#and to be clear she STILL deserves all the smoke for

[onethousandrbirds]

my favorite low-key piss on the poor internet discourse moment was the time lindsay ellis made a video saying, "twilight (and by extension stephanie meyer) did not deserve the hatred and mockery it received in the mainstream media and we should apologize to it and her for that" and several motherfuckers went, "actually it did deserve that hate b/c the book (and by extension stephanie meyer) was racist as hell" which would be true if the mainstream hatred the book had been about the racism and not the fact that a book for young women featured vampires that sparkled

[deathbxnny]

Arcane women accidentally confessing to you. | Sevika, Jinx, Caitlyn, Vi x Gn!Reader

This is very self-indulgent, so enjoy.<3

Content: pre-season 2 because I want to be happy rn, slight angst if you squint, fluff, accidental confessions, maybe ooc??, cursing, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not proofread))

》SEVIKA

She was resting at the last drop with you during some downtime in between missions. One hand lingered on your hip whilst her metallic one held onto her cigar, eyes focused on the pocker game she was playing with a couple of Silco's other henchmen. She always kept you close this way, a clear sign of who you belonged to despite never having said a word about it yet. It was a mutual understanding only you could have, and so she didn't think a confession was necessary.

Until today, it seemed.

You were secretly helping her cheat a little and eventually told her the winning move, which earned her a large sum of money. Letting out a smug laugh at everyone's angered and defeated glares, she gave you a lazy grin. "Thanks, sweetheart. This is why I love you." She hummed to you, smoke exhaling from her dark lips, before she froze ever so slightly. Well, it shouldn't be that much of a surprise to either of you, and yet she couldn't help but chuckle at your own stunned face.

Looking at the men around her, she threw some poker chips towards them, clearly asking for another round. She wasn't the type to get flustered or shy anyways, so her moving on like nothing happened was on brand.

The only acknowledgment you got, however, was the hand on your hip tightening.

》JINX

She has a hard time hiding her feelings for you due to her rather energetic and extremely clingy nature. But there is still a clear distance between you two that she's too scared to cross. It was a deep fear of ruining everything she had with you in case her confession went wrong. She'd rather you consider her your best friend for life if it meant for you to stay at her side. She didn't want to lose more people after all. And yet, as fate has it, she eventually lost herself in a good and happy moment with you.

You were tinkering on some projects in her hideout whilst listening to music. Her head was leaning against your shoulder as her eyes traced your focused gaze. Jinx felt so content and at peace in that moment that she couldn't stop the words that spilled out of her mouth. "I love you." It took her a second to realise what happened, and her body was quick to flinch away from you. You kept her in place, however, with a free hand placed against her head. "Hey, it's okay. I love you too. I'm not leaving." You reassured her quickly with a smile, one that made her heart skip a beat.

She may not see herself as deserving of you, but she's glad to have you at her side anyway. Hopefully forever.

》CAITLYN

Caitlyn was good at hiding her emotions from you. In fact, she had refused to tell you in fear of breaking the professionalism you two had and, most importantly, your friendship that she cherished deeply. And so, she was very careful not to reveal a single thing... until her confidence betrayed her and caused her to slip up.

You two were reviewing a new case together, and whilst she wasn't paying attention, she accidentally slid you her diary over. It unfortunately looked too similar to her work notebook, something she only realised the moment you opened it and froze in surprise. She may have scribbled your name all over it. She may have childishly drawn hearts around your name. She may have made it awfully clear that she loved you. And it made her wonder if there was a god out there that hated her deeply.

"... My apologies. Please ignore that-" "-Haha, I'm so relieved that I'm not the only one who did this!" You let out a soft laugh before pulling out your notebook and showing her similar pages to her own, just with her name written all over them. Her face was flushed from how flustered and embarrassed she was, but alas, she too couldn't help and chuckle at how silly this all was. At least you felt the same.

》VI

It's not like she didn't want to confess her feelings to you. She just didn't know how! Her confession should sweep you right off your feet in her mind, and yet nothing she came up with seemed good enough. Vi hoped that her flirting would get the point across, but she lacked the confidence to go any further than compliments. She just didn't want you to think differently of her and therefore kept her distance for the most part regarding the subject. That is if she could keep it in for lobger than she already has. She always felt so strongly about others, after all.

So, during a little hang out session in a bar somewhere in Zaun, she attempted to find the courage to tell you how she felt. Whilst she went off to go and get you a drink first, however, a drunken man showed up at your side and started flirting you in a rather uncomfortable way. You tried making it clear that you weren't interested, but as he went to grab your arm, a hand slammed in between you two onto the bar table. "Hey, I think they told you no, asshole." "Who the hell are you?" The man barked back, yet Vi didn't back down and simply blocked you from his view with her body. "I'm their girlfriend, now fuck off." She hissed, and the man just rolled his eyes before walking off grumbling.

Silence filled the space in between you two until you chuckled softly. "Girlfriend, huh? I like the sound of that." You hummed, secretly trying to ease her embarrassed mind, that quickly recovered at your words with a sly grin. "You do?" You mirrored her smile with a nod. "Very much so. I'm glad we think alike."

[darnell-la]

Wolverine forcing you to squirt for the first time?? Pretty please?

note: if you’d like an older Wolverine, you can request again. we wrote this one too fast and made it the younger Wolverine. it’s still hot!

follow our Instagram @ darnell.la so we can start posting random videos, photos, edits, and memes of the people we write about!

———

“Can’t tell me you’ve never squirted before and expect me to move on with life,” Logan said after placing you on the bathroom counter he had dragged you to during a drinking game.

The party was loud and you could still hear people playing Truth or Shot. After one of the girls asked if a man had made you squirt, and you answered that you hadn’t even done such a thing, Logan knew he had to do something about it.

He had made an excuse, asking if you could come fill up his cup with him. Of course, you came with him. He was a good friend, but you didn’t know he’d throw his cup away and drag you to the nearest bathroom.

“L-Logan -- Calm down,” Y/n gasped as his teeth sunk into her neck. “Ah uh,” he crowled, needing to give her what she deserved. “Can smell you, baby -- Can’t just leave you like this,” the man’s hands ripped at her panties after he pulled her dress up.

The young girl let out a low and shaky moan as his finger pushed inside of her. His eyes glued right on her face, watching her fall apart on his fingers in an instant.

“C’mon, baby, give it to me,” he growled, as he turned and twisted his finger in and out of her. “Too much,” she said whined as her hands fell on his shoulder. “Fuck, there’s no way,”

Logan couldn’t believe it, It seemed like she was a virgin. There’s no way one finger would make her get like this.

“Don’t lie to me, baby — Just tell me another man’s made you cum,” Logan wanted to know, but he knew the answer already. His eyes still locked onto hers, as her eyes drifted away every few seconds. She felt high, but she hadn’t smoked or drank tonight.

“N-No one has, Logan,” y/n took a while to admit, but thankfully for him, she got it out. The young girl's mind was going crazy. Logan hadn't ever shown a lick of affection towards her, yet now he was worried about whether a man had touched her?

She was confused, but he wasn’t. The thought of another man making her squirt first was unacceptable to him. He couldn’t let that happen.

Logan let his ego get the best of him, but so what? He was going to make her squirt tonight, tomorrow, the day after, and then the days after that. He was going to be the first and then last.

“I know you can take another,” the man said as he pulled out, instantly pushing two in next. “Logan!” The girl moaned at the burning feeling of her walls stretching. She was wet, but she still had to get used to the new and unfamiliar feeling.

“Fuck, yes, baby,” Logan couldn’t get over her. She looked so damn pretty. He wished he had done this months ago. He’ll gain those days back. He’ll spend every day licking at her cunt until she drowns him.

“P-P-Please,” y/n stuttered hard, trying to close her legs, but the man used his free hand to push them back open. He gripped her tightly. She wasn't going to stop him. He needed this.

“Keep your fuckin’ legs open, or I’ll fuck this cunt dumb,” the man threatened, wanting nothing to get in the way of feeling her drench his fingers. She has already coated them with slightly white and clear liquid. She never knew a man would like how much she leaked.

“Logan,” the girl gripped his shoulders tighter with a sob, feeling the knot in her stomach getting harder to control. She was embarrassed, but he wanted all over her whether she wanted to give it to him or not.

“Be a good girl — Make a mess, and I’ll clean that shit right up,” the man told no lie as his two fingers curled. Within seconds, y/n’s mouth parted as her head leaned back. Her eyes crossed as she felt her legs go stiff and her toes curled.

“Augh,” she let out a choked cry as she released on the man’s fingers. “Oh, that’s it, baby — That’s it!” The man finger fucked her cunt a bit harder to get every last drop out of her.

“P-Please,” the girl pushed at his wrists, needing a break, but he wouldn't stop. She gave up after a while and decided to pull the man into a tight hug as she struggled to breathe.

Y/n was still leaking down his hand. She couldn’t stop. He had made the girl go on for almost an hour until she passed out on his chest. breathing lightly from the exhaustion.

Logan couldn’t help but chuckle, knowing he had the girl dumb and cute, all for him. She was his. She marked him, and later when he sweet talks her into taking him as hers, he'll mark her.

[jamminvroomvroom]

congrats on 5k queen! you’re writing is so brilliant beyond belief and you deserve all the love and support this site has to offer. can i request lando+angsty smut (the best combo)…prompts along the lines of “i don’t think im ever going to love anyone the way i love you”//“i don’t think i want to love anyone else”

how did it end?

ln x famous fem!reader

in which it ends, until…

i love this fic with my whole heart. thank u sm for this request, anon, and for being so absolutely for gorgeous and kind <3 kicking off the 5k celebration with a big, sad, sexy bang! lemme know what you think, hugs n kisses

songs to set the mood: how did it end? by taylor swift

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, angst angst angst, fluff, happy ending! exes to lovers, just. a lot going on. sad!lando, sad!everyone, so many feels, r is a big deal model, alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking

4.1k words

one gasp, and then…

“how did it end?” the woman strokes your arm, soothing, tentative.

you don’t know her all that well, she’s signed to the same agency as you, you see her in the halls sometimes and sit next to her in makeup chairs.

you stare blankly at her, registering. news travels fast apparently.

you smile, small, fake, tilting your head to the side. you mumble something about different schedules, timezones, right person, wrong time. she watches your face intently, with sympathy. you want to throttle her. she’s being kind and you despise her for it right now.

“i won’t tell anyone.” she affirms, her fingers still smoothing over the skin of your arm.

yes you will, you think. all of her friends, the rest of the building will know exactly what you’ve told her by the time you get to your meeting. you don’t begrudge her, though, that’s the nature of the industry.

“well, it was good to see you.” you nod, even go in for a quick hug, and then you speed away, beelining for the elevator. the ride is short, your managers office somewhere on the third floor and you shuffle down the corridor, ready to be informed of what your life will look like for the next three months.

fittings, shoots, paris trip.

mhm.

swimwear season, charlotte tilbury, meeting with the vogue journalist.

cool.

week off, few days in london, monaco grand prix.

no.

“what? no.” you splutter. out of habit, you reach for a necklace, frown when you realise it’s no longer there.

“what do you mean, no?” she narrows her eyes at you.

“i can’t go to the race. no.”

“girl, i love you, but did i ask?”

“you know i can’t-“

“you won’t have to see him.” she reasons.

“but what if i do? he’s obviously gonna be there, and the events before and after- no. no.”

“lando norris is not gonna be the end of you.”

you stifle a laugh, one that sounds more like a strangled cry.

what if he already was?

-

look who we ran into at the shops,

walking in circles like he was lost

lando stares at the shampoo.

specifically, the one you use. used. he can’t be too sure anymore, he supposes.

he’d popped out for a loaf of bread, about an hour ago. he didn’t want to acknowledge how long he’d been staring at the women’s toiletries section.

you seemed to live on, everywhere. lando could see you in his apartment, the passenger seat of his car, the back of the garage. even the fucking supermarket wasn’t safe. you were very much alive, moving on with life, and yet you haunted him like he’d killed you himself.

perhaps he had, in a way.

the basket grazes the outside of his leg.

that’s the shower gel he’d buy for you, the one you only used when you stayed with him in monaco.

there’s the tampons you asked him to buy, crying back at home on your- his bed.

oh, and there’s the shampoo that you made him buy, the one that you told him made his curls feel extra fluffy when he was between your legs-

“lando?” a voice calls, drawing lando out of the mist.

“oh, alex. hey.” lando croaks. he hasn’t noticed the lump in his throat until now. he clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.

“what you doing, mate?” alex asks, eyebrows furrowed. he scans lando’s face, puffy eyes, watery.

“shopping.”

“for women’s shampoo?”

“no, no, just… looking.” lando stutters.

“when was the last time you slept?” alex’s voice is laced with concern, apprehensive. he doesn’t know what to say to his heartbroken friend.

lando smiles weakly.

“i’ve been sleeping.”

alex sighs.

“okay, when was the last time you slept properly, then?”

lando’s shoulders visibly sag.

“about a month ago.”

-

we hereby conduct this post-mortem

“we can’t do this anymore.”

the words fall from your lips in a whisper, but they reach him like you’ve screamed them at him. he sits opposite you, in the arm chair, so far away, only a metre or so.

“i know.” lando breathes shakily.

“i don’t want this but…”

“yeah.”

it’s been such a good year. you’re in love. it’s not enough. there’s too much distance, too many outsider opinions, too much longing for someone who’s on the other side of the world.

he’ll be in london. you’ll be in brazil.

he’ll be in australia. you’ll be in amsterdam.

it’s too much.

“i love you, though.” you remind him meekly.

“don’t know how to not love you.” he sniffles.

your heart shatters, the pieces flying over the room, spilling across the floor. they mix with the splinters of his, painting the room red. all you feel is blue.

you cry in his arms when he takes you to bed, his own tears spilling over your collar bone when he buries his head in your neck, licks over the marks he’s left there. to remember me by, he’d muttered dryly.

when you’re both finished, he lays there for a moment, still on top of you. damp with sweat and tears, the taste of one another still lingering on your tongues.

“how is it possible that i miss you already?” he pants, lips grazing just below your ear.

“i get it, lan. i’ve been missing you for a while.”

you’re gone when he wakes up.

and so, a touch that was my birthright became foreign

-

come one, come all

it’s happening again

the empathetic hunger descends

there are about six cameras pointed at you when he asks the dreaded question.

you’re in new york, sat on a talk show hosts sofa, lit by stage lights and his inquisitive eyes. two hundred people sit in the audience, on the edge of their seats waiting for you to spill your secrets.

“so, what happened there, with lando?”

you plaster on the fakest smile to date, crossing your legs anxiously.

“we’re both just so busy, you know? he’s doing amazing things in f1 and i’m all over the place with work.”

“we love both of you over here, it was sad to hear.” he sympathises, adjusting his tie and leaning back in his chair. his fingers drum over the wood of his desk, waiting for more.

vultures. everyone is a vulture.

“and we still have a lot of love for each other. he’s a wonderful person.”

there are tears in your eyes and bile rising rapidly in your throat when you shake hands with the crew, the host, and retreat to your dressing room. you stumble into the en-suite and throw up. then, you fall onto the sofa and cry. you fix your makeup at godspeed and reply to the text from your team, inviting you to drinks at some rooftop bar, promising to meet them there. you punctuate the text with one too many exclamation marks, feigning excitement.

“we still have a lot of love for each other.”

translation: i can’t understand: how did it end?

-

lando watches your interview. of course he does. he watches everything that you do, watches the way you set the world on fire.

he can’t help himself where you’re concerned, like an addict craving the next hit. you look so pretty on tv, glowing. you look fine.

god, why do you look fine?

he hates himself for hating just how fine you look. he is not fine.

“he’s a wonderful person.”

your words ring in his ears. they anger him, because if he’s oh-so-wonderful, why aren’t you here? why isn’t he there with you, waiting backstage? why can’t you just hate him? why can’t he just hate you? maybe you will, if he shows you just how not wonderful he can be.

he gets drunk that night. forces max to hit the clubs with him. sticks his tongue down a pliant woman’s throat. doesn’t ask her name. let’s her invite him back to her place. it has to be her place, he can’t fuck someone else in your bed, the one you used to share. he leaves minutes after he’s pulled out. he’s sure she’s lovely, too good for him and his bitter fucking heart. he feels utterly disgusting.

lando goes home, scrubs his skin red, and then does it again. he doesn’t go to sleep, watches from his balcony as the sun begins to rise over the sea. he hikes to the highest point he can reach in monaco, where it’s quiet and there’s no one to judge him, or worse, sympathise with him.

he stands at the edge of the cliff. screams once, twice. he sits on a rock, and lets himself cry.

the deflation of our dreaming

leaving me bereft and reeling

my beloved ghost and me

sitting in a tree

d-y-i-n-g

-

your stylist is plying you with options.

you can wear the denim with the cream OR you could do the red and white? or we can go full glam! or! or! or! we could-

you drown her out. you don’t give a fuck. not a single one.

what you wear to the monaco grand prix is quite literally the least of the your problems. your biggest problem, of course, is that you have to go to the fucking thing.

visibility is important, get people talking! the words of your manager ring in your ears until you have a dull migraine brewing behind your ears.

you leave the fitting not entirely sure what you’re wearing, but your stylist will be sending the clothes over so you can pack.

when you land in all too familiar nice, there are cameras. when you get to the hotel in monaco, you and lando are already trending on twitter. well, at least he knows you’re coming. when you’re getting your makeup done before your first event, you get a text.

i’ll try and keep my distance.

try.

try is such an interesting word. the fact that he has to try to stay away makes your belly flutter with embarrassing, self loathing butterflies. don’t try too hard, you want to respond. you don’t.

should’ve told you i’d be here you shoot back.

you think i didn’t already know?

of course he knew. he’d probably asked god knows how many brands to invite you. you try and feign an illness but your team drag you kicking and screaming to the event.

-

there are no two ways about it: you’re drunk, on a tuesday night, somewhere in the principality. a few cocktails with a jewellery brand turned into a night on the town, bar hopping with people you hardly knew and barely recognised.

you’re shaking your ass in jimmy’z, pretending to have fun when you see him.

lando stands at the bar, watching you, jaw tensed, eyes solemn. you exit the club faster that his car down a back straight, stumbling into the smoking area. you bum a cigarette from a guy who tries really hard to convince you that he’s the son of a british lord, and sink into the corner, ignoring the people recording you.

depressed model shame smokes outside monaco club because she is fucking pathetic, the headlines will read.

“thought you quit that shit.” his voice washes over your body like you’ve been set on fire, smooth tone, ambiguous accent making you ache.

“i did but then i got forced to come to monaco, so.” you shrug.

“forced?”

“‘m here for work.” you sigh.

“i guess i am too.” he mumbles. you raise an eyebrow.

“you live here, lan.” you tease. lan rolls off of your tongue too sweetly.

“doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

how can it, without you? he wants to scream at you. he can’t, you don’t deserve it.

“how are you?”

you want to touch him.

“shit.”

he needs a taste.

“yeah.”

you put your cigarette out. it tastes like shit, half smoked.

you stand there, stare at each other.

take me home, you want to beg.

come home, he clenches his fists, trying not to grab you and remind you how you’ll always be his, right here, up against the side of the club.

“good luck, if i don’t see you.” you whisper. you linger, praying that he’ll beg you to stay so that you can crumble into his arms, without having to make the first move.

lando ponders his options. his head and his heart wage a war.

logic wins, unfortunately.

“thank you.”

you take that as your queue to get the fuck out of there, and disappear into the night.

-

it’s raining on sunday. the dreary weather seems to perfectly sum up what has been the worst week of your life.

you’ve seen your ex boyfriend more times than you can count, ended up with about four hangovers as a result, and with a pounding head, you have to sit in the paddock club and wait for the sound of engines to split your head in half. it was your own doing, so you’d suck it up, recognising that you were a disgustingly privileged bitch, and there are people who would sell their kidneys to do what you’re complaining about.

you never complain, not usually. but your heart hurts and your body hearts and your mind hurts and it’s just not fair. lando is gorgeous, and you miss him so badly, and your shoes are digging in. who the fuck thinks it’s a good idea to wear heels to an f1 race?

you see him before the race, mouth good luck from afar. he winks. it’s something you used to do before every race. old habits die screaming.

the rain falls harder, the track slick. you say a prayer and take your seat.

“norris has this in the bag, he’s bloody good in the wet.” you hear some old guy say behind you. you are cursed with the knowledge of just how good in the wet he is, and you end up flushed.

he wins. his second one in three races. you pray that no one notices the way you weep. everyone notices.

you make a mistake and rush for the podium, your pass giving you access. he graces the top step and you sob, grinning like a fool, soaked through with rain. the anthem plays, the champagne pops. he finds your eyes in the crowd. your hair falls, stringy and curled, mascara smudged. you are the most breathtaking sight. he stands still, washed with an onslaught of champagne, watching you like he’s scared to take his eyes off of you. his boyish grin and hopeful eyes render you weak - you’re there for him, after all - and he can’t help but bask in that little fact.

dangerous territory. you break, and disappear.

-

say it once again with feeling…

the photographers barely get a second to snap a picture of the top three, because lando is gone. he takes the stairs two at a time, descending from the podium and throwing his pirelli cap and a shaky apology at his pr rep. the adrenaline spike makes his blood rush; he needs to find you and stop you and tell you that he will never be able to stop loving you.

the exit is the natural assumption, and he nearly slips a thousand times as he sprints through the paddock. the ground is wet, but he figures that if his car made it, so can he. the gates are in sight, and so are you, your clothes sticking to your shivering frame.

he calls your name, thunderously travelling towards you, his voice hitting your ears like a sonic boom. you freeze, turn slowly until your facing him. the rain splashes around you, not letting up.

you’re within his reach, and he pulls you in, hugging you tight. you melt into him, clinging like he’s a life force. he inhales you, your scent that he’s missed so horrifically. you crumble, and so does he, pieced back together as one.

“i can’t do this, i can’t.” he kisses the words into the cold skin of your neck.

“no, neither can i.” you choke wetly with emotion.

“miss you too much. it’s too hard, it’s stupid, it’s-“

“wrong. it’s wrong. ‘m sorry.” your breath fans his face, breathing life into him, life that he’d lost four months ago.

he grabs your shoulders, lowering so that his eyes are level with yours. his curls fall over his eyes, sodden from the rain.

“i don’t think, no, i know: i’m never gonna love anyone the way i love you.” lando speaks slow, convincing. your chest is tight.

“i don’t want to love anyone else.” you croak, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe.

“come back to me.” he mutters, pleading.

“don’t think i ever left.” you breathe, hushed.

your lips slot over his easily, it’s like breathing. the kiss is messy, helpless, and he engulfs you whole, his body wrapping around yours like a blanket. you latch onto his race-suit, drawing him in, and then you both seem to remember where you are.

lando norris caught kissing ex like horny teenager in monaco paddock!

you pull away with breathless chuckle. the air is fresh, and you feel alive. he steals another peck.

“wait for me at home. i’ll be quick.” his hand finds you ass, just for a second and you scold him playfully.

home.

yeah, home.

“don’t make me wait.” you grin.

his brain short circuits.

“do you still have your key?” he splutters, refocusing.

you scoff. “never took it off the chain.”

-

you pace the apartment, taking in the space. it hasn’t changed, but it’s messier, a visual representation of lando since you left. the pit of your belly swirls with anxiety, anticipation. he’ll be back soon, and he’ll kiss you, make love to you, remind you that you’re home and that it’d be stupid to leave again.

you’re still damp from the rain, shedding layers until you’re left in your vest and jeans, ridiculous heels kicked off by the door, your jacket airing over the back of a chair.

he hasn’t taken down the pictures of you together. he hasn’t moved your ugly collection of magnets from the fridge. he hasn’t changed the blinds that you chose, but he didn’t really like. your candles sit on the bookshelf half burned, the teddy he’d won you at a fair sits neatly on the sofa. the L pendant and it’s chain is strewn over the coffee table, right where you left it the morning after it ended. your breathing is heavy.

the front door opens behind you.

you don’t move, your eyes still fixed on the silver chain, overwhelmed by how empty your neck feels all of the sudden. he comes up behind you, his head resting on your shoulder, arms finding home around your waist. you often used to find yourselves in this exact position; while you brushed your teeth, made coffee. the room is deathly silent, breathing and the distant buzz of post race festivities the only thing you can hear. lando follows your gaze.

“kept it. knew that one day, you’d come back for it.”

“i came back for you.”

“and that necklace will stay with you when i can’t be there.”

you nod. he kisses your neck.

“missed you so bad.” you gasp. he licks your skin, bites down softly.

you spin in his arms, his hands pawing at your hips and everything blurs when he kisses you.

-

shaky fingers work over zippers, buttons, clasps, and then you’re both bare. you sink into the mattress that you missed so much, his body moulded with yours when you both tumble into the sheets. this is messy and frantic, utterly lovestruck. the lightning strike of his touch has you keening, sweating beneath him already.

“missed you. missed this.”

“do something, lan.” you cry, quiet against his shoulder.

“missed my perfect girl.” he grunts, lips working your chest while his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps over your inner thigh.

