#The Flight of the Aphrodite | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

threeacttragedy · 2 months ago

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Entry 16: The One About That Time I Shot an Arrow into the Air

“…It fell to earth, I knew not where; for so swiftly it flew, the sight; could not follow it in its flight.”

Archery has always been one of my fortes in life. I have absolutely no idea why, but I’m strangely quite good at it. My father, of course, attributes it to my ancestors; something passed down to me in my genes. So, I’m not sure that any arrow I shot into the air wouldn’t naturally find itself in the direction of its intended target. Today, that target would almost certainly be in the jugular of a Cerberus-like creature. Ah, yes, that mythical hellhound with three heads that guards the entrance to the Underworld. Not only does it dictate who can enter the realm of Hades, but also who can leave. And I’m not fond of creatures that would rather devour you alive than let you leave of your own freewill. Plus, could you imagine having three heads with three different personalities? Ugh, that would get confusing quickly. And, even worse, could you imagine all the in-fighting? I mean, an arrow to the throat – if it didn’t dismantle the beast – would almost certainly silence it. Luckily, we don’t have any three-headed dogs in this fandom…

Where am I going with this? Well – besides down a long and winding path that draws attention to the fact I enjoy poetry and archery – actually, I chose today’s poem for a specific purpose. If you haven’t figured it out from my previous cracks about the Kraken, I also like Greek mythology. In fact, learning about Greek mythology at around the age of 11 – yes, that defiant age where we’re no longer interested in Barbie (not that I was ever interested in Barbie) but we’re also not cool enough to be considered teenagers – was the first time I remember finding myself “thinking outside of the box.” And by that, I mean asking the question that I probably should not have said out loud: “If Zeus is a myth, does that mean God is fake, too?” That went down like a lead balloon (and, I hope, no one takes offense to reading that now; it is not meant with any disrespect). My mother was, of course, telephoned by the school and, when I returned home, she greeted me with (something along the lines of) a simple: “Did they answer your question? No? Then I suggest you find it for yourself.”

We all have our own truth, don’t we? Even in this fandom, we are each tasked with choosing our own path. Weeding out facts from speculation and speculation from rumor. Choosing what we want to believe over what is being pushed on us. Overcoming our willingness to follow blindly versus our refusal to be backed into corner. I suppose that’s why I’ve always liked Greek mythology (and, perhaps, storytelling in general) – because it helps us navigate life’s challenges by better understanding human nature. It’s also one of the reasons why my favorite story has always been the trials and tribulations of Eros and Psyche.

Ah-ha! See, I told you I had a purpose for bringing up those damn arrows!

Yes, Eros was the Greek equivalent of the Roman Cupid; that weird little dude who fired love arrows like a bouquet of flowers at a wedding. But Eros wasn’t some creepy little cherub in a cloth diaper; he was the devastatingly handsome God of Love. And he fell in love with the equally beautiful human Psyche. That part about her being human, however,managed to get Psyche some major side-eye from Eros’s mother, Aphrodite. In retaliation for humans worshiping Psyche’s beauty over her own, Aphrodite sent Eros down to earth to pierce Psyche with one of his love arrows so she would fall madly in love with a hideous monster (unfortunately for the Cerberus, it wasn’t them). But Eros defied his mother and, unbeknownst to Aphrodite, kept Psyche for himself hidden away in a castle. There, Psyche lived – mostly happily – with Eros visiting her every night. Eros promised Psyche she could live there indefinitely so long as she never looked upon his face (hence why he only visited her in darkness). But humans have this uncanny knack for being curious and, of course, Psyche peeked. Well, fuck! Haha, I won’t ruin the rest of the story for you except to say, yes, Eros was royally peeved at Psyche’s betrayal, fled their home, and sought refuge with his bitchy mother (because, of course, he did). Devastated, Psyche went clambering up to her pseudo-mother-in-law’s shrine to beg for forgiveness and Aphrodite, being a bit of a bitchy goddess, gave Psyche a series of impossible tasks to complete to prove her worthiness. Amazingly Psyche did in fact complete each of these four tasks but only because she managed to get a little help from some fantastical friends. Well, except for that final task for which Psyche was warned – don’t look in the fucking box. Damn humans.

Like all stories passed down from generation to generation, there are multiple versions of this myth, particularly when it comes to who helped Psyche complete her four tasks. Sometimes it’s one god(dess), other times it’s multiple; sometimes it’s earth’s creatures (the ants, the plants, and the flying things). But my favorite version is the one where Eros was the one pulling those invisible strings – or, at the very least, keeping an eye on Psyche from the shadows – because no matter how angry he was with her, Eros still loved Psyche and wanted to protect her.

Why do I bring this story up? Well, for starters, if you didn’t notice (because you were too focused on carriages and mirrors), Bridgerton Season 3 made quite a few parallels between Colin and Penelope and Eros and Psyche, even referring to the latter by name at the end of the fourth episode. The show also brushed on the importance of trust, the consequences of betrayal, and the idea that love can conquer all. Funny thing is I never thought Colin to be much of an Eros; he made a better Psyche, in my opinion. I mean, he was the one to peek into Penelope’s secret life!

But Colin’s real-life counterpart, Luke, makes a rather entertaining Eros.

On December 16, when Luke reposted to his Instagram stories a link to Nicola’s “Part 1” of her 2024 Year, the fandom went wild. And I’m not talking about just the Lukolas going insane with excitement; the Jakolas were having a field day, too – but not in a good way. The unease they’d almost certainly felt with those coordinated airplane and “Polin” posts from October returned with a vengeance when Luke resurfaced in support of Nicola – the woman for whom he consistently comes out hiding. I realized then that the one person who could simultaneously make the Lukolas’ hearts flutter and the Adjacents’ blood boil was Luke (i.e., our Eros could make Psyche rejoice while making Aphrodite lash out in anger).

If you really think about it, Luke has pulled us out of the black waters of the River Styx multiple times, making him the perfect Eros to our Psyche. Yes, our Psyche. The fandom is absolutely the Psyche of this story. After all, the fandom was the one who betrayed Luke with our collective reaction to Papsmear (but, in the fandom’s defense, that was a shitty fucking day). And, of course, that wench Aphrodite is collectively all the side story bullshit, from the Adjacent narratives to rag-mags sticking their ever-growing noses into places they don't belong.

As we finish out the year, I thought it would be fun to give Luke some credit where credit is due. In other words, I thought I’d highlight four times Luke “Eros-ed” (i.e., “rescued”) us from some mucky ass shit. This is not every moment Luke came out of hiding to do something wonderful; these are simply my top four moments where I believe Luke single-handedly resuscitated the fandom. You’re welcome to share your best Luke moments in the comments.

No. 1 - That Post-Papsmear Thing That Everyone Ignored:

Fuck, yes.

I am starting with the most overlooked event in the Lukola-verse – Luke’s post-Papsmear Cressida story. This is the taproot that keeps my faith in Lukola from falling over during a storm – Luke taking one for Team Lukola by promoting Season 3 using the scene from Ep. 6 where Cressida entered the Mondrich Ball and Colin pulled Penelope aside and told her he wouldn’t let Cressida ruin their evening. Yeah, yeah, Luke totally missed the target with that post but – again, in the fandom’s defense – everyone was still reeling from the sudden-but-not-so-sudden materialization of Antonia at the London premiere. In hindsight, though, you know you want to give him an “atta boy” for basically throwing shade at the Lutonia narrative while using a massive social media platform to do so. It was jaw-dropping, brilliant, and ballsy as fuck.

If you’re totally lost about how entertaining this Cressida story was, go read Entry 1 to be my blog. But, seriously, how have you not read it already?

No. 2 – Delivering the Cake:

Alright, fast forward three months (yes, three goddamn months!) to September 7 when Luke posted pictures from his stay at the Puente Romano resort.

No big deal, right?

Wrong!

It was a big fucking deal because, for starters, Antonia creeped in and posted random pictures of herself at roughly the same time Luke posted his resort pictures. And, of course, Luke had to like Antonia’s Instagram post. To make matters worse (gasp!) Luke’s had palm trees in his pictures which were oh, so reminiscent (but, not really) of palm trees posted by Antonia the previous day to her Instagram stories. Oh my God! And, then the real kicker? Luke’s slide deck included him eating a picture of himself from the London premiere sans Nicola! The horror! I mean, what probably started out as a cute post by Luke turned into a full-on Lukola heart attack within 30 minutes or less!

But then Luke pulled out a defibrillator and revived the fandom. Almost immediately.

After presumably hearing the cries from the Lukola fandom that he’d cut Nicola from the London premiere image, Luke demonstrated through his Instagram stories that (a) he was eating part of a cake (he was even darling enough to put the cake emoji with a smiley face), and (b) that the cake never had Nicola’s image on it to begin with (meaning, he didn’t remove her from it). Thank you for that clarification, Luke. Seriously, the fandom appreciated it.

After they recovered from their near-death experience, the Lukolas finally took the time to look at the images Luke posted. A not-so-random chaise lounge; a random white shirt; a restaurant called El Pimpi (which is a word used for the people who delivered messages to a ship’s crew and passengers); Luke throwing up the peace sign with his now infamous digits in – what appeared to be – the reflection of a glass table; and a reference to cake. It was Lukola- and/or Polin-coded shit. And, to make it just a smidge better, there was no visible reference to Antonia anywhere.

And, yes, I will cut in here to acknowledge that Antonia would, on October 25, include a lone picture of a balcony which was identical to the one Luke posted in his – what I like to call – “clarification stories” from September 7. Do I care about Antonia’s balcony? Not in the least. Could she have been at the resort? Sure. In fact, I’ve always found the idea of Antonia being present quite comical since Luke made it fairly obvious he omitted something (ahem, someone) from his Instagram post and instead filled it with random shit that seemed Lukola- and/or Polin-coded. Plus, if you want me to be perfectly honest, “insinuation” posts from Antonia stopped doing it for me months ago.

Back to what I saying… We must give Luke a round of applause for placating an entire fandom with something as simple as a cake emoji. Bravo, bravo!

No. 3 – Shutting Down the Mean Girls:

We closed out September with Antonia riling up the fandom by posting Instagram story after Instagram story, none of which were worth a second glance from a Lukola except for the “phone screen” one (see “Entry 7: The One Where the Queen Asked, ‘Did That Go the Way You Thought It Was Gonna Go?’” for reference). Oh, wait, there is another story – just for my own amusement – on October 1, Antonia reshared a story where she was labeled “Aphroditi.” Rather convenient for my story today, isn't it? Any ways, the Lukolas were a bit high-strung by October 2 when Nicola announced via Instagram that she had been named as part of the Time 100. Luke liked the post – but apparently to the haters on X he didn’t do it motherfucking fast enough. These weird-ass people do actually exist – the ones that genuinely believe Instagram likes (and the speed thereof) equate to true love.

Any ways, Luke apparently decided he was having none of that bullshit and stepped in on October 3 with his Polin-themed “Mean Girls” story. It was a throwback to a conversation he and Nicola had had in, I believe, 2022 on, haha, X.

“On October 3rd, he asked me what day it was.”

“It’s October 3rd.”

Luke captioned the story, “Xx.”

Not only did the fandom rejoice that Luke had returned to post something after nearly a month away, but the post included a throwback to Nicola, and it came on the heels of Halley Brisker’s now legendary “Nicola lately” post. Yeah, the one with Luke in the background (seriously, convince me it was someone else). Luke’s story also seemed to be one hell of a clapback to a rabid pack animal on X who faulted Luke for not leaving a comment on Nicola’s Time 100 post.

“Xx.”

No. 4 – The Littlest Things:

I debated over choosing Luke’s People magazine interview for the fourth moment, but that interview – although it made the fandom incredibly happy – didn’t pull our heads out of our own asses. So, I decided instead to go with the little things Luke has done over the past few months, namely, joining in on the Like Wars but in his own oh, so subtle way.

Let’s start with Antonia’s September 21 post of – honestly, who the hell cares? She posted and we knew Luke’s obligatory like was coming. It just took 10 ½ hours for Luke to get to it and it was only given after Nicola posted to her Instagram stories pictures from a concert she had attended. Was the fandom a bit deflated Luke liked Antonia’s post? Of course! But it was also fun to see the like come hours after Luke had already been online and on the heels of Nicola popping up online.

On October 11, we had a similar event happen. Antonia posted to her grid and Luke seemingly ignored it for roughly five hours. But, while Luke was ignoring her post, Antonia was going hard at it with Instagram stories and TikTok videos (Nicola, for her part, seemed to be playing her own game on social media during this time). Luke finally liked Antonia’s post and Antonia went silent thereafter. Then, on October 12, Luke officially made it back from his October 4 “Brb” moment and posted “Somewhere in Mayfair” to his Instagram stories. Let the fandom rejoice!

But I’m not stopping there. Let’s not forget about Luke and Nicola’s coordinated “Polin” pictures on October 21 or that, while Antonia was “rolling pasta” on November 17, Luke made it a point to go back and like Nicola’s Dr. Who post from November 15. On December 6, when Luke coughed up a like to Antonia’s grid post, he also handed a like out to Nicola at the same time (and a few others). Do you see a pattern starting to form?

Honestly, I believe Luke is owed a standing ovation for the way he has taken control of his own narrative and managed to deflect from the so-called “importance” of these bullshit Instagram likes. Although Nicola has historically attempted to distract the fandom from Antonia, in my opinion, it was always Luke’s responsibility to diminish the importance of Antonia’s role in his story. And, for the past several months, he has been doing just that – in the quietest way possible.

I’ve decided Luke is a bit like a shadow. Inconspicuous – sometimes even completely invisible – but when the light hits just right, it’s impossible to ignore his immense presence.

When Luke posts, or when he coyly plays around with the Instagram likes – even when he likes Nicola’s posts – it somehow resonates differently with the fandom. Nicola could post her year-end stuff and the fandom would be, like, “Oh, that’s cool.” But, when Luke reshares her post to his stories? “Holy fuck, that’s awesome!” It's a "different energy on set." Somewhere in the middle of all the bullshit that goes on within the fandom, Luke found his own truth. The “Bad Guy” who was “on a break” during Hot Boy Summer somehow became our hero; the shadowy figure that pulls us out of the water and sets our heads back on straight. Over and over again. It's been so subtle, we've barely even noticed.

I’m going to end this entry with the Longfellow poem I quoted at the beginning, mainly because I like it, but also because it’s about something that cannot be easily seen once released into the world but, if found, can have an everlasting effect on us.

“I shot an arrow into the air; it fell to earth, I knew not where; for so swiftly it flew, the sight; could not follow it in its flight;

“I breathed a song into the air; it fell to earth, I knew not where; for who has sight so keen and strong; that it can follow the flight of song?

“Long, long afterward, in an oak; I found the arrow, still unbroke; and the song, from beginning to end; I found again in the heart of a friend.”

P.S. In the story, Psyche is rescued by Eros (hurray!) and is made the Goddess of the Soul.

#lukola #luke newton #nicola coughlan #my thoughts #my opinion #speculation only

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star-girl69 · 1 year ago

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i think aphrodite kid reader x clarisse is simply just better??? like the trope is just superior??? like, we have clarisse who is tough, and mean and one of the strongest people at camp, then we have reader who is kind and compassionate and really doesn’t care all that much about fighting. so naturally, clarisse is super protective and treats reader like a princess?? how could people dislike it 😔😔

no exactly and i actually must write about this - basically this is just all about the little things clarisse does for her perfect princess angel daughter of aphrodite gf (me!!!!!!)

okay as payment for my absence please accept some shitty headcanons I LOVE YOU ALL BYEEEE

she’s just always DOING THINGS FOR YOU

she’s so perceptive and she always knows exactly what you want and need even if you don’t know it yourself

like if you like wearing high heels one) clarisse genuinely wonders what is wrong w you

she sees no practicality in them bc there isn’t lol

but also she’s like omg???? MY GF feels safe enough around me to wear shoes she can’t run in???? WHAT JOY!!!!!!!!!

and you’ll come back to your cabin being all ugh omg my feet hurt so bad laying on the bed and putting your feet UP

and clarisse is like “well i could have told you that”

excuse me????

