time. It’s kinda her thing.”

“Not like this,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

There was a long pause, then his voice softened. “She’s got her walls. Hell, they’re reinforced with steel and trauma. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t care.”

You blinked. “You think she…?”

“I think,” he said carefully, “that you two have been orbiting each other for a while now. Eventually, one of you’s gonna crash.”

He walked away before you could ask which one.

The next day, you were paired with Amanda on a case, a missing girl, suspicious boyfriend, the usual. Olivia stayed behind to coordinate from the precinct. You found yourself constantly checking your phone, half-expecting a message from her that never came.

And when you got back late that night, tired and scraped up from chasing a lead through an alley, Olivia didn’t ask if you were okay. She didn’t meet your eyes. Just handed you a fresh case file like you were coworkers and nothing more.

You took it without a word. But the ache in your chest pulsed like a bruise.

The distance between you wasn’t physical. It was made of things unsaid. The kind of things that echo louder than shouting.

And every day, the silence grew heavier.

But still, you didn’t stop waiting.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

You didn’t expect the breakthrough to come from something so small, a cheap keychain from a bodega on 10th and Avenue C. But there it was in the surveillance footage, dangling from the suspect’s backpack just as he walked out of the missing girl’s building.

“Gotcha,” Amanda muttered, zooming in.

You sat beside her, exhausted but wired, the buzz of potential finally cutting through the haze that had been clouding the entire case. Olivia stepped up behind you, quiet but present, her gaze locked on the screen. You could feel the heat of her standing there, closer than she’d been in days.

“That’s enough for a warrant,” she said softly.

You didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. You just nodded. “I’ll write it up.”

“I’ll take it to the judge,” she offered, too quickly. A beat passed. “Unless you want to-”

“No,” you said, standing. “Go ahead.”

You handed her the paperwork, careful not to brush her fingers, and for a moment, her eyes lingered on you like she was about to say something else. But then she blinked, turned, and was gone, her coat sweeping behind her.

The team moved fast after that. Warrant. Apartment raid. Empty, of course - the guy had run. But he’d left behind just enough to charge him with kidnapping, enough blood to scare you, and one half-used MetroCard that gave you a trail to follow.

It was almost midnight when you found yourself back at your desk, typing up the statement from a frightened neighbor who’d seen the girl through the window days earlier. Your hands ached. Your heart did too.

“You should go home,” Olivia said, somewhere behind you. Her voice was low and even. Guarded.

You didn’t turn around. “So should you.”

Another pause. This one stretched, uncomfortable. Then the chair beside you scraped across the floor.

She sat.

“I’m not good at this,” she said finally, quietly. “Whatever this is between us. I’m better with facts. Timelines. Evidence.”

You stared straight ahead. “I noticed.”

She let out a faint breath, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “I didn’t mean to shut you out. I just… I didn’t know what to say.”

You finally looked at her. Her eyes were tired, open in a way you hadn’t seen in weeks.

“You didn’t have to say anything,” you murmured. “I just wanted you to look at me like you used to.”

“I’m scared,” she admitted. Two words, so heavy they nearly flattened the room.

You swallowed. “So am I.”

There it was again, the silence. But this time, it felt different. Less like a wall. More like a breath held between two people standing on the edge of something terrifying and real.

“We’ll get her back,” you said, nodding toward the open case file.

She nodded, too. But her gaze stayed on you.

“I hope so,” she said.

You didn’t know if she meant the girl - or the two of you.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The rain had been relentless all evening, but you hadn’t thought anything of it. Just a storm, just weather, until the knock came.

You opened the door and froze.

“Olivia?”

She was soaked through. Jacket clinging to her shoulders, hair plastered to her cheeks, eyes wide and searching. She looked wrecked. She looked beautiful.

“I didn’t know what to say,” she blurted out, shivering. “So I stood outside like an idiot. I just- I couldn’t let this be another thing I don’t say.”

“…okay,” you said, barely a breath.

Her voice cracked, desperate: “I don’t have a crystal ball. I don’t have the perfect line. But I know I want you. I’ve wanted you since your third sarcastic comment about my coffee addiction. And I’ve been too scared to say it.”

You stepped forward, hand brushing against the cold, damp edge of her sleeve. “You’re saying it now.”

She let out a breath that shook her whole body. “Yeah. I am. Finally.”

You reached up, fingers threading gently through her wet hair, brushing it back from her forehead like she was something precious.

“So,” you said quietly, “is this where I let you in?”

She nodded, barely. “Only if you still want me.”

You pulled her inside without hesitation. “Always did.”

And then you kissed.

It was slow. There was no urgency to prove anything, no fear clawing at your throat. Just lips and hands and two people who had circled each other long enough.

She trembled in your arms, the weight of all her silence collapsing into the warmth of being held.

Not flashy. Not fast. But real.

And enough.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

You woke to quiet. The kind you could feel more than hear.

Olivia was still beside you, curled on her side, hair a soft halo against the pillow, one hand resting across your hip like it had always belonged there.

You turned slowly, watching the way her face looked in daylight: peaceful, unguarded.

“…You stayed,” you whispered.

Carefully, you brushed a strand of hair off her forehead, fingertip tracing along the curve of her temple.

She stirred, lashes fluttering, voice gravel-soft from sleep. “I’m usually better at leaving.”

You smiled. “I like you better like this.”

Her mouth lifted just slightly. “I like me better like this, too.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was full. Safe.

You ran your thumb gently across her knuckles where her hand still rested against you.

“Still scared?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

She opened her eyes. “Terrified. But I think I’m done running from it.”

You leaned in, kissed her once on the temple. “Good. Because I’m a very patient person, but I’m not waiting another three years for a second date.”

She snorted - honest-to-God snorted - and looked at you with something between amusement and disbelief.

“So this was a date?”

