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ikwon1c · 1 day ago

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Noona (6)

characters: kwon jiyong x y/n

summary: jealousy doesn’t look good on both of you.

tags: slow burn, angst, jealousy, toxicity, emotional vulnerability, unresolved feelings, miscommunication, cursing, suggestive content

—

“Stop doing that,” he said, eyes flicking sideways.

You muttered, “Doing what?”

He snorted. “You’re doing that thing where you tap your foot and chew your lip like you’re being interrogated by the FBI.”

You stopped. “Maybe because I’m at a party where my ex-situationship slash fuckbuddy is right across the room with basically, a Victoria Secret model.”

Instead, you forced a smile, gripping your water glass like it owed you money.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was that hot?” you hissed.

Seunghyun blinked. “Did you think he was gonna bring a troll?”

You elbowed him hard. You were raining curses as you harshly whispered to each other and if someone closely looked, you both looked like you were having a good time.

He laughed.

You smiled tight-lipped, slowly running out of patience. “I’m gonna fucking kill you once we get home, Choi Seunghyun.”

“You owed me,” he shot back, with an annoying grin. “I kept your dirty little secret, remember? ‘Don’t tell Seunghyun,’ you said. ‘He’ll freak out,’ you said. Well, look who freaked out when I found out anyway.”

You hadn’t spoken to Jiyong in weeks. Not since the fight. Not since you’d pushed him away like a coward and told him this—you—was a mistake.

You knew he hated that word.

And now, here you were, in a pair of heels that pinched your toes and a red dress Seunghyun had all but ordered you to wear—“we’re going to make your ex situationship suffer”— sitting in a private lounge like everything was fine.

It wasn’t.

Because Jiyong was already there.

And he didn’t look at you.

Not once. Not even a glance. Not a twitch of recognition.

He acted like you were just another person at the table—background noise.

It was like you didn’t exist. And you were bold faced, teeth gritted lying if you said it didn’t sting like hell. Because God, it did.

You sat between Seunghyun and Youngbae, gripping your drink like it was the only thing anchoring you to the room. Your smile felt too tight on your face, your laugh a little too sharp at the edges. You responded to jokes a beat too late, overcompensating with bright chuckles that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

You didn’t look at him. Not directly.

But you saw her.

Sojoo.

He introduced her earlier as his plus one for tonight. A friend.

You rolled your eyes. Friend, my ass.

Every ten seconds, your eyes darted back to Sojoo like your brain had been trained to track her. She was impossible not to notice—effortless and glowing, with long legs crossed just so and hair that looked like it had been styled by angels. She laughed, leaned in close to Jiyong, touched his arm lightly like she had every right to be there.

And the worst part?

She wasn’t even doing anything wrong.

You tried not to think about it. About the way she’d lean on his shoulders like it was second nature, like she’d done it before. About how she leaned in when she whispered something only he could hear, her hand resting on his arm like it belonged there.

It shouldn’t bother you. It really shouldn’t.

Just one night. One dinner. One party.

Nothing permanent. Just pretend.

“Why’s your face doing that thing?” Youngbae asked suddenly, snapping you out of your silent spiral.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What thing?”

“That thing where your eye twitches and your soul leaves your body.”

You forced a brittle smile. “I’m having fun.”

“You sound like you’re at gunpoint.”

“I’m fine,” you lied.

He gave you a look that said he didn’t believe a word of it but shrugged anyway. “Okay. Want some soju?”

“God, yes.”

You downed the shot the second it hit the table, feeling the burn trail down your throat like punishment. You were trying. Trying to be normal. To laugh at Youngbae’s dumb stories, to nod and smile and sip your drink like it didn’t taste like sawdust and self-loathing.

But it was hard to focus when Sojoo’s perfectly toned legs kept brushing against Jiyong’s every time she shifted in her seat. When her fingers, those perfectly manicured little things, kept smoothing down the same damn wrinkle in his collar like it personally offended her.

And Jiyong—he wasn’t stopping her. Wasn’t flinching. Wasn’t uncomfortable.

No, he was relaxed. Smiling even. Effortlessly cool in his designer blazer, his earrings catching the light, his fingers idly toying with the rim of his glass like he wasn’t casually twisting the knife in your gut.

You didn’t even realize how many shots you’d taken until your vision started to soften at the edges and your limbs went pleasantly numb. A fuzzy sort of courage crept in, loosening your shoulders. You dared to glance his way.

And he was staring.

Dead-on. No flinching. Just him, eyes unreadable, mouth curved into the barest smirk.

A tilt of the head. A knowing smile. He knew exactly what he was doing.

And then Sojoo leaned in again—of course she did—and whispered something into his ear.

Jiyong didn’t remove his gaze on you. He stared at you intently as her hand slips onto his forearm like it lived there.

Your fingers clenched around your shot glass so tightly it creaked in protest. You were one bad moment away from shattering it. From shattering yourself.

He laughed at something Sojoo whispered.

Low. Rich. Intimate.

The kind of laugh he used to save for you—when your foot nudged his under the table, when your lips brushed the shell of his ear. It used to be private. Yours.

Now she had it.

The laugh. The proximity. The easy intimacy.

And she didn’t even know what she was stealing.

You did.

You sat there, smiling through teeth that ached, trying to hold in everything rising in your throat. Your nails dug crescent moons into your thigh beneath the table. You tasted blood in your cheek where you bit the inside too hard.

Smile. Be normal. Be unbothered.

“Are you sweating?” Seunghyun asked, squinting at you. You could hear the smirk in his voice before you turned to see it.

“No,” you hissed.