“don’t get me wrong baby you look gorgeous and i love you wearing heels but it’s your funeral”

“DIE”

she just laughs and takes your shoes off

she’ll continue to bully you as she’s literally massaging your feet like ok girl yeah we see you

clarisse is also a MENACE about making sure you eat

“did you eat today?”

“babe you SAW me at lunch”

“just making sure….”

you’re just so kind and amazing and clarisse loves you so much but you are not the best at fighting!

she is constantly stressed when you’re not by her side

bc no one loves you like her who will protect you 💔💔💔💔

when someone takes advantage of you she gets so PISSED OFF

bc it’s not like someone is beating you up it’ll be like someone is using you as their personal therapist or smth and you’re just like “pls go speak to an actual professional wtf 😭😭😭”

and she’s so pissed off bc WHY IS THIS BITCH PSYCHOLOGICALLY AND EMOTIONALLY TORTURING HER GIRL??????

she’s not afraid to beat people up for you and actually enjoys it!

anyways, clarisse is also a koala bear

and an emotionally stunted caveman

she’s not good with her words so these actions are all she has to show you that she loves you

idk if y’all have noticed but clar rarely saying ily to y/n bc it’s my personal headcanon that she has such a hard time saying those words. she shows you she loves you but for some reason it’s just so hard to get the words out. (…BC SHE IS AN EMOTIONALLY STUNTED CAVEMAN)

so she quickly adapts to do all these little things

if you’re walking down a flight of stairs trust she is holding your hand

QUEEN of opening jars for you

if you’re not feeling well or you’re tired or just feeling lazy she’ll bully someone into doing your chores for you

also this bitch is NOT afraid to stand up for you and make sure you get what you deserve.

like that one meme

“UM… she said NO PICKLES… you fucking dumbasses…”

“CLARISSE 😭😭😭”

also like in “better than revenge” she loves to watch you do your makeup

finds it so fascinating that you can only get PRETTIER

like she’s okay at makeup but you can do that shit perfectly like standing on your head

you make it seem so effortless

she’s not a HUGE makeup girly but sometimes she’ll let you just go crazy

so you can sit on top of her��.. that one sapphic meme yes…..

also she’s constantly bragging about you

“yeah… i have the prettiest gf in camp… y’all are just losers what can i say”

ofc if anyone were to agree w her she would go insane

“yeah y/n is so pretty”

“um ok yeah you don’t have to say it i say it enough….”

even if one of your siblings gives you a compliment she’s like HOLD THE FUCK ON- then she remembers THATS YOUR SIBLING ITS OK and she’s like oh this is so embarrassing.

will she stop? no ofc not

she’s constantly telling you how pretty you are. beautiful. gorgeous. exquisite. all the words

loves kissing you all over

KISSES YOUR HAND 🤭🤭

anyways going back to the clarisse koala bear agenda that got away from me

she’s just always touching you

hand on the small of your hand guiding you somewhere

hand around your waist

SITTING IN HER LAP AT CAMPFIRES

no matter what type of hair you have she’s obsessed w it. if you have pin straight hair she’s so obsessed w the fact that you don’t need a huge curl routine like her, finds it fascinating

if you do have curls she loves doing a curl routine together

whatever whatever type of hair you have she’s obsessed with it and will wash it for you if you want

so soft and lovingly like a more of a scalp massage than a hair washing

will brush your hair for you, braid it for you, anything you like just OBSESSED

she loves when you like sit on top of a picnic table and then she gets to sit in between your legs on the bench thinks it’s so so fun and so so silly

she LOVESSSSS sleeping w you OBVI.

on top of you, you on top of her, she’s a koala bear. like entirely wrapped around you

partially bc she is as aforementioned a koala bear and partly bc she is overprotective even in her sleep

if you move in the middle of the night even just a little bit

she’s a super light sleeper i feel like

always on the guard fr ✊

a little bit better when you’re there tho

so if you move in the middle of the night she’ll just like caress your hair and kiss your cheek and try to shush you back to sleep

like bitch you’re still asleep have you never heard of ADJUSTING? MOVING? SHIFTING?

hope you’re not one of those people who has to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night bc with clarisse that will stop

you can’t abandon her even for 2 minutes even for basic bodily functions like you just can’t it’s so inconsiderate to her… 💔

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish @rebecca37 @saltair-and-palemoonlight @ace-spades-1

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo tv show #pjo x reader

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enhasntty · 17 days ago

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Cupids Clumsy Love Mission (Send help!) - PSH

pairing: Park Sunghoon x F!reader summary: You’re the worst Cupid ever, and your final mission is to make Park Sunghoon fall in love before Valentines Day. Instead? You accidentally shoot his best friends. Can you fix this disaster? Or will you fail at love—again? genre: Romance wc: 5.3k

I rushed this cuz I just wanted to post something for Valentines Day

Being a Cupid isn’t all pink hearts and romance. It’s stressful, and if you mess up even a little, you get yelled at by your very terrifying boss.

And you? Well, you mess up a lot.

Right now, you’re standing in Arch-Cupid Aphrodite’s grand, sparkling office, feeling like you’re about to be fired. Again.

Aphrodite—who is currently rubbing her temples like you personally gave her a migraine—lets out the longest, most dramatic sigh you’ve ever heard. “Y/N. My dear, hopelessly clumsy Cupid. Do you have any idea why you’re here?”

You do. But you also don’t feel like answering because the last time you did, you got lectured for an hour.

So, you try to look adorably innocent. “Because… I’m one of your most promising Cupids?”

Aphrodite stares at you. Jungwon, your immediate supervisor (who is standing in the corner looking so done), actually snorts.

“You,” Aphrodite says, her voice sweet like poison, “are the biggest walking disaster this realm has ever seen.”

“That’s a little dramatic.”

Jungwon clears his throat. “You accidentally made a grandmother fall in love with her neighbor’s parrot last week.”

You wince. “Okay, but to be fair—”

“And let’s not forget,” Aphrodite continues, eyes burning into you, “that you once hit two people with a single arrow. Do you remember what happened then?”

You do.

That time, you accidentally struck two mortal enemies. It was beautiful for about ten minutes—until they realized what had happened and ended up confessing their hatred for each other instead.

In short: Chaos.

Aphrodite pinches the bridge of her nose. “You are officially on thin ice. One more mistake, and I will demote you.”

Your heart plummets. “Demote me to what?”

Jungwon coughs. “A Lonely Heart Fairy.”

You gasp. “That’s cruel!”

Lonely Heart Fairies don’t even get to shoot arrows. They just float around, handing tissues to heartbroken people and whispering, It’s okay, you’ll find someone someday.

That is not how you imagined your Cupid career going.

Aphrodite, looking smug at your terror, leans forward. “So, this is your final chance. One mission. One human. If you succeed, I might forgive your past mistakes.”

You straighten up, determined. “I won’t let you down.”

Aphrodite smirks. “Oh, I highly doubt that. But let’s see you try.”

Then, with a flick of her wrist, she sends the official Cupid Mission file straight into your hands. You eagerly open it and read the name inside.

TARGET: PARK SUNGHOON

MISSION: MAKE HIM FALL IN LOVE BEFORE FEBRUARY 14TH

You blink.

Jungwon whistles. “Oof. Him?”

You frown. “What’s wrong with him?”

Aphrodite leans back in her chair. “Park Sunghoon is not an easy target. The guy doesn’t believe in love. He calls it a ‘scam.’”

You gape at her. “Then why is he my mission?”

“Because,” Aphrodite says, smirking, “if you can make him fall in love, it’ll prove that even you aren’t completely hopeless.”

Well. That’s rude.

But fine. Challenge accepted.

You clutch the file to your chest and swear to yourself—you will make Park Sunghoon fall in love. You will not mess up.

Spoiler alert: You absolutely mess up.

Mortal Realm – Target Locked

You arrive on Earth with the grace of a majestic, ethereal being.

Just kidding.

You trip mid-flight, nearly faceplant into a tree, and barely manage to regain your balance before anyone notices.

Shaking off the near disaster, you hover above a cozy little café where your target—Park Sunghoon is currently sitting with his best friends, Jake and Jay.

You spot him immediately.

Jet-black hair. Sharp features. Dressed in a simple but effortlessly cool outfit. He’s casually stirring his coffee, looking like he was sculpted by the gods themselves—except for the fact that his face is twisted into a deep scowl.

Yeah. That’s definitely a guy who doesn’t believe in love.

You pull out your bow and nock a glowing pink arrow.

“Alright,” you whisper to yourself. “One shot. One target. You got this.”

Sunghoon leans back in his chair, sighing as he mutters, “Valentine’s Day is just a corporate scam to sell chocolate and flowers.”

Jay rolls his eyes. “Here we go again.”

Jake, ever the golden retriever of the group, gasps dramatically. “You don’t believe in love?”

Sunghoon scoffs. “No. It’s fake.”

You gasp. Blasphemy.

This man needs to be humbled. And you’re just the Cupid to do it.

With renewed determination, you take aim, steady your grip, and release—

And then your foot catches on a rogue cloud.

You yelp as you lose balance mid-air. Your arrow, which was perfectly aimed for Sunghoon’s heart, goes completely off course—

—And smacks straight into Jake’s back.

You have made many mistakes in your Cupid career.

Once, you accidentally shot an arrow into a wedding bouquet, causing the bride to fall in love with the cake. Another time, you somehow managed to hit a guy who was already in love, making him propose on the spot—except it wasn’t to his girlfriend, but to a random waitress.

But this? This is a new low.

Because right now, you’re watching Jake Sim—the human embodiment of a golden retriever—practically glow with love as he gazes at Jay like he just discovered the meaning of life.

And Jay?

Jay looks horrified.

“This is bad,” you mutter under your breath, hovering above the chaos.

Understatement of the year.

Jake’s Problem? He’s Now Head Over Heels for Jay.

Jake has always been affectionate. But now, thanks to your horrible aim, he’s dialed it up to a hundred.

Currently, he’s practically bouncing after Jay as they walk down the street.

“Jay,” Jake sighs dreamily. “You have the best fashion sense. Like, how do you always look so cool?”

Jay pulls his hoodie up, walking faster. “I don’t wanna talk about this.”

Jake, completely ignoring him, continues, “And your voice? It’s got that deep vibe, you know? I feel like you should be a narrator for a really romantic drama.”

Jay stops dead in his tracks.

He turns, expression unreadable. “Jake.”

Jake beams. “Yeah?”

Jay looks him dead in the eyes. “I will fight you.”

Jake’s smile widens. “You’d totally win.”

Jay lets out the deepest sigh of his life.

Sunghoon, standing to the side with his hands shoved in his pockets, just watches the whole exchange. He glances between his best friends, squinting like he’s trying to solve a math problem.

“Okay,” Sunghoon finally says. “What the hell is wrong with you two?”

Jay groans. “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.”

Jake grabs Jay’s hand dramatically. “Jay, don’t act like you don’t feel it too.”

Jay yanks his hand away so fast it nearly dislocates Jake’s arm. “I don’t feel it.”

Sunghoon sighs, looking utterly bored. “Is this your way of telling us you two are in love or something? Because I honestly couldn’t care less.”

Jay gags. “No!”

Jake blinks. “Wait, do you not like me back?”

Jay looks him straight in the eye. “I would rather be run over by a bus.”

Jake pouts. “Ouch.”

Sunghoon shrugs. “Well, that clears things up.”

Jake, still pouting, turns back to Jay. “But you could like me, right?”

Jay groans again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t like you, and I never will.”

You, watching from above, feel guilty at the sheer amount of distress on Jay’s face.

Jungwon, through the Cupid communication line, is screaming.

Jungwon: FIX IT. FIX IT RIGHT NOW.

Heeseung: I say we wait.

You? You’re panicking.

Because Cupid arrows are strong. They don’t just fade in an hour. If you don’t fix this, Jake is going to be hopelessly in love with Jay until next Valentine’s Day.

So you do what any desperate Cupid would do:

You grab another arrow, aim at Sunghoon, and fire.

And then—because you are you—Jay chooses that exact moment to move in front of him.

Jay. Gets. Hit.

You want to scream.

Because now, instead of one person suffering, both Jake and Jay are staring at each other like they’ve just discovered true love.

Jay, who only minutes ago looked like he wanted to punch Jake into another dimension, suddenly tilts his head.

“Wait,” Jay says slowly, eyes softening. “Jake, have your eyelashes always been that long?”

Jake gasps. “You noticed?!”

Jay suddenly looks deeply troubled. “Why do I care?”

Sunghoon, watching this disaster unfold, just stares.

Then, without missing a beat, he takes a sip of his coffee and says, “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You are dying.

Up in Cupid HQ, Jungwon has officially lost it.

Jungwon: I want you fired.

Ni-ki: Best day of my life.

Your Crisis? Sunghoon STILL Doesn’t Believe in Love.

You cannot believe this.

This guy is ridiculous.

You’ve literally shot two of his best friends with powerful love arrows, and his reaction? Mild annoyance.

Sunghoon, watching Jake and Jay now complimenting each other’s hairstyles, lets out the longest sigh.

“I’m going home,” he announces, walking away without a care in the world.

Jake and Jay don’t even notice.

You? You are on the verge of tears.

Jungwon is still screaming at you through the Cupid system.

Ni-ki? Laughing so hard he might pass out.

And you?

You have no idea how to fix this.

But one thing is for sure:

This mission is already a disaster.

Cupid Rule #1: Never shoot yourself with your own arrow.

Cupid Rule #2: Never shoot yourself with your own arrow.

Cupid Rule #3: If you do shoot yourself with your own arrow… just accept the fact that you’ve ruined everything.

And yet, here you are.

Floating above a coffee shop, clutching your chest like a dramatic K-drama lead, because your own stupid love arrow is now lodged in you.

Up in Cupid HQ, everyone is losing their minds.

Ni-ki: OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD.

Heeseung: I am so happy to be alive right now.

Jungwon: I need a new job.

You? You are screwed.

But before you can even process what just happened, let’s rewind a little—

Sunghoon, The Oblivious Skeptic, Finally Notices Something is Off

Sunghoon is not dumb.

He may not believe in love, but he knows his best friends. And right now? His best friends are acting insane.

For one, Jake—who normally spends half his time annoying Jay and the other half talking about his dog—is suddenly acting like a love-struck poet.

He’s sitting on the café couch with his notebook open, eyes shining as he reads out loud:

“Jay, your voice is like the deep bass in my favorite song—”

“Jake, stop.”

“Your eyes? Pools of mystery, endless depth—”

“STOP.”

Jay, who normally meets Jake’s antics with an eye roll and a punch to the arm, is now blushing.

BLUSHING.

Sunghoon stares. Hard.

“What,” Sunghoon finally says, “is wrong with you two?”

Jake grins like a lovesick idiot. “We just get each other, man.”

Sunghoon blinks. “No, you don’t.”

Jay clears his throat, trying—and failing—to hide his flustered expression. “It’s not a big deal.”

Jake scoots closer, looking way too happy. “Jay, do you believe in fate?”

Sunghoon gags. “Oh my god.”

Jay’s entire face heats up. “I—I don’t—”

Sunghoon immediately slaps his hands over his ears. “Nope. I refuse to listen to this.”

He stands up, pacing. “You two are messing with me. That’s the only explanation. You’re pranking me.”

Jay crosses his arms. “Do you really think I would put myself through this willingly?”

Jake gasps, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Jay, how could you?”

Sunghoon watches them for a long moment, before finally saying, “Okay. I don’t know what kind of experiment you guys are running, but I’m out.”

With that, he turns to leave.

Which means it is finally your chance to fix this.

Your Genius Plan (That Backfires Horribly)

You have been hiding behind a cloud this whole time, desperately trying to figure out how to salvage this mess.

Jake and Jay? Disasters.

Sunghoon? Still as emotionally unavailable as a locked safe.

Your mission? Still a failure.

But not for long.

Because this time, you’re prepared.

You grip your bow, pull back the string, and line up the perfect shot. Sunghoon is standing still, facing away from you. No distractions. No mistakes. You can do this.

You take a deep breath—

—And then, at the exact moment you release the arrow, Sunghoon suddenly turns his head.

Your eyes widen. Your stomach drops.