You pretended to think. “Well… you showed up, poured your heart out, kissed me in the rain, I’d say it qualifies in most ways.”

Her smile was crooked. Warm. Real.

And when she kissed you again, slow and unhurried, there was no question left in either of you.

This was the start of something.

Something that had been a long time coming.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

You don’t arrive together.

That would be too obvious. Too much, too soon.

Instead, it’s like any other morning. Olivia walks in first, her coat slung over one arm, her face composed but - something’s different. Not enough to set off alarms. Just… less tension in her shoulders. A softness at the corners of her mouth.

Rollins notices it first. Watching Olivia from her desk, brow raised.

“…is it just me,” Amanda murmurs, “or does Liv look like she actually slept for once?”

Carisi, flipping through a folder, “And is that… is she humming?”

Fin, without looking up from his cup, deadpan as ever, “Either she got laid or the apocalypse is finally here.”

Amanda snorts. “Honestly? Could be both.”

And then you walk in, ten minutes later. Same jacket. Same quiet swagger. Just two coffee cups in hand, one yours, one not.

You don’t say anything. Just walk over to Olivia’s desk, set the second cup down beside her monitor. She doesn’t look up right away. Doesn’t need to. Her fingers curl around the cup and she smiles, just a little. The kind of smile people save for someone specific. Someone known.

Carisi, mid-bite of a donut, nods like it’s the final clue in a case. “That’s love.”

Fin sips, smug, “Told you.”

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Amanda corners you later. She has the tact of a hurricane. “So. You and the Captain?” she says, voice casual but eyes sharp.

You raise an eyebrow. “Subtle.”

Amanda grins, unapologetic. “I try.”

You hesitate just long enough to be honest. “We’re… figuring it out.”

Amanda softens. “I’m glad. She deserves someone who doesn’t scare easy.”

You glance down at your hands. “She doesn’t scare me. Not in the ways that matter.”

Amanda nods. It lands, that honesty. Lingers. And later, when Olivia walks past you and lets her hand brush yours, brief and discreet, the whole squad definitely pretends not to notice.

But everyone’s smiling.

[darkenedroses-world]

Clooless Chaos — Droid x Reader

gn!reader, clooless podcast, humour, relationship goals, embarrassing stories, request🦋

“Alright, welcome back to the Clooless Podcast,” Puffer said, leaning dramatically into his mic. “Today, we have a guest so brave, so bold, they’ve willingly agreed to join us in the pit of nonsense that is this podcast.” “Please, give it up for the one, the only—Y/N!” Grizzy added, clapping loudly as Pezzy let out an over-the-top whistle. You laughed, already feeling the warmth of their camaraderie. “Hi, everyone,” you said, leaning into the mic. “Thanks for having me. I feel like I should be nervous, but honestly, I’m just here to make fun of Droid.” The room erupted into laughter as Droid groaned, throwing an arm around your chair. “Why are you like this?” “Because I learned from the best,” you shot back with a grin. Pezzy smirked, leaning forward. “I like them already. This is gonna be good.” It didn’t take long for the teasing to begin. “So, Y/N,” Puffer started, his tone innocent but his grin giving him away. “Since you’re here, we’ve gotta know—what’s the most embarrassing thing Droid has ever done around you?”

“Oh, no,” Droid groaned, slouching in his chair. “Don’t do this.” “Oh, I’m doing this,” you said, pretending to think. “Let’s see… Oh! Got it. There was this one time he tried to cook me dinner—” “Stop,” Droid interrupted, holding up a hand. “—and he set water on fire,” you finished, grinning. The guys erupted into laughter, Pezzy nearly falling out of his spot. “How the hell do you set water on fire?” “I don’t even know!” Droid exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “Something caught on the burner or whatever. It’s not my fault!” “It’s definitely your fault,” Grizzy said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Hey, at least I tried,” Droid muttered, pouting. “And I appreciated the effort,” you said, patting his knee. “Even if the fire alarm went off for twenty minutes.” “That’s love right there,” Puffer said, shaking his head. The conversation shifted to high school stories, and that’s when things got really chaotic. “Alright, Y/N,” Pezzy said, smirking. “What was high school like for you?” “Oh god,” you groaned, leaning back in your chair.

“Do I really have to answer that?” “Yes,” Grizzy said immediately. “Fine,” you said, sighing. “I was that kid—the overachiever. I joined every club I could. Drama, band, yearbook, debate—you name it, I was in it.” “Oh, one of those,” Puffer teased, grinning. “But here’s the thing,” you continued. “I stretched myself way too thin. During the school play, I fell asleep backstage and missed my cue. They had to rewrite the whole scene on the spot.” Grizzy wheezed, clutching his stomach. “You rewrote the play by napping? That’s legendary.” “Icon behavior,” Pezzy said, nodding. “Alright, your turn,” you said, pointing at Droid. “What’s your most embarrassing high school story?” “Oh, Droid’s got this,” Grizzy said, grinning. “No, I don’t,” Droid protested. “Yes, you do,” Pezzy said. “Tell them about the abstract math thing.” Droid groaned, his head falling into his hands. “Why do you all hate me?” “What abstract math thing?” you asked, leaning forward eagerly. Droid sighed, resigning himself to his fate.

“Fine. I had a crush on this girl in math class, right? One day, I decided to impress her by solving this really complicated equation on the board. But halfway through, I panicked and just wrote random numbers. When she asked what it meant, I said, ‘It’s abstract math—you wouldn’t get it.’” The room erupted into laughter, and you nearly slid out of your chair. “Abstract math?! That’s the best you could come up with?” “Hey, it worked,” Droid muttered. “No, it didn’t,” Grizzy countered. “She told everyone, and you became ‘abstract math guy’ for the rest of the year.” By the time the podcast wrapped up, everyone was red-faced and teary-eyed from laughing so hard. “Alright, I think we’ve embarrassed ourselves enough for one day,” Puffer said, leaning back in his chair. “Speak for yourself,” Droid quipped. “I think I handled it pretty well.” You snorted. “Sure, abstract math.” The room erupted into laughter again, Droid groaning dramatically as Pezzy and Grizzy high-fived each other.

