#and these are the forces we had ranged within us

[mariacallous]

In July 2020, a 72-year-old attorney posing as a delivery person rang the doorbell at US district judge Esther Salas’ house in North Brunswick, New Jersey. When the door opened, the attorney fired a gun, wounding the judge’s husband—and killing her only child, 20-year-old Daniel Mark Anderl.

The murderer, Salas said, had found her address online and was outraged because she hadn’t handled a case of his client fast enough. In her despair, Salas publicly pleaded, “We can make it hard for those who target us to track us down … We can't just sit back and wait for another tragedy to strike.”

She wanted judges to be able to keep their home addresses private. New Jersey lawmakers delivered. Months after the murder, they unanimously enacted Daniel’s Law. Today, current and former judges, cops, prosecutors, and others working in criminal justice can have their household’s address and phone numbers withheld from government records in the state. They also can demand that the data be removed from any website, including popular tools for researching people such as Whitepages, Spokeo, Equifax, and RocketReach.

Companies that don’t comply within 10 business days have to pay a penalty of at least $1,000. This makes New Jersey’s law the only privacy statute in the US that guarantees people a court payout when requests to keep information private are ignored.

That provision is being put to a consequential test.

In a pile of lawsuits in New Jersey—drummed up by a 41-year-old serial entrepreneur named Matt Adkisson and five law firms, including two of the nation’s most prominent—about 20,000 workers, retirees, and their relatives are suing 150 companies and counting for allegedly failing to honor requests to have their personal information removed under Daniel’s Law.

These companies, which Adkisson estimates generate $150 billion annually in sales, may now be on the hook for $8 billion in penalties. But what’s more important to him is the hope that this narrow New Jersey law could act as a wedge to force data brokers to stop publishing sensitive data about people of all professions nationwide. He’s hoping that this multibillion-dollar pursuit, with its army of union cop households, may be a catalyst for better personal privacy for us all.

If he doesn’t win, the oft-derided data broker industry would have proved that it has a right under the First Amendment to publish people’s contact information. Websites could avoid further regulation, and no one in the US may ever be guaranteed by law to become less googleable. “I never thought we would have such a hard time, that it would turn into such a battle,” Adkisson says. “Just home address, phone number, remove it. One state. Twenty-thousand people.”

This is the first definitive account of how the fate of one of the country’s most intriguing privacy laws came to rest on the shoulders of Adkisson’s latest tech startup, Atlas.

Matt Adkisson is almost your prototypical lifelong entrepreneur. He quit high school at 16 to code video games and small-business websites. His parents insisted, though, that he audit classes across the street from their home, at the US Naval War College in Rhode Island. So he began learning about national security. One lesson he picked up: When judges live in fear and can’t rule impartially, democracies can wither.

But saving democracy wasn't his passion. Making money was. He headed off to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology with designs on becoming a consultant or investment banker, but dropped out before senior year. Like so many other young people in the midst of the Web 2.0 frenzy, he had an entrepreneurial itch. Without telling them, Adkisson cashed out his parents’ tuition payment, and in 2006, he and a friend slept under office desks for a month before founding a company called FreeCause with Adkisson’s brother to develop marketing tools for Facebook games. Adkisson later bought shares of the nascent social media startup. Both bets paid millions. In 2009, FreeCause sold for about $30 million.

Adkisson upgraded to nights on a friend’s couch in San Francisco, where he used his wealth to invest in or start dozens of other software companies. As they sold, he became a comfortable multimillionaire. It was his last big deal, in 2018, that set him down the path of privacy crusader. He had sold Safer, which developed a Google Chrome competitor called Secure Browser, to antivirus maker Avast for about $10 million.

Adkisson and a cofounder recall that during a meeting over lakeside beers near offices in Friedrichshafen, Germany, after the deal closed, an Avast executive demanded they feed search activity from Secure Browser’s millions of users to Jumpshot, a sibling unit that was selling antivirus users’ browsing history to companies wanting to study consumer trends.

Adkisson stood to make millions of dollars in bonuses from the proposed integration. He refused. It was too intrusive to share that intimate data, he says, and a violation of trust. (Avast declined to comment on the episode. It shuttered Jumpshot, and this year agreed to pay $16.5 million to settle US government charges over the service’s allegedly deceptive data usage.)

Adkisson left Avast in December 2020 thinking he would keep adding to his portfolio of over 300 startup investments or pursue something in AI, like automating brushstrokes to create on-demand oil paintings. But he couldn’t shake the Friedrichshafen incident. For his web browsing, he started to use VPNs and the privacy-focused search engine DuckDuckGo. He tried to get websites to remove his new East Coast home address. Those efforts mostly failed; companies had no obligation to comply.

These websites that sell addresses or phone numbers typically get that data by buying voter or property records from governments, and user account details from companies willing to deal. The easy access to data enabled by the aggregators can be vital to services like identity verification or targeted advertising. But the customers also can include people who are looking for an old friend. Or investigating a crime. Or someone with a grudge against, say, a judge.

As Adkisson dug into the data broker industry in 2021, he read about how a law that went into effect the year before had given Californians a right to demand companies delete their personal information. So Adkisson and two cofounders launched a service they called RoundRobin, to help Californians do just that for a fee. Services like DeleteMe and Optery were already selling deletion assistance, but Adkisson felt they were more marketing spin than serious tech.

RoundRobin joined the well-known startup accelerator Y Combinator in April 2021 and began developing software to simplify making requests. But the startup had no way to enforce the takedowns it wanted to charge customers for; only California’s attorney general could sue for violations of the nascent law. Data websites ignored RoundRobin.

Given Adkisson’s pedigree, investors held out hope. California privacy activist Tom Kemp, Lightspeed Venture Partners, and others invested about $2 million in RoundRobin that August. But the struggle continued. The cofounders renamed the company to the more serious-sounding Atlas Data Privacy in January 2022. It didn’t help. But then, a break. Just as Adkisson was considering giving up and his initial cofounders were pulling out, a relative of his in California who had worked in law enforcement mentioned Daniel Anderl’s murder—and the law it inspired in New Jersey. “Fate delivered the Garden State,” Adkisson says.

He soon reached out to law enforcement experts, including a former Boston police commissioner and a retired Navy rear admiral. The two told Adkisson stories about cops who were attacked in their homes. They urged him to press on.

The first organization to return Adkisson’s cold calls was the New Jersey State Policemen's Benevolent Association, the state’s largest police union. They said a few of the organization’s 31,000 members needed help containing some inadvertently leaked contact information. Adkisson and a cofounder, J.P. Carlucci, took a stab. Despite limited success, union members were excited by Adkisson’s moxy. In July 2022, a union leadership group voted unanimously to offer Atlas’ service as a benefit to members with the intention of using Daniel’s Law to demand websites remove phone numbers and addresses. The cost, spread across all members paying for the union’s legal protection plan, was hundreds of thousands of dollars annually, Adkisson says.

In August 2022, with the deal signed and thousands of members soon enrolled, Atlas established headquarters in Jersey City, New Jersey, and set out to prove it could deliver better results than back in California. For that, it needed litigation power.

The first six law firms Adkisson called refused to take up the New Jersey cases. They worried about their financial return and the likelihood of success. Judges had discretion over the $1,000 payouts, plaintiffs had to prove physical harm, and to even bring a case, attorneys had to mobilize each plaintiff individually. It wasn’t a good equation.

Over seafood in San Francisco on the waterfront, one attorney sketched out for Adkisson revisions to Daniel’s Law that could make Atlas’ job easier. Adkisson took those suggestions back to the police union, which in turn used its weight in Trenton to push lawmakers to enact the changes. By December 2022, legislators introduced amendments requiring judges to impose financial penalties on websites that failed to honor removal requests, allowing those covered by the law to sue more liberally, and enabling attorneys to more easily bring big cases. In July 2023, just after the third anniversary of Daniel’s murder, the governor signed these amendments into law.

Atlas stayed focused on recruiting more users, from the police union and beyond. Newly hired staff—the company grew to a total of eight people—learned the lingo, like don’t refer to state troopers as “officers.” Adkisson let clients call him directly 24/7 for technical support. He drove his Jeep Cherokee more than 50,000 miles to every corner of the state. The Atlas team spent 18 hours on back-to-back days at a correctional facility to catch every shift, plying union guards with Crumbl Cookies and Shake Shack. “Word started to spread, like, ‘Who the hell are these people?’” Adkisson says. “That brought us credibility.”

Days before last Christmas, Atlas finished the software for users to select the companies to which they wanted to send emailed data removal requests. The tired team gathered over Zoom watching a tally rise as the emails landed in data brokers’ inboxes. Altogether, Atlas would deliver 40 million emails to 1,000 websites on behalf of roughly 20,000 people over the next five months.

Helping users with only the easy targets—the ad-supported websites that tend to pop up when googling someone’s name—“would have been a band-aid on a wound that needed much deeper treatment,” Adkisson says. To provide what it viewed as comprehensive support and more than what competitors offer, Atlas also was facilitating takedown requests to mainstream services such as Zillow and Twilio. They tend to supply data through fee-supported advanced tools that don't pop up on a standard Google query.

Twilio denies that it provides data subject to Daniel’s Law. Zillow didn’t respond to WIRED’s requests for comment. Atlas, Adkisson says, spent about $1.3 million in labor and fees to verify websites it targeted were actually providing home addresses and phone numbers.

The startup got its first response on December 26. Red Violet, whose Forewarn data dossiers help real estate agents vet potential clients, was demanding Atlas cease and desist, erroneously claiming that Daniel’s Law applied only to government agencies and not private companies. Adkisson had expected the legal teeth of the updated Daniel's Law to inspire widespread compliance. This was a rough start. “Demoralizing,” Adkisson says.

Other companies responded with demands to see ID cards of Atlas clients, apparently suspicious that the startup was making up its customers or people demanding takedowns were pretending to work in law enforcement just to be covered by the law. Adkisson told one company they could call requestors to authenticate demands. After all, it had their numbers. Another company suggested that if Atlas clients wanted anonymity, they should have used an LLC to buy property instead of their own names.

Akisson says the most retaliatory response came from LexisNexis, which lets police and businesses search for people's contact information and life history, typically for investigations and background checks. He alleges that instead of removing Atlas clients’ phone numbers and addresses from view, LexisNexis needlessly froze their entire files in its system, impeding credit checks some were undergoing for loan applications.

LexisNexis spokesperson Paul Eckloff disputes that freezing was an overreach. The company deemed that step as necessary to honor the requests submitted by Atlas users to not disclose their data. “This company couldn’t be more dedicated to supporting law enforcement,” he says. “We would support common sense protections.” But he described Daniel’s Law as overly punitive.

To Adkisson, the people being punished were the cops, judges, and other government workers he had met on his Jeep excursions through New Jersey. Among them were police officers Justyna Maloney, 38, and her husband, Sergeant Scott Maloney, 46, who work in Rahway, a tiny city along the border with New York City.

In April 2023, Justyna was filmed by a YouTuber who runs the channel Long Island Audit, which has over 842,000 subscribers. He often films himself trying to goad police into misbehavior, and Justyna asking him to leave a government office became his newest viral hit. Followers inundated the Rahway Police’s Facebook page with about 6,500 comments, including death threats, slurs, and links to the Maloneys’ address and phone numbers on SearchPeopleFREE.com and Whitepages. Scott says Facebook wouldn’t remove the comments linking to the contact information. Neither would the police department, citing First Amendment concerns. Tensions boiled.

In August 2023, Scott received texts demanding $3,000 or “your family will be responsible for paying me in blood.” The texts listed his sister’s name and address. An hour later, the same number sent a video of two ski-masked individuals bearing guns inside an unknown location. Atlas wasn’t up and running yet, so Scott, determined to delete all his family’s contact data online, sat on his lagoonside deck every evening for weeks, crushing Michelob Ultras to stay calm as he navigated takedown forms. He put in so many requests to Whitepages for his family that it barred him from making more.

The Facebook comments linking to the Maloneys’ address only came down after they sued their bosses last November for violating Daniel’s Law. This past January, a state judge ruled that the risk to the couple “far outweighs” potential harm to the police department from censorship complaints.

As Adkisson looked to sue noncompliant data websites, he had no trouble signing up the Maloneys as plaintiffs. And because Daniel’s law now made it possible, thanks to Atlas and the police union’s lobbying, to collect guaranteed penalties from data websites, Adkisson had been able to secure five law firms, including prominent national firms Boies Schiller Flexner and Morgan & Morgan, and some attorneys who personally knew the Daniel of “Daniel’s Law.”

On February 6, Atlas and the legal team began filing lawsuits, naming the Maloneys and about 20,000 other clients as plaintiffs. In state court, 110 cases remain unresolved across five different counties. Thirty-six lawsuits are being contested in federal court before Judge Harvey Bartle III, who is based in Philadelphia but commutes across the Delaware River to Camden, New Jersey, because judges based in the state were conflicted out by virtue of being eligible for Daniel’s Law protections.

Eight defendants quickly filed motions to dismiss in state court, but they were all denied. At the federal level, most companies are arguing together that the New Jersey statute violates their First Amendment right to freedom of speech. It’s an argument that’s allowed personal information to stay online before. Federal courts have given leeway to publication of lawmakers’ contact information and actors’ birthdates, leaving doubts over whether cops and judges and their homes and phones would fare any better.

Defendants have told Bartle to consider a US Supreme Court decision in 2011 that found a law in Vermont that protected doctors’ privacy unreasonably singled out data use by drugmakers. Atlas’ foes view Daniel’s Law as similarly arbitrary because it holds New Jersey agencies to different standards than their companies when it comes to keeping data private. They also say it’s unfair that they must remove numbers that cops still list on personal websites.

Some companies fighting the lawsuits note that the $1,000 penalty that the law guarantees may lead to companies acting out of fear and removing more data than needed, or honoring requests that are actually invalid. What’s more, these defendants say that Atlas’ true motivation is money. They claim that instead of trying to quickly protect those already signed up when last year’s amendments passed, Atlas sought out more users to run up the potential monetary judgment and duped them into paying for protections they could exercise for free themselves.

Adkisson disputes the accusations. He says Atlas needed time to finish its platform and ensure it was able to properly log usage, so that judges wouldn’t dismiss cases based on technicalities like takedown requests ending up in spam folders. The startup also won’t be profiting from the lawsuit, he says. Two-thirds of any proceeds will go to the users represented; anything he and Atlas are left with after covering the costs of bringing the lawsuits would be donated to law enforcement charities and privacy advocacy groups through Atlas’ nonprofit arm, Coalition for Data Privacy and Security. Privacy is “a very real, tactical, and visceral need,” Adkisson says.

He was reminded of that this past May when he took WIRED in his Jeep to meet with Peter Andreyev, a cop in Point Pleasant Beach, New Jersey, and president of the statewide Policemen's Benevolent Association. Around dusk that day, Adkisson handed Andreyev a search result for his name on DataTree.com, a website that sells property records. Andreyev slipped on his black-rimmed glasses and brought his linebacker figure toward a conference table to review the page. It took him just two seconds to tense up. “Oh shit,” he said.

He stared at a street-view image of his home, and a birds-eye shot with his address overlaid. The square footage was in there too, for good measure. His head visibly rattling and legs restless, Andreyev pounded the table. “I—I’m pretty infuriated by this.”

Like many law enforcement officers, the 51-year-old rarely goes a day without nightmares about some known thug or detractor attacking him and his family. The DataTree printout reinforced for him that it would take just a few clicks for anyone to target him in the vulnerability of his own home. WIRED pulled up Andreyev’s report from DataTree with just a free trial.

As Andreyev continued to study the page, Adkisson pointed out something he viewed as particularly galling. In February, Atlas had sued First American, the $6 billion title insurance company that operates DataTree, for allegedly not complying with removal requests. Andreyev had been listed as one of the lead plaintiffs, alongside the Maloneys. In the following weeks, DataTree removed Andreyev’s address from one section of the search result for his name but left it up on the map that Andreyev was now staring at. “That’s no way compliant,” Andreyev said. “Fuck, it pisses me off.” First American declined to comment. As the legal battle plays out, Andreyev says he's left to continue looking over his shoulder—even at home.

The antidote of making officers more difficult to find could require greater creativity from those investigating or advertising to them, says Neil Richards, a Washington University School of Law professor and author of Why Privacy Matters. But it doesn’t make the work impossible. Richards, who isn’t involved in the Atlas litigation, says courts need to recognize that “privacy protections are a fundamental First Amendment concern, and one that's even more important than a company's ability to make money trafficking in phone numbers and home addresses.”

In the coming months, Judge Bartle will decide whether cops and judges living in fear imperils public safety. If so, he’ll have to settle whether Daniel’s Law is the least onerous solution. A loss for Atlas and its clients would effectively be treating “anything done with information” as free expression, Richards says, and stymie further attempts to regulate the digital world.

On the other hand, a victory for Atlas could be a boon for its business. Adkisson says tens of thousands of people across the country have joined the company’s waiting list: prison nurses, paramedics, teachers. All of them, he adds, anticipating someday gaining the same removal power as New Jerseyans. Since the beginning of 2023, at least seven states have passed similar measures to Daniel’s Law. None of those, however, include the monetary penalty that gets lawyers interested in pursuing enforcement. “Step one is, win here,” Adkisson says, referring to New Jersey.

After the dispiriting start, he thinks momentum is swinging in Atlas’ favor. In August, the startup raised its first funding since 2021, about $8.5 million in litigation financing and equity investment.

Adkisson says compliance with more recent removal requests is increasing, and a few defendants are settling. In September, a state judge approved the first deal, in which NJParcels.com owner Areaplot admitted to 28,230 violations of Daniel’s Law and accepted five years of oversight. PogoData, a revenue-less website that had made property owners’ names searchable, settled this month. Bill Wetzel, its 79-year-old hobbyist owner, would owe $20 million for breaching the deal but he says he supports removing names of officers in harm’s way.

Then again, against the better-funded defendants with more at stake and unpredictable courts, Adkisson recognizes that a broader victory for privacy and Atlas is uncertain. In telling his story, he wants to ensure there’s opportunity for people to learn from any missteps if Atlas fails. But his advisers, including former boss Steve Avalone, don’t expect Adkisson to give up easy. They describe him as the ultimate gadfly—unorthodox, tenacious, and wealthy. “There’s few people with that horsepower and that charisma,” Avalone says.

For his part, Adkisson says he’s driven by a sad truth. The tragedies, fueled in part by contact information online, that judge Salas wanted to bring an end to after her son’s murder haven’t stopped. Last October, a man allegedly shot to death Andrew Wilkinson, a Maryland state judge, who hours earlier had denied the man custody of his child. The National Center for State Courts said it was the third targeted shooting of a state judge in as many years.

Maryland investigators say they believe the now-deceased assailant found Wilkinson’s address online, though they never recovered definitive evidence beyond a search query for the judge’s name. When he heard about the murder the day it happened, Adkisson immediately googled Wilkinson. His address was right there.

[little-diable]

A bit of heat, a bit of anger - Aaron Hotchner (smut)

It's been a while, but this idea found its way to me and I simply had to write this. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Aaron has never treated her as kindly as he treats the rest of the team, but after a fight between them and a guy trying to chat the reader up, Aaron can't hold himself back any longer.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, car smut, somewhat enemies to lovers, clear power imbalance, jealous Aaron

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!fem!reader (3k words)

The heat was burning down on them, letting the sun heat their bodies as the warmth travelled straight through their dark clothes which added an almost dangerous touch to their appearance. (Y/n) had her eyes focused on JJ, listening to her talk while they took in their surroundings.

It should be an easy case, allowing them to catch their unsub in a few days before they could fly home again to escape this heat. (Y/n) could barely believe that she had once grown up with temperatures this high, forced to accept the sweat pooling on her forehead, the thin clothing she’d wear for most parts of the year, things she now hated more than she could put into words. 

“(Y/n), Rossi and I will visit the families, Reid I need you for the geographic profile, JJ and Prentiss talk to the journalists again.” Aaron Hotchner’s voice rang in her ears. A sound so strong, so familiar, she didn’t understand how it still had that same effect on her. (Y/n) had joined the BAU a while ago, instantly drawn in by their friendliness and how they treated her like a member of their small family. She had found things to bond over with every single one of them, all but Aaron Hotchner.

The man was a confusing case to her, a case she struggled to solve. He was kind to her, treated her with just enough warmth to lead her on, and yet he was more distant with her than with the others, drawing a clear line between them. The others had tried to tell her about his cautious self, how he struggled to trust new people and that it would take him a while to warm up to her, but now, months later, he still hadn’t managed to give in to the friendly talks (y/n) tried to rope him into. 

“(Y/n), you should focus on the sister, she is about your age, so you should manage to bond with her, while we will talk to the parents.” Aaron’s dark eyes found hers in the rearview mirror while he spoke to (y/n). She knew better than to protest, knew better than to object – there was no use in going against Aaron Hotchner, at least not when they were on a case away from home. All she could do was nod her head, shooting him a tight smile before focusing on the files she was rereading. 

“I think, (y/n) should be the one to speak to the parents, she did better than we did last time.” Rossi’s voice filled the SUV, forcing their eyes towards him as his grin grew wider. There was something lingering in his gaze, something he and Aaron seemed to understand while (y/n) didn’t see through their wordless back and forth. 

“It’s alright, I will gladly speak to the sister.” She couldn’t bear an awkward atmosphere, couldn’t bear being roped into some useless bickering that would push Aaron Hotchner further away from her. His eyes snapped back towards hers, studying (y/n) for a few more moments before nodding his head at her. 

(Y/n) could only pray that this day would pass quickly enough, already set on visiting the bar Emily had picked for them on their way to this town, all too excited about riding a mechanical bull while putting on a show for whoever would dare to look at her for too long. 

……

To say the visit with the first family had been a bust would be an understatement. Within moments everything had escalated, forcing the three agents out of their home because the sister (y/n) had spoken to had flipped on her, screaming at the confused agent that had been pulled out of the room by a fuming Aaron Hotchner. 

No words had been shared on the ride back, leaving her stomach in knots while overthinking what had happened. It hadn’t been her fault, at least deep down she was aware of that, and yet she had instantly feared Hotchner's outlash, unable to live with the knowledge that she had disappointed him. 

“Do you have a moment, sir?” She was holding open the door to the room they had been offered at the local police station. The others had left for the bar minutes ago, leaving Aaron and (y/n) behind who were still working on new files they had picked up today. A nagging feeling deep inside of her had urged her on to search his closeness, to speak to him while the others were waiting for them. 

Aaron’s eyes flickered up from the file, studying her expression that dripped with too many emotions, a confusing mess she couldn’t fight through. He nodded his head at her, watching (y/n) take a step further into the room before closing the door behind herself. 

“I’m sorry for today, but I need you to know that I would never do something to escalate a situation. She wasn’t in a good mindset and was easily triggered. Disappointing you is something I don’t want to do.” Her hands were interlocked in front of her, tightly squeezed together while the words rolled off her tongue. 

“I shouldn’t have let you do this alone, I’ll make sure to supervise you the next time.” The words felt like a punch to her gut. He treated her as if she was a new agent, as if this was her first time out on the field and not like she had worked with other teams before joining the BAU. Anger began to simmer deep inside of her, an anger that threatened to take over her system. 

“Why are you treating me like this?” Her voice was small, quiet as if she was scared of his reaction. But this wasn’t about fear, no, she was trying to stop herself from spiralling, from getting lost in the rabbit hole he had just pushed her down. 

“Excuse me?” He leaned back in the chair, arms crossed in front of his chest. A fire was burning in both of their eyes, a similarity both shared and yet couldn’t focus on. 

“You treat me as if I’m a child, as if I came here straight from the academy and not like an agent with years of field experience. You know, people always told me all these stories about you, and how I should be grateful for the chance to work with you, but so far I don’t see what they all see. It’s quite disappointing, really.” She shook her head at him and turned from Aaron to flee from the room. But the call of her name forced her to a sudden halt. 

“I will let this pass, write it off as an exhausting day we all had. But the next time you speak to your supervisor like that, you will be asked to leave this team.” Angry tears welled up in her eyes, tears she blinked away while her feet carried her away from Aaron and the brooding expression nobody wore as well as he did. 

……

“It’s your turn, (y/n)!” Emily had her arm slung over (y/n)’s shoulder, dragging her through the bar towards the mechanical bull Emily had ridden minutes ago. It had been a while since (y/n) had left the station, making a quick stop at their hotel to trade her work clothes for a nicely fitting dress that allowed her to blend in with most people at the bar.

“You know, I’m only doing this because I love you, right?” Her laughter bubbled out of her, ringing in both their ears while Spencer, JJ and Derek came to a halt next to Emily. They watched (y/n) climb into the ring before swinging herself onto the bull. It had been years since she had last done this, and yet her body still seemed to remember the routine well enough, giving her the confidence she needed.

Her wandering eyes were instantly drawn to his, watching him sit down next to Rossi, who was also looking at her with a wide smile. Parts of her wanted to put on a show, wondering if any of this was getting to Hotchner, the man whose jaw muscles were clenched and whose arm muscles were stretching the fabric of the dark shirt he wore. But another part of her was convinced that no matter what she’d do, he wouldn’t care, not about her. 

Music filled the air, buzzing through (y/n) while her surroundings began to spin. The people around her cheered for her, letting her smile grow as the movements gained some speed. She tightened her grip, her thighs clamping down as she rode each motion with determination. Her hair flew around her face, but she kept her focus on him, her laughter ringing out above the noise.

She managed to hold on even as the machine made an almost violent lurch, set on throwing her off. With one final, spectacular buck, the bull tried to unseat her. (Y/n) held on for a heartbeat longer before she was finally thrown, landing in a heap of laughter and exhilaration. The crowd erupted in applause, and she looked up to see her friends leaning over the barrier, smiling down at her. 

A guy she hadn’t seen before reached his hand out for her to take, pulling (y/n) back to her feet and straight into his chest. The guy was cute, about her age with piercing eyes that wandered over her features, all while she felt the eyes of the others on her, still cheering for her. 

“You were good, seemed like a natural.” His words left (y/n) chuckling while running a hand through her hair. 

“Did lots of these things as a teenager.” She watched her friends back off, leaving her alone with the guy who still held onto her.

“Will you let me buy you a drink?” (Y/n) couldn’t stop her eyes from flickering back to Aaron who was still watching her with a darkening expression. Perhaps it was stupid of her to say yes to the guy, but the alcohol already buzzing through her system made her feel all too excited about the knowledge that whatever she was doing was clearly getting to Aaron. 

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” They were leaning against the bar, he had his hand placed on her waist, while she had her front turned towards him. She struggled to focus on him, struggled to think about anything but her fight with her supervisor and the desperate need to impress him she couldn’t shake. 

“It’s (y/n).” Her voice trembled slightly, something the guy seemed to misinterpret for attraction or nervousness. His hand moved down from her waist, coming to rest on the small of her back with his fingers spread out on her skin. It was time to put an end to this, to gently push him away while mumbling something about having to return to her friends, but (y/n) didn’t get far. Before she could even try to speak up, she felt a hand clamping down on her wrist, pulling her from the guy’s grasp against a broad chest. 

The scent of his cologne instantly forced its way into her system, making (y/n) shudder against his hold. She didn’t need to look up at him to know that it was Aaron, already feeling much more comfortable than she had seconds before. She barely paid the harsh words Aaron and the guy shared any mind, too focused on the way her heart skipped a few beats as his hand left her wrist only to sling his arm around her waist. 