He cocked his head, unfazed. “You look like you’re about to flip the table.”

“That’s just my face.”

“Is it?” he asked mildly, popping a piece of sushi into his mouth. “Because you’re shaking.” You swore you badly wanted him to choke out of spite.

You didn’t answer. You told yourself it didn’t matter. But you felt it in your chest, like a pulled muscle—sharp and hard to ignore. You kept adjusting your posture, fiddling with your glass, pretending like the ache didn’t bother you.

“You just twitched again.”

You glared at him, fire in your throat. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

“I am,” he said, far too gleeful. “This is me being supportive. Watching you stew in jealousy is character development.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

Seunghyun just smiled serenely, like he’d gladly die this way.

You inhaled through your nose. It shouldn’t bother you. Shouldn’t. You repeated the lie in your head like it might sink in if you said it often enough. One night. One dinner. One woman.

Then she laughed again.

That laugh.

The bright, flirty kind. The kind that said I know he’s hot, and I know you know I know it too.

And that was it. That was your final straw.

You blinked, stunned, as Sojoo held up a forkful of her strawberry cake and leaned toward Jiyong—tilted her head with a sweet smile and offered it like they were on a damn date from a romance drama.

Jiyong didn’t hesitate. He parted his lips. Let her feed him. You could’ve sworn the Earth tilted on its axis.

The worst part wasn’t that she did it. It was that he let her.

He let her.

And the laugh that followed—that deep, stupid, perfect laugh that used to unravel your whole damn spine—he gave it to her.

Not in private.

Not behind closed doors.

Right here. In front of you.

You couldn’t breathe.

“Oh hell no,” you muttered, standing so abruptly your chair scraped back with a screech. Heads turned. You didn’t care.

Seunghyun raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Where are you going?”

“To powder my nose,” you snapped, already grabbing your bag like it might save you from combusting.

“You don’t wear powd—”

You kicked his shin under the table with enough force to make him jolt.

“—ow! Okay. You wear powder now. So much powder. Wow.”

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

You kept your head high, face blank, heels clicking against polished floors like armor. Like a metronome counting down the seconds before you broke.

You weren’t running.

You weren’t jealous.

You weren’t falling apart.

You were fine.

You didn’t look back. Because if you did, you weren’t sure what you’d do.

Cry. Scream. Slap that goddamn spoon out of Sojoo’s hand.

Maybe all three.

You needed air. Space. A place to scream into your own reflection without witnesses.

And maybe—just maybe—a reason not to set the entire table on fire.

You found your way to the bathroom on autopilot, slamming the door shut behind you and bracing both hands on the cold porcelain sink.

Your reflection stared back at you, flushed and furious and so fucking tired.

“What the hell are you doing?” you whispered to yourself, jaw tight. “It’s just a party. It’s just one night. He’s not yours anymore.”

That last part hit like a slap. You swallowed against the burn rising in your throat, blinking fast.

You weren’t going to cry. You refused. But your reflection stared back at you with too much tension in your jaw and not enough air in your lungs.

This wasn’t supposed to matter anymore. You had walked away. Told him it wasn’t healthy. That you both needed time and space. But you hadn’t expected him to move on like that. To laugh like he hadn’t been begging you to stay. To bring someone like her.

Your cheeks burned. Not just from the jealousy—but the guilt.

Because no matter how much you told yourself it was the right thing… you missed him. Constantly.

You’d check your phone at 2 AM and scroll past his name. You’d sleep in one of his shirts even though it smelled less like him and more like you now. You’d look at your couch and remember how he’d kiss the inside of your wrist just to see you melt.

You missed him.

You hated that you missed him.

You had no right to feel this way. You were the one who’d ended things. You were the one who said this has to stop, someone’s gonna get hurt. You made your choice—and yet now, watching Sojoo feed him like she belonged there, watching him let her…

It felt like losing something that was already gone.

You closed your eyes, let your head fall forward until it touched the mirror. Your forehead pressed against the cool glass as you took a slow, shaking breath.

You could go back out there. Sit down. Be polite. Smile and nod and pretend you hadn’t just imagined choking Sojoo out with her own necklace. Or—

A wicked thought slipped into your head, dangerous and warm with the burn of too much alcohol.

He wants to play? Fine. You’ll play too.

You stood up straight. You smoothed down your dress and fixed your hair. And smirked.

You’d give him something to look at.

You fixed your lipstick even though it hadn’t smudged, swiped a shaky hand through your hair, and made your way back toward the chaos.

But you didn’t return to your seat.

You turned right—towards the hallway where the dancefloor was already loud with laughter and music, with staff and crew blowing off steam.

You told yourself it was just for air. Just for a distraction.

You were halfway down the hall before your legs made the choice for you.

The dancefloor pulsed under warm lights. A remix thumped through the speakers. The bass was low and sinuous, practically vibrating in your chest. You slipped in between bodies and just let the rhythm take you.

Eyes closed. Head tilted back. Hands sliding over your sides like someone else was touching you.

If Jiyong wanted to pretend he didn’t care, you could pretend better.

You moved like temptation—hips rolling slow, lips parted, hair clinging to your temples from the heat. You swayed low, turned sharply, spun your hair off your neck, arms lifted as the crowd shifted and whistled.

Someone bumped into you.

“Y/N noona?”

You turned and saw Youngdon blinking at you, shocked and amused. One of the Kwon Twins who has been with them since debut.

“Oh,” you laughed, breathless, resting your hands on his shoulders. “Hey, Don.”

He flushed. “You’re—uh—you’re dancing.”

“Am I?” you grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Don’t look so surprised.”