“please.” you sigh when his fingers dip between your folds, sliding over your wet flesh. his lip catches between his teeth, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of you.

he thumbs at your clit, stroking over you in slow, firm swipes, and then he’s sinking a digit into you, slow and steady. your toes curl, tears pricking your eyes at the intrusion, but you don’t have much of a chance to adjust, a second finger joining the first. he fucks you full, the stretch of just two fingers making you whine, one hand threading into the sheets while the other slams over your mouth. you want to hide, the pleasure rendering you a mess across the pale grey linen.

“no, let me look at you.” lando rasps, spare hand tugging at your wrist. you whine, writhing when he curls his fingers. “why are you hiding?”

you can’t hold back the choked cry that sounds from the back of your throat, his palm bumping your clit as he grinds his fingers deep.

“gone shy on me, baby? where’s my good girl gone?” lando coos, moving so that he’s leaning over you. the angle change sends your legs flying, kicking out at the sweet torture. “‘s because you haven’t been fucked right in so long, hm? can’t remember how to behave?” he’s smirking down at you, scanning the changing lines of your face.

“need it, need-“ you stutter, the words dying on your tongue.

“words, pretty girl, words.” lando encourages, false sympathy dripping from his tongue.

“need to cum, want you to make me…” you trail off.

“was that so hard?” he tuts, and everything speeds up.

the sound of him working you so sweetly makes you shake, your thighs clenching tight around his hand. the wet squelch hits your ears and you blush, cheeks coloured deep with embarrassment, awe, desperation.

your mouth drops open, screaming silently when it hits, your thighs slick. you drip down his wrist, his hand covered in your release.

“there’s my girl.” lando sighs, diving down to kiss you hard.

you can feel the damp press of his fingers as they dig into your thighs and you squirm beneath him, finding your way into his mouth.

“fuck me.” you slur, teeth knocking with his. he swallows you whole, groaning into your mouth.

“not so shy now, hm? been dreaming of hearing you beg for it.” lando shudders, shifting between your legs.

you can feel the press of him, thick against your cunt and you wiggle your hips, pushing to meet him halfway. the stretch burns deliciously, and you grab at his shoulders, dragging him in.

“fuck, baby.” he breathes, sinking into you slowly. “feel like heaven.” disbelief coats his voice, like he can’t reconcile that this is real; you’re back here, his, in the bed you were always supposed to share.

“it’s so good. feel so good for me, lan.” you whisper, lacing your fingers through his hair.

“love you so much.” he kisses you like he means it, rocking into you with purpose.

“can’t believe i lived without this.”

“can’t believe you’re all mine.”

the release builds, every thrust reminding you of what you could have lost for good. there was no lack of love, in fact you were starting to wonder if you had loved each other too much before.

“never losing you again. can’t live without you. my beautiful girl.”

your tummy grows tight, and he finds your clit when he feels you clamp down on him. he pulls you through the pleasure, guides you to your orgasm and you blindly follow him. you’d follow him anywhere, you decide.

you tell him you love him when you let go, spilling all around him, warm. he’s panting, kisses your forehead gently. he rolls off of you, and you feel the slow drip instantly, but you curl into his side and he wraps around you.

home.

“promise me something.” he whispers. you feel the way he shakily inhales.

“hm?”

“don’t leave again. you belong here, too. with me.”

your eyes are watery.

“i’m staying. ‘m yours.”

“about that…”

lando springs from the bed, naked, disappearing from the room. you watch, confused, cold all of the sudden.

you can hear his footsteps padding through the hallway, and then he’s back, his figure in the hallway. he runs, jumps, lands gracelessly next to you. endeared, you laugh softly.

“sit up.”

you do, leaning up to sit next to him. his fingers skim your shoulder, pushing your hair out of the way. cool metal dances over your skin.

“back where it belongs.” lando smiles at you, eyes wide and stunning.

you toy with the L. something heals in your chest, right around where your heart is.

“the sweetest boy.” you shake your head in disbelief, grin up at him like a fool.

“bath?”

“you know me so well, noz.”

come one, come all

it’s happening again

-

oh, my heart. there is something deeply wrong with me

-

taglist

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[kamaluhkhan]

GET HIM BACK! (or: the 7 reasons you wanted revenge on luke castellan)

read part one — THE GRUDGE (or: the 7 things luke castellan hated about you)

pairing: luke castellan x nemesis!reader (afab, she/her pronouns)

summary: you were very angry and possibly still in love with luke castellan. kill him or kiss him — you still weren't sure what he deserved.

warnings/disclaimers: spoilers for season 1 of pjo + lots of book references. reader + luke are around 21 for most of this. rough? smut (p in v, oral f+m receiving, biting, scratching, slight choking, etc...) 18 + MDNI ! injuries + blood + violence. reader and others drink alcohol + smoke. lots of angst!!! luke + reader have matching tattoos. twilight + other pop culture references. reader kinda gives 'hell is a teenage girl in her 20s' vibes. maybe slightly toxic dynamic between reader + luke but we love complicated relationships ♡

author's note: thank u so much for all the love on part one!! i got a bit carried away with this one oops, but i hope y'all enjoy it :)

♪: "get him back" by olivia rodrigo

(i. he had a savior complex) 

if you were less consumed by anger, you might have noticed the sound of his footsteps following closely behind you. 

no one was supposed to go into the forest alone, but you were 17 and reckless and not at all concerned about breaking the rules, especially if it meant proving clarisse larue wrong.  

you ventured into the woods, farther than you'd ever been before, with nothing except your knife and a chest full of determination to prove that you were strong and brave just like any other demigod, regardless of if you had a cabin or not. 

you were younger then, less disillusioned, and more willing to buy into those fantasies of power and glory, spoon-fed to demigods as truth. one that you hoped to cross off that afternoon: being worthy of attention if you could sink your blade into the next monster that dared to cross your path.

everyone would see that you’re not just some little, powerless girl with no reason to be at camp. 

and, sure, there was a small but not insignificant part of you that hoped your mother was watching, that she’d finally notice how much of a hero you could be.

you could have died that afternoon. you put up a decent fight, but soon enough you found yourself fallen to the forest floor: blade down, broken arm, bleeding out. a manticore inches away from sending you to the underworld. 

you weren’t angry anymore, the adrenaline had left your body. you just were a scared child, silently praying to deities you hoped wouldn’t look away like they always do. 

i’m sorry, mom. i couldn’t do it. 

you closed your eyes, waited for your fate, and just when you thought all hope was lost — 

the sound of a sword ripping through flesh, an injured growl, and then nothing but your ragged breathing. 

your eyelids fluttered open.

it wasn't your mother, or any of the other gods, who jumped in to save your life.

standing in the middle of the clearing, gripping his sword, was luke castellan. 

he tucked annabeth’s invisibility cap into his back pocket and brought you to the infirmary.

"she's okay, though?" luke asked. he was watching you carefully, ashes from the manticore dusting his orange camp shirt. his arms were crossed, and it seemed that he managed to defeat the monster relatively unscathed.

lee fletcher, son of apollo, nodded as he set your injury. 

"nothing more than a broken arm and minor concussion. make sure your girl gets lots of rest, okay? no more monster hunting. probably has to sit out capture the flag tomorrow, too.”

you ignored the churning in your stomach when lee assumed you were luke’s girl. luke didn’t bother correcting him. 

lee left to get you some ambrosia to speed the healing process, leaving you and luke alone in the room. 

“you know, i’m not a damsel in distress you have to follow around, waiting to save. i’m not your girl.” 

“seriously?” he raised an eyebrow, but his cheeks became slightly flushed. “you would be dead if it wasn’t for me. i heard what happened with clarisse, but gods — you didn’t have to go and get yourself killed to prove something.” 

he was right, of course. part of you wanted to argue with him for always having to be the hero, but the fight lingering in your throat wasn’t enough to act on. you just sighed and looked away, feeling too impulsive and powerless and exhausted down to your bones. 

you felt the bed dip beside you, and then a hand on your shoulder. it was warmer than usual, but the calloused skin still felt familiar on yours.

“they’re not worth it, okay? that’s what you’re always telling me.”

luke’s voice was lower than before, a touch of bitterness laced through.

“yeah, well you never believe it,” you replied, voice hollow. “so why should i?” 

clarisse entered the infirmary before he could answer. luke was instantly on his feet, blocking you from her view, hand on the hilt of his sword.

“what are you doing here?” he practically growled. 

“i heard what happened,” clarisse explained, looking past luke to catch your eye. you waved at her with your newly applied cast. “i’m sorry about what i said earlier, if that had anything to do with it.”

at that point, you were still trying to figure out where you stood with clarisse. she had arrived at camp just before the new year. you’d been so used to new campers being younger than you, and it was nice to have someone the same age to be friends with. 

it wasn’t until the start of march, around two weeks ago, that ares had claimed her. ever since, there had been a newfound animosity between you, leading up to your explosive argument earlier that day. part of you had a feeling she was just trying to fit in with her siblings. it was a subtle thread woven throughout the camp, especially with the ares kids: this hierarchy of power according to the gods, with you on the lower end because your mother was only a minor goddess. 

needless to say, it wasn’t anything you hadn’t heard before; it was just that the words pierced through your thick skin when coming from a friend. 

but the very fact that she came to visit you, that she apologized and seemed to regret that you’d gotten hurt, healed you more than the ambrosia lee was just coming back to give you. 

“thanks, clarisse,” you said after a mouthful of ambrosia. 

even with an established truce, luke didn’t move away from you. in fact, he puffed his chest out a bit more. 

“if you say anything like that to her again, i swear to all the gods —”

“i just said sorry, castellan,” clarisse scoffed. “now get out of the way so i can sign her cast.” 

clarisse attempted to move closer, but luke stayed planted where he was.

“you are not getting anywhere close to her,” luke warned. 

“easy, tiger.” you got up to put your hand on his arm, but luke jerked away from your touch. your fingers brushed against his skin however, and even that brief moment was enough to shock you with its temperature. you tried again, this time bringing a hand to his neck, and he let out a hiss upon contact. his pulse seemed quicker than normal.

“are you feeling okay?”

“i’m just fine,” he huffed, and stormed out of the infirmary.

a few days later, you were training with clarisse, when silena beauregard ran into the arena and interrupted you.

“it’s luke,” she coughed, out of breath. “he’s in the infirmary—”

you sprinted towards the big house before silena could finish her sentence. 

when you reached the infirmary, luke was being held back by lee and a few others, screaming that he needed to go find you or you’d die. he was holding his sword, and campers wrestled to remove it from his grip. the sleeve of his shirt lifted up slightly, and that was when you noticed it: a gash across his bicep, shallow, but turning a sickly green. the rest of his skin was flushed, his eyes frantically searching for someone — you — and he was breathing heavily between sentences.

it turned out that he’d gone the entire week with the wound festering. one of the manticore’s spikes must have grazed luke, and he hadn’t thought much of it because he was so focused on making sure you were okay. 

manticore poison could fuck with someone’s mind if not treated right away. worse: it could be fatal. 

despite your heart beating out of your chest and the chaos you walked into, you kept your voice gentle, but firm.

“luke.”

for a moment, everything stood still. luke froze, and the campers took the opportunity to get a better hold on him.

he blinked at you and shook his head. “no. no. you’re not her. i heard her screaming from the forest and - and she’s in trouble. i need to —”

“it’s me, tiger,” you assured him. 

you approached him carefully and, despite some whispers of warning, you gestured at everyone to let go of him completely. they might have had a point, because as soon as they did, the tip of his sword was dangerously close to your chin. 

“you’re not her,” he insisted. “you’re just some monster trying to trick me.”

you stood in front of him then, and slowly raised your arm to show him your cast. a few people had signed it — beckendorf, chris, clarisse, silena. luke had signed his name too, of course, along with a poor attempt at a cartoon tiger that made you all laugh. 

“see? it’s me. i’m okay.”

there were a few moments when you held your breath, feeling the celestial bronze dig into your skin a bit more. and then:

“it’s…you. you’re….okay?” 

luke’s speech was slightly slurred. he dropped his sword like it suddenly weighed a thousand pounds; it nicked you on its way down. you didn’t care though, because luke almost fell to the ground, too. 

you gripped his wrist to steady him. 

“you’re probably not okay, though,” you explained, well aware of the urgency of the situation. his pulse felt weaker by the second, his skin burning against yours. 

“i’m….i’m fine. i just need to — she’s gonna die if i don’t —”

“i’m right here. i’m here because you already saved me, remember? you saved me, but you got hurt.”

 he shook his head slowly, and his eyes started to flutter close. 

“no, i’m okay,” he breathed, his voice smaller than you’d ever heard it. “i need to make sure y/n is okay. she needs me….” 

you swallowed the lump in your throat, seeing him start to fade away right in front of you. 

you refused to lose hope. 

no — you wouldn’t watch luke castellan die.

“i’m here, luke.” you gripped his wrist even tighter to remind him.

“but —” 

“just rest for a minute, ” you insisted, guiding him towards a bed. “for me, okay?” 

as soon as you managed to get luke onto the bed and, more importantly, calm, everyone else sprung back into action. 

chiron was away for the week, so will solace — one of the younger apollo campers, but probably the best healer at camp — used some healing magic, while lee misted luke with cold water to cool him down and another kid dripped some nectar onto his wound.

luke hissed when the liquid seeped into his skin and reached out for you. you felt like the flesh might melt right off your bones, but you let him squeeze your hand for as long as he needed. somebody came around to put a bandage on your chin, too.

you'd always resented the gods, but that was the first time you'd really lost your faith in them. watching luke fight for his life even after saving yours, other demigods joining the battle, and you thinking: this is the life you cursed us with. you imagined the gods, with power to twist fate in their favor, simply enjoying a feast on mount olympus, hermes sipping nectar and not even aware that another one of his children is dying. you supposed your mother wasn’t any better either. her neglect felt like revenge for something you didn’t even know you had done.

after a while, the skin around luke’s wound lost its greenish hue. you released a deep breath when both lee and will declared that luke seemed to be on the mend — he just needed to get some rest, and, best case scenario, the poison should have run its course by morning.

you didn’t ask about the worst case scenario.

you estimated it was around 2 am when you heard luke’s voice again.

“cold,” was all he said through shivering teeth. 

you wordlessly grabbed as many blankets as you could, and tucked them around luke. you waited a few minutes to see if it helped.

“so - so cold,” he shivered again. you reached out to check luke’s pulse, and all you could find was the faintest heartbeat. his skin looked pale in the moonlight and now felt ice cold despite his high fever earlier. 

no one else was in the infirmary then. you were wracking your brain to remember what you had learned in demigod survival class about hypothermia. something about warm drinks? you ran to the kitchen and made him a cup of hot chocolate — with cinnamon, just how he liked it. 

you whispered his name once you were back at his bedside. his eyelids fluttered open. you tried coaxing him to take the drink, but he wouldn’t even hold the mug. you didn’t think twice about climbing into bed next to him, gently sitting him upright against the headboard so that you could offer him tiny sips. you noticed then that he was still only wearing a tank top, so you took off your sweatshirt — which happened to be one of luke’s — and slid it on him. 

when the hot chocolate was done, luke sighed. some of the color returned to his face, and his teeth stopped chattering. 

“thanks, karma.”

you just hummed in response, setting the mug down on the nightstand beside you and twisting underneath the blankets. luke settled back down next to you. he brushed his thumb over the band-aid on your chin. 

“what happened? did clarisse —”

“easy, tiger. it’s nothing — just a little scratch,” you replied. 

you spared him from the whole truth. sure, there was a moment earlier when you didn’t know whether or not luke would hurt you. it was only a split second, because that wasn’t your luke. he shouldn’t have had to live with the guilt of something he did by accident, as a result of a poisoned mind.

“anyways, i should be thanking you. you’re the one who almost died saving my life. you were hanging by a thread just a few seconds ago. it seems like you’re not completely out of the woods yet.”

“well, i guess the fates are still deciding what to do with me.” he cracked a smile. 

it was a bit morbid, given what you’d been through the past 12 hours, and the fact that the manticore venom clearly hadn’t left his body completely. the possibility of his death had not completely disappeared, though you supposed that, as demigods, the risk always remained higher. 

fuck the gods. they weren’t your protectors. they weren’t your family. 

the campers who put their whole heart into healing you and luke, the boy who risked his life for you — they were your family. 

you took luke’s humor as a good sign. the luke castellan you knew — confident banter, radiant grin, heart of gold — was coming back to you. 

the luke castellan you would not allow die, even if you could still feel the cool bronze of his blade linger on your chin. 

(ii. he had an ego)

according to annabeth chase, it was statistically improbable for a demigod to reach drinking age. something always kills them first - a monster, a blade, a fatal flaw. the likelihood of survival only gets exponentially lower with each passing year.

she repeated that information to luke on the morning of his 21st birthday.

“thanks for the cheerful birthday wishes, sis.” 

annabeth shrugged and hugged him before walking back to the athena table to finish breakfast. 

"you hear that, tiger?” you pointed a syrupy fork at luke. “you are literally saying fuck you to fate, just by being alive." 

"that’s the way i like it," luke quipped, and stole a blueberry from your plate. 

"hey man, happy birthday." chris patted luke’s shoulder on his way to sit across from you and luke. "so, i just talked to chiron and he agreed to let us go out tonight." 

you smiled between bites of your pancakes, reaching over to offer chris a triumphant fist bump.

“nice work, rodriguez.” 

"we're going out tonight?"

you pressed your knee to luke's under the table. 

"of course we are," you hummed. "we have a lot to celebrate." 

so, you, luke, chris, and a few of your friends — beckendorf, silena, and clarisse — went into the city to celebrate. one of luke's favorite bands was playing, and you had managed to snag a few tickets. you'd all entered a bar confidently that night, the fake ids you were at once so giddy and paranoid about no longer needed. 

there were few times when you could all just kick back and have fun, without having to worry about the responsibilities of being senior counselors. that night, you were all itching for a taste of freedom. or, at least, some alcohol. 

"happy birthday to the one and only luke castellan: a hero by any other name!" 

everyone raised their shot glasses, echoed beckendorf's words, and threw back their drinks. 

the night became louder, more vibrant. yet, even as you laughed and drank and danced with your friends, there was a heaviness lingering in your chest.

for most demigods, birthdays were bittersweet. each one served as a reminder of time running out because of exactly what annabeth said that morning. most half-bloods don’t even live past their teens, let alone the age of 20. you had the blood of gods flowing in your veins, and your lives were influenced by sinister, divine forces from ancient times. you were the new generation of heroes, protagonists of those greek tragedies that made mortals weep.

there was no guarantee that this would last forever, but all of your friends —  the people you loved — had beat the odds. 

so, who would blame you for getting a little sentimental? 

beckendorf and chris had wandered off to play pool, in hopes of winning some bets and free drinks. clarisse was flirting with some girl who caught her eye, and silena went to grab some water after having danced for a bit. you and luke were still in the crowd, swaying to the music. for one glorious moment, you were just a group of twenty-one year olds enjoying a carefree night out. 

under the flashing lights, you stole a glimpse at luke. he wore a simple white tank top and ripped jeans, paired with a leather jacket and some rings he borrowed from you so he could, in his words, look more punk-rock. his curls were messy, his skin glittering with a thin sheen of sweat. the chain he layered with his usual camp necklace caught the multicolored light and highlighted the sharp angles of his collarbones. 

whatever aesthetic he was going for, luke looked good. based on various eyes following him throughout the room, you assumed others thought the same as well. it made you just a little bit furious, feeling that he wasn't only yours to admire. 

“you good?” luke’s voice cut through the noise, but he had to lean in close.  

his fingers brushed against the section of waist exposed by your cropped top. you’d gotten so warm that you had to tie your flannel around your waist, but luke’s touch sent a shiver through your body. it made you somewhat dizzy, feeling the cold metal of those rings on your skin. even moreso, when you realized how much you wanted to kiss your best friend, sink your teeth into his smirk and taste the mint chapstick and tequila on his lips. 

to be fair, you and luke had crossed that line before, and you were in the fields of asphodel ever since. 

not quite friendship, not quite romance. something deeper, more volatile and electric. 

you didn’t want to make things blurrier than they already were, though. whatever you acted on that night could have just been dismissed the next morning as a drunken mistake.

so, you just nodded at him and turned back towards the band as though you were never thinking about anything more than the music. 

after a few more songs, luke commanded your attention once more.

“hey, didn’t you once say you wanted to start a band?”

“what do i look like, a child of apollo?” you joked, but luke raised an eyebrow at you, clearly wanting a serious answer.

it was slightly alarming, how well he knew you; through your childhood dreams and down to your core. 

“in another life,” you conceded. “maybe.”

“in another life,” luke echoed. he leaned in close again. “you’d be a pretty hot drummer, and i’d be front row at every show.”

your lips could have touched if you moved your head just an inch, but he pulled away before you did. he was giving you that classic son-of-hermes smirk, the one that made everyone swoon. 

the thing was, you were sure that luke knew the effect he had on people. you had seen him continuously bask in the praise of chiron and other campers, always preening for the crowd's attention, as if he had to do anything more than smile. everyone loved luke — he was handsome, charismatic, strong.

and, yeah, you weren’t immune. your fatal flaw: not loyalty, or anger, or recklessness, but luke castellan’s charm.

you had to keep yourself grounded. it would be a bad idea to cross that line again on his birthday, right? 

luke licked his lips as you kept staring at him. you could tell he was waiting for you to do something. 

maybe it was the alcohol coursing through your veins or the rhythm of the music vibrating through your bones, but you started thinking — fuck it. 

before you could act on that impulse, some person with bright red hair stepped between you and luke. she introduced herself, telling luke she saw him from across the room, and she'd been watching him all night, and would he by any chance want to dance with her?

luke seemed flattered, interested even. he flashed her the very same smile he had just given you, which left a bitter taste in your mouth. you excused yourself before you had to hear them flirt even more. 

you walked over to silena at the bar. she had a half-empty glass of ice water melting in front of her, her attention somewhere else. you sat down beside her and followed her gaze to what — who — she was looking at. 

“if confessing feelings to someone is hard for aphrodite’s daughter, then there’s really no hope for the rest of us,” you tell her.

silena whipped her head towards you. her cheeks were flushed a light pink. 

“i - i don’t have feelings for clarisse.”

“lena, please. we all know. well, except maybe clarisse.”

“what?” she blinked at you, eyeshadow shimmering in the light.

“yeah,” you said with a small laugh. the irony of it all: the head counselor of cabin 10  denying that she was in love with someone. “we talk about it all the time.”

“well,” silena huffed, cheeks now a bright red. “i guess i should tell you that the rest of us talk about you and luke.” 

you reached over to grab her water, your throat suddenly dry. 

“what about us?” you asked after finishing the drink in one long sip. 

“about how you obviously both have feelings for each other. half the camp already thinks you’re dating.”

you started to crunch on whatever ice was still frozen. 

“well, we aren’t.” 

that reality hurt more than the sharp pain piercing your brain from ingesting too much cold, too fast. you couldn’t even spot luke in the crowd — he and the redhead had probably gone off to some private corner. 

“people think love’s a joke,” silena sighed. “but they don’t realize how much power it can have over a person. it can make people —”

“cowards?” you suggested.

silena nodded solemnly. “cowards.”

neither of you said anything for a while, two love-sick half-bloods slumped over a sticky bar counter.

suddenly, silena sat up straight. she tied her black hair up into a ponytail. perfect, of course, along with her makeup. you were sure you had sweat off the glitter she had applied to your cheeks earlier. 

“i am not a coward.” 

without another word, silena got up and glided towards clarisse, and you were left with an empty stool next to you. 

part of you was proud of her for following her heart. the other part couldn’t stop picturing someone else’s tongue down luke’s throat. 

“can i get a ginger-ale, please?” you asked no one in particular, hoping that the bartender heard your request for something to ease your nausea. 

“you sure you don’t want anything stronger?” 

someone slid onto the barstool next to you. he looked around your age, wearing a navy and red rugby shirt. he had what looked like a pretty expensive watch on his wrist, and he was already leaning in way too close for a stranger. 

“i’m fine,” you deadpanned.

“oh, come sweetheart, it’s on me.” 

you scoffed at the nickname and shook your head.

the guy next to you didn’t care. he snapped to get the bartender’s attention. “two vodka tonics, please. that’s your drink, right? i’m usually pretty good at guessing.”

“dude, i said i’m fine,” you repeated through clenched teeth.

the bartender set two drinks in front of you and rugby shirt pointed towards them.

“well, i already got you a drink, so you at least owe me a conversation.” he slid the drink closer to you.

"i don't owe you anything." 

"oh, come on," rugby shirt cooed. "i don't bite." he slipped his hand underneath your skirt, nails scratching along the skin of your upper thigh, through your fishnets.

you growled at the contact and stood up abruptly, more than a little coincidentally knocked the glass over. the liquid splashed onto him. his flirtatious grin melted right off his face.

“jesus christ —you bitch,” he spat. “this is what i get for trying to be nice?”

“that’s what you get for trying to grope me,” you snapped. “but i could do a lot worse if you’re in the mood.”

his face was a pissed-off shade of red, his mouth formulating a response when —

you felt luke’s arm wrap around your waist, pulling you close to him. you side-eyed him, and ignored the hickey blooming at the base of his neck.

“is there a problem here?” luke’s voice was firm, steady. 

it seemed like all the fight left rugby shirt’s body, and he put his hands up in surrender. 