She didn’t protest as Aaron pulled her out of the bar, past their grinning team mates who studied the two with curiosity. No words were spoken, nothing but silence settled between them, a silence she feared more than the fights she had grown used to over the past months. Aaron started driving away from the bar, dark eyes set straight ahead. 

“So, will you tell me what this was about?” (Y/n) angled her body towards him, studying her supervisor with furrowed eyebrows. For a second, his eyes snapped towards hers, threatening to get lost in her pupils and that overly innocent gaze she shot him. “First you treat me like trash and now you sweep in to rescue me from a guy? You’re confusing me, Aaron.”

It was the first time she used his first name, making his jaw muscles twitch. She kept watching him, every expression tugging on his handsome features while a grin began to grow on her lips. (Y/n) had the upper hand, she had lured him into a trap with his own confusing behaviour. 

“Careful, agent.” His voice was raspier than before, dripping with a dangerous warning she ignored.

“Why? We are no longer on the clock, I can say what the hell I want.” Her grin turned into a full smirk, leaving the man brooding while driving back to their hotel.

“Don’t be a brat, (y/n), I’d hate to punish you.” Aaron’s words shot heat straight down to her core. She clenched her thighs together – a sight that drew a raspy chuckle from the tall man. This seemed to play out exactly like one of her dreams, reminding her of the scenarios she’d come up with whenever she touched herself to the thought of Aaron Hotchner. 

“I think you only speak empty threats, you would never do such things like punishing me.” The words seemed to push him over the edge, forcing the SUV to a halt in the middle of nowhere, parked on the side of the empty road. Within seconds he had turned towards (y/n), pulling her in for a searing kiss with his palm pressed against the back of her neck. She forgot how to breathe, fully sinking into the kiss with her heart pounding in her chest and her hands finding the collar of his shirt. 

Without breaking the kiss, she climbed over the middle console, finding rest on his lap to deepen the kiss. Their tongues were tangled, fully focused on every single touch as she let her hands wander down his front to find his belt. Aaron’s big hands were resting on her thighs, palming her skin with an urgency that left her trembling. 

“Aaron,” she mumbled his name against his lips. For a moment, they broke apart, looking at one another with glassy eyes. She couldn’t stop her chuckle from rumbling through her, buzzing through (y/n) while Aaron tightened his grip on her. “Be honest with me, what is this all about?”

“I hate myself for looking at you differently, for having this selfish need to protect you and pull you away from tasks because I fear you getting hurt. It’s egotistical and stupid, but I can’t stop it. I tried not to get too close to you, because I knew from the first day you’d make me suffer. But seeing you with this guy, how he had his hands on you, it forced me to act.” She kissed him again with as much passion as her dazy self could muster. Aaron instantly responded to the kiss, allowing his hands to move once again while she shuffled closer, letting her clothed heat rub against his growing bulge. 

“I need to ride you like I was dreaming of me doing for the past months.” Aaron’s fingers danced up her thighs, pushing her damp panties aside to tease her pulsing bundle. Her moans were the sweetest sounds he had ever heard, Aaron was sure of it – sounds he’d forever remember. 

“I don’t have anything on me.” His mumbled words left her humming, drawing her away from the kiss to reach for her small bag and the condom she had been carrying around with herself. Aaron let her fumble with the package while freeing his cock, giving himself a few tugs before (y/n) rolled the condom down his length. 

With their lips pressed together once again, (y/n) sank down on his cock, groaning as he stretched her all too perfectly. Both held still for a second, letting her adjust with fluttering walls before slowly raising her hips to fuck herself on his cock. Aaron and (y/n) moaned in unison, high on the feeling of him buried inside of her and the way she could feel him oh so deep. 

“Fuck, baby.” Aaron’s head rolled back, while his hazy eyes kept watching her. His big hands supported her movements, placed on her ass to keep her close. She looked thoroughly fucked out, happy to feel him this close as they got to know one another’s body for the first time. 

(Y/n) had one of her hands pressed against the window, trying to support herself while her limbs began to quiver. Aaron seemed to pick up on her trembling, letting his hips jerk upwards to fuck into her, needing to feel her cum around his cock. Curses left them both over and over again, blending together as they lost themselves in the different sensations. 

“Feels so good, don’t ever stop, please.” She was begging for more than she could handle at that time, and yet (y/n) didn’t find it in herself to care. She didn’t mind the overstimulation she was begging for, didn’t mind the desperation dripping from her words, all she cared about was both of them cumming together. 

“I’m so close, fuck, please Aaron.” The smirk tugging on his lips made her see stars, pushing her even closer to the edge.

“Touch yourself, baby, make yourself cum for me.” That’s all she needed to hear, allowing her fingers to rub her pulsing bundle to give her the needed push. She struggled to keep her eyes open, struggled to focus on anything but her nearing orgasm, all while Aaron kept holding onto her. 

And with one last whimper, (y/n) let herself fall into her orgasm. Her walls clenched his cock, pulling him in further while he pushed himself over the edge with a few more thrusts. (Y/n) was trembling in his grasp, holding still with her forehead pressed against his broad shoulder. 

“I,” a shaky exhale left her. “I am happy this finally pushed you over, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could go on with my feelings for you.” Her words left Aaron smiling, pulling her in for another kiss that left her heart fluttering. 

“You won’t ever have to worry about that again, sweetheart. I’m sorry it took me this long to realise.”

[eldritchamy]

I think I've figured out a good way to articulate one of the reasons Human Domestication Guide is hitting for me in a way really not much else has done for a long time.

HDG is an inverse fandom.

Whereas a lot of fanfiction (maybe just for the sake of the pun we can expand outwards, wink, and call them "transformative works") takes at the core of its nature a specific character or group of characters, and then transplants (sorry, I had to) those characters into Alternate Universes in order to keep telling altered, revised, and original stories with those CHARACTERS, while changing everything else, HDG does the opposite.

It takes the SETTING as the core defining feature, and creates original CHARACTERS in order to tell original stories.

And that's really cool for reasons that, of course, ended up becoming another gigantic one of Amy's Patented Infodump Posts.

Most fanfiction gets to appeal to its audience because of the associations and attachments readers have for the CHARACTERS, and then create a new story from there without having to spend time setting up WHO THE STORY IS ABOUT for you. I don't say this as a bad thing, that's just the attraction. The readers bring their attachment to the characters WITH them before they start reading.

HDG gets to assume you understand the SETTING as a basic premise, and then tell new stories with original characters without having to hold your hand through as much of the set up work, because you already know the SETTING going in.

So instead of discovering how the characters you know relate to a world you don't (and to each other within that context), you get stories where you get to discover who the characters ARE, in the context of a world you already understand.

It's not "what does a different setting do to these characters." It's "how do different people navigate this setting."

You get to meet and learn and identify with the CHARACTERS because you see how they as unique people react to a set premise.

So much of what I've read so far has done exceptional work establishing who the characters are, even making MINOR characters within the story feel like fleshed out people.

You'd think in a setting that takes at face value the premise of humanity being subjugated and doted on by a species that uses mind control drugs to turn them into docile, obedient pets, the stories would struggle a bit with sameness as the individuality of the characters failed to shine through or were inevitably suppressed over the course of the plot.

In practice, it seems like almost the OPPOSITE is true.

The Affini always win. But every character chooses to lose to them in a different way that speaks to who they are as people.

Getting to explore these unique stories through the eyes of unique characters seems like it's making it EASIER to latch on to what makes THESE characters the focus of the stories being told.

And so far the stories being told are fucking great, and have such a huge range to them.

The original story for the setting is a VERY non consensual medfet/drug play subjugation story where Elvira (captain of a ship for the Free Terran feralist rebellion) is ABSOLUTELY brought into domestication by force (at first), and we get to see the PROCESS of her being broken down and becoming something new over the course of (what we later learn has been ONLY) about three weeks. She's not the same person she was at the start of the story. At all. She's been utterly replaced by a new identity and personality that the old version of her would never have accepted. (Also it's kinda hot that it's actually good for her, and that she very much DOES end up happier for it. She's still Elvira. But she's safe, and she's loved.)

That's a pretty specific vibe for a story.

But the next story I read in the setting takes place over the course of several hours in-universe, and basically follows a dysfunctional, clearly neurodivergent woman stagnating in the limbo of having been failed by capitalism (or in her mind, failing at it) and having mixed feelings about the staggeringly powerful alien civilization that is currently part way through conquering her planet and its people.

The story starts off when she's so hungry after scraping through what scant, nutritionless garbage she was able to find in the capitalist dystopia that it finally overrides her fear, and she goes to the border of Affini-controlled territory in her city. She figures, they're going to do whatever they're going to do to the rest of the city within a few days anyway, so there's no sense pretending whatever outcome she's walking into wasn't inevitable, and even if it's not as good as the Affini promise, at least it's not what she's been stuck in. Fear of sameness finally becomes more traumatic than fear of change.

She proceeds to go on an adorable lesbian grocery date with a 10 foot tall plant that gently flirts with her while remaining very firm that all of this human's needs CAN and SHOULD and WILL be taken care of FOR her from now on, and it's OKAY that she has trouble focusing because it's OKAY that some people need more help than others.

She spends several chapters experiencing repeated Lesbian Bluescreens because of this sweet, doting alien who insists it's no trouble at all and she's happy to help. Then said alien takes her back to her apartment on the human side to make sure she feels safe getting there through the anti-Affini protests, and then in a matter of minutes she has cleaned this girl's entire disaster of an apartment and promised to cook her a nice Terran pizza.

Then the girl has a lesbian panic attack while coming to terms with how much misery she didn't have to be living with, and whether this future isn't exactly what she always hoped for and more, so the alien offers to give her some alien drugs to calm her down, and her now fuzzy brain accidentally crumbles under the weight of all the secret petplay fantasies that have been turning her face red all morning and she accidentally calls the alien "Mistress", and then she goes home to THEIR place back in Affini territory with her new owner and gets absolutely spoiled until she falls asleep feeling safe and loved for the first time in her life.

COMPLETE tonal shift from the original story, but the LOGIC of the story is fully consistent with the setting. It's just a different character responding to that setting in a different way.

The range of what's possible is ENORMOUS.

I went from there to "two humans captured at different times struggle to find their way back to each other and end up with neural implants plugged into each other's brains by their shared Mistress, and the feedback loop helps them domesticate EACH OTHER" and then from there to a mostly historical context story about an Affini who lived for almost 300,000 years and how she feels about the Compact's role in everything they've done to the universe.

And then I got to read "I have to pretend to be a good little floret maid at an Affini Compact hotel because that's my Genius Spy Cover WHOOPS it turns out being a maid means getting teased and played with a lot WHOOPS, OHHhhh NOOOoo~ I'VE BEEN TURNED INTO A FREE USE HYPNO DOLL because EVERYONE KNEW I WAS A SPY THE WHOLE TIME, I'm going to resolve my mixed feelings by erotically betraying my co-conspirator so we can be floret girlfriends together," which was cute, funny, and INCREDIBLY hot.

Seriously, chapter 10 of that story. Holy FUCK. I think my brain has turned fully inside out. I had a DREAM kinda like it afterwards that I wish I could remember more of.

I guess my point is HDG is less like a fandom and more like DND.

It's a shared universe of collaborative storytelling, even if any individual work within it was made by one person.

You get to play within a core set of rules for how the setting works, but the stories that can come out of playing by those rules are so incredible and diverse and interesting, and I'm really enjoying getting to explore all of that within the context of a basic premise that has absolutely grabbed most of my kinks by the throat, stared menacingly into my eyes, and smirked knowingly.

Also it's INCREDIBLY queer and very obviously made specifically for gay autistic trans women who take progesterone, so I guess just like the rest of the little Terrans, I never stood a chance.

[ifnotlovepersevering]

Down the Road (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: your summon to the Witches’ Road unexpectedly reconnects you with the witch that left you behind

Warnings: angsty, anger between R and A, fight scene, injury (A), flashback to past abandonment, R is lowkey into dark magic but in denial, lovers to hurt strangers 😔 whatever will we do

A/N: I used a few different requests in my inbox as inspo. It can also be read as a continuation of Closer. I’m planning on a part two but am open to suggestions on where to take this next! Enjoy 🖤

Tag List: @nyx-aira @crystalline-possession @clxwnnyy @lilibeth-tate @highgaytohell @amethyst-bitch @shinkomiii @agnessharknes @academiagaymess @midnight-lestrange

A summon to the Witches’ Road seemed like exactly what you needed right now. You’d been keeping to yourself these days, staying out of trouble. But it’d been too long since you’d had some excitement and your hands were itching for something new. You were going in blind, but that’s always fun, right?

At least that’s what you’d thought. When the smoke of your white magic disappeared, you were greeted with the sight of your new ragtag coven. You counted four. Where’s the fifth?

“Hello,” you grinned at the youngest, a pale boy with dark hair. “I’m Y/N, I believe someone called?”

“Y/N? As in awesome-moon-powers-Y/N?” The boy exclaimed, grabbing the arm of the tallest one, who seemed equally excited.

You laughed. “I didn’t realize my reputation preceded me so much.”

“Are you kidding?” Now it was the tall one exclaiming. “You’re like, so cool. Incorporating the moon into your power? It makes you the jack of all trades. Healing, light manipulation, water control. I can’t believe you’re here!”

“Moon magic?” The older woman seemed sort of dazed. “I’d heard stories…but have never seen it for myself.”

Before you could respond to the group’s praise, a familiar voice rang out. “What the hell are all of you harping ab-”

You turned around at the same time as footsteps behind you halted in their tracks. You felt your heart drop as you realized why the voice was familiar. It couldn’t be.

Agatha Harkness stood in front of you in all her glory. Gone was the young witch you had known, in her place a woman exuding power and elegance. Both of you eyed each other, surprise and apprehension on your faces.

•••

Your last memory of Agatha was that smirk of hers. You two had started as rivals but a trip that you went on together changed that. You grew closer and animosity turned to friendship, which turned into something much more. So many nights of you sneaking into each other’s rooms, honing your skills, and eventually using your hands to explore each other.

On one of your many visits to the woods for spell practice, the two of you encountered a shapeshifter. You and Agatha fought it off but it forced you to use the full extent of your powers. You were young and had only just started to incorporate the moon into your witchcraft. The fight drained you completely, leaving you weak.

At home, you were checked into the infirmary. News spread quickly of the battle; Agatha, being Evanora’s daughter, caught attention easily. Her power had been a topic of dispute within the coven for some time. You resented the others for how they treated her, especially her own mother. The parts of Agatha that made them turn away were the same you admired undyingly. You loved her.

You had been drifting in and out of consciousness for hours before you finally woke up to see Agatha at your bedside. “They want a formal questioning,” she had told you softly, her hand holding yours. In response to your furrowed brow, Agatha brushed the hair from your forehead. “It’s nothing serious. I’ll be back before you know it.”

You sighed, knowing Evanora took every chance she could to hurt Agatha. “Give them hell anyway.”

“You know I will.” Agatha had smirked, and with a soft kiss, she was gone. Unbeknownst to you, it was the last time you were going to see her.

You woke up the next day, surrounded by the early morning darkness. It was eerily silent; you’d expected Agatha to be back by now. Your strength had returned, and you searched for Agatha everywhere you could think of. No one was around, every room empty.

Eventually you had come to the clearing and saw the husks of the other witches. Their bodies surrounded a post, covered in scorch marks from what you could only assume to be Agatha. You felt yourself freeze as the truth dawned on you. It was more than questions, it was a sentencing. Yet Agatha had obviously survived.

Hot tears had filled in your eyes and a lump formed in your throat before you had collapsed into sobs. She’d survived, of course she had. But she hadn’t come for you. Agatha, the girl you loved without question, whom you had embraced completely. The girl who encouraged you with your magic, the one you’d helped with controlling her own. She had left you.

Over time, the hurt faded but it never quite left. You never looked back, not at her, nor the version of you that broke that day in the clearing. You drew from the pain and let it fuel your ambition. As you travelled and your power grew, you’d heard stories about Agatha. How she’d honed those skills you’d practiced together into something to be both admired and feared. But her betrayal was enough for you to never want to seek her out again.

•••

You blinked, snapping out of your reverie.

“Y/N was the other name on the list? I can’t believe you wanted to leave her behind.” The boy’s voice piped up from behind you.

You scoffed. “Don’t be so surprised.” There was no hiding the snark in your voice, and you saw Agatha’s face drop right before you turned on your heel. “This was a mistake,” you muttered, walking away from the group to recollect yourself.

The rest of the group watched as you left. “What did she mean by that?” Alice hissed at Agatha. Everyone looked at her expectantly.

“Well,” Agatha grinned sheepishly. “We may have some…uh…unfinished business if you will.”

Jenn rolled her eyes. “Whatever, you have to make her stay. We need her to do this.”

Agatha groaned as the others nodded and nudged her towards the area you’d retreated to. But the annoyance was an act. Seeing your name on the list had stopped her in her tracks, bringing back memories she’d tried to bury. And now here you were, and she couldn’t hide from the swirl of emotions within her like she’s used to doing. Her heart still ached for you but it was unlikely you’d want anything to do with her.

She sauntered over to where you were sitting on a log by yourself. Standing close to you, she had a moment to take in your appearance. Somehow you were even more beautiful than she remembered. Time had clearly treated you well, and Agatha found her gaze catching on your features as she took in the sight of the face that haunted her memories.

She cleared her throat. “You can’t leave now that you’re here. The Road. It won’t let you.”

You looked up at her from where you sat. “You think I don’t know that?” You snapped. “I wouldn’t have come if I knew it was you.”

That stung. “Well it’s nice to see you again too, doll.” Agatha sneered.

“Oh save it, Agatha.” You stood up, eye level with the other witch. “I think we both remember who left who. Don’t play dumb now.”

“You act like I made that decision by flipping a coin. You don’t know the half of it.” The nonchalant attitude Agatha had been putting up was slipping away, revealing the raw emotion underneath.

You shook your head and turned your back to her. “Forget it. I’m already going to have to suffer through the rest of this thing anyway. I don’t need some shitty explanation from you.”

But Agatha wasn’t one to take that for an answer. She grabbed your arm, forcing you to turn back and face her. “No,” she hissed. “You don’t get to do what they did. Don’t repaint me as callous because I was never like that with you.”

You clenched your jaw, feeling a lump forming at the back of your throat. You couldn’t help it - the hurt you’d buried for this long was coming back up, and it was as sharp as the day it’d arrived.

“Callous?” You laughed humourlessly. “No, leaving me behind wasn’t callous. It was cruel. You’re cruel.”

You could see Agatha’s cheeks flushed in anger, and her mouth opened with another rebuttal when a shriek rang through the air back where the rest of the coven was standing. Both of you jumped, and Agatha dropped your arm.

“What the hell was that?” You shouted at Agatha over the shrieks, which had grown louder.

“Salem Seven ring a bell?” Agatha snarked, but her eyes were filled with fear.

“What the fuck, Agatha.” You all but yelled as the two of you began running back. Somehow you’d never encountered any of the Seven before but that didn’t mean you wanted to start now. They were definitely pissed at Agatha, but it was unlikely that they were happy with you either, as the only other survivor of their mothers’ massacre.

The shrieks were coming from both the coven and a dark, hooded figure who you assumed was one of the Seven floating above them. “Run!” The boy screamed, and everyone began sprinting down the road.

Suddenly you heard Agatha cry out and a thud. You turned to see Agatha on the ground, the hooded figure hovering over her. You stared incredulously as Agatha put her arms up to shield herself, but made no other move to put up a defence. What is she doing?

The Salem Seven witch lunged towards Agatha and you quickly shot a beam at her, making her fall to the ground. As you ran over, you saw the witch was already stirring, not quite dead yet. You began reciting a spell that’d become second nature for you now, your hands falling into the familiar motions.

Agatha watched in awe as you drew the many surrounding shadows towards the figure on the ground. You made a sharp movement with your hand and suddenly the figure that was beginning to rise from the ground was being surrounded by dark tendrils.

Muffled screams could be heard as the shadows twisted tighter and tighter, until the figure fell limp to the ground. You weren’t done, however. Another practiced movement of your hands and you watched as the shadows engulfed the witch, dragging her downwards into the ground until she disappeared like vapour.

With the threat gone, you rushed to Agatha’s side. You could see a gash on her arm where her sleeve had torn, blood seeping out of the wound. “What were you thinking? Why didn’t you fight back?” Anger mixed with worry as you searched Agatha’s face for answers.

“Careful there, Y/N. Wouldn’t want to look like you care.” When you didn’t indulge her teasing, the other witch sighed. “Why do you think I’m here?” She asked, gesturing around her. She saw the confusion in your face and waved her hand dismissively. “Long story doll, I won’t bore you.”

Typical. Even all those years ago Agatha would opt to keep you in the dark rather than explain herself. “Fine.” You said, helping her stand. “Let’s find somewhere to sit so I can patch you up.”

You turned to see the rest of the group standing nearby, a mixture of awe and apprehension across their faces. The boy seemed the most awestruck. “How did you do that?” He exclaimed. “Where did she go?”

The oldest of the group spoke before you could. “The shadow realm.” She answered, eyeing you warily. “No one should be doing that.”

“Why don’t we um, find a place to sleep? While Y/N takes care of Agatha.” The tall one spoke now, gesturing for the rest of the group to follow her and leave you and Agatha alone. You watched as they hurried away, the short one throwing a worried glance back at you.

“So, shadow work huh?” Agatha spoke lowly as you examined her arm. “Didn’t realize you’d begun dabbling in my side of things.” Her tone was playful but probing.

You turned your head sharply towards her. “I haven’t. It’s not the same thing.”

Agatha chuckled darkly. “Oh isn’t it? Don’t get so high and mighty now Y/N. I’ve heard things. That good girl persona of yours may be working on everyone else, but not me.”

You didn’t answer, instead pulling her arm into the moonlight coming in through the trees. At your silence, Agatha kept going. “‘Oh wow! Moon girl is so amazing and talented! She can do anything!’” She said mockingly. “All admiration when you’re doing what they like. But you saw the look on their faces just now. Everybody switches up when we start talking real power. The kind you and I have.”

Okay yes, you could admit that the shadow stuff is a bit iffy. But it wasn’t anywhere close to as iffy as using the Darkhold, like you’d heard Agatha did. That was different.

“All I’m saying,” Agatha continued, as she watched you weave the light with your hands to heal her open wound. “Is that we’re much bigger than them. Than this. We’re destined for domination, Y/N.”

You shook your head. Years later and it was still all about power with her. Grand plans and limited following-through were classic Agatha. Enough. You stood up, Agatha’s arm now healed. “You’re talking about powers you had, and that I have.” You said coldly, taking satisfaction in the way her jaw clenched at your words. “Maybe focus on getting those back first.”

With that, you turned on your heel and stormed away.

[myladybelle]

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter thirteen

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.7k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, descriptions of anxiety, swearing, use of y/n 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: hi my loves i’m back!! thank you all for your patience while i was sick and preparing for the new semester, i appreciate all your kind messages so much x 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐖𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐒’ 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎 

“Newcomer on the professional tennis scene, Y/N Y/L/N surprised virtually everyone when she won the Ladies’ Semi Final two days ago,” an English-accented sports journalist said on TV as you waited for your cue to step onto the court for the finals. “She’s not only the most technically excellent player of her age, but she has the fastest serve on the WTA tour.”

“She’s a remarkable player,” the other journalist agreed. You watched them play back a clip from your most recent match, highlighting one of your aces. “But if she wants to win on Centre Court here at Wimbledon for the very first time, she’s going to have to start embracing her volleys. Maybe she should take a leaf out of her boyfriend’s book.”

“Patrick Zweig? He only made it to the second round!”

“Yes, but he played some very entertaining tennis this week. It was a joy to watch and very well suited to a grass court!” 

“It’s true, Zweig plays a sneaky game of tennis. He keeps his opponent on his feet.” 

“In any case, the whole world is sure to be watching Y/N Y/L/N tonight, eager to see her take on Anna Mueller.”

“Now, this isn’t the first time Y/L/N and Mueller have played. They faced off numerous times in junior tournaments, and Y/L/N already beat her at Indian Wells, Milan, Roland-Garros, and the US Open last year. They have yet to play each other in a final, though, and Y/L/N has no grand slam titles to Mueller’s two.”

“Will it be experience and longevity that give Mueller the win, or will new talent Y/L/N take the match with precision and speed?”

“We will soon see.”

You had never been this nervous before a match until your second time at Wimbledon. 

For the first time in your professional career, just a year and a half after entering the tennis world, you made it to the final round of a grand slam tournament. The other tournaments you had won within the last year put your name on the map, allowing you to garner attention and recognition from your peers and spectators.

But a grand slam title meant you would be a part of history.

It was everything you wanted, everything you worked and struggled for. Your heart pounded so quickly that you thought it might leap out of your skin, and your quickening breath made spots appear in your vision. The pressure mounted, not just because your life goal was an arm’s length away, but from all the people who had their eyes on you. Some scrutinising, some rooting for you. 

Bracing your hands on your thighs, you closed your eyes and tried to breathe deeply. It felt like you were losing control. Everything you did to maintain your anxiety felt like it was slipping through your fingers, just like your dream of becoming a grand slam winner. 

Tashi’s voice rang in your ears. You’re going to be fucking miserable, and you’re going to hate your life just as much as your mother hates the fact that she had you. Art’s voice joined Tashi. Everyone knows that tennis is more of a mental game than a physical game. You have a lot of anxiety, and…

The sound of your phone getting a text message interrupted your tornado of negative thoughts. 

PAT 💞: Don’t listen to any of those assholes, they don’t matter. I love you so much and I’m proud of you no matter what happens today. Hold your head up high and do your best, nothing else matters. Don’t forget to breathe, pretty girl. P x

As you stepped onto the court, the cheers of the crowd were deafening. You could feel the vibrations of their applause through the soles of your shoes; the energy was electric, and the buzzing of quiet chatter set you on edge. Remembering Patrick’s advice, you breathed deeply and waved to the crowd, smiling as you headed for your bench. Everyone on your team was sitting in the player’s box with Patrick and your dad, and it was a relief to see them there supporting you. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this final round match. This match will be played as the best of three sets,” the umpire said. “To the left of the chair, from Switzerland, Anna Mueller. To the right of the chair, from the United States, Y/N Y/L/N. Y/L/N won the toss and elected to serve.”

From his seat in your box, Patrick chuckled. “I bet Anna Mueller’s terrified right now,” he commented. “Going into a match against Y/N and having her serve first would push me over the edge if I was playing her.” 

Next to Patrick, your father happily declared, “If Mueller wasn’t nervous to play Y/N before, she will be once she realises how many aces she has up her sleeve.”

Mueller crouched behind the baseline, nervously twirling her racket between her hands. Her poker face wasn’t nearly as good as yours, betraying her fear as you bounced the ball and prepared to serve. Knowing that you had this effect on your opponent, even before the game had started, made you feel powerful. 

With a mixture of nerves and excitement coursing through your veins, you tossed the ball in the air and served it over the tennis net. Mueller ran in the wrong direction, expecting you to serve to her backhand, and cursed when she couldn’t change courses fast enough to return the ball.

Your first ace of the game. 15-love.

Mueller played nervously. She knew your baseline game was strong, but her mistake was assuming that you could only play from the baseline. You decided to play closer to the net, consistently hitting gently when Mueller expected you to go hard and fast, making it impossible for her to generate the power needed to return well.

When you took the first set 6-0, Mueller cursed and turned to her box to yell something at her coach. During the changeover, you could hear her muttering to herself, failing to compose her posture and expression. She looked panicked and angry. From experience, you knew that the right amount of anxiety could help you focus on the match, but anger would destroy a player’s self-control and concentration.