“Alright, that’s it!” Droid said, standing up. “I’m taking Y/N home. No more roasting me for today.” “Yeah, good luck with that,” Puffer called after him.

[florawrites-blog]

The shift - Sim Jaeyun

Its thanksgiving but here you are stuck in a 24/7 shift with jake a guy whom you could swear you had no idea he worked in the same grocery shop you work in but lets go i guess .

I lowkey yapped here but enjoy lads

Thanksgiving night at Jerry’s All-Night Groceries wasn’t supposed to be exciting. It was supposed to be the dull kind of shift where you rang up frozen turkeys, boxed mashed potatoes, and watched sleep-deprived shoppers scuffle for canned cranberry sauce. But the moment you stepped inside the store and saw your supervisor, Jerry, glaring at his nemesis Martha like she’d stolen his parking spot, you knew this night would be different.

“Congratulations, you lucky ducks,” Jerry barked, gesturing to you and some guy you’d never seen before. “You two are hosting tonight’s 24-hour shift!”

Martha smirked. “Try not to cry about it, kiddos.”

The guy—tall, brown hair slightly tousled, an aura of “I’m too cool for this”—stood next to you with the same amount of confusion. You exchanged a glance, one that said Can you believe this garbage? Then, without much protest (because arguing with Jerry and Martha was like yelling at a brick wall), you accepted your fate.

For the first couple of hours, it was painfully mundane. The cashier beeped endlessly as shoppers stockpiled boxed meals and vaguely Thanksgiving-related knickknacks. You were zoning out, staring at a stack of pumpkin pies, when the guy spoke.

“So, you didn’t even know I worked here?” His voice was teasing, light, and caught you off guard.

You snorted. “I didn’t even know you existed until now.”

“Figures,” he replied with a smirk. “But I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you before.”

Your brow furrowed. “Wait, what? When?”

He chuckled darkly. “The day you flipped me off and called me a ‘vision-impaired asshole.’”

Your jaw dropped. “WHAT?! That’s a lie! I would never—” Then, like a lightning bolt, it hit you: Oh my god, I DID do that.

“Wait, no, no! You were staring at me for like 20 minutes straight! Of course, I thought you were some creepy weirdo!”

“I am that ‘creepy weirdo,’” he confirmed, ringing up a turkey for a confused customer. “But to be fair, you ignored me after I asked you a question. For 20 minutes.”

The customer looked between the two of you, clearly regretting every life choice that had led them here. You waved it off. “Okay, in my defense, I didn’t hear you ask anything, so yeah, you were creepy!”

From there, the ice was broken. Somehow, amidst the holiday chaos, you and Jake—the guy you didn’t even know worked here—were swapping sarcastic barbs like old friends.

In the phone section, Jake was snapping selfies like his life depended on it.

“Dude, you know we’re not supposed to do that, right?”

He shrugged, moving on to the next display. “So what? If customers can do it, why can’t I? Racist, don’t you think?”

“What does race have to do with this?” you groaned, watching as he switched from Androids to iPads.

“Whatever. Anyway, I look good. Imagine someone opens the camera roll and finds my face. They’ll fall in love instantly.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, heartthrob. Let’s hope that’s the legacy you leave behind.”

Jake smirked. “Speaking of heartthrobs… let me guess. You were the teacher’s pet in high school, the kind of nerd who snitched on jocks for smoking in the bathroom.”

“Wow, rude AND oddly specific,” you shot back. “And no, I wasn’t a snitch! I just… knew things. And okay, maybe teachers liked me. But only because I wasn’t annoying like some people.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

Jake wasn’t done being ridiculous. He led you to the bike section with a mischievous grin.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” he said, dragging you to a shiny red bike. “You’re learning how to ride.”

“I know how to ride a bike!”

“you quite literally mentioned how bad you are at riding bikes”

“yeah i said I’m bad didn’t say I can’t ride a bike”

“Can you ride a bike without training wheels and streamers?”

“…I hate you.”

Despite your protests, Jake was determined. He adjusted the seat, held the handlebars, and made sure you were balanced. His hands hovered at your waist as you wobbled.

“See? You’re doing fine!”

And then… crash.

You went down, dragging a row of bikes with you. From the security room, Andy the security guard was laughing his balls of knowing he caused this incident by playing “Careless Whisper” on the PA, after seeing how close you and Jake were getting as he taught you how to ride that bike . Jake, however, didn’t laugh. He immediately scooped you up, piggyback-style, and carried you to the first aid aisle.

“You LOSER YOU SAID YOU’D HOLD ME AND NOT MAKING ME FALL,” you muttered loudly as he patched you up.

“Sorry I’m so so sorry , but hey you rode a bike,” he replied with a grin.

The rest of the night blurred into something magical. You shared snacks in the camping aisle, played with Bluetooth speakers, and even danced a little when the store was empty. Jake told scary stories (badly), and you made bets on which customer would complain about prices first.

you also grew this weird yet undeniable tension between you guys that made it hard for both of you to face each other

But as the shift neared its end, Jake grew quieter.

“This is my last shift,” he said suddenly.

You froze. “What? Why?”

“I’m leaving town. Taking a train, starting over in a new city with some friends. We’re gonna try to start a band.”

Your heart sank. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah. But you should come with me.”

You laughed, but there was a lump in your throat. “You’re crazy, Jake.”