And before you can do anything—

The arrow hits you.

Cupid HQ: The Breakdown

The moment the arrow lodges itself into your chest, everything in Cupid HQ explodes.

Ni-ki screams so loudly, his audio cuts out.

And Jungwon?

Jungwon just silently places his head on his desk.

Ni-ki: Oh my God. You idiot.

Jungwon: I am filing my resignation.

And you?

Well.

You’re in trouble.

The Sudden, Horrifying Realization

The moment the arrow hits, your heart skips a beat.

And then it skips again when Sunghoon looks up.

You stare at him. Your face heats up.

Oh.

Oh no.

Because suddenly, Sunghoon’s messy hair looks a little more attractive than before.

And his sharp, unimpressed gaze? Feels more like smoldering intensity.

And when he crosses his arms and tilts his head—you almost swoon.

You clap a hand over your mouth.

No. No. NO.

This cannot be happening.

You weren’t supposed to fall for him.

Jungwon: How does it feel to be the dumbest Cupid in history?

Heeseung: We should let this play out.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon is Still Clueless

Sunghoon, completely unaware that you are currently losing your mind over him, sighs.

“Whatever. I’m going home.”

He turns, stuffing his hands into his pockets, and starts walking.

You just hover there, staring.

Is he… kinda cute?

No. No, no, NO. Get it together, Y/N.

But then he pushes a hand through his hair—casually, effortlessly—and the sunlight catches on his skin, making him glow just a little—

And you die inside.

This is the worst day of your entire existence.

The New, Horrifying Problem

You were supposed to make Sunghoon fall in love.

Instead, you shot yourself.

And now?

You have a tiny, very inconvenient crush on the one person who doesn’t believe in love.

Cupid HQ is still in chaos.

Jungwon is weeping. Ni-ki is wheezing. Heeseung is sending bets in the group chat.

And you?

You are so doomed.

Let’s do a quick recap.

You, a very bad Cupid, were supposed to make Park Sunghoon fall in love.

Instead, you shot his best friends, created an accidental love triangle, and—for the grand finale—shot yourself.

Now, you have a tiny, highly inconvenient crush on the one person who thinks romance is a scam.

Ni-ki is still laughing about it. Jungwon looks like he’s aged ten years. Heeseung? He’s treating this whole disaster like premium entertainment.

And you?

You are struggling.

It turns out, having feelings for someone makes you insufferably dumb.

Because now, every single thing Sunghoon does feels like a personal attack.

Like, when he pushes his hair back?

Why is that attractive?! It’s just hair!

Or when he leans against a wall with his arms crossed, looking all broody?

And don’t even get started on the way his jaw clenches when he’s annoyed.

One second, he’s frowning at his phone, and the next—

“OH MY GOD,” you whisper-shriek, floating behind him in total distress.

You slap a hand over your face, trying to will yourself into being normal.

It does not work.

Meanwhile, Jake and Jay Are Thriving

While you are having a full-blown crisis, Jake and Jay? They’re living their best romcom lives.

Jake, ever the golden retriever, has fully embraced his new romantic feelings.

“Jay,” he says one morning, beaming. “I made you a playlist.”

Jay blinks. “What?”

Jake shoves his phone in Jay’s face. On the screen, the playlist title reads: Songs That Remind Me of You.

Jay freezes. His ears go red.

“I—I don’t want this,” he huffs, pushing the phone away.

“Yes, you do,” Jake singsongs.

“No, I don’t.”

“Then why are you smiling?”

“I’M NOT—”

Jay glares, swipes the phone, and storms off—only to listen to the playlist on repeat for the next three hours.

Sunghoon, watching this unfold from across the room, looks deeply disturbed.

“What the hell is happening?” he mutters.

Sunghoon Starts Getting Suspicious

Jake and Jay acting like a couple? Weird.

You always being around? Even weirder.

The first few times, Sunghoon brushes it off as coincidence.

But then he starts noticing things.

Like how every time he turns around, you seem to be lurking nearby.

Or how you always look slightly panicked whenever he makes eye contact with you.

Or how, just yesterday, you were definitely staring at his arms when he rolled up his sleeves.

“…Do I know you?” he asks one afternoon, narrowing his eyes at you.

You freeze mid-hover. “W-what?”

“You. You’re always around.” He crosses his arms. “Are you following me or something?”

You panic. Hard.

“No!” you blurt out. “Absolutely not. I’m just—uh—admiring the architecture!”

Sunghoon looks up.

There is nothing special about the building.

“…Right.”

You internally scream.

Your Attempts to Act Normal (That Fail Miserably)

After that awkward encounter, you decide you need to calm down.

Sunghoon is just a mission. You are not actually in love with him. You just need to focus.

And so, you make a plan:

1. Avoid getting flustered.

2. Stop swooning like an idiot.

3. Act like a normal, non-crushing Cupid.

Easy, right?

Wrong.

Because that same evening, Sunghoon sits down at a café, flips open a book, and absently runs a hand through his hair—

And you promptly walk into a tree.

Not even float into it.

Just. Full-on. Smack. Into. A. Tree.

Sunghoon looks up at the sound of impact.

You, clinging to the tree, barely manage to whisper:

“I’m fine.”

Up in HQ, Ni-ki falls off his chair.

Ni-ki: This is the greatest thing I’ve ever witnessed.

Jungwon: I give up.

Heeseung: Y/N, if you die from embarrassment, can I take over your mission?

You groan, wishing you could sink into the ground.

Sunghoon’s Suspicion Levels: Increasing

By the end of the day, Sunghoon is fully convinced something weird is going on.

Not just because of Jake and Jay, but because of you.

The girl who keeps showing up.

The girl who always looks flustered.

The girl who walked into a literal tree trying to avoid eye contact.

Who are you?

And why do you look like you’re hiding something?

Sunghoon doesn’t believe in love.

But he does believe in mysteries.

And right now?

You are the biggest mystery of all.

At this point, you have accepted the harsh truth:

Park Sunghoon is immune to romance.

Like, actually, scientifically, impossibly immune.

Jake and Jay? They’re currently starring in their own accidental love story, complete with playlists, bickering disguised as flirting, and moments where they gaze at each other a little too long.

Sunghoon?

Still out here giving full-blown TED Talks about how love is a scam.

And you?

You are losing your mind.

Aphrodite is not pleased.

Her latest very aggressive message flashes across your Cupid communication screen:

Aphrodite: Y/N, do I need to remind you that FAILURE = DEMOTION?

Jungwon: I’d like to remind her just for fun.

Heeseung: Don’t stress her out more, dude.

Ni-ki: No, stress her out. This is hilarious.

Your job is on the line, your mission is falling apart, and you might still have a tiny inconvenient crush on the guy you’re supposed to be matchmaking.

So, naturally, you decide to do the only logical thing:

Force some romance into Sunghoon’s life.

Attempt #1: The Love Letter Approach

You figure this is a classic. Who doesn’t love a good anonymous love letter?

So, late at night, you slip a handwritten note into Sunghoon’s locker at the skating rink:

“Your eyes remind me of winter—cold, sharp, and impossible to ignore.”

Very poetic. Very swoon-worthy. You nailed it.

Except…

The next morning, Sunghoon pulls the note out, reads it, and immediately frowns.

Jay leans over. “What’s that?”

Sunghoon flips the paper around. “Spam.”

Jake blinks. “Spam?”

“Yeah. Probably some dumb prank.” Sunghoon crumples it up and tosses it into his bag. “People are weird.”

You, hiding behind a vending machine: “I HATE IT HERE.”

Up in HQ, Ni-ki is wiping tears from his eyes.

Jungwon: Y/N, this is painful to watch.

Heeseung: I mean… in his defense, it does sound kinda dramatic.

Attempt #2: The Cute Coffee Shop Encounter

Fine. Love letters were a flop, but this? This is foolproof.

You set everything up perfectly. A cozy little café, soft background music, a warm and inviting atmosphere—peak romance vibes.

You even nudge fate a little so that Sunghoon and a sweet girl accidentally sit at the same table.

This is it. This is your moment.

Sunghoon takes a deep breath. Looks at the menu.

And orders a black coffee.

No pastries. No small talk. No heartwarming moment with the girl fate literally pushed into his lap.

He drinks his coffee. Stands up. Leaves.

Up in HQ, Jungwon is silently crying into his hands.

Attempt #3: The Classic “Accidentally Fall into His Arms” Trick

This is it.

Your last resort.

The golden move of every romcom protagonist in history.

The plan? Simple.

You will “accidentally” trip in front of Sunghoon. He will catch you. You will lock eyes. His heart will stutter with newfound emotion.

Boom. Romance unlocked.

Except…

The second you step forward to execute the plan—

Your foot catches on absolutely nothing, and instead of a graceful, slow-motion fall…

You FULLY EAT THE SIDEWALK.

Like. Face-first. Absolute destruction.

Sunghoon pauses mid-step, staring down at you in pure amusement.

“…Are you okay?” he asks, genuinely curious.

You, still face down on the pavement: “I’m fine.”

Sunghoon shrugs. “You fall a lot.”

You stay lying on the ground, contemplating every life choice that led you here.

At this point, you’re not sure what’s worse—the fact that Sunghoon is still immune to romance…

Or the fact that you’re falling harder than ever (literally and figuratively).

This is a bad idea.

A horrendous, catastrophic, should-be-illegal kind of idea.

Yet, here you are, sitting in Cupid HQ, staring at Ni-ki like he’s lost his mind.

“Fake date him.”

You blink. “I’m sorry, what?”

Ni-ki leans forward, grinning like a man who thrives on chaos. “Think about it! Sunghoon doesn’t believe in love, right? What better way to prove it’s real than by making him experience it firsthand?”

Heeseung, the traitor, nods. “Honestly… kinda genius.”

Jungwon?

Jungwon looks like he aged ten years in the past two minutes.

“I hate this. I hate all of this,” he groans, rubbing his temples. “Do you people even hear yourselves? Fake dating never ends well!”

Ni-ki shrugs. “That’s what makes it fun.”

Jungwon mutters something about quitting his job and moving to a stress-free dimension, but you’re too busy spiraling.

Because this plan?

It’s INSANE.

And yet…

For some stupid reason, you go through with it.

Step One: Trick Sunghoon into Fake Dating You

Unfortunately, Sunghoon is not an easy person to fool.

It takes a full week of strategic planning, some questionable emotional manipulation (“Don’t you wanna prove love is fake once and for all?”), and a little bit of divine intervention (thank you, fate), but somehow—somehow—you convince him.

“Well, fine,” Sunghoon says after an obnoxiously long silence. “But this is strictly business.”

Oh.

Oh, no.

Step Two: Survive Sunghoon’s ‘Dating Contract’

Because Sunghoon?

Yeah, he takes this whole thing like an actual corporate deal.

He hands you a list of rules.

1. No actual flirting. (Not a problem. You’re totally normal around him. Totally.)

2. No unnecessary touching. (Does this mean ‘no holding onto his arm when he looks stupidly good in a leather jacket’? Asking for a friend.)

3. No kissing. (Okay, no one even brought that up, but now you can’t stop thinking about it??)

“Got it?” Sunghoon asks, raising a brow.

You nod. “Yup. Totally fine. Easy.”

Spoiler alert: It is not fine.

Step Three: Try Not to Fall Apart (Fail Miserably)

Because here’s the problem.

Sunghoon?

He’s way too good at the boyfriend act.

Like, way too good.

He casually puts his arm around your chair at restaurants. Calls you by stupidly attractive pet names as a joke. Winks.

WINKS.

And you?

You are suffering.

Physically, emotionally, spiritually suffering.

Meanwhile, Jake & Jay Are Thriving

Jake and Jay—are having the time of their lives.

They find your total breakdown hilarious.

“So, uh…” Jake smirks over his iced Americano. “On a scale of one to I’m screwed, how bad is it?”

You glare. “I am not screwed.”

Jay, scrolling through his phone, doesn’t even look up. “You’re so screwed.”

Jake grins. “We should bet on how long it takes before you break.”

“Oh, I’m in,” Jay agrees, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Two weeks, max.”

Jake hums. “Nah, I give them ten days.”

You groan, slamming your head onto the table.

Sunghoon, sipping his black coffee, completely oblivious.

You are officially doomed.

Something is wrong.

Very, very wrong.

And for once, it’s not your fault.

Because Sunghoon?

Yeah, he’s acting different.

At first, you try to ignore it. Maybe you’re just imagining things. Maybe it’s just the fake dating getting to your head.

But then—

Exhibit A: Sunghoon starts remembering your coffee order.

You don’t even think he listens when you talk about it, but one day, you’re yawning at a café, brain completely fried, and suddenly—

“Here,” Sunghoon says, shoving a cup into your hands.

You blink down at it.

It’s your exact order. Right down to the little extra shot of vanilla syrup you never actually say out loud but always get.

You stare at him. “You… got me coffee?”

Sunghoon shrugs, eyes on his own drink. “You always take forever to decide. Figured I’d save us time.”

Oh.

Oh, no.

Exhibit B: He starts guiding you through crowds.

Which, okay, is normal… except it’s not.

Because before, Sunghoon would just walk ahead and let you struggle. But now?

Now, every time you’re out together, he instinctively grabs your wrist and tugs you along, effortlessly weaving through people.

The worst part?

It’s casual. Like he doesn’t even think about it. Like it’s just natural for him now.

Like—WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?

Exhibit C: He starts looking at you for just a little too long.

Like when you’re laughing at something Jake said. Or when you’re rambling about your favorite snacks. Or when you’re just existing, and suddenly you feel his gaze linger on you.

And the way he looks—

It’s different.

It’s soft. Curious. Like he’s trying to figure something out.

And you?

You are losing it.

Cupid HQ is, of course, fully invested.

Ni-ki: IS THIS IT?? IS HE FALLING???

Heeseung: I think she’s the one falling.

Jungwon: I don’t even care anymore. Just tell me when they crash and burn.

And honestly?

They don’t have to wait long.

Because then—

Then disaster strikes.

The Moment Everything Goes Horribly Wrong

It’s late. You’re at Sunghoon’s place, casually not panicking over your very real feelings, when—

“Hey, what’s this?”

You freeze.

Sunghoon is standing near his couch, holding something. Something very, very bad.

Your Cupid equipment.

The bow. The arrows. The mission papers.

Everything.

Your blood runs cold.

Sunghoon frowns, turning over one of the documents. “Mission… ‘Make Park Sunghoon Fall in Love by Valentine’s Day’?”

Your heart stops.

Panic explodes in your chest.

“Sunghoon—”

His eyes flick to you, realization slowly sinking in.

Then, finally—

“You…” His voice is eerily quiet. “This was all fake?”

You swear you hear your soul leave your body.

Sunghoon steps back. His jaw clenches. His hands tighten around the paper like he’s physically holding himself together.

And you—

You realize, too late, that this isn’t just fake dating anymore.

This isn’t just some Cupid assignment gone wrong.

This is real.

He’s hurt.

Sunghoon scoffs, shaking his head. “So what was the plan, huh?” He waves the papers in the air. “Make me fall in love and then what? Laugh about it later?”

You feel sick. “No, it wasn’t—”

“Or was I just some stupid experiment to prove love is real?”

“No!” Your voice cracks. Your hands shake. “I—”

You don’t know what to say.

Because no matter what, the truth is awful.

Sunghoon was right about love. It is fake—at least, it was for you at first. And now?

Now you don’t even know what’s real anymore.

Sunghoon exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair.

Then, without another word—

He walks out.

You are officially heartbroken.

It’s Valentine’s Day.

The final day.

And Sunghoon still won’t talk to you.

Which, honestly? Fair.

But for the first time since this mission began, you don’t care about Cupid HQ, your job, or the threat of demotion.

You just want to fix things.

So, like the true disaster Cupid you are, you decide to break every rule in existence.

Rule #1: Humans Aren’t Supposed to See Cupids

You ignore it.

You push past the barrier between realms, your wings shimmering into existence as you land in front of Sunghoon’s apartment.

Then, without thinking, you knock.

The door swings open.

And there he is.

Park Sunghoon.

Looking unimpressed and very much still mad at you.

“…You again.”