He laughed nervously, hands hovering awkwardly. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“Mm-hm. Just a little.”

And then you moved again.

Pressed your body to his and rolled your hips slowly, teasingly, like your frustration could bleed into the music. He froze for a second—then caught on, chuckling under his breath as the others around you cheered.

“You’re wild tonight, noona,” he said with a grin.

You laughed. “Maybe.”

The song shifted. You bent your knees, hips swaying, one hand in your hair, the other on Youngdon’s chest as you dipped low and came back up slow.

The music thumped. You moved like you’d lost your mind. Like your jealousy was boiling under your skin and you had no other way to release it. You swayed your hips, rolled your body, laughed when Youngdon looked flustered as hell.

That’s when the crowd noticed. Next thing you know, a circle was formed and the cheering got louder.

—

“You gonna stop her?” Youngbae nudged Jiyong, half-laughing. “Noona’s going off.”

Jiyong didn’t answer.

Beside him, Seunghyun was cackling. Completely entertained. He looked like he was dying from too much laughter.

“She’s dancing with Youngdon,” Jiyong said tightly.

“She’s an adult,” Seunghyun replied. “She’s allowed to.”

“She’s wasted.”

“She’s having fun.”

Jiyong turned to him. “You’re really okay with this?”

Seunghyun sipped his drink, raising his perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Not my business.”

“She’s your sister.”

“Exactly. I’m not gonna baby her.” Seunghyun looked at him, entertained. Watching Jiyong lose his shit was far more entertaining from all movie subscriptions he paid for.

Jiyong stared at him. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I’m loving this,” Seunghyun grinned. “Karma’s a bitch.”

That did it.

Jiyong slammed his drink down and stormed toward the dancefloor. Not minding Sojoo who called his name, asking where was he going.

—

That’s when you felt it.

That static again.

That burning.

You didn’t look at first. Didn’t need to.

But your eyes followed the line of cheers up the balcony stairs—where the lounge looked over the floor.

And there he was.

Kwon Jiyong.

Arms crossed, jaw tight, mouth a grim line.

Watching you from the railing with fire in his eyes.

The heat bloomed across your cheeks—but you didn’t stop.

You looked directly at him and moved even slower.

Deliberately.

You let your fingers trace down your own side, turned in time with the beat, and let your body roll to the music like it had something to prove.

You caught the flicker of disbelief in his eyes.

You felt the possessive shift in his stance.

And that’s when you smiled.

Teasing.

Vicious.

Victorious.

But that moment didn’t last. A blur of black descended the stairs like a storm, cutting across the floor.

You didn’t mind him as you kept dancing. You let your whole body loose as you danced provocatively to the music.

Right up until a familiar hand caught your wrist and spun you around.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Jiyong hissed in your ear, voice low and trembling.

You blinked, breath catching. “Dancing.”

“You’re done.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

He pulled you close, lowering his voice to a hiss. “You’re drunk, and you’re making a fucking scene.”

Youngdon took the hint and slowly backed away from the scene, withdrawing his hand from your waist.

“Jealous?” you taunted.

“Out of your mind,” he growled. His hand tightened around your waist. “You think this is funny? Making a scene like this?”

“You’ve been making a scene all night,” you snapped. “I’m just matching energy.”

He exhaled hard. “Come with me.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

You barely had time to protest before he pulled you through the crowd. The dancers parted, some still cheering, others confused. You saw Seunghyun watching from a corner, sipping his drink with a shit-eating grin like this was his favorite telenovela.

Jiyong dragged you out into the hallway, cool air brushing your flushed skin. You stumbled a little on your heels and glared at him.

“I’m not yours anymore,” you muttered.

He turned on you. “Oh yeah? Tell that to Youngdon, who looked five seconds away from coming in his pants!”

You slapped his arm. “I was just dancing!”

“You were grinding on him like he was your goddamn boyfriend!”

“Oh, you mean the way Sojoo was touching you all night?”

He froze.

The silence crackled between you—just the two of you and a hallway filled with tension and old feelings.

You didn’t speak.

Not yet.

But you didn’t walk away, either.

He stared at you furiously. As if words can’t describe how furious he was—at you, at the situation, at what’s happening between you.

And maybe… that said everything. You two badly needed this talk.

The VIP room was dim and cold, untouched for hours, maybe days. The music downstairs was muted here — just a thump of bass bleeding through the walls like a heartbeat neither of you wanted to feel anymore.

You stumbled in first, not even sure how he got your arm in that grip, or when you started following him like some reckless storm cloud in heels. The door slammed shut behind you, and the silence that followed was thick. Suffocating.

He stood behind you, breathing hard like he’d just run a race he didn’t want to win.

“What the hell was that?” Jiyong’s voice came like a lash, sharp and too loud.

You spun around. “What do you mean what?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb now,” he spat, walking toward you like he couldn’t decide whether to yell or kiss you. “Dancing like that? With Youngdon? In front of the whole crew? You think that’s funny?”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” you snapped.

“Then what the fuck were you trying to do?” he growled. “Because it sure as hell looked like a show.”

“I was trying to forget you,” you spat, louder than you meant to. The words came out choked and cruel. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

He flinched — small, but you saw it. Like a blade sliding between his ribs. Like he didn’t expect it to still hurt.

“Right,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “So now you’re trying to forget me by grinding on my crew?”

“You brought a date!” Your voice cracked, rage and guilt tangled in every syllable. “You showed up with Sojoo like I didn’t matter. Like none of it mattered!”

“She’s my cousin!”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

“…What?” you croaked.