“Maybe. But think about it.”

you’ve spent few hours speaking about this he even discussed some of his “runaway” plans , and even after sometime passed Jake kept on bringing back the idea of you coming with him which is funny cause why’d he assume you have nothing to do here (you literally didn’t you only took this job to kill time while you had a job search) but it just happened so that it annoys you how he thinks that you have nothing to do here also it’s not like you guys were long time friends or anything so why’d he just ask you to accompany him right?

When the shift ended, Jake walked you to the entrance.

“So… I guess this is goodbye, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t worry I won’t forget you when I’m famous,” he teased.

“Who are you again?” you shot back, smiling through the ache in your chest. All jokes aside you guys knew you were seriously at the end of the shift when Jerry and Martha both came in looking at you like the first thing they had a whiff of was fart.

As he walked away, you felt tugging at your chest like you knew you didn’t know him for long but cmon how come you see him today for what’s technically not the first time and now you have to say goodbye to him I mean it should be easy but it wasn’t .

But it wasn’t your case only cause as he got close to his car something pulled at him. He turned back, ran to you, and both of you now stood infront of each other his eyes went over your whole figure and just by then out of nowhere he hugged you tight.

“Can’t leave without a goodbye hug, can I?”

“bye bye, jakey jakey”

And just like that, it was goodbye he was actually gone, pedaling into the early morning.

You stood there for a moment, staring after him. Somewhere, Jake was probably cursing himself.

“Shit. I didn’t get her number.”

[harryisourlover]

The Second Assistant

Inspired by the tongue guitar playing in Spain

Smut alert 🚨

Harry was in the midst of a whirlwind tour when a recent breakup left him emotionally drained. Determined to avoid entanglements with fans, he found solace in his work. Amidst the chaos, he couldn't help but notice his new second assistant, (Y/N), whose beauty and grace captivated him.

(Y/N) was a beacon of joy and laughter among her colleagues, but around Harry, she turned shy and reserved. Since day one she acted like that. But one fateful night after a particularly electrifying concert where Harry had pushed the boundaries of his attire, revealed A LOT, also was a night extremely hot in Spain and (Y/N) fainted backstage! She was overwhelmed by the intensity of the performance plus hot night and the last thing that Harry did on stage definitely was the final cause of her faint.

Concerned, Harry rushed to her hotel room after his concert, still in his revealing outfit because all that matters was to see of she was really ok!

He knocked on the door, she just got out of the shower and she was expecting her meal, not Harry…

“Oh my god, it’s you!”

“I’m sorry, are you expecting someone else?”

“Just my dinner..” she said moving her eyes from his eyes going down to his torso and abs

He noticed and explained “I’m sorry again, i just got out stage and didn’t saw you there in the corner, they told me… Are you ok?”

“I don’t understand… You barely say Hi and Bye every day, any order of what to do to you i get from Mary because she’s the first assistant and i’m the second… Why do you bother coming here?”

“Excuse me are you implying that i’m a incentive boss-monster? That i don’t care? Only once that i tried to spoke to you, you didn’t looked back at me in the eyes and everytime i see you nice and goofy around the crew but always with a bad face at me, how did you expect me to act?”

“I… i was trying to act professional with you”

“I honestly thought you hated me since day one for some reason i quit trying to find out…”

“What??? I don’t hate you! Never! I’m a fan! Actually since 1D to be honest”

“Ok, now i’m the one confused here”

“When Mary interviewed me for the job she said: 1- never mention you are a fan; 2- don’t talk to him looking in his eyes because his girlfriend is nuts jealous; 3- don’t be you the cool girl i know around him, just strict professional”

“OMG i had no idea!”

“Mary says hahahah i’m your type, she’s so wrong! Look at me! But anyway she said if i want a career i can’t cause trouble in my first job ever in this industry!”

“I totally understand She was trying to help you… and avoid drama with my ex… She’s right about you being extremely attractive to me… She’s with me for 10 years she knows me very well!”

(Y/N)’s face is red and she thinks she’s about to faint again. Harry run to her holding her and asking “Are you ok? For sure?”

“I’m fine! Not going down again! It’s.. it’s just too much going on.. i need to sleep!”

“What about your food?”

“I will cancel… can you help me walking me to the bed?”

“I will help but you will eat! And i will go to my room shower and after that i will come back to see you! Where is your extra key?”

“Don’t need to do that Harry…”

“I will! Please let me do this!”

So exactly like he said, after he was back in her room. She had fallen asleep, so he took the tray away, returned to his room but kept her spare key.

Next day, like always when don’t need to travel to do a performance, Harry wake up when he wanted, brushed his teeth and looking at himself in the mirror started to think about (Y/N) and decided to go back to her room.

He wasn’t sure if she was awake yet, was 10 something AM, so he knocked softly. With no answer he did it again… and worried decided to use the key…

She was with her AirPod, laid down on the floor, legs wide open up on the bed, rubbing her covered pussy with one hand and on the other hand watching Harry’s video a fan did of him obscenely flipping his tongue on the guitar…

Harry didn’t want to scare her but she’s couldn’t her him there! And honestly he was hard ASF!!! He decided to remove his clothes and already touching himself he walked to her bed and seat close to one of her legs, he did wile she briefly close her eyes, and when she opened…

“Ohh omg!” And removed Airpod looking at him, iPhone already on the floor and her eyes big in shock looking to Harry’s Big fat cock.

“Don’t need to say anything love, if you just let me finish here looking at you rubbing that pussy for me i will be very happy, and if you want he can pretend never happened… or…. You can get out of that floor and come here to this bed and let me taste that pussy just like you’re dreaming watching that video on repeat”

She was speechless and frozen. Harry smirked at her and that was enough to release her from the frozen state. (Y/N) started to move and stopped standing in front of him.

They connected eyes and he used one hand to hold her t-shirt up and the other hand to grab the elastic of her panties, she nodded and he started to slowly remove her panties…

“All of this mess for me darling?”