You nod, wings twitching nervously. “Me again.”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “How did you even—?”

“I’m a Cupid,” you blurt. “We have our ways.”

Sunghoon sighs. “Of course.”

And then, before he can close the door on your face—

You start explaining.

The Truth, Unfiltered

Everything.

The mission. The arrows. The way you accidentally destroyed Jake and Jay’s lives. The way you were supposed to make Sunghoon fall in love, but ended up falling for him instead.

You spill it all.

Sunghoon just listens. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable.

You swallow, heart pounding.

“And that’s it,” you finish quietly. “I wasn’t supposed to fall for you. But I did.”

More silence.

And then—

Sunghoon sighs. Runs a hand through his hair.

“I knew something was off,” he mutters. “Because there’s no way I actually fell for you that easily.”

You freeze.

You blink.

“…Wait. You—”

Before you can finish, Sunghoon leans in and kisses you.

Your brain malfunctions.

Because Sunghoon is kissing you.

Because this is real.

Because he actually fell for you, despite all the disasters.

When he pulls away, he smirks. “I hope you know this means your mission failed.”

You blink, still dazed. “What?”

“You were supposed to make me fall in love,” he teases. “But I did that on my own.”

Your heart combusts.

And then—

Sunghoon pulls you in again.

Then, somewhere in the distance, someone yells, “WHAT THE ACTUAL—”

You barely have time to process the fact that your comms are still on before a burst of light explodes in the room. A portal rips open, and three very panicked Cupids—Ni-ki, Heeseung, and Jungwon—come flying through.

“You—” Ni-ki chokes, pointing at you. “You idiot!”

Heeseung is hyperventilating. “You told him? You broke the rules? Do you want to get turned into a pigeon?!”

Jungwon, ever the responsible one, just groans and rubs his temples. “We are so getting fired for this.”

Sunghoon blinks at them. Then at you. “Is this normal for you?”

You sigh. “Unfortunately, yes.”

And just like that, Sunghoon—stoic, unshakable Sunghoon—bursts into laughter.

Meanwhile, Somewhere in the Chaos…

“Wait.”

Jake suddenly sits up straight at the café, blinking rapidly.

Jay, sitting across from him, narrows his eyes. “What?”

Jake shakes his head like a confused puppy. “I—I think I just woke up.”

Jay’s stomach drops. “…Oh no.”

Jake’s eyes widen. He stares at Jay. At the romantic playlist. At the love letters.

And then—

Jay gasps. His own brain clears.

They look at each other.

A beat of silence.

Then—

“…Dude,” Jake whispers.

“…Don’t,” Jay warns.

“…Did we just—”

“DO NOT SAY IT.”

...

Final Score?

Mission: Successful.

Your dignity? Still questionable.

Jake and Jay? …In emotional recovery.

Cupid chaos? Forever.

Likes and Reblogs are much appreciated!!

147 notes · View notes

bumblebeesfromvenus · 11 months ago

Text

The honey to my moon 🌬

Husband!Leon S. Kennedy x wife!reader

《A/N》: I'm back babyyyyyyy. Sort of. I don't know, we'll see. This is inspired by 'Alrighty Aphrodite' by Peach Pit so take a listen if you feel like it!! FYI this can be read for ANY Leon (like most of my Leon fics) I just use RE4R Leon in the banner bc of favoritism <3

~Fi 🐝

(Pssst, my requests are open!)

《Content》: NSFW content. proceed with caution. PiV, cockwarming, creampie (don't do that) consensual groping. Very, very sweet, of course! Lotsa domestic moments with Leon, basically a collection of cute moments I think would happen on your Honeymoon <3

Reader is implied to be chubby/ has stretch marks and tummy fat bc who doesn't???? (I still love you if you don't)

《Word count》: 3.4k

Please don't copy my work! I put a lot of effort and heart into the things I write.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ──🪷── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The, not quite shrill, yet still very annoying sound of your alarm ripped you out of your pleasant dreams. With a soft groan you stirred in the arms of your husband, which you were comfortably pressed against.

After a quick rub of your eyes, a smile formed on your lips as you remembered what day it was.

You turned to face Leon, admiring his peaceful expression for just a moment before you couldn't resist the twitching urge in your fingertips anymore and you gently ran them down the bridge of his nose and over his cheek.

His brows furrowed slightly, and his nose scrunched up at the tickling sensation on his skin.

"Happy one week of being married, baby." You whispered softly, stroking your thumb over his cheekbone.

A dopey grin tugged at his lips, and he pulled you even closer to him with a soft hum. His lips found yours in a clumsy attempt at a good morning kiss.

"My beautiful, beautiful wife..." he mumbled against your lips, making you giggle and melt into his embrace at the same time.

"Can you believe it's been a week already?" You were cut off by yawn that decided to rudely interrupt your sentence.

"No... feels like I just fell in love with you yesterday." He let out a soft breath as his eyes fluttered shut, and he pressed his lips against your forehead, letting his touch linger as he slipped into a moment of comfort and love.

You sighed against his skin, feeling sleep still deep in your bones, but both knew you'd have to leave your shared cocoon of affection sooner than you wanted to.

"We have to get up... we'll miss our flight.." You slurred, fighting the heavy drooping of your eyelids from the warmth that Leon enveloped you in.

He grumbled softly under his breath, something about 'ungodly early flights', which made you crack a grin.

"Alright, up we go.." he groaned, heaving his body into an upright position, with you still securely in his arms, rubbing a hand over his face to get rid of the tiredness that remained in his muscles. With a peck to your nose, Leon stood from the bed, stretching his arms and neck with a yawn.

You crawled up onto your knees, your arms comfortably fitting around the curve of his neck and shoulders as you let your lips find his again in a tender kiss.

"Good morning, my handsome, handsome husband.." You purred, making Leon chuckle.

"Are you copying me, sweetheart?" He asked with a smirk as his hands migrated down to your waist.

"It's the highest form of flattery, don't you know?" You replied with a wicked grin, feeling his fingers dig just a little tighter into the flesh of your waist.

"Yeah, yeah.." he playfully rolled his eyes as you giggled, getting out of bed.

"Come on, we're on a time crunch." You let your hand slip from the embrace of his as you made your way to the bathroom.

He quietly followed you, landing a gentle slap on your ass. You yelped at the impact, jumping forward before turning around with angrily scrunched brows.

"Hey!" You pouted, rubbing the faint red mark on your skin.

"Just crunching time, babe." He shrugged with a cokcy smirk on his face.

You rolled your eyes and huffed some words under your breath, making him snicker.

"Actually, let me help you in there." He declared, reaching you in a few strides and pushing you into the bathroom.

"What- I don't need help brushing my teeth!" You argued, trying to push back against him.

"Who said anything about brushing teeth, huh, honey?" He whispered into your ear, making the hairs on your neck stand up.

"Leon-"

"Whaddaya say we get this Honeymoon started early?" He said against the skin of your neck, trailing soft kisses along the column of your throat.

"No, no, no, we have a flight to catch!" You said sternly, clinging onto the doorframe.

"Oh, come on, baby.. you know how fast I can make you fall apart.." he breathed into your ear, slipping his hands underneath your shirt.

Leon tugged at your middle, firmly enough to make you struggle but leaving enough room if you wanted to back out. With the feeling of his hands on your skin and his breath ghosting deliciously over your neck, you relented, letting your grip on the doorframe loosen.

You gently slipped past the door with him and let out a soft sigh as his lips met your neck once again as the door of the bathroom fell shut.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

With packed bags, an excited attitude about going on your Honeymoon and a couple of new love bites just below the collar of your shirt, you were off to the airport.

You yawned as you watched the few city lights pass by, the streets empty. No surprise, really.

No person would willingly be up and about at this hours, except a few joggers (who were clearly insane) and the poor souls who'd just finished the night shift.

Leon's hand envolped yours tightly, keeping hold of it while the other one was loosely wrapped around the steering wheel, as you sped down the highway.

"Don't rip my head off, but.." he broke the silence, making you turn attention away from the lights flashing past the window, "you've got all the papers 'n documents and whatever we need, right?" Leon asked, slightly chewing on his lip.

You would never let him live it down if you forget your tickets and other papers just because of the desperate morning romp that had occurred because of his neediness. You would curse him to the sun if you'd had to cancel your Honeymoon purely because he couldn't keep his hands to himself.

You chuckled and whipped out a clear folder with a plethora of printed e-mails, copies over copies of important information, and so on.

"Being overly prepared runs in the family." You chirped, waving around the, surprisingly thick, folder. Leon visibly relaxed, a dopey smile gracing his face.

"So that's why the printer ran out of ink." He mused, glancing your way. You shrugged with a mischievous glint in your eyes and Leon chuckled, pulling you into his side to press a kiss to your cheek before going back to driving down the seemingly endless roads to the airport.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

"Airport coffee is truly something... special." Leon forced out, clearing his throat and disapprovingly eyeing the dark liquid in his paper cup.

"That's why you get the good stuff." You sipped your hot chocolate smugly, watching as Leon cracked a grin and pulled you into his side.

"Can I have a sip?" He asked sweetly, nosing your hair. You wordlessly handed him the cup as your head went to rest on his shoulder.

"I'll always share with you." A small smile sat on your lips as you quietly told him.

Leon raised a brow at you with the faintest hint of a smirk.

"I know for a fact, that's not true."

"Oh piss off." You grumbled, breaking into a smile.

"Tell that to the cookies you didn't share. Or the leftover Pizza. And the-"

"Okay, okay! Point is, I'm sharing now." You huffed, making Leon grin.

"Thank you, angel." He hummed, placing a kiss to your hairline.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

You let yourself fall onto the bed with a thump, sighing in relief at the soft mattress beneath you.

"I don't know about you, but I'm ready for a nap." You said, a little mumbled. The bed shook as Leon dropped down next to you, immediately reaching for your hand.

"A nap sounds nice." He sighed, eyes falling shut. You laid in silence and soft breaths for a moment, already starting to doze off. "We could nap by the pool." He suggested, turning on his side to face you. You rolled over in a similar fashion.

"That's just your excuse to see me in a bathing suit and lather me in suncreen." You snorted, poking his chest. He cracked a smug grin.

"Would that be such a crime? A husband wanting to see his gorgeous wife in a bathing suit?" He defended with a smirk, cupping the back of your neck and gently stroking his thumb along your jaw.

"We could get lunch and maybe some drinks..." You thought out loud, weighing your options. You'd either get a good nap and be hungry when you wake up, or you could get a descent snooze plus some lunch, maybe a cocktail and a shirtless Leon.

"Alright, the pool it is." You declared, watching as Leon almost jumped off the bed with excitment.

You both packed a little bag with the essentials; sunscreen, sunglasses, a book, and whatever else you thought you'd need.

Leon was in the bathroom, making a suspicious amount of clattering noises, when he peaked his head out the door.

"Babe?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you wear the blue one? Please?" He asked bashfully, a pinkish tint on his cheeks.

Your expression softened, and your heart melted.

It amazed you how he could straight up ask you to fuck you before your flight, but asking you to wear his favorite bathing suit of yours was flustering him.

"Of course, honey."

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

"... Lee."

"Hm?"

"My ass does not need any more sunscreen."

"Just don't want you to get burned." He pressed a kiss to your shoulder while shamelessly massaging sunscreen into the fat of your rear.

"Leon Kennedy, get your hands off my behind before I beat yours!" You scolded, swatting his hands away.

He grinned and raised his hands in mock surrender.

"You can feel me up all you want in private, baby, but not in public."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I was just doing my husbandly duties and making sure you weren't gonna like a tomato."

"... you're lucky I love you." You narrowed your eyes at him, huffing when he blew you a kiss.

"I love you, angel." He said softly, retreating to his own sun chair.

"I love you too, you cute idiot."

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Your wine glasses clinged together as you sat on the cold stone of your balcony, huddle together with blankets and pillows.

It was a clear night, and a few stars decided to show themselves. It wasn't necessarily cold, but the breeze that passed by did make it a little chilly.

There was the crunching of snacks and the chatter and laughter between bites as you watched the stars and the moon illuminate the vast property of the Hotel.

Other couples might've chosen to fancy up and go out for dinner but Leon and you had chosen to do what you did best; not fit in the box.

Instead of eating way too small portions for an outrageous price while pretending that you felt comfortable in such a posh setting and simultaneously being defeated by the ridiculous amounts of forks beside your plate, you had a cozy evening with the love of your life.

You did splurge on the bottle of wine, but it was your Honeymoon, after all.

The gentle gusts of wind coming up from the coast left goosebumps on your skin and a salty taste on your lips.

"Today was really nice.." You spoke quietly, enjoying the peace of the moment.

"Yeah, I think so, too. Can't wait to spend the next two weeks with you like this." Leon replied in a soft and loving tone that almost fell into a whisper. Your head rested on his shoulder, like it usually did, your hand reaching for his.

The cold metal of his ring sent a pleasant shiver up your spine as you entangled your fingers and curled closer into him.

Leon happily obliged your silent plea for closeness and wrapped you in his arms.

"I know that I won't be able to ever put into words how much I love you, so I want you to know that deeply cherish every moment with you." You looked up at him, and his features softened as he gently held your face.

"I know you do. I can... I can feel it. Is that weird? I just sort of feel the love radiating off of you all the time. I hope you feel that when you're with me as well."

You looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky himself, the same ones you were admiring, and everything in him just melted.

"I do feel it. Not only are you my husband, but you're my best friend too. Two-in- one." You smiled sweetly, scooching further up in his hold just to be that little bit closer.

"I'm so glad that I married you." He whispered, firmly pulling your lips against his in a passionate kiss.

You'd never get bored of the feeling when he kissed you, the love and tenderness pouring from it. But there was a slight ache in your heart that you'd never be able to kiss him enough to quench the raging flames inside your chest.

You pulled away for a breath, with puffy lips and shimmering eyes that showed Leon just how much you truly cared for him.

"That makes two."

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The softness of the bedsheets on his fingertips made Leon brows furrow. He was expecting a different softness; you.

Laying majestically next to him, bathed in the morning sun that poured in, even through the curtains. He lifted his head off the pillow with a disgruntled sound, blinking away the sleep in his eyes to look for you.

There were trickles and splashes of water that gently broke through the comfortably silent atmosphere. There was a slight breeze coming from the open balcony door, making the curtains sway.

Leon made his way to the terrace and, good heavens, the sight before him was enough to make him lightheaded.

You were perched on the edge of the small stone pool that you were extremely excited about ever since you laid eyes on it, skin glistening from the water with your hair intricately stuck to your back.

That would've been enough to make all the blood from Leon's cheeks to rush down south, making his boxers feel tight, but that wasn't all. There were bubbles.

Soft, foamy suds that clung to your hips and the curve of your waist, truly making you look divine with the morning sun shining down on you. Your legs were swishing in the water, taking in the peaceful morning while everyone else was far off in their dreams.

Leon's mouth hung open slightly, and it took every ounce of power in him to stop himself from drooling, but he didn't waste any time sliding the door open further to get through.

The noise made you look back over your shoulder with a soft smile when you saw him striding towards you.

Strong and familiar arms wrapped themselves around you, trying to discreetly feel you up.

"Good morning, honey." You spoke gently, stroking over his forearms that were tightly situated around your middle.

"Absolutely great morning if you ask me." He chuckled lowly, though not failing to press a kiss to your lips with such affection it almost covered any seductive intent behind his words.

"Christ, baby, you look heavenly..." he breathed against your ear, sliding his hands towards your hips to knead at the plush flesh and feel the shimmering grooves of stretch marks beneath his fingertips.

"Thought I'd wake you up with a little surprise for being the best husband a girl could ask for." You replied sweetly, trying to play innocent as if his calloused hands on your wet skin didn't ignite an inferno deep in your gut.

He let out an amused chuckle, slyly moving one hand to the pudge of your belly and the other kneading one of your soft tits.

With a soft sigh, you let your head fall back against his shoulder.

"You look like Aphrodite emerging from the sea foam, do you know that?" He asked gently, making your head spin with the way he was so easily drowning your mind in both lust and affection.

You chuckled, turning on your knees to face him.