“oh, sorry dude. i didn’t realize she was taken.”

you rolled your eyes. figured that this guy would only back off if there was a jealous boyfriend in the mix. 

“it’s fine, i’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”

“that’s for sure,” the guy continued. “your girl practically bit my head off for being nice and buying her a drink.”

your fingers tightened into a fist.

“that is not —”

“look, i gotta apologize on her behalf.”

“luke, what are you —”

“let me handle this, baby,” he hummed. “trust me, she’s normally a good girl. she just gets….harder to control after one too many drinks.” 

“i am this close to throwing my next drink at you,” you insisted. 

you weren't naive. you knew luke was putting on an act, but you weren't sure why he felt the need to appease this jerk and put you down in the process. 

you hated the way he was acting now — arrogant, condescending, borderline sexist. you wanted to storm off, you really did, but that would mean having to tear yourself away from luke, and.... you didn't hate the firm hold he had on you. 

he chuckled and raised an eyebrow at the guy knowingly, like they were the closest friends. 

“see what i mean?”

“that’s quite the firecracker you got there,” the guy complimented, as though you were a prize luke had won. “those are the ones you gotta keep on a tight leash, though.”

oh, your patience was wearing thin. if luke didn't take care of this guy soon….

“don’t i know it.” luke laughed when you barred your teeth at him. “look, we all came here to have a good time. why don’t you go join your friends again, and i’ll send over some drinks.”

rugby shirt looked at luke, then nodded. 

“alright. thanks, man. and sorry again for the….confusion.” 

luke extended a hand, and the guy shook it.

"no hard feelings. i'll be sure to keep her on a tighter leash, though."

rugby shirt walked away, laughing. you were just about ready to bite luke's head off.

you shoved luke away from you. your whole body felt like it was on fire. 

“luke castellan, i don’t care if it’s your birthday, if you ever talk to me like that again, i swear to all the gods —” you faltered when luke’s lips curled into a smirk. 

that smug, gorgeous, self-important smirk.

“what?” 

“i’m just waiting until you’re done chewing me out,” he said, clearly a bit amused. “you done?”

you hesitated, narrowing your eyes at him. “for now, i guess.”

“good, because we have about 2 minutes before our misogynistic frat buddy over there notices that something’s missing.”

he lifted his hand to show off the real prize of the night. 

“you did all of that….. to steal the guy’s watch?”

“well, duh. he was being a jerk and i’m the prince of thieves, karma. gotta use my powers for good.” 

luke winked at you as you stared at him in awe. 

“we really should go though. the others are waiting for us outside.” 

you jutted your chin towards the bruise on his neck.

"what about the redhead?"

luke flushed, adjusted his collar to hide the hickey. "i kinda lost interest when she said i was hot for an asian guy."

"oh." you ignored the triumph in your gut. "sounds like a jerk, too." 

"whatever." luke shrugged. "hard to find the good ones, right?" 

luke turned towards the exit.

"wait.” you tugged him back, and luke looked confused for a split second. “you're one of the good ones, luke castellan. did i ever tell you how incredibly happy i am that you were born?" 

luke grinned. "you could stand to say it more often."

his smile was infectious. you liked this side of luke: protective, mischievous, a bit of a trouble-maker. 

it made you want to kiss him all over again.

(iii. he lied without flinching)

you couldn’t find luke anywhere. 

he wasn’t at the climbing wall, or the arena, or the forge. luke seemed to have a knack at vanishing when you needed him most.

when you finally found him, he was outside the big house, in what seemed to be a somewhat heated conversation with chris and a new camper, ethan nakamura. 

ethan nakamura, son of nemesis. you were shocked when your mother’s symbol — swords crossed underneath a set of scales — appeared over his head after two weeks of staying at the hermes cabin. 

you were still getting used to having a younger half-brother. 

“hey,” you greeted the trio, slightly out of breath from running all over camp. as soon as you joined them, a silence fell over the group. “i was looking for you everywhere, tiger. what’s going on here?”

“actually, we were just —”

“nakamura,” luke spoke ethan’s name like a warning. 

“i’m just saying, maybe we should consider —”

luke cut ethan off this time with a sharp glance. 

“i already said no. end of discussion.”

“whatever you say, boss,” ethan grumbled.

the trio was silent again, and you eyed each of them suspiciously.

“okay, seriously. what’s —”

“we’ll talk more about this later, guys,” luke interrupted. his tone was commanding. ethan and chris dispersed. 

once they were gone, you furrowed your brows at luke, not sure what they would be talking about that could make him speak so harshly. 

“what was that about?” you asked for the third time.

“nothing important.” luke gave you a smile that seemed to stretch a bit thin. “you said you were looking for me everywhere. wanna go makeout in the hermes cabin? i’m pretty sure it’ll be empty this time of day.”

you shook your head, no matter how tempting the offer. the scene you walked into made you so uneasy that you completely forgot there was something important you needed to tell luke.

“percy and annabeth just iris-messaged me,” you explained. 

“oh,” he quirked an eyebrow at you. “is their quest going alright?”

you repeated everything the kids had told you: medusa, the chimera, ares. clarisse maybe being the lightning thief. luke had to sit down on the stairs leading to the big house when you spoke that last part. you understood why — clarisse was your friend. 

sitting down next to him, you sighed.

“you don’t think….you don’t think it could be true, do you?” 

clarisse was hot-headed, sure, maybe a bit impulsive, but a war between the gods? that didn’t seem her style. 

you hoped luke would assure you, but instead he said:

luke ran a hand through his hair. “it would make sense.”

“what?”

he leaned in close, voice low.

“clarisse was there with us during our field trip to olympus in december. the gods are arrogant enough to leave their stuff in the throne room, and there’s not really any security. she could have easily snuck in when everyone was sleeping. clarisse….” luke let out a heavy breath. “clarisse is the lightning thief.”

“no. no. she wouldn’t —”

“it makes sense, karma,” luke insisted. he placed a hand on your knee. “clarisse is angry at the gods.”

“we all are,” you pointed out.

“well, sure, but her dad is ares. how else do you get the god of war’s attention if not starting a war?”

you took a second to process luke’s reasoning. maybe he did have a point. it was just that sharp pain in your chest keeping you from believing it. 

“we don’t know anything for sure,” you decided. “and until we do….we don’t tell anyone. especially chiron.”

luke squeezed your knee, gave you a reassuring smile. 

“sounds like a plan.” he moved in closer and whispered: “now, how about we sneak away, and i do that thing with my tongue that makes you squirm?” 

you felt something tighten in your lower abdomen. you and luke were still in the sneaking-around-camp stage of your relationship; you both got a thrill from it.

at the time, you figured luke was just offering you a much needed distraction.

he kissed just below your ear to sweeten the deal — and how were you supposed to resist?

you didn’t even question how luke knew when the bolt was stolen, let alone how he seemed to have the theft already planned out perfectly.

(iv. he hid behind a pretty face and perfect teeth)

 it had been a little over a week since people around camp — including percy, annabeth, and grover, who had gotten back from their quest — found out about you and luke, together. apparently your friends had a bet going, meaning that everyone other than silena was less than thrilled about your announcement. they warmed up to the idea since then.

it still felt a little bit surreal calling luke castellan your boyfriend. 

luke often played the role of the perfect demigod, the one everyone should strive to be. he paid extra attention to new campers and made them feel welcomed. he did his chores on time, stepped in if more hands were needed for kitchen patrol, and spent hours going through reports for chiron. he taught sword-fighting and encouraged younger campers to keep practicing. he did participate in the occasional prank, that mischievous child of hermes streak impossible not to indulge in, but it only made everyone adore him even more. because luke was responsible, but not boring. he was incredibly skilled and driven, but also gracious. he was sensible and charismatic. 

you watched that luke — camp half-blood’s golden boy, the hero everyone either wanted to be, befriend, or date — and you were in awe. mostly, you wondered how he managed to bury the anger and resentment you knew was churning inside him, the same anger and resentment you sometimes let slip through. 

no, you were not as careful as golden boy luke, who showed no malice towards the olympians. to chiron, to everyone else, luke castellan respected the gods, honored them in everything he did, and taught others to do the same. 

that was not the luke who sucked a bruise onto your neck while suggesting something even you might consider blasphemous. 

“we can’t just - uh,” you had to catch your breath when luke slipped his thumb underneath the band of your sports bra. “we’d get in trouble, tiger.”

you felt him chuckle against your skin.

“since when do you care about that?” 

“since the king of the gods would probably strike us with lightning, or turn us into some horrible monsters, or curse us if we were caught fucking in his cabin." 

"that’s only if we get caught." 

luke gave you that flirtatious smile, the one he now reserved only for you.

it was that smile that led to luke settling between your legs, fucking you with his tongue and fingers, his other hand digging into your thigh to keep you from writhing too much. 

zeus’ cabin was, of course, empty, since his only known child was turned into a pine tree. you and luke had tucked yourselves into the one corner where the giant statue of the god couldn’t see you, setting a sleeping bag down on the cold marble floor and your discarded clothes scattered throughout. the dome-shaped ceiling was decorated with an enchanted mosaic sky that seemed to move. the only sounds that echoed throughout the room were moans as your orgasm washed over you.

"you're so, so pretty," he mumbled, wet lips brushing the skin of your inner thigh. he stayed where he was, awfully concerned with lapping up everything.

you whined his name when you found him taking too long, already a bit sensitive and wanting him inside you.

it might have been your conscious, but you swore you could hear a storm brewing, the threat of thunder and lightning looming.  the mosaic sprouted some clouds, growing darker by the second as if a countdown to your doom.

luke, on the other hand, was acting like you had all the time in the world, and then some.

he paused after his name tumbled from your lips again, and you tugged his hair. he propped his chin on your stomach to get a better look of you. luke was gorgeous, with his mess of black curls, deep brown eyes a little more dangerous than usual, smirk shining with your cum.

"yes, sweetheart?"

“get up here and kiss me,” you groaned. 

once again, luke took his sweet time. his mouth left a trail along your thighs and your hips, your stomach and ribs. it felt like he was worshiping every inch of your skin, scarred and uneven and tattooed as it was. luke took extra care in appreciating the sword engraved on your sternum, the tattoo that matched the one he had on his collarbone.

“hi,” luke whispered once he was face to face with you. 

“hey, tiger,” you matched the softness of his voice, contrasting the harshness that followed when luke crashed his lips into yours. you could taste yourself on his tongue, and once he sucked all the air from your lungs, you had to pull away. 

you informed him: “there’s a condom in my back pocket.”

“always prepared,” he noted with a smile, reaching over to get it.

you kissed luke again as he entered you, your nails scraping down his back. when he pulled away to look at you, you couldn’t meet his gaze. instead, you were mesmerized by the sharp contours of his body and the healed wounds that lingered, every scar that you knew by heart like they were your own. you had a favorite, too — the faint cut on his hip from when he, thalia, and annabeth were on the run and they had to jump a fence.

if luke hadn’t been thrusting into you, you would have bent down to kiss it. 

“eyes up here, beautiful.” 

when you complied, luke smiled and ran his thumb along your jaw.

“good girl,” he praised. “you okay if i go harder?”

you settled for kissing the scar on his cheekbone.

“yes,” you finally answered.  "please."

luke brought his hand down to wrap your leg around his hip before he started moving faster. your head fell back against the marble floor, but you didn’t care about the impact. you just focused on how good it felt to have luke inside you, his strong hand on your hip, his warm breath on your skin. 

after feeling you tighten around him, luke let go a bit more. he dropped his head between your neck and shoulder, his curls brushing against you. as he reached his peak, luke bit your shoulder, hard,  to keep himself from groaning too loudly. you could have sworn that you heard thunder at that exact moment. in fact, it seemed to shake the entire cabin.

luke seemed to catch the threat that time, too. 

there was no room for pillow talk as the two of you rushed to get dressed and get out of there before the king of the gods lost his patience and struck you with lightning, turned you into some horrible monsters, or cursed you. maybe all three, maybe something worse.

you slipped on your underwear and pants, but couldn’t find the top half of your outfit. 

“do you see my shirt there?”

luke had just pulled on his boxers when he turned and passed the item to you. you weren’t sure why he paused for a second while doing it. then, he whispered:

“shit.” luke’s eyes were glued to your shoulder, where his teeth had broken skin. his cheeks flushed a bright red. whether it was shame or embarrassment, you didn’t know; but you were slightly taken aback. “i’m, i’m sorry, i — i didn’t mean to hurt you. i never want to —”

you placed your hands on his cheeks. 

“hey.” you whispered at him softly, and it was enough for him to stop rambling. you could tell he felt guilty, though, since he refused to meet your gaze.

“luke, baby, look at me.”

when he finally did, your heart ached. 

it wasn’t like you hadn’t done similar to luke. you’d never broken skin, sure, but luke seemed to enjoy — really enjoy — whenever you used your teeth in the heat of the moment. you just assumed he knew you wouldn’t mind the same.

but, one bite, and luke was almost reduced to tears, all because he was afraid of hurting you. 

“it’s fine, okay? i’m fine.”

luke didn’t seem convinced, his brows furrowed with concern. you kissed the crease on his forehead and reassured him once more that you were fine. 

 “if anything, consider it payback for the hickey i left that took a week to fade away.”

luke smiled softly at that, and you knew he was coming back to you. 

“you know, annabeth suggested that i go to the infirmary because of how it looked. i had to tell her i got it during sparring practice.”

“it wasn’t that bad,” you laughed, and so did luke. 

thunder rumbled throughout the cabin once more, and you swore the clouds were growing darker by the second. 

you were about to finish getting dressed when he grabbed your waist.

“look, if i’m ever too rough whenever we’re —”

“sparring?” 

“sure,” he smiled, thumbs rubbing circles on your bare skin. “whenever we’re sparring, just promise that you’ll let me know.”

“of course,” you hummed. “only if you do the same.”

“of course,” he echoed, and he pecked your lips. “i think it’s hot, you know? when you feel like you can let go. when you mark me. i like everyone knowing that i’m yours.”

you bit back a smile, feeling your cheeks grow warm.

“well, i think it’s hot when you mark me, too. especially when you bite me,” you admitted. 

“don’t tell me you’re still into the whole vampire thing,” he teased.

“oh, please. you were as obsessed with it as the rest of us. don’t you remember?”

as if either of you could forget marathoning entire seasons of buffy the vampire slayer on dvds rented from the nearest video store. you'd watch episode after episode with your friends, the six of you squeezing onto the small couch in the big house, sharing one bowl of popcorn and endless cups of coffee to stay awake.

you shivered out of the memory when he brought his fingers up to trace the bite mark he had left on you.

zeus could have sent more thunder. he could have created a whole godsdamned storm, but you wouldn’t have cared.

luke was so close that you had nothing better to do than to close the distance between you.

luke got bolder as the kiss became more heated — he sank his teeth into your bottom lip, his tongue sweeping over the crimson liquid that emerged, the tang of copper invading your mouth.

“easy there, angel,” you referenced, and felt him smirk against your lips before moving to nip at your neck. 

you trailed your hand down the front of his exposed stomach, outlining the contours and curves. with the moonlight reflecting in, accompanied by the crackle of lightning, it almost looked like luke’s skin was glittering.

“you’re so beautiful," you cooed, nails scraping against the tight muscles of his lower abdomen. "how'd i get so lucky, huh?"

“you won’t.” 

“i'm the lucky one." a shadow passed over luke's face, and you swore you felt his grip tightening on your hips. “i never want to hurt you,” he finished the sentence you had interrupted earlier.

at the time, you didn’t think he was even capable of such a thing. 

for better or for worse, that was the night you realized something.

you liked golden boy luke. or, at the very least, you tolerated him.

the rule-breaking, sin-committing, blood-sucking luke?

he was the one you were irrevocably in love with. 

except your life wasn't some neatly written, scripted coming-of-age story about fictional vampires and slayers. 

it had monsters, too. you just didn't realize who they were until it was too late. 

(v. he made you look so naive)  

there was blood on your hands, but you weren’t sure who it belonged to.

yours or luke’s — it was a toss-up that made you more than a little nauseous. 

luke had stolen the lightning bolt. luke had tried to frame percy and start a war between the gods. luke had begged you to join kronos’ army with him. you almost killed him because of it until you realized that he left percy to die. 

you summarized everything to chiron and mr. d once you had made sure that percy was getting help in the infirmary. the scorpion poison was still putting up a fight, but percy was strong. annabeth was there with him.

dread simmered in the pit of your stomach just thinking about having to tell her everything, too — to see the look in her eyes when she hears just how much her big brother betrayed her.

“and you have no idea where mr. castellan could have gone?” chiron’s voice was stern, moreso than usual. 

you shook your head, not particularly paying attention. you could still feel blood seeping from the blademark luke had left. 

“that’s awfully convenient,” mr.d scoffed.

you narrowed your eyes at him. 

“what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“i’ve heard around camp that you and this luke were quite…. close,” mr. d said, pointing his can of diet coke at you accusingly. 

a wave of anger surged through you. it had been building in your gut ever since luke revealed his betrayal, and you didn’t care if it was a god who was on the receiving end of your wrath. 

“seriously? i saved percy and told you everything, and you’re here suggesting what? that i’m somehow a traitor, too?”  

“seems like the plot of a pretty twisted love story.”

your lips curled into a snarl, and you were about to pounce until chiron dismissed you.

you were in a trance for the rest of the day. chris was gone, too. ethan didn’t seem surprised. silena sobbed, clarisse comforted her, beckendorf cursed luke’s name. other campers kept asking about where their favorite counselor had gone, until they started growing weary of you.

because if golden boy luke was evil, what were the odds that his hot-headed, impertinent girlfriend was, too?

luke left you there, looking like an absolute fool for believing in him, trusting him, loving him.

you couldn’t unsee his blood on your hands. you might as well have been lady macbeth, desperately scrubbing out stains that would never leave.

vi. he was a vice you could never shake

calling all riot grrrls and punk rockers — this show is for YOU!!! come see the SIRENS OF NEW YORK perform THIS friday at joan’s bar ;)

the flyer was an obnoxiously vibrant shade of red and plastered throughout the neighborhood, and it did a good job. one of queens’ best dive bars was packed with people waiting to see the band perform: stella yamada on guitar, mohini banjaree on bass, sally mcknight on vocals — and you on drums. 

it was nice and still a bit new, this relatively normal existence with relatively normal people.

you couldn’t cut off the demigod side of your life completely. there was still a war brewing, and you were in regular enough contact with camp. 

but, you’d been away for a few years, trying to live the life of a non-halfblood in their early 20s. you had an apartment, a cat and a nice enough roommate. you were in school and working as a bartender to pay for rent and tuition. you had friends who, for lack of a better term, were normal. people who worried about paying off student loans and finding their passion in life, whether it be law school or feminist prose or angry girl music of the indie-rock persuasion. people who spent their time in classrooms or tattoo parlors or their friends’ bathrooms at 2am while bleaching their hair after a bad breakup. 

sometimes though, usually late at night when you couldn’t sleep, you had to admit to yourself that you missed your old life. 

you missed home. you missed playing capture the flag and training in the arena and having breakfast in the dining pavilion. you missed your friends, the ones you’d grown up with. 

you missed —

no. you tried not to let your mind wander towards him, or the consequences of what he did. you both drew blood the afternoon he confessed his sins to you, but he was the one who twisted the knife. he was the reason you couldn’t stand your life as a half-blood anymore. 

you just tried to focus on the mortal, mundane things that now composed your everyday life, like the stage you would be performing on in 30 seconds. 

before every show, your bandmates went through different degrees of anxiety. you didn’t get stage fright like them. they called you fearless, but the reality was that you had just gone up against much worse. 

and yet, that night, you almost froze mid-set, just as you started a cover of the joan jett’s “you don’t know what you’ve got.”

ironically, luke had gotten you a cd of this album for your 15th birthday. 

i was caught so unaware, when you made other plans.

think of the devil, and he shall appear.

it couldn’t have been him there, though. last time you heard of him, luke was growing kronos' army somewhere on the west coast.  

you pushed through, even though your concentration was shaken. 

i can’t stand to hear your name

you had to shake off the feeling of him watching you. 

it was just that — a bad feeling, right?

 you missed another beat, and mo turned around to give a concerned yet frustrated frown. joan had hinted that there might have been an agent in the audience, and you couldn’t afford to mess up. 

oh baby, you really blew it.

the song ended, and your blood ran cold.

it had to be a trick of the light, seeing luke in the crowd, but just the thought of being in the same space again made it impossible to be up on that stage, so exposed. 

as the band was getting ready for the next song, you slipped away, out the back door and into the alley for some fresh air. with shaky hands, you brought a cigarette between your lips and pulled out your lighter. it was a terrible habit, you knew.

those were always the ones hardest to quit and you needed a vice to keep you grounded. 

so there you found yourself, shivering in your black tank top, just cropped enough that the fishnets you wore underneath red leather pants were slightly visible. the bricks were cool against your back and you exhaled into the soft evening twilight when you realized it hadn’t been a trick of the light. 

“you look like buffy the vampire slayer.”

you rolled your eyes, because of course luke would do that. you were on opposite sides of an impending war between gods and titans, a world-ending conflict that luke directly enabled, and he led with a light-hearted comment like you were still the best of friends. 

as if you hadn’t been on the receiving ends of each other’s blades ever since luke revealed himself to be a traitor. 

“give me one reason why i shouldn’t kill you right now. ”

“because i’m alone.”

“you could still be here to kill me,” you reasoned. “or at least try.”  

after everything, you wouldn’t put it past him. you known him to do a lot worse, all to people he claimed to, in a past life, care about. 

luke tried again. 

“because you always liked a fair fight. i came alone and unarmed.” 

you scoffed, dropped your half-finished cigarette to the ground, and snuffed it out with the toe of your chunky patent boot before walking over to stand in front of luke. he put his hands up in surrender as you approached him. 

“if you’re not here to fight, then why are you here?” you demanded, fingers brushing against the switchblade in your pocket. you always kept a celestial bronze weapon on you in case you came across any monsters in the city. you looked at the one in front of you, and wished you had brought a bigger knife.

“i just….i wanted — needed to see you.”

your eyes grazed luke carefully.

he looked rough. deep shadows under his eyes, hair disheveled and partially matted down, shirt wrinkled like he’d been on the run for days. his hands caked with blood and dirt, his face, too. a nasty bruise on his elbow, and what looked like another one disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. 

you bit down the urge to care. you had to remind yourself that luke was dangerous, cruel, and heartless. you couldn’t stand to look at him for one more second, at least not without biting his head off, or at the very least the cut on his lip. 

“no. you don’t get to just —”

the door slammed open, echoed throughout the alley. stella poked her head out, guitar still strapped to her shoulder. from inside, you could hear the crowd cheering.

“jesus christ, y/n! where have you been?” 

“sorry, stel. i needed a smoke break and then i ran into a — ” your voice caught on the word friend. “luke.”

his name left a poisonous taste in your mouth, and you swallowed its bitterness. 

she saw luke then, who gave her that charming smile of his you hadn’t seen in forever. he extended a hand towards her, but stella just scowled at him and turned back to you.

“are you coming to finish the show?” stella demanded. 

“i need to deal with this,” you told her. “i’m sor—”

stella huffed and slithered back inside before you could finish apologizing. 

 “great,” you laughed cynically. “now one of my best friends is pissed at me, and i might get kicked out of the band. my luck just gets worse every time you force yourself back into my life, castellan.”

you weren’t quite sure how to make of the way he looked at you — maybe apologetic, possibly desperately, definitely some sort of disguise. 

“i know….i fucked up, karma.”

you glared at the use of his old nickname for you, feeling a shudder run down your spine.

“yeah, you fucked up. and now everyone, the whole world, is suffering the consequences. me, annabeth, your mom —”

“please,” luke begged once more, voice shaking now. “if you ever loved me —”

“don’t.” you barked. “if you ever loved me, you’d accept that the next time we see each other, it’ll be fighting on a battlefield. until one of us is on the ground, bleeding out, or never again.”

luke stared at you. you glared back at him. 

“sorry i’m late, lukey. did i miss much?” a sickly sweet voice cut through the tension. 

you turned and saw a cheerleader. she looked relatively normal, but the mismatched legs — one bronze, another furry — along with the red eyes and fangs gave her away. 

“you said you were alone,” you pointed out, tilting your head towards the monster. “looks like you brought company.”

“i didn’t,” luke insisted. “kelli’s been hunting me down.”

kelli pouted. “i thought we were playing hide and seek. but it’s over now — i win. please don’t be mad, baby.”

baby. you could have laughed. 

“i guess you moved on, castellan.” you meant your words to come across as mocking, so you hoped luke couldn’t sense the resentment behind them.

kelli giggled, and you thought your ears might bleed. 

“he sure did,” she cooed and moved closer to luke, running a long red fingernail down his chest. he pushed her away abruptly, and kelli pouted once more. “we miss you, luke. i miss you. please come back home with me.”

“that’s not my home.”

out of everything luke had said, those were the words that got through to you. you glanced at him once more — his hands curled into fists, jaw clenched, and eyes locked on yours, panicking and pleading at the same time. 

you had to give in to those pleading, panicked brown eyes. 

luke didn’t have any weapons on him. all you had was a tiny pocket knife and some combat skills you’d been maintaining through kickboxing classes with your roommate, but you were willing to put them to good use.

you stepped in front of luke. 