“…Y..yes!”

“May i ask you to remove your t-shirt and lay next to me?”

She nodded and did as he asked… slowly Harry moved to the top of her using his knees and hands to spread her legs saying: “Darling I don’t dare to go up there and kiss you like i want, because it’s dangerous… we can fall in love and ruin business! But if you don’t mind i will bury my head in your perfect soaked cunt… and after this anytime you or me need some relief we can count on each other secretly ok?”

“Ok Harry”

“Call me Daddy!” And with that he started to eat her like the hungriest man in the world, stroking his penis at the same time. (Y/N) came like never before and was fighting to close her legs involuntarily.

“Just another one sweetheart, one more of your sweet orgasm juice and i will let go” He said and immediately sucked her clit wile inserted his finger, she cried loud in despair and he was just so impressed by how tight her pussy was, he said “Girl, you can barely take my finger, if i try to put my cock on you I don’t know if will fit…”

(Y/N) moaned and squirted with that dirty talk, Harry drank all and released his orgasm in his hand and belly. “I don’t know if i can keep my mouth out of this pretty pussy anymore girl!”

He started to put his clothes on with the devilish smile saying “I’m getting out of here before someone sees me wile looking for me.. Angel, i will always have your room’s door keys now! This will be our secret!”

And he left…. Not knowing that the biggest secret (Y/N) carries… She’s 22 but she’s virgin…

And now all she can think about is how to tell him! And when…

[i-devour-words]

I’ve been lying to myself a lot lately, whispering that it’s alright, that nothing’s wrong. I tell myself that everything unfolds as it should, that God has His way, and fate dances to its own sweet tune.

But deep down, I don’t believe in fate. I never could. I’ve always believed in choices—harsh, difficult, impulsive, irrational. So when someone tells me to "let it be," I hate it. I want to punch them in the gut.

I chose to ruin my life, and I did. I chose to be unkind, and I was. Every torment I face is of my own making. I don’t stick to my decisions, and when I see where I’m wrong, I don’t fix it.

It’s me. I’m the problem. There’s no fate, no higher power guiding me. I let this happen, and eventually, it’ll bring me to my knees. And when it does, I’ll lie to myself again—blame it on luck, fate, the chaos of the world.

At least one of us is lying. Nothing is alright

But I know the truth. It’s you. It’s me. We’re the ones who do this to ourselves. We’re just experts at lying- and if not all of us

[she-whatshername]

LOLOL Ya’ll want a Fourth Wing Poly-Romance?

I’ve been wanting to write something way out of my normal writing pairings and I’ve gotten myself in a little bit of ‘Violet in a Xaden Riorson Harem with the Marked ones’ trouble. I just decided to go with what was on my brain and here’s a rough outline

Violet begrudgingly attends her sister Mira’s wedding, as she’s opposed to her sister being married for the sake of brokering peace with their kingdom’s enemy, the Empyrean Realm. However, by a cruel twist of fate, she finds herself now walking down the aisle to be wed to the most ruthless, powerful and dangerous man of the Empyrean, The Onyx Prince, Xaden Riorson. And no one in the kingdom is planning to stop it. Now she’s whisked away to the lands of of her enemy, spending her time honing her power and uncovering the truths and secrets of both kingdoms. The first lie she unfolds, she isn’t Xaden’s first marriage. She’s his fourth.

That’s right, folks. My brain has decided it wants a Xaden/Violet/Liam/Garrick/Imogen trope. I honestly do not know if this idea will EVER get out of my brain and into a fic but I did manage to pull some words together to introduce violet to her new extended family. I figured I’d share this chaos with you all. If this idea sounds worth exploring to you all, let me know. For now, enjoy a crumb of the chaos.

✨

Violet walked across the courtyard, a few feet behind Xaden towards the front entrance of the large fortress. Before they could enter, the door opened and two figures emerged.

“About time you got back, your grace.” A tall man with dark curly hair addressed Xaden with a snark and a smug smile on his face. He glanced over at Violet and raised a brow, “This her? She’s …well she’s quite different from what the correspondence said.”

Xaden doesn’t seemed phased by the insult, rather he strolled over to the man and bites back, “Yeah well plans changed. You can thank our asshole King Tairn for that. Now shut up and kiss me before this day can get any fucking worse.”

Violet’s breath hitched in her throat as the man, who was taller than Xaden, as unbelievable as that was, smirked at Xaden before he leaned in to give him a rough and heated kiss on the mouth.

Gods. What was happening? She knew the Empyrean were cruel and merciless, but watching your husband, even though Violet hated that she had to call him that, kiss another man front of you still had a sting of…something to it. Jealousy? No. Frustration? That was more like it. Was he doing this just to get a rise out of her?

“You too Imogen.” Xaden now turned his head and stared at the woman standing next to the tall man. She was shorter than Xaden with a muscled frame and pink hair.

Imogen simply scoffs at him and crosses her toned arms over her chest, “Absolutely not. You smell like Navarre.”

“Aww come here.” He cooed, “Don’t embarrass me in front of our new guest.”

Imogen protested, and actively fought him as he tried to pick her up and twirl her around in his arms. Eventually she stopped swearing and smacking at his shoulders and finally relented, allowing Xaden to place a quick kiss on her temple.

“Don’t I get to join in on the fun?”

Violet turned again, her eyes widening as the red dragon that Xaden flew in on was no longer standing on the courtyard, it was just a man. A tall, blonde haired, naked man. Just…smiling at her.

“Gross. Put some fucking clothes on, Liam.”

“What, jealous of something, Garrick?” Imogen teased.