"Well, then... will you do me the honors and be my Ares?" You purred, trailing your hand down his chest all the way to his cock straining in his boxers, cupping the member and squeezing gently.

A groan ripped from his throat and his eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

"Whatever you wish, my love." He whispered, guiding you back into the natural stone pool, watching with a ravenous gaze.

His underwear was quickly discarded, and he joined you in the water, backing you up against one of the rounded walls.

One hand on your waist, the other carefully placed on the back of your neck to cushion the hard edge of the stone

. His lips found yours in a loving manner, quite the opposite to his lusting eyes that raked over your naked form, but as much as Leon wanted to devour you, he wanted love you.

He reveled in his love for you. All he needed was to be close to you, as close as reality would allow and if that entailed him buried to the hilt inside your delightful cunt he wasn't one to complain.

Your bodies were pressed together, your tits squished up against his chest, and his dick laying heavy between your thighs. Your lips and tongues danced together like they had done so many times before, eliciting the occasional soft groan or sigh from you and Leon.

The bubbles littered on the water surface stuck to his broad back as you ran your fingers down the length of his spine.

"Can I, sweetheart?" He asked breathlessly, staring at your blown out pupils and puffy lips.

"Mhm, yes, please... need to be closer.." You responded equally as breathless before fiercely capturing his addicting lips once again.

The tip of his cock nudged at your entrance and with a shuddering breath he pushed past your lips and slid snuggly inside of you.

"F-Fuck... my perfect girl... God, I love you so much.." he groaned as quietly as he could, feeling a shiver run through him at the warm embrace of your gummy walls.

He quickly muffled himself by gently biting down on your shoulder.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, and you held him tighter, suppressing any sounds you might've made. Leon slowly rocked his hips into yours.

They weren't full thrusts, but they didn't need to be. This wasn't about an earthshattering orgasm that would knock the wind from your lungs, it was about feeling close and loved and his lazy and sloppy movements into your pussy did just that, with an added bit of pleasure.

Leon continued to rock his hips, dragging his heavy cock against your insides just right.

His pelvis hit your clit perfectly with each sloppy thrust, his happy trail adding to the euphoric sensation.

You were seeing stars by now.

Both of you were still sleepy and sensitive from waking up recently so you were at the brink of your edge already.

"Le-Leon.." You managed to get out between quiet moans that you were trying your best at biting back.

The sloshing of the water and his heavy pants were the only things in your mind as you felt the tight coil in your belly snap.

"Love you, I love you..." he slurred as he, too, reached his end. He came inside of you, pulsing against your insides.

The squeal that you felt bubbling in your throat was quickly swallowed by a hungry kiss from Leon.

He supported himself against the stone, catching his breath before he maneuvered the two of you around so you were straddling him, still nice and full.

"I love you so much, Lee." You hummed, your head resting on his shoulder.

"I wouldn't mind if everyday started like this." He smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple when you lazily slapped his arm.

"Mhm, wanna crawl inside your ribcage and live next to your heart.." you mumbled, tuckered out.

He chuckled and gently stroked your back.

"If anyone else said that to me I'd be concerned."

"You put a ring on it." You argued, pulling your hand from the water and holding it up to him.

"Hm, that I did." He hummed, gently taking your hand and kissing your ring.

"And I'd do it all over again."

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ──🪷── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

I hope you enjoyed <3

(Yes, I'm aware of the bad and weird things that happen between Aphro and Ares, [poor] Hepheastus, man.] Just let me have this okay)

More Leon works --> 💫

《Tag List》: @k-fallingstar @dmitriene @vampkennedy @agrerion

(Lmk if you want to be added to my Leon Tag list!)

#bumblebeesfromvenus #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy comfort #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil leon #husband!leon

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dreamingonclds · 7 months ago

Text

My Girl | Hozier

Summary: Andrew ruins the surprise date that y/n had planned for him.

Pairing: Hozier x reader

Word Count: 2055

Warning(s): Very slight sexual activity, angst if you squint, fluff

Note: I did not edit this so, sorry if the grammar or writing is off. Also, this is my very first one shot. It ended in a different way than I expected and I don't know how to feel about it anymore. Enjoy!

As it was your last day with Andrew before leaving to go back home. You decided to surprise him with a romantic dinner once he got back from the studio. You slaved away all day in the kitchen making his favorite foods. As a testament of gratitude for everything he’s done for you this past month, spent with him in Wicklow. You decorated the dinner table and area all cute, with fairy lights, artificial vines, and scattered petals. You even put on a dress, his favorite, on you, and the lipstick he said made you look like you were touched by Aphrodite.

The time came when he was supposed to arrive and he didn’t. You didn’t want to even consider the possibility of ruining the surprise. So you didn’t call him right away, concluding that he was probably running a bit late like he sometimes does. A couple more hours went by and now the concern in your belly was getting hard to ignore. It was almost 12 am, he said he would be home by 8 pm. So you decided to shoot him a quick text.

Hey baby, everything okay?

He calls you back almost immediately.

“Hey darling, I’m sorry I got carried away and forgot to call you earlier. Me and the team decided to just order some food and eat here. I’ll be home in a bit, do you want me to pick you something up to take back?” He says rushing to get the words out, you hear the shuffling of feet getting away from the sound of banter and laughs.

You smile sadly at his sincerity.

“It’s okay, I get it. But umm…,” You interrupt your own speech as you look towards the beautifully set table and food you kept in the oven to keep warm. “I’m okay, I made dinner earlier, thanks for offering anyway. But you enjoy your dinner!” you continue.

“I am, you enjoy your dinner too-”

“I’ll try. Be safe, yeah?” You quickly respond cutting him off.

“Are you-”

You cut him off again, starting to feel a lump develop in your throat, and that shameful tickle in your chest.

“Hey I gotta go Andrew, don’t want the food to get cold.” you say and hang up before he can say anything else.

Your flight out of Ireland was at 6 am. You weren’t even packed, thinking that after dinner, Andrew could help you, because you knew he’d do most of it for you; as he did with other things. But also because you wanted to spend as much time with him before you left. But with your time of departure nearing, you decided to get a move on it.

By the time Andrew got home it was nearing 3 am. And you were nearly done packing, because you had stayed with him for a little over a month, your things were scattered throughout his house so it took a while. In the midst of you focused, trying to remember everything you had brought, you didn’t hear the front door open.

Andrew walks in quietly, believing that he would find you asleep. He quickly notices a light shining from inside the oven, he hurries over and opens it, thinking you accidentally left it on. But his eyebrows scrunch together when he sees it’s only the light on and his favorite meal in there, untouched.

He stands up straight from his crouching position and walks out to the dining area. He quickly notices the dining table, set with empty plates, wine glasses and the vase with flowers you guys picked together. The almost completely melted taper candles were an indication that you had been waiting for him for a while.

Once the realization hits him, he mutters a single word.

“Fuck.” he brings his hand to his face, rubbing it over. He turns himself and begins to walk towards the bedroom. But, his guilty conscience makes him look back to the table. His imagination quickly fills of you, wondering just what you must have been feeling. He thinks to blow out the candles but turns his back to them, they’re on their last breath anyway; he thinks.

He carefully opens the bedroom door, still believing you are asleep. But he pauses when he sees you standing there, lost in thought. But beautiful, all dolled up in his favorite dress of yours.

Your eyes shoot to the opening door, and the first thing you notice is his sorry face. Before you can mutter a word, a letter even. He rushes over to you

“Darling, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I didn’t know. One of the guys mentioned getting pizza and everybody was on board with it so I agreed and,” he rambles on, both his hands rubbing your arms.

“Why are you leaving me…over that darling, it’s not worth it. I know I fucked up, I know that, I know. But I can fix it, I promise you I will fix it. It was so stupid of me, but it won’t ever happen again.” he continues, one of his hands had made its way to your face, gently cupping your jaw and caressing your cheek.

And then it hits you, he walked in and saw you packing. He must think that you are actually leaving him, he must’ve forgotten your flight back.

Before he can continue, you ease his worry.

“Baby, I’m not breaking up with you. I’m okay, I promise” you say as you look up to him and look into his eyes,you take his torso in your arms and rub him soothingly. His eyebrows furrow together, he’s still confused, he really doesn’t remember.

You take his hand and lead him over to the empty side of the bed free of your luggage. You push his chest lightly, encouraging him to sit down. And he does, pulling you down to sit in his lap.

“Then…what are you doing?” He asks, one hand sitting on your bum and the other toying with the fabric of your dress.

“I’m leaving, remember, back home.” You say, one arm around his shoulders playing with the loose strands of hair coming out of his bun.

“Ohh” he lets out a sigh and puts his head into your neck, peppering your collarbone with kisses, mumbling sorrys in between each of them.

“Baby. Baby. Baby” he says, each one spaced out.

“I am so sorry. That I truly forgot about. I am so so sorry. I can’t believe I just let that pass my mind. Oh my god what is wrong with me.” he rambles guiltily.

You remove your hands from his hair and try to coax them into his face, softly lifting him out of the crook of your neck. You give him a gentle smile and give him a soft kiss.

“It’s okay.” you say genuinely, nodding your head.

“No it’s not.” he responds matter of factly.

“You forgot baby, it happens-” you try to reassure him but he cuts you off with a kiss.

“Be honest love, how’d it make you feel?” he asks, lips brushing against yours. Your head naturally hangs down, the feeling of humiliation overtaking you once again. But the feeling of his large hand rubbing over your thigh offers comfort for you to tell him the truth, but not enough.

“Ugh” you groan in embarrassment, quickly hugging him so as to not meet his gaze, your cheeks warming with the feeling.

“Oh darling.” he returns the act and rubs your exposed back. “How do I make it up to you baby?” he asks you, and you can tell he means it.

“It’s okay, I mean it.” you state, pulling away and meeting his eyes. He gives you an understanding smile, and brings his hand to your face. Moving your hair from your face and lightly touching your lips, you give his thumb a soft peck.

“You are too good for me.” he admits. You don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything. You shake your head in disagreement and give his jaw a peck. Your phone buzzes from the bed and he turns and reaches for it, handing it to you.

“Shit.” you say, getting up and off of him, realizing the time.

“Babe, we have to hurry!” you hurry back to your luggage.

“We have to leave soon or I'll miss my flight.” you throw the last few things in your suitcase.

“Oh yeah” he says, coming over to you. “Let me do that.” he tells you when he sees you trying to close it.

“I’m gonna go get my clothes.” you say and run out to the laundry room, picking up the outfit you planned to wear for your long flight. Walking back into the bedroom, you see Andrew moving your luggage to the floor. You reach to try and unhook the back of your dress when he comes up and hugs you from behind. He then turns you to face him and shamelessly checks you out, his eyes fixed on your cleavage before he speaks.

“ I love this dress.” he says meeting your eyes.

“I know, I can tell.” you giggle.

He leans down, bringing his lips to yours, you tiptoe, trying to make up for the height difference. A passionate makeout ensues, his hands give your bum gentle squeezes. His mouth finds your neck and you release soft moans, almost giving in as he backs you into the bed.

“As much as I would like to babe, I can’t. I have to leave, like now or I’ll miss my flight.” you say breathlessly, your body almost betraying you as his lips make their way from your jaw to your chest. Your hands go to his hair instinctively as he continues to go lower and lower.

“Babe, seriously, we don’t have time” trying to catch your breath, you sit up, forcing him up as well. He gives you a cheeky smile, offering his hand to help you to your feet.

“It’s like you’re trying to keep me from leaving.” you run your hands through your hair in an effort to put yourself together.

“That's exactly what i'm trying to do” he stands with his hands on his hips, just endearingly looking at you, taking you in. You look up to him, and a laugh leaves your mouth when you see your lipstick transferred to his face.

“This would be so much worse if it wasn’t for your beard” you say in between small laughs, circling your mouth, in reference to his. He turns his head towards the mirror and laughs when he catches sight of the damage.

“Yours isn’t any better.” he turns back to you and wipes the tip of your nose that somehow managed to catch the rosy tint. You return the favor, wiping his lips with the best of your ability. Then you rest your hand on his cheek, he turns his head towards it and gives your palm a kiss. You give him a pouty smile, and your chest aches, realizing just how much you don’t want to leave him.

“My girl.” he says, mouth still in your hand. He holds your wrist there for a few more seconds before he gives it one last kiss and gently lets go.

“You’re making this really hard.” you admit. You turn your back to him and step away, not being able to look at him any longer. Your hands go back to small hooks of your dress, when you hear a sigh from behind you.

“At least let me take the dress off of you, one way or another.” he offers, referring to your prior denial of both your unholy desires. You chuckle and let him help, shivering whenever his fingertips meet your skin.

With no time left to spare due to the hour drive to the airport, you slipped on your comfy clothes and grabbed your belongings. The drive there was full of avoidance from the both of you, not wanting to talk about being away from each other. So instead, the conversation was full of the best memories you had in the emerald isle. And once you arrived at the airport, you sat in the car for as long as you could, not wanting a single second to go to waste where you couldn’t be together.

#fan fiction #fanfic #scenarios #imagines #oneshots #for you #fiction #original story #hozier #hozier x reader #hozier x y/n #hozier x you #hozier fanfiction #hozier fic #hozier fanfic #hozier imagine #hozier one shot #hozier oneshot #hozier x oc

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macfrog · 1 year ago

Text

little aphrodite sex on fire chapter nine

the amount i had to write jean-marc in this chapter makes me nauseous. anywho. these two heal my soul and make me weep. please enjoy a little look back at the ceo's experience of paris.

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: we're going back to paris. this time, through joel's eyes.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, alcohol consumption, ostentatious flaunting of wealth (eat the rich i say), sugardaddy!joel, softdom!joel, oral (f and m receiving), daddy kink, praise kink, cursing, angst & pining, and...well. the ceo falls in love.

word count: 7.5k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

He wasn’t even sure you’d say yes when he asked. Thought you’d find it a bit much, flying halfway across the world just for one lousy meeting. He had what he’d say when you turned him down in mind, already: Sure, yeah, no problem. No, I just thought – Yeah. ‘s alright. I’ll bring you back som’ as a souvenir.

But you didn’t.

Oh, yeah? you’d said. Your face seemed to light – humored, impressed even. It made Joel feel braver. Reassured. You’ve a habit of doing that to him.

Mhm, he replied, chewing on the sub you’d ordered him after his conference call. He can’t remember what he promised Human Resources he’d have done within the hour. You walked in as he was saying it, and – well. Two days, he said, swallowing, Saturday Sunday.

And are you gonna make me take minutes while you meet with this Jean-Marc? You wiggled your fingers as you said it, letting the name drip through your lips in some kind of dreamy song. I don’t make the flight back unless they’re typed up by the time we leave? That the catch?

No catch. You don’t even gotta come to the meetin’.

I don’t have to –? Wow, Miller. You’re spoiling me, no? You kicked your leg, one knee hooked over the other. Your skirt shrinking up your thigh.

You were sat in the chair on the right, opposite his desk. You always sit in that one – and Joel’s still trying to figure out why. The working theory so far is that it’s at a good angle to watch the city below, and at the same time, see exactly who comes and goes in and out of the office during lunch.

But there has to be more to it, he thinks. He suspects. Martha’s desk is, like, five feet from yours. She spends her lunches in the conference room with Deb, shaking salads doused in balsamic vinegar and sharing cross-floor gossip. They invite you every day, and almost every day, you turn them down in favor of his shuttered office, the muted swish of cars on the street, the mock gasps and clutch of invisible pearls when you share that same fifth-floor gossip with him over the desk.

You’d been talking while he’d been thinking about the damn chair. He hadn’t heard a word of it. Huh? he asked, and you rolled your eyes.

Ain’t never listenin’, you muttered, peeling the damp paper back from your own sub.

Say it again, Joel said. Was just making a mental note to book dinner for us over there.

You scoffed, licking mayo from the corner of your lips. Why you making mental notes for anything? That’s what you pay me for.

And you were right – it is what he pays you for. Pays you to be his shadow, his right-hand man, his eyes and his ears and his entire brain, some days.

But lately – he doesn’t know. It’s different.