“listen — kelli, was it?” the empousa growled at you. “call me sentimental, but i can’t let you take him.”

kelli gave you a snarl, and you whipped out your switchblade. admittedly, it looked a little pathetic compared to her deadly fangs and sharp claws. 

“aw, cute!” she mocked, and then pushed you backwards. 

you expected to tumble into luke, but he had disappeared. seemed like you did make the wrong choice, to trust luke again. 

again — the worst, most sinister habits were the hardest ones to break. 

it briefly crossed your mind to chase him down after this for leading you into a trap. for now, you had a shapeshifting cheerleader to take care of. 

you managed to side-step kelli’s next attack, and sliced across her arm in the process. she shrieked. her hair bursted into flames, as if your day could get any worse. you tried to get another jab in, but kelli managed to be quicker this time. she punched you in the jaw, then kicked you, hard, with a hoofed foot, causing a dull crack to your ribcage upon impact. the kick sent you spinning towards the brick wall; it stopped you from falling, but knocked the air out of your lungs. you spat, your mouth thick with the taste of blood. your ears were ringing, and you couldn’t locate your knife. 

you were definitely out of practice. 

“kelli!” 

you both turned your attention towards luke, standing at the entrance of the alley with his sword in hand.

“luke!” kelli said like he was her long lost lover. she batted her eyelashes at him, the murderous grin she had given you melting away to something more enticing. “you came to help me finish her off.”

luke tilted his head. “not exactly.”

luke threw the sword towards you. despite a split second of surprise, you caught it; made a sharp diagonal cut. before kelli knew it, she was reduced to nothing but dust.

you dropped luke’s sword and fell to the pavement, adrenaline coursed through your veins from the first near-death experience you’d had in months. even with your body bruised and broken, fighting was a thrill like no other. 

luke came to kneel in front of you, sneakers crunching over the ashes of his ex-girlfriend.

“you said you were unarmed.” your voice sounded muffled. you spat out another mouthful of blood.

“half-bloods are walking monster bait. i’d be an idiot if i didn’t have any celestial bronze on me.” 

to emphasize his point, luke tucked your switchblade carefully back into your pocket. he moved his hand to the hem of your shirt. it was your instinct to keep him from lifting it up, and he stopped when he noticed your hesitation.

“i’m just trying to see how bad it is,” he informed. his lips then formed a bemused grin. “besides, i’ve already seen everything.”

“shut up,” but you smiled weakly even if it made your cheek hurt.

the skin where kelli had kicked you was turning an alarming shade of purple. luke tried to touch it, but you let out a sharp breath when pain emanated across your ribcage, and he recoiled. 

“okay, we need to get you —”

“i’m fine,” you groaned. you struggled to stand up, but you urged yourself to walk away. in your mind, the scales were already balanced. 

the moral, logical side of you was in danger of yielding to the wicked desire you always tried to suppress — to be with luke, even once more, just like old times. your quest for vengeance could only be stopped by your hunger for something more, and you needed distance from him before you gave in too much.

“i don’t need your help,” you insisted. “i protected you from kelli, and you gave me the sword that saved my life. we’re even.”

you started to limp away, but luke grabbed your side before you could get too far. you yelped at the contact.

“sorry,” he winced. “just — let me at least get you to a hospital.”

“what do i look like, a rockefeller?” you scoffed, and then grimaced when it felt like a giant was crushing you from the inside out. “i can’t afford that. i have some emergency nectar and ambrosia at my place, anyways.”

“let me at least get you back there, then. please.” he grabbed your hand. “i owe you.”

looking into those deep brown eyes, something in your stomach snapped. 

bad habits were always the hardest to break.

“fine,” you coughed. “but one wrong move, and i swear: i’ll go full vampire slayer and pierce a wooden stake through your heart.”

luke nodded once, lips curling into a smile. “seems fair.”

you groaned as luke wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you steady, his hold terribly familiar as he carried you back home. 

(vii. he loved you — and you weren’t sure if that was a fact or a weapon)

your apartment was only a few blocks away. luke must have gotten stronger, because he was able to carry you up the fire escape to avoid too much attention.

“i’m not sure if my roommate is home,” you whispered as luke set you down on the carpet by your bed. “so we should try and be quiet.”

you told him where you kept the supplies. he snuck away and emerged from the bathroom a minute later with clean hands and a first-aid  kit.

luke knelt down in front of you. 

“can i take your shirt off?” 

you nodded, trying to keep your eyes from fluttering closed. you were so bloodied up, more so than you initially let on, so you let luke do whatever he needed to do. he took off your shirt, assessed your injury and apologized when the pressure from his fingers made you wince. he wiped the blood off your lips and coaxed your mouth open to feed you some ambrosia, offer you a sip of nectar. 

there was no doubt about it: luke was taking care of you.

at first, you imagined your bones stitching themselves back together, and maybe some pieces of your heart, too. 

what were the odds that he was manipulating you, though? certainly not zero.

and then you noticed something when he reached over to place the canteen of nectar back with the kit. he was moving slowly, his breathing shallow and fresh blood seeping through his shirt.

“wait. what happened?”

“nothing,” he winced. luke was always good at hiding his pain.

“luke.”

“it was a few days ago. a hellhound bit me when i was trying to escape from….”

kronos’ army. he didn’t need to say it for either of you to remember. 

wordlessly, you switched your positions, led him to prop himself up on the bed frame while you crouched in front of him. 

“can i take this off?”

luke nodded. 

the first thing you noticed was that his muscles were more defined, yet his body was more beat-up than you'd ever seen it. there was a pretty nasty bruise on his shoulder. your eyes traveled down to the bitemark at his hip, and the haphazard stitching job luke must have done to himself. it looked like it could be infected, and with the activity from today, it was no wonder the wound reopened.

like he had done to you just seconds before, you took care of him.

“so…how are our friends?” he exhaled as you ran a cloth over his skin to clean off some of the blood.

our friends. it didn’t feel right that luke could still call them that. 

“i’m guessing you know what happened to chris….” luke grimaced, and you hoped he felt a little guilty at sending one of his best friends into a madness-inducing labyrinth. “clarisse and lena broke up, and neither of them will tell me why. beck is doing fine, always coming up with stuff in the forges. i guess that’s as good as anyone can be now, inventing new weapons for a war none of us wanted.”

you couldn’t help but add that last part. 

“and the kids?” luke asked as though you were divorce parents and he lost the custody battle. 

you looked up at the gray streak in luke’s own hair, remembering that he had manipulated annabeth and percy to hold the weight of the world, a burden that they couldn’t seem to shake.

it made you more than a little uneasy, luke showing any sense of caring for the people he seemed to leave behind and hurt so easily. you wished he hadn’t been so tender and attentive, like all the fighting and animosity had been a bad dream. 

luke just had to make everything so complicated.

“they’re fine, all things considered.”

you didn’t offer anything more, anything less. 

he was quiet for a moment.

“you seem to be doing alright, though?”

you ignored the question completely that time, focusing on getting the job done. you gave luke some ambrosia and nectar, watched as the infection magically disappeared. the wound didn’t completely heal, and there were many bruises that lingered. you were about to give luke some more when he shook his head. 

"you should save the rest for emergencies," he suggested, chin jutting towards your diminishing supplies. "in case something happens."

"is that a threat, castellan?" you asked, only half-joking. 

"no." luke reached out to touch your face, perhaps a move to reassure you, but then he redirected himself. "besides, i'll be fine. just need to cover it with some gauze." 

"you should take a shower before, then. i'll see what we have to eat." 

you helped him up, and sent luke into the bathroom. you changed into clean clothes before going to look for some food.

the ambrosia and nectar made your body feel more powerful than it had in days, even before getting kicked around by a demon cheerleader. no wonder the gods felt invincible, if that was their diet. meanwhile, all you had in your kitchen was a half-empty box of cinnamon poptarts and packets of instant coffee. 

you could hear your roommate singing from behind her closed door. you were quiet in toasting the breakfast pastries, and then slithered back into your room to look for something that would fit luke.

luke didn't hear you knock, so you just entered and closed the door behind you gently. on the bathroom counter, you set a pair of sweatpants that an ex had left behind, along with an oversized shirt of yours. before you could leave, there was a knock on the door. luke heard this one, and poked his head from behind the shower curtain. you gestured at him that you’d take care of it. he nodded, and closed the curtain again.

"yeah?"

"do you have any tampons in there?" your roommate's voice was muffled through the door.

"yeah," you replied. "i'll be out in a minute."

"do you mind if i just come in now? i'm bleeding out, out here." 

you were about to protest, but the doorknob started to turn, and you panicked. you slipped behind the shower curtain with luke, who looked at you wide-eyed. you placed your hand over his mouth before he could say anything. 

you were lucky earlier, that stella's mind was so preoccupied she didn't notice how beat-up luke was. you didn't want to take another chance. you didn't need your roommate asking questions. 

once the sounds of shuffling through cupboards stopped, and you heard a small thank you followed by the door closing, luke bit your palm.

"ow!" you hissed, pulling away from him.

"she's gone,” luke shrugged. “you don't need to muzzle me anymore.”

you rolled your eyes. “i put some clothes out for you, and a clean towel.”

luke caught your wrist before you could leave. 

“wait. my shoulder is killing me. do you mind…would you maybe help me….” 

his question trailed off, and you furrowed your brow when he pointed the shampoo bottle in your direction.

“you practically carried me down 3 blocks and up 4 flights of stairs, but you’re too hurt to wash your own hair?”

“i guess the pain just caught up with me.” his cheeks flushed and he cleared his throat. “sorry, i shouldn’t have —”

something pinched in your chest, hearing him stumble for forgiveness, even if it was so mundane. you caught yourself saying:

“i’ll do it.” 

before you could decide if it was a bad idea or not. you got rid of your shorts and tied your shirt up around your waist to prevent the clothes from getting too wet. luke blushed even more at your panties and exposed stomach, as if he wasn’t fully naked — which you were, of course, trying to ignore.

neither of you said anything as you focused on the task at hand, massaging shampoo and then conditioner into luke’s curls until they were rid of the grime trapped within. all you heard were luke’s soft sighs as your fingers scraped across his scalp and steady stream of water hitting the bathroom tiles. luke seemed so relaxed that his eyelids fluttered closed, and he almost toppled over. with your own sudsy hands, you brought his hands to sit at your waist, steadying him. 

the space was a little foggy, slightly too warm. you and luke had been intimate before, but never like this. it was almost enough to make you forget.

once all the soap was washed away, you brushed your fingers over the scar on his face, down to the sword tattooed along his collarbone, before you realized what you were doing.

“sorry,” you whispered, pulling your hand away.

“it’s okay,” he hummed, and he moved his hand up to brush against the very same tattoo you had on your sternum, touch burning through a layer of cotton.

you wanted his hands elsewhere — around your neck, between your legs.

the water was running cold by then, and it jolted you back to reality.

you had to keep your desires in check. luke was manipulative and cruel and ruthless — you were enemies, not friends or lovers. you weren’t supposed to want him carnally.

you reached behind him to turn the shower off without another word, and left the bathroom so he could get dressed. 

neither of you were armed, but the situation was dangerous. you were barely healing from the claw marks luke left on your life and yet…. 

part of you wanted him to dig his fingers back into those wounds — to feel him again, even if it bled you dry in the end. 

luke’s sword, backbiter, leaned against your windowsill, a menacing reminder of who he had aligned himself with. luke was essentially kronos’ right hand man. he was your enemy.

what were you doing, bringing him into your home, taking care of him and letting him do the same to you?

leaving yourself vulnerable to him, letting your guard down?

now that you thought of it, if his guard was down, you could probably grab your own knife and just —

you heard luke clear his throat and you turned to see him standing in your doorway, shirtless and sweatpants hanging low. it was embarrassing how much you wanted to lap up the drop of water traveling down his chest.

luke must have noticed, so cleared his throat again. your body felt warm all over when you met his gaze, and he gave you an annoyingly confident smirk.

“so, here’s the thing. i’m pretty sure you’re either thinking about wanting to kill me, or wanting to fuck me.” 

you rolled your eyes at his arrogance, but couldn’t help but play along. 

“sounds like you’ve accepted your fate either way.”

“well, i do have a preference,” he quipped. “i just don’t particularly care as long as it's in your hands.”

it didn’t get past you that luke was checking you out, too, eye trailing over the exposed skin of your legs and lingering on where the t-shirt hugged your chest. 

how bad would it be to, for one night, indulge? no concern about what was right or wrong, about titans or gods; no worries about what a prophecy foretold or which side of a war you’re on. 

just you and luke: giving into your own twisted desires, and dealing with the consequences later.

another droplet trickled down luke’s torso. it disappeared underneath the band of his sweatpants, and you just couldn’t take it anymore.

you strode over to him, about to crash your lips into his when —

luke stopped you with a hand wrapped around your neck.

“no kissing,” he warned. 

“what’s the matter?” you smirked. “i thought you liked it when i bite. worried that you’ll turn away from the dark side if i do?”

luke swallowed thickly.

you were taunting him, relishing in how his breath caught in his throat and gaze seemed fixed on your lips.

it was cute, how luke tried to hold onto some semblance of control, but couldn’t hide the slight tremble in his voice. 

“no kissing. that’s my only condition.”

“okay.” you took off your shirt, positioned yourself on the bed to punctuate your point. “as long as you’re fine sleeping with the enemy, castellan.”

luke stared for a few seconds before accepting his fate. 

he caged you in with his arms, settling his hips between your legs. his lips traveled down your tattooed sternum, nipping and sucking and re-bruising your skin until he reached the waistband of your panties. luke pulled it up with his teeth, the elastic snapping back when he let go. you whined his name and he looked up at you with dark eyes. 

“can i?” his breath fanned over your navel, his nails digging into your hips as he waited for your answer.  

“yes. please.”

you hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but you could feel luke smirk against your inner thigh before sinking his teeth into it. you whimpered, and luke salved his tongue over the area to ease the sting before removing your underwear. he positioned your legs over his shoulder for better access to where you needed him most.

luke manipulated his tongue and fingers in all the ways he knew ruined you. in return, you gripped his black curls, tightly, and uttered praise in all the ways you knew ruined him. 

“just like that, pretty boy,” you encouraged, practically melting into the mattress. it felt so good — dangerously good — to be devoured by luke. “keep doing a good job and i’ll return the favor later.”

luke’s moan vibrated throughout your body and he became harsher, bringing you over the edge. he left a few more bites on your body on his way up to meet you and when he did, luke’s lips and chin were still shining with your release.

you leaned forward slightly to lick it up. you ghosted your mouth over his, and luke groaned when you pulled away.

“no kissing,” you mocked and ran your thumb over his tattooed collarbone. 

luke tightened his grip on your hips, surely leaving bruises for later. his eyes feral, his curls a terrible mess, when he grumbled:

“you’re such a —”

you twisted your calf around luke’s leg and you flipped your positions before he could finish his sentence. he grunted as his back hit the mattress. 

“don’t worry, sweetheart. i’ll still take care of you,” you drawled, starting to trail your tongue down luke’s body, occasionally incorporating your teeth or sucking brutally, imprinting a constellation of bites and bruises. his skin smelled like your pomegranate mango body wash, and it was more than a little intoxicating.

you weren’t soft or gentle, because you knew how luke liked you — rough, raw, a little ruthless. luke once told you that the wounds you left on his body weren’t the type that left him bitter; they were the type of wounds he wished would never heal.   

in a moment of weakness, you left a kiss — just one — on the semi-healed wound on his hip. luke sighed at the gesture and reached a hand down to gently brush his fingers against your cheek. 

“i missed you so much, karma,” luke almost sobbed. 

slightly shaken out of your lust, you weren’t sure whether to smirk at the hold you had on him, or sob at the reality that you missed him too. 

sensing your hesitation, luke removed his hand and told you to continue.  

you made quick work of luke’s sweatpants. luke, already hard and throbbing, didn’t last long with your lips wrapped around him. you swallowed him whole, and then some. 

“always such a good girl for me,” luke praised when you were face to face with him once more. his thumb swiped over your wet lips to gather what you missed. you granted him access to push into your mouth, and luke groaned when you hollowed out your cheeks and sucked his thumb clean. your teeth scraped the skin on his way out. 

what followed was a brief squabble over who should be on top. you won out. 

there you were, luke sitting up against the headboard, you on his lap with his length nestled in your cunt. you scraped your nails down luke’s chest, and then curled your hands around the base of his neck. he gripped either side of your waist, thumbs pressing circles into your skin encouragingly. luke looked up at you in awe, desperate sighs leaving his mouth as you rutted your hips against his. it felt sinful and wonderful, feeling luke buried deep inside you again, stretching you deliciously. the two of you exchanging animalistic grunts as you used the other's body, chased your high.

when you rolled your hips into his at just the right angle, luke’s moans turned into whines. 

“fuck it. please — kiss me.”

you stilled your hips, and luke whined some more. “are you sure?” you asked, breathing heavily.

luke nodded and gently moved you to lay on your back with him hovering over you. he leaned close, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. 

“please,” luke pleaded once more.

his brown eyes looked down at you with such hunger and passion, something deep within you ached. 

you kissed each other harshly, then. you still tasted him on your tongue and yourself on his. his sharp nose cut into your cheek, mouth attacking yours and vice versa. your nails pierced the skin of his shoulder as he resumed thrusting into you at a vicious pace. luke kept gnawing on your bottom lip until he made you bleed. you groaned, and he slipped his tongue back into your mouth to savor your coppery taste.

yes, luke could also be rough and raw and a little ruthless — which you always loved. but you knew, regardless, you were safe with him in that moment. all he wanted was for you to feel good.

you yanked his curls to force luke to look at you. he whimpered at having to detach himself from your lips.

“i missed you too, tiger,” you finally admitted, calling him that old affectionate nickname you promised yourself you would never use again.  “i missed you so fucking much.” 

luke gave you that troublesome smile of his. you connected your lips once more. you wrapped your legs around his waist to bring him impossibly closer, and luke wrapped an arm around your back to do the same. 

it wasn’t long until you both reached your peak, collapsing back onto the soft mattress, chests heaving. you each lied down on your side, facing each other. you admired luke’s mess of curls, his swollen-kiss-bitten lips, the rose-petal bruises you had left.

you wished the post-sex haze lasted longer, but then luke had to disturb it by saying:

“what you said earlier — i never think of you as my enemy, you know.”

you sighed and covered your face with your hand. “luke —”

“never,” luke insisted. he inched closer, took your hand in his and held it to his chest. 

you were overwhelmed by his heartbeat, strong and fast, so you pulled yourself away.

“we’re fighting on different sides,” you pointed out.

you could’ve said more, but all the things that have been said and done already hung heavy in the air, reoccupying the space between you and bursting your brief moment of peace.

“but we’ve always been fighting for the same thing.”

maybe that was true.

in theory, you weren’t against overthrowing the gods. but you couldn't reconcile with everything luke had done, what he was willing to do. you couldn't let your friends and thousands of innocent people die in the name of divine beings who valued power and control over all else. you couldn't hurt or betray people you loved for the sake of revenge, regardless of who your mother is. you couldn't turn that love against them, the way luke had, in search of justice. 

deep down, you knew it wasn’t right to have him there in bed with you. if it was so wicked, sinful, treacherous — then why did you want him to stay?

“i’m not sure they have a word for what we are,” you concede, returning to the conversation moments ago. 

"i guess not."

you let luke bring you into his arms that time. you rested your head against his chest. his heartbeat still steady, but a little slower. you idly traced your fingers across the marks you left on him, and you avoided the ones you didn't.

"how's your shoulder?" 

"it's okay," luke sighed. he lifted your chin between his thumb and forefinger. "whatever we are: i love you." 

those weren’t the words that were meant to make you sick, but your stomach churned — with nausea or desire, you weren’t sure.

you moved to straddle his hips. your eyes glanced over a scar you didn't register until now. the cut you had sliced across his cheek that afternoon he tried to kill percy, and then ran away from camp. you had a similar one that he had given you during that same struggle. 

matching tattoos, matching scars. there really was no word for what you and luke were to each other. 

"i love you too.”

at some point throughout the night, with luke’s strong arms wrapped around you and your legs intertwined beneath tangled sheets, it occurred to you that luke must have tracked you down for a particular reason.

maybe he was here to convince you to join kronos' army, to help him overthrow the gods and burn the world as you knew it; maybe he was here to break your heart all over again, just for the sick thrill of it; maybe he did just want to have one more night together, enemies or otherwise. maybe, maybe, maybe.

luke’s soft snores lulled you to sleep, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the scales of justice.

you'd figure it out in the morning. then you'd decide whether or not he deserved a blade to the heart.

[loaksky]

I don't know if you've done this yet but can we have mean ellie is FWB with the reader but she's jealous when the reader is into someone else 👀

i have not + you know what anon i could kiss your brain rn ! i definitely view this pairing as separate from this fwb!ellie x reader, but this could also technically fit in their early timeline since nothing else has really been established about them...

content warnings: language, ellie being an asshole (very on brand for me to write ig lmao), reader actually sticks up for herself in this one, but eventually folds (i would too for ellie ngl) 18+ content that includes; brief mentions of strap-on sex, fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving).

author’s note: i’ve been so unmotivated to write, but this request awoke something in me idk...also, if you’ve sent in a tlou request (yes even from june), i’m still cooking i promise! (and not in the way that ellie keeps promises in this fic lmfaoo).

main masterlist | tlou masterlist

You didn’t want to say anything at first, couldn’t be too sure under the lowlights of the party with bass-y music that makes both the house and your chest throb with every beat, but you see it clear as day on the drive home and a passing streetpost illuminates the purpling flesh on Ellie’s carotid.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when your fingertips brush over the blooming bruise, obviously fresh and warm to the touch.

“What the fuck?” she huffs, pulling the drawstrings on her hoodie to scrunch to fabric around her neck.

“Who gave you that?” you ask softly, expression on your face enough to devastate, but Ellie’s always been different, an anomaly of sorts when it came to the matters of her stony heart.

“Why does it matter?” she scoffs.

“Ellie,” you sigh. “You know why it matters.”

She’s swinging a right at the intersection, nearing the residential you live in.

“It doesn’t,” she grunts. “Because at the end of the night, it’s you I’m fucking, isn’t it?”

And you don’t know why the way she puts it stings so much this time around when she frequently reminds you both directly and indirectly that while you may be her most recurrent hookup, you’re definitely not her only one, but it does. Does so much that you’re turning your face towards the window to hide the tears that are pooling.

Because all you wanted was Ellie. Wanted her in ways she wasn’t willing to give you. Wanted to learn and grow with her, but she wasn’t budging and lately, you’ve been feeling stupid.

When she turns into your neighborhood, you speak.

“Just drop me off, please.”

Ellie’s slowing down, palm finding purchase on your thigh.

“Babe, c’mon,” she practically whines, kneading the skin there. “Don’t be like that.”

You shift away from her, gather your purse from your feet as she continues through the different apartment buildings.

“Babe,” she calls again when you barely wait for her to stop and you’re pushing the car door open.

And maybe it’s childish, but you’re wounded and quite frankly done with the back and forth.

“She’s probably waiting for you,” you add petulantly.

“Babe, seriously. You’re being annoying,” she warns.

“And you’re being a dick,” you bite back. “First, you drag me out to a shitty party where I don’t know a single soul even though you promised we could just chill and smoke while watching that stupid fucking space exploration documentary, then when we get there, you’re leaving me with a bunch of sleazy assholes while you do god knows what with the same girl you’ve been telling me not to worry about for the last five weeks.”

And of things Ellie’s looks horrified at, it’s the fact that you’d been observant enough to recognize the girl she’d thought she whisked away before your prying eyes could catch on.

“I’m not fucking stupid, Ellie,” you say with resignation. “I tried to turn the other cheek because I really fucking like you, but you treat me like shit and I deserve better than that.”

Of course you don’t know it, but those fucking words bite. They’re an automatic trigger because unbeknownst to you, both of your friend groups think the same thing. Aren’t afraid to let her know otherwise. And she’s obviously well aware that, Christ, yes, you absolutely deserve better. Is actually really insecure on the low because she doesn’t know why you stick around with a piece of shit like her when you could have so much better.

So she does what she does best when she feels like a kicked puppy and lashes out.

“Of course Little Miss Princess deserves better,” she mocks. “What fucking ever. I don’t know why I flaked on a ten for such a stuck up bitch.”

And you see right through her, know that she’s all bark and no bite, but it hurts regardless, when you step off to the side and she’s leaning over the center console to shut the passenger side door herself.

She’s revving off without another word, and to add insult to injury, your phone’s pinging obnoxiously once you get out of your well-needed shower.

els <3 sent a video.

It’s the blonde from the party. Of course those dumb LEDs pulse red in the background, making Ellie and her flavor of the night look a thousand times more seductive. Ellie’s kissing her sloppily, whispering things against her mouth that you can’t quite pick out.

els <3 sent a video.

The next video’s grainy, but you can hear the tell-tale squelch, the girl’s shaky moans and Ellie egging her on. Your cheeks are on fire and you feel like you’re about to throw up.

els <3 sent a photo.