When you served an ace at the beginning of the next set, Mueller stomped her foot angrily and challenged the call. The call held up, declaring your serve was in and awarding you the point. You watched in shock as Mueller’s face twisted with fury, her eyes blazing as she smashed her racket against the ground. Over and over again, the crowd gasped and booed as the frame cracked and the strings bent out of shape. 

“Code violation, racket abuse. Warning, Mueller.” 

From his seat, Patrick smirked, applauding the action while you maintained professionalism. He was the type of player who occasionally broke his racket or committed other code violations, so Patrick admired your ability to hold back. There was something rewarding about watching your opponent fall apart as you waited for her to get it together so you could keep playing. 

The atmosphere of the game changed after Mueller’s outburst. Releasing her anger had done Mueller well, and one of her backhands shot forth like a lightning bolt, making it impossible for you to return. She got a few points in, making you run for it. Sweat glistened on your brows, and your heart pounded, a steady drum beat that echoed the rhythm of your feet as you struggled to return some of Mueller’s balls. The crowd watched in awe as she started finding her rhythm, pushing through the fatigue with a newfound unwavering focus. 

Mueller looked incredibly smug to have caught up with you. So, you let her win a little bit. 

Your father frowned when you served into the net twice, giving Mueller the point. “What’s she doing?” he muttered quietly. “Are the nerves getting to her?”

Patrick shook his head, chuckling as he realised, “She’s throwing the set on purpose.” A smirk graced his lips when he remembered how you used to do the same thing when you played Tashi. “She wants Mueller to think she’s beating her.”

You let yourself enjoy it, toying with Mueller and never letting her know what you planned next. When you volleyed the ball back to her, she sprinted to the net. Just when she got used to playing close to the net, you hit a flat groundstroke past her. Once Mueller realised your pattern, she stayed closer to the baseline, and you hit her with your drop shots, far too close to the net for her to return.

Quickly, you caught up, 7-7. You needed one last game to win the match, and it was your turn to serve. 

Two aces in a row. Mueller yelled in frustration and anger when she missed both serves, once to her forehand and once to her backhand. Your focus sharpened with each passing moment. Serving was your area of expertise. You had the match exactly where you wanted it. 

With each point you won, your confidence grew. Your movements were fluid and instinctive; your racket felt like an extension of your arm, sending powerful, precise shots that left Mueller scrambling to return them. Like always, your serves were lightning fast, unerring and spectacular, kissing the line every time without fail. 

Mueller chased down every ball, but exhaustion was setting in, and her anger had returned. She was irritated that you had let her win, annoyed that it had boosted her ego so much, and furious that she couldn’t get in your head the way you got in hers. 

You were playing the best tennis of your life, each moment a testament to your skill and resilience over the years. The beauty of your game captivated the spectators, leaving the crowd in awe of your mesmerising strokes and masterful returns. The more points you won, the closer you got to winning the tournament. Tension and excitement were palpable, mounting in a crescendo of enthusiastic applause and standing ovations.

“Match point.” 

The cacophony of cheers faded into the background as you bounced the ball in your hand. You were good at keeping the pressure of winning off your shoulders, but the enormity of this point pressed down on you heavily. With your stomach in knots, you adjusted your grip on your tennis racket. Amid all the stress, anxiety, and fear, you felt a spark of determination. 

You didn’t just want to win; you deserved it. 

You served her backhand, which Mueller anticipated and hit back with equal intensity. The ball hit the ground awkwardly on your side of the net, creating minimal bounce with little power. Regardless, you hit it hard. As the two of you rallied back and forth, you followed the sports journalist from earlier’s advice and used a trick shot Patrick had taught you. When Mueller hit your forehand, you pretended to miss the ball. She celebrated, prematurely stopping while you hit the ball back between your legs, surprising Mueller and making her trip as she tried to return the ball. 

As Mueller landed on the floor, the ball bounced on her side of the net for a second time, earning you the point and the Wimbledon Ladies’ Singles title. 

An overwhelming surge of triumph and disbelief hit you all at once. Your ears rang, drowning out the cacophony of the crowd’s ecstatic roars as you collapsed to your knees, dropping your racket. The weight of victory crashed upon you, and tears streamed down your face as you sobbed. Each teardrop released the intense pressure and emotion you had carried through the gruelling tournament. 

You cried for your mother, who you no longer needed to please; for Tashi, your former best friend who would not be here to celebrate this moment with you; and you cried for yourself, the person who got through it all and made it to the other side. 

When you wiped the tears from your cheeks and stood to shake your opponent’s hand, the world around you blurred back into focus. The cheers and applause of the crowd went from being a distant echo to a deafening roar. Mueller barely touched your hand before going to shake the umpire’s and—for a brief, solitary moment—you were enveloped by a profound sense of accomplishment. 

You did it.

After waving to the crowd and thanking the umpire, you turned to your player’s box. There, Patrick stood applauding your victory. His heart swelled with immeasurable pride and love for you, feeling an overwhelming admiration for your strength and dedication. You laughed, running across the court towards the box and excusing yourself as you squeezed past ball boys and line judges. Stepping up on one of the nearby benches, you lifted yourself closer to your boyfriend, who leaned over the railing, giggling.

Up close, Patrick’s eyes were misty, and a broad, genuine smile spread across his face. Every sacrifice you made, every early morning and late night, came rushing back to him in a flood of memories. He could hardly contain his excitement. 

“You just fucking won Wimbledon!” Patrick yelled. “You were incredible!”

“I love you,” you replied, equally breathless and giddy. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Pat.” 

Pushing up on your toes, you hooked your arms around Patrick’s shoulders and kissed him. The crowd cheered even louder around you, but you didn’t care. Nothing and nobody else mattered at that moment. All you knew was that you had just achieved something incredible and Patrick was the only person you wanted to celebrate it with. He held your head carefully and kissed you hard, expressing his passionate pride with every press of his lips.

“Thank you. For reminding me to breathe,” you acknowledged when you parted, gazing up at your boyfriend with sparkling eyes. “And for teaching me your favourite trick shot.”

Patrick chuckled, taking one of your hands and pressing several kisses to the back of it. “That was all you, gorgeous. I had nothing to do with it. This win belongs to you,” he said sincerely. “Fuck, I love you, pretty girl.”

Art Donaldson stood in the crowd, his heart heavy with pride and melancholy as he watched you give Patrick a final kiss before returning to the court for your interview. It was a privilege to watch every powerful swing of your racket and every point you earned. Art was reminded of the countless hours you had poured into your practice, the determination that had always driven you while you were at Stanford. He had once been the one to share in those moments of victory with you, celebrating every win with the joy you now showed on the court. 

But now, as Art saw the happiness in your eyes and heard the crowd’s cheers, a wave of sadness washed over him. He was no longer part of your triumphs. He was just another face in the sea of supporters, knowing your victory wouldn’t be shared with him.

Art’s gaze flickered between you standing on the court and Patrick sitting with your father in the player’s box. His former best friend looked happier than Art had ever seen him, and knowing that your memory of this day would always be intertwined with your relationship with Patrick filled Art with an ugly jealousy. 

He knew he had no right to your life and joy, but Art wanted to celebrate with you. He wanted to tell you that he was proud of you and always knew you had the talent and perseverance to succeed. In fact, there were a lot of things Art wanted to say, including a sincere apology for what he said the night you broke up. But you had moved on, and you were happy, and the last thing Art wanted to do was ruin any of that for you. 

So instead, Art got up and pushed through the crowd, making his way to the exit as he heard your voice thanking Patrick for his love and support over the loudspeakers.

𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟏𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎

It felt good. 

Sitting in the booth with Tashi was almost like when Art used to sit in the dining hall with her at Stanford, back when you, Art, and Tashi were all attached at the hip.

A month ago, Art and Tashi graduated and began working in the professional tennis world, but it meant nothing to either of them without their best friends by their sides. Neither of them could have guessed that you and Patrick would leave behind such a huge hole when you stopped being friends with them.

“Maybe you wanna jump ship?” Art said, half-joking as he signed the bill and paid for their meal. “Come be my assistant coach?” When Tashi stared dumbfoundedly at him, he grinned. “Oh, I get it. You want to work with someone who has a little bit more potential.” 

“No!” Tashi protested. “No. No, it’s not that. I mean, you have plenty of potential. It’s just–” she cut herself off, nervously observing the blond sitting in front of her. It had been years since you and Art broke up, but it felt like yesterday. “You think that would be a good idea?” 

“Why not?” Art retorted. Tashi gestured vaguely, referencing their complex shared past. “That was a long time ago–” 

“–It was not that long ago,” she disagreed, interrupting Art’s attempt at nonchalance. 

“Well, it feels like a long time ago,” Art mumbled. 

“So, you’re saying you’re not in love with her anymore?” Tashi argued, raising a questioning eyebrow at her old friend. 

Art schooled his expression, not wanting to give his lingering emotions away. But Tashi saw through it, recognising the familiar signs that indicated his love for you still ran deep. His features softened at the mention of you, and there was a faraway look in his icy blue eyes.

Back when you were dating Art—and Tashi and Patrick were casually seeing each other—Patrick used to describe the look on his best friend’s face when he first laid eyes on you. That look of pure, absolute adoration and love never once faded from Art’s face at the mention or sight of you. Tashi knew with certainty that it would never fade.

“Well, I’m not holding my breath waiting for her,” Art retorted. “That ship has clearly sailed.”

“Doesn’t mean you aren’t clutching the hull for dear life,” Tashi remarked, using Art’s ship analogy against him. “Did you see her at Wimbledon?”

“Of course I did,” Art replied, fiddling anxiously with the napkin on the table. 

“She was incredible, wasn’t she? I mean, I always knew she had it in her, but watching her win that final…” Tashi sighed.

If she was as good a friend to you as she always thought, she would have noticed that you used to hold back to help Tashi pursue her dreams of being the best tennis player in the world. Upon reflection, Tashi realised she would never be as good a friend to you as you were to her, and she should never have considered you to be less talented, hard-working, or capable than herself.

“It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” Tashi said proudly.

Art agreed, “She’s officially a grand slam winner, the whole world was watching her that day.”

Tashi nodded. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” Her lips curved in a disappointed frown, recalling all the times you and Tashi promised you would always be there to celebrate each others’ accomplishments when you were teenagers. “All of a sudden, the whole world feels entitled to a part of her. Instead of going through this journey with her, we’re on the outside looking in, just like everybody else.”

“It was pretty surreal,” Art affirmed. “I mean, I always knew what she was capable of. I remember all those late nights, talking about what she would do if she ever won a grand slam. And now that she has, I can’t help but feel a little lost.”

“Like you should be there with her,” Tashi guessed. She gave Art a sympathetic smile, her eyes soft with understanding. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Art sighed, leaning back in his booth. “We used to be the people who knew her best in the world,” he recalled. “And now, we aren’t a part of her life anymore. It’s not just about tennis or success, it’s about her. She didn’t just hold us all together, she was seeped into the essence of everything I did and everything I dreamed.” The vulnerable honesty in Art’s voice made Tashi swallow harshly. “What am I supposed to do without her now? None of my plans ever accounted for me reaching this point in my life without her in it.”

Art’s words rendered them both silent.

You used to take up so much space in their lives, filling a void neither of them knew existed until you left them. Thinking about you and reflecting on your absence was always bittersweet. There was so much warmth and joy in their memories of you, but they were constantly paired with painful reminders of how much they hurt you. You, who only ever wanted to love and be loved. 

“Maybe this is what we deserve for hurting her in the first place,” Tashi offered. “The things I said to her that day–” she inhaled sharply, pain filling her chest as she recalled the argument that ended your friendship– “I don’t blame her for wanting nothing to do with me.”

“The look on her face when I told her I went to see you the night you fought…” Art shook his head in disappointment, his jaw clenched tightly as the frustration simmered beneath the surface. “I should have told her I went to confront you for hurting her. I should have told her I was desperate to figure out why she was inconsolable, but I let her believe I went to you because I was on your side. I was so angry and frustrated during the break up that I told her things just because I knew they would hurt her. Who does that to someone they love?”

“Us, apparently,” Tashi said, grumbling like she couldn’t believe what they did to you. Reaching across the table, Tashi covered Art’s hand with hers, offering a small, bittersweet smile. “My mom says that Y/N was my life lesson,” she explained. “That losing her was supposed to teach me something.”

“Yeah?” Art met her eyes and frowned. “What did it teach you?”

“To hold on,” Tashi declared. “When you meet someone like her, someone who’s warm and loving and far kinder to you than you deserve, you hold on to her. Because going through life without her is unimaginably worse than when she’s by your side.” 

It hurt to reflect on how much worse life was without you. You had been everything to Art for so long, and his eyes stung with tears every time he thought of you. The emptiness you left behind felt insurmountable, a constant ache he couldn’t escape. Every moment without you reminded him of what he’d lost, of how your presence had once filled his world with light and purpose.

Now, that light was gone, leaving him to navigate the shadows of what used to be; the pain of your absence was a relentless companion.

Art pulled his hand away and cleared his throat, staring at his lap. “This is really stupid, but, uh… After your injury… I couldn’t help but just think about what would have happened if I had beaten Patrick,” he confessed. 

Tashi froze at the mention of how you met Art and Patrick. 

She knew Art well enough to understand that everything he did led back to you and how he lost you. No matter how badly Art wanted to change the past, Tashi knew you would always love him and Patrick throughout your life. 

In a way, Tashi, Art, and Patrick were the three great loves of your life.

One for a friendship that was supposed to last a lifetime, one for the boy who made you realise what it was like to be loved, and one for the man who would wait a lifetime just for a minute of happiness with you.

No matter how much you once loved Art, Tashi knew you would love Patrick in every life, too. It didn’t matter what order you met them in; you were the catalyst that changed each of their lives. 

Tashi thought she was the only objective spectator to your relationships with Art and Patrick. She was your best friend at Stanford when you dated Art, and she was practically a stranger now that you were with Patrick. Watching your romantic relationship unfold on TV and in newspapers and magazines was entirely different from having a front-row seat back in college, but Tashi knew you well enough to see how deeply and genuinely you loved Patrick, just as you had loved Art.

“So you want me to join your team because you couldn’t win Y/N’s number that day?”

Art lifted his head to meet Tashi’s gaze. “No,” he denied. “I want you to join my team because I want to win.”

Tashi suppressed a grin. She should have known that if it wasn’t about you, it was about Patrick. “I think you’d beat him now if you guys played,” she commented, sipping her coffee. “Don’t you think?” 

It was a challenge that Tashi knew Art would easily see through. 

Perhaps Art could beat Patrick if their history wasn’t complicated by you entering their lives. If the two of them were just best friends trying to make it in the tennis world, Art had the skills, practice, and tenacity to win now. After all, he had dedicated himself to the sport at Stanford and had an excellent team supporting him, while Patrick continued to rely on raw talent. As Art steadily climbed the ranks with every game, Patrick floundered somewhere in the lower 200s. 

But all of this was negated by one simple fact. Patrick had the one thing that Art truly wanted: you. 

If Art and Patrick played a match tomorrow, you would be in Patrick’s player box, cheering his name and applauding his wins. Your presence at the match—and in Patrick’s life—would be more than enough for Art to lose every time he faced his former best friend, just as he lost you. The only thing that could give Art a chance to beat Patrick would be having you on his side. 

“Don’t know,” Art replied cryptically. “We, uh… haven’t played professionally, and don’t keep in touch.” Tashi laughed, nearly choking on her coffee. “What?” 

She cleared her throat. “Just… She never saw it,” Tashi explained. “The rivalry between you and Patrick. Ever since that night we first met, she always assumed the two of you were after me.” She shook her head, visibly entertained. “She used to say that I was the sun and she was the moon. But, God, wasn’t she just everything? The moon and the stars and everything in between, that was her.” Tashi and Art shared a soft, sentimental expression. “I never understood why she couldn’t see it. Everything was over the moment you and Patrick met her, and I knew none of us would ever be the same.”

A small smile stretched across Art’s lips. “Yeah…” 

Tashi was right—you had been everything to him. 

Art felt it the moment his eyes first met yours, an instant connection that went beyond mere attraction. It was as if something within him recognised you, a deep and undeniable pull that resonated in both his body and heart. It wasn’t just about your smile or how you moved; it was how your presence seemed to complete something in him, filling a void he hadn’t even known existed.

You became his anchor, the one person who made everything else make sense, and from that moment on, he knew his life would never be the same without you.

“We joked that we weren’t homewreckers the night we met you, but…” Tashi trailed off, sighing as she set her mug on the table and crossed her arms. “I never thought it would come between me and her. I always thought I was a better friend than that. And I hate it, but running into you today is the closest I’ve felt to her in years,” she confessed.

Sitting there opposite your former best friend, Art couldn’t help but agree. So many parts of you lived on in Tashi, remnants of your lifelong friendship that had shaped both of you in ways he could now see clearly. The way she tilted her head when deep in thought mirrored your own, a habit you’d both picked up during your countless late-night conversations. That amused, all-knowing expression on Tashi’s face when Art tried to lie to her was uncannily similar to yours. 

Even her choice of words, the little phrases and inside jokes that only you two shared, brought you vividly to life at that moment, making it feel like a part of you was still there, sitting right across from Art.

“Yeah, me too,” Art agreed, trying to keep the sudden gust of sadness out of his tone. 

To make matters worse, seeing Tashi was the closest Art had felt to you and Patrick in a very long time. 

It brought back memories of his former best friend, who had once been his world. There was a time when the four of you felt inseparable, and now, sitting there, Art could almost hear the echoes of those days. The way Tashi absentmindedly rubbed her forearm was like Patrick used to, a nervous habit that always surfaced during serious conversations. Tashi’s honest recount of how much she missed you felt like a mirror image of how much Art missed Patrick. Being with Tashi now, it was impossible not to feel the empty space left by the absence of the friendships that had once defined them both.

That night, as Tashi stepped into Art’s hotel room, the invisible string that still bound them both to you seemed to tighten, pulling them a little closer to where you slept just a few floors away.

𝟐 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐒 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟐𝟖, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎

“I just got off the phone with Elora,” you declared, stepping into your shared hotel room with Patrick and finding your boyfriend lounging on the bed with the TV on. “I’ve been asked to play an exhibition match tomorrow. Just something quick and fun before the first round to boost ticket sales for the qualifiers. A bunch of American players from the tour will be there.”

You dropped onto the bed beside Patrick, kicking off your shoes and curling up in his awaiting arms. The two of you had been travelling together for over a year, sharing rooms while on tour and cohabitating in every aspect of your lives. It was like a reward after enduring a long-distance relationship during your final year at Stanford. Instead of just talking on the phone and occasionally getting surprise visits from Patrick, you went everywhere together and supported each other at every match and tournament you attended.

The two of you had slipped into an easy routine. Having the same profession meant that you were constantly going to the same places, and it made travelling and sightseeing so much more special. After working hard for over two weeks at each tournament, exploring new cities with Patrick was the ideal way to wind down and relax. There was something incredibly special and romantic about doing every day of your life with him.

Your relationship had been grabbing headlines ever since the press caught on to the fact that you were together over a year ago, but the attention ramped up exponentially after you won Wimbledon.

What used to be short articles about an up-and-coming, attractive couple in the tennis world had snowballed into detailed timelines of your dates and public appearances with Patrick. Luckily, the public adored you, and there was very little criticism or negativity surrounding your relationship. Other players on the WTA and ATP tour often teased you about being real celebrities, pointing out how rare it was to win public favour as much as you and Patrick did.

Even though this shift was odd, and you had yet to get used to the constant eyes on you, there were perks to having your picture taken professionally every time you went on a date with your boyfriend. You had framed your favourite newspaper clipping, a beautiful picture of you kissing Patrick after winning Wimbledon, with the heading The Darlings of the Tennis World written above it in a large, bold font.

“Great,” Patrick drawled, blinking lazily as he wrapped his arms around you. His hands gravitated under your shirt to draw circles on the bare skin of your midriff, immediately sending butterflies to your stomach. “Which unlucky girl’s getting her ass handed to her while you beat her in straight sets?” he joked, knowing any match you played would end in a crushing defeat for the other player. 

“Actually…” you trailed off, sending him your best smile as Patrick drew his head back to meet your gaze. 

He observed your innocent expression with quizzical, unsure eyes. Even though you were giving him your sweetest look, there was something mischievous about the glint in your eyes. When realisation hit him, Patrick sighed and said, “I’m the unlucky girl, aren’t I?” His distraught tone made laughter bubble from your lips.

“Smart and handsome? I really hit the jackpot,” you teased, buttering him up with compliments so that he would agree more readily. “Come on, Pat, it’ll be fun!” 

“Oh yeah, really fun!” Patrick agreed sarcastically, matching your energetic tone. “Like how a lion treats a lamb during slaughter!”

You rolled your eyes, stifling your laughter at your boyfriend’s dramatics. “Don’t worry, pretty girl, I’ll go easy on you,” you said, imitating his voice and tone. He had never used those exact words about playing tennis, but Patrick’s tone was always thick with the same arrogant confidence. “Think about it! If you play against me, you’ll get to see that winning serve of mine up close and personal.”

“Excuse me, I’ve been on the opposing end of your winning serve plenty of times during practice,” Patrick defended. “I always knew you were better than me, gorgeous, but I don’t remember agreeing to public humiliation when we started dating!”

“Drama queen,” you accused. “It really will be fun! We’ll be mic’d up and we can talk and joke the entire time. It’s the best of three sets and it’ll be just like practising together. Come on, what do you say?” At Patrick’s uncertain expression, you sat up in bed and swung a leg over his lap to straddle him. The fire that instantaneously burned in his gaze made you smirk triumphantly. “I’ll be really grateful if you do it,” you said suggestively, placing your hands on his chest and grinning. “Pretty please?”

“Well, since you said pretty please,” Patrick joked, unable to keep the wide smile off his face when you tilted your head at him. “Sure. What’s one more event where everyone thinks you’re out of my league?”

Happily, you exclaimed, “That’s the spirit!” 

“Wait–” Patrick frowned when you got up from his lap and began scurrying around the room looking for your phone– “I thought you were going to show me how grateful you are?”

You snorted. “Nice try. You can have your reward after the exhibition match,” you declared, chuckling quietly.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Patrick complained.

“Don’t act like you don’t love the chase,” you retorted, winking as you texted Elora that you and Patrick were happy to participate in the exhibition match. 

From his place on your shared bed, Patrick rolled onto his stomach and observed you. It was hard to imagine that he had only known you for four years. Your participation in his life felt so insurmountably important that it was like he had known you his entire life. You had seamlessly woven yourself into the fabric of Patrick’s daily existence, shaping his world with a depth and significance that defied the brevity of time. 

Unlike Tashi and Art, Patrick realised early on that you were someone he should hold on to. His life before you had been filled with disappointment from his family, and Patrick recognised what a rarity you were. Having already lost you before when his relationships with Tashi and Art ended, Patrick knew losing you meant losing something irreplaceable. Your presence filled gaps he hadn’t noticed before he met you, making it obvious that you were someone worth cherishing. 

As you picked up a phone call from your coach, Patrick went on his laptop and checked how much money was in his savings account. He won enough matches to pay for plane tickets, tennis equipment, and other daily necessities, saving an immense amount of money because the fat cheque you got from Nike every month more than covered your shared accommodations. Over the last year, in particular, Patrick had started saving for something very special. 

An engagement ring.

As much as Patrick wanted you to have the very best, an engagement ring from Harry Winston or Bulgari just wasn’t within his budget. He was entitled to a family heirloom ring, but Patrick didn’t want to give you something from his family. Any engagement ring he chose had to represent you and your relationship with him, rather than the generations of unhappy, reluctant marriages his family seemed destined to repeat.

After carefully perusing different stores and comparing the cost and quality of various rings, Patrick found the perfect one at Cartier. It was simple and classic, exactly the style you had mentioned you preferred offhandedly on several occasions. To his surprise, it didn’t cost an arm and a leg, and he had almost saved enough to get you the exact ring he wanted you to have.

After Wimbledon, you noticed and commented on the fact that Patrick was training harder than ever. To you, it seemed like he was finally starting to take himself more seriously. Instead of coasting on his natural talent, Patrick began seeing your physical trainer with you and even quit smoking to improve his stamina. What you didn’t know was that he was doing all of this to increase his chances of winning more matches at the US Open, where a significant amount of prize money was on the line.

In Patrick’s mind, the more matches he won, the more money he could take home, and the nicer your engagement ring could be. 

“Hey, do you know what ring size you are?” Patrick asked as casually as he could when your phone call was over. “Jess got a bunch of rings that don’t fit her and she was wondering if you want them instead?”

“That’s so sweet, I can’t believe she thought of me,” you acknowledged, grinning. Ever since you met Patrick and his extended family last year, you were constantly invited to spend time with his cousins Jess and Alex. While Patrick wasn’t best friends with them, they were the closest family he had, so you had accepted several invitations over the past year. “I would love that, Jess has amazing taste in jewellery! Tell her I’m an eight in ring size, but I’ll squeeze into anything she wants to give me,” you joked, not thinking much of Patrick’s question. 

With shaking hands, Patrick sent a text with your ring size to the sales associate at the Cartier store in New York, who had been keeping him updated on when the exact ring he wanted was available. Once the US Open was over, all Patrick had to do was head to Manhattan and pick up the ring. It had taken him almost four months to find the perfect one for you, and then it was just a matter of winning enough prize money to afford it. As long as Patrick won two rounds at the US Open next week, he’d have enough to buy your engagement ring.

Then he would have to decide how and when to propose to you.

[ameliathornromance]

A Whole New World - Short Orc Romance

- When your Orc found you, you were in your Church with your other sisters of the cloth.

- They all prayed to the Gods.

- Gods that they wished would come, strike down these beasts who threatened your lives.

- The Church doors were difficult to get open, but your Orc did it. The doors burst off the hinges, crashed into the pews.

-Your sisters all took off running, leaving you behind.

- You tried to follow, but ended up tripping over your robes, falling on your front.

- Your Orc stormed towards you.

- You try to scramble away, desperate to escape your oncoming death, but it was no use.

- He was too big, too quick.

- You close your eyes, expecting a bludgeoning with that horrifying club he had clutched in his hand. You raise your hands above your head and cower for your life.

- Any moment now, any second now, he is going to bring that club down on your head.

- But nothing came.

“They left you.”

You squint open your eyes. Between your arms, you stare at him. His expression pained, his endless black eyes staring at you with… sympathy? You couldn’t understand what you were seeing; An orc, sympathetic?

The club slips from his hand, landing on the floor with a loud thud. Stooping to one knee, he bends down to your height. “Those who you called sisters have abandoned you.”

You dare to look around. Hoping to see a sister who was hiding behind the altar, a pillar, or anywhere. With some kind of weapon in hand, anything to help you get out of this situation alive. But it was barren. Empty of any kind of life whom had been begging for salvation.

He was right. They had. “To escape you, you who would kill me for praying for your death.” You hiss back at him. You didn’t dare believe him, wanted to retreat back into the collective opinion about Orcs. But it was too obvious to ignore his logic.

The words were harsh and sharp, the Orc did not flinch. “And who is here for you, now that I have come to take the lives of your people? Your Gods? Who you pray to, but have done nothing to protect you or your people from the raid of my brethren? Did not even force a fellow sister to stay and share in your fate, so that you would not have to go into the night alone?”