Truth be told, he has no idea what’s gotten into him. Looking at you the way he is. You’ve fucked around twice, now, and both times have been…nothing short of fucking amazing. Both times, Joel’s thought he might come within the first two minutes. Pushing inside your velvet walls, watching the way you roll forward, hearing the lewd moans pour across your lips.

He’s always thought you were attractive. It’s pretty fucking hard to ignore. Physically, sure – the look of your body, the way you know how to dress it. And the prettiest, softest face he’s ever seen. You can win him over in any discussion without a word, just by fluttering your eyelashes at him.

But you’re more than that. He thinks of you both as friends, maybe something more. Something deeper. It’s in the glances you steal, the silent lines tossed between one another. The way you read one another like an open book. Sometimes, he wonders if you actually can read his mind.

You’re intelligent, you’re funny, and you’re a hard fucking worker. Always on time, always seemingly juggling thirty things at once, and never letting him down. Nothing is too much, it seems; everything just is as it is. And he likes that about you. Simple. No baggage.

The morning of the flight, you send him a voice note telling him you’re downstairs. “And I ain’t lugging two cases up to the top floor only to bring ‘em back down when we’re leaving, Mr. CEO.”

He’s striding past Martha for the elevator before he’s even done listening to the message.

“Uh-uh!” she chirps, dashing over to slip between the brass doors behind him.

Joel sighs under his breath.

“I know better than to rely on you to remember all this stuff,” she says, holding up a file he’d asked her to put together for the trip.

She’s right not to – he’d probably leave that file in the car, or put it down somewhere and walk off without it. You’re the only one who can be trusted with it – with anything. You’re good at your job. And yet, he resents the fact that Martha’s about to lump you with even a fraction of responsibility for the next four days.

So when the Rolls pulls off and Martha is nothing but a pin-sized silhouette through the back window, still waving from the sidewalk, he pinches the folder in two fingers and tosses it to his left hip. Out of your grasp. You smile, eyes rolling, and pop your earbuds in. Joel breathes a laugh, eyes dipping again to skim read some contract on his phone. His hand is locked around your thigh. He likes that you just let him do it now.

Likes a lot of things about you. Likes that you put your music on shuffle, and then skip eleven tracks until you find one you actually want to listen to. Likes that your fingers twirl around the light chain of your necklace – the way they do anytime you’re nervous – and when he asks if you’re alright, you bareface lie to him and squeak, Yep.

Likes the glow the morning sun casts on you when you emerge from the car on the tarmac, pooling in the dimples on your cheeks, bright gold. The way you tug on the loose cotton of your sweatpants, bashful. Shy. And he likes that, when he follows you up the steps to the plane cabin, your awestruck expression lasts all of five seconds before that quick wit kicks straight back in.

“Feelin’ pretty guilty about all the air pollution,” you tell him, and Joel silently says his fifth thankful prayer this morning that he thought to ask you and not Martha.

He watches you settle into a seat by the window, watches you crane your neck to survey the view from the tiny circle of thick glass. He thinks about what he’d do if you were alone right now, if there weren’t crew slowly filing into the jet behind him.

He floats the idea. Tells you about the bedroom up back, tells you it’s cozy. You read between the lines just like he wants you to. And when the plane’s in the air, you follow after him.

You fall into bed together the same way you do when you arrive at the hotel. A tangle of limbs, of sweat and stuffy plane air. He sleeps the soundest he has in months – years, maybe. Pushed off by the sound of your breathing, the dip in the mattress by his side. The warmth which radiates from your body, the soft brush of your hand against his.

He puts it down to the travelling – the eight-hour flight, the plushy super king waiting on the other side. He puts it down to the way the world feels different, this side of the Atlantic. The privacy he feels come over the two of you, like sneaking into the next room: your voices muffled through the wall, your movements reduced to vague shadows beneath the door.

He watches you through sleepy eyes as you prance around the suite in the morning, twirling in and out of the bathroom while you get ready for the day. He wonders if this is what you’re like every day – if you spend your Monday mornings beaming like a little kid, toothbrush hanging lopsided from the corner of your mouth, white bubbles lining your gums. He wonders why he’s wondering. Why a part of him wants to see that version of you, too.

This version – now following his lead down Avenue Montaigne, doe-eyed and wonderstruck – is over all too soon. He’s dragged from her, from you, before he’s ready to leave.

His phone vibrates in his pocket right as he’s leading you out of some ridiculously overpriced jewelers – an irritating reminder of his meeting in an hour’s time.

“Fuck,” he whispers, holding you steady as you spin around to glimpse at the baroque building. “Hey, pretty girl,” he squeezes your hand, “I got some bad news.”

Your bottom lip pouts, eyes gleaming. It’s enough, he thinks, to convince him to stick around. If you asked him to, he’d text Jean-Marc right now and tell him to fuck off. But you tell him to go, tell him you’ll meet him back at the hotel once he’s done and you’re tired. With a teasing smirk and a tiny wave, you see him off down the cobbled street. He watches from the back window as you set off again, heading towards another iron-gated store.

Denis pulls up alongside the towering hotel, totters around the car to meet Joel as he stretches out of the Maybach. The square-jawed man stands with his hands linked, and nods enthusiastically when Joel thanks him.

“The shopping – I will take it back to the hotel,” he assures his boss, a wide smile on his lips.

He’s a good guy, Denis. He’s chauffeured Joel to five of these meetings over as many years – he knows the drill by now. Knows it’ll be a couple hours and a few whiskeys before he gets another call to pick him up.

His nodding doubles, more obedient when Joel asks him to make sure he listens for your call. “You mind stayin’ nearby that part of town?” he asks. “Just so – when she’s done, y’know…”

“Not at all,” Denis says, flapping two palms to the ground. Swatting away Joel’s concern, his worrying, his missing you.

He replies, a little absentmindedly, passing by the head of gray hair with a distant smile. “Thanks, Denis. See you later.”

Five meetings, five trips over here to be pestered by some obnoxious little man in an obnoxious little robe and obnoxious little loafers, and still, Joel never knows what to expect. He strides beneath the golden archway entrance into a domed lobby, every surface spotless and shining; marble counter in the center with a symmetrically-suited clerk sat behind.

She stands and smiles politely to Joel as he approaches, recognizing him with a flutter of her eyelashes. He feels the absence of your arm on his, an ache at his elbow.

“Monsieur,” she croons, pale fingers reaching for the telephone. She whispers something softly into the receiver and then nods, folding her painted lips together as she places the handset back into its cradle. With a floating hand aimed at the elevator behind her, she says, sultry and dreamlike, “He is ready for you.”

Joel fights an eyeroll with every fiber of his being. He wanders round the circular desk, bunches his shoulders into the tight elevator, and jams his thumb into the button marked P.

The doors shudder open when he reaches the top floor. He steps out slowly, waiting for the Frenchman to pounce on him like some kind of wild cat. Wouldn’t put it past him, Joel thinks. As he’s scanning the room, counting the six bouquets dotted around, there’s a single clap from behind the veiled curtains. A silhouette out on the terrace.

Jean-Marc swings between the sheer white, calling out to the lonely figure in his entryway. “If it isn’t my favorite American,” he sings, taking Joel by the arms and squeezing roughly. “How lovely to see you again, Joelie. Please, come.”

The sunlight blinds Joel when he steps out into it, peering over the city skyline under low brows. Jean-Marc is already sat at the top of a thin, glass table, pouring golden whiskey into a square glass and scooping two bulky ice cubes in. The nectar swirls around when the glass is held out to Joel, the ice tittering as he accepts it.

The table, a rocky terrain of pain au chocolat and brioche, pools of citrus spreads and dishes of butter. Joel keeps his hands to himself as Jean-Marc slaps jam onto a croissant, bronze flakes fluttering all over the table as he attempts to regale Joel with some investment into a casino.

“Riccardo says it is too much; I told him to go to hell. We will double the cost of the place, I know it, Joel. We have the eye for things like these, men like you and I, hm?”

Men like you and I, Joel thinks, lips tilting. He balances the glass on his thigh, watches the ice cubes turn over themselves. He thinks of you, thinks of the man you see him as. Thinks how tall he stands against the man Jean-Marc must see sat opposite him right now.

Thinks how rotten, and ugly, and how small the latter is. How easily you and your words could crumble him. All show, all sitting on perfect terraces with pretentious dickbags disguised as friends, drinking pissy whiskey with a plastered smile on his lips.

How comical it all is – the sound of yapping across the tabletop, These idiots would pay millions for manure if you painted it golden, the sprawling sheets of green-leafed plants, the headache-inducing flowers, the buckled loafers and the signet ring catching the sun.

How much he misses the weight of you on his hips, forearms flat on his chest, ear against his heart. The sound of your laughter lilting in his ear. The rosy smell of your skin and the feel of your eyelashes, featherlight on his cheek. He feels the distance between the two of you like elastic strung apart, stretching thinner and thinner, weaker and frailer, ready to snap into two halves at any moment.

“Anyways,” Jean-Marc says, lifting the wine bottle shakily. It clinks brashly against the lip of his glass, a painful scrape. Joel wonders if he’s already halfway to hammered. “Tell me how you’ve been, Joelie.”

Joel tells him he’s been fine. Business is fine. Money is fine. Company’s doing fine. Everything’s fucking fine. Easiest answer to avoid further questioning, to satiate Jean-Marc’s constant thirst for news, or intel, or just plain gossip.

He slips up, though. Makes the one colossal mistake he spent all morning hoping and praying and drilling directly into his brain that he wouldn’t.

Jean-Marc asks how his flight was, sticking the damp end of a cigarette to his bottom lip.

Joel says, “Good, yeah. We got here, maybe, ten o’clock last night.”

And Jean-Marc’s eyebrows arch. His hands freeze, match held against the striker strip. “We?” he asks, white stick flapping between his teeth.

“Uh,” Joel shifts in his seat. Your gentle wave, the corners of your lips, the toss of hair over your shoulder. It’s as though Jean-Marc can see his thoughts played on a reel before him, the haste with which Joel attempts to wipe you from his own mind. “Yeah,” he clears his throat, “Jerry ‘n Lisa. Len and Pol.”

The Frenchman’s eyes narrow, a grin pulling on his pink lips. “We,” he says again, whipping the match roughly against the strip. Speaking into cupped hands, a cloud of white billowing from his leathery fingers, he murmurs, “Joel brought company with him to Paris, yes? Who is the lucky tourist? Une petite amie?”

Joel’s tongue dabs at the sickly wash of whiskey on his lips. He thinks to grab the fucker by the throat, throttle him until the idea of you rattles from his skull, spilling back into Joel’s safe hands where you belong.

He almost fucking lies. Almost says it��s just Martha, or Drew, or his fucking mother. But Jean-Marc is like a rat, scurrying along after a source of water. He’ll find it in the end. They always do.

He breathes your name, reluctant to let it go. Jean-Marc cocks his head, leans in, a swirling snake of silky smoke lifting from the cigarette between his fingers. Joel repeats it, voice louder, but flatter. Breaks it into too many syllables. Lets his host hear every bite of annoyance.

“She’s my assistant,” he says, and Jean-Marc claps again.

“Your assistant! How wonderful. And where is she today? She is not…” his fingers circle the air, disturbing the trail of smoke, “…assisting you?”

“Gave her the afternoon off.” Joel lifts his glass to his lips. The geometric shape amplifies his voice, bass like the growl of a bear. “Busy couple days. She deserves some downtime.”

He hates the sound of your name as it peels from Jean-Marc’s tongue. Like a hangnail, the residue a gorge of bloody, torn skin. Your name is Joel’s favorite sound, he realizes now, and the way this little asshole keeps butchering it boils an anger so hot and so quick under his skin that he’s not sure he can hold it at bay.

It’s not as if he owns you or your name – far from it. He has no desire to be anything more than a placeholder: somewhere for you to slot your hand, rest your head, curl your body against. Still, he feels a direct protectiveness over you right now. An impulse to stand in front of Jean-Marc’s tiny figure, arms wide, stopping him from picturing you or learning about you or meeting you.

Which is, of course, exactly what the little fucker suggests.

A wet pff sound as he rids his mouth of bitter smoke, and he offers to host breakfast in the morning.

“No, no, we, uh –” Joel’s hands are up, like pleading with the man, whiskey kissing the lip of its glass, “– you don’t have to – Look, Jean-Marc, I’m sure you’re busy enough with all –”

“Nonsense!” Jean-Marc waves a hand. Ash sprinkles down the cuff of his robe. “It would be my pleasure. Shall we say, ten?”

Joel grumbles, eye following the flight of a bird in the distance. What are you doing right now? Are you back in the suite, trying on the outfit you picked out together? Are you still wandering down the streets, drinking up the lavish city like a perfect little cocktail of bliss and wonder?

And what the fuck does he have to do to excuse himself, to come find you, to wrap his arms around you and never let you leave his side again?

He feels idiotic. Juvenile. Like a stupid little teenager, pining for his junior year girlfriend. The feelings all sharp and brittle, prodding his heart roughly anytime he thinks too hard on them.

When he looks back to Jean-Marc – the cigarette tearing closer and closer to his fingers, an expectant smile on his lips – he concedes.

“Ten is fine,” he says, and suddenly, the sky casts over.

You’re on the terrace when he finally returns to the hotel room. Head aching from the alcohol and forced conversation, he drags himself over to you.

The sight of you, hair lifting in the breeze, the sweet smell and soft touch under his hands feels like the pouring of honey on a raw throat, like cool water lapping at his waist on a scorching day. And he needs more, and he feels the saliva pool beneath his tongue, and you’re touching him and talking to him and all he can think about is replacing his saliva with you – with every drop of you that you’ll lend him.

You follow his every request – parting your legs, making room for him between them, opening yourself to him like coming home after work, like sinking deep into your shared bed, like pushing your salt-slicked fingers on his tongue and chanting taste me taste me love me need me.

Petals opening, shards of orange separating. His cock throbs in his pants when he feels the circle of your hips against his jaw, the taste of sweet, sweet nectar spilling from your center. His clothes still smell of the smoke from Jean-Marc’s weedy lips; the sweat on his skin borne from three hours sat in the sun, dehydrated by whiskey, discussing money and gold and then money again.

He doesn’t want to fuck you here, like this. As that puny, pompous prick he’s felt like since the second he wandered through the Frenchman’s hotel doors. He can’t. You deserve him clean, new. You deserve the Joel you think he is – yours. Affected by your touch alone, moved by the gleam in your eye. You deserve him, Joel decides, on your terms.

And that same night, stood in the same spot, dregs of sunlight replaced by molten moonlight, staring at the dazzling Eiffel Tower against the deep blue sky – that same night, when he turns and clocks the silhouette of your body just feet from him, he realizes that this is it.

He’s sure he thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on, standing in the dim light, your fingers playing with the bust of the silk robe draped over your body. The jewelry on your neck catching the light like his own private attraction, his own little spectacle. Just for him.

He forgets any other version of himself. Shakes them off like seawater flying from his body as he emerges from the ocean. Venus stood before him; hair lifting in the light, palm over her breast. And he doesn’t notice the departure of those old versions; doesn’t feel the way they tear from his skin. His eyes are glued on you, only you, everything around the two of you reducing to dark matter. There is only his awestruck gaze pointed to your radiant form, as though the scene sits alive in the eye of Botticelli or Michelangelo.

Baby, he whispers, and you move forward, dragging him with you under a wave of lust and rebirth.

He stirs the next morning to the feeling of a weight shifting across his body, two divots in the mattress either side of his waist. Something nuzzling, warm and featherlight, into the nook below his earlobe. Wet kisses trailing down his neck.

There’s no weight of you in the crook of his arm anymore. He’s scooping thin air. He lifts it, and his palm meets the baggy cotton of his own T-shirt, draped over your body, draped over him.

A laugh brushes between his lips. “Mornin’, darlin’,” he croaks, voice still low and broken.

“Hi,” you whisper back, voice like silk and sugar and tufts of lustrous clouds.

He opens his eyes and you’re hovering over him. Tip of your nose circling his, hips light as air across his own.

You look so fucking cute, he thinks. He’d take what he had last night – you, dripping in black lace and bound by satin straps – every night for the rest of his life, if he could. If you’d grant him it. But, this. This.