You wonder if the girl knows, that Ellie’s sending you the most compromising footage of her. If she knows how grimy the green-eyed girl truly is, sending someone else pictures of her stuffed hilt-deep with the same strap Ellie’d used on you.

els <3: still think u deserve better ?

You delete the thread and her phone number.

Ellie expects you to crack first, you always do. Because even if she isn’t shit, she’s your biggest weakness and she knows it. Can say so with confidence, because maybe the same can be said about her.

She hasn’t fucked you in nearly two weeks and not a single body she touches can elicit the same feeling that you do. And in the back of her brain, she knows why, but Ellie’s prideful. Won’t dare admit it out loud.

So she cracks first. Texts you between classes.

me: i have a few joints + a coupon to tino’s if you’ll let me come over… :(

my #1 girl: Who’s this?

Ellie throws her head back and groans.

me: cmon baby, dont b like that. im srry i was mean, ill make it up to u

my #1 girl: I think you have the wrong number…

me: babe stopppp

Her text bubbles turn green after that message.

You forget that Ellie has a copy of your key because she’s never used it in the five months that the two of you have been in this precarious situation, and your heart falls square to your ass when you emerge from the shower to find her setting up a box of pizza on your coffee table.

“Ellie, what in the fuck?”

She feigns nonchalance, pulls a few joints from her jacket pocket. But the aroma of weed or the grease of the pizza isn’t what makes you wrinkle your nose.

It’s the smell of flowers that waft from a pretty vase sitting on the cut away of the kitchen counter.

Your gaze fixes on the girl who settles on your couch.

“You need to leave,” you say stonily.

“But I just got here,” Ellie says. “And I brought you pizza…and flowers.”

“I’m sorry, did you think that a five dollar pizza and a bouquet of flowers from Saver’s was going to fix the fact that you’ve been so fucking awful to me for the past half year?”

Ellie shrinks.

“Well, no…but—”

“You practically sent me a homemade porno of you and some other girl you fucked to get back at me for setting a boundary, Ellie,” you say sharply. “What, did it not work out? Did you—”

“I’m trying to be the bigger person here,” Ellie sighs. “I am sorry. I just—”

“You what?”

“I don’t fucking know, okay?” Ellie snips. “God, you’re talking down to me like you’re a fucking therapist or my fucking mom and—”

You’re shaking your head, crossing the room and picking up the pizza from the coffee table to shove in her arms.

“I don’t have time for this,” you mutter. “Kenzie’s going to be here any minute now—”

“Who the fuck is Kenzie?” Ellie balks, caught like a deer in the headlights.

“Ellie, don’t,” you warn.

“Don’t what?” she practically seethes. “You think I’m just gonna be okay that you’re spending time with some other stupid bitch? Maybe you’ve forgotten, but you’re mine.”

And she shouldn’t have glanced down at your cleavage as you cross your arms over your chest, but Ellie’s weak and you look too fucking pretty for your own good.

“Yours?” you ask incredulously. “Do you hear yourself?”

“Yes, mine,” Ellie affirms. “All fucking mine and no one else’s.”

“God, you’re so full of shit, Ellie,” you scoff. “I’m supposed to be loyal to you and be okay with you having a roster, but I can’t go on a date with someone I genuinely like because it fucks with your brain to have a legitimate interest in somebody?”

“You like her?” Ellie asks in disbelief. “Like, like her, like her?”

“Yes,” you reply without hesitation.

And that makes Ellie’s jaw set, makes her narrow her eyes at you.

“You like her more than me?” she taunts.

And maybe she has you there, but you refuse to give her the upper hand.

“I could learn to,” you answer honestly. “Because Kenzie is kind to me. She doesn’t treat me like an option, doesn’t act like she’s God’s gift to the fucking world and that I should kiss her feet for giving me the time of day. And I get it, you don’t like me the way I like you—”

“You think I don’t like you?” Ellie asks like the thought is unfathomable.

“I don’t think, Ellie, I know. We went into this without any strings attached, we established that it’d just be fucking, but I was honest in telling you that I caught feelings and you used that to your advantage. You lied to me on multiple occasions, you make me look stupid, like I’m fucking crazy.”

And you wish you’d gotten through your spiel without choking up, but Ellie’s the first girl you’d liked in a while even if she was bad news. And when you thought that maybe you could shake her, she’d come barreling back.

“Baby,” she murmurs, face softening as she’s crossing the space between you two to cup your face in her hands.

“Don’t call me that,” you hiccup, trying to push her touch away.

“Babe, stop,” she says firmly. “I’m serious. You think I don’t like you?”

“Well, you don’t fucking act like it,” you mutter. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter anyways because whatever this was is done. You’re free to do what you want, who you want, whether you like me or not.”

God, do you unwittingly light a fire under Ellie’s ass when she thinks of what this Kenzie girl could do to you if she lets you walk out the door. Absolutely loathes the thought of anyone else knowing what you look like in any state of indecency, that you fucking cry watching children’s movies, that you snore like a freight train if you’re tired enough and have a weird ass penchant for pickle chips when you’re high.

“You’re not going on that fucking date,” Ellie says with finality, palms sliding from your shoulders to skim down the length of your arms and situate over the swell of your hips.

“Who says?”

“Me,” she huffs. “Because I’m going to make it up to you and we’re going to smoke these blunts and eat this fucking pizza and I’m going to make you cum so fucking hard, you won’t even remember that you were thinking of leaving me for someone else.”

“You’re not my girlfriend, Ellie,” you reiterate. “You can’t just–”

“Maybe not then, and maybe not in this moment, but I will be,” she says, and the words catch you completely off guard.

She’s catching your bottom lip between hers to further disorient you, kissing you like this could very well be her last.

“Just give me some time,” she whispers, walking you back towards your bedroom. “I’ll get my shit together for you. Promise.”

And you know deep down that you shouldn’t believe her. She’s just feeling territorial and grasping at straws to keep you leashed, but Ellie’s always been such a good kisser and she’s devouring you like she really is sorry.

She’s tossing your against your unmade bed, caging you between lithe limbs as she leans back on her haunches to take you in. Your blouse rides up to reveal the flimsy bands of your lacy little thong and Ellie’s lacking decency as she flips your skirt up to reveal a growing patch of wetness.

“Were you planning on getting fucked or do you always go out like this?” Ellie ponders, fingers rough as she pulls the tiny scrap of fabric down your legs and nearly salivates when a string of your arousal leaves with it.

Your lips part to answer, but her thumb’s dipping between your folds, pad collecting some of your slick from your drooling slit to smear over your achey little bud.

“I asked you a question,” Ellie says gently. “You just gotta be honest with me, baby.”

“S’hot out,” you whimper, fingers closing around her wrist when your body jerks against a particularly delicious stroke of her thumb.

“Yeah?” she clarifies. “You wouldn’t let any else touch you, would you? Not when I take good care of you like this?”

Her other hand comes to toy with your entrance, doesn’t give you any warning before her middle and ring finger are sinking inside slowly.

“Oh, fuck,” you whine.

“You’re my girl, you hear me?” Ellie murmurs, leaning down to catch your clit between her lips. “You’ll be my number one, always.”

She’s teasing at first, tongue languid against your fluttering pussy, but you’re quiet, back of your wrist caught between your teeth to muffle your moans.

One of her hands reach up to yank it away.

“Say it,” she barks, pulling away from your needy heat.

“Ellie,” you whimper.

“Say it,” she repeats firmly.

“M’your girl,” you moan shakily, thighs quivering as she smoothes her palms over the underside of your thighs to push them up to your chest.

“Yeah, you are,” she whispers, spitting harshly on your heat. “My favorite fucking pussy.”

She’s eating you out like she’s missed you, like she’ll only be satisfied when you finally cum. And maybe it’s true.

Maybe not.

Especially when she draws nearly three orgasms from you and practically knocks you out.

You don’t know how long you doze off for, but when you finally wake up, the sun has almost completely set, bathing your room in a burnt orange glow that leaves your dewy skin warm and sticky. And perhaps it’s wishful thinking when you call Ellie’s name, met only with the echo of your raspy voice. After all, you’re tucked on the wrong side of bed, elusive girl nowhere to be found.

As you dress and search for your phone, you can’t even find it in yourself to be surprised.

neng ©️2023

[haechoxo]

[9:58 pm]

haechan was a mess, the last encounter with you haunting his mind. no one had seen him in weeks, his self isolation driven by the humiliation and regret.

how’d he let it get this bad?

he’d ruined the one good thing he had going for him, the one thing that could've ever gone right in his life, gone.

he caused you so much pain, so much anguish, you were sick of him, quite literally. all for what? because he couldn’t admit he wanted to be yours?

it was his turn to make himself sick. walking down to the 7-Eleven for the fourth time this week to stock up on booze, he glanced out the storefront window as he waited for his transaction to complete, and spotted you, hand in hand with choi yeonjun, as you exited the bistro across the street.

it felt like a punch to the gut, a harsh reminder of what he lost. you deserved happiness, he knew that. but the thought of you finding it with someone else, while he suffered in his own misery, was almost too much to bear, he deserved this.

all haechan could do was sigh, grabbing his items and heading back to his apartment, a sort of walk of shame, as he dialed up minjeong.

“...hello? haechan? it’s almost 10 pm.” her deadpanned tone rang through the receiver.

“y-yeah… sorry,” he croaked. she was the first person to hear from him in a while, not that she of all people was worried. “just wondering if you were maybe free tomorrow, just to hang out… i guess.”

minjeong only sighed. “listen, haechan, i don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

“o-oh, yeah, i guess… i guess you're right.”

“it’s not you! well– no, yeah, it is you,” ouch, “but we both know it just wouldn’t have worked out, right? you’re too focused on y/n, and we were both clearly just using each other as a distraction.” he could only listen as she went on, too afraid to say anything, to face the truth.

“the same reason you and i would never work out is the same reason mark and y/n won’t work out. we don’t have feelings for each other, haechan. it was never there.” he sucked in a breath.

“you gotta figure yourself out. we both know you can do better.” the line went dead.

haechan slumped against his front door, the weight of minjeong's words crashing down on him. the silence of his empty apartment echoed his loneliness, the low light from the streetlamp outside mocking him as he sat there. every sip of alcohol burned down his throat, but it didn’t numb the ache in his chest. the empty bottles around him were a testament to his attempts to drown out the guilt, but no amount could wash away the regret. he needed to change, to make things right, but where could he even start? he replayed your last conversation in his mind, your tear-streaked face, the hurt in your eyes. how had he been so blind?

unlocking his phone to scroll through his unopened messages, stumbling on his chats, or lack thereof, with you. they’d been dry, barren of any feelings for weeks. and it was his doing.

the unopened voicemails, mostly from jaemin about missing cafe dates and more of johnny’s parties, but there was a new one he hadn’t noticed before.

from mark.

hesitantly he pressed play, mentally bracing for the new lecture he was about to endure.

”hey man, uh— i’m not calling to apologize or anything, just so you know, i don’t feel bad for the things i said, neither does jun. i’m still really mad at you, we both are, but you're still our friend just as much as y/n is, even she’s a little worried, renjun told her not to be and i probably shouldn't have told you but whatever. the guys have been asking about you and no one really has an answer. uhm,” mark clears his throat, “jeno said he saw you outside 7-Eleven a couple nights this week already, smoking a new pack of cigarettes each time…” he sighs, pausing for a moment. haechan can feel the lump forming in his throat from the embarrassment.

“dude just because we ‘sided’ with y/n, doesn’t mean we don’t care about you and your well being anymore. obviously you feel stupid finally, and you clearly know you were wrong, but you’re going about things the wrong way, again. you can’t keep living like this, hurting the people you care about, hurting yourself, in the process.” he pauses for a bit, and haechan thinks maybe the message had ended like that, “whatever, uh, i don’t know what else i’m supposed to say bro, just let us know you’re okay, i guess, bye.” the beep signaling the end of the voicemail rings loudly against his ear, sighing shakily as he shut his phone off.

previous - next

a/n ; this one took waaaay longer than anticipated,, i just wasnt sure how well id be able to convey his feelings as well as mark’s lovely words since I HATE HIS STUPID ASS RN 💔

[nothingbutsweetwords]

ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ

"…ꜱʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇꜱ ��ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ ɢᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴄᴀʀꜱ."

Word count: 5,000.

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.

Warnings: Angst, mention of SA!

RELEASE — 14. Him.

“Is all well, my son?” His mother’s voice pierced through the stillness that had ensnared him. He looked up abruptly, struggling to conceal the emotions threatening to break free.

His concentration had vanished like wisps of smoke caught in a draft. He found himself trapped in a labyrinth of anxieties and questions, all revolving around her and the recent unsettling events. The past night had been an interminable whirlwind of unease.

The day had begun with a purpose as clear as the open sky: to persuade her to heed his words. Yet despite his ceaseless efforts, his quest had borne no fruit. She had vanished like a ghost. He had rapped upon her door in vain and then scoured the castle. Each shadowed corner yielded only the hollow echo of his own distress.

“What?” 

“You have been rather distracted these past days” she observed softly, yet her frown was imbued with concern and seriousness. He inhaled deeply, trying to clear the fog that clouded his mind, striving to offer her the attentiveness she so rightfully deserved.

“Ser Criston Cole has remarked upon your absence from the training sessions” she continued, her tone carrying a subtle undertone of reproach. “We cannot afford to neglect our obligations.”

It was true that since her arrival, he had forsaken the training yard, abandoning the regimen he had diligently maintained. In the past, he had attended every session, morning and afternoon, as though his existence depended on it. He understood his mother’s concern, yet his recent absences seemed to him a minor transgression in the face of his current preoccupations.

“My apologies” he finally said, resuming his breakfast.

“Shall you return to your training once we have concluded here?” she inquired, a slight tension hanging over the table.

His heart ached to continue searching until he found his way back to her, prepared to spend the entire day in earnest supplication if necessary but the expectation in his mother’s face kept him grounded.

Resigned, he nodded, unwilling to add further burden to her shoulders.

“Yes, mother” he affirmed with a note of acquiescence.

At last, disheartened, feeling as though he had exhausted all avenues, he chose to don his training attire—a gesture both of surrender and a final attempt to refocus on something tangible, seeking to reconcile with his duties.

Hours later, the throne room was a display of opulence, its lavish décor setting the stage for the evening’s festivities. As she entered, her demeanor was one of practiced detachment. Her gaze barely flickered in his direction, as if he were but an extra upon the grand stage. He could not blame her for it, given the delicate state they were in.

They took their places, each occupying their designated end. He was seated at one extremity, while she was positioned at the opposite, separated by the length of the table.

Servants moved with efficiency, finalizing the details of the meal. They ensured that each jug brimmed with wine, every plate was aligned with precision, and trays heaped with an array of sumptuous dishes were delivered.

The side of the table where he sat remained steeped in almost sepulchral silence, broken only by the faint clinking of glasses. In contrast, her side buzzed with vibrant laughter and animated conversation, though she didn’t join in. Her displeasure was palpable, even from a distance. 

Remorse devoured him; he knew she had longed for this grand celebration, and he had marred it with his own missteps.

Amidst the chatter, a voice rose with levity. “I believe,” he began, drawing all eyes toward him, “that this presents an excellent opportunity for our young ones to seek out their future spouses.” The king smiled benevolently, he casted a fleeting glance at him and Daeron before refocusing on the other side of the table.

The proclamation struck him like a frigid wave. It was not the notion of marriage itself that unsettled him; he had long accepted that it was expected of him, given his station and age. And he had already resolved it. if it could not be with her, then he would remain unwed.

What tormented him was the vision of her, lost in the pursuit of another’s heart. It was an inescapable truth: she was a princess, the cherished offspring of the heir to the throne, and the most enchanting woman across the seven kingdoms. 

His recent declaration had created an insurmountable chasm between them—a cruel expanse that not only severed their bond but also pushed her directly towards the waiting arms of the legion of eager admirers. These suitors, swarming like moths to a flame, would drape her in a garland of hollow praise and feigned affections with their glib tongues. 

And he could not bear the thought of her near someone who could only offer nothing but mediocrity, knowing that their fleeting admiration paled in comparison to the boundless true reverence he felt for her.

Across the table, Jacaerys’ broke through his spiraling despair. “They will be around her like vultures” he muttered, the disdain in his tone unmistakable.

He caught sight of a faint, enigmatic smile gracing her lips. This time, rather than offering solace, it seemed to seal the truth of his monumental failure—his efforts to win her back had been spectacularly thwarted.

“Perchance that is exactly what we need” Baela interjected, raising her volume above the others.

He wondered whether Baela had already collected the necessary knowledge to and plotted the course to ensure a husband was found for his beloved princess, considering her animosity toward him. Their eyes briefly met, a short encounter filled with such hostility that he could almost feel her desire to strike him down on the spot.

Regrettably, the grand doors swung open, admitting families and courts from every corner. An anticipatory murmur surged through the assembly, filling the space. She, detached, regarded the spectacle with a resignation he found painfully familiar.

His mind meticulously cataloged the array of stares that had already fixed on her, even before crossing the threshold. It was no small number, indeed, it was far easier to count those who had not yet turned their attention her way. Men, women, elders, and youths alike all seemed to regard themselves as entitled to feast their gazes upon her.

The grim realization settled over him like a shroud: the coming week would be an unrelenting vigil, a ceaseless parade of watchful eyes. Aegon, with a look of pity, patted him on the shoulder.

Once the room was filled to capacity, the king set aside his staff, commanding the attention of all present. “Welcome,” he announced, “it is an honor for me to see so many of you here, united in this celebration. On this very day, thirty years past, I took on the great responsibility of ruling the realm. And, together, we have faced challenges, reaped victories, and preserved the peace we hold so dear.”

“Now, as we embark upon these seven days of festivity, I invite you to enjoy the tournaments, the dances, the hunts, and this modest feast” he added with an ironic tone that elicited mirthful laughter. The extravagance of the feast was anything but modest; excess was the order of the day. “May this time together be an opportunity to strengthen our bonds, remember our history, and look to the future with hope” he concluded, raising his goblet and triggering a wave of applause and jubilant cheers. Music soon began marking the official start.

He barely touched the food, unable to take his focus off the incessant attempts of the men around who kept trying to catch her eye.

Families of high renown approached their table, offering gifts and seeking to exchange words with the king. As each new party arrived, he watched her, trying to gauge her responses. Thankfully, she maintained a polite but aloof demeanor. She offered brief pleasantries that were merely acts of protocol before returning to her conversations with Jacaerys or Baela at her sides.

Yet one individual commanded a singular focus, drawing both her interest and that of the king. His arrival was marked by a northern accent so thick and pronounced that it evoked an involuntary roll of the eye from him. The man introduced himself, as though his identity was not already clear.

Beside him, his brother was eagerly recounting the most recent events with an enthusiasm he couldn’t muster. Daeron seemed to be trying to distract him, but his efforts were in vain; he was too caught up in his thoughts, his mind drifting like a vessel lost on a stormy sea.

The younger narrated the defeats and victories of the participants who had marked the preliminary contests the previous day—contests from which he had deliberately absented himself.

Instead of mingling with the throngs, he had paid a visit to the jeweler, retrieving what he had requested, before turning to the deserted training yard for a grueling session. However, the respite he had sought was elusive; the sword strikes proved no match for the frustration.

In truth, the solace he craved lay solely with her.

She, who perpetually eluded his reach, her avoidance growing more resolute with each passing hour. Despite the desperate pleas of his mind, body, and soul, he had restrained himself from seeking her out, dreading that such actions might only drive her further away.

From the elevated dais, the king’s encouraged the remaining competitors.

That afternoon, the very air seemed to hum with tension. From his vantage on the main balcony, he watched the jousting tourney approaching its climax. Since the first light of dawn, the field had been abuzz with frenetic activity—a ceaseless ballet of combatants and horses that had methodically whittled down the competitors. Now, four of the eight finalists would be selected.

His mother had insisted he attend, suggesting that, if only for a single day, he set aside his reservations about such spectacles. Despite the fact that the idea of facing the neighing of horses, the incessant clamor of the crowd, and the scorching heat of the sun did not appeal to him at all, let alone endure the sight of numerous men vying for the princess’s attention, he had promised to be present.

After a breakfast he could barely taste, he found himself there, weighed down by a favor that laid on her lap, its presence a bitter jest that seemed to mock him.

The first finalist to emerge was his uncle, Gwayne, carrying Helaena’s favor. As the representative of House Hightower, he faced a lord of House Tarly. The lengthy battle was one he scarcely managed to follow to its conclusion.

Following this, the white cloak faced a man of House Massey, and yet another victory was claimed by Cole.

Then came a lord of House Corbray, preparing for his bout against the champion of House Redford. Before taking his position, Corwyn Corbray approached, and to his relief, it was Baela who he called. His hands, which had been tightly clenched around the arms of his chair, could finally relax—though the calm was but momentary.

When the northern made his entrance, a tightening knot settled in his stomach. 

He rode forward with an unsettling air of assurance, each step of his steed echoing his unwarranted confidence. As he drew near, his imperious demeanor commanded the arena’s attention, and the balcony fell into a breathless, expectant hush.

“I was hoping, if it pleases you, to be honored with your favor, princess” Lord Stark intoned, his voice dripping with presumption that set his teeth on edge. The sheer audacity of his request struck a chord so deep that he felt a primal urge to unleash Vhagar’s wrath upon the starving wolf, reducing him to ash and rid the world of his unwelcome presence. 

The idea was intoxicating, yet, he remained tethered by the frail strands of his dwindling restraint.

He stood rooted, paralyzed by helplessness, as she gracefully got up from her seat and glided to the edge of the balcony. The sight of her giving that token to another man was a visceral blow, a dagger aimed directly at his heart with cruel precision. 

The sting of defeat was further compounded by the sound of her light, cheerful laughter. “I wish you success, Lord Stark” she said in a melody of condemnation. 

Though he had no right to complain, the agony of witnessing her favoring another while he languished in obscurity was a torment beyond bearing that made him yearn to sink into the shadows or vanish from existence entirely.

She turned back with a smile and settled once more into her seat, now perched at the edge as if seeking a better view, while clasping Jacaerys’s hand. 

And, as if the day could not grow more excruciating, Lord Stark proceeded to engage in a match against a representative of House Bolton. Despite his fervent hopes and to his deepest dismay, Stark emerged triumphant in the first round, thereby securing his place in the final stage of the tournament. 

In the shroud of nocturnal gloom, after a bath that had done little to soothe his frayed nerves, he sat there, the faint moonlight barely piercing through the darkness.

Despite the patience he believed he possessed, the inactivity became intolerable. The vision of her radiant smile directed at another—one he had helped to foster—replayed ceaselessly in his mind. It was as though he were trapped in a waking nightmare.

With a deep sigh, he closed the small wooden case he had been clutching.

He ventured out into the hallway once it was deserted, each step measured and deliberate, barely audible on the floor. He paused before her chamber, his heart pounding with the ferocity of a drum. He rapped softly upon the door, three times, each knock a quiet plea.

The world seemed to hold its breath in that suspended moment of silence. Then, he heard the distant sound of footsteps approaching, the noise quickening his pulse with a heady blend of hope and dread.

The door creaked open abruptly, and the small smile that had graced her lips vanished upon finding him. Her form, once inviting, was hardened with irritation. “Why is it that you are here?” 

“Because If I had knocked on the back door, you would have ignored me” he replied, awkwardly attempting to infuse a note of levity into the tense atmosphere.

“Perhaps that is because I would rather not see you at all” she retorted, sharply.

“But I must speak with you” he said, urgency reflected in his eyes. She made a determined attempt to close the door, but he swiftly interjected, placing his foot against it. The look of fury she gave him was intense, yet he continued to plead. “Please, do not shut me out. It is important.”

She looked at him for a minute that felt like an eternity, in conflict. Then, with a resigned sigh, she allowed him entry.

Once inside, she closed the door behind him and turned, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. The relief he had felt at managing to get in swiftly dissipated, replaced by a mounting anxiety with each passing second. 

He found himself immobilized by indecision, the right words eluding him.

“I have brought something for you” he murmured, as if the object might serve as a key to unlocking a more amicable dialogue.

“Do you truly believe a gift can make me forget?” She scoffed, glancing briefly at the case before turning her attention to the other side of the room, as if he was a trespasser in her sanctuary.

“Is he courting you?” The question burst forth, raw, more urgently than he had intended, driven by a need to know that bordered on desperation. Her response was a look of exasperation that deepened his sense of inadequacy.

Before he could gather his thoughts to frame a coherent response, she interrupted him with an impatient edge. “Speak quickly” she commanded, her tone brisk as she moved to the table to pour herself a drink. “It is ill-befitting a man to be found in a lady’s chamber at this late hour.” The coldness she exuded was as piercing and unyielding as the frost of the harshest winter.

The woman who had been the epitome of warmth now showed him an opposing face, a testament of how effectively pain could alter someone.

“I am at a loss for how to begin.” Each blink was a battle against the surge of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

She tilted her head slightly, her face inscrutable, but a spark of resolve soon crossed her features. “Perhaps,” she said softly, with a hint of purpose, “I may assist you. I shall ask you some questions.”

Before he could voice his hesitation, she had already begun. Her interrogations, delivered with a steely determination, sliced through the stillness of the room, leaving no space for evasion, deceit or half-truths. Her chambers now felt like a field in a war he hadn't prepared for. 