“She’s my cousin, Y/N.” His voice was quieter now, but it cracked like thin ice. “I brought her because I knew it’d piss you off. Because I knew you’d look. Because I knew you’d feel something if I made you jealous.”

You stared at him, chest heaving, eyes wide. “You… why didn’t anyone tell me—?”

“Because Seunghyun thinks your misery is fucking hilarious,” he bit out. “And because I told him not to. Because I wanted to see what you’d do.”

That bastard.

You stumbled back a step, suddenly cold. “So this was a game to you?”

“No!” he yelled, slamming his fist into the wall — not at you, never at you but the sound made you jump anyway. “This isn’t a game. You think this is fun for me?”

“I thought you moved on,” you said, voice trembling, cracking open.

His laugh was bitter, broken. “Moved on? From you?” He pointed to himself. “You think this is me moving on? I haven’t slept. I haven’t eaten. I smoke half a pack a day and I rehearse like I’m trying to beat my own heartbeat. I’m a fucking mess and it’s your fault!”

“Then why didn’t you come back?” Your voice cracked into something desperate. “Why didn’t you fight harder?”

“Because you pushed me away!” he exploded. “Because you made me feel like I was nothing to you!”

“That’s not true.”

“You left me hanging, Y/N,” he said, quieter this time, voice hoarse. “I followed you like a lost puppy. I called. I waited. And nothing.”

“I didn’t know what to do!” You were crying now, mascara stinging your eyes. “I was scared. Of us. Of what it meant.”

“Then say that!” he shouted. “Don’t fucking punish me for being the only one who wasn’t scared!”

“I’m still scared,” you whispered. “I just… I didn’t know how to keep it without losing myself.”

Jiyong stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “Then let me help you.”

“I don’t deserve you,” you whispered.

“Maybe not,” he said, and for a moment, you thought that was it. The end.

But then he grabbed your wrist, not gently, not hard, just enough to make you feel real. “But I still want you.”

You broke.

All of it. The jealousy, the weeks of silence, the guilt, the way he looked at Sojoo just to make you burn — it cracked something open inside you. You lunged forward, shoving at his chest, hitting him once, twice. “You’re an asshole.”

“I know.”

“You made me jealous on purpose.”

“I know.”

“And I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I hate you,” you growled, tears streaking your cheeks. “I fucking hate how much I love you.”

Your hand flew up before you could think but he caught your wrist mid-swing. Not roughly. Just enough to stop you. Just enough to hold on.

His breath hitched. His voice came out hoarse. “Say it again.”

You blinked at him, stunned. But his eyes were already on you — wide, glassy, like you’d just cracked something open in him.

“Baby…” he whispered, like the word hurt to say. Like it was all he had left. “Baby, say it again.”

And when your face crumpled, when your body finally gave in, he caught you before you could fall. His arms wrapped around you like he’d been waiting to do it for a hundred years.

He held you so tightly you could feel the shake in his chest. “Please,” he whispered into your hair. “Just say it again. I need to hear it.”

You shook your head, fists clutching his shirt. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

You looked up at him, eyes wet. “I love you.”

Jiyong’s breath hitched.

“I love you,” you repeated, the words dragging themselves from your chest like a confession you’d buried too long. “Even when I didn’t want to. Even when I swore I was done. I couldn’t stop.”

And then he kissed you.

Not soft. Not sweet.

It was brutal — like a car crash, like drowning, like coming home to a house still burning. His hands buried in your hair, yours clawing at his jacket. Teeth. Tongue. Breathless moans swallowed between kisses that refused to end. You kissed him like you were starving and he was the only meal you ever wanted. He kissed you like he didn’t know if you’d vanish again, and he needed to memorize every gasp, every shake of your lips, every sound you made just for him.

Your back hit the wall with a soft thud, legs tangled, his knee sliding between your thighs like instinct. You arched into him, whimpering when his mouth dropped to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone — desperate, wet kisses like he was claiming you all over again.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your skin, voice low and wrecked. “Tell me.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered back, tugging his face to yours again, breath hot and frantic. “I’ve always been.”

His hands slid up your thighs, fingers trembling, touch urgent. And god, the heat and the need. It was dizzying. Almost violent. Like if he let go, you’d fall apart again.

And maybe you would.

You kissed him again — deeper, wetter, teeth dragging across his bottom lip until he groaned into your mouth. One of his hands tangled in your hair, the other on your waist, pulling you closer like he couldn’t stand an inch of distance.

And when he finally tore his mouth away, your lips were swollen, your chest heaving. His forehead pressed to yours.

“I’m still mad at you,” he whispered, voice shaking.

“Good,” you said, breathless. “I’m still mad at me too.”

“I can’t lose you again,” he breathed, voice hoarse. “Don’t make me do this twice.”

“You won’t,” you whispered, clinging to his shirt like a lifeline. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Then silence again, the kind that feels like aftermath. Or maybe the start of something that finally, finally had no lies left between the lines.

But even bruised, even breathless — you kissed him again. As if you wanted to make up for the lost time wasted.

Because maybe love was supposed to hurt like this — if it meant it mattered.

note: we all know sojoo is jiyong’s long time friend irl but let’s just pretend she’s his cousin in this storyline 😆

#kwon jiyong x reader #kwon jiyong scenario #jiyong scenario #kwon jiyong smut #g dragon x reader #g dragon #bigbang #angst #bigbang scenarios #bigbang scenario

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the-anon-muses · 3 days ago

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Left this as a comment under a sansa stark video essay but adding it here because its related:

I think the lead up to sansa's "betrayal" is also something that gets left behind - she gets told she's done everything right as a lady and now that's being rewarded by getting to marry the prince and go south, only to find out she'll be joined by the sister she doesn't get along with, who seems to be messing up right and left (getting dirty , fighting Joffrey for Mycah) but doesn't get punished (Ned thanks her with no reprimand, Lady gets killed not Nymeria).