The words rang through you like the Church bell at the top of the steeple. Rooted you to the ground, the world you had built to protect yourself from the truth, crashed and burned. You couldn’t deny that he was wrong. Your so-called ‘sisters’ had abandoned you. Left you here at the mercy of this monster, not one of them had turned to try and help you back up.

A sigh escapes the Orc. “In our ranks,” he says, “we do not abandon our own.” The hand that held the club outstretches toward you. “Come. No one deserves to left alone.”

Anger had risen, spiteful and raging within your very soul. At that moment, as much as you didn’t want to admit it, the Orc was right. Your mind drifts back to what the Church had taught you about them, the Orcs. That they were monsters, born from the core of the Earth. Where Magma bubbled and boiled, where nothing should be able to survive. How your Church commanded that your sisters swear loyalty to one another. To protect each other and Holy Ground from defamation of the filth that rose from the Earth. To do it together. To die together, if it came to it.

The Gods had abandoned you and your sisters had left you. You gave your life for Gods who did not care.

This Orc, monster of the deep Earth, had shown you more decency in that moment. Than Gods or humans had done in the time you had been at the Church. Spite riddles through you. You take his calloused, rough hand.

- Travelling in an Orc caravan was not easy. They were loud, smelly and stupid. All except the Orc who had come for you.

- He was quiet, preferred to watch his others fight, drink and be rowdy with one another.

- At first, the rest of the group had ostracised you. “Humans are no good.” They would snarl. “Weak and useless.” But, after repairing a few of their clothes and cooking meals, they warmed up to you.

- They were kind to you... In their own way. Like the time when they left a whole dead sheeps’ carcass in your tent. The note left with it read: “For dinner this eve. Make or else.” Panicked, you went to find your Orc friend, who explained that this wasn't a threat. Far from it, as a matter of fact.

- They spoke to you that way because they spoke to their own like that.

- "My bretheren see you as one of us now." Rovi - the name of your Orc friend - explained.

“They’re quite the group.” You observe. You had thrown out your robes as soon as you could and replaced them with something that was far from Holy. Trousers and tunic that you had sewed together yourself and hair let down to your waist.

“Indeed.” Rovi agrees. He slurps the rest of the soup from his bowl. Fire crackles in the fire pit, the nights sky blankets the whole group of Orcs who proceed to play fight and snarl. This was apparently, a common pass time for Orcs, who beat the living snot out of each other as a show of comradery. “They will never hurt each other though.” Rovi assures you, putting the bowl beside himself. “We do not do that, unlike humans who abandon their own, kill their friends and steal for survival.”

You did not judge his impression of humans. Surely, you’d feel the same way too if a bunch of humans started chasing after you, desperate for your head. One thing, you could not understand for the life of you, was why Rovi had taken you in. Despite his obvious dislike for humans, he still offered you a place in his camp. Maybe It was as simple as he said: “No one deserves to left alone.”

Biting your lip, you tell him, “thank you for inviting me into your camp.” You meant it. If it weren’t for him, you would still be slaving away for Gods who had no interest in you.

Your Orc huffs, “better than being with humans who abandon their own.” He looks away from you. Back to the jeering crowd of his fellows, watching them clasp each others hands and pat each other on the back. A show of congratulations on a good fight.

- Your romance with him started when there was when you returned to your own tent.

- On your bed, was a small pouch of gold.

- Being in an Orc camp, you observed their customs and cultures. Often, when courting others, they would leave a small bag of gold in their crushes living quarters. A sweet, but simple gesture. Orcs loved their gold, even if they did not flaunt it. To do so was, frowned upon and compared to the Lords who wore those stupid puffy trousers and powdered tall wigs.

- You did not know who the pouch had come from, but you immediately thought that your Orc friend had been the one to do it. But you had to double check. And so you would gauge his reaction to it.

“Look!” You rushed over to him. Waving the bag of gold up to him, you beamed, “someone likes me! I found it on my bed when I got back from washing in the river!”

Rovi, returning from a hunt and carrying a, poor dead stag on his back, looked at you, then the open bag, gold glittering in the sunlight. “Was there a note?” He asked you, dropping it to the ground.

The rest of the hunting party grumbled annoyances at him, dragging the meat away. Rovi ignored them.

“No, there was just this bag. I wonder who it could be!” Your eyes dart across the camp, looking to the cooks, who were now busy skinning the stag, to other Orcs who were busy tending to a fire and talking in their mother tongue and to those who were busy trying to read from tiny human books they stole from villages.

“Best not to think about it,” Your Orc mutters. “Small pouch of gold like that? They can’t be that interested in you.” And with that, he lumbers off.

You frown. You thought for sure it would be him. His reaction made your heart sink in your chest. Sighing, you walk back to your tent, tossing the small bag onto your desk and clambering onto your bed. You sigh. If it was not him, then who could it be?

Unfortunately, you had noted that there was a fair amount of guess work that had to happen when it came to this as well. Usually, it went over well – the admired knew who their admirer was, and they got together. But, in rare instances, where the admired got their guess wrong: The admirer would challenge the guessed person to combat and they would fight. Not a play fight. An actual battle.

It was rare, but not rare enough to avoid being discussed by the rest of the camp. You had never seen one yourself, and if you could, you’d like to avoid it at all costs. You like everyone in the camp, care about them all , you didn’t want anyone to get hurt. One had to assume, that if two Orcs vied for the same person... You didn't want to think about that.

- You had thought long and hard about who it could be. You had become close with everyone in the camp, it wasn’t like there was anyone who stuck out to you.

- Truth be told, disappointment stirred in your gut.

- You had hoped that it would Rovi who had been the one to give you that pouch. He was kind and caring, even if he was a bit rough around the edges. He gave you a whole new life, it seemed almost right that you would fall for him. After he was able to show you the rest of the world, when you may have stayed with the Church for the rest of your days.

- The next day, you went to go and do what you had to do by the river, coming back to your tent and your jaw dropping.

A pouch – you couldn’t even call it that – a sack full of gold had spilled out onto the floor in your tent. You wondered if you’d gone mad. Startling you, a cheer erupted from outside your tent. What the Hell is going on?!

You ran out and into the main area, where a ring of tall, hulking Orcs had formed. You stood on tip-toes, jumped to try and get a look at the brawl that had just started, but had to resolve to pushing your way through the rambunctious crowd. Once the other Orcs realize who it was trying to get through, they bark at their others: “Get out of the way! Let (Y/N) through! It about her after all!”

About you? More desperate now, you finally found your way to the edge of the ring just in time to see Rovi swing a right hook, directly into the jaw of his other. The other Orc goes flying, his landing in front of you sent shudders through the floor. You recognise him immediately as Barrow, a chef who you often spent time with in the kitchens. He was an Orc of very little brains, but he made a mean rabbit stew. He made some inappropriate jokes to you occasionally, but apart from that, he kept mostly to himself.

“That’s all you offer?!” Rovi roars, “pathetic!”

Barrow was out cold, your Orc friend’s chest heaving up and down. “What’s going on?!” You shout over the jeering Orc crowd.

Rovi’s face, goes from a furious, angry scowl, to soft at the sight of you. Rather harshly, he kicks Barrow out of the way and kneels down to your height. “I’m afraid I haven’t been up front with you,” he begins.

The rest of the Orcs are still watching, but now quiet. Your ears rang with the silence, so used to their loud and obnoxious shouting that it was unsettling to hear silence.

“I know that humans are more upfront with their courting practices so allow me to conform to your culture… And I couldn’t allow Barrow to offer you something so insignificant and small as one pouch of gold… So... Would you be mine, (Y/N)?”

Stunned into silence, you bit your lip. Smiling, you ask, “so the extra large sack of gold was you?”

Rovi grumbles and looks away from, a small dusting tinge dusting his orc green cheeks. “Well, I had to do something…” He mumbles. “I had to do something to show you I am superior… if this one hadn’t beaten me to it.” He shoots another dirty look at Barrow, who seems to have awoken in a daze. “The combat was necessary to tell him to back off.”

“I think the gold was more than enough.” You wrap your arms around his muscular shoulders and pull him close. “Thank you for everything, Rovi.”

He freezes for a moment and then returns your gesture, holding you tenderly in that moment. The both of you don’t even hear the crowd of Orcs erupting with cheers and shouts of happiness.

It’s just the two of you. And that’s all that matters in that moment.

[elryuse]

I'm sorry, Can I Be Yours

Winter X Male Reader

Tags : Childhood Friends, Friends To Lovers, Kiss, Teasing, Fluff, Virgin Sex, Creampie, Good Ending?

The School bell blared, jolting me out of my reverie. I scanned the emptying hallway, searching for Winter's familiar pearly blonde hair. My stomach clenched when I spotted her surrounded by her posse, their laughter echoing down the corridor. Winter, the girl who used to chase butterflies with me at recess, now seemed like a distant star, dazzling yet untouchable.

It wasn't always like this. Back in elementary school, Winter, or Minjeong as I called her then, was the new kid, a shy sparrow adrift in a sea of unfamiliar faces. I, the self-proclaimed schoolyard ambassador, had swooped in, determined to be her friend. We were an unlikely pair – me, the rambunctious chatterbox, and her, the quiet observer with eyes that held galaxies within them. But somehow, it clicked. We built sandcastles that defied the tide, shared scraped knees and ice cream cones, our laughter echoing through the playground.

High school, however, had cast a long shadow over our friendship. Winter blossomed into an ethereal beauty, her smile lighting up every room she entered. Admirers swarmed around her like bees to a rose, and her schedule became a whirlwind of student council meetings, dance practices, and social gatherings. I, on the other hand, remained comfortably obscure, content with the company of my camera and a well-worn book.

The distance wasn't physical, not yet. We still sat together at lunch, a forced routine amidst the chaos. But the easy conversations, the comfortable silences, those had become a distant memory. Now, an awkward tension hung between us, a chasm filled with unspoken words and longing glances that pierced my heart.

One afternoon, at the usual lunch table, Winter was surrounded by her usual crowd, their voices a flurry of excitement about the upcoming school festival. I stole a glance at her, my heart sinking at the coldness in her eyes, a stark contrast to the warmth that used to reside there.

"Hey, Winter," I began hesitantly, my voice barely a whisper above the din. "They were talking about volunteers for the photography booth at the festival. You know I take a decent picture or two."

A flicker of something, maybe annoyance, crossed her features before she schooled her expression into a polite smile.

"Oh, right," she said, her voice devoid of its usual enthusiasm. "Yeah, maybe you can help out. Hana mentioned you were good with that camera of yours."

The casual dismissal stung. Hana? We hadn't discussed the festival, and the way Winter phrased it made it seem like it was Hana's idea, not mine. I forced a smile, the bitterness clinging to my tongue.

"Sure," I mumbled, pushing my untouched lunch tray away. "Just let me know what needs to be done."

The rest of the lunch break passed in a blur of forced conversation and stolen glances. As the final bell rang, I gathered my things, the weight of our strained friendship heavy on my chest. Winter barely acknowledged me as she swept out of the classroom, leaving me adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Was this the end of our story? The question echoed in the empty classroom, a stark reminder of the distance that had grown between us.

The following week, a new face appeared in our homeroom class. A girl with long, flowing black hair and a face that could launch a thousand ships, but her posture screamed timidity. She shuffled in, her eyes downcast, avoiding eye contact with the sea of curious faces. The usual welcoming chatter died down, replaced by a tense silence.

As the teacher droned on about expectations and school policies, I couldn't help but steal glances at the new girl. Her name was Lee Seo-Ah, according to the attendance sheet. Unlike Winter, who captivated the room with her mere presence, Seo-Ah seemed to shrink into herself, disappearing into the background.

A pang of sympathy stabbed at my heart. I remembered all too well the awkwardness of being the new kid, the crushing loneliness of trying to navigate unfamiliar territory. Winter, once the shy newcomer, had effortlessly blossomed into the center of attention. Seo-Ah, on the other hand, seemed trapped in a shell of her own making.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the class, the usual flurry of introductions and small talk began. But Seo-Ah remained isolated, a solitary island amidst a bustling sea. I couldn't just stand by and watch.

Taking a deep breath, I approached her desk, my heart pounding a nervous rhythm against my ribs. "Hi, I'm Y/n," I said, offering a friendly smile. "Welcome to our school."

Seo-Ah looked up, startled, her eyes wide and filled with a flicker of surprise. For a moment, she didn't speak, then a shy smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"H-hi," she finally mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm Seo-Ah. It's... nice to meet you."

Her shyness was endearing, a stark contrast to the usual boisterousness of the classroom. "Seems like you're new here," I continued, hoping to ease the tension. "Anything I can help you with?"

Seo-Ah hesitated, then bit her lip. "Well, I'm a bit lost. I don't know where my next class is."

Relief washed over me. "No problem at all. I have the same class next. Let me show you the way."

As we walked down the hallway, Seo-Ah spoke in hushed tones, her words punctuated by long pauses. She told me she was from Busan, a coastal city known for its seafood and beaches. She loved art, particularly painting, but was too shy to join any clubs.

I listened intently, offering words of encouragement and pointing out landmarks along the way. To my surprise, Seo-Ah slowly began to open up, her voice gaining a hint of confidence. By the time we reached her next class, a hesitant smile played on her lips.

"Thanks, Y/n," she said, her eyes sparkling with gratitude. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

"No worries at all," I replied, a genuine warmth spreading through my chest. "Welcome to the group, Seo-Ah."

Perhaps, in helping Seo-Ah find her way, I had also found a way to bridge the growing distance between myself and Winter. After all, kindness, like a pebble tossed into a still pond, could create ripples that reached far and wide.

A couple of weeks flew by in a whirlwind of activity. During lunch breaks, I found myself gravitating towards Seo-Ah, her infectious laugh and bubbly personality a welcome change from the strained atmosphere I shared with Winter. We'd discuss everything under the sun – from her passion for painting to the latest K-pop group she was obsessed with. Slowly, her shyness melted away, replaced by a comfortable openness.

One afternoon, at the usual lunch table, Winter caught me engrossed in a conversation with Seo-Ah. Her expression was unreadable, but a flicker of something, maybe jealousy, crossed her features for a fleeting moment before she masked it with a polite smile.

"Looks like you've made a new friend, Y/n," she said, her voice cool and detached.

"Y-yeah," I replied, trying to keep the awkwardness at bay. "Seo-Ah just transferred from Busan. We get along pretty well."

Winter simply nodded, her gaze lingering on Seo-Ah for a beat too long before she turned away to continue her conversation with Hana. The air crackled with unspoken tension, a stark contrast to the easy banter I shared with Seo-Ah.

During that week, I discovered another one of Seo-Ah's talents. While helping her unpack her art supplies after school, she pulled out a sketchbook filled with breathtaking landscapes and portraits. My jaw dropped in awe.

"Wow, Seo-Ah, these are amazing!" I exclaimed, flipping through the pages. "You're incredibly talented."

Her cheeks flushed a rosy pink. "Thanks, Y/n. I actually joined the art club this week. They seemed really nice."

A surge of excitement coursed through me. "That's fantastic! Maybe we can even work on some projects together sometime. I'm in the photography club, and we're always looking for new angles and perspectives."

Her eyes lit up. "R-really? That sounds awesome!"

Over the next few days, Seo-Ah and I spent our free time bouncing ideas off each other. We'd discuss light and shadow, composition, and the emotions a photograph or painting could evoke. With her, there was none of the awkward silences or unspoken expectations that had infiltrated my relationship with Winter. It felt… easy, comfortable.

Meanwhile, the distance between Winter and me continued to widen. Our conversations were short and superficial, filled with long pauses and forced smiles. I missed our late-afternoon talks, the way we could just sit in comfortable silence, knowing each other's thoughts without needing to speak them. But Winter was a whirlwind of student council meetings and social gatherings now, leaving me feeling like an outsider peering into a world I no longer belonged to.

One Friday afternoon, while Seo-Ah and I were discussing camera settings in the library, Winter approached our table, her face etched with a forced smile.

"Hey, Y/n," she said, her voice clipped. "Just wanted to let you know there's a student council meeting this evening. You're… welcome to join."

Her words felt like an afterthought, an obligation rather than an invitation. Seo-Ah, sensing the tension, chimed in.

"Oh, a student council meeting? That sounds important. You should definitely go, Y/n."

Winter's smile faltered for a second, then she straightened her shoulders. "Yeah, sure," she said, her gaze flickering to Seo-Ah before darting away. "See you guys later."

As she walked away, a knot of frustration tightened in my stomach. Was I missing something here? Did Winter feel threatened by Seo-Ah's presence? Or was it simply a case of her being too busy with her own things to acknowledge our dwindling friendship?

Stepping into the student council meeting room felt like entering a different world. The air crackled with nervous energy, students flitting around finalizing decorations and posters. Minjeong, usually radiating icy efficiency, seemed to have a vibrant life of her own here. Her voice, sharp and clear as she addressed the room, held an undeniable power.

I found myself an empty chair at the back, feeling strangely out of place amidst all the organized chaos. The topic of the meeting – the upcoming school fireworks festival – was a whirlwind of budgets, logistics, and safety regulations. Hana, Minjeong's ever-reliable vice president, rattled off numbers with laser focus, while Minjeong herself managed the discussion with a firm but encouraging demeanor.

As the meeting progressed, I stole glances at Minjeong. The fierce, focused leader I witnessed was so different from the quiet girl who had been my best friend. A pang of longing crossed my chest for those simpler times. Then, our eyes met.

Caught off guard, Minjeong's gaze flickered for a moment before she looked away, a hint of pink dusting her cheeks. A shy smile tugged at the corner of her lips, a fleeting glimpse of the girl I knew beneath the student council president facade. The warmth of that smile sent a jolt through me. Was there still hope for us?

Suddenly, Hana's voice cut through my contemplation. "So, who's up for grabbing some pizza after this? We've still got hours of work to do before the week's out."

A chorus of groans and cheers filled the room. Minjeong chuckled, a soft sound that seemed foreign on her focused face. "Sounds good, Hana. But make it quick, alright? We don't want to be here all night."

As the meeting wrapped up, the room buzzed with newfound energy. Students piled into a corner, chatting excitedly about pizza toppings and movie plans. I hesitated, unsure of my place in this world.

"Y/n?" Minjeong's voice caught my attention. She stood at the front of the room, her gaze hesitant but inviting. "You coming to pizza night?"

The question hung in the air, a test of the fragile thread that still connected us. My heart pounded in my chest. This could be a step forward, a chance to bridge the gap that had grown between us. Or it could be a painful reminder of how far things had changed.

I looked at Minjeong, her eyes filled with a nervous anticipation that mirrored my own. Taking a deep breath, I offered a smile, the same shy smile we used to share in elementary school.

"Yeah," I replied, my voice a little rough around the edges. "I'd like that."

A genuine smile, bright and unreserved, broke across Minjeong's face. It was a small step, a single word in a long conversation, but for the first time in weeks, a flicker of hope ignited within me. Perhaps, amidst the chaos of student council meetings and new friendships, there was still a place for us, for the bond we once shared.

Stepping into the bustling pizza parlor, I was greeted by the aroma of melted cheese and bubbling tomato sauce. Minjeong's friends, a vibrant bunch I only recognized from school hallways, were already digging into their slices, their laughter a welcome counterpoint to the tense atmosphere of the meeting earlier.

Minjeong, perched at the end of a long table, her cheeks flushed with a hint of nervous excitement, spotted me. A radiant smile broke across her face, chasing away the serious leader persona from before. She patted the seat next to her, a silent invitation.

As I settled in, a chorus of curious glances and playful nudges fell upon me. A girl with sparkling eyes and a mischievous grin leaned forward.

"So, Y/n," she began, her voice dripping with friendly interrogation, "how long have you known our Minjeong? Spill the secrets of your epic friendship!"

A wave of heat flooded Minjeong's cheeks, her cheeks turning the color of the pepperoni slices on the table. She mumbled something inaudible under her breath, burying her face in her pizza slice. I chuckled, the sound warming the air.

"Well Actually," I said, taking a bite of my own pizza, "we go way back. All the way back to elementary school."

A collective gasp escaped the group. Stories of elementary school crushes and childhood sweethearts circulated with wide-eyed wonder. Seeing Minjeong squirm under the spotlight only endeared her to me even more.

"She was this shy little thing," I continued, my voice filled with a smile, "always hiding behind her art folders. I just decided she needed a friend and dragged her into all sorts of adventures."

Minjeong peeked at me over her pizza slice, her eyes wide and filled with a mixture of shyness and amusement. My heart stuttered in my chest. Even after all this time, her gaze still held the power to send butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

"And did those adventures include falling head over heels for each other?" one of the guys piped up, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

The question hung heavy in the air. A long silence stretched, broken only by the clinking of silverware and the murmur of conversation. I met Minjeong's gaze, a silent conversation unfolding between us.

"I…," I hesitated, taking a deep breath. "The truth is, Minjeong has always been special to me. Ever since that first day in elementary school, there was something about her. Her quiet strength, her kindness, her way of seeing the world through those incredible eyes."

Minjeong's entire face turned crimson, her lips forming a silent "wow." The rest of the table, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, remained silent, their eyes shifting between us with anticipation.

"And you, Y/n?" Minjeong finally managed to whisper, her voice barely audible. "Do you still feel the same way?"

"More than you know," I said, my voice sincere. "Seeing you all grown up, this amazing leader everyone admires… it just makes me realize how much I care about you."

The moment stretched, charged with unspoken emotions. Then, with a roar of approval, Minjeong's friends erupted in cheers.

"Oh my god, you guys are perfect for each other!"

"Finally! It was about time someone confessed!"

Minjeong, overwhelmed by the sudden outburst, hid her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with a mixture of shyness and laughter. My own heart pounded with a mixture of hope and disbelief. Could this really be happening?

As the cheers subsided, a shy smile peeked out from behind Minjeong's hands. Looking at me, her eyes filled with an emotion I couldn't quite decipher. Was it fear? Joy? Relief?

"Well, Y/n," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "It seems like you spilled the biggest secret of all."

I grinned, leaning closer. "Only the one I felt was most important."

The rest of the night was a blur of happy chatter, shared stories, and stolen glances. The seeds of doubt I'd harbored for weeks began to fade, replaced by a warm flicker of hope. Perhaps, amidst the changing tides of high school, our childhood connection could blossom into something more. As we walked home under the soft glow of the streetlights, a comfortable silence settled between us, a silence that spoke volumes more than words ever could. Maybe, just maybe, our story wasn't over yet.

As we strolled away from the pizza parlor, the streetlights cast soft yellow pools on the sidewalk. The air was thick with the unspoken words that hung between us. Finally, Minjeong broke the silence, her voice barely a whisper.

"Y/n," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "Do you… hate me?"

The question struck me like a physical blow. Hate her? The girl who had been my closest companion, my confidante? It was a ridiculous notion.

"Why would I hate you?" I asked gently, my voice laced with concern.

"For everything," she mumbled, tears welling up in her eyes. "For how I treated you these past three years. For being so cold and distant."

I stopped walking, turning to face her. Minjeong's face was illuminated by the soft glow of a nearby streetlamp, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Minjeong-Ah, listen to me," I said, cupping her face in my hands. "You were focused on school, student council, all those responsibilities. It's natural. You've become this amazing leader, kind and strong. I could never hate you for that."

She shook her head, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. "But you must have felt so alone. Like I replaced you."

"It wasn't like that," I assured her, wiping away the stray tear with my thumb. "It just… it's a shame we drifted apart. I miss the talks we used to have, the silly jokes, the shared dreams."

A sob escaped her lips, and she buried her face in my chest. Tears soaked through my shirt as she held onto me for dear life.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n," she cried, her voice muffled against my chest. "I'm such an idiot. Seo-Ah is great, and I'm happy she has a friend, but… but you're different. You've always been different."

My heart ached for her, for the pain she had unknowingly inflicted. "Seo-Ah's a friend," I said, stroking her hair soothingly. "But you, Minjeong… you're so much more."

She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching mine. "More?"

"We grew up together," I continued, my voice soft. "We shared secrets, dreams, a lifetime of memories. Seo-Ah may be a new chapter, but you… you're the whole book."

Tears streamed down her face, each one a silent apology. "I-i messed up," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "The thought of losing you to someone else… it scared me to death. But I was too scared to admit it, too scared to even talk to you."

Understanding dawned on me. Her coldness, her distance, it was all a misguided attempt to protect herself from the possibility of losing our bond. The irony wasn't lost on me – her actions had almost achieved the very outcome she feared.

Enfolding her in a hug once more, I whispered into her hair, "It's okay, Minjeong. We can start over. Together."

Her body trembled against mine, a mixture of relief and hope washing over her. The night was filled with apologies, whispered confessions, and the bittersweet promise of a new beginning. We walked hand in hand, not as childhood friends, but as something more, something that transcended labels. We walked, not just towards her house, but towards a future we would write together, a future where communication replaced silence, and where the warmth of our friendship could finally blossom into something beautiful.

The walk to Minjeong's house felt different under the soft glow of the streetlights. The air, once thick with unspoken words, now crackled with a nervous energy, a budding promise. As we reached her doorstep, the weight of the emotional rollercoaster we'd just been on settled in.

Minjeong, sniffling and wiping away the last of her tears, looked at me with a mixture of vulnerability and hope. "Would you… would you like to stay?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Staying the night at her place felt like venturing into uncharted territory. Was it too soon? Yet, the thought of leaving her on such a vulnerable note felt unbearable.

"I… I don't know," I stammered, unsure of the protocol for such a situation.

Tears welled up in her eyes again, threatening to spill over. "Please, Y/n," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

My resolve crumbled. How could I say no to those tear-filled eyes, to the raw vulnerability she was displaying? "Okay," I sighed, offering her a weak smile. "I'll stay."

Relief washed over her face, a radiant smile replacing the tear tracks. She fumbled with her keys, finally unlocking the door and ushering me inside.

The familiar scent of her home, a mixture of lavender and something vaguely sweet, instantly transported me back to our childhood sleepovers. As I entered her bedroom, the floodgates of nostalgia opened.

The walls were adorned with a tapestry of our shared history – a photo of us grinning goofily at a carnival, a drawing we'd made together during a rainy afternoon, a faded ticket stub from that time we snuck into a movie. Every picture, every memento, whispered of a friendship that had weathered storms, unspoken yet understood.

A choked sob escaped Minjeong's lips as she noticed my gaze tracing the memories on the wall. "It's… it's like a museum in here," she sniffled, a shy smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

I walked over to her, my heart overflowing with a cocktail of emotions. "It's beautiful," I whispered, reaching out to touch a photo of us on our first day of elementary school. "A reminder of everything we've been through."

Minjeong's cheeks flushed a rosy pink. As if making a sudden decision, she began to slowly undress, her movements filled with a nervous anticipation.

Shock momentarily paralyzed me. "Minjeong-Ah?" I stammered, unsure of how to interpret her actions.

She looked at me, her eyes shimmering with a newfound courage. "Y/n," she began, her voice barely a whisper, "I know this might seem crazy, but… all this time, all I ever wanted was you."

The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with unspoken desires. Before I could respond, she leaned in, hesitantly at first, then with a growing sense of urgency. Her lips met mine in a kiss that was both tentative and filled with a desperate longing.

It was a kiss that tasted of tearful apologies, unspoken confessions, and the bittersweet joy of a rekindled connection. In that kiss, we bridged the gap of lost years, the unspoken words replaced by a silent promise of a future we would write together.

Pulling away, breathless and a little dazed, we stared into each other's eyes. They held a newfound depth, a reflection of the emotions we had shared.

"Minjeong-Ah," I finally managed to breathe, my voice thick with emotion. "I… I thought I'd lost you."