“Is she here now, in the castle?” she inquired. He silently pleaded for mercy, but she didn’t relent. “Answer me” she ordered, her tone growing more imperative. 

He struggled for a moment, the ache in his chest swelling as grim recollections emerged from the depths of his memory, rendering him smaller than he had felt in a long time.

“No” he uttered, and he observed a fleeting flicker of both relief and disappointment, as though a part of her had hoped for a different answer.

“Was it only once?” 

“Yes.”

“Was it… casual?” she asked, her vulnerability laid bare. “Or do your affections for her run deeper?”

“Of course not.” The assurance fell woefully short even to him. “I cannot even recall her name.”

“What?” Her voice rose with indignation, her brows arching in disbelief and he looked at her, powerless, his shoulders drooping. “How is it possible for you to have forgotten her name?”

“I was not in my right mind that night.” Each word he spoke seemed to dig him further into a pit of dishonor, his penance growing ever more profound.

“But you recall her, do you not?” she demanded. He inclined his head in the slightest of nods. “You remember her face, you remember her body” she pressed further, an unyielding assault on his fragile composure. If he could, he would willingly subject himself to the searing flames of dragonfire to erase those haunting memories. “Is she more beautiful than I?”

He met her gaze, his self-loathing deepened as he beheld the seeds of doubt he had sown in her. “No one could ever be” he asserted with conviction, hoping that his earnest words might mend the cracks in her heart.

Yet, his truthful response didn’t help. Her expression remained unmoved, dismissing his effort to soothe her. 

“Did you enjoy it?” Her eyes were bored into him, a search for any telltale sign. “Was it worth it, at least?”

“No” he breathed out.

“Have I ever seen her?” she asked, almost shaking with curiosity and desperation, needing to know every detail. “Is she a lady, a servant?”

A flush of mortification crept up his neck, scorching his cheeks as he grappled with the words. With a heavy sigh, fully aware that it would fortify the wall between them, he began. “No… she is…” he faltered, a relentless hammer pounding at his conscience. “She is a… whore.”

The silence that followed was deafening, and he averted his stare, unable to meet her judgment, as humiliation swallowed him whole.

A veneer of profound skepticism clouded her semblant, as though his assurances were mere fragments of an absurd fable rather than the truth. Her brows knitted together, and a sneer of disdain twisted her lips.

With revulsion, she decided that his words were not worthy of belief. Turning away, she faced the window, her posture as stiff as the cold night air. “My Aemond would never engage in such depravity” she proclaimed.

Her words spilled from her lips like an incantation cast to shield her cherished image of him from the harshness of reality—a vision she had clung to with all the fervor of her heart, and for which he would have sacrificed everything to achieve.

For him, witnessing her deny his sin was a cruel bittersweetness. On one hand, it was agonizing to realize the extent of his betrayal had wrought an irreparable wound in her perception of him.

On the other hand, there lay a strange solace. It spoke to a profound understanding of his true self—she could discern that his errors were entirely at odds with the essence of who he was. Her refusal to accept it was, in its own way, a declaration of faith, a hopeful cry.

“It was a moment of weakness” he insisted, unsteady with earnest desperation as he sought to appeal to her compassion.

“A moment of weakness?” she countered with a sharp edge of disillusionment. “Is this what you truly are—a weak man who cannot resist temptation?”

“It was a grievous mistake.”

“A mistake?” she echoed with rising ire, each word a stinging reprimand to his wounded pride. “Did you leave the castle by mistake? Did you venture to Street of Silk by mistake? Did you lavish her with coins by mistake? Do you take me for a fool?”

“I did not know…” he faltered, each utterance deepening his descent into the abyss of his guilt. “It was a… a gift.”

“A gift?” Her incredulous tone resonated with frustration. “What manner of excuse is that?”

“My brother” he explained. “Aegon wanted to help me, with you. As a gift.”

She scrutinized him, her mind attempting to unravel what his words hadn’t fully explained. The flickering light caught the pained shift in her expression before she asked, her voice tinged with trepidation. “When did this… happen?”

He was aware that the answer he was about to give would only worsen the wound and drive the final nail on his coffin. The thought that she would come to learn that the man who had basked in her devoted care had made such disastrous decisions while she stood by him was a suffering of his own crafting.

Especially on that night, when she had bestowed upon him the most beautiful gifts of her affection, when destiny itself seemed to be sealed with a kiss that marked a new journey for them. He recalled with vivid clarity how he left her waiting, how she had knocked on his door, how she had needed him, and he had just laid there, consumed by regrets.

“The last nameday you spent by my side” he finally confessed.

She fell silent, her face a canvas of disbelief as she struggled to process the information. Gradually, her expression contorted into one of pure horror and sorrow, a devastating amalgam that stole his breath away.

The look they shared was a taut cord, stretching painfully between their hearts. He knew with certainty that he shouldn’t draw closer, that she desired neither his closeness nor his touch.

“I am sorry” he murmured in a plea for redemption. “I am deeply sorry.”

Her tears fell in an unrestrained deluge, cascading as if released from a dam. Without warning, she moved hastily toward him. “Oh, Aemond.”

He stood paralyzed, caught at a crossroads, unsure whether to reach out for her or retreating, fearful of causing further harm. Before he could resolve it, she flung herself at him. But rather than seeking refuge on his chest, she enveloped him with a force that defied logic, as though she wished to meld into him entirely. His arms lay ensnared, trapped between their entwined forms.

She grasped his neck, forcing him to bend down so that his cheek rested upon her shoulder.

He remained in that position as she succumbed to her pain, the urgency of her embrace seeming more a desperate attempt to soothe him than a quest for comfort herself. For a moment, he allowed himself to savor this ephemeral return to the closeness he had so missed, even though the circumstances were heart-wrenching.

In a twist of the unexpected, she wept into his ear, her words barely audible through her cries. “Forgive me.”

When he drew away, her face was swollen, her cheeks streaked with the relentless streams that had left her weary. With shaking hands, she cradled his face. “I am sorry” she repeated, her breath erratic. 

“Why?” he asked, overwhelmed with confusion.

“For everything I asked, for all the words I spoke. I am so deeply sorry” she replied, breaking into a choked sob. Her lips quivered as she bit them, her eyes shining with heartache. “You do not understand, do you?”

“It was not your fault” she said, sadness wrapped around her every word. “You were just a child.”

Far from clarity, he looked at her, feeling how the lines of bewilderment etched deeper into his features. Words escaped him as a cry of desperation echoed within him.

A shiver of discomfort washed over him. “I was three and ten” he clarified. 

“I know” she answered, soft and broken, steeped in compassion. “My darling boy.”

“Old enough to know better” he countered, heavy with a devastating self-criticism and an unrelenting sense of shame.

She shook her head vehemently, filled with sadness, as if she could see further than he could and had reached the core. “And yet, so innocent to not expect the worst.” Her voice was a whisper, a lament.

Suddenly, an avalanche of thoughts began to assail him, a tumultuous storm of clarity crashing over him with an implacable force. The darkness he had long endured, the misery he had inflicted upon himself, was now shattered by a brutal illumination.

Yes, he was a child.

It wasn’t his fault for not being able to foresee it, stop it, overcome it. They were the ones who took from him what was his to have, to give.

The world began to spin with violence. The dizziness descended upon him brutally, turning the air thick and ungraspable, as if the walls were collapsing inward to crush him. Each breath became a monumental effort, a contest against the suffocation. His legs, once firm, could no longer bear the weight of his own existence, almost collapsing beneath him.

His palms and forehead began to pearl with cold sweat, his vision was blurred and a piercing pain began to carve his chest. 

With an instinctive sharpness that only the deepest bond can forge, she immediately perceived the gravity of his plight. Her eyes, before veiled in sadness, now blazed with resolute determination, focused to see him through that ordeal.

Gently, she sat him down, her movements imbued with a stable calm grace that seemed to defy the tumult around them, though the slight tremor in her hands betrayed her worry. Without hesitation, she procured a glass of water, holding it to his lips. “Drink” she urged, with authority and tenderness. 

As he drank, she stayed by his side, her hand softly stroking his back, an attempt to dispel the fog that clouded his senses.

“May I sleep with you tonight?” he ventured, emerging in a manifestation of vulnerability. 

“Would you prefer us to stay here, or go to your chambers?”

“The truth is” he murmured, admitting a deeper truth that made him feel even more exposed, “I do not like the view from my window.” She nodded softly, her understanding silent.

After a few minutes, she rose, her movements a dance of sadness and empathy, and went to the door, securing it with the latch. The sound was a promise of safety, a barrier against the outside. She then turned to the basin of water, dipping a linen cloth into its coolness. 

Unbeknownst to him, his own soul had overflowed, finding its escape through his eye. As she wiped his face with a tenderness that seemed to absorb not just his tears but the very pain that caused them. She dried her own as well, though her stare promised more.

“May I?” she asked gently, as if seeking permission to navigate his fragile state. He nodded, setting the small wooden case aside. 

With meticulous care, she removed his jackets and boots, her hands moving with a reverence of a healer tending to a sacred wound.

As he lay down, he was enveloped by the sweet fragrance of roses that lingered in the sheets. When she joined him, the bed became an oasis, where the burden of that long-festering night began to dissolve in the warmth of her proximity.

He had never confided that to another, for no one else could ever hold a candle to her. She, his sweet princess, who had defended to the hilt the child he once was, now gazed upon him with a love so profound it seemed to radiate from the very depths of her soul and cleared the darkest corners of his.

He cautiously lifted his hand to his face. She watched him in silence as he proceeded, slowly liberating him from the barrier that had shielded him from the world and himself, laying bare more than his wound.

Her breath caught in her throat as she beheld.

“You said I could think of it as a piece of sky, or sea, to remind me that I was destined for something greater” he whispered, referring to the sapphire that replaced his lost eye, “I chose to think of it as a part of you, for you are who I am destined to.”

In her, he discovered acceptance��an unwavering flame that had been there for him all along, waiting patiently to be stoked, to be his salvation.

@callsignwidow @purplegardenwhispers @helaenaluvr @scarletbedlam @fics-i-love-and-recommend @squidscottjeans @fossface @truly-abysmal @congenialcat @that-girl-named-alex @oh-you-mean-me @barnes70stark

[byhuenii]

SATIVA

synopsis! pool party at the x mansion..is it getting hot in here or is it just you? (WC: idk..) pairing! logan ‘wolverine’ howlett x fem!reader warnings! usage of name instead of yn. reader has curly hair cause i said so. pul. not proofread LOLL. probably ooc.🧏‍♀️ a/n! IS IT HOT IN HERE OR IS IY JUST ME??? IM SO HIGH ON SMOKING ON THIS WEED

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sun was out and so was that pool the school had been hiding away during the cold winters, sun was out so were the chairs where you could lay down near the pool for the rest day. the sun was nice it was pretty hot but it was nice compared to the cold harsh winters. ororo had been running around with a camera taking photos of everyone and everything. “how many pictures have you taken so far roro?” your elbows propped you upwards so you could see her

“so many, the memories of these will be amazing i mean look at them” she hustled her way over showing off the pictures. it had only been you ororo and jean outside watching the kids play in the pool. scott was with charles he said he would come later, logan he was still off and on about coming. “roro you should take a picture of us together” a smile exploded on the girls lips sitting down right next to you, “cheese!” she said before clicking the button on the camera

“we look so cute, i’ll definitely need to get all these printed out” ororo was just happy to be here. it was a real from all the madness and crazy things that had been happening in everyone’s lives lately

you smiled at the enthusiasm ororo gave off, you had blinked and she was already off to the other side taking pictures of the kids playing chicken fight. “ah jean! when is scott coming?” you asked the red head who had taken up the duty as life guard, “he said he was just going to talk to the professor but who knows” she shrugged, “what about logan? is he coming” jean wore a tiny smirk

the tone in her voice was a flirty but also witty you couldn’t help but laugh “he was off and on about this i wouldn’t be surprised if he isn’t coming” you wore your heart on your sleeve. your tone said you didn’t care but the body language and the way you constantly looked at the door you wanted him to come, he deserved it the most

jean looked at the pool and looked at you “you sure know how to summon people, your man is here” she gave you a slight nudge to the shoulder.

he had always been handsome and mysterious but right now he just had that energy to show why he was mister tall, dark, and mysterious. the white tank top he always wore somehow looked even more attractive in the sun. he had swim shorts on he came prepared. the way his muscles were practically glistening in the sun was unreal, “you’re drooling [nickname]” jean teased

you hadn’t even realized you were gawking, thank goodness for glasses so he couldn’t see where you were looking (putting on sunglasses so they don’t know what i’m looking at) “i’m not gawking!” you defended yourself when in fact you were gawking at him. “if you weren’t gawking you’d realize he’s coming closer to us” jean lipped her laughter patting your thigh

the way you composed yourself should be eligible for a world record, your mind was literally freaking out. you swore it wasn’t that hot did it get hotter? “logan you finally decided to join us” your words came out somewhat like a squeak much to your embarrassment .

“of course not bub. its not every day we get to see you in clothes that isn’t your suit and casual attire” he wore a smirk. his usual gruff still rested on his face, he smelled like alcohol but that was his normal smell at times

your face feels like it got sunburned why was it so hot, you looked away kinda flustered mouthing the words ‘help me’ to jean who pretended to ignore you looking at the kids,

“is that your way into trying to get into my pants howlett?” you rolled your eyes with a small smile on your lips, “did it work?”

you cleared your throat adjusting the sunglasses that rested on your nose, “maybe. maybe it did” logan had a quiet chuckle you almost missed. he had a bottle of chilled beer in his hand. “do you want to sit down?” you let the spot next to you

logan shook his head “it’s okay sweetheart, i’m sure you’ll need it more than i do” he was mocking you. he was definitely mocking you, that coy smile he had while drinking his beer.

“just say you two like each other” ororo came from behind taking a photo of the two of you, logan had been looking down at you with the coy smile beer to lips but his eyes were soft. they were always soft to you. your face was flushed so there wasn’t much need for him to see your eyes,

you stuck out your tongue to the white haird female who sat next to jean showing off the photos she had taken of you and logan, logan’s eyes wandered off to the pool

“you look like you’re ready to jump into the water” you had placed your sunglasses on top of your curls. eyes squinting to adjust to the light that suddenly blinded you, “nah. not my kinda thing” he shrugged placing his beer down on the mini table near your chair

“is the little kitty too afraid of water?” he mocked you so you teased him it was only fair, he looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “aren’t you one to talk, been sitting here like a princess”

“so a princess and her kitty that’s too afraid of water” you quipped

“oh yeah?”

“i knew you had animalistic tendencies but being afraid of water is—lo put me down.”

logan’s calloused hands scooped you up like the princess you truly are throwing him over your shoulder. your pleased fell dead to his ears. his arm was wrapped around your legs tightly so you wouldn’t be squirm and try to run off “what’d you say sweetheart i can’t hear you” he walked to the edge of the pool, “logan. don’t you dare” your plead became funnier to the man.“but wasn’t i supposed to be the one afraid of the water” he said with a low rumbled chuckle. “i’m sorry i’m sorry please” you were holding onto the man, he would never let you go you knew that “WAIT WAIT MY SUNGLASSES—LOGAN”

he had loosened up the grip he had on you jumping into the pool you didn’t even have time to throw your glasses on the floor. you had inhaled quiet some water, your eyes were closed shut when you had forcefully jumped into the water, you quickly resurfaced back to the top trying to catch your breathe, you had a little coughing fit with all the chlorine intake

your eyes opened up looking around you, the top of your head felt a empty as you felt it. your glasses weren’t there. you looked around to find logan with them on behind you. “fuck you” you snarled swimming over to him, his arms wrapped around your waist pulling you close to him. the white tank top logan wore clung to his body outlining his abs and defined chest

ororo was taking many photos, her toothy grin as wide “smile!” she said. logan’s hand had scooped you up bring him to his chest, his arm rested under your ass. “is it getting hotter here?” you mumbled looking at ororo with a flushed face from just being thrown in the pool and logan’s gesture. “all you bub”

“i like your sunglasses. look good on you” you scoffed wrapping your arms around his neck, “thanks stole them, i think i might keep them” you stuck out your tongue at his comment, your hands snaked their ways to his face fixing his wet hair. his hair tuffs were still there slightly,

“do you actually like me?” you didn’t mean for the words to just slip out but they did, what ororo said had crossed your mind until now. his gestures were different but in a way you found comfort in them. “i do bub i really do, just not trying to fuck this up” he put the sunglasses on his head, he wanted you to see his desperation he carried. “may i?” he asked leaning his head against yours

a smile graced your lips giving him a nod. a nod was all he needed his lips smashed onto yours. it was passionate yet sweet, you wore a smile that grew even bigger. the sound of a camera clicking caused you to pull away.

“finally. i was tired of you two not saying anything” ororo chuckled, logan rolled his eyes as you hid your face in his neck peppering it with small kisses.

all he knew was that he had finally had the girl he had wanted wrapped around his arms giving her kisses that she deserved. he was definitely taking you out on a date after this maybe he’ll get some help from ororo just so the date is perfect, oh and that photo too. he’ll need copies of each and single one them together.

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a/n — idk what i did i just kept writing lol

[weebsinstash]

As much as I strongly dislike when a series kind of "cages" the self insert/OC potential of its audience, it's becoming pretty clear that there's a certain level of pre-determined-ness to Sinners and their appearances, almost to the point it's vaguely implied entire sections of Pentagram City are like, ethnically/visually distinct and that every character we see fits into some sort of category and resembles other people. There's an Overlord who's a giant raptor dinosaur and there are other dinosaur Sinners (and also she's like the club/rave based overlord and even has a business, Klub Kaiju, interesting). Valentino is a moth and there are other moths and different bugs like spiders. In the most recent episode showing flashbacks of Hell in Alastor's past, there was a past female Overlord who had the same multi-toned angular swirling hair as Velvette does. In Vox's studio in episode two, he has members of staff that are visually similar to his own aesthetic. Even up in Heaven, Angel's sister Molly still has her spider aesthetic with a halo and cherub wings

so, i guess, to go where I'm ACTUALLY going with this post.... Moth Reader who winds up catching Valentino's eyes because "oh wow we're both moths, isn't that cute" and it escalates into him seeing you as his property, ESPECIALLY if you also have weird drugging/pheromone powers like him

Like can you imagine it? You smack down into the city while he's like having lunch at a cafe or his limo is parked at a light and you're standing up all confused and helpless and cute, hugging yourself as you look around this loud violent scary new place, and you two wind up making exact eye contact and he can tell you're crying and scared, easy prey. Could you picture Reader's equivalent of his coat being that you're in a little hoodie or jacket or shawl and it just unwraps while you're sitting with him. Idk. You accidentally inhale some of his smoke and just give a cute little sneeze and your antenna and your wings are all just poofing out, you basically just equipped that shit from your inventory. On the fence if Reader would have chest fur but maybe your hair hair is really big and long and silky

Moth Reader having eye spots on their wings that can lull someone into hypnosis, or you have some sort of pheromone that makes people weak to your demands, maybe even horny for you, like some mind controlling queen bee ordering her drones. Val's in the bathroom and some creep grabs you and all of a sudden your antenna twitch and his face gets hit with a little puff of 'dust' and suddenly he's letting go of you, "oh my gosh sweetie I am so sorry, here, take all the money in my wallet, you deserve it, I'm so sorry queen, I'm gonna go jump into traffic, sorry queen, sorry, sorry, im a worm, sorry, sorry"

Valentino having unique reactions to your "pollen" as another moth or at least an addict with a tolerance. He buries his face in your neck so you "poof" him on purpose and he's just hotboxing your scent and getting high and horny while you're struggling and squealing. He forces you to use your powers on him and others so they can feel happy and high. At some point he may even force you to keep producing the powder so he can sell it as a drug or a product and at that point you're BIG INCOME for him, he might as well carry you around like his personal vape pen

Like. Can you even imagine "oh yeah Im super lucky enough that i have these powers to protect myself and potentially manipulate others" and you think you're safe and untouchable and this man is like using his fucking credit card to shift your powder into lines to snort it like a rail of cocaine. You can turn "normal" Sinners into your helpless pawns but it loses effectiveness the stronger the person is and this man is like HOTBOXING your shit, all but passing out on the couch with you in his arms in pure drug seeking unrestrained bliss. And then he fucks ya cause I mean, it's YOUR fault he's all hot and bothered now isn't it?

Just Reader not even knowing how much danger they're in because you just got here and have no idea who this guy is and you're just spinning around looking at your new appearance and flapping your little wings and maybe you can even float or fly a little bit, all happy, big big smiles, being all "oh my gosh this is so cool, I feel so cute ^^" and you don't even realize you're practically modeling yourself on a runway to one very, VERY interested customer...

[lidiasloca]

more than this (azriel x reader)

summary: after Azriel and reader had a summer together, the last thing Az was expecting was to face her again. (angst).

previous chapter, next chapter

chapter seven

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Days passed. Countless days passed. Nothing happened in between them. You woke up, you ate, and you went to sleep. That was it. Emptiness.

Two months ago, thought, it were different. After leaving Helion’s palace, an unbearable pain reigned your heart. You woke up, you cried all day, and you went to sleep. But now you had no more tears left.

Just emptiness.

And constant banging on your head.

Or is it a knock on the door?

Another knock.

Another knock.

You rose from the ground, ungracefully and dizzy. “Go away!” you shout as you walk to the door of the old and poorly lit apartment you had rented. But the knocking doesn’t subside.  

“What do y-” But your words fade as you see the person knocking.

“Hi,” she smiles faintly. “It’s been a long time, Y/n.”

You open your mouth. You close it. And you try talking again.

“Elain?”

Her forced smile fades into an empathetic look. Her expressive face has always been easy to read. Her next words are harder to understand, though. 

“I really hated you, you know. Utter, raw hate. And maybe I still hate you a bit. But… despite that, you deserve to know more about Azriel.”

She hates you. Understandable. She wants to talk about Azriel. That makes no sense at all. 

When you finally manage to word something, you ask her, “Know what?” 

“Well - could I come in first? It’s freezing here. And this may take a while.”

You let her in and guide here to the couch. Your mind is blank as you prepare some tea for the both of you. Is still blank when you start mindlessly listening to Elain talk about the weather, your family, and other things you can’t quite hear because your head is full of one clear scream:

Azriel!

“Elain,” you cut her off mid-sentence. “Please, just - what is it that you really came here for? Earlier you said something about Azriel.”

“I know. I know,” she replies softly. She inhales deeply. “I don’t know where to start...”

It was a sad day. Rain kept pouring and I felt lonely in my room. Only the drops of water accompanied me. 

Or at least that was until I saw them. Azriel’s shadows. And like smoke warns you about fire. His shadows only meant he was next. 

“Do not hide,” I commanded, no longer vulnerable against he who had broken my heart.

Then, he appeared, wearing black clothes, as obscure as his semblance. Sad eyes watched me back. Guilt and tears mixed in their dark color. 

“I am not hiding, Elain,” he said, softly as a whisper. “Not anymore.”

The pain in his voice moved me. He sounded miserable. He looked miserable. 

I walked to Azriel. Yes, I was mad at him. But that didn’t dismiss the love I still had for him - the worry I felt for him. 

The moment I laid a hand on him, barely a touch, he broke. He moved to hug me desperately as he cried and begged for forgiveness.

He confessed what we both knew I knew. That he had been with Y/n that summer. And that he still loved her after it. He said he wished he hadn't hurt me. And that he was sorry. So sorry.

He kept crying for so long it shocked me. He never showed me his feelings, but now, here he was, crying and sobbing as if he had never been touched by sadness before.

Once I accomplished to soothe him a bit, he told me what had happened. He told me trough sobs he had found his mate. He didn’t have to tell me her name. I knew. 

I had always known. Since the very first moment he had returned home after summer, I had known there had been someone. And I knew she was much more for him than just a someone. Even if he lied to me. Even if he lied to himself. 

But a bond… No lie can conceal the mating bond. 

Not even a lie to believe there is one. But he had tried to believe for so long that he would find one in me. In us. 

I felt like a disappointment every day that passed and the bond didn’t snap. I felt like that was the only way to prove myself worthy of his love. Had he had known we weren't mates earlier, I knew he wouldn’t have wasted a second on me. 

That was Azriel. A male obsessed with finding a mating bond and feeling unloved. It was a vicious circle he had entered. And I had jumped to the spiral with him… 

“And so did I,” you say.

Elain's eyes find yours in surprise when she hears you, like as she had been lost in her story. You know that feeling quite well. Memories with Azriel cut bone-deep and are always there to stay and come to the surface whenever they want. 

“And so did you,” she breathes. Then she chooses silence, still reeling from her confessions. 

You have a feeling that day she’s talking about was the day Azriel had left. The day the bond had snapped. The day you told him… 

You inhale deeply. Trying to think of something else.

“Y/n,” she calls. “The truth is, I hate you. You must have guessed that of course; I know I was rude to you when we first met. I pretended I didn't know anything so I could go on hurting you without consequence." She sighs and adds, "And I also hate him. I wish I didn’t, but I hate you both. He’s broken my heart, and you are the main reason as for he has done so. But, I had been thinking these months. About everything. But, especially, about where this anger comes from.” 

You watch as she wipes her tears. And your heart breaks for her. But, you can’t do anything, so you just continue listening to what she has to say. 