At this point, Cersei has invited her for tea and Joffrey is not only spending time with her but sings to her and gets her gifts (and yes Sansa should blame Lady's death on Cersei but

she's going to be marrying into the family and she can't piss off the in-laws,

said in-laws are the royal family, and

robert, who scares her more than anyone is the one to make the call, Ned's friend).

She finally gets to Kingslanding and visits tourneys only for her father it restrict her movements and then tell her the marriage isn't going through for some vague reason (while we have an entire scene of Ned trying to explain to Arya a censored version of why they have to go). And when she comes close to accepting it and asks to say goodbye, he blocks her off for seemingly no reason despite this being something that impacts the rest of her life.

So as a lady who is so close to achieving the best she can, being a princess, with her father who has been ignoring her, her sister running amok, the only reliable person for her is Cersei (kind of like if I ever wanted to have a sleepover and my parents told me I would be intruding, I would go to my friend's parents to ask for permission as well).

People also call her inactive but pleading for her father's case and getting the okay that he won't die is not inactive (we also find out in the next book that even Cersei was surprised that Joffrey killed Ned). She still bears some responsibility over Ned's death, but it's mostly over her own hostage situation and getting herself trapped - just wanted to emphasize that context is important.

Additionally, some of her great traits she shares with Ned, like her honor and sense of duty are actually handled better than Ned because she's had the veil removed from her eyes. Her sympathy for the Hound, saving Dontos, holding her own in court to the point she's impressed her enemy's family members like Lancel and even Tyrion himself, managing Sweetrobin to the best of her ability even though she's just a child, being an overall intuitive person who has been trying to correct the inner voice that calls herself stupid because that's what her prisoners told her - she has a lot of good traits, this is just a story about changing as a person, and changing perspectives which takes time and patience. Contrast this to Ned and how his guilt over lying to save Jon makes him try and compensate, him willing to kill Lady and not really sympathize with Sansa (and I do think his reaction would have been different if it were Nymeria and Arya).

She's always been a smart girl (more well-read than her brothers), she just needs to learn the streets smarts angle. A small parallel I noticed was with her mom - Sansa correctly identified Renly Baratheon and Barristan the Bold because of their sigils which a lot people consider unimportant info only to see Catelyn use similar knowledge to convince her Tully Bannerman to kidnap Tyrion.

Every character makes mistakes and have made worse mistakes and yet.

If someone doesn't even understand that what motivated Sansa to go to Cersei was not mainly her love for Joffrey but because it was the tipping point of her frustration at her father for repeatedly neglecting her throughout the book while showing favoritism towards her sister, I am not sure they even read her POV? She might have told herself she was doing it because she wanted to marry Joffrey but she actually accepted her father's decision and requested to say farewell which he denied, while again showing favoritism (in her eyes) by allowing Arya a last dancing lesson. Even when Ned first told them they had to go back, the first thing that came to her mind was that she would be leaving the pagaentry and tourneys of the capital. Then she 'only just remembered' that she had to marry Joffrey and that she 'loved' him and cannot leave. People love calling her unreliable narrator without even understanding what it means. She thinks one thing (in this case thinking and saying that she went against her father for love) while what happened is another thing (she was miserable at leaving but was ready to obey her father as usual being the 'good' daughter, then he allowed his 'willful' daughter her request, so she decided to lash out by being wicked and willful like her sister). Not saying that Sansa did not want to marry Joffrey, she did, but what actually pushed her towards 'betraying' her father was her issue with said father.

#sansa stark #asoiaf #sansa pov #anon add

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talesofesther · 2 days ago

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beauty of the ordinary

➥ Ava Starr x Reader/fem!OC

Summary: Ava comes back home to you. She's still learning what it feels like to have someone who remembers her, who sees her. You show her what it means to be loved.

Requested by @staaerrr

A/N: This is an unofficial sequel to my first story with Ava. It can, of course, be read on its own, but the storyline is the same. <3 Based on the request, but I feel like I went a little rogue. Still, we have a very sweet and lovestruck Ava. Also, fyi there's some nonsexual intimacy here, but no smut. One of the most intimate and beautiful stories I've written so far, I think.

Word count: 1,9k

Masterlist

The TV was on mute, serving only as a source of light and to help you not feel too alone. It was already past midnight, and you wanted to preserve the quiet calmness of the night.

You had a book in your hands and a now empty cup of tea resting on your bedside table, beside a single lit scented candle Ava had gifted you a couple of weeks back. You hugged the blankets close to your body; it was a cold night.

Despite the sleep weighing on your eyelids, you kept yourself awake. Ava had gone out with Yelena and Walker for a simple job, not too dangerous. But she's been gone for over two days, and you missed her.

Earlier today, she had sent you a text message that read: Back home tonight. Counting the minutes. You could almost feel her own relief through the screen of your phone.

The relationship was new, you and Ava were still getting used to belonging with someone else. You still got butterflies in your stomach whenever she came to your room, and Ava was still timid when kissing you sometimes.

You loved it. You loved her. You wouldn't have it any other way.

Ten more minutes went by, and then you heard the elevator of the Watchtower. You heard the voices of Yelena and Walker as they bid each other goodnight. Even past your bedroom door, you could easily tell they too were tired.

You got up from your bed with your heart already beating out of your chest. You pushed open your door, a small smile already tugging at your lips.