"Me too," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes again, but this time, they were tears of joy. "But we're here now, Y/n. And this time," she continued, a determined glint in her eyes, "I'm not letting go."

Hearing those words, I immediately kissed her again. This time with so much passion and hunger to love her even more. minjeong share to play with my tounge,Something that I didn't know she would ever learned.

"M-minjeong-Ah.. You're so pretty". I blurted out, My words of praise basically flies out on its own. Minjeong blushes, Before planting another kiss to my lips. Her soft and plump lips, a cushion to my own.

"I-i want to try it... I-i want to do it with you Y/n". Minjeong blushes, Her hands touching the entrance of her now wet pussy. I blushed deeply, Not expecting that we'll come this far.

But I now know, that we are meant for each other. We both loved each other. I promised, I would never let her down anymore. I would love her with all of my heart.

"I-i'm putting it in Minjeong-Ah. Tell me if it hurts okay"? I gently caresses her face. As I started to slowly thrust my dick into her pussy, Minjeong immediately moaned, Her body trembling, as her hole started to widen, and not long after that. I have successfully inserted my whole dick deep into her pussy. As her hymen broke, Blood soon come out. I panicked, Asking Minjeong if she's alright.

She seemed to be trembling, and crying. I tried to pull back. But minjeong yelled "Noo.. Don't pull it out... I-i can handle it".

I hesitated, I didn't want this experience to hurt her. I explained it to her, that she doesn't need to force herself, and we can take it slowly. But to my suprise, Minjeong push me back, before straddling me.

"No.. No.. I want this.. I need this... Please don't leave me Y/n... I can handle this.. So please... caressing my face let me pleasure you". I immediately blushed hearing those words coming from her mouth. In the end I nodded, Letting her know I'll do it.

Minjeong started to move her hips slowly, Adjusting to the pain and pleasure that her body is currently having. And after a while, She finally found her pace and started to move faster and faster. We both moaned at how good this feels, And I just can't help but to admire her fit body, and her beautiful pair of tits.

"I-i know it's not the biggest... B-but.. Please love them". Minjeong blushes, as she turns her head around. I giggled before planting a kiss to her tits. Admiring them for how perfect they were. Mineong immediately smiled, Before planting another kiss to my lips.

After a while, I felt like I was near to reach my orgasm. As I saw Minjeong Continue swaying her hips, Something took over me and I gently put Minjeong into a missionary position. Minjeong legs immediately craddled surrounding my body, as her legs tightened. Her hand gripped the back of my body, As I kept on kissing her heck.

"Y/n!!! Y/n.. I'm close.. Fuck.. I'm so close..". Minjeong cried, as The pleasure was too much for the both of us. I told her that I'm also close.

"Shoot it inside me... I-it's okay... I want it..".

"W-whatt! No we can't... It's too dangerous minjeong... I'll shoot it outside".

"Noooo.. Please... I want your cum... Please... ".

As minjeong kept begging, and as I closely reached my limit. I can't help but to shoot my seed deep within her womb. As I did this, Minjeong moaned and tightly held me. Our body trembled in pleasure, and we finally reached our euphoria together.

After panting a while, We both Chukled before kissing each other for the last time, as we finally fell asleep. We held each other close, our bodies radiating a warmth that chased away the chill of the night. The room filled with the sound of our gentle breaths and the soft thudding of our hearts, a symphony of rediscovered love and a promise of a future where childhood friendship could finally blossom into something beautiful and everlasting.

Sunlight streamed through the window, painting golden stripes across Minjeong's face. She stirred, a sleepy smile curving her lips. Glancing beside her, she found me still nestled in the sheets, the events of last night replaying vividly in her mind. A blush crept up her cheeks as she remembered the passionate confessions and rekindled love that had blossomed under her very roof.

"Y/n," she whispered, nudging me gently. "Time to wake up. We don't want to be late for school."

I groaned playfully, pulling the covers over my head for a moment longer. "Five more minutes?" I mumbled, the warmth of the sheets and the memory of Minjeong close beside me making it hard to leave.

She chuckled, a sound like wind chimes dancing in a summer breeze. "Not a chance, sleepyhead. We have a whole day of classes and stolen glances ahead of us."

Her words were a sweet melody to my ears. Sitting up, I stretched, my gaze lingering on her. "Thank you, Minjeong-Ah," I said, my voice husky with sleep and unspoken emotions.

"For what?" she asked, tilting her head.

"For everything," I replied, cupping her face in my hands and leaning in for a soft kiss. It was a simple gesture, yet it spoke volumes of the renewed connection we shared.

The morning unfolded in a whirlwind of hurried breakfasts, stolen kisses in between brushing teeth, and nervous excitement as we walked to school together, hand in hand. As we reached our classroom, I was met with a concerned Seo-Ah, her eyes wide with worry.

"Y/n!" she exclaimed, rushing over. "Where have you been? I texted and called you a million times; I was scared something happened!"

My heart twinged with a pang of guilt. Seo-Ah's genuine concern warmed me, and I realized how much I valued our friendship. With a sheepish grin, I turned to Minjeong, taking her hand in mine.

"Seo-Ah," I began, my voice laced with a newfound confidence, "there's something I need to tell you. Minjeong and I… we're a couple now."

Seo-Ah's eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of sadness flitting across her face for a fleeting moment. But then, a genuine smile bloomed on her lips.

"Oh wow," she said, her voice filled with unexpected joy. "Congratulations, you two! I always thought you had a special connection."

Relief flooded me. I was worried how Seo-Ah would react, but her understanding and well-wishes warmed the air.

The rest of the day was a blur of excited whispers from classmates, stolen glances across the classroom, and the thrill of a newfound love. After school, Minjeong and I decided to celebrate. We walked hand-in-hand down a street lined with cherry blossom trees, their delicate pink petals showering us like confetti.

"This feels like a dream," Minjeong whispered, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

"A dream I never want to wake up from," I replied, squeezing her hand.

We stopped at a quaint ice cream shop, the aroma of sweet waffle cones wafting through the air. We ordered our favorite flavors, sharing bites and laughing like children. As we savored the cool treat, I realized that sometimes, the most unexpected detours lead us to the sweetest destinations.

Looking into Minjeong's eyes, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within them, I knew that our story was far from over. It was a story of friendship, of rediscovery, and of a love that had weathered the storms of time and finally blossomed into something beautiful. And as we walked into the sunset, hand in hand, with the promise of forever etched in our hearts, I knew this was just the beginning of our happily ever after.

The End

A/n : Hey Guys, Elryuse here. just want to say, This is probably one of my favorite stories/fics that I've ever written so far. The characterization of Winter/Minjeong really fit in this story. But I have to say, Justice for the Seo-Ah man. Initially, In my first draft of the story, Seo-Ah would be a contender for Winter, However while I was writing, I think this is for the best. So I settled for her losing quicker in the story.

And I wanted to apologize to some of you guys, who have requested for a fics, But I'm currently focusing my priority for my ko-fi fans and for people who ordered fics personally. But don't be sad, I would still definitely do some of your requests y'all. Hope you enjoyed this story guys. 🤗

[klausysworld]

I don’t know why but I really want something with Klaus breaking reads heart.

Maybe…. Reader and Cami have been kidnapped and Klaus has to choose who to save. He chooses Cami but before reader can be killed Elijah saves her.

Left for dead

Living with the originals was hard enough. Between the betrayals and the wars just within the family was overwhelming let alone outsiders going out of their way to destroy each of them.

Being with Klaus was already difficult, between his mood swings and temper tantrum’s he wasn't an easy person to love and yet I did.

Even when I realised he was in love with someone else, even whilst knowing he was kissing someone else, I didn't leave him. I loved him with everything in me whether it was killing me or not.

I had offered my life for his, I took life for his and I ruined my own life for his. With Klaus came his family and I did everything I could to welcome them as my own. Even after I found out that his sister knew that he was seeing someone else.

Hope was treated the way I would treat my own daughter and I loved more than anyone else to walk the planet. Maybe that was why I stayed, for Hope. Or maybe that’s what I tell myself because how could I have been pathetic enough to stay for a an who only saw me as a warm body.

For some reason I had it in my head that perhaps he loved both me and Camille. Maybe he thought I wouldn't accept it and so he kept it a secret but surely after everything he should know that I would never try to change him or invalidate his feelings. It was stupid to be okay with him seeing Cami behind my back, I was blinded by something I had created in my mind.

I would smile when Cami was near and I tried to talk to Klaus but he labelled me paranoid and brushed it off. So I thought maybe he regretted it and he didn't want me to know because he wanted to stop. Maybe he did still love me.

This was the ultimate test really.

Both myself and Camille were beaten until black, blue and bloody. A loop of our cries and screams echoed through my mind and bounced against the walls of whatever dungeon we were seemingly chained within. I had no way of knowing how long we had been there but my body and soul felt such a sense of relief when Klaus's voice rang through the building. That feeling only lasted a few seconds before our captures taunting replayed in my head:

"Klaus will choose between you both, he will decide who lives or dies. He may think that he can have it all, have you both but I won't let him well. Whichever one he chooses, the guilt from the other will eat away at him, he won't be able to stay with the other. You will all end up broken and alone." he had whispered cruelly.

Her heart pounded in her throat as she watched Klaus approach them both, his hands coated in red as he forced the bars that separated us apart and went to step through only to let out a gasp and drop to his knees. The with who had tortured us for however long appeared from thin air in front of Klaus and I automatically pulled my legs to my chest to hide in the corner.

"Only one of them leaves" he stated, a grin on his face. "I don't care which but you will choose one or they both die and the next to go missing will be your daughter"

At his words Klaus let out a vicious snarl and attempted to lurch forward at the man but a sharp pain forced its way to his head and caused a loud yell of pain to burst from within him.

I could feel my eyes burning with another flow of tears just watching his pain, knowing what he felt. I could see Cami staring straight at me. Over our time in here together she had often brought up Klaus's ultimatum, I told her that I knew that they loved each other. I told her that he would choose her. She was certain that I was wrong and that Klaus didn't love her but just used her as a release. But I knew what Klaus looked like when he was in love. Even so part of me hoped she was right, it was a dark thought, a horrible hope that I wish I didn't have but I really wanted it to be true.

I looked back to Camille, a tight lipped smile that was probably more of a grimace formed on my lips as I mouthed the words 'it'll be okay' to her and her head shook as tears slipped down her cheeks.

Cami was sweet, she was lovely and I loathed it. She wanted to die instead of me, she said I deserved to live more than she did. That I was Hope's second mother I was apart of the Mikaelsons. She apologised for ever being with Klaus and it just made me feel worse. I thought that maybe they were lies, maybe she secretly hoped that Klaus would choose her and I would be left to die.

I couldn't tell and it didn't really matter anymore. Not when I realised that Klaus was right in front of me. I felt a small spark of hope as his arms wrapped around me and he pulled my close to his chest. A soft sniffle left him and his lips pressed to the side and top of my head

"I'm so sorry" his voice whispered with a crack and I went to tell him it was okay before I felt him pulling away and I realised what he was apologising for "forgive me" he uttered as he made his way to Cami.

My eyes stayed blurry with tears but they didn't fall as a complete feeling of numbness spread throughout me completely. I could hear my captures sickening laugh spin around me and I could hear Camille asking Klaus what he was doing.

"Klaus- go back to her" she whispered but he shook his head

"I love you" he admitted and a bitter laugh left my lips. I covered my mouth with my hands and pressed my forehead against my knees. I shouldn’t have been surprised and I shouldn’t have been so upset. I knew he loved her, I knew he would choose but for some reason it hurt so much more when he actually confirmed it.

I could hear Camille apologising to me as Klaus lifted her up, carrying her to a safety I thought I would never again know.

As soon as they left hands were on me, grabbing and dragging me by my hair to force me to crawl wherever he wanted me. Uncontrollable pain shot through me continuously and I had no time to comprehend the sobs that shook my body. I felt my back arch painfully, almost breaking but not quite, my head was forced back so my neck was bared and a sharp knife went to the edge of my neck.

"it's unfortunate really..." the voice uttered before the blade began to sink into my throat. My eyes closed and I welcomed the quick death but the pressure stopped and a thud sounded from before me.

Fingers pressed to the place the knife had began to cut, a familiar scent engulfed me and an arm circled my waist.

"You're alright darling" the voice whispered, pulling me into an embrace making me grab onto the back of his suit silently. "He's gone now Y/n. You're safe." he murmured softly, rubbing my back before i felt him pull back a little bit. My eyes slowly cracked open to see his face, his deep dark eyes boring into mine with a knowing look of pity. Silently I watched as an array of reds and purples scattered under his chocolate brown eyes and his pearly fangs dipped into the tough skin of his wrist. The fresh wound was lifted to my lips and I accepted the metallic taste with a sigh. I drank for much longer than I needed, I expected he would pull be off but his hand only pet the back of my head gently

"Good girl" he whispered "just heal". His touch made my heart hurt and I didn't bother trying to stop the tears from falling anymore. My hands clutched onto his jacket desperately and I gulped his blood down as though it was water.

Soft touches were given to the skin of my face before his silk handkerchief cleaned at the dirt and dried blood that had dripped down my neck. Reluctantly I pulled away from his wrist and licked my lips clean. He wiped his own wrist and tucked the material away into his pocket. Elijah proceeded to pull the jacket off of his body and instead wrapped it around my shoulders. The inside was warm and smelt of home.

My eyes felt heavy with exhaustion and I gave him a tired smile making him frown.

"I'll bring you home now okay?" he whispered but I shook my head

"I can't go back" I muttered "I won't stay with him anymore. I should have left ages ago" I admitted and his eyes grew glossier.

"Where should I take you?" He asked gently and I shrugged

"Airport? Train station? I don't care just don't tell anyone you saved me? Please?" I begged softly and he nodded.

"I'll give you whatever you need" he promised "anything"

[aprilcolours]

blackheart: part two

part one - part three - part four

—

Two days after the Battle at Lydden, the campground was abuzz with news. ‘The Northmen are here.’ ‘The Stark has arrived.’ ‘Did you hear? The greybeards have joined camp.’ The whispers were unavoidable as Visenya broke her morning fast. She thought it rather funny that men at war gossiped all the same as their wives at home. 

As she began to braid her hair (a wartime style like her mother’s), she thought of a certain young lord who had taken up a pressing residence in her mind. 

She worried that the kiss had been rash, impulsive, and ill-conceived. Perhaps I have let the fire in my blood get the better of me, she fretted.

Visenya carried a great weight on her shoulders. Her mother was relying on her to be successful on campaign, while her father was off gallivanting heedlessly. It was of the utmost importance that these Riverlanders respect her authority as commander and be brought to heel. Not an easy feat as a woman. I cannot afford to give even a single reason for doubt in my capability. 

It was these worries that had caused her to rebuff all attempts Benjicot Blackwood had made at flirtation since the kiss. He had tried to tease her, or goad her, or even on one fateful attempt last night: find her alone again. Like the day at Lydden, he had approached as she landed after scouting on Vermithor. She had said immediately, before she could change her mind, ‘After one does battle, they can retain a sort of thrill-seeking madness to expend the remainder of their blood-letting energy. It is common enough, but regrettable. My sole focus at this time is on securing my mother’s throne. I can consider nothing else.’ She did not meet his eyes as she spoke, looking instead over his shoulder before forcing herself to walk steadfastly away, and ignoring the flash of hurt writ across his face. 

It pained her, as she recalled the morning after, her braid now finished. She could still feel the ghost of him on her lips. Warm and yearning. 

We must all make sacrifices in war, she assured herself. Visenya II took a deep breath, steeled her shoulders, and stepped out of her tent to find her place among the war council. 

As the morning’s gossip foretold, a new broad figure stood at the table. Cregan Stark was a large man, an impression made only larger by the cloak of furs clasped round his shoulders. The familiar lords bowed, but surprisingly, the Northerner chose instead to drop to a knee before her. Lord Stark took her hand and kissed the back of it, declaring in a low voice “It is an honor, your highness.”

Visenya did her best to mask her amusement, though her eyes did widen at the display. 

“Lord Stark, so glad you could join us,” she responded, to some chuckles from the other council members. She looked around the table and caught Ben’s eye. His expression was dark, his usual grin now morphed into something more like a sneer. She looked away quickly and began the day’s deliberations. 

—

Near midday, the council adjourned momentarily to see to matters within their banners. Visenya used the time to discern the state of the troops, observing carefully to ensure standards were being met. 

Since the victory, certain soldiers had taken it upon themselves to establish a training field. Knights from differing regions clashed steel against steel, trying their skills against one another. She observed the sparring, face impassive. It seemed silly to waste such energy, the war is only beginning, she thought. 

“Does the fighting not please you my lady?” Ben’s taunting voice rang out nearby. 

His face held the promise of mischief. She was immediately wary, raising her signature unimpressed brow. He took a moment, almost seeming to check that all the gathered were listening, before he stook a step out into the yard and said,

“Well of course, a princess is not trained in such matters, not when you have a dragon to fight in your stead.” He gestured jauntily about like he had made a great joke. 

The whole camp stuttered to a standstill. Utter silence across the plain.

How. Dare. You. 

Visenya’s blood turned to ice in her veins, cold hard rage bottoming out her senses. Her face must’ve done something terrifying because every man in the near vicinity took a few steps back. 

And the scoundrel still just grinned his lopsided grin. 

You’ll pay for that Blackwood, she swore in her mind. 

“Is that so?” she asked, voice sharp and quiet like a shard of glass. She stalked slowly to the other edge of the training yard across from him, her steps measured and predatory. The knights gathered there scrambled back, dragging their equipment hastily. 

Back still turned to him, Visenya looked out upon the troops but did not see them. Only red. With nought a thought for the propriety of the situation, he seems to have that effect quite often doesn’t he, she reached to her back and unsheathed the two blades holstered there. 

Then finally, with a Valyrian shortsword in each hand, she turned and looked the Blackwood in the eye.

“To first blood then?” she asked, tone as mild as if she was asking about the weather. 

“To first blood,” he confirmed, eyes gleaming. And he attacked.

He was an explosion given form. A savage whirl of motion and violence, seemingly without end and tireless. It was a hacking, slashing, sort of style— unpredictable, but not so crass as to be reckless. The movements had a deceptive sort of tightness to them: where it appeared at a glance that such rabid fervor might leave his flanks open; he was guarded and compact. 

All this, Visenya gleaned as she danced circles round his brutal strikes. She parried and sidestepped, studying his every movement like a cat might watch a bird. He was a force, made for chaos and to mow down men in great swathes. But she was finely tuned, a crafted blade made for precision. 

He was good, that much was sure. But Father is better. 

She waited until his left foot turned out slightly, as she had noticed it did when he lunged two handedly, and with a swift precise kick she knocked him flat on his back. Between one blink and the next, she had a boot on his chest and her two blades crossed at his throat. 

There was a moment of utter silence again. Before the camp began their raucous applause. The men were shouting her name, her house words, roaring their approval, but she had eyes only for one. 

Ben, his head in the dirt, smiled. A real, genuine, one, not a sneer or smirk. She did her best to remain stoic even as she felt her own smugness tug at her lips. She picked her boot off his chest and pulled her swords from their position, transferring them into one hand so she might offer the other to him. 

He took it, and did not let go as he stood up. Instead, he raised it to his lips and bowed, his dark searing gaze never leaving hers as he, slowly, imploringly, kissed the back of her hand. 

Seven hells. Visenya suppressed a shiver. She could not tell whether she was still angry or wanted to laugh. She forced herself to recover quickly.

“You have a boot-print on your shirt, my lord,” she teased. Then she promptly turned around and looked at the gathered spectators to call,

“Since the situation has arisen, is there any other who would challenge a duel?” She turned in a circle, watching some soldiers jostle each other forward and others shy away. 

“Good Ser Tully,” she addressed, “perhaps a knight can make a better showing on behalf of the Riverlands.” 

The knight laughed humbly and stepped forward, “I can certainly try my lady.”

—

Visenya sparred with four men, challengers each from different houses. She remained for the better part of the day, offering advice, comparing strategy, and watching other matches. As the sun fell low in the sky, the group finally dispersed. As she made her way back to her tent, she felt a familiar presence step into stride with her. She did not look at Ben as she asked,

“Are you so troubled that you must resort to insulting me the moment another man dares to exist in my presence?”

“No, my lady” he protested, trying to make light of the situation, though he did appear slightly chastened. “Twas simply a ruse so that I might kiss you. I thought you might find it amusing.”

“Amusing? Amusing that you have so loudly begun a pissing contest with the Warden of the North?” she questioned incredulously, temper rising again. She stopped walking and turned to face him. 

Men, she thought angrily, never consider the consequences of their impulses. She felt all her worries about being respected arise within her like a great wave.

“I—” he began, but was swiftly cut off. 

“I will remind you Lord Blackwood, that my mother the Queen has final jurisdiction in the matter of my hand. And she has not yet even heard word of your proposal let alone deigned to consider it,” Visenya bit out, anger giving way to something more like distress. 

She heaved a shaky breath and took a moment to collect herself. He looked thoroughly chastened now. Squaring her shoulders, she pulled her stoicism about her again, declaring,

“Should you presume to mock me publicly again, Raventree Hall will find it has urgent need for its liege Lord to return from his time abroad.”

With that, she turned to stomp away but was halted by a firm hand at her wrist. Turning viciously, she began, “You dare—” 

“Did you speak truly?” Ben asked, voice uncharacteristically timid. “That you regret it?”

She was stricken into silence. He has a habit of surprising me, doesn’t he? Emotions warred within her, crashing against one another like the Narrow Sea. But thinking about his smile today, with her blade to his throat, she could not find it within herself to lie. So she simply shook her head no. 

The Blackwood let a breath out through his nose, like he had been holding it, and pressed a quick hand to her face. His thumb flitted over her cheek once, an echo of his roaming pulling hands. For the briefest of moments, Visenya allowed herself to close her eyes and press her face into his palm. 

“My mother is depending on me,” she whispered, a confession she did not intend to let escape. “I cannot fail her.” 

“I understand,” he replied simply, voice also hushed. 

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. A long tender beat. Two. 

When he pulled away, the look in Benjicot Blackwood’s eyes was something close to grim determination. He backed away and strode into the night, cloaked in purpose.

—

A/N: okay so turns out that was just some random blackwood but we are going to ignore that and continue in the delusion bc its fun

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Follow Me

Luke Castellan x daughterofares!Reader

Summary: Luke's girlfriend is excited to finally become a year-round camper so she can spend it with him. But Luke has other plans for them.

Warning: Major spoilers if you haven't finished the first book(/season depending on when you read this), canon-level violence, weapons, injuries, angst

Word Count: 5.5K

Masterlist

A/N I haven't watched the show because I don't have Disney+ so I'm working from (memory of) the books. No characters are specifically book or show so descriptions are left vague. Imagine whatever you want.

I stumbled my way up Half-Blood Hill, determined to get to Thalia’s tree. This was my last year being a summer camper. After I graduated high school I’d decided to become a year round camper seeing as the real world was getting more and more dangerous for me. And I'd be damned if I let myself be killed right before I was in the safety of camp for good.

I was in so much pain, there was blood pouring out of my abdomen caused by the crocotta’s razor sharp claws slicing at me. My short break gave it enough time to catch up to me so rather than continuing to flee, I was forced to turn and face it. I pulled out my father’s gift to me, a sword made of celestial bronze that grew from a steel knife that could harm mortals. When he claimed and gifted it to me I found the steel useless. Why would I ever need to harm a mortal? The reasoning behind the dual blade still eluded me. The only reason I could think of was just that Ares had a penchant for violence.

As the crocotta bounded closer to me, all I could do was stand and wait for it to get within range. But upon reaching me, it just swiped the sword from my grasp, pouncing on me. I felt a tear slip down my face as I realized I’d failed to reach safety one final time. As it growled in my face and opened its jaw, I sent a silent prayer to my father and a goodbye to Luke. But before it’s jaws could clamp down on me, the weight lifted and a shimmery cloud of ichor rained down on me.

As the golden dust settled, I could see my boyfriend’s face above mine, standing over me, clutching his dagger. “Luke,” I practically sobbed in relief.

“Oh my gods,” he exclaimed, kneeling down next to me. His hands went to my stomach, pressing against the open wound, trying to stop the bleeding. “Can you walk?” he asked, fear in his eyes.

“Yeah,” I nodded, letting him take my hand as he stood. Truthfully I probably couldn’t really walk but it was either walk 10 feet to the tree or lie here waiting for someone else to help Luke carry me in and potentially getting attacked by another monster.

I let out a groan as Luke slung my arm over his shoulder, pulling me up from the ground. “C’mon,” he urged, “just get to the tree and then we’ll get some more people to help you.” I nodded, not bothering with a verbal agreement as I let my boyfriend practically carry me just past Thalia’s tree. “There we go,” he said gently as he eased me to the ground.

“Go. Go get Lee or Michael,” I urged him as he kneeled by my side again.

“No,” Luke immediately shot down. “I’m not leaving you like this and so close to the edge of the barrier.” I glanced to my left. We were about three feet from the edge of the camp’s protective barrier. “Help!” I heard him yell towards camp.

“What? Do you think I'm accidentally gonna roll down the hill?” I tried to joke. But my chuckle made my wounds hurt even more.

Seeing my pain made Luke even more unamused. Soon enough a few other campers ran up to us, having heard Luke’s call.

“Y/N, oh my god.”

“What happened?”

“Another one?!”

I heard the various reactions from other campers. Another one? What did they mean another one? But I didn’t dwell on my questions for long because Lee Fletcher and Michael Yew were running towards me. A few of my siblings followed them carrying a stretcher. As the Apollo boys started to try to stop the bleeding, I was moved onto the stretcher. But the pain of being lifted was so bad I blacked out.

~

When I came to in the sickroom of the Big House all I could feel was pain. I let out a soft groan, snapping Luke to attention. He was slumped over on my bedside, seemingly sleeping. He immediately grabbed a piece of ambrosia off the nightstand next to the cot, bringing it to my lips. I immediately rejected it, not feeling like eating anything.

“C’mon, it’s ambrosia. It’ll make you feel better,” Luke pleaded. Reluctantly I let him coax the food into my mouth and ate it. The comforting taste of my mother’s chocolate cake filled my mouth. Despite the fact that it tasted good, it felt heavy in my stomach and I pushed the food away. “You gotta eat more than that,” he tried again.

“Let’s start with water or nectar,” I suggested, my throat sore.

Luke looked at the floor angrily. He sighed. “We’re out of nectar for a while. Ambrosia is all we have.”

“What?” I asked in shock, sitting up in surprise. Luke was quick to coax me back down.

“Grover and the kid he was helping got attacked by the Minotaur on their way here. Just like the crocotta attacked you.”

“Oh my god,” I murmured. “Is that why someone said ‘Another one?’ as they were bringing me here?”

He nodded once again. “His name was Percy. He showed up the night before you did.” He suddenly stopped talking. Like he had something more to say. I urged him to continue and he did so reluctantly. “Poseidon claimed him the second night he was awake… and now he’s on a quest.”

I looked at him sympathetically. I knew all about Luke’s anger about going unclaimed for so long. And then when he finally was claimed and had trained to be a great hero, all Hermes could give him to do was steal some golden apples. But after countless rants about this I knew he wouldn’t want sympathy. “You said he’s on a quest already? How long have I been out?”

“A couple days. Chiron and Lee kicked me out for a while.”

“What’d you do?”

“Well, we already need new practice dummies for combat training,” he admitted sheepishly. I laughed and fortunately Luke did too.