“And the truth is - you’ve just gotten what I always had wished for. A mating bond. It’s the only thing I’ve always wanted since I met Azriel. I hated the thought of being tied to anyone before that. But with Azriel, I wanted nothing else. And now…now I will never have that. Because you have it.”

Silence breaks in through the truths she’s sharing. And you both just sit with them like that. Guilt and sadness filling your heart. 

You let Elain take her time, and even though she claims to hate you, her kind eyes tell you she’s thankful for giving her a moment. 

“And… well, that though I had for many weeks. That you shared the bond with him and I didn’t. And to go through those weeks, I tried to use something he’d told me. That you hadn’t accepted it. That you hated him. I tried to convince myself that that made us even. I didn’t have the bond, but you, in a way, didn’t either. However, that didn’t do anything to make it better for me. It even made it worse. You had what I would’ve killed for, and you just - didn’t care. You had let him go. And well - I guess that is why I’m here.”

“I don’t understand. You’ve come here because I didn’t accept the bond?” you ask surprised and shocked.

“Yes. And because I want you to accept it.”

Your jaw nearly drops, and you have to close your eyes as you try to make some sense of this. Azriel cheats on her, and she wants for him to have his mating bond accepted by the one girl he’s cheated her with. What -

And not only that. Does she not know how much damage he’s done to you to?

“Elain, but-”

“I know. I know. That day, he told me everything. I know what he did to you. I know you didn’t know about me. That doesn’t make me hate you less. But it also doesn’t mean you don’t love him still.”

“What, but I-

“You deny it?” she asks, her eyebrows accusingly risen.

Of course you don’t. You will never deny loving him. And so you stay silent. 

“Listen, I know you are angry at him. A lot. But not half as much he is with himself. He hates himself for what he did to me and for what he did to you. And I know exactly how hard it will be to forgive him, but, you have to. It’s as simple as that.”

“No, no it’s not,” you whisper, almost on the verge of tears. 

“It is. You are mated. You love him, and he loves you. And…” She swallows and adds, “He doesn't love you because you are mated, he loved you long before that. Even when he thought it was supposed to be me. It was always you for him. It is that simple.”

Your cheeks are wet and your eyes hurt from shutting them so tightly when you feel her hand on your arm, caressing you like as she held love for you. You think how you could have ever hated this girl.

“Elain.”

“Yes?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry for me. Only be sorry for yourself if you let anger ruin the most precious treasure the gods have given you.”

“The mating bond.”

She cocks her head. “No.” You look up to find her eyes. “A soulmate. Someone that, with or without that bond, is made for you. And Azriel is.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” she laughs softly.

“But, I don’t think he wants it anymore. I told him some things that-”

“Y/n, listen. Azriel loves you still just as much as you love him. No matter what he did. No matter what you said, your souls are tied. And your love hasn’t gone anywhere. Do not waste it.”

And her clear words make it dawn upon you. 

A revelation; You have to go find him. See for yourself that your love still has a chance. 

You smile at her, and she returns your smile softly.

The path to here has been difficult and blurry. What Azriel did is not completely amended. His mistakes have been done. And so are yours. But you are ready to forgive, if he is ready to be better. And you know he is. Because now, with this love you let yourself feel for him, the path seems easier and clearer. 

You know you both have things to solve, and talk. But love will be there with you every step of the way. 

And not only love.

The mating bond. 

“Do not waste what so many wish for when they look up to the stars.”

HEY! IF YOU LIKED THIS, YOU CAN CHECK OUT MY AZRIEL MASTERLIST HERE <3

Just one more chapter to goooo. I know our little Azriel hasn't appeared on this one, but he will of course be on the grand finale. Prepare yourselfs for a lovely ending to this story. Hope you liked it as I've loved getting back here to write for More Than This. Please know I much appreciate when you engage with my posts, especially when you comment nice things :) Thanku for reading.

-Characters by Sarah J. Maas

tag list:

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IF YOU WANT TO BE IN THE TAGLIST COMMENT IT ON THIS CHAPTER PLEASE.

[beomiracles]

CONGRATS FOR 500!! so well deserved!

for your bash i’m thinking about something emogyu coded cuz i can’t live without it so…

tattooartist!beomgyu x reader

where reader is lowkey really scared like they’re literally trembling while entering his salon because they never got tattoos before! and in such a place (i see some sluty tattoo on their lower back)

but beomgyu seeing this can’t help but smooth their nerves by talking and reassuring aand… sneaking some not really sneaky touches here and there :’)) and rest i’ll leave for you to continue…

500 BASH SPECIAL

#serene adds ✎... as someone with tattoos (who definitely had a crush on her tattoo artist at the ripe age of 17) this was right up my alley ! and I've been meaning to get a tramp stamp myself to add to my collection sooooo hehe

wc -> 1.8K

pairings tattoo artist! beomgyu x afab!reader warnings mentions of needles, reader is really pristine and gets her first tattoo, Beomgyu is a little handsy, slightly suggestive but nothing crazy at all!

the urge to turn this into something more in the future y'all

Gosh, what were you thinking? – A tattoo? What on earth would your parents think when you came over for the holidays? Not to mention, the pain. You had such a low pain tolerance it was almost ridiculous. Despite it all, you pushed the door to the salon open and stepped inside. 

The studio was small; covered head to toe in posters of inked up men and women, wearing nothing but skimpy clothing – your cheeks reddened at the sight. Music was playing from an old radio, the artist was unfamiliar but the heavy beat perfectly lined up with your racing heart. You bite your lip as you consider turning back, there was still time…But then the door to what you assumed to be the small staff room, opened; and through it came one of the most gorgeous men you had ever laid your eyes on. 

He was perhaps everything your parents would’ve forbidden your teenage self from ever getting acquainted with. Long dark hair, matching the smoked out eyeshadow around his piercing eyes, a metal ring going through the center of his full bottom lip; not to mention the several ink designs adorning his neck and arms. You swallow a gulp as you shamelessly ogle the man in front of you, not noticing how he tilted his head, a smirk creeping its way to his pierced lips. 

“1:30?” He asks as he watches the way your gaze snaps from his chest to his eyes. You blink, confused, as you fumble for words. “I uh…what?” You meekly squeak out, feeling the color on your cheeks intensifying by the second. The man’s smirk widens, “you the one who booked the appointment for 1:30?” – “Oh, y-yeah that’s me..” you mumble as you clear your throat rather awkwardly. 

He offers his hand and you notice the tattoos adorning his finger as well. “Beomgyu”, he says as you take his hand. After exchanging formalities, he guides you over to the stretcher at the back of the salon; it reminds you of the ones hospitals usually keep. Bringing out your phone, you begin pulling up the designs you had carefully chosen weeks prior. “You gotten a tattoo done before?” he asks as he watches your pink acrylics tap against the screen. 

You shake your head as you give him a sheepish smile. “Never.” Once more your mind wanders to your parents, your mom especially, what would she say? – Your family wasn’t exactly orthodox, but the subject of tattoos and other bodily modifications was sort of an unspoken rule. And even though you were now an adult, free to make your own decisions regarding your own body, the ways of your upbringing were still rooted in the back of your mind. 

Beomgyu doesn’t look surprised as he studies your nervous frame, his gaze stopping at your hands, timidly fiddling with your phone case. “You nervous?” His question was more of a statement but you give him a small nod, “yeah.” He smirks, “it’s quite natural, don’t worry, I know what I’m doing, love.” The small wink he sends you doesn’t go unnoticed as you stutter out a small o-of course, your eyes flitting down to your phone in order to avoid his intense gaze. 

“So whatcha lookin’ to get?” He asks as he brings out a moveable table, containing what you could only assume to be the tools he used for his works. Your eyes widen as you eye the sharp needles with dread. You nervously bite your lip, “w-well, I was thinking something on…on my lower back.” Beomgyu cocks an eyebrow in your direction, seemingly intrigued by your bold choice of placement for your first tattoo. 

“And you’ve got some designs for me I presume?” Nodding you show him the multiple pictures you had saved on your phone. His inked finger swipes through them as he studies them closely. “You got a favorite?” he asks, his eyes not leaving the screen. You shake your head, “I was thinking I’d do whatever you think will suit me best…” you mumble as your gaze flickers between your phone and him. Beomgyu hums as he stops on a picture of a butterfly. You follow his gaze and he nods to himself before handing your phone back, “I think you’ll absolutely rock that one, love.” 

His words of assurance made you feel confident in your decision and you eagerly nod as Beomgyu leaves to print out the design. – The two of you spent another fifteen minutes discussing placement as you held up your shirt for Beomgyu to place the paper against your skin. The feeling of his hands on your waist as he explained what would look best made your heart flutter in an unexplainable way. 

With your back facing the mirror, your hands awkwardly rest on Beomgyu’s chest as you turn your head to study the design. His inked hands moving across your hips, fingers brushing against your lower back as he talks you through the healing process. Swallowing – your eyes drift to the way his arms drape around you before moving to his face. You watch the way his lips move as he speaks, the slight frown of his brows as he focuses on getting your tattoo right. 

Then through the glass of the mirror, your eyes meet his. The smirk he flashes you is enough to tell you that he can sense the nerves radiating off of you, and perhaps even the tinge of attraction flowing through your veins. “You ready?” He asks without letting go of your hips, biting your lip, you slowly nod. 

Upon laying down on the stretcher, your attention shifts entirely to controlling your labored breathing as you anticipate the sting of the harsh needles. Somewhere behind you, you can make out the sound of Beomgyu pulling on latex gloves and before you know it he’s next to you, sitting down on a movable chair as he plugs in the sharp tool which makes a jarring noise. 

Screwing your eyes shut, you bite down on your bottom lip, preparing for the sting. But it never comes, instead you feel Beomgyu’s hand on your hip as he massages the flesh gently. “Relax”, he murmurs and you can feel his gaze on you, “it’ll hurt less if you do.” Nodding as best as you can, you do as he says; drawing in a deep breath through your nose before letting it out through your lips. 

The pain wasn’t as bad as you thought it would have been. While it did initially sting in an almost unbearable way, it quickly simmered down to a light burning sensation. Beomgyu had told you that the whole process would take about an hour – though he managed to keep your mind occupied with questions about yourself. 

“What’s mom and dad gon’ say about this one?” He asks as he dabs the irritated skin with a piece of paper before continuing. You huff out a small breath of air at the mention of your parents. “They won’t be happy.” – “Why?” He wonders and you think of a way to properly answer. “Well they’re…strict, I suppose.” You say as a small frown crosses your features, “but, I’m old enough to decide on my own. I guess I just wished they would be a little more accepting?” It felt a little weird, opening up about your parents like that to someone you had known less than an hour but Beomgyu hums understandingly behind you. 

“They are your parents, probably only want what’s good for you. I bet they’ll come around.” He says as he dabs the paper against your tattoo once more. You nod, “hopefully.” Beomgyu remains silent for a moment, the sound of the needle working its way through your skin filling the studio, the radio having gone silent half an hour earlier. “And your boyfriend?” he suddenly asks. – “I…I don’t have one..” you quietly mumble, thankful that you were facing the opposite direction as your cheeks flushed with color. 

“Really?” Beomgyu asks in a surprised tone, though you can sense the smugness lingering behind his words. “How come?” – “Such a pristine girl as yourself, thought you were bound to be taken”, he then adds and when you turn your head to look at him, you find a small smirk tugging at his lips. 

“I guess…I don’t know. Maybe I just haven’t found the right one yet…” you bite your lip as you hesitantly peek at his expression only to find him already looking at you. “And who’s the right one?” He asks as his gaze returns to your lower back. “Someone my parents wouldn’t approve of”, you state and Beomgyu raises an eyebrow without looking up from your tattoo, as if expecting you to elaborate. – “It’s silly…but I, I’ve often thought about bringing home someone I know they wouldn’t like, just because I would want to show them that there’s more to people than just their appearance I suppose…does that sound weird?” You hesitantly ask as your eyes focus on the way his lips stretches into a smirk. “Not at all.” 

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you crane your neck to watch the way Beomgyu’s hand moves across your back; fascinated with the way the design was coming to life on your skin. Noticing you stare Beomgyu gives you a quick glance, “doesn’t hurt that bad, no?” – You shake your head as a small grin finds its way to your lips, “no, not at all.” 

An hour passes and soon the ink is completely engraved in your skin. Bunching your shirt up, you skip over to the mirror to admire the butterfly on your back with wide eyes. “I love it”, you breathe as your gaze travels along the tattoo, marveling at how well it complemented your skin.

Beomgyu comes up behind you as he, too, studies his work. “Told you, you would rock it.” He murmurs as he kneels down behind you. Startled by his sudden movement you turn around only to be stopped by a pair of large hands on your hips. “Stay still”, he mutters and you immediately comply as your gaze returns to the mirror in front of you. 

Carefully, he wraps a thin layer of plastic over the inked design, making sure to flatten it out with the palm of his hand before dragging it across your stomach. You hold your breath as you watch the way his painted fingers move across your lower abdomen, his touches perhaps lingering a little longer than needed, but you didn’t mind. When he stands up, his chest is almost pressed against your back and you swallow a gulp. 

“You look wonderful, love.” He mumbles as one of his hands finds yours. – He opens your palm for him to place a small note in, your gaze follows the small movement as you frown. Upon opening the paper you realize that it’s a number, presumingly his. Your wide eyes travel back up to his as your lips part in an unspoken question. 

“If you ever consider getting another tattoo”, he smirks. 

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[cobaltperun]

Hey, love your writing.

So I was thinking something about (Fem)R and Tara being exes. Reader studying for finals or sum and getting a call from Chad, Mindy doesn't matter, where they ask (practically beg) R to come take Tara cause she got drunk AF and kept talking about R. So R goes and takes care of her.

Something like that, you can make changes to the plot of course. And thank you.

One time too many

Tara Carpenter x Female Reader (Request)

Part 2!

Masterlist

Word count: 2.3k

It’s been three months since she messed up, since she made the biggest mistake ever, since she couldn’t control herself. Tara drunkenly glared at the bottle of vodka in her hand before taking a swing out of it. She already ruined everything, giving up on alcohol now wouldn’t change a damn thing.

“Tara, I think you had enough,” Mindy tried to take her bottle away, but she just pulled it closer, wrapping it in her hands and clutching on to it. What else did she have left? When she lost one person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with?

The smoke and smells all around her irritated her lungs, but she wanted to be normal, to be a healthy, not traumatized student that could maintain her relationships instead of ruining them. “I’m fine,” she slurred, taking another big swing and emptying the bottle. She looked at it, disappointed that there was none left.

Mindy groaned, stopping her before she could get up to get more alcohol. “Seriously, you drank the entire bottle alone. Would you stop if I got Y/N to come and get you?” she asked, as if that was possible.

You wouldn’t come. You and Tara haven’t spoken since you broke up, you made it clear the decision was final and Tara didn’t want to cause you even more pain. She already hurt you, and she could neither forgive herself for that, nor did she deserve forgiveness.

“Sure, as if that’ll happen,” so, knowing you wouldn’t come she accepted Mindy’s deal. “I’ll go and try to find some tequila now.”

Mindy sighed and told Chad to go and keep an eye on her while she calls you. She was wasting her time, and your time as well.

~X~

You groaned, burying your face in your hands and leaning back on the chair. Notes and books and presentations open on your laptop were going to be the death of you tonight. It wasn’t usually like that, you usually did well, found these subjects easy, but tonight your brain just refused to cooperate. You dragged your palms down and looked outside the window, you knew the reason.

You broke up with Tara exactly three months ago and you were in a turmoil over it. How was she doing? Was she still drinking? Did she think about you as often as you thought about her? You hoped she didn’t. She deserved to be happy, to find someone who would love her and accept all of her. You missed her, so much it hurt. You still loved her, so much more than you expected you’d love anyone in your life, yet that love wasn’t enough to keep the seven months long relationship going.

Your phone suddenly began buzzing and you figured you weren’t going to get any studying done anyway so you got up and went to your bed where you left your phone earlier. You noticed it was Mindy and raised an eyebrow. But more than confusion you felt fear, because of what happened to Tara two times already. You would never forgive yourself if Tara was hurt, you would always wonder if there was anything you could have done to prevent it. Even if logically there really wasn’t anything you could do.

“Yes?” you asked, keeping the fear and worry at bay for now.

“Hey, Y/N, sorry if I’m interrupting, but would you mind picking Tara up. She might actually get an alcohol poisoning if she keeps drinking like this,” she said, and you inhaled sharply. “I know you two broke up, but I don’t think anyone but you can get her out of here without making a scene.”

“Text me where she is,” you said, already tossing a jacket over your shoulder and grabbing your keys.

Mindy paused, as if she thought you wouldn’t agree, or that she’d need to try harder to convince you. “Thanks, Y/N,” she eventually said and hung up, and sure enough, she sent the location to you mere moments later.

When you broke up with Tara, you promised yourself that if she ever reached out to you for help, or if her friends or Sam did that for her, you’d be there, no matter what. You still loved her, you didn’t want her to get hurt, or to feel like she couldn’t turn to you. Maybe you should have told her that yourself, three months ago, but you feared that would make the breakup hurt even more.

You drove to the location Mindy sent to you and parked in front of some frat house or something. You took a deep breath and stepped outside of your car, ready for the smell of alcohol and smoke and whatnot. Tara had asthma, how she handled being in places like these was beyond you. You saw Mindy standing outside and waving toward you to get your attention. At least you wouldn’t have to spend a lot of time inside.

“Hey,” you greeted her, and she smiled at you gratefully, she was a bit tipsy as well, but you were much more worried about Tara.

“Thanks, I think tonight might have something to do with your breakup. She’s been talking about you ever since she got tipsy,” she told you as she led you inside, through the crowds of students, dimly lit party filled with alcohol and even some drugs from the smell of it. You knew Tara wouldn’t do drugs though, she got drunk, she didn’t get high. Finally, you saw her, slightly slumped against the table as Chad tried to get her to stop. She truly wasn’t listening to anyone. Ever.

“Tara,” you spoke up and she straightened her back, her drunk eyes clearing up a bit as she saw you.

“Y/N?” she breathed out, as if she couldn’t believe she was seeing you.

“Come on, let’s leave,” you offered her your hand and smiled a bit as she took it immediately, and though she wasn’t steady on her feet she got up and stared at you. The feeling of her hand in yours made you feel like the missing pieces of your puzzle were falling into place.

You wanted to hug her, and you saw that was exactly what she wanted, but that might further complicate things, so, you just kept holding her hand and walking to the front doors with her right behind you. She didn’t complain one bit and you nodded at the twins. The fresh air felt so good now that you were out of that suffocating party, and you gently pulled Tara along to your car, opening the back seat for her and stepping aside for her to get in.

She smiled a bit at you, that same slightly shy smile she had on her face the first time you opened the car doors for her, even before you started dating, while you were in the friendship stage. You smiled back, going around the car and getting in, but before you left you quickly pulled your phone out and sent Sam a quick message.

You: I picked up Tara from a party, I’ll let her sleep at my place if that’s okay with you?

Sam replied almost immediately and once again you were reminded of how things used to be, only this time you were reminded of the worst part of the relationship.

Sam: Of course, thanks, Y/N

And she responded the way she used to, a bit out of habit. You didn’t keep in touch with Mindy or Chad, but you and Sam occasionally talked. She would catch you up on what was going on with the group, and more importantly on how Tara was doing, and you’d tell her about your life. Tara knew about it, Sam would tell her and so both of you understood that, at least on some level, you were both still okay.

“I’m sorry,” Tara slurred, leaning against the car window. “I reek of alcohol,” she did, she reeked of alcohol and smoke, and you did not like either of the smells, but you still just nodded and drove off to your apartment.

When you came home you gave Tara some of your clothes and she changed in your bedroom while you went back to your notes. She was too drunk to put up a fight and argue that she should sleep on the couch, and instead just fell asleep on your bed.

You tried to study, you really did, but Tara kept mumbling apologies and your name in her sleep, and you eventually just gave up and got up. Only then did you notice she didn’t even lie down properly, her feet hung off the bed and she was lying on it diagonally, too drunk to even handle that. So, with a heavy sigh you went and lifted her up so you could move her and make her feel as comfortable as possible. You tucked her in and left the medicine next to the bed for her and you just left her to sleep.

You dropped down on the couch, and sighed, all the emotions within you bubbling to the surface. Tara and you got along, you only fought about one thing. Tara’s drinking. Other than that, it was an amazing relationship and you were, very much, in love.

But you couldn’t handle her drinking. You promised yourself that you could deal with most things, as long as the partner of your choice wasn’t abusive or a cheater. That you could talk most things out, that you had your own faults, and that everyone did, so some tolerance was necessary. But you couldn’t tolerate alcohol.

You grew up with alcoholic parents, and they got violent when drunk, and living with them for years, seeing their fights, seeing all of that made you hate alcohol more than anything. Tara wasn’t violent, far from it, she just got drunk, fell asleep and occasionally had to throw up. She didn’t have outbursts, or tried to pick fights. She had her own issues and drowned them in alcohol.

But your parents weren’t violent at the start either.

You repeatedly had that conversation with Tara, and no matter how often she promised it would be the last time, she still got drunk again. Until you just went and broke up with her. You tolerated it longer than you ever expected you would.

You couldn’t fall asleep that night.

~X~

She woke up in a familiar environment. How many times did she wake up in your room? Too many to count, now that she thought about it. Some were perfect, after a night of hanging out, watching movies and making love. Some, as usual as the perfect ones, were filled with regret, because she got drunk again.

Tara knew what it felt like to have an alcoholic parent, though it was only her mother in her case, and yet here she was. Going down the same path. After Bailey tried to kill her, Sam and their friends she went to therapy, and soon after that she met you. She was suspicious at first but she felt comfortable around you, she felt free with you, and a few months later you got together.

And then the therapy just stopped working. And though she knew everything, a stressful week was all it took for her to relapse into alcohol again. One drink after another, she got drunk and two months into your relationship she hurt you for the very first time. She still remembered the look in your eyes, the horror that no movie could cause. And she promised she wouldn’t do it again. Only to do it again, and again, and again, until you had enough.

And now, three months after your breakup, she was back here, after another drunk night. She hated herself for that. For every time she got drunk.

How many times did you try to help her? To support her through everything, to make it so that she didn’t need to drown her issues in alcohol, and she still did it. You were there for her, no matter what she needed. She had it all, she was happy, truly happy in a relationship for the first time in her life, and she threw it away.

It meant everything to her, and she threw it away as if it meant nothing.

She drank her medicine and went to the bathroom, only now noticing your clothes. She was so used to them while you were in a relationship. She loved wearing them, she felt warm in them, she felt safe. And then, when she came out and went to the living room she saw you, sitting on the couch with a mug of coffee in front of you. You probably didn’t sleep last night.

“Good morning,” you still smiled at her, that same loving smile she used to wake up to, only reminding her of what she lost.

“Good morning,” she replied, tears filling up her eyes. “I didn’t think you’d come and get me, I’m sorry you had to see that even now that we’re no longer together,” she said, she meant it, she truly did. “Why did you-“ her choked up slightly. “you didn’t have to,” she lowered her head and let the tears fall as you got up, went around the table and stopped in front of her, hugging her tightly and letting her cry. She didn’t deserve this, you being gentle and still there for her even after everything.

“I loved you, I still do, Tara,” you whispered, and thought you felt like that, though she loved you back, there were words neither of you spoke.

‘But you broke my trust one time too many.’

A/N: I did not think this would turn into angst! I swear! I did change a thing or two from the request, but I think it still fits. Part 2!

[star-hoon]

OBSESSED (p. sunghoon)

I’M SO OBSESSED WITH YOUR EX

(based on the song obsessed by olivia rodrigo, but through the pov of crushing on your best friend’s ex)

pairing: sunghoon x fem reader

includes/warnings (16+): best friend’s ex! au, reader and hoon smokes (pls be safe lol), suggestive material, angst, profanity, smoking/drinking, pda (let me know if i missed anything!)

word count: 2.3k+

synopsis: you and your best friend were as close as friends could be, never keeping secrets from each other. you told each other everything—including exes and past relationship horror stories. but you’ve never seen or met her ex, park sunghoon. but in bullet points you did know him; his blood type, his star sign, heard about how handsome he is, and the way he’d kiss…all through your best friend’s ramblings.

after all three of you end up at the same party a year after they broke up, can things remain the same?

OBSESSED SOUNDTRACK

MASTERLIST

"i fantasize about it all the time if you were mine..."

you hummed along to ariana grande playing in your headphones as you headed to your favorite coffee shop.

as you approached the front of the cafe, you couldn't help but notice a girl sitting alone with tear stained cheeks. you removed your headphones and could hear her sniffling. seeing the handful of used tissues was not a subtlety to her crying.

you didn't want to intrude considering she was a stranger, but you could sense she was there alone and looked like she needed someone to check on her. hesitantly, you approached waved your hand in her eye-line as if you were approaching a bunny and trying not to scare it.

"hi, i'm so sorry if i'm intruding or disturbing you. but i was wondering if you're okay?" your tone soft and eyes naturally falling on her smudged mascara.

once she composed her sniffles and cleared her throat she replied, "thank you...that's very nice of you. i-i'm fine..." the latter half of her was more of statement of convincing herself. despite the tears still brimming her lash line, she smiled.