Liam’s smile grew wider while he walked over, clearly not phased or embarrassed that he was exposed. As he passed violet he gave her a slight bow of his head before he made his way towards the trio. He wrapped his arms around Garrick who was grumbling something to Imogen, speaking softly that Violet was barely able to pick up, “You have nothing to be jealous of, Garrick. You’re quite the stallion yourself.”

“Oh don’t goad his ego,” Xaden chastised, “C’mere.” He pulled Liam into his arms, giving him a long and slow kiss. It was much more tender, more sensual than his kiss with Garrick.

Violet’s head was spinning. As much as she tried to hide her confusion, shock, and even anger, it was still pretty readable on her face. So, much so Imogen was glaring at her with a smirk.

“Is there a problem, Violet?” Xaden asked with a lazy tone while breaking the kiss from the blonde man, “After your little outburst at the ceremony I didn’t peg you as someone to get flustered so easily.”

“This is…” She began, almost stuttering, “It’s just…un-uncommon for a wife to see her husband be so openly affectionate with the castle staff in front of her.”

“The fuck she call us?!” Imogen spat.

The golden flecks in Xaden’s eyes were almost twinkling when he spoke, his voice laced with a darkened joy, “I can’t kiss my husbands and wife in front of my new wife? Ah, I take it from the look on your face you didn’t know. The intel from your mother’s spies seem to be lacking. You may be my first marriage from Navarre but you’re not my first -

Not by a long shot.”

[sapphicseasapphire]

Sorry for the many questions I'm about to ask but its been driving me insane.

How exactly does the story of Hyrule Warriors work with your cryptid au? Does Wars have a personality during those events or do the events of Hyrule Warriors not happen at all?

Your au is great and l really want to know how Wind, Time, and maybe Ravio interact with Wars. I am considering writing a short story with them, and I want to stay as loyal to the au as possible.

Also I love your art.

Hello!! First of all I’m SO SORRY it’s taken me this long to get back to you!! Sincerely I apologize!! But this question made me do a lot of deep thinking and I wasn’t exactly sure how to answer. I’m gonna break this up into sections under the cut because it’s gonna get pretty long.

How does Hyrule Warriors fit into the au? Gonna be completely 100% honest here, I’m kind of sort of rewriting the whole story I think. There’s a lot that I’m still figuring out, but (in the briefest of terms as this is all subject to change) here’s what I’ve got so far: Cia is still enamored by the Spirit of the Hero, and Ganon still takes advantage of that desire and purges her of her light, corrupting her. She still opens the Gate of Souls(s) and launches an attack on Hyrule, opening portals across time. However, in this era, there is no hero. (There was no Ganon either, before she showed up, so Link was never born. There was still a Zelda, since Hyrule’s princesses are always named Zelda. But yeah, Link just doesn’t exist). Not until Cia’s attack, that is. When Hyrule is threatened, Zelda and Impa decided that they need a hero. And so, they make one. They physically pull the Hero’s Spirit from its resting place in the Sacred Realm and manually place it in a sword, thus creating Wars.

They don’t call him Link, as he’s not a person. In this era, he’s always been called the Hero of Warriors, as that is his purpose. He was created solely to fight. To win the war and save Hyrule.

After the war is won, he is placed deep within a temple and abandoned. After all, he’s a literal weapon. A weapon without a wielder is dangerous- anyone could take up his sword and be accepted as his new Master. The temple that he’s placed in is a typical Zelda Temple TM, like a dungeon, and it’s where he will wait until he is discovered by the Chain.

Does Wars have a personality in Hyrule Warriors? Short answer: no. He is a freshly created sword spirit and bound entirely to his Master. (Which, at this point, is his Zelda). With the War of Eras still ongoing, his purpose hasn’t yet been fulfilled. At this point, he is very very similar to how Fi was in Skyward Sword: mostly residing in his sword and giving power ups to his Master, only manifesting outside of the blade when called upon. He doesn’t speak unless spoken to. He shows absolutely no emotion. Ever.

… which leads me to the bad news. How do the others (Time, Wind, Ravio) interact with Wars? Generally speaking, they don’t. Like. Not even a little bit. With Wars constantly in his sword, he’s pretty inaccessible. Plus, they don’t really have any reason to. Any of Wars’ advice is heard only by Zelda, who relays the information to the group, they don’t think to ask where these strategies are coming from. And they really don’t think much of the sword at Zelda’s back.

That’s not to say that nothing is happening between the Links, though!! I’ve been having a field day thinking of little Time, a godling, fresh out of Termina and trying to comprehend the weight of his fate while also being a kid and now fighting in yet another war he never asked to be a part of. He’d appear to the others as Child Link (and go by Mask), using his god powers to change his appearance. He doesn’t have to be Child Link, but with how new his powers are?? He’s scared to be anything else.

And WIND!!! Wind and Ravio interactions!!! I have been thinking about this for WEEKS, ever since you sent this ask. Wind, the chaos gremlin of an Aquili. And Ravio, the violence hating Mer whose whole family and everyone he knew was killed by the corrupted Aquili in his own world. Ravio witnessed his whole pod being murdered, he narrowly escaped. He was a child, alone and afraid. If Legend carries bias against Aquili, imagine the scope of Ravio’s trauma. I wouldn’t be surprised if he avoided Wind at any cost.

(I will be making a lot of Ravio content in the future. He’s just. He’s my little guy).

I’m having a very fun time thinking about these interactions, even if it’s a bummer that Wars isn’t a part of it. (Remember! The only one who knows what Wars is is Sky. Wind and Time never had the chance to meet him. Although, after they discover that he’s a Sword Spirit, I bet a lot of things suddenly make a lot of sense haha!)