By now, Chiron had sensed I was awake and entering the sickroom. As he ducked his way through the door he shrunk down back into his wheelchair so as to not overwhelm me. “I’m glad to see you’re awake. You gave us quite a scare for a few days,” he smiled.

“So I've heard.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Like my guts were ripped out by a crocotta,” I answered.

“Well the ambrosia should help the pain and scarring. Lee stopped the bleeding and stitched you up but he said you’d be out for a few days.”

“Can you get her some nectar?” Luke interrupted. “She’s not exactly in a place to be eating solid foods.”

“Mr. D is trying to get into contact with Apollo. Apparently he’s concerned that Dionysus is overindulging.”

“That’s crap!” Luke suddenly burst out.

“Luke!” Chiron immediately cut him off. “I know you’re concerned for Ms. L/N, here but the food of the gods is in of itself a privilege.” He then turned his attention back to me. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well but ambrosia will have to do until we’re able to get more nectar.”

“Thanks, Chiron,” I tried to dismiss him, giving him a tight lipped smile. Sensing my disappointment he took his leave, wheeling out of the room.

Luke was back by my bedside with more pieces of ambrosia that I reluctantly took.

~

Thanks to the godly food I was up and walking within two days much to cabin 5’s relief. So many of my younger siblings were saying that Clarisse had been a terror in my absence. Something about a bathroom exploding and then she apparently tried to electrocute the new camper. I made a note to talk to her later but for now I was focused on getting my cabin back in order. They responded best to authority and a routine so I quickly had them out in training, telling them that I wouldn’t tolerate us losing capture the flag again.

We made our way down to the arena for sword fighting lessons. Luke and I were both instructors seeing as we were the oldest two campers and the best with blades. Our childhood competitiveness had eventually grown into love but for a while, we hated each other. We used to spend hours trying to get the upper hand over one another.

But now that we were dating, the younger campers always tried to goad us into sparring with one another. We always said that we’d save our sparring match for our own training or a reward for the others doing well but usually a few teasing comments had our swords pointed at one another.

I was correcting a Hermes camper’s form when he asked me to try fighting Luke. “Not today,” I laughed.

“Why? Is it because you’re scared?” he asked, knowing exactly what he was doing.

“No,” I corrected him. “It’s because once we fight, none of you will care about what we teach you.”

“Sound like you’re scared,” the boy just repeated.

I just rolled my eyes, prepared to dismiss him when Luke’s voice interrupted. “Yeah, Y/N. It sounds like you’re scared.” I rolled my eyes again as he approached. “I wouldn’t want to fight the capture the flag champion either.”

“You only won because I was recovering from being chased across the country by a monster. Just wait until the next game, I’ll show you how Cabin 5 does it.” That elicited a few cries of encouragement from my cabin, eager to win their flag back.

“You need a bit more time to train, I get it,” he mockingly offered. A few of his siblings joined in on the taunting with their exaggerated reactions.

“I don’t need time. I’d just rather not cut you up this early into the summer,” I smiled. A few ‘ooh’s came from our audience.

Luke bristled a little at that. “C’mon,” he gestured to the arena, “let’s settle this once and for all.”

I picked up one of the practice swords that resembled the size and weight of my real sword, stepping into the middle of the arena. “You say that every time.” Luke smiled, taking his spot in front of me with his practice sword as the other campers backed up.

I barely gave him a chance to settle before I was moving. I had the advantage of my father’s knack for fighting and aggression but I wasn’t as strong as Luke. Unfortunately, he knew all my moves and tricks so he was able to block me. But that also meant I knew all of his moves and tricks because I could anticipate his subsequent moves.

We continued on, trying to outmaneuver each other. He kept forcing me out of range, protecting his body, whilst I tried to find an opening to get close to him. The other campers had been within the walls of the arena but we moved around so much they were forced to jump out.

The only reason we stopped was because our little “lesson” had gone on too long and Chiron was wondering where his students were. Neither of us noticed him until he yelled our names. “Y/N L/N! Luke Castellan! What are you doing?” We both immediately stopped, facing the centaur like guilty children.

“We were just introducing them to technique,” Luke offered. I could tell Chiron saw right through his excuse but it was good enough reasoning.

“You both know you’re supposed to hold off on sparring one another. Children,” he turned to the other campers, “what did your instructors teach you?”

“Stance!”

“What to do if your opponent has a longer sword!”

Those were the answers our siblings offered but one Aphrodite camper’s answer ruined the whole thing. “How to waste time.” Luke and I both sent her stares.

Fortunately Chiron didn’t take it too seriously. “Save the sparring for your own sessions,” he warned us. “Everyone move on to your next activities. I’m sure your instructors are waiting.”

As everyone else filed off, Luke and I looked at each other. “You’re disgusting,” I laughed, observing his sweaty shirt.

He looked baffled at that. “Wow. I was gonna ask if you’re okay but clearly you don’t value me that much,” he answered in mocking offense.

“No, no, no,” I corrected through laughs, going to him. But as soon as he tried to hug me, I pulled away with a wrinkled nose. Seeing my disgust, he forcefully hugged me, drowning me in his B.O. When I finally wrestled my way out of his arms I was disgusting. “Ugh we both need showers.”

He smiled. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he promised. He stepped closer to me, kissing me quickly before heading off towards the showers. I watched him leave for a moment before heading to my cabin.

Later that night at dinner, I was talking to my cabin-mates when Luke came over, crouching by me. “Hey,” he smiled up at me as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

“Hi,” I laughed. “What are you doing here?”

“Being a good boyfriend. I’m just giving you a heads up that our spar from earlier isn’t over yet.”

“What?”

Chiron stood up and so did Luke. “Gotta go, bye,” he said, pressing a kiss to my temple before scurrying off.

Bewildered, I looked up at Chiron. “We have a special activity tonight per the request of the reigning capture the flag champions. We’ll be playing again tonight seeing as some claimed our last games were unfair due to a missing counselor.” Cabin 5 erupted into cheers, eager to win the flag back. “Luke Castellan and Y/N L/N are captains. Same rules as the prior games.”

Not willing to let my cabin lose again, I jumped into action. “Cabin 5, armor on, get to the creek in 5!” They all quickly scrambled off. Our allies for this game, Dionysus, Aphrodite, Demeter, and Hephaestus followed their lead.

I followed after them to get my armor as well and soon enough I was stood by the creek, discussing strategy with my teammates. Once our discussion time drew to a close, I faced my opposing captain. “You’re going down, feather feet,” I sneered.

“We’ll see, hot head,” Luke taunted.

I laughed. “Oh yeah, one more thing,” I told my teammates. “Bring me Luke’s sword and helmet.”

“In your dreams,” he taunted back. He looked at his team. “Bring me Y/N.”

“Okay,” Chiron interrupted us. “Before we begin I think we need a reminder that killing is not permitted. Are we clear?” A few unenthusiastic agreements came from the crowd. Nodding, Chiron blew into the horn, signaling that the games had begun. Some of my campers who hadn’t already been stationed bolted into the trees, doubling back so they could hopefully sneak through Hermes’ cabin’s defenses. The others stayed with me to defend the most obvious point.

One Hermes kid immediately jumped at me but I slashed him in the chest, (his armor protected him so he just got the wind knocked out of him) knocking him back into the water.

He got back up, running at one of my campers but he was immediately disarmed and taken prisoner. By the time I looked back, the other campers and Luke were gone. I realized with a frustrated scream that this kid was a distraction. “Find them!” I yelled at the others.

“Their territory or ours?” I observed the 5 campers in front of me. “You three, stay on our side. Fan across the creek, look for signs they crossed into our territory. The rest of you, we’re gonna either hunt them down in their territory or take their flag.”

My group leapt over the creek, running into the forest.

As we searched, we picked up a few of our own teammates, running through the woods and strangely finding no opposing campers. We continued on nonetheless until Athena and Apollo campers all of a sudden started darting through the trees.

Eventually they stopped moving enough for us to have a proper fight. I faced Malcom Pace, easily disarming him. But suddenly his older brothers were on me. As I was busy fighting twins, Leo and Cato, another one of the boys found an opening. Quinn wrapped his arms around me, a dagger at my throat. “Drop the sword,” they told me.

Seeing as I wasn’t getting out of this but my teammates were gone while many of the Athena and Apollo campers were still here, I dropped the sword. Most of my campers got away and were likely hunting down the flag.

Before they could decide where to stash their prisoner, the horn blew again, signaling the end of the games. But as I tried to leave, the others stopped me. “Woah, Luke said he wanted you so we’re taking you.”

I rolled my eyes, letting them lead me to the creek. “Yeah, well when my cabin gives me his stuff and the flag, you can apologize to me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Quinn dismissed. “You’re just mad I beat you.”

“You only ‘beat me’ because there were three of you. And you guys still lost the rest of my team.”

“We still got you!” Leo taunted in a sing-songy voice. By now we had reached the creek and I saw Clarisse holding the flag, a helmet, and a sword. Luke was kneeled beside her looking humiliated, clearly a captive.

Both sides let us go and I went to Clarisse. “Your spoils,” she presented me the flag, helmet, and sword. I smiled, wrapping the flag around her shoulders and taking Luke’s stuff.

“Thank you!” I said emphatically, pointing a look of victory at Luke.

He just shook his head, standing up. As he approached me I figured he was grabbing his belongings but instead he wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me in for a kiss. When he pulled away he explained. “You’re my spoil.”

~

Camp life continued on as normal for a while. I finally met the newest hero who had returned Zeus’ masterbolt— he did not like my father. He seemed surprised that Luke and I were dating and I learned that Luke had become a sort of mentor to Percy over the days that I had been asleep. That also surprised me, given how resentful Luke had seemed towards him when I first woke up. Regardless, everything seemed normal as we continued our routines throughout the summer until I was woken up one night.

“Y/N,” a voice whispered, shaking me. “Y/N.” I reluctantly opened my eyes, finding one of my younger brothers, Aiden, shaking me. “Luke’s asking for you.”

“What?” I asked, sitting up.

“Luke wants to talk to you. He gave me a coke if I woke you up.” The boy excitedly held up a shiny red can as if to persuade me to go.

I rubbed his messy hair as I sat up. “Don’t let Clarisse see that,” I advised, throwing on a hoodie. He nodded, going back to his bunk as I headed outside. “Luke!” I whispered into the night upon exiting the cabin. I didn’t notice him sneaking up towards me until his hands were around my waist. “Luke!” I exclaimed in surprise.

He quickly hushed me. “Do you want the harpies to find us?”

“Well we wouldn’t have to worry about that if you weren’t trying to talk to me in the middle of the night. What’s wrong?” I asked, knowing it’d be serious. He let his playful facade drop as he urged me to follow him, taking my hand. I went with him, silently trusting him until I realized we were heading to the woods. I stopped, letting my hand fall out of his grasp. “What? Are you gonna kill me in there?” I laughed shallowly, trying to lighten the mood and quell the alarms in my brain.

Luke returned my shallow laugh, clearly nervous. “Of course not. Look, I have to talk to you. It’s serious.” I could see the genuineness in his expression so I let him retake my hand. “I’d never hurt you,” he promised. So I followed him further into the woods until he deemed us far enough. “The nymphs may hear us but it’s kind of impossible to avoid them,” he chuckled.

“Hear what?” I asked.

He took a breath, seemingly composing himself. “You know how I went on that quest? For my dad?”

“Yeah. What? You want to go out into the world again?” I asked, a little relieved.

“Sort of,” he offered. “But on that ‘quest,’” he mocked the word, “I realized something: the gods are useless.”

“Luke!” I immediately reprimanded him.

“No,” he cut me off. “You don’t have to pretend like not fawning over the gods is a crime. We shouldn’t be blindly worshipping them. Y/N,” his hands were clasping my shoulders as if begging me to believe him, “your father waited for the last day of summer your first year to claim you. Why? Just to mess with you? Because he just couldn’t be bothered to do it until he remembered at the last second? That’s messed up. The gods aren’t fit to rule. The West is going to hades. My quest? To repeat Heracles’ quest? All the gods know how to do is repeat the past. Their glory days.”

“Luke, you’re scaring me.” I was practically begging him to stop talking so we could go back to the way it was. This was the first year I’d be staying year round. We were supposed to be celebrating Christmas together for the first time in a few months. Yet here he was, spouting off heresy.

“Open your eyes,” he insisted. “The gods are poisoning the world and they’ve been using us as pawns to do it. The only way to fix it is to destroy it and start over with something more honest.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been having dreams sent by the Titan Lord.”

A shiver ran down my spine and I stepped out of his grasp. “No,” I heard myself whisper. “Luke, he’s using you. You remember what Chiron taught us. We are not better off, no one was better off when the Titans ruled. We didn’t even have fire. He will kill all the humans. He’ll kill us.”

“Not if we join him willingly,” Luke promised, trying to take my hand again but I pulled away. “He said when I bring down the gods he’ll reward me. He’ll make me immortal. He promised you’d become like me too.” He quickly grasped my wrist tight enough so I couldn’t escape, pulling me closer. “We can rule together, forever.” He was pleading with me to take his offer, his hands finding a stray lock of hair to tuck behind my ear.

“Luke… this isn’t- you can’t…” I was at a loss for words.

“Please, Y/N,” his voice was cracking.

“I can’t. I’m sorry. This isn’t right. This is dangerous, can’t you see that?”

“This isn’t me just trying to get back at my dad. I’ve thought about this.” He stiffened, still tightly grasping my wrist. “Y/N, I need you with me.”

“Then don’t go,” I begged him. “I won’t even tell anyone. We can just go back to how things were.”

“No, we can’t,” he shook his head. “Because you’re gonna try to help me by telling Chiron and he’s gonna turn me in.”

“No he won’t! Luke, he trained you. He’ll want to help you.”

“Camp isn’t safe for us anymore. We have to go.”

This was the first time I actually started fearing for my safety. I tried to pull out of his grasp but he held firm. “Go where?”

“Our Titan Lord got us a ship. We’ll be safe there until I get my next orders. The monsters on it won’t harm us.”

“What?!” With a hard wrench I pulled my wrist out of his grasp. I immediately started running, hoping a nymph would find me before a monster did but Luke was on me in seconds. He knocked me to the ground and after a little struggling he had me pinned. “Luke, please don’t do this,” I begged as I saw him reach into his pocket. When I saw the milk of the poppy I began to thrash underneath him but I couldn’t manage to throw him off of me. He forced my mouth open, dropping the liquid onto my tongue and forcing me to swallow. Before I blacked out, I could vaguely hear him speak.

“You’ll be okay in a few days and then we can talk.” A few days???

~~

The next morning Luke was woken by frantic cries of his girlfriend’s name heard throughout camp. He immediately rushed out of bed, putting on a concerned boyfriend facade. Finding one of his brothers, he asked what was going on. “What? Did you just wake up?” Luke nodded frantically. “Oh, I’m sorry man. Uh, Y/N wasn’t in bed this morning. No one can find her. One of her little brothers said you asked to talk to her last night.”

“Yeah to talk about potentially allying for capture the flag but she went right back in,” he insisted frantically. He ran a hand through his hair, acting stressed. He kind of whished he’d be gone by now but he needed to get rid of Percy before he could go.

He ran out of the cabin, immediately going up to Cabin 5. Clarisse spotted him, her expression becoming sour. “What’d you do Castellan? Aiden said you wanted to talk to her last night.”

“Yeah, we were talking about capture the flag but she went right back in 10 minutes later. You sleep 20 feet from her, where’s my girlfriend?” he challenged. Clarisse sent him a scowl but otherwise stormed off, the other Cabin 5 campers following her with similar expressions.

“Luke, I'm so sorry,” a young voice called. He turned, finding Annabeth running towards him. As she hugged him, Luke couldn’t help but think about how much he’d miss her. She was too smart for her own good but he still couldn’t help but think of the seven year old he had found hiding from monsters. “She could just be out somewhere?” she offered, trying to console him.

“I hope so,” he smiled down at her. He then spotted Mr. D and ran over to him. “Mr. D, can you find where she is?”

The god gave him a tired expression. “I’m not omniscient in this state. All I know is she’s not in camp.”

“Well can’t you get a god who is? Surely her father wants to know where she is,” he insisted. But Ares had plenty of demigod children and most of them went missing in action or died tragic deaths. Y/N would be just another hero child that fought in his name.

“Lord Ares has other concerns,” Mr. D at least tried to soften the blow. “If she hasn’t returned by the end of the summer then we must assume she is dead. Even if she left of her own volition.”

“But summer is ends tomorrow. You can’t do this. She could still be out there. She could need our help. Let me go out and search,” he pleaded. By now, Chiron, Clarisse, and a few others had joined them.

“No one is leaving,” Chiron declared. “I’m not letting anyone else go missing. Luke, I understand your concern but her blade was found in Cabin 5. If she’s not in camp she is likely already dead.”

“No,” Luke insisted, putting on the performance of a lifetime, “you’re wrong.”

After nearly two whole days of searching camp and the closest borders, (that was the furthest Chiron would let anyone go) Y/N L/N was declared dead. Her siblings reluctantly built a funeral pyre, decorating it with some of her things. Luke did his best to look devastated and it seemed to be working because no one looked at him twice other than to offer their sympathies. That at least made it easy to lure Percy off into the woods just before he left.

~~

When I woke up I was in a strange room. It looked like a hotel room except for the fact that the floor to ceiling windows showed that I was on the ocean. That triggered all the memories of Luke. A sense of hopelessness came over me and I was immediately breaking down in sobs. I didn’t want to believe that he had joined Kronos and turned his back on everything he knew or that he was determined to drag me with him.

Once I finally managed to compose myself I went to the door, hoping to find a radio so someone could get me. Or maybe even find Luke so I could talk him into letting me go. But once I opened the door I was met with the massive jaws of a hellhound. I immediately shut the door and locked it.

Still feeling unsafe I went to grab the dresser to block the door but either it was too heavy or bolted down. I tried the desk next resulting in nothing. I was running out of time as the monster was probably just trying to process what it saw. Soon it’d smell me and start trying to break down the door. So I resorted to the chair, dragging it across the floor and jamming it under the door handle. I then went to the massive windows, realizing there was a hidden door. I wrenched it open, stepping out into the fresh air. I looked around, seeing no land I’d be able to swim to. But just as I was considering my chances, I noticed the body of a massive whale-like creature. I was willing to bet that whales weren’t just swimming around a cruise ship, this was a cetus.

Seeing as I had nowhere else to go, I went back into the room. I went to the attached bathroom, searching for something to defend myself. There wasn’t really anything in there except bar soap and toilet paper. Luke must have removed everything, even the towels, so I couldn’t hurt him or anyone else. Frustrated, I went to the closet, finding it completely empty. Not even a hangar to pull apart and stab someone with. So I reluctantly grabbed the soap seeing as it was literally the only thing remotely resembling a weapon, and sat on the bed, watching the door.

I don’t know how long I sat there but eventually I heard the door shake, like something was trying to get in. As I was preparing to clobber the monster with my bar of soap, a voice I recognized called through the door. “C’mon, Y/N! Open the door,” Luke said. I didn’t dare move. I didn’t want to see him. “Open the door or I break it down!” he demanded.

It was either open the door or have absolutely no protection from the monsters so I reluctantly got up. “Okay, okay!” I answered. “Just give me a second.” I climbed off the bed, removing the chair. I only twisted the handle, letting the door open slightly before going back to the bed to put some distance between us.

As Luke was locking the door again, I took my chance. Jumping, I tried to bring the bar of soap down on him but he turned, grabbing my wrist. “Come on, you had to have known that wouldn’t work,” he smiled.

I only gave him a burning stare. “It was worth a shot,” I said, trying to pull my hand away. But his grip held fast, not letting me pull away.

“So I guess you still hate me?”

“Yeah,” I answered. “You kidnapped me and are now holding me hostage on a monster infested ship.”

“You’ll understand soon enough,” he dismissed, once again brushing a piece of hair behind my ear. “Then we’ll be together forever.”

Masterlist

[mistyorchid]

Breakfast For Dinner

Old Man Logan x fem! reader

warnings: MDNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, love makes logan sappy + corny, age gap, reader is 21+, some suggestive actions/dialogue, logan calls himself old man, pet names (bub, baby, princess). wc: 730

an: I love the sweet housewife/partner fics but this is for the girlies that can't cook. aka me

Logan scrunches his nose. He picks up the familiar scent that tangled in the sheets you shared and lingered in the living room, where he reads the morning paper.

Another sharp inhale sends notes of bacon and burnt flour into his adept nostrils. His back aches after the hellish shift he endured, but the alarming thought of a grease fire destroying the home you share propels his body forward.

He senses your panic the second he steps inside the door. The chemical calling cards of fear—pheromones released from sweat—trigger a hollow throbbing in Logan's heart. His claws sink back into the tender flesh between his knuckles when he realizes you're not in immediate danger.

Your lame attempt to hide the charred remains of the dish forces an embarrassed laugh to tumble from your chest in short bursts. Hands on your hips, flour on every kitchen surface, including you. It was a stupidly endearing sight.

Logan loosens his tie, pulling open the collar of his dress shirt. He sighs, content with how beautifully mundane life has become. "Hey, bub. What's cookin'?" He asks with a teasing quirk of his brow.

He walks towards the kitchen island, slowly taking up more space until all you can feel are the hard plastic stove top knobs digging into your lower back.

You indulge in the broad plane of his chest, pulling Logan in by the front of his dress shirt. "I missed you," You admit, sighing as you run your hands over the garment.

A sly grin spreads across Logan's face. "Yeah? Enough to make me—?" His eyebrow quirks, questioning what culinary treat was filling the kitchen with smoke.

"It's supposed to be a quiche. Figured you'd be hungry after your shift. . . sorry it's burnt." You're suddenly captivated by a crack in the concrete floor. Insecurity seeps into your brain, unraveling the work you put into fostering your independence.

Never was a good cook. Always messing up the simplest things. So helpless, dependent, unworth—

A gentle caress on your cheek disrupts your negative thoughts. Logan's voice is firm, yet tender. "Stop that. I know what you're thinkin'."

Shit. He could always see right through your bullshit. It was tough indulging in self-deprecation when you had the world's most menacingly protective man for a partner.

You find your way back to Logan's eyes. You always do.

"Nothin' to be sorry about, baby. I don't expect you to make me anything, you know that." You can feel the pleasant hum that ricochets against his chest, inviting you deeper into his embrace.

"Hey, wanna ask you somethin'." Your lashes flutter against your cheeks. Logan's mouth stretches into a subtle grin.

"Can I get a quiche?" He quips, indulging in the way your nose twitches and the corners of your eyes crease with crow's feet.

A lighthearted laugh bubbles within you. "Did you just make a joke? You? The Wolverine?"

"Mhm. Anything to see that sweet smile on your face," He admits. A soft sigh leaves your mouth as you kiss Logan's; the feeling of him physically showing you how much you were missed while he was at work makes you dizzy with love.

He pulls back slightly before swiftly untying the dirty apron from your neck and waist, fastening it around himself.

Logan then forces himself to pull away from your body, allowing you to move off the range. He notices you soothing the sore indents on your back and orders you to rest on the couch.

"You look so pretty waitin' on me, princess. Let your old man cook dinner, and then we can have dessert."

He busies himself with slicing ingredients using his claws, feeling satisfied when he hears the sound of a horror movie playing in the adjacent living room.

An abrupt pause in the film causes Logan's ears to perk up. "Oh, we're out of ice cream!" You shout, worried about yet another error on your part. You fantasized about taking care of him, about embodying a picture-perfect role as his partner.

You could never be a Stepford Wife.

You start toying with the hem of your shirt as the silence that lingered after your confession seemed to stretch forever. Logan whips his head away from the kitchen island, promptly sheathing his claws.

A wicked smirk spreads across his face. "Not exactly the kind of cream I was thinkin' of, baby."

taglist: @pointyxsole @th3mrskory @fairiebabey @bratscave @elflutter @scorpiosaintt

[pinkslaystation]

If I meant something to you.

toxic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

You want him, but does he want you? Part 2 :> Part 3 :< Word Count: 2.1k

Whatever you did, you always found yourself being a disappoint to your parents.

First, it was getting rejected from the university your parents intended you to go to. Then, it was working at a job that didn't utilise your degree. And now, it's complaint after complaint for being in a 'relationship' with some they didn't approve of.

"Honey, I just don't think he's the right one for you..." Your mother complained on the phone for what felt like the thousandth time this day.

You rolled your eyes exasperatingly, happy that she couldn't see your annoyance through the call.

"Ma...you haven't even met him, I don't see why it's such a big deal, I'm finally out of your hair anyways, isn't that what you wanted?" You argued.

Everyday felt like a battle for your parent's time and affection.

Living under the shadows of your siblings was a pain. Your older sister had pursued a law degree at a top university when you were just in high school, and moved abroad to practice at one of the best law firms in the US. Your younger brother, on the other hand, was in their 2nd year studying Aeronautical Engineering at the same university as the elder. You felt like the odd one out in every field.

And here you are, stuck working in retail even though you complete your Bachelors degree in Computer Science.

Whatever you did, just was not enough for your parents.

So you saved enough money from your job, took out a small loan and made the decision to pack your bags and move to the Midlands, which was just regionally higher up than where you initially resided in your family home. How funny was it that you were the last sibling to move out?

After weeks of working your ass of at your new 8-6 job...still in retail, one silent evening after taking out the trash, you found yourself coming face to face to your neighbor.

And to say to he was attractive was an understatement. He had a tall tower-like frame, height ranging anywhere from 6'2 to 6'4, his scarred face was decorated with dirty blonde, short yet soft, hair and a slight stubble. His face, though rough, looked almost model worthy and held a permanent angry face, eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenching as if it hurt to open them.

"You got a staring problem, love?" He scoffed at you, the first time your met. You stumbled over your words, eyes wide as saucepans.

"!- we- um..who..who are you?"

The blonde chuckled at you sarcastically, "Your neighbour, Riley, you won't see as often so close that bloody mouth of yours."

And he was right, out of 7 months of living at your new flat, you'd seen him only a handful of times. You often found yourself questioning his occupation, why exactly he hangs out and about the area for a week, then just suddenly just disappears, like a ghost.

You'd learnt from the other residents that he worked within the military, whether it was the marines, the air force or the army, you never knew, until one faithful morning, you found yourself nestled against his broad warm chest, both of you hungover from the block party that all of the residents had been invited to.

"Hmm...mornin'" He grunts out at you, and the slightly reddening marks running down his neck and the bruising hand prints on your waist told you enough about the previous night.

You stiffen next to him, but his rough skin grazing against your skin urges to continue to curl up beside him.

Fast-forward another 5 months, it's been nearly a year of knowing 'Riley' and nearly a year you'd seen anyone from your family. You've always wanted to know how long they would be able to go on without you...and you'd finally got your answer.

You've learnt a lot of things about 'Riley'. For starters, his full name was Simon, though everyone in the building referred to him by his last name (you'd pestered him too much, and he finally caved in and allowed you to call him by his first name). He was almost 10 years elder to you and his striking face was usually masked with a black balaclava or those disposable ones.

"Ma, I'm happy, why can't you just be happy for me?"

"Sweetheart, why don't you come home for the weekend and we can finally meet this man. I mean since you're exclusive and everything."

"We...we're not that level yet-"

"Your older sister's getting married and she's only 4 years older than you.-"

"Why do you keep bringing her up? What's she got to do with this?"

"Honey, listen, me and your father are happy you're with someone. I mean this is the first time someone actually liked you right?"

Ouch.

"It wouldn't hurt to meet the old fella, no?"