"i'm fine" she repeats wiping under her eyes. "my boyfriend and i just broke up and this was the closest place to my apartment. just wanted to get out and get some fresh air you know?"

"i'm sorry to hear that. screw him, you probably deserve better anyways" you tease trying to lighten the mood.

"do you mind if i sit? i'm y/n by the way" you pointed toward the chair across from her at the table. she nodded with a with a shy smile. "i'm sage"

"nice to meet you, can i buy you a coffee?"

it's been a year since you and sage met. since then you have become best friends and inseparable. because you two live basically across the city from each other and both worked, it was hard to find time to see each other from day to day. so weekends and your guys' friday sleepovers were precious to you.

sage poured each of you a shot of soju as you took the takeout boxes out of the plastics bags, spreading them out across the dinner table.

as the clear liquid in the soju bottle slowly decreased as the night went on, the volume of your guys' laughter echoed louder throughout her apartment. you and sage were swiping through screenshots of terrible dating app conversations together, cringing at what guys have said to you both.

"oh god...looking at all of these terrible dudes makesme missss sunghoon" sage slurring her words as her sentence tapered off.

you almost choked as you weren't sure if you heard her correctly. "i'm sorry did you say you miss sunghoon?!" your eyes nearly popped out of your head.

sage never was one to handle her alcohol well.

"c'mon y/n, i'm just kidding. well sorta..." you shot her a look of 'elaborate what 'sorta' means in this situation'.

"i don't actually miss him of course. we broke up over a year ago! so i'm way over it. and i think sunghoon and i broke up for the better. i'm just saying seeing all these gross guys is just making me reminisce about a relationship that was good while it lasted you know?"

you giggled and let out a hum of acknowledgement.

"but i will say..." sage's eyes filled with mischief as her lips upturned into a smirk. "sunghoon was suuuuuch a good kisser though. he's definitely the hottest guy i've dated."

her cheeks no longer only flushed from the alcohol. she continued to ramble on about sunghoon and leaving you with a bullet point list of useless facts about sunghoon: his favorite color, his blood type, his astrology sign, his love of ice skating, and *other* details of their private life that you didn't ask to know about but were forced to hear anyways.

eventually you decided the night was coming to close as your wobbly guided sage by her shoulders to her side of the bed, laughing at her useless mumbling. you pulled the covers over her shoulder as she snuggled closer to her pillow.

you made your way to the bathroom to get ready for bed. as you stared back at yourself in the mirror you couldn't help but find the situation funny.

you knew what the textbook definition of 'park sunghoon' was but you've never met him, you don't even know what he looks like.

because why would you, right?

the next day (saturday)

"hey, you remember my friend jake right? he invited us to his party tonight"

"australian one, looks like a golden retriever?"

"bingo"

you didn't say much after that. you weren't much of party person. you weren't quite the social butterfly like sage. it always felt like you were just the 'quiet best friend' to your much more interesting counterpart.

sage always reassured you that wasn't true. she would always say anyone who didn't like you was the lame one.

"c'mon y/nnn please?...it'll be fun i promise. jake always throws the best parties" she gave you her best attempt at puppy eyes. "i know you don't love parties but its an excuse to put on a cute outfit at least."

you rolled your eyes with a smile at her ridiculous yet infallible girl-logic. she always knew you liked putting on a cute outfit and taking pictures more than actually going out.

"fineee....!" you replied.

"yay!!! we're gonna have fun tonight y/n trust, do you think jake's gonna invite any hot friends?"

"too bad your ex don't do it for ya,

walked in and dream came trued it for ya..."

you and sage were having your own personal world tour in your bathroom scream-singing to sabrina carpenter. her hairbrush and your makeup brush each being your respective microphones.

after spending way too much time getting ready and taking photos together, you two were finally ready to head to jake's house.

you and sage stepped out of the car, already hearing the heavy bass booming from the house.

sage linked her arm with yours as you guys approached the front door. a chill went up your spine and it wasn't from the night air.

it's just a party. what's the worst that can happen right?

you stepped into the house and naturally it felt as if everyone already knew sage, greeting her with the usual "sage!! omg you're finally here!" and her having to introduce you as you give shy, awkward smiles.

"y/n!!" you whipped your head around because someone (that wasn't sage) was calling your name.

"yooo let's gaurrr! y/n! i'm so glad you could make it, i didn't think you would!" jake greeted you with that ever-charming smile of his and pulled you in for a hug.

"hi jake! thanks so much for inviting me, this party is no joke" you nodded and glanced around at his impressive DJ set up and lights.

"what can i say? i play hard" he shrugs and flirtatiously bites his lip. as you were about to respond, one of his friends calls for him from across the room.

"i'm so sorry my boy over there needs me but there are drinks in the kitchen and the bathroom is the last door down the hall, have fun!" he shouts over the loud music as he makes his way through the crowd of people.

you were left alone and sage was god-knows where. you made your way to the kitchen to get a drink and after some failed attempts of finding your best friend, you made your way to the backyard.

the cold night breeze was refreshing to breath in as you stood at a wall near the pool. you reached into your bag and pulled out a cigarette and lighter.

you cupped your hands around the cigarette in your mouth, trying to get the last bit of juice from your almost-dead lighter. so concentrated on clicking the lighter, you barely noticed the figure that approached you.

it wasn't until a flame hovered around the outside of your hand did you look up. all you could do was stare back at the stranger in silence for what felt like forever. he was the most handsome guy you had ever seen.

he wore a vintage denim jacket that complimented his tall frame perfectly. his beautiful pale skin was perfectly illuminated with the lights coming from the porch, contrasting his slightly messy dark hair. everything about him exuded a cool and mysterious aura. he smirked and quirked his thick eyebrows at you. he truly looked like a prince.

you dropped your hands as you moved your cigarette to the flame of his lighter. as the tip of your cigarette was engulfed in the flame, you could feel his intense gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips.

once your cigarette was lit, you pulled away and stared into his eyes. inhaling and exhaling the smoke along with a shy "thanks".

"any time" he responded, his pointed canines peeking out as he spoke.

"that's a sick lighter, by the way"

"oh yeah? thanks it's vintage from japan..." your compliment suddenly making him seem shy. you smiled at his suddenly adorable expression.

"...i feel like other people don't really get to see it because no one i really know smokes" he continued.

"oh? so i'm not 'other people'? wow i must special" you give a sarcastic shocked/proud expression while batting your lashes at him. the mix of alcohol and nicotine suddenly hitting, making you bolder than usual it seemed.

"yeah, you could say that" he chuckled and bit his lip, eyeing you up and down. he took in your all-black outfit, your mini skirt and cropped tank top not leaving much to his imagination. you were cutest girl in this whole damn party.

touché, two can play that game.

"can i actually have a cig? must've dropped my pack on the way here" you nodded and put your cig in your mouth free up your hands, reaching for your purse.

before you could do anything else, he leaned in closer to you and extended his left arm next to your head, caging you in to the wall you were leaning against. he gently pulled the cigarette from your mouth drawing a puff for himself. you didn't miss the way he licked the hint of your lipgloss from his lips that was on mouth of the cigarette.

god damn...can this guy be any hotter?

the smell of smoke and his clean cologne filled your lungs, intoxicating you with nothing but lust. "thanks" he replied with a wink, handing the cigarette back to you.

"so, what's a cute little thing like you doing out here all by yourself hm? i figured you'd be in there with every guy all over you" nodding towards the house behind you.

you almost forgot about the party completely. this handsome stranger totally consumed your whole mind in the span of minutes. you stared down at the buttons on his jacket, flashing a coy smile with a faint laugh.

"parties aren't really my thing, and trust me guys usually don't even notice me. my best friend dragged me here and she kinda just left me in there. she's probably the one with guys all over her right now" you cringed at yourself, letting your self-deprecating humor slip.

"i should thank her then: she brought you here and i get you all to myself."

your gaze went down to his lips, they were just asking to be kissed at this point. he leaned in even closer, you could feel his breath against your face.

"fuck, can i please kiss you?" his pupils were blown out waiting for your response.

you closed the gap between you two, dropping the butt of the now finished cigarette on the ground next to you.

he sighed into the kiss, right hand landing on your waist. your hands went up to the nape of his neck softly tugging on his dark strands.

he deepend the kiss pressing you flush against the wall, one hand cupping your face and the other touching the small of your back. fingertips against exposed skin between your skirt and top pushing you into him. his touch made your skin feel like it was on fire. you parted your lips slightly, giving him the perfect opportunity slip his tongue into your mouth.

the kiss tasted like mint, smoke, and the slightest hint of whatever fruity alcohol you guys consumed. it was so hot and you couldn't get enough.

his lips moved to pepper soft kisses down your jaw and gradually biting and licking on your neck. he bit on the sensitive part of your neck leaving love bites behind, his pointed teeth scraping your skin causing you to let out a soft whine.

he inhaled your sweet perfume, the smell fueling his lust even further. "fuck you're driving me crazy princess" he groaned lowly in your ear.

the pet name turning you into a whimpering mess, trying not to be too loud considering you two were still in public was damn was he making it difficult. his hand grazed your outer thigh, riding up slightly under your skirt as slotted his thigh between your legs.

you began to grind into him letting out a weak "please..." you begged grabbing onto the collar of his jacket and the back of his neck. you didn't quite know what you were begging for, but you just knew you needed him in every sense of the word.

he looked down at where your body met his thigh, grinding helplessly against him. "i know baby...such a good girl for me". in between kisses, he whispered all of the dirty things he wanted to do to you.

"can we go back to your place?...let's get out of here" you panted desperately trying to catch your breath for intense kiss. he nodded with a cheeky grin.

"wait, what's your name? I'm y/n." you both laughing into one another that you didn't even ask each other's name until now.

"i'm-"

"SUNGHOON?!" both you and the raven haired boy whipped your heads in direction of his name that didn't even get the chance to leave his lips.

holy. fuck. it was sage.

and you just made out with sunghoon.

“i’m so obsessed with your ex, i know [he's] been asleep on my side of your bed"

PART 2

taglist: @yeonzzzn @gyuoonz @woniebae @dimplewonie @gudkc

author's note: HOLYSHIT my first work! i really hoped this lived up to the expectations to the people who wanted this fic ;-;

ahh i was lowkey so nervous bc i have no idea if my writing is good (like at all) and so many things changed with what was in my mind vs. when i actually started writing but i'm looking forward to creating even better stories, and get even better at writing!

thank you so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed it, please let me know what you think <3

reblogs, likes, & comments are always appreciated!!

[mvrkieboo]

Old Bloodhounds

P48 | damn 😭 still not over her huh

Mark couldn't help it, but his eyes were all on you throughout the whole post mortem meeting. He could sense you were a little uncomfortable, and your late arrival only caused more negative attention focused on you, since everybody in the room was aware you had been kicked out of the MNA Week Committee prior for your negligence. Seeing you squirm next to Xiaojun—Mark only felt sorry for you. He sincerely thought that forcing you into this meeting was a sick move on the lecturers' part, but he didn't have the power to go against it.

Thankfully, for you, the lecturers' never singled you out, and neither did Minjeong and Hendery. Sure, because this was a post mortem meeting, they also had to discuss the near disasters that happened during the MNA Week, but they quickly moved on to the quick responses of the other committee members that saved the whole situation.

Asides the meeting's topics, the very people in this meeting were bothering you. Yangyang was making it a point to openly ignore you, Aeri tried to play oblivious but was also ultimately ignoring you, and Xiaojun who had once been your close friend is nothing more than just cordial with you. Mark had been livid seeing you walk away from Jaehyun's performance three weeks ago, but his heart still broke seeing how the people who had once been your closest friends were treating you. It didn't really matter whether you actually deserved it or not.

When the meeting was over, you had been pulled over by your committee advisor, Prof. Jonathan Suh, and committee president, Hendery, to stay back in the meeting room for a while. Everyone else who was clearing the room could obviously tell they were reprimanding you, despite their best attempts in keeping their voices hushed. Mark's heart constricted at the guilty and remorseful expression you wore.

"Dude, she's officially Junyoung's girl now. You need to get over her already." Haechan groaned, hitting Mark's shoulders lightly.

They were loitering just outside the meeting room, standing and talking with each other. It wasn't just them too, even Yangyang, Xiaojun and Aeri were with them.

"Hyuck's right. You're wasting your feelings on her, Mark." Yangyang spoke rather dismissively, scrolling his phone besides Haechan, but his words quickly earned a harsh slap on the shoulder from Chenle.

"Shut up, Yangyang. Mark's clearly not comfortable enough to talk about this. Let's just drop it. So, heard from the grapevine that Jaehyun's got an offer from an entertainment company—is it true?" Chenle was quick to change the topic, and Mark was grateful for that.

"Oh, shit, already? That's kinda quick." Aeri exclaimed, and Ningning giggled at her words.

"Well, his performance did go viral. Everyone's been begging for him to officially drop the songs he had performed at the MNA Concert. And I mean everyone, not just his fans." Ningning nudged Aeri's shoulder with her own, humming to Smoke right after.

"It's actually a wonder on why it took three weeks for a company to reach out to him." Xiaojun shrugged, genuinely wondering why.

"But Jaehyun hasn't released any statements yet, so it's probably just a rumor?" Minjeong pondered aloud, and Mark finally found his perfect segue in inviting them over for the party.

"No, it's true. SM actually offered him a contract already, but Jae wants to sign it after his modeling contract with IMG expires—which is in a week anyway. He wants to hold a party to celebrate the signing, and he wants to invite you guys over."

"Wait, us included?" Xiaojun pointed at himself, Yangyang and Aeri, and all three looked at him with hopeful eyes.

"Of course, dude. You guys worked hard on the concert too, why wouldn't he want to invite you over?" Mark laughed, and Yangyang dabbed him up.

Everyone was beginning to gush on Jaehyun's kindness and humility, but the doors of the meeting room suddenly burst open, and everyone shut up momentarily when you walked through it. You froze in your steps too, but feeling ashamed, you quickly resumed walking, taking a turn and walking down the hallway away from them. Mark patted Chenle's back as he began to walk towards you.

"Talk to you guys later." He hurriedly said before going after you.

He practically had to run, because you were already at the opposite end of the hallway by the time he could catch up to you, making a turn to go down the stairs. Mark felt like he was actually, legitimately, chasing after you now. You were already running from him too. How did it get to this point?

When Mark reached the stairway too, your panic caused you to slip a step. He quickly reached out and slithered his arm around your lower torso to hold you back from falling down the stairs—but considering Yoonsu had just kicked you in the stomach last night, and the pain was still raw, Mark's arm coiling tightly around your front made it hurt so fucking badly.

He heard you gag at the gesture, so you quickly found your balance again and practically clawed at his arm to wrench away from you, your erratic actions causing your tote bag to drop on the stairs, as you quickly latched yourself to the stairway railing just a few steps below where Mark was at. At first Mark was a little offended at your visceral reaction, but when you turned your face to him, he was a little scared at how pale your face had gotten.

"Are you oka—" He was cut off before he could finish the question.

If Yoonsu heard the question through your bugged locket, he was going to go berserk. Who knows, maybe he was going to beat you up tonight for making Mark suspicious over how you were acting. Yoonsu also said someone asking 'Are you okay?' to you was enough to warrant him releasing your photos to the public for all to see.

"What do you want, Mark? Why were you chasing me?" You asked with faux anger. Your voice coming off harsher, your face twisting unrecognizably.

He was taken aback at the sudden anger.

"Why were you running away from me in the first place? Did you come to hate me that much already? That you don't even want to talk to me anymore?" Mark countered, raking through his hair at just how quickly your exchanges would turn into an argument.

You scoffed and began to bend down, taking your tote bag and its contents off the stairway. If you crouched, the pain would become unbearable—you were feeling lightheaded already just from bending over. However, you bending over in front of Mark was a little provocative in his eyes though, so he quickly snapped his head upwards to avoid looking at you for the moment.

"Whatever. Did you want to speak to me?" You sighed deeply as you stood up straight again, trying to make your arms hugging around your waist seem inconspicuous in front of Mark who was already suspecting you were in pain from something.

You cursed at how he knew you so well. In a way it made you glad too, because it was heartwarming to know he knew so well. How you wished Yoonsu hadn't stepped into your life again to ruin you. You mourned and loathed the circumstances you were stuck in right now.

"Jaehyun's holding a party for when he officially signs as a musical artist under SM Entertainment. He wanted me to extend an invitation to you." He spoke rather bashfully, a tinge of red on the tip of his ears because all he could see in his mind was you bending over for him in front of him.

"...when is it?" Your faux anger slipped away momentarily, obviously shocked but also in awe at the news. There was a little sting at hearing the news too, because you had to hear it from Mark instead of directly from Yuno himself.

"Friday next week. You coming? You should, you know. This could be a way for you and Jae to sta—"

"No. Can't come. I have plans that night." You cut off heartlessly, only because you can't bear listening to Mark spouting some pipe dream at you.

Of course you wanted to attend. Of course you would—but you were already dead set on the path in getting your revenge on Yoonsu. It wasn't a pretty path, it wasn't lined with marble and flowers—you were realistic enough to foresee that the end of the path was going to be violent. You didn't want anyone you loved to get caught in the crossfire.

Mark blinked at your immediate answer, before his shock turned into disdain right after.

"Let me guess; you made plans with Junyoung?" When his voice took on a derisive edge to it, you began to turn on your heels, turning your back to him again (how many times had it been? Mark lost count).

"Why ask when you already know?" You spoke in an equally withering tone as you walked down the stairs. It was honestly exhausting you, using this excuse again and again. Junyoung, Junyoung, Junyoung. Everyone else was getting sick and tired hearing it too.

"Because you should at least be frank in putting some other guy above your family, you coward." You completely froze at his answer, when your question had been purely rhetorical. You didn't really expect Mark to answer that way.

It broke your heart.

You felt your eyes water as your grip on the railing tightened, but you quickly raised your head and took a deep breath, before continuing going down the stairs. Mark had honestly forgotten how many times had you turned your back and walked away from them at this point. He was getting real tired of the sight of your back becoming smaller and smaller into the distance.

He felt his heart froze over.

Maybe Haechan and Yangyang were right.

He should get over you, because his feelings were definitely getting wasted on a coward like you.

When you reached the bottom of the stairs, you felt your main phone in your pants' back pocket vibrate. You knew it was Yoonsu, and you knew his text was only going to serve to make you angrier than you were right now.

But you opened it anyway, because you always needed the drive in pursuing your revenge against him.

You hated when that fucker would mock you.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

You stared at the latte on the table before you. It had a swan latte art on it, and it was gorgeous. Memories of preparing for the pop up coffee stop you did with your friends for an entrepreneurship assignment emerged inside your head, reminded of the time you had to hold back from laughing at Aeri's swan looking like a—as Yangyang eloquently put it—a deformed dick. Before you know it, a tear drop made its way into the latte. You sighed and covered your eyes, not really in the mood for crying in a public setting.

You turned to people watching to take your mind off the pain and anguish, finishing your cup of latte while you were at it, but you stopped when you spotted Detective Lee Taeyong inside the very same café you were in, sitting across a middle aged couple. His parents maybe? Besides, this wasn't an unusual sight at all, Seoul and Gangnam were right next to each other.

This was a rare chance in seeing Detective Lee, because you had only been communicating with Detective Do this whole time. You opened your notebook, scribbling something on it and quickly downed your coffee before tearing that page out, then clearing your table. You walked up to Detective Lee, who was obviously shocked at seeing you here. You put a finger to the lips and pointed at your locket, reminding him that Yoonsu was always listening.

You handed him the torn page of your notebook, and he took it. Reading the contents as you left him and exited the café.

"What was that, Yongie? Did she give you her number? She was quite pretty." Taeyong's mother softly teased her son, well aware his face attracted many kinds of women to him.

His father wanted to join in on the teasing too, but both him and his wife dropped it when Taeyong snapped his head up from the piece of paper, standing up abruptly—but you were already gone, blending in with the crowd outside. Taeyong looked spooked.

"No, that's a collaborating witness for a case I'm working on, and I think...I think she just gave me her will."

On the torn piece of page, it wrote;

If anything bad happens to me by the end of this investigation, please contact these people and tell them the truth of what happened.

They deserve to know. I won't leave them in the dark anymore.

Kim Soyeon (XXX) XXX-XXXX

Jeong Jaeho (XXX) XXX-XXXX

Jeong Jaehyun (XXX) XXX-XXXX

Kim Geonwoo (XXX) XXX-XXXX

Hong Woojin (XXX) XXX-XXXX

Lee Minhyung / Mark Lee (XXX) XXX-XXXX

Liu Yangyang (XXX) XXX-XXXX

Xiao Dejun (XXX) XXX-XXXX

Uchinaga Aeri (XXX) XXX-XXXX

prev | masterlist | next

A/N : that torn out page is gonna tear y'alls heart out in P51 LMAOOOOO

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

• taglist • [CLOSED]

@spiderm444rk @morkiee @xiuriii @solvrse @neozon3nha @herebyaccident0 @injunnie-lemon @mystverse @dearmonamour @v-6893 @sehunniepot @bee-the-loser @nessaassen02 @luluvhs @sunghoonsgfreal @docilismo @neocrashed @soobinbunnie5 @cigarettesafterjae @dudekiss3r @kittydollzz @urlocalbeaner5 @polarisjisung @conwunder @wonupuppy @jae-n0 @413ktz @kimsaerom @meowtella @aerivrs @swanyvess @morkleesgirl @sthwaaberry @nominzn @grassbutneo @spicyryujin @koizekomi @sunflowerhae @markeroolee

[momolady]

Chicory the Tiefling: Part Two

Female Reader x Male Monster Hurt Comfort - Amnesia - Healing - Love Returns Part One

There was an explosion at the tower. It started a fire, and from there everything is this horrible blur. You managed to get the animals out as best you could, and you think everyone is accounted for now. But-

Chicory stayed behind to save some of his inventions, his journals, and you fear it may have been too much on him. Nictis graciously took you in, giving you an entire wing of his home. Yasmin arranged for constant care for Chicory. But he still has not fully come to.

“The smoke was one thing,” Nictis murmured as he served you tea. “But everything else inside that tower of his? I’m sure his concoctions and gears catching fire only worsened things. But not to worry! We’ve gotten a great doctor and nurses to help aid our dear Chicory.”

You sat there dumbfounded, still covered in smoke and ash. You had been so wound up in caring for the animals and Chicory, you’d barely had a chance to take care of yourself. Posey hadn’t left your side the whole while. She sat there, quite comfortable but vigilant.

Yasmin came into the room, wearing clothes that didn’t seem to suit the wife of a lord. Rather, she looked like you.

“I got the pygmy alligators into the lake, they seem quite happy.” She hold up a bitten finger wrapped in a bandage. “They’re quite lovely.”

“Oh, my dear.” Nictis took her hand, holding his gently despite his boney facade.

I looked up, taking a cup of tea Yasmin offered. “Are you alright?” She asked. “I can run you a bath if you wish.”

Shakily, you brought the tea to your lips and drank.

“It’s been a few days, you should rest,” Yasmin insisted.

I shook my head. “Not until I know he is going to be okay.”

Yasmin took a gruff look, but Nictis’ hand upon her shoulder reeled her back. “What else can you do for him now?” The lord asked. “He is resting, breathing in cleansing herbs so the smoke will leave his body. You need to take care of yourself now, or else, down the road, you might not be able to care for anyone. When is the last time you had a full meal?”

I gulped, feeling the sting of hot liquid against my tongue. “What if something happens while I am away?”

“He has nurses by his side,” Yasmin said with a reassuring smile. “And the doctor is close by so we can call at any second.”

Posey meowed, giving you her wide eyed look which seemed to echo their sentiment. Take care of yourself.

You let out a heavy sigh. “I can’t remember when I last had a meal,” I admitted, giving into their care and worry.

Yasmin jumped at the chance. “I’ll get a bath prepared for you, and some clean clothes as well. You and I seem about the same size. And I’ll make you something to eat!”

Nictis seemed to want to say something as she darted off, but he kept his skull shut. “She is strong willed,” he murmured. “Comes from her meager background, it made her stronger than me, I think.” He glanced at me, concern somehow written on his face. “Chicory will be fine. I promise. He is my friend, a great one in fact, and I will do all I can to help him.”

“Thank you,” you murmured.

Nictis nodded. “Yes, well, it is the least I can do. He’s done so much for me and Yasmin.” He cleared his throat and looked down at the tea seat.

Yasmin came and fetched you later. She poured you a hot bath, sticking around to wash and care for your hair.

“I could have done this,” you murmured.

“Relax, you deserve a bit of pampering.” Yasmin said, scrubbing your scalp. “Would you have had the strength to do this?”

You don’t think so. You probably would have sat in that hot water and drifted away.

“There we go.” She rinsed out your  hair. She wrung it out and started running some sort of cream through it.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“Trust me, your hair is going to look amazing! While you’re here, you’re going to receive the royal treatment.” Her hands felt good running through your hair and scalp. “I am not some fancy lady you know? I was raised in Obresh.”

You leaned your head back to look up at her. “Nictis said something like that.”

She smirked. “Did he also tell you he bought me?”

Read the rest over on Patreon!

There's also a remaster of part one! Only available to patrons.