ANYWAY. This is one of the less organized lore posts I’ve made but I wanted to get this answered. Like I said, I’m still workshopping this, but I hope this helps? You’re welcome to make a story (as long as you tag me)! I’m sorry if this was a bit of a let down, but even if Wars’ role isn’t very big, I already have so many ideas about the others! I hope this gives you ideas as well

[am0ralexis]

Your Car is a Cockblock (fluff/smut) 🩷❤️‍🔥

Neither of you lived alone. Both still stuck at home, barely legal, barely surviving college, trying to squeeze intimacy into parking lots and ten-minute windows between classes. His house was always loud. Yours was always louder. So when Alex got his first real car—used, but shiny, with working speakers and seats that didn’t smell like regret—it was like fate handed you a portable sex dungeon.

Except it was winter.

And yes, it was LA winter. But 50 degrees at night with no insulation and fogged-up windows felt like the Arctic if your ass was bare against cold leather.

Which is how you ended up half-undressed in the backseat of Alex’s new car, straddling him, breath fogging up the windows, your shirt still on but bra shoved up, jeans tangled somewhere around your ankles, while he tried to desperately get inside you without freezing to death or tripping the car alarm.

“Wait—fuck—okay, wait,” Alex muttered, squirming under you. “We need the heat on. I can’t feel my balls.”

“Then turn the car on!” you whined, teeth chattering. “We’re already going to hell. We might as well be warm.”

He groaned and reached forward, still inside you, to press the start button.

DING!

You both froze.

DING DING DING DING—

“OH MY GOD.” you shouted, bracing yourself on the headrest. “Why is it screaming?!”

“The seatbelt sensor!” he cried, flailing under you. “It thinks no one’s buckled!”

“We aren’t!”

“Yeah but it’s like—it thinks we’re driving! It’s a safety thing, I don’t know! Fuck!”

You collapsed onto his chest, laughing uncontrollably. “This is the opposite of hot.”

“It’s so not hot. My dick is literally retreating.”

You sat back up, still half-naked, breathless. “Okay, okay. We can fix this. What if we just… buckle the seatbelts behind our backs?”

“Like a fake-out?”

“Exactly.”

He groaned again. “Fine. Worth it. I’ll do anything if it shuts the fuck up.”

You scrambled awkwardly to pull the seatbelt across your side, clicking it in behind your back. Alex did the same, squinting at the dash.

The dings stopped.

“Oh my God,” he breathed. “We’re geniuses.”

“You were about to cry.”

“Shut up and ride me.”

You did.

The heat finally kicked in—weak, but enough—and the windows fogged again as you rocked against him. His hands slid under your sweatshirt, desperate to feel your skin, his mouth hot and sloppy on your neck as he muttered, “Fucking finally,” over and over.

It wasn’t graceful. It was loud, rushed, seatbelt-buckled chaos. You hit your head on the ceiling once. He accidentally honked the horn. But when you came, biting your lip so hard not to moan that you left marks, he was right behind you—trembling, gasping, head tilted back like you just saved his life.

And then—

DING! DING! DING!

“Fuck!” you both yelled at the same time.

Alex slapped the dashboard. “I hate this car.”

You laughed into his hoodie. “Your car’s a narc.”

“Your pussy’s too powerful,” he muttered.

You kissed his cheek.

“I’ll wear the seatbelt next time.”

“Yeah,” he panted, “while I fuck you.”

[anniflamma]

so…I spent like hours thinking hard on this and I can’t believe I came up with this..mind you this is my own Crackhead theory so don’t take anything I say seriously but it goes.

me and my aunt were eating dinner and talking about mythology and I told her about a really Christian man coming up to me and saying “because you don’t believe in god and Jesus you will go to hell” and my Pegan but said “cool ima go pet a three headed dog” and then my aunt told me “well Christianity doesn’t really makes sense to me because where the hell did it come from because the first prominent religions were ones such as Greece and Roman beliefs”

and that got me thinking, so I decided to do some thinking.

and I got some connections so Chaos is like the lord right? The very first and most powerful, and he created the primordials, that created the titans and so on, and then Zeus came along and screwed everything up right? Then a few hundred years later Persephone or what mortals at the time called her Core, and after our lovely goddess of spring starting taking care of all of the mistakes, such as taking care of the rejected children of Zeus and others, so I was like who the hell is her dad because she has the power of nature from Demeter but where did she get her chaotic power from? Her father can’t be Zeus because she doesn’t have any power of the sky, and it can’t be Posiden because she has no power of any body of water..

then I remembered Demeter prayed and begged for a daughter..and the fates are directly tied to Chaos so Chaos gave Persephone to Demeter..CHAOS IS PERSEPHONE DAD!! It makes sense to me when I think about it really hard..

and I also realized because the oldest version of Persephone was so feared..but because of *cough* Christian writers a lot of those stories changed because of that. Sadly I don’t think a lot of people know that.

I DO NOT HATE THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION BUT YA’LL BE CONFUSING AS HELL, and also please understand THAT NOT ALL WITCHCRAFT IS BAD I SWEAR I HEAR THAT ALL THE TIME.

okay enough of my rant I hope that shines Al title light in my head.

That is an interesting take and connection! To be honest, syncretism and the evolution of religions and cultures are my biggest hyperfixations. Well, I grew up Christian and now hyperfixate on the Bible with a more historical and cultural perspective. So I'm not really as confused when it comes to the Christian religion. If you have any questions, just ask, and I will try my best to answer them!