You – in Joel’s clothes and nothing else. You – the curl of your hair now a lazy wave, the smoky afterthought of your half-removed makeup. The smell of sex still lingering on your skin, the taste of Joel still home on your tongue. Each part of you laced with a part of him.

You – holding yourself up over him, less than an inch apart, and all Joel thinks to do is wrap his arms around your back and let you drop onto his body; his strong, solid body, which accepts the weight of you with only so much as a tiny grunt over his lips when you fall on top of him.

You giggle. He swears he feels butterflies in his stomach. He prays you don’t feel them, fluttering purposefully against your ribcage.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumble into his collarbone, words curled by the smile on your lips. You suck a mark into the hot skin, teeth and flesh and sel et sucre, and then push off from his chest, nudging his thighs wider with your knee.

Your tongue drags a wet trail down his chest, from solid sternum to suppler stomach, following the thickening of hair the lower you move. You leave wet kisses along the crests of his hipbones, the gentle slope of skin leading you to the wide base of his cock, already stiff.

Joel’s breath hitches when your tongue sweeps across it. Your eyes lift and lock with his, fingers taking a heavy hold of him. He smiles, tongue sitting patiently behind his teeth.

“Go on, angel,” he nods, “put that pretty little mouth on daddy.”

You obey instantly, as hungry for it as he is, your tongue swiping from the base of him up, curling around as you reach the head. Swollen, gleaming, slit dripping with slick precome that you lick with just the tip of your tongue and send a roll of pleasure across every nerve in Joel’s body.

He falls back, hands searching for the back of your skull as your lips sink further down down down, tightening around the smooth skin, stopping only when they meet the tuft of hair decorating his dick. His tip pushes against the back of your throat. His head begins to spin.

His back arches, hands anchored on your head, holding you steady as you bob up and down. His shoulders push heavy into the mattress, tummy sucks in until the points of his ribcage mold through his skin. And, oh – you’re so soft with it, so wet and so warm and so good with your tongue, kitten licks over his tip, wet fist wrapped tight around the width of him.

You lift your hand and meet his halfway up his stomach, fingers intertwining, Joel’s knuckles instantly whitening.

“Doin’ so good, baby,” he groans, gasping when your throat constricts around him again.

You gag, choking with a wet grunt, but you never pull away. A quick pause, a heavy breath from your nostrils, and your movements resume.

“’s alright,” Joel coos, fingers rubbing against the back of your hand, “you got it. Atta-girl, fuck.”

His hips begin to lift, slowly jerking up into your mouth. He looks down, loosens the grip you have on his hand only to run his thumb delicately across your cheek, dabbing lightly at the tears in the corner of your eye.

You suck hard around him, cheeks hollowing, tongue flattening to his underside to let him fuck your mouth – a rhythm of sopping sounds and heartbeat hums from your throat. He’s close. He’s so fucking close.

“Just like that,” he tells you, and you blink up at him. Moans muffled by the mouthful of cock, saliva and sex slipping from your swollen lips. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come. You’re such a good girl – you want daddy to give it to you?”

Mhm, you mumble into the warmth of his cock, the vibration of your throat on the eager skin enough to send Joel over the fucking edge. He throws his head back, lifts his hips up to you, and fills your mouth at the same rate he fills the room with the sound of his orgasm.

You take every last drop. You’re so good for him. Once he stills, once the screaming in his ears subsides, once the room slowly desaturates back to normal, a faded, blurry normal – he sits up and hooks his hands under your arms, pulling you up into him.

You collapse against his chest for the second time this morning, giggling and licking the last of his come from your mouth. Joel guides your jaw towards his, lips meeting in the middle, and licks the salty aftertaste from your tongue.

He rolls you both over, your thighs sitting safe on his hips.

“I know,” you sigh, head rolling against the curve of his arm beneath, “I know. You don’t gotta tell me.”

“Tell you what, angel?” he asks, one eyebrow lifting.

“Best head you ever had. I know.”

He scoffs, lips finding the hinge of your jaw. You giggle into his ear, a sound softer than birds cooing at the break of dawn, sweeter than the first bite of ripe fruit – the sharp taste bursting across his tongue and coating his teeth in sugar, numbed by the holy coaxing of feathered doves.

“You’re good with it, I’ll give you that,” he murmurs, and the giggle erupts into a laugh which fuels him enough to follow your roll out of bed, tear his shirt from your shoulders, and slip into the shower behind you, kneeling before you when you turn to look.

Joel’s second encounter with Jean-Marc in as many days, goes about as well as the first.

He balls his fists as he introduces the pair of you, watches like a caged and bound animal as Jean-Marc’s eyes loop all around your face, your shoulders, the pull of your dress around your waist.

He knows he’s being quiet. The glances you keep stealing at him tell him you know it, too. He wishes there was something he could say, something his lips might be able to carve into a neat little sentence. Tongue sanding the jagged edges of what he’d really like to say into a joke, a quip to ease the tension you so obviously feel.

But he can’t. His tongue isn’t blunt, isn’t defensive. It’s sharp like the kiss of venom, protective and aggressive. He knows he’d do better to hold it tight between his teeth.

The best he finds himself able to do is keep a heavy hand on your thigh, let you wrap your fingers around his own, squeeze you in place of whispering in your ear.

You hold your own, up against Jean-Marc. He knew you would. He learned less than a week into working with you, not to underestimate you. Your quick tongue, the million and one observations hidden behind the flash of a frown. He knows you can read Jean-Marc – probably better than he can, having known the guy ten years.

It doesn’t make it feel any safer, though. Luring you into a lion’s den. He knows you’ll make it out alive, but he can’t stand the thought of the claw marks in your skin.

That feeling washes over him again – that urge scored so deep into his bones that it hits marrow, to put himself between you and anything which might come to harm you. He swallows it down with the acidic sting of orange juice – slots it somewhere safe in his chest until he can assess whatever the fuck it is. Whatever the fuck it means.

His hand tightens around your leg when Jean-Marc mutters something to his assistant. Joel decides against asking you what it means, for fear he’ll tear the Frenchman limb from limb, strips of satin robe strung across the paved patio.

The assistant – tall, thin, looming over you like impending doom on legs – offers to show you the view of the city. And as Jean-Marc settles into your empty chair, the image of that torn satin robe shunts closer towards reality.

“I wonder if you might indulge me,” Jean-Marc slithers, pinching thin air with one hand and resting the other on the back of Joel’s chair.

“I wonder,” Joel mutters, finger tapping angrily on the table.

“She is a wonderful character. Beautiful, and very smart, I can see. I would be crazy not to ask, you must understand, Joel –”

He can’t help himself. He bites before Jean-Marc lays the trap. His head shakes. “She’s – she’s –”

And suddenly there isn’t a single word in the English dictionary worthy of describing you. Not a single combination of letters, of sounds, of syllables and phonetics that would do you justice.

He settles for, “I wouldn’t be anywhere without her.” It feels fucking redundant. It is fucking redundant.

Jean-Marc nods. “And you know that I see the value in things, hm?”

Joel dead-eyes his opponent, gaze narrowing. “What are you sayin’, Jean-Marc?”

“Well,” he shrugs, gesturing to the shadow pointing out the Eiffel Tower, “Paul is fantastic. Dedicated, hardworking. But it is a lot, for one person. I am sure you can understand, being that you have two assistants yourself.”

“And you wanna take one of ‘em out from under me?”

Jean-Marc chuckles, shaking his head. Tutting. Teeth grinding. He senses the bitter tone, hears the distortion of words squeezing through gritted teeth. “Not at all, my dear Joelie, not at all.”

Placating. It pisses Joel off more.

“I simply would like to raise the question of: would she like to be…taken?”

“Taken?”

“Hired. By me.”

The smug grin which pulls over taut lips incites Joel with a desire to punch the luminous veneers from their gummy holders. His fist balls again, nails digging harshly into his palm. He swallows roughly.

“She seems…she seems happy enough where she is to me.” He glances over, catches your eye for a fleeting second before Paul’s ghostly hand perches on your shoulder and turns your attention away again. Resigned, he adds, “You would have to ask her. I ain’t speakin’ for her.”

Jean-Marc’s leer only grows. “Ask her,” he repeats, nodding. “That is an idea.” He pushes out of his chair with a squeal of wood across stone, calling to the party, “Why don’t we take a drive? There is so much of the city I would love to show you – both of you, of course.”

Before he knows it, Joel’s on his feet, too, panic hammering through every muscle in his body. He tosses some half-assed excuse to the breeze; a half-truth, a desperate attempt to pull you away from the beady eyes and sharp claws of Jean-Marc and his assistant, and back over to his side. He takes your arm and scatters, pulling you past four, five, six bursting bouquets, your heels clicking along the polished floor, your head spinning.

He can feel the blood thrashing through his veins as the elevator arrives back in the lobby. Can see the shadow of Paul the assistant still over your shoulder, the place his hand sat like charcoal on white linen. He feels red hot, anger mixed with panic mixed with a word he hasn’t let slip just yet. He covers it by answering your questions shakily, diverting the ones about the conversation on the terrace.

And then you’re back in the safety of Denis’s car. You’re back to being on your own, together. No third set of eyes watching your every move, studying you like you’re some doll to be observed, or worse. You’re touching him again, holding his arm, caressing his cheek. His breathing eases, his body relaxes into the backseat of the Maybach.

You tell him you’d like to see the Louvre. So Joel takes you to see the Louvre.

Joel Miller has never been in love.

He’s said it, sure. Said it plenty to Avery.

G’night, love you.

I’m so proud of you, sweet; I love you so much.

Thanks for makin’ dinner, babe, I love you.

It began to take the form of breath, passing over his tongue with as much ease and instinct as his lungs would push out air. She looked at him a certain way – he’d say he loved her. They’d talk about the future – he’d tell her he loved her. They fought, over his working hours or the interest rates at different banks or whose family to spend Christmas with – and he’d remind her he loved her.

He meant every single one. He did, truly, love her. He loved her auburn hair, the way it’d sweep over her shoulders like a wave of fire. He loved the way she would pause to take thirty photos of the sky at sunset. He loved how homely she was, how simple and warm she could be. Her recipe books lining the shelves in her kitchen. Her pajamas folded neatly at the foot of her bed, waiting for her at the end of the day.

He loved her enough to spend four years with her, a life split nearly down the middle. Never seeping into one another. His side of the bed, and hers. His items in the fridge, and hers. His fucking bathrobe, and hers.

But right now, standing in a jam-packed room, maneuvering awkwardly around museum guides and backpacked tourists, avoiding the knee-height glass barriers and dodging fucking selfie sticks – Joel knows: he has never been in love.

Not until the moment he turns from some headless bust to search the room – the dark marble walls and great, carved arches; the white Parisian sky illuminating everything in a pale glow. Not until he catches a glimpse of you amongst the sea of bodies – stood before the Venus de Milo, staring up in wonder at Aphrodite like she’s the first thing in the world you’ve ever truly seen. The gentle lean of her body, the low sling of marble fabric around her waist, the soft dimple of her navel.

The way your eyes scan every detail of her form – every fold draped over her thigh, ever chisel mark and chip in her torso. The round swell of her breasts and the wavelike swirl of her hair. Barely blinking, afraid to lose sight of her for even a second.

Joel’s never been in love. Not until this very moment.

He only turned to make some quip about…well, now he can’t fucking remember, can he? Something irrelevant. Something so mundane, so meaningless, so dull that he wishes he could take back every word he ever said to you and use the breath more wisely – use the time spent making stupid jokes and work orders, just to look at you. Watch you, like he is right now. Every other thought, every worry and concern drop weightlessly from his mind, with such ease that he doesn’t feel the loss.

Your fixed stare up at the statue’s set face, the slow pacing of your heels, ankles crossing over one another as you pivot around her. And the look of wonder on your face – as if Joel instantly recognizes eight-year-old you, thumbing through the pages of the first art book she was ever gifted, copying the curled hair and round shoulders of the marble goddess in a pencil sketch.

Haloed by the towering windows behind you, arms crossed over your chest. Lips melting from a content smile to agape, and then pinning back in a smile again.

And suddenly – he can’t remember the flame of hair over his ex’s shoulder. Doesn’t remember a single meal she ever cooked for him. In the blink of an eye, he realizes he doesn’t want a life neatly split anywhere.

He realizes that his life, the way he wants it, was always meant to be meshed with yours. Intertwined so tightly that there is no his and hers. Last night at dinner, you couldn’t decide between the bœuf bourguignon and the confit de canard, so Joel ordered both – as well as what he wanted – and the two of you picked at three separate meals. Holding out forkfuls to feed one another, comparing and judging them like professional chefs on a fucking cooking show.

Back at the hotel, you fell asleep in his arms. Your head nestled under his chin; your arms curved around his shoulders. In the center of the bed, laying at an angle. When he got up this morning, the robe he threw around himself smelled like your perfume. The terrycloth on your shoulders, tinged with the weak scent of whiskey.

None of it – not the relationship you had before any of this happened, not the strolling over one boundary to the next, not the blurring of lines between colleague, and friend, and lover – has been neat. None of it has made any sense. And maybe that’s why he fucking trusts it so much.

Joel spent the first two weeks after you fooled around in his office swearing he wasn’t that guy. Staring himself down in the mirror with a balled fist, a pointed finger that said, You don’t sleep with your fucking assistant, you idiot.

And now, standing opposite you in a crowded room and only seeing you – he knows. He finally gets it.

He loves you. He – no, fuck.

He doesn’t just love you.

He’s on his knees, dagger through his heart –

blood spilling all over the pristine floor –

pathetic and adolescent in its nature –

butterflies tearing through his stomach as destructive as a hurricane –

in love with you.

He thinks to say it. To wander over and kiss your shoulder, hook his chin into your collarbone like he did in the Dolce and Gabbana store, and whisper, Hey. I love you. Did you know that?

But he knows that’d be fucking insane. Knows you’d probably unstick yourself from him and back up, tripping in your step. Paris ruined.

He knows he’d probably get so far as curving around your back and then bottle it, anyway. The words would die in his throat. You’d just lean back into him, none the wiser. You’d still make his heart pound.

Pound the way it does when you reach for his wrist and drag him off into the next room, and the next, and the next. And with every piece of art your eyes fall upon, another fragment of your soul is revealed to Joel. The depth of da Vinci, the color of Bruyère. The scale of Veronese and the beauty of Canova.

And with every part revealed, a desire blooms in him to learn the next part. Understand you; know you better than he knows himself. See you, the way he’s seeing you right now.

He takes his ex’s lead, when you’re stood in front of the Mona Lisa. All those fucking sunset photos, like she was afraid to forget what it looked like. The thought becomes urgent, pushing past every other meaningless word in his head.

He taps you on the shoulder, says your name lightly. When you turn, he’s already holding the phone up, watching your delayed motions through the screen. Please don’t let me forget this. Don’t let me forget you, like this.

“Smile,” he says, and you do.

“You’re cheesy,” you tell him, wandering off from the painting.

He’s still staring at the photo. At your dimpled cheeks, your red lips. Staring at your eyes, seeing a new glint in them that wasn’t there before. Like eight-year-old you smiling back at him, trusting him, knowing him.

Joel breathes, “She’s beautiful,” taking your waist in a steady arm to guide you out of the room.

You misunderstand him. He knows it. He doesn’t correct you.

She’s beautiful – the Mona Lisa. But she only became beautiful the second you laid eyes on her. The second she handed you a piece of your soul, the transaction laid bare for Joel to witness. A bucket list item ticked, or simply your childhood self, stood before one of her own seven wonders.

Everything is only beautiful after it comes into contact with you.

There’s a change in you, the morning that you leave. Something low-lying, melancholy and blue. Joel feels it under your skin, in the grip you keep on his hand the entire car ride from the hotel to the airport.

“You good?” he asks, walking up the steps of the jet, shelled around you. Safe, with him, safe with him.

You nod, but you’re watching the Maybach roll off, rounding the corner back to the airport. The same way you watch the city disappear beneath the clouds as the plane takes off.

The same way you glance over to him, your glossy eyes twinkling, pearly tears swimming across your waterline. Joel gets it. Figures he feels much the same.