Ava stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room, looking between the door to your bedroom and hers, probably trying to decide which one to open. Her eyes widened a little when she spotted you. She took a step towards you instinctively.

You felt your heart swell at the sight of her. Your hands itched and begged to hold her. Ava was still in her black Ghost Suit; there were specks of dust on her skin, and a prominent cut on her forehead.

The smile she gave you was all bashful and loving. She glanced at her feet when she spoke, "Hey."

You closed the distance with more than a little urgency. The ends of your pajama pants dragged on the floor. You pulled Ava into a hug in lieu of greeting, arms closing tightly around her as your nose buried against her neck. "I was counting the minutes, too."

Ava's hands traced your back with care, as if memorizing the shape of you beneath her fingers. She eventually pulled away just to look at you. There was a soft furrow to her brows. The only light came from the moon outside, but if you looked closely, you could see a thin sheen of tears on the bottom lid of her bright eyes.

"You- you waited up for me?" Ava asked as if she were unworthy of the mere idea of you keeping yourself awake for her.

"Of course I did," you told her easily in the same heartbeat. Your hands rested on her shoulders. From up close, you noticed her dry lips and the dried blood above her eyebrow. "I also left water ready in the kettle. I know you enjoy tea at night. Especially tonight."

Ava's mouth opened and closed while she searched for words that wouldn't come. She looked at you as if you were something from a dream.

Ava brought a hand up. Careful fingers brushed against your cheek and placed stray strands of hair behind your ear. Her hand phased for a beat when her control stumbled at the same time her heartbeat did. She bit her lip. Timidness burned in her stomach.

Ava was still learning what it felt like to have someone care so deeply. To have someone who remembers her, someone who knows what she likes. To have someone do something simply because they want to see her happy.

The concept was still so novel that it almost caused the rogue tears in Ava's eyes to fall.

Her thumb found your lower lip. Ava traced the shape of your mouth. "I don't deserve you." Her words, thick with her accent, were nothing but a whisper in the darkness of the night.

You leaned your head to the side, fixing Ava with a knowing look. You took her face between both your hands, brushing the apple of her cheeks with a soft touch. You leaned in and captured her lips in a kiss. "Yes, you do. That's why you have me." You promised against her mouth.

As if caught in a trance, Ava kissed the words. She grasped your wrist as if afraid you'd fade away, her other hand finding the skin on your hip where your shirt had ridden up. She kissed you over and over, until the need for air pulled you apart again.

She always got your breath running shallow, goosebumps rising on your skin. Your hands traveled down Ava's arms, until your fingers tangled with hers. "Come on, I bet you're dying for a shower." You tugged her towards your bedroom.

Ava chuckled under her breath, feeling her cheeks burn hot and her lips tingle with telltales of your love.

She said nothing when you closed your bedroom door behind her and pulled her into your bathroom. A smile sneaked its way onto Ava's lips when she smelled the familiar scent of the candle she had so carefully chosen for you. It was the first gift she ever gave you. Her heart fluttered in her chest when you told her you kept it beside your bed, always close.

You flicked on the bathroom light, and then, almost reverently, you began taking off Ava's suit. Piece by piece, you revealed more of her body. Some dark bruises painted her skin here and there. You placed a lingering kiss on top of each of them.

Ava held her breath, watching as the corner of her eyes grew blurry. You loved her easily, fully. Ava had never felt a love as present as yours. She felt faint, heart skipping a beat each time your lips found a new place on her skin.

You kissed Ava's collarbone, and her skin raised with goosebumps.

Once Ava was bare in front of you, she did the same, slowly taking off the pajamas that covered your body. You joining her in the shower was a given; she knew, she didn't have to ask.

You adjusted the shower's temperature to what you knew Ava liked the most, the comfortable warmth that relaxed her muscles and took away the weight of the day. Before her condition was stabilized, Ava's showers were quick and stressful; now, she was allowed to take her time to relax.

Ava bit the inside of her cheek in a poor attempt at containing a smile at your endless consideration for her. She didn't know you observed her as closely as she observed you, to the point of remembering the smallest details. Her heart beat to the rhythm of your name. She shouldn't be surprised.

You stepped under the running water first. Ava followed contentedly, she shivered when the warm water fell against her skin and hair, washing away the dust and stains of blood.

Before Ava could reach for the shampoo bottle, you took it. You silently motioned for her to turn around.

Ava hesitated, mouth hovering open as if you'd confused her. Ava didn't know what to do with kindness, especially when it came from someone like you. Her hands fidgeted with one another, her eyes softening with something vulnerable and raw.

You leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose with a soft smile on your lips. It gave Ava the encouragement she needed. She let you wash her hair, committing to memory what it felt like to have your careful fingers massaging her scalp.

Ava closed her eyes when a shaky exhale fell past her lips. Being yours was quickly becoming addictive, Ava didn't know if she'd ever learn to be anything else again. She didn't want to.

Water cascaded down her soft skin. Delicately, you pushed away Ava's wet hair after you'd rinsed off the shampoo. Your lips brushed the back of her neck, and for a moment, you lingered there, breathing her in. You kissed a path from her ear to her shoulder—a silent confession of love and adoration.

Ava leaned back into you, chasing after your touch like a lifeline. She felt your hands sneaking around her abdomen, holding her steady. She turned around to face you, her hands instantly coming up to hold your jaw. Her bare body pressed against yours, and Ava was sure this is what heaven felt like; she would never feel more present in her own body than when it became one with yours.

Under the stream of the shower, Ava captured your lips with poorly concealed urgency. You both felt the warmth of the water drops between the kisses. Ava pressed herself impossibly closer, her nose touched your cheek, and her hands buried into your hair when she took your lower lip between both of hers.