Ah, one important part I forgot to mention.

You weren't dating Simon.

In fact, you guys never really established a relationship between the two of you. When he was home from deployment, your evening usually consisted of lazing about after work, wine in hand, Simon walking in, a few words exchanged here and there about his work-

Oh, and the night ending with a good rough fucking.

The morning would come by and you'd walk into your shift, your hickey-adorned chest and neck covered with a black turtleneck although it was the middle of August (and against the uniform policy).

So one night you decided to break away from his dominating kiss, and sit him down for a heartfelt conversation-

"Why'd you want to complicate things," he sneers, "we're just fuck buddies yeah?"

"Excuse me? So, what those 5 months didn't mean shit to you?" You scoffed, rather offended that he looked down at you, just like your family.

"You're old enough to be my kid, what make you think this was gonna go anywhere?" He stands up, lighting a smoke, knowing you hated the stench of his cigarettes in your room. It was always your room, always your flat. You can't remember the last time you even went to Simon's place, if there ever was a time.

"Who has a kid at 10? And why'd you keep fucking me? And I'm 24 fucking years old, Jesus, why does that not go through anyone's thick ass skull?!"

"Calm down love, thought this arrangement was mutual, I've got pent up frustration from the military, you're pent up 'cos no one else wants you-"

"Those nights didn't mean anything to you?"

"You don't mean anything to me." He asserts furiously. You studied him, the glimpse of that comforting man who stroked your back and kissed your forehead post-sex really wasn't there.

The fuck does this guy think he is?

"Get out."

"Done."

And he gets up and leaves, blowing a puff of smoke as if to scent the room. Just like that. Wow, was there anyone in your life that actually cared about you?

All those Wattpad stories taught you that the guy usually fights for his lover, screaming back saying that he won't leave without a fight, arguing that that the pair deserved each other. And yet, here you are, sobbing in the shower, unable to differentiate whether your body is getting soaked from the water or from the river of salty tears streaming down your dull, lifeless face, all because the guy you wanted never truly wanted you back.

You felt used, mainly your body. Rubbing yourself full of soap just caused your mind to flash back to his thick calloused hands massaging every inch of skin.

When you occasionally saw him at the building get together, which you wonder why he even attends considering he just hates and complains about everyone (everyone but you of course), you'd find yourself glued on the spot, lips quivering, tears threatening to spill again- and the throbbing. Man, the throbbing you felt between your legs. If it wasn't for his dick, you'd really be wondering why you craved him so bad, because it's definitely not his nasty personality.

And every time you open your mouth to say something to him, to call him over, to greet him, hell you should be cursing him out in front of everyone, he just stormed out with his head down with what looks like a combination of embarrassment or grief.

Until one night, you get a phone call from your older sister, the unsaved number appearing unfamiliar to you. Your hesitant to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Heyyy," She drags out her words, as if to waste time. You can tell your mother meddled in between, "So, I'm having the engagement party by the end of this month, and um...you free to come? No worries if you can't."

You pause, did she even want you there?

"Sure."

"Cool. Um, Mum says you're seeing someone, you can bring 'em if you want."

"Sure."

"Yeah, dunno if it's serious enough but there's enough space in the venue."

"Sure."

There's a pause on the other line.

"Hey can you say anything other than 'sUrE'?" She mocks you. Your eyebrow twitches in amusement.

"Did you just call to brag about you and your fancy ass engagement party? And the audacity to not send an invite, if you don't want me there, just say it. I'm not a baby anymore." You frustratingly answer.

Your sister remains quiet on the other line and you can tell you struck a nerve.

"I- listen I know we never get along but can you please come? Ma keeps mentioning you, surprisingly, and- and we haven't seen you in months, you don't even reply to the memes on the family group chat..."

You blink. "We have a family group chat?"

The rest of the month was empty, and although you were thankful for no more surprising run-ins with Simon, you missed having a warm body next to you. You learnt from one of the residents that he's been deployed for 3 weeks, this particular one shorter than others.

He confused you, Simon. He hated the idea of being in a relationship with you, yet he did 'relationship things' with you. He disliked when people assumed you two were a couple in public, but he always had his arm around you protectively. Not even education was this stressful.

And as much as you wanted to sit and let the misery marinate into your mind, you knew the date of the engagement party was nearing and you knew you couldn't come empty-handed.

By the end of the 3rd week, you knew Simon had come home, recognising the sound of the heavy footsteps entering his flat next door at 3 in the morning, you being awake from all the stress your high-maintenance sister had thrown suddenly at you. But you couldn't help but notice the sound of a softer treads following his. Maybe he got a pet?

That night, you had trouble sleeping, unsure whether it was the stress of trying to impress your family or the light sound of the headboards of next door creaking. That sound was familiar, reminding you when he was over at your place, rocking gently inside of you, though you question why he's not with you this moment. Usually you'd find him at the other side of the door, tired eyes resembling those of a stray puppy looking for a place to stay.

You close your eyes, your mind racing to the thought of the burly man on the other side of the wall rubbing himself to the thought of you. You sink into the bed, disregarding that unignorable pulsating feeling.

Saturday morning come, and you stretched contently, knowing that you finally had the day off from work. But that short-lived happiness dimmed when you checked the unread notification blasting through your phone.

7:29 A.M. #####:- hey listen i meant it when i said i wanted you there. pls come. #####:- it wouldnt just make ma happy but me too #####:- u gotta be there to make look better haha im joking

You had a feeling that she was not.

7:56 A.M. #####:-and uh, bring your guy as well pls, ma's so excited planning this wedding she wants to get started on the next one too lolol #####:- also she thinks your lying :/

Great, now there's actual pressure to bring someone.

Your morning dose of caffeine didn't hit today, as your body feels heavier than usual as you trudge all the way to your doorstep. When the last time you actually left your apartment if not for work?

Forcing yourself to look decently good, you make your way to your neighbour's doorstep, knocking so softly you almost tried again, until the door abruptly open, revealing a wet toweled Simon.

An eerie silence captures the atmosphere, consists of his eyes drinking in your disheveled appearance after almost a month, and yours undressing him, as if he wasn't already standing almost-nude.

He opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it, "Listen I know you've been deployed for the past 3 weeks, but listen I need a favour, I know you hate me and don't want to be with me but I really need a date to an engagement party, and I hate men and men hate me so I don't know anyone but you, and here me out, but could you please take some time out of your month to please be my date, I know you don't like me like that, which makes no sense to me 'cos you're in that mask almost the same number of times as you're in me- just please give it a thought-"

There's a cough behind Simon.

A half nude woman runs past you, head down in shame, smilingly guiltily as she tiptoes out of his room. She heard it all, you thought.

You look at Simon, suddenly recollected last night's events, the 2nd footsteps, the headboard banging. It all made sense. You really didn't mean anything to him.

Simon shifts on his feet uncomfortably.

"Surprise?"

its's 2 a.m. as i post this...why do my brain cells suddenly begin to work post-midnight I've decided to start a tag list! -> lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum

[iamthemain-character]

The Gold and the Rust

astarion x reader

she/her

TW: mild spice, almost dubcon (but nothing actually happens! we only believe in clear consent in this household!), mentions of canonical trauma

@ S.H. you better give me a big kiss for this one

One bright morning changes all things

Soft and easy as your breathing, you wake

Your eyes open, at first a thousand miles away

But turning, shoot a silver bullet point-blank range

And I can scarce believe what I'm believing in

Could this be how every day begins?

The grass was soft and cool under the scarred skin that stretched over Astarion’s shoulder blades. He was sure his body ached, but after thousands of years of this routine, he hardly even noticed it anymore. What he never got used to was the prick of guilt, making his heart bleed out into his stomach. 

He pushes himself off the ground, relying on his hands to keep his frame upright. He let his head drop back between his shoulders, the soft, bristle-like ends brushing over his skin. He couldn’t help but recall how your hands had grasped at those same hairs not but a few hours ago. It had stirred an unexpected feeling in him, that simple gesture in the heat of passion. It was not the first time someone had grabbed his hair while he pleasured them, nor did he expect it to be the last. Yet...it had felt different; the pulling certainly had left his scalp tingling from the force of it, but it wasn’t violent. It had felt like you needed him closer, needed to have his lips on yours, needed his skin to merge within your own. Your touches had felt like you needed to know every part of him, like your soft fingers could reach down into his damned soul and bring it back to life. 

He had never been needed before.

Astarion looked over to the side, his ruby eyes appreciative as he gazed at your body. Your skin looked so soft, the peaks and valleys of your frame swirling in the sunlight that shone through the leaves. You looked just like a treasure, glowing and priceless in your mere existence. Astarion’s mind kept replaying the sound of your voice as you had squirmed underneath him, the way your softness welcomed his tight grip. Heaven didn’t exist for vampires, but when you had called out his name he was sure he had found it. 

Something altogether too warm and fluttery stirred in his cold, undead heart, and Astarion pushed himself up off of the ground, stretching to his full height as his hands brushed the low-hanging leaves of the willow tree that covered the two of you. He wasted no time collecting his clothes, lacing up his leather trousers in a business-like manner. 

Just before he could don his shirt, however, he heard the rustling of the grass behind him; for some reason he could not fathom, he wanted to turn around. He wanted to watch you wake up, let his fingers lazily trace over your skin, pretending he was the artist who had fashioned this masterpiece. Then, perhaps when you woke up fully, he would create his own works of art upon your warm skin. 

With a start, he snapped himself out of his thoughts, realizing his shirt was hanging loosely in his hands, swaying in the breeze. He felt an unfamiliar rush to his ears, a sort of embarrassment at catching himself so lost in thought over you. He never had trouble like this with any of his other victims before, so why was he so sentimental over you? Astarion knew he couldn’t love anyone, it wasn’t who he was. So why did he yearn to lay back down in the soft grass again? 

Against his better judgment, he turned around, and he felt his resolve weaken. The sun now shone over your face, and you had instinctively turned away from the light, but the Sun’s hands still left its caress over your neck and hair. Astarion softly crossed the short distance, crouching down beside your sleeping body. His logic was screaming at him to leave, to make sure there was no chance of a confrontation between the two of you. That was how he was going to string you along, of course, keep you guessing, wanting more. But now he was the one guessing himself, and needing more. 

Slowly, he laid on the grass again, feeling the sun glint off his own paper-white skin. He kept his chin over his shoulder, his gaze unable to be pulled away from your features. His fingers nearly ached with the desire to reach out, to feel your jaw under them, or the way your shoulder felt through your hair. But he kept them still, not willing to chance disturbing your rest. 

This was good for his ultimate plot, he reasoned to himself. You would trust him so much more if he woke up beside you, showered you with flirtatious comments and sensual touches. Him staying behind was a good thing for him, so he wouldn’t have to wait as long to be able to manipulate you to his whims. 

Surely that was the reason he laid beside you in the morning light, his pinky just a hair away from touching yours. 

One bright morning goes so easy

Darkness always finds you either way

It creeps into the corners as the moment fades

A voice your body jumps to calling out your name

But after this I'm never gonna be the same

And I am never going back again

Astarion could see your hunger the moment you had come back into camp. Your eyes had that dark expression, your body tense in a way that he knew exactly how to relieve. It was beautiful, something he certainly appreciated, but his chest ached with the anxiety of having to perform. Just the thought of touching you in that way made him want to puke whatever little blood was in his stomach. Not because you yourself were repulsive, but because he knew he wouldn’t be able to feel your hands, but instead the claws of Cazador. 

But he didn’t want to lose you. Already, his perfect plan was in crumbles. He already had your protection, your blood that you offered willingly. Now it was just maintenance. But instead, he kept trying to be more, to have more with you, simply because he wanted to. He liked your subtle glances across the camp, he liked the way you’d brush your leg against his. He loved the way he was finally able to learn to sleep because you held him so tightly after your encounters. Despite his best efforts, he had gotten used to having you as his, having your sole attention and romantic interest. Even if the blond elf pretended to not care, he liked having you all to himself. 

So when you entered his tent, already looking like you were one breath away from shredding his clothes, he did what he always has. Kept his mouth shut, shutting off his brain and letting his body exist for the only thing he was good for. He felt like he was simply watching as you kissed him, lips hungry and needy as they sought to claim his. He simply followed the routine, touching where he knew you liked it, meaningless words murmured in a sickenly sultry tone. If he could just get through this, he would be fine. And besides, you always felt so good, so he was simply overreacting. He would be fine.  

He let you pull off his shirt, but while your hands rested over his heart, the memory of Cazador’s tightened around it, fear running through his ice cold veins. And when you pushed him down onto the bedroll, straddling his hips, he didn’t see your adoring smile, but rather the vampiric fangs that had doomed him so long ago. 

“Astarion?” 

Your gentle voice broke through his thoughts, though by the look on your face, you must have called for him few times before. 

He tried to gather himself, putting on his practiced wicked smile. “Yes, pretty girl?”

Your forehead was wrinkled from your furrowed brows, the desire in your eyes filled with concern. “Are you alright?” Your voice was so soft, so sweet, and if Astarion didn’t know better, he would have thought you cared. 

“Of course pet. Please, I believe you were getting to something very important.”He purred, a little uncomfortable with the sudden attention to himself. 

Instead of continuing, however, you got off of him, kneeling beside the bedroll. “If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.” 

Astarion sits up, and opens his mouth to reassure you, but he pauses as he hears your words. For a moment, he wasn’t quite sure he had heard them properly, because no one ever asked what he wanted, or if he even wanted the things he was doing. Still, the fear that you’ll walk away, that you’ll find someone else to shower your attention on seizes him, and he knows he must double down on the lie. “Dearest, I could see you wanted me from the moment you came into camp. Let me take care of your needs, ease the weariness from the day.” 

You shook your head vehemently, a frown pulling at your mouth. “That’s not what I’m asking, Astarion. Do you want this right now, or would you rather not?”

Shame and guilt filled up his stomach, churning it into a stormy sea. Your eyes were so intense, as if you could see through him. He wasn’t sure his careful web of lies could protect him this time. “What does it matter what I want?” Astarion winces at how bitter his voice sounds, knowing that he’s not angry with you. He hesitates, wondering briefly if you were going to punish him for his impertinence. 

Your furrowed brows arch upwards, surprised at his tone, but you don’t move away, nor do you make any move to harm him. “I don’t want to sleep with you if you don’t want it as much as I do.” You say, your voice a little frustrated from how much Astarion is dodging your questions. 

Astarion huffs, looking guilty. “I can still give you what you want. I know how to make you feel-”

“That's not the point.” You cut him off, taking a deep breath to keep yourself calm. “Is that really what you think this is? You think I come to you just because of what you can give me?”

For the first time in his undead life, Astarion is speechless, a little bewildered by your reactions and your words. “What else would you come to me for?”

You run a hand through your hair, wishing you could shake this man of whatever terrible thoughts are under that silvery hair of his. Instead, you smooth out the edge of the blanket, keeping yourself calm. “Do you truly not have any idea how I feel about you?” You watch, but Astarion gives no reaction or indication of his thoughts. You soften, your heart aching a little. “I......I care about you so much Astarion. And I mean all of you.” 

You sigh, dropping your head back against your neck as you think. “I think about you all the time. I worry about if you’re safe or if you’re hungry. I get excited knowing I get to see your face, I long to make you smile. And not the one you always have, the real one where I can see one more fang more than the other because your lips go crooked when you’re trying not to smile.” You drop your gaze back down, looking into the depths of his ruby eyes. “I enjoy the sex, of course. But that’s because I enjoy every part of you. You have so many other amazing qualities.” 

Astarion sits very still and very quiet as he listens, only the tips of his ears twitching. He keeps playing the words on loop inside of his head. I care about you. And for the first time, he finds that he has no quips, no easy flattery or flirtation, nor any weapon to get out of this. You are just there, in front of him, your words raw and so saturated with honesty. And it terrifies him. 

But deep inside of him, in the heart he likes to pretend he doesn’t have, there's a small glimmer of light. A tiny flame of hope, burning through the cruelty of Cazador and the ghosts of past trysts, making him wonder if he could truly be so desired. To be wanted beyond his body. “...I have spent my life, being a body for people.” He says quietly, his eyes trained on your hands as he speaks. Everything in his rougish logic is cursing him for being vulnerable, but as he lifts his gaze to your eyes, he finds nothing but safety and acceptance. “I do not know what it is to be cared for. But…” He pauses, his eyes softening, round and doe-like. His hands are embarrassingly shaky, but he reaches out, taking yours into them all the same. “I would very much so like to find out.” 

A small, sweet smile curls on your face, fanning the hope inside of Astarion’s heart. You hold his hands gently but firmly, like you know he may pull away otherwise. “Then let me ask you again; do you, Astarion, want to continue what I was doing? And I want your genuine answer, not what you think I want.”

Astarion swallows the ball of nerves in his throat, his fingers tightening their grasp on you. “No.” He says, and he feels a surge of emotion within his heart. “No, I don’t.” he says again, astonished at how it feels to say the word. He watches you, but you’re still smiling, still looking at him like you adore him. Astarion wonders if perhaps you really do just care about him. “But I...I don’t want you to leave, either.” He admits, wondering if he’s pushing his luck. 

Your smile only grows, and you move a little closer to him. “Would you like me to grab my bedroll? Or...I could even hold you, if you’d like?” 

Astarion feels his own lips turn up, the idea of being close to you, warm and comfortable in his bed more enticing than he can express. “Yes please, darling. I’d like to keep you close.” 

You nod, and without a single hesitation, you move back over to the bedroll. Astarion feels a little giddy at the prospect, struggling to keep up his cool, nonchalant attitude. He lays down with you, watching your hair sprawl out over his pillow. Your head mirrors his, and for a while, the two of you just gaze into one another’s eyes. Astarion tries to subtly shift closer, pretending like he’s getting comfortable, when in reality he just wants to be closer to you. Knowingly, you smile at him, and you open your arms to invite him in. 

He practically swan dives into the junction of your shoulder and chest, nuzzling his head over your heart. He doesn’t even bother trying to hide the smile that pulls at his lips, all but purring as he melts against your side. You curve one arm over his shoulder, cradling his head as it rests over your breast, and you drape the other lightly over the valley of his waist. 

The little flame inside of Astarion’s heart bursts into a fire as he feels you hold him, and he gives up any attempts at being cool about your presence. His bicep presses into the underside of your breasts, squishing them a little from how tightly he holds you. His other arm snakes under you, resting at the natural curve of your back. Even with your body fully in his grasp, however, it's still not enough. He draws his knee up, hooking his leg over yours, resting it below your knee. A contented sigh brushed your hair as he relaxed, his eyes fluttering shut. You could see his soft white eyelashes over his cheeks, the skin lightly pink and matching the tips of his ears. 

Gently, your hand shifts upwards to the nape of his neck, lightly scratching at the hair where it grows out from his skin. The shorter strands loosen from where they were tucked between the two of you, twisting with every moment of your fingers. Astarion almost doesn’t want to believe this could be real, that you truly were so willing to simply lay with him, to hold him. And yet as he listened to the steady beat of your heart, so full of life, he was sure that he had found heaven.

The sky set to burst

The gold and the rust

The colour erupts

You filling my cup

The sun coming up

Like I lived my whole life

Before the first light

(Some bright morning comes)

Like I lived my whole life

Before the first light

Being an elf and a vampire meant that even when Astarion could sleep, he didn’t sleep for very long. It used to bother him, the long, lonely nights where he was left alone with the ghosts of his past. After falling in love with you, however, he adored the mornings. He would linger in the warmth of your shared bed, cuddled as close to you as he possibly could be. He would alternate between stroking your hair, or pressing delicate little kisses over your shoulder and arms. He loved watching you sleep, able to take his time studying your features without you blushing or hiding away. 

On the mornings where he was feeling needy, however, he took no issue waking you up. 

“My love.” He murmured, pressing a more insistent kiss to your shoulder, his arm wrapping around your waist. He saw no response, however, and so he decided to be more persistent in his efforts. He began trailing his lips over your arm, nibbling at whatever softness was there, making his way up to your neck. He couldn’t resist pressing the point of his nose into the skin of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. Sometimes he felt he could get drunk on your scent alone, the different aromas that collected on your skin melding into a fragrance that was entirely unique, and entirely his to enjoy. 

With that thought in mind, he nibbled gently at your neck, and was rewarded with the shifting of your body below his chest as you awoke. Your hands instinctively found their way to his back, soft and warm as they ran over his cool skin. He shivered, the sensation only serving to stir up the heat coiling in his lower abdomen. “There she is.” He hums, his tone dripping with satisfaction and barely controlled desire. 

“Good morning.” You say sleepily, your body already leaning up into him, not needing to be fully awake to know what it wants. Your touch crawls up to the nape of his neck, brushing the soft curls there at the base. Astarion nearly moans, the simple gesture only adding to the intense need he feels for you. 

He moves to get more fully on top of you, knees guiding your thighs apart as he finds his rightful place between them. Still, it's simply not enough, so his long fingers cup the slope where your ass met your thigh, nails digging into the soft flesh with a desperate claim. He knows that you’re still waking up, that he should be more gentle, but the smile on your lips is all the encouragement he needs to know his advancements are welcomed. His hands snap your hips up to meet his, and he presses his body intently against yours, letting you feel just how aroused he is. 

A soft moan leaves you, your mind waking up considerably as you feel heat rush straight to your core. You look down your body, seeing the way he’s practically grinding into you, his red eyes dark with lust and love. 

“Please.” The request carries an infinite well of want, his voice slightly breathless and husky, brushing invisible fingers along your spine. You nod, and that’s all it takes for Astarion to give into exactly what he’s wanting. Your bed becomes a paradise, both skin and sheets marked as he savors the way he can be this way with you, his past nothing more than a distant whisper. 

Heaven didn’t exist for vampires. 

But you did. And for Astarion, that was everything. 

[heartofbusan]

Best laid plans of stomach bugs and men.

The chemistry is the point.

Some people underestimate the effort and toll it takes on ones body and schedule to fly 14 hours to visit another person. 14 hours to spend 72 hours together means commitment. It means bro's before ho's and I am frankly HERE FOR IT.

The discourse I am seeing is extremely telling of how fickle people are about their support for jikook. People watch too much scripted reality tv 🙄 bcs they really expected this relationship, this reunion if you will, to play out in multiple angle close ups and medium shots and several wide angle shots with dramatic zooms and heavily directed post-moment recaps with dramatic silences or eye rolls to play up the drama? The lack of moments, the MUNDANITY if you will IS THE POINT. They are so real to me, so life like, so domestic goals!

Being quiet with each other. No uncomfortable silences, but comfortable togetherness.

That's what leads to horny bed fighting, which in my eyes could lead to more if not for the cameras 👀 just me?

When they said unscripted, this is what they meant. When they said unplanned, this is what they referred to. Not directed, not scripted, not fanservice 🙄 to fit a planned narrative. This is how their relationship plays out. I'd go so far as to call it a documentary instead of a reality series. While documentaries have tons of genres within itself, this genre is one where there's a broad range of planned activities, but where the narrative is constructed in post production: editing. Id know, since im an editor. This tells me that they counted on the natural chemistry between 'JeonJi' (SO CUTE) to 'lead the way' instead of a multitude of directed interactions that they (the producers) would have needed to tick a dramatic narrative box.

So what does that lead to? In my professional opinion as a director/editor the first two episodes lacked a dramatic arc. There was little directing going on to force one

the chemistry is the point

The flirting, the lulls in conversation, them being together, seeing them have fun, and reconnecting is the point. Instead of what they're doing or what they're talking about. The episodes, therefore, are kinda boring in the sense of entertainment, but wildly exiting in the sense of what we get to see play out. And it's incredibly nuanced. And nuance often flies over people's heads..again, the crowd that expects to be held by the hand when it comes to drama: reality tv.

It's a huge risk to take as a production. Let's not underestimate that! 'Are You Sure' was so unscripted that they didn’t even have a title until halfway into the second or third day. Again: they were banking on JeonJi to build upon their chaos to lead to a narrative and a title, etc. That is so telling to me. That them being together is the raison d'etre of this show. Jimin 'sacrificing' his time to fly to the US, Jeonkook making space in his busy schedule time to spend time unwinding, JeonJi making good on their need to finally spend time together after the booked and busy year they've had.

Jimin enjoying the hell out of Jungkook having fun.

Because that is who Jimin has always been: his adventurous spirit takes him places because he loves exploring and being in tue moment. He'll willingly travel to have those moments. Jungkook on the other hand doesn’t. He dislikes leaving the comfort of his surroundings because he doesn’t see the pot of gold that being adventurous brings him while he's comfortable in his home. I relate 😩 so much. Just planning trips alone makes me enter a comatose state, so I'd rather not go than sacrifice my rest to plan an adventure. I don't even know I'll get anything out of. That is, until Im actually on that planned trip and having the time of my life! They've always been like that. Jimin had to be the incentive to get Jungkook out on that trip. Take.him.by the hand if you will 😭😭

And then there's the stomach bug. YOU DAMMNED CURSED THING. It threw a HUGE wrench into their plans, and if anyone doesn’t take that into consideration, then you haven't had a stomachbug EVER while still having to face up to your commitments. Park Jimin will NEVER back down from his commitments, his promises *pinky promises* are sacred to him, and this bug took away the catalyst of this duo. Jungkook suddenly had to be the extrovert of the two, and boy, does he struggle in that role. He was to me his usuall baby elf self. So adorable and cute with his nose focused on food and Jimin’s care. But my man loves to rely on Jimin to lead the way in shenanigans and to make any moment entertaining, and you could just tell Jimin wasn't in his feels enough to overcome his lack of energy. Poor baby. Really, he's the best of us because I would have straight up refused to be filmed in that moment. A whole night of diarrhea and still showing up to film the next day?! NO MA'M NOT ME.

If you've read up to this point, I commend you. It was just supposed to be a short rant, but it became an entire essay because I can not with the overly reactionary nature some people show. Drawing entire conclusions based on two hour long episodes. I know, I might be contradicting myself here but extenuating circumstances and all. Jimin wasn’t on his game, and Jungkook was also recovering. When a show is banking on the chemistry between two people to shoulder the brunt of this show and said people are extremely sick, well then what can I tell you?

We need to sit back and enjoy the fact that we are getting such access to them, so unfiltered. Jikook enjoying each other, come rain or shine, in sickness and in health, whatever the mood brings, because that to me is more valuable than DRAMA or NARRATIVE. We'll probably get a bit more of that once they're going to Jeju, and they're both hopefully healthy. We're even getting a new element for them to play off of: Tete shows up! Like a jack in the box, and Jungkook seems to not be having it, lmao...see..unscripted and natural. I love that for them!

Idols are people first, and we need to celebrate that, not demand more.

[wholoveseggs]

hii

A gem was gardener part 1 wait ing for other parts desperately...

Also a tiny request plz make it a nice smutty happy ending cuz my heart broke after rules

Thanku love (in klaus voice:))))

The Gardener {Part Two}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Two

Your mission to seduce Elijah continues, and it's becoming harder and harder to separate your feelings for him from your duty. Your ancestors call out to you, warning of death and destruction, and tensions within the coven are high. Your time is running out, and you have to find the white oak ash, and soon.

♡♡ ...Hiii anon, don't worry about it darling! ... the end will be the end and I promise it won't hurt {a lot} ~xoxo.♡♡

4.2k words - Warnings: smuuuuut, oral sex {f!receiving}, interrogation with a side of breakfast, visions, angst, deception, lies, a stupid self referencing joke, blurred lines, Klaus ruining the moment and lots of tension...