He leads you slowly back through to the dark cabin bedroom, where you peel the shirt and sweats from your body. He watches from the bed, arm outstretched and inviting you to burrow into his side, curl around his body, loop your legs through his. His own little Aphrodite, the curves and the dimples and all the beauty to go with her.

He sinks his shoulder to let you nuzzle into him, let your slow-closing eyes follow his movements like rocking you back and forth to sleep. You link your arm through his, locking your bodies tight together. Joel slows his typing down, moves gentler, so you can fall asleep without being nudged too much by his arm.

You mumble something into the sleeve of his tee. He pauses. Looks down at your already closed eyes, your parted lips.

“What’d you say, baby?”

You take a deep, slow breath. Already sleeping, he thinks. And then, in the sigh that escapes from your mouth, you whisper to him.

“Please don’t ever leave.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #ceo!joel miller #ceo!joel #sugardaddy!joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fic #tlou #joel miller smut #fic: sex on fire

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apiswitchcraft · 1 year ago

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greek god epithets

this post includes zeus, hera, athena, demeter, ares, hephaestus, and poseidon. for part two including hades, persephone, hekate, aphrodite, hermes, apollo, artemis, and dionysus click here

epithets are surnames (as <god's name> <epithet>) used to call upon the greek gods without saying their name directly. the epithet that you choose often corresponds to the purpose you are invoking them for

ZEUS:

-OMBRIUS/HYETIUS/APHESIUS= of the rain

-SCOTITAS= the dark/murky

-CERAUNIUS= of the thunderbolt

-ASTRAPAEUS= of the lightning

-CATAEBATES= the descending

-LABRANDEUS= the furious/raging

-ICMAEUS= of moisture

-CONIUS= of the dust

-MAEMACTES= the boisterous

-EVENEMUS= of fair winds

-LIMENOSCOPUS= the watcher of sea havens

-BASILEUS/CORYPHAEUS= the king/chief/ruler

-HYPATUS/HYPSISTUS= the supreme

-CTESIUS= of the house/property

-HERCEIUS= of the courtyard

-BULAEUS= of the council

-AMBULIUS= the counsellor

-TELEUS/ZYGIUS= of marriage

-MOIRAGETES= the leader of the Fates

-CLARIUS= of the lots

-SEMALEUS= the giver of signs (like clairvoyant messages)

-MECHANEUS= the contriver

-COSMETES= the orderer

-THEUS AGATHUS= the good God

-EPIDOTES= the giver of good

-PLUSIUS= of wealth

-PHILIUS= of friendship

-XENIUS= of hospitality/strangers

-HICESIUS= of suppliants

-PHYXIUS= of refuge

-PALAMNAEUS= the punisher of murderers

-CATHARSIUS= of ritual purification

-PROSTROPAEUS= the turner of pollution

-APEMIUS= averter of ills (ailments)

-SOTER= the savior/deliverer

-MILICHIUS= the gracious/merciful

-PANHELENIOS= of all the Greeks

-LAOITES= of the people

-POLEIUS= of the city-state

-SOSIPOLIS= the city-savior

-ELEUTHEREUS= of freedom

-CHRYSAORUS= of the Golden Sword

-STATIUS/AREIUS= of war/the warlike

-STHENIUS= of strength/the strong

-TROPAEUS= turns to flight/who defeats

-PHYXIUS= puts to flight/banishes

HERA:

-PAIS= the girl

-NYMPHEUOMENE= the betrothed bride

-TELEIA= the (adult) woman/the goddess of marriage

-CLEIRA= the widow

-GAMELIA= of marriage

-ATAUROTE/PARTHENOS= the virginal

-ZYGIA= presider over marriage

-HENIOCHE= of the chariot

-ANTHEA= of the flowers

-ARGOEA= of the ship Argo

-HYPERCHEIRIA= whose hand is above

-BASILEIA= the queen

ATHENA:

-NIKE= victory

-AREIA/PALLAS= of war/the warlike

-ZOSTERIA= girded in armor

-STHENIAS= of strength/the strong

-POLEMODOCUS= the war sustaining

-HIPPIA= of horses

-CHALINITIS= bridler of horses

-ERYMA= the defender

-SOTEIRA= the savior

-ALALACOMENEIS= the protectress

-POLIAS= of the city

-POLIUCHUS= the city protectress

-POLIATIS= the keeper of the city

-ERGANE= the worker

-PAEONIA= the healer

-HYGEIA= of good health

-ALEA= of escapes to refuge

-AMBULIA= the counsellor

-PRONOEA= of foresight

-APATURIA= the deceiver/of deception

-MACHANITIS= contriver of plans

-OXYDERCES= the sharp sighted

-CORYPHASIA/CORYPHAGENES= relating to the head (like her birth)

-PARTHENUS= the virgin/maiden

-CORIA= the maiden

-XENIA= of hospitality (especially to strangers/foreigners)

DEMETER:

-CHTHONIA/DEO= of the earth

-CHLOE= the green/the first shoots

-EPOGMIA= of the furrows

-ANESIDORA= she who sends forth gifts

-PLUTODOTIRA= the giver of wealth

-CARPOPHORUS/MALOPHORUS= bearer of fruit

-THERMASIA= of warmth/heat

-MEGALA THEA= the great Goddess

-MEGALA MATER= the great Mother

-THESMOPHORUS= the bringer of law

-THESMIA= of the laws

-PROSTASIA= the patron/leader

-PANACHAEA= of all the Greeks

-ERINYS= of fury/wrath

-MELAENA= the black

-LUSIA= the bathing/purifying

-HORAPHORUS= the bringer of season

-POLYPHORBUS= the all nourishing/bountiful

-AGLAOCARPUS= the giver of goodly fruit

-AGLAODORUS= the bestower of splendid gifts

-CALLISTEPHANUS= the beautifully crowned

-EUSTEPHANUS= the lovely crowned

-EUCOMUS= the lovely haired

-XANTHE= the blonde/golden-haired

-CYANOPEPLUS= the dark veiled/cloaked

-CALLISPHYRUS= the beautiful

-CHRYSAORUS= of the golden blade

-DIA THEA= the bright Goddess

-SEMNE= the holy/revered

-HAGNE= the pure/chaste/holy

-ANASSA/POTHIA= the queen

-POTHIA THEAON= the queen amongst goddesses

-CYDRA THEA= the glorious/noble goddess

-ORGIA= of religious orgies

-MYSTERIA= of mysteries

ARES:

-THERITAS= the beastly/brutish

-HIPPIUS= of the horses

-APHNEIUS= the abundant

-GYNAECOTHOENAS= feasted by women

-MIAEPHONUS= the blood stained/bloody

-LAOSSOUS= he who rallies men

-BROTOLOEGUS= the manslaughtering

-ANDREIPHONTES= the destroyer of men

-CHALCEUS/CHALCOCORUSTES= of the bronze/armed with bronze

-TEICHESIPLETES= the stormer of cities

-AATUS POLEMOEO= insatiate of fighting/war

-ENCHESPALUS= spear-brandishing

-RHINOTORUS= shield/flesh piercing

-OXYS= the sharp/piercing

-THOOS= the swift/fleet

-THURUS= the violent/furious

-OBRIMUS= the strong/mighty

-DINUS= the terrible/fearsome

-ENYALIUS= the warlike

-CHRYSOPELEX= of the golden helm

HEPHAESTUS:

-CLYTUS= the renowned/famed

-PERICLYTUS/AGACLYTUS= the very famed/the glorious

-CLYTOMETIS/CLYTOTECHNES= famed for crafts/skills

-POLYTECHNES= of many skills

-POLYPHRON= the ingenious/inventive

-POLYMETIS= resourceful

-AETHALOIS THEUS= the sooty god

-CHALCEUS= the bronze/copper smith

-CYLLOPODIUM/AMPHIGYEIS= referring to his disability

POSEIDON:

-BASILEUS= the king/lord

-PELAGAEUS= of the sea/marine

-AEGAEON= of the Aegeon sea

-PROSCLYSTIUS= who dashes against

-ASPHALIUS= who secures safe voyage

-EPOPTES= the overseer/watcher

-GAEOCHUS= the holder of the earth

-ENNOSIGAEUS= shaker of the earth

-HIPPIUS= of the horses

-HIPPOCURIUS= the horse tender

-PHYTALMIUS= the plant nurturer

-GENETHLIUS= of the kin/the kindred

-DOMATITES= of the house

-LAOITES= of the people

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turinspeachjam · 2 months ago

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Touched by An Angel

This is several days late, but Happy Birthday @thefreakandthehair! Your birthday prompt may have inadvertently rekindled my affection for volleyball.

Beta read by the lovely @devondespresso

Dividers by @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Read on ao3

Eddie stopped mid-sentence, his gaze ensnared by the sight of an angel in flight.

They had been walking through the park because Chrissy had insisted that Eddie get some form of exercise during the day. Chrissy always picked a different route for them to follow to prevent boredom caused by the mundanity of routine—or, as Chrissy liked to put it, to keep Eddie’s ADHD-addled brain from losing interest and giving up.

Eddie had been so thoroughly engrossed in impressing upon Chrissy the vital role of charisma casters within a D&D party—a topic he felt most passionate about being a Bard himself—that he did not notice they had wandered closer to the courts where people played scrimmage games of various sports involving balls that Eddie did not have the patience to learn the names of.

Not that any of that mattered in the face of the world’s most beautiful man. Eddie stared in slack-jawed awe as he watched a sun-kissed child of Apollo leap into the air to slam a ball to the ground on the opposite side of a net. Eddie felt an ache in his chest, his breath stuttering as the angel landed gracefully and waited for the ball to come to him again.

“Eddieee,” Chrissy sang, amusement clear in her voice. “Are you ogling a volleyball player? Your own self-sworn enemy?”

Eddie, feeling caught and bewildered, turned to Chrissy with a furrowed brow.

“Self-sworn enemy? What are you talking about? That is the single most beautiful man I have ever seen in my life. When have I ever declared him my enemy?”

“Wow, those rose-colored glasses must be squeezing your brain,” Chrissy laughed. “Eddie, you’re always talking about how participating in sports is the textbook picture of conformity. You were so grumpy when you found out I used to be a cheerleader! All it takes is a pretty face for you to chill out?”

Eddie guffawed at his best friend, finding it difficult to defend himself when he had been so thoroughly read to filth. He spent so much time sputtering and gaping like a fish—much to Chrissy’s delight—that he missed the game ending. Before he could make any semblance of an argument against Chrissy’s accusations, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He swung around dramatically, only to come face to face with his beloved angel. Eddie found that the knot in his tongue only tied tighter in the face of such beauty.

“If I’m the single most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, then are you a vampire? Because clearly you haven’t seen yourself in a mirror.” Eddie’s angel crooned with a charming grin on his face.

It was bad. It was so very bad, and yet, Eddie was enthralled. He was entranced. He was ensnared by this child of Aphrodite who was probably the lamest person he could have fallen ass over tea kettle for. Without a second thought, Eddie dropped to his knees. He thought he heard Chrissy mumble something about him being dramatic, but that hardly mattered. What mattered was the angel before him.

“Honey, I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” Eddie promised, devotion clear in his voice. “So long as you’re mine, I’m yours.”

His angel stood frozen for a moment, staring at Eddie kneeling below him. Eddie was almost afraid that perhaps he had taken it too far, that this man would not reciprocate his feelings. But then he saw a flash of awe in the eyes gazing at him from above and Eddie knew that he at least had a chance.

“I would be honored to call you mine and for you to call me yours,” his angel murmured reverently.

Eddie leapt for joy, taking the man’s hands in his and giddily spinning them around. The laugh his antics elicited was everything to him. As he slowly brought them to a stop, Eddie pulled those strong hands close to him and placed a gentle kiss on the back of each of them.

“I’m Steve, by the way,” his angel said quietly, his voice trembling in a way that gave Eddie pause. He looked up into Steve’s eyes and saw that same awe that had been there when he got on his knees. There was, however, a shine to his eyes that implied unshed tears. It made Eddie wonder if he was the first person to treat Steve like a treasure and then wonder again at the impossibility of such a thought.

“It’s my humblest pleasure to meet you, Steve,” Eddie said warmly, putting as much adoration and sincerity into his voice as possible. “I’m Eddie.”

“Eddie,” Steve breathed. He said nothing more, but that did not bother Eddie in the slightest. They gazed intently at each other until the sound of a throat clearing interrupted them.

“I’m Chrissy,” Chrissy announced, laughter in her voice. “I’m glad that you’re endeared by Eddie’s antics. Normally he has a much different opinion when it comes to jocks.”

“Chrissy!”

Eddie could hear Steve giggling behind him as he yelled at his best friend for her sneaky attempt at sabotage.

Steve and Raleigh knew there would be plenty of other tournaments for them to participate in, but it was difficult to draw focus on future potential when their loss was still fresh.

So, here they were, practicing for all the world to see. As an outside hitter, Steve was responsible for keeping an eye on the ball at all times, ensuring it never landed on his side of the court. He tracked his teammates movements, cataloguing each bump, set, and spike that sent the ball sailing over the net. He never wavered as he blocked every single shot that headed his way. After he spiked the ball onto the opposite side of the court for a final time, Raleigh called the match, pulling Steve’s attention away from his teammates, only for him to pause and see the most beautiful man he ever laid eyes on.

He was breathtaking, all long curly hair and large brown eyes. Steve could not make out any details with how far away he stood, but he could tell the man was covered in ink. He was wearing a shirt with some band logo on it and the sleeves cut off so he could see every delicious curve of his abdomen. Steve needed to know this man immediately.

Without much thought, Steve grabbed his duffel bag and headed in the direction of the gorgeous man who was gesturing wildly to the strawberry blonde by his side. Raleigh caught his eye briefly, only to notice immediately where Steve’s attention was and subsequently rolled his eyes.

“Go on, Loverboy.”

Steve flashed him a grin before hurrying off to catch himself a man.

As he approached, he heard his curly haired beauty declare something about “the single most beautiful man he had ever seen.” Steve wanted to laugh, charmed at the coincidence of having the exact same thought about the man speaking. By the time he reached him, the strawberry blonde had rendered his man speechless, allowing Steve the perfect opportunity to interject.

“If I’m the single most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, then are you a vampire? Because clearly you haven’t seen yourself in a mirror.”

It was not Steve’s best line, but it still did the trick. The man before him smiled so brightly the sun would be jealous. Robin would laugh at the poetry Steve’s brain was rattling off at the sight, but Steve could not care less.

“Honey, I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” The man swore, his words sending tingles down Steve’s spine. “So long as you’re mine, I’m yours.”

Oh, how he had longed for someone to say those exact words to him. Steve had gone on many dates over the years, most of which ended up going nowhere. He only recently told both Robin and Raleigh that he was giving up dating for the foreseeable future, unsure that he could handle another heartbreak.

He really hoped this time would be different.

“I would be honored to call you mine and for you to call me yours,” Steve answered quietly, unable to hide the sincerity in his tone.

The smile on the man’s face only grew wider. He grabbed onto Steve’s hands and swung him in circles with the enthusiasm of a man who won the lottery. Steve laughed, unable to hide his own delight at his stranger’s antics. As they slowed down, the man pulled Steve’s hands toward his mouth and placed a gentle kiss on the back of each of them. Steve’s heart raced at the sight, hoping the gesture meant something far from casual, despite the fact that they were still strangers to each other.

“I’m Steve, by the way.”

“It’s my humblest pleasure to meet you, Steve. I’m Eddie.”

Eddie. The beautiful man’s name was Eddie. Steve could feel his heartbeat growing erratic, completely enchanted with the man standing before him. Steve repeated his name breathlessly, desperate to memorize it.

The moment did not last long, interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing.

“I’m Chrissy,” The strawberry blonde announced with a laugh. “I’m glad that you’re endeared by Eddie’s antics. Normally he has a much different opinion when it comes to jocks.”

“Chrissy!”

As Eddie turned to defend himself, Steve could not help but laugh at the whole situation. Eddie was still holding his hands and Steve’s heart was beating a mile a minute. Robin and Raleigh were going to give him so much crap for this.

He could not wait to tell them.

#stranger things #ready steddie go #steddie #my writing

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