Ava kissed you like she couldn't believe you were real, and was trying to convince herself through your lips. She craved you, your touch, like a starved thing.

Your hands found their home on her waist, fingertips mapping each inch of her bare body, a caring touch passing over dark bruises and old scars as if in devotion. You slid your hands up, feeling the wetness of the skin on her ribs and then her shoulder blades.

You pulled her closer, relishing in her warmth, in the feel of her against you with nothing to keep you apart. There was no lust, only love.

When Ava pulled away, she gazed at you with half-lidded eyes and reddened lips. Her hand brushed away wet strands of hair that clung to your forehead. "Thank you for loving me," her quiet voice was almost drowned out by the shower stream hitting the tiles.

Water clung to her eyelashes as she looked at you, and you followed a few drops as they slid down her freckles. The dried blood from the cut on her forehead had washed away already. You nuzzled your nose against Ava's, and she trembled in your hold. "It's the easiest thing I've ever done."

You dried Ava's hair for her when you stepped out of the shower. She avoided your eyes when she told you that you didn't have to do it; her cheeks and the tip of her ears were red, from the hot water of the shower, or something else.

You gave Ava one of your hoodies for her to wear, while you put your pajamas back on.

Ava pulled the hood over her head. You felt your stomach flutter when you caught her turning her head to smell your perfume that still lingered on the fabric. Ava occupied a piece in your heart no one else could ever have.

When you walked to the kitchen to prepare her tea, Ava pressed her chest to your back, hugging you close while you waited for the water to boil. More than ever, you were grateful to be a witch, then. You didn't have to step away; purple tendrils of chaos magic brought the mugs to your hands.

Some things were still new for Ava. You loved it all the same, it usually meant she clung to you whenever she could.

You turned around in her embrace. You tugged on the collar of your own hoodie as you pulled her in for a lazy kiss.

Ava's damp hair tickled your cheek. You felt the shape of her smile against your lips. Your heart was so full of her, you could hardly call it your own.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Ava’s taglist is open, let me know if you’d like to be added. Or you can follow @talesofesther-library and turn notifications on to know when I’ve posted a new story/chapter.

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

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#ava starr x reader #ava starr x female reader #ava starr #ava starr imagine #hannah john kamen #ava starr x you #marvel #ava starr fanfic #marvel x reader #thunderbolts #fluff #angst #fanfic #imagine #avastarredit #my story

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kierongillen · 1 day ago

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On Writing Team Books

A friend asks me about writing about team books, which reminds me I wrote an essay to a friend about it a while back, and put it in my newsletter. I figure I could put it on the tumblr for easier access. If you like this, I do stuff like this fairly often in the newsletter so sub.

I get the occasional mail from creator friends, asking me for advice on a topic. Last week, Alex Paknadel (he outed himself on twitter) asked me about writing team books, and I downloaded my brief thoughts to him. None of my thoughts are brief. Here’s an edited and slightly tidied version…

Right!

After I got the mail I wrote a list of five topics off the top of my head. I’m now going to go in and fill in some details beneath them. Fear the download.

1) Killing artists.

More than any other kind of book, the chance of breaking an artist on a team book is highest. You have a bunch of characters, which often do some stuff together. So you’re writing a 6 person team? That’s 6 people together. They’re in a fight? Maybe another 6 people against them.

So call your shots carefully when they’re together. Don’t call for shots of everyone in the same panel, unless you’re really giving it the space to land for the reader and you absolutely need it.

Worth noting sometimes you do: at least part of the team book is folks want to see a team doing the thing. That said, there’s exceptions to that…

2) Black Hole/Bad company . Probably Authority.

I usually say I learned to write team books by a teenage exposure to ABC WARRIORS: THE BLACK HOLE and BAD COMPANY VOL 2: THE BEWILDERNESS. This is classic 2000AD hypercompression - both explicit team books told in 5-6 page chunks. How did they do it?

ABC Warriors primarily does it by having a team member be the narrator in each episode, and then rotating the narrator between episodes. So you are both introduced to each character, and also (because the narrators are so different) introduced to the perspective of the character who is speaking., This also means this constant reintroduction isn’t in any way boring, because the characters are all so individually warped. You want to know what a sadistic fuck like Blackblood makes about everyone, right?

BAD COMPANY goes the other way, and has a strong single narrator in the form of Danny Franks, and uses them as the perspective we explore the rest of the cast. Some stuff is almost explicitly Franks interviewing team members.

Both speak to an underlying truth – a big chunk of team books are about moving the pieces around in new combinations, and seeing what they do.

I mention Authority, but the first run dose some key basic things of modern team story books – this almost procedural mode was especially popular in the 00s, and is something of a break of the Classic American Superteam approach. Speaking broadly, it does very cleanly some things superteams have always done - you can see where it moves from separating the group (so all team members gets a chance to do cool shit) and then bringing them together (so you get to do the big team book money shots).

But also note that when they’re together in a non-violent scene, someone - usually Jenny - takes lead, and almost everyone else shuts up. You may view this as the Authority becoming a solo book with a supporting cast rather than a true team book when the story demands - that speaks to it being a plot-first book. There’s not really much for the team to debate about - they all know what they’re going to do (kick people in the head, save the world).

TL;DR: Go breakdown some of your faves. How do their stories work?

3) Spotlight time.

That’s the main thing, and what all the above do, in various ways. If it’s a team book, characters need to be able to be on panel and do their thing. That it’s being sold as a team book implies that’s the promise to some degree. When planning an issue ensuring everyone gets to do their cool thing for a moment is not a bad perspective to take.