The thing with European religion is that almost all of them stem from Proto-Indo-European mythology. And that includes the Abrahamic faith (which makes many people feel very uneasy). This is why the planet Venus is almost always female and the sun is male, and so on and so forth! Many people don't know that the Hebrew Bible starts off as henotheistic (believing that many gods exist but worshipping only one of them, while it is acceptable if other people worship other gods). Then it rapidly becomes monolatristic (acknowledging that many gods may exist but only worshipping one of them, and it is not acceptable if other people worship other gods) and then ends with being purely monotheistic. Of course, the Bible has been edited and changed to make it fit more with the monotheistic view, such as removing acknowledgments of the existence of other Canaanite gods. And removing the goddess Asherah, God/Yahweh's wife, and replacing her name with "the grove" or just the Holy Spirit. And the Christian faith did get syncretized with Roman/Greek pagan faith. There is no hell in the Bible, but there is an underworld! It's called Sheol, the "land of gloom and deep darkness." But there is no deep dive on what Sheol really is or how it was in the bible. It was just the underworld where all the dead people went. However, Sheol pretty much got paired up with Hades in the New Testament because both of them were the name of the underworld, so it just made sense, right? But the Greeks also had Tartarus, which is the place in Hades where you get tortured for eternity. And that is where the Christian hell pretty much stems from, it's just Tartarus but with Satan....

This is just a rough generalization, and the whole thing is more complex than what I have brought up here!

I don't think, though, that it was the Christians who changed Persephone. Kore (Persephone) was already really old before Christianity became even a thing. It's a really young religion compared to the Greek gods. 😅

But the concept of Christian saints was created in a way so it would be easier to convert pagans. Instead of removing the traditions, ceremonies, and celebrations, the god they worshipped was switched with a saint that could fit the description of that said deity. So Saint Sebastian is pretty much just the Christian version of Apollo. A twink God of archery, sports, healing, plagues, and gayness was replaced with the twink saint of archery, sports, healing, plagues, and accidental gay awakening. A COINCIDENCE? I THINK NOT!! This is my crackhead theory!!!

And about witchcraft. Even the Bible thinks that not all witchcraft is bad. What I understand is there is good magic and bad magic. Necromancy is one of the bad ones. King Saul performed necromancy and brought Samuel's soul back, and that pissed Samuel off so much that he cursed Saul's whole family. But then we have good magic, like I dunno Jacob makes some weird unclear stuff with his sheep, and they become really healthy. I think the only thing Jesus said about witchcraft was like: "yeah, you can use your magic for good, and that is a good thing, but you don't need it if you already believe in my Father"!

There is a whole weird rabbit hole on Christian syncretization with the Greek gods....

Then we have the ancient history of where exactly God/Yahweh comes from. There is this popular theory that scholars think Yahweh most likely comes from the ancient Mesopotamian pantheon. And around the economic collapse during the Bronze Age, the worship of then Yahweh became isolated, which created the ancient Hebrews. Essentially, it started with an ancient warrior-storm god that became a god of the whole world. And I'm not even going to start with Gnosticism! What is like Christian Polytheism but with steroids!

I'm gonna stop here! Sorry I kinda derailed!

[poisonpercy]

Watching episode 1, here are my thoughts

Baby Percy is adorable. They did amazing casting for younger Percy because how are you going to tell me that’s not Walker Scobell

Percy is low key a good artist. His drawings of the monsters he’s seeing are way better than I expected

Grover and Percy, my cuties 🥹🥹

Percy looking at the Perseus statue has me bawling my eyes out

That quote about how everyone who looks like a hero isn’t a hero and how everyone who looks like a monster isn’t a monster is very good. That very much is the core of pjo

Nancy Bobofit is perfect lmao

I don’t like Chiron giving Percy Riptide when he did. I like how it’s done in the books better

Percy and Grover switching items of their sandwiches is so cute. Besties

The fountain scene is funny ngl. It looked so fake 💀

The Mrs. Dodds fight scene was lame

“Is he dead?” Lol

Chiron and Grover and their gaslight gatekeep girlboss moment. Poor Percy

Grover how dare you betray Percy in the principal’s office 😭😭 I would never forgive him for that if I was Percy

“At least I know you think you didn’t.” I’M GOING TO BITE CHIRON’S HEAD OFF

No Greyhound bus scene? No Percy seeing the fates cut the string? No Grover saying that it’s always 6th grade? Those scenes shouldn’t have been cut wtf

Eddie is nice??

Why is Gabe funny? He’s supposed to be an asshole, he’s not supposed to be funny

Sally listening to Olivia Rodrigo while sitting in the rain is stupid. THEY CUT THE WHOLE GREYHOUND BUS SCENE BUT ADD THIS??? MAKE IT MAKE SENSE

Blue jellybeans 🥺🥺

Why are Sally and Gabe low key friends?? How is his murder via Medusa’s head justified with this behavior? Gabe better get worse

The show is too dark. I have my laptop at full brightness and it’s still hard to see

Why is Sally telling Percy about his dad being a god while at Montauk? I like how it happens in the book better

“You feel in love with God? Like Jesus?” Lol

No because why is Percy being told everything before even leaving Montauk? He should be in the dark and have his life flipped upside while he’s grieving Sally at camp

“Why are you telling me this?” <- I would also like the answer to that question

“Grover, why is there half a goat in your pants?” Idk but something about how that line is phrased is hilarious

The car scene is literally so dark. I can’t see anything that is happening

“I’m actually 24.” Grover, now is not the time to explain the weird aging of satyrs

Why is Sally putting so much pressure on Grover. That’s not Sally 🤨 I like Sally’s actress but I don’t think the people in the writer’s room get her character

This pacing is wack. Literally why is everything moving so fast??

I don’t like that Percy has Riptide during the fight with the Minotaur. Actually, I don’t like the fight scene at all. It’s so boring and I can hardly see what’s happening

Overall, it’s cute. I don’t love it, but I don’t hate it. I’m going to be honest, I don’t care about the characters or story so far because I feel like I’m being told I should care, but not shown why I should care. The pacing is horrible so far. Everything is moving too fast. The show also suffers from having horrible lighting. It’s hard to care about what’s happening when you can’t see what’s happening on the screen. It’s all very boring right now. Where’s the chaos that kept me hooked the first time?? Actors are great, I’ll give them that. But the show is so far not doing it for me