{Part One}{Part Three}{Part Four}

{Elijah Mikaelson Tag-List }

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

The following week had been filled with work, keeping up the appearance of an innocent gardener. It was easy enough, the herb beds were finished and now all you needed to do was keep them maintained and watered. It was a pleasant task, especially compared to the tasks ahead of you.

You had been avoiding Elijah, Agnes told you not to use him unless absolutely necessary, and so far, he had left you alone. He had been polite, friendly, but his presence had been a constant shadow. Stolen glances and flirty smiles, he was clearly interested.

You had tried to ignore him, but every time you saw him, you felt a rush of excitement and dread. He was the enemy, and yet, his presence made your heart flutter and your stomach churn. It was foolish, reckless, dangerous, and yet, there was no denying the pull.

It was early morning when you arrived at the compound, the air was cold and misty, the sun had just started to peek above the horizon. The courtyard was empty, and the whole compound was quiet, almost eerily so.

"Gardner! Just who I was looking for," Klaus' voice rang out, making you jump.

You spun around to find him leaning against the railing on the second floor, a grin on his face.

"Good morning, Mr. Mikaelson," you greeted, trying to keep the fear from your voice. "What can I do for you?"

He strolled down the stairs and approached you, a cocky smile on his lips.

"I was wondering if you would care to join me for breakfast?" He asked, stopping a few feet away from you.

You looked up at him, your stomach twisting with anxiety. You had hoped to avoid him as long as possible.

"Come now," he said, his voice smooth and seductive, "don't be shy."

You nodded, giving him a forced smile. He led you to the dining room, holding out a chair for you.

"Please," he said, gesturing to the seat. "Surely, you're hungry, and we have some things to discuss,"

You sat down, and he sat at the head of the table, looking pleased with himself. A number of servants came and went, bringing plates and glasses. One stopped and slit their wrist, pouring blood into a glass for Klaus, their expression empty.

You looked away, your stomach churning, you hated the sight of blood. The smell of the food made you nauseous, and the thought of eating was unbearable.

"So, my brother tells me you are a witch, I don't recall seeing that on your resume," he said, picking up his wine glass and swirling the blood inside.

"I didn't think it was necessary," you replied, trying to keep your voice even.

"Yes, well," he paused, taking a sip, "I'm sure you are aware of the current...situation,"

You nodded, avoiding his gaze, trying to quell your nausea. Klaus chuckled at your unease.

"Eggs?" He offered, holding up a plate.

"No, thank you," you said, forcing a smile.

He shrugged, setting the plate down and digging into the pile of food in front of him.

"The witches have been rather troublesome, plotting against my family," he said, taking a bite of sausage. "Do you know anything about that?"

"I'm afraid not," you lied, looking at him.

"Hmm," he mused, chewing slowly, his eyes narrowed.

"Why do you think I would be involved in any sort of plots?" You asked, taking a bite of toast. "Awfully presumptuous to lump all witches together, like we are some sort of monolithic entity."

"You are a witch, and I am a vampire, and our relationship is...contentious at best," he said, his blue eyes sparkling. "Besides, I have heard rumblings, whispers, of a new faction, a new coven-"

"Brother," Elijah's voice interrupted.

You looked over to see him enter the room, his expression stern. He gave Klaus a disapproving look before sitting down next to you at the table.

"Y/n," he said, smiling at you. "How are the herb beds coming along?"

"Very well, thank you," you replied, relieved by the interruption.

"Eggs?" Klaus offered, holding up the plate again.

"No, thank you," Elijah said, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

"You love eggs," Klaus teased, shoveling a forkful of egg into his mouth.

"Yes, but I am not in the mood," Elijah said, his voice sharp.

Klaus raised an eyebrow, and Elijah shook his head.

"Are you planning on interrogating her the entire meal?" Elijah said, looking over at his brother.

Klaus shrugged, shoveling another forkful of eggs into his mouth. "Whatever do you mean Elijah? This is simply a friendly breakfast,"

"It doesn't seem friendly," Elijah retorted, "and I think the poor girl is uncomfortable,"

"You worry too much, brother," Klaus said, grinning. "She's perfectly fine, aren't you?" He looked over at you.

"Yes, I'm fine," you said, trying to hide the unease in your voice.

"See?" Klaus said, giving Elijah a smug look. "There's nothing to worry about."

Elijah sighed and poured you a cup of coffee, pushing it towards you.

"Please, drink," he said, offering a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry, my brother can be a bit...difficult,"

"Hey," Klaus interjected, his expression indignant. "I'm sitting right here."

Elijah ignored him and continued, "how are the herbs? Do you need any help with anything?"

"Everything is fine, thank you," you replied, taking a sip of the coffee. "I... Do have a question though,"

"Anything," Elijah said, looking at you, his hand resting on the table next to yours. You could feel the heat from his body, the tension between the two of you.

"Your choice of herbs, was that intentional?" You asked, looking up at him.

Klaus' eyebrows shot up, his gaze curious. "What do you mean?"

"The herbs in the greenhouse," you clarified, "you chose them for their magical properties, didn't you?"

"We did," Elijah admitted, his gaze thoughtful.

"What did you hope to accomplish with them?" You pressed, wanting more information.

Elijah was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the table, then he looked at Klaus, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Call it a precaution," Klaus said, leaning back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest.

"A precaution?" You asked, confused.

Neither of them answered, but you could feel the tension in the room. There was an unspoken conversation going on between the brothers, and you were missing something.

"You worry about the wrong things," Klaus finally said, his gaze locked on Elijah. "Just get the job done and you will be well compensated,"

Elijah gave his brother a hard look, and then turned his attention back to you, a polite smile on his face.

"I can walk you back to the greenhouse," he offered, standing up.

"And leave all this food for me to eat?" Klaus exclaimed, his tone teasing.

Elijah ignored him and took your arm, helping you stand up.

"It was lovely having breakfast with you," Elijah said softly as he walked you to the door. "Perhaps we can do it again sometime."

"Sure," you said, not sure how else to respond.

The greenhouse was quiet when you returned, the sun streaming through the windows. You could smell the herbs, their fragrance filling the air. Elijah stood beside you, his hands in his pockets.

"Can we talk?" he asked, his tone gentle.

"Of course," you replied, looking up at him.

He smiled, and reached out, taking your hand in his. Your heart was pounding, your stomach churning. You had to keep reminding yourself that he was a killer, not the handsome and charming man he was portraying himself to be.

"I was hoping we could continue where we left off the other night," he said, his eyes dark with desire.

You swallowed, trying to push down the feelings that were threatening to overtake you.

"Elijah," you began, but he cut you off, pressing his lips to yours. You melted into the kiss, his hand resting on the small of your back, pulling you in close.

"I've been thinking about you," he murmured against your lips, "about that kiss,."

He stepped forward, moving you backwards until you hit the workbench. His hands rested on your hips, lifting you up and setting you down on the counter.

You couldn't deny how hot he was, or how much you enjoyed him taking control. You didn't have to pretend, not right now. The constant whispering of the ancestors fell silent, the stress and pressure you were under was lifted, if only for a moment.

You smiled against his lips, running your hands up his chest.

"I can't get you out of my mind," he whispered, his hand running through your hair.

You laughed softly, "Have I cast a spell on you?"

"If you did, I wouldn't mind," he said, his eyes dancing with amusement.

His hands moved slowly up your thighs, searching for the buttons of your pants. You giggled as he struggled, his fingers fumbling. He pulled back and looked down, frowning in confusion.

"You have to start up here," you smiled, biting your lip, pointing to the buckles of your overalls. "You probably don't hook up with a lot of women wearing these."

He smiled, mildly flustered. "I've taken off much more complicated garments than this," he said, flipping the buckles and tugging your pants down.

It was a bit of an awkward struggle to get them off, the two of you giggling and fumbling around. Finally, he was able to tug them past your hips, pulling them off and tossing them to the side.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours, his tongue exploring your mouth. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. He chuckled against your lips and slid his hands under your shirt, caressing your breasts. You moaned softly, arching your back, pressing into his touch.

His hands moved down your sides, sliding over your hips and thighs, pulling you closer. You could feel his arousal, hard and insistent, pressing against you.

"Am I moving too fast?" He asked, his eyes searching yours.

"Not at all," you whispered, kissing him.

He grinned, his thumb gently grazing over the swollen nub peeking through your panties ,a little wet patch had formed, the cotton clinging to you. You grabbed his shoulders, pulling him closer. He chuckled and kissed you, his fingers moving slowly, exploring, teasing.

"Oh, you're so sensitive," he said, his voice low and seductive. "And beautiful."

Your fingers curled into his shirt, your eyes locked with his. He smiled, watching you react, enjoying the effect he was having on you.

"You like that?" He asked, his voice a deep purr.

"Yes," you whispered, your cheeks flushed.

"Good," he said, his finger slipping into you, making you gasp.

He hummed, his fingers moving in and out of you in a firm, steady rhythm. You were so wet, the filthy sounds were audible in the quiet of the greenhouse. He pressed his lips to yours, his fingers continuing their pace, driving you crazy. Your hands slid down, unbuckling his belt and fumbling with his zipper.

"In a hurry?" He teased, his breath warm on your skin.

"A little," you moaned, your eyes squeezed shut.

He chuckled, pulling his fingers from you, causing you to whine in protest. He knelt down, his hands sliding up your thighs, gripping the edge of your panties.

"Let me," he said, tugging the wet garment down and off.

You bit your lip, watching him, your heart pounding. He grinned, his hands pushing your knees apart. His tongue ran along the inside of your thigh, making you shudder. He paused, his gaze moving up, meeting yours.

"Is this alright?" He asked, his fingers tracing circles on the smooth skin.

"Yes," you whispered, your eyes fixed on him.

He smirked and then buried his face between your thighs, his tongue lapping at your swollen, slick cunt. You let out a moan, your hand grabbing onto his hair, pulling him closer.

He was good, infuriatingly so, his tongue licking and swirling, driving you wild. You could feel your climax building, the tension rising, his hands gripping your thighs, his tongue working its magic.

You were close, so close, your toes curling, your body trembling. You couldn't believe how good it felt, how amazing his mouth felt against your skin.

The silence in your mind was intoxicating, the freedom addictive. The only things that mattered were the waves of pleasure coursing through your body and the feeling of his fingers digging into your hips.

The pressure built, and you writhed, bucking your hips, grinding against his mouth. Reaching, reaching, reaching for the edge, desperate for release.

And then, you fell.

The world exploded in a blinding light, stars dancing behind your eyes. Your body shook, a tingling sensation spreading from your core, to the tips of your toes. The voices came rushing back, and with them visions of the past, of a life lived, of a future yet to be written.

You could see plants wilting, rotting in their pots, a tree splitting, its roots exposed, a forest fire, a raging inferno, consuming everything in its path. Ashes like rain, falling, blanketing the earth. You could hear screams of children, of a mother crying, a woman wailing. You saw blood, so much blood, the air thick with its coppery scent.

You screamed, your eyes wide, your body shaking, the images flooding your mind. It was too much, it was all too much. You couldn't breathe, the weight of it crushing you, suffocating you.

You felt two warm hands on your shoulders, shaking you, a soft, muffled voice calling to you.

"Are you okay? Come back to me, come back,"

Slowly, the images faded, the voices silenced, the pressure eased. Your heart was pounding, sweat covering your skin. You looked up, Elijah's worried expression coming into focus.

"Y/n?" He said, his voice laced with concern.

"I'm... I'm okay," you managed, your voice hoarse.

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin.

"What happened? You went away for a moment," He asked, his eyes scanning yours, searching for an answer.

"Y-you are just really good at that," you said, giving him a small smile, your voice shaking.

He wasn't convinced, his expression concerned. He was about to say something when Klaus' voice echoed through the greenhouse.

"Brother! Are you still here?"

You and Elijah looked at each other, his hands quickly fixing his pants, before he moved away.You forced a smile, the visions still lingering, the voices of your ancestors had returned, the blissful silence gone. He helped you stand, his hands lingering on your waist, his eyes full of questions. You tried to give him a reassuring smile, but he could see through it.

"Do you need anything? Water, or..." He trailed off, searching for an excuse to stay, to make sure you were okay. "Did I upset you? I... I didn't mean to push."

You shook your head, trying to put him at ease. "No, it's not you, it's... I'm sorry, I can't,"

You were embarrassed, confused. You needed space, time to sort through the images and figure out what they meant.

"You're sure?" He asked, his voice gentle.

"Yeah, I'm fine, really," you said, trying to sound convincing. "Thank you, but I... I have work to do, I should go,"

"Okay," he said, reluctantly letting go of your waist.

You hurried to find your clothes, putting them on, ignoring the way the fabric stuck to your damp skin. He watched you, his expression thoughtful, his arms folded across his chest.

"Have dinner with me tomorrow?" He asked, his eyes hopeful.

You hesitated. "I'm not sure that's such a good-"

"Please," he said, his voice soft. "Let me take you out. We can have a nice, normal date."

You smiled, your heart fluttering. "Okay,"

He grinned, his eyes sparkling. "Great, I'll pick you up,"

You nodded, mustering your best smile. You couldn't shake the unease, the fear, the dread that was starting to creep in. There was a storm coming, you could feel it, and you weren't sure what to do.

Agnes lit the last candle, the soft glow filling the room. She closed her eyes and whispered an incantation, the air thick with the scent of herbs.

Maeve wandered in and sat down beside you, watching Agnes.

"Is she trying to commune with the ancestors again?" Maeve asked, her voice laced with irritation.

"She is," you replied, keeping your tone neutral.

"It won't work," Maeve said, her voice harsh.

"I had a vision," you whispered, not wanting to distract Agnes.

"Of course you did," Maeve scoffed, her gaze fixed on Agnes. "They're always visions. Never anything helpful."

"Maeve," you warned, not wanting to argue.

You heard the sound of the latch being pulled and the other coven members entered, filling the room. Agnes signaled for the members to gather around the altar.

"Welcome," she said, her voice low and calm. "I have called this meeting to discuss an urgent matter,"

The coven murmured, exchanging glances, a sense of unease filling the room. Agnes looked over at you, gesturing for you to speak.

"We have a problem," you began, your voice shaking.

"What's going on?" A member named Ava asked, her voice concerned.

"I think I know what they want with the herbs," you said, your eyes scanning the group.

"Spit it out, girl," Maeve said, her tone sharp.

"We know they have been escalating this war, first with suppression, then an outright ban on magic. They have executed some of our families, and now they are planning to use the last thing we have against us," you said, taking a breath, steeling yourself.

"Which is?" Another member named Liza asked, her gaze focused on you.

"They're taking complete control of the vervain supply," you replied, "They're growing it, cultivating it, with the aim of controlling it,"

"That would explain why they were in need of a gardener," Beatrice said, her brow furrowed in thought.

"But why would they need complete control?" Liza asked, her voice full of concern.

"To take the last thread of control away from us," Agnes replied, her eyes full of worry. "They will keep it out of our water supply, and be able to compel any person they please,"

"And they will kill any competitors," you said softly, remembering the vision.

"Including you, with your little shop" Maeve said, her lips curled in a cruel smile. "So, you might want to focus on getting us the ash before they cut your pretty head off,"

"Any progress with getting the ash?" Beatrice asked, placing her hand on your shoulder, her gaze sympathetic.

"Not yet," you replied, shaking your head. "It's a delicate process."

Agnes nodded, looking around at the seven young women. "We must prepare, we need to find another way to protect ourselves. Our coven, our legacy is all that matters,"

The witches nodded, their expressions somber.

"Our ancestors are looking out for us, guiding us. We will survive, we will persevere," Agnes said, her voice resolute. "Y/n has seen it,"

"Oh yes, the vision," Maeve said, her eyes filled with sarcasm. "What have you seen?"

"I... I saw death and destruction," you said, your voice shaking.

"You can't be serious," Maeve scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You have had those visions hundreds of times,"

"Maeve," Agnes warned.

"No, this is ridiculous," Maeve shot back, her eyes narrowed. "We need the ash, and y/n isn't getting it. So, we need to find someone else who can."

"I'm doing my best," you said, trying to remain calm. "I have earned Elijah's trust, he will-"

"When and how did you have this vision?" Maeve demanded, cutting you off.

"This morning," you admitted, knowing there was no point in hiding it.

"Please dear, tell us how, perhaps it can add clarity to what is to come," Agnes said, her voice soothing.

You felt yourself blushing, your cheeks growing hot. "I... I was with Elijah, in the greenhouse," you began, avoiding their eyes.

"Your visions are usually caused by stress," Beatrice chimed in, her brow furrowed. "Was he threatening you in some way? Was it an argument?"

"No, no, nothing like that," you assured them, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. "It was... I... It was after,"

"After what?" Liza asked, her interest piqued.

You cleared your throat, shifting uncomfortably. Everyone here knew you were trying to seduce him, that his blindspot was always with his lovers. But admitting that he had touched you, that you had let him, that was different.

"It was after he was intimate with her," Agnes said, her voice soft and understanding.

You could feel the judgment, the disapproval, the tension in the room. Beatrice took your hand and gave it a squeeze, trying to offer you comfort.

"How many times has that happened?" Maeve asked, her tone accusatory.

"Maeve," Beatrice warned, "she's making a great sacrifice for us,"

"Whoring herself out to an abomination," Maeve scoffed, shaking her head.

"That's enough," Agnes said, her tone sharp, cutting the argument short.

"It's fine, I understand her concerns," you said, trying to keep the bitterness from your voice. "I've been with him every day, I'm gaining his trust, it's only a matter of time before I find the ash."

The other members nodded, their faces grim.

"Y/n's way is the safest, they cannot know when we take it, or they will stop us with violence," Agnes said, her expression solemn.

"How long will it take?" Maeve asked, her frustration evident.

"I can't be sure," you admitted, shaking your head.

Maeve let out a frustrated groan and stood up, storming out of the room.

"I'm sorry," you said, looking around at the others.

"Don't apologize, it's a difficult task," Liza said, offering you a reassuring smile. "I could never have the will or strength to lay with a demon, much less one of the old ones."

You swallowed, forcing a smile, trying not to let the comment hurt. It wasn't exactly a burden to be with him, you couldn't deny that it had felt good. That there had been moments where the lines between what was an act and what was real blurred.

"He is a very handsome man," Beatrice added, trying to lighten the mood.

"That he is," Ava agreed, her eyes twinkling. "It's a shame he's so evil."

"Yes," you said, forcing a smile.

"I think that's all for tonight," Agnes said, giving you a kind smile. "As always, prepare, purify, for tomorrow could be the day we possess the ash."

You watched as the coven departed, their expressions somber, their shoulders hunched, each carrying the burden of your coven. You felt a wave of guilt wash over you, wondering if there was something more you could have done. If you should have tried harder, found a quicker solution.

"Are you okay, child?" Agnes asked, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"I'm fine," you assured her, mustering a small smile. "I'll get the ash, I promise,"

Agnes smiled, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze..

"Do whatever it takes, sweet girl, and stay safe, we need you for the ritual," Agnes said, patting your shoulder before leaving the room.

You looked over at the altar, the candles casting flickering shadows across the walls, the vines, and leaves twisting and twining around each other. It was beautiful, and it filled you with a sense of peace.

You had made a commitment, a promise to your coven, and you were going to do everything you could to keep it. 

It was an odd feeling, to walk around town on the arm of a man that everyone hated and feared. People's heads turned as you passed, and whispers filled the air. You wanted to tell them that you were on their side, that you would fight for them, for their freedom. But you knew it would only cause more trouble.

Days had turned to weeks, turned to months. Each one the same, each night spent in his arms. And yet, every time he held you, kissed you, whispered words of love, it felt like the first time.

You felt like two people.

There was the you that he knew. The one who smiled, and laughed with him. The one who melted into his strong arms. Who listened to his stories, his plans, his dreams. The one who woke up beside him, hair tousled and with eyes full of sleep. The one who loved him, even if you weren't supposed to.

And then, there was the other you. The one who had a duty. The one who had a purpose, a mission, a destiny to wipe out his family. The one who had to lie, deceive, betray him.

Neither of them felt like you. Neither of them felt right. Both felt like an act. Like a betrayal.

The worst part was the way he looked at you. Like you were the only thing that mattered, the only thing he cared about. You were raised to hate him, to expect cruelty, violence, abuse. And yet, here he was, always so gentle, kind and affectionate. It made it hard to believe the things your coven had told you.

He was charming, witty, and intelligent. He made you laugh, he made you feel safe, and cherished. He was nothing like the monster you had expected, nothing like the one the others spoke of. If he wasn't an abomination, you could see yourself falling in love with him.

You couldn't.

You shouldn't.

But you did.

And it would only make what you were about to do, that much harder.

{Part One}{Part Three}{Part Four}

[lvrhughes]

Jack's Best Friend | L. Hughes

pairing: Luke Hughes x fem!reader

warnings: none?

word count: 1.4k

summary: You and Luke have always liked each other and Jack has always known, so he helps get you together

not my gif!

“You can sit on Luke’s lap!” Jack's words rang silence through my ears at the thought, a blush covering my face at the realization. Looking over to Luke to see him shake his head, patting his leg for me to sit. 

It’s like Jack could see that no matter how hard I tried I’d get flustered around Luke, it’s like the minute Jack had read those five words in my diary before I caught and yelled at him, he’s been doing everything to force me with his brother. 

Not that I was complaining, maybe I was. 

Growing up with the Hughes was truly something, Jack became my best friend instantly. The little brunette running over to befriend me within five minutes of my family moving beside them. When they moved it was harder, yet Jack and I stayed the same. He was always the boy I was closest with, despite being younger than him. 

It was after I’d moved out, moving to New Jersey for university, getting a job there quickly, it was perfect. And I was close to my best friend, who randomly showed up once while I was in the shower and began reading my diary. 

“Jack! Drop the book!” The yelling scared him, dropping it and immediately hopping off the bed he was laying on. 

I had hoped he hadn’t read anything, but the following days when he made various remarks about Luke and how cute he was, it was clear what he had read.

I think I like Luke. 

I slowly walked over to luke, his arms open for me to sit, it was like the world was in slow motion as i got closer to luke, opting to sit on the arm of the couch when i got there. 

“Y/n/n, just sit on Luke's lap, I know that isn’t comfortable.”  Jack groaned when I sat down, sending a look to Luke so he’d pull me onto his lap. 

“Hey! It wasn’t umcomfy!” I groaned, lifting slightly from Luke’s lap to be immediately pulled back down. 

“You say that as if it isn’t my couch, that I’ve sat over there many times, I know it’s not comfy.” Jack argued back.

“Would the both of you shut up?” Quinn groaned from the other side of the couch, his head leaned over the armrest. 

“Sorry, most of us didn’t go out last night so we aren’t hung over!” Jack played back, earning a smack from quinn before he groaned again. 

“Quinn went out?” I asked, curiosity dripping from my voice, Luke’s grip tightening as i leaned forwards. Quinn was never the party-er, I would’ve expected Jack to be out last night, not quinn. 

“Oh yeah, he found a cute girl when we went out for drinks last night,” Jack started a grin on his face, “Me and Luke went home at 10, he stayed out til 2am doing shots with her!” Jack cheered, finding amusement in Quinn’s hungover state. 

“I’m going to my room before I throw up on you.” Quinn glared, getting up slowly, kicking jack in the groin, making him bend over with a groan. 

Laughter erupted from Luke and I, his grip tightening as we laughed, keeping me set on his lap as Jack glared at us. 

“I’m sorry,” I managed to get out in between laughs, “it’s funny though!” 

“Sure, sure, laugh it up.” Jack glared again, staring down me and luke, a smile growing on his face at the scene.

 Luke's arms tight around my waist, both laughing while he holds me, smiles on both our faces as he sits beside us and grins at the scene. 

Luke caught Jacks grin, sending a look his way, ensuring I’d catch on after getting us to both send a confused look towards Jack. 

He just wiggled his eyebrows at us, earning a smack from Luke, making him groan again, and me to turn away with a blush covering my cheeks. 

“Don’t hit me! You’re the one who-” Jacks cry was cut off with another hit, harder this time, to his arm. “Ow.” He complained, holding his arm.

“Jack?” Luke’s voice was soft, scared of his brother's reaction to telling him. 

“What’s up?” He looked at his little brother, pausing his game to look at him. 

“I think I have a crush.” Jack’s eyes widened at the confession, fighting not to play with him but instead try to help his brother. 

“Why’re you telling me this?” It seemed a fitting question, Luke usually talked to Quinn about everything, so why was he telling Jack now?

“Because you know her.” Then it hit Jack, his little brother liked his best friend. 

“You like her.” 

That was when Luke was 14, Jack was 16. Luke had never outgrown the crush on his brother’s best friend, no matter how many times he lied and said he had. It was clear to Jack that he’d always like her, if not love her. 

Luke’s arms wrapped around my waist again, holding me against his chest while he leaned back. Jack’s glare on Luke again, letting out a quiet laugh at the sight. 

“What are you laughing at? You’re not innocent here either, you also li-” Jacks words cut off again by me hitting him, hitting his arm as hard as I could, earning a muffled sob from him before he cradled his arm.

“Ow.” His winced, Luke laughing beside him as I sat back on Luke’s lap. Letting Lukes arms hold me in place again, listening to Jack’s whines beside us. 

“Shut up and you won’t get hit, crazy idea, huh?” The sarcasm dripped from my voice, turning on Luke’s lap to face Jack, earning Luke's hands to tighten their grip on my waist. 

I could see the gears turning in Jack’s head, a smile returning to his face. Luke could see the plan forming, panic covering his face. 

“I’m going to say something, and run, okay?” Jack said, his hands on the couch bracing himself to get up and run quickly. 

“No, you’re not.” Luke countered, making you nod in agreement. 

“Nope, saying it.”

“Jack-” Luke’s plea was cut off by Jack.

“Luke, you like her. Princess, you like him.” The words came out rushed as he got up to run, darting into the kitchen to cut through the house to his room. The use of the nickname stunned be for a second before realizing what he had said. 

“JACK!” The yell of his name was full of panic, getting off Luke quickly to run to Jack’s room, opening the door quickly. The window was open, Jack not inside, instead his silhouette could be seen running to the boat where apparently Quinn was passed out. 

Luke came rushing in shortly after, pushing his way into the room to see me standing in front of the window.

“Where’d he go?” 

“Jumped out the window, running to the boat.” The clear tone of un-amusement in my voice, turning to look at Luke. 

His hand in his pockets, leaning on the heels of his feet, his hair messy from running through the house. He looked perfect. 

“I’m sorry.” Both of our apologies spilling out at the same time, leaving a confused look on both of our faces. 

“What are you sorry for?” He asked.

“Jack just told you I um,” the words tapered off, not wanting to admit what was shared again. 

“And Jack just told you I love you.” His words confident, the opposite of mine. 

“You love me?” 

“I think I’ve loved you since I was 14.” He admitted, stepping closer, taking his hands out of his pocket.

“That long?” I didn’t honestly know how to reply, saying the only thing that came to mind. 

“I think honestly, I’ve always loved you.” 

The words were enough to encourage stepping forward, wrapping my arms around his shoulders while he leaned down. Pressing a kiss to my lips, his arms wrapping around my waist to pull me flush against him. My hands tangled through his hair, gently tugging on the strands, making him softly groan. 

“Don’t do that” He mumbled against my lips, making me giggle before he pressed his lips back into mine. 

“Ew! In my room!” Jack’s high pitched squeal interrupting the moment.

“Your fault, you're the one who jumped out the window, we just went to follow you.” I answered, leaning my head against Lukes chest, his head tilting down to press a kiss to the top of my head.