(This is pretty close to running an RPG group, btw. If someone’s not done something for a while, it’s probably time to give them a chance to do something.)

The alternative - especially in a one off - is to make the issue explicitly about an individual. Like the Black Hole, maybe this is just a single character in the team, and about how they work in the team. Of course, the effects do overlap - like in Bad Company, having the story be from an individual’s perspective you get to show how the other people are viewed by them, and so how cool their cool thing may be.

4) Team book vs ensemble cast.

That links to the above - like, what is the book, really?

There’s team books which aren’t really teams - they’re actually ensemble casts. WicDiv was one of them. DIE is much more of a team book - it’s a literal party (with Ash as the main narrator, ala BAD company). Watchmen has one scene when there’s a team, and they’re not called The Watchmen – it is absolutely an ensemble cast. Hickman’s X-men isn’t a team - it’s an ensemble cast (to the level where I think it’s more of a permanent event, or even a social novel). My Journey into Mystery is abstractly a solo book, but at times it became an ensemble book - and even a SERIES of team books, because Loki was always having to put teams together to do stuff. My Uncanny X-men run was primarily an Authority-mode procedural team book, with Cyclops taking the Jenny position and everyone having lots of focus time to do their cool thing (though see later on the exceptions).

The core difference between Ensemble books and Team books is that in a team book “I want to see the people together doing their thing” is part of the promise.

5) Split the Party.

You ever seen Dan Harmon write about Community? Clearly the story circle, but there’s also the sense that most episodes are about dividing the cast into smaller pairs and threes, and exploring that dynamic. This is in a lot of sitcoms, and an approach that 100% crosses over into team books.

5-9 people in a team normally means 7 of them standing around in a blob, with 1 person taking the leader role, and maybe one other takes the person to argue against the leader. Who is arguing likely varies, but it’s normally who feels most strongly about a situation. I suddenly find myself thinking like a team book is a zoom call, and most people are just standing and listening.

So you need to split that up.

Split up a 6 team into two groups of three, and you’ve got proper potential for actual drama. Each scene can be about those people, and by changing up the people you group together, you get to show different aspects of the characters. The Uncanny Run had a core team of nine, which is ludicrous… and when the book isn’t doing the widescreen mode, you’ll see I split the team into 3 groups of 3, and I get to play with all kinds of dynamics.

This is what team books do best, I think – in that you’ve got no single element which “needs” to be there (As in if opposed to you having a group cast around a a daredevil or a batman, readers are still broadly pissed off when you don’t see anything of the lead character). You get to see what emerges from all these different combinations, and then being able to bring them together to do the core TEAM beat when you need that.

Think about the subtext of “Avengers Assemble”. It implies that the Avengers were apart.

#writer advice #comics

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kisslandeds · 3 days ago

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“Painful Bliss”

summary: in the shadows of orochimaru’s lair, both you and sasuke found silent refuge in each other, tangled in pain and passion, unsure of what it means but unable to let it go.

t/w: blood, abuse, slight choking, pain, spitting in mouth, sex, kinda romantic

word count: 1,973

a/n: saw a post say they didn’t see enough sasuke smut . . . i’ve never written fanfic for sasuke ever but i decided to contribute my part lolz you guys know im a hopeless romantic so

The air underground always carried a weight to it—thick, stale, tainted with damp stone and the faint chemical bite of alchemy. Somewhere deeper in the lair, water dripped rhythmically, echoing like a slow heartbeat. It was cold, but not enough to shiver. You were used to it now.

You padded through the empty hall with your black sandals, footsteps silent on the worn floor. Your bruised knuckles ached. A fresh scrape burned high on your thigh. You’d taken several hits in your training—but you were expected to get stronger. Your black skirt and mesh tights help cover some of the bruises you’d have to bear.

When you stepped into the dimly lit room, you weren’t surprised to find Sasuke exactly as you imagined—shirtless, seated on the edge of the raised platform that once served as an indoor training ground, head bowed slightly, the flicker of the lanterns casting soft light over the sharp edges of his face. The line of his jaw, the shadow beneath his lashes, the sweat-damp strands of black hair clinging to his forehead—all of it was familiar. You saw him like this often, exhausted from his training. Except, you knew Orochimaru didn’t impose this on him, it was of his own free will—he wanted to get stronger, and his ambition was insatiable.

You knew bits of Sasuke’s past, and the burdens he’d carried within him. Though you had never had a family, you knew Sasuke did, at one point, which made the loss of them much more impactful. You knew Sasuke had scars that ran deep, and that he was condemned to a pursuit of a vendetta. It felt familiar—maybe too familiar.

His pale skin is softly illuminated by the faint orange glow of the torches lined on the walls, the colors dancing on his face like a watercolor painting. His black hair is tousled, his coiffure messy but fitting. His black eyebrows were drawn together, as if to convey his pain. His collarbones are defined, and as your eyes find the rest of his carved and defined body, you notice the soft rising and falling of his chest, and the soft throb of his heart.

“Sasuke,” you said quietly.

He didn’t move. Just lifted his head a little, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re hurt,” you added.

He shrugged, slow and silent.

You approached without thinking, not because you had anything to say, but because you couldn’t stand the distance. You sat beside him, close enough that your legs brushed. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin—taut muscle beneath sweat and scars. So many scars. You had your own. Some from training, some from him, some from Orochimaru.

You sat there for a long moment, staring straight ahead at the grey and dilapidated wall.

It had been six years. Six years in this place. Trapped between experiments and Orochimaru’s desire for power, and days so long and dull they blurred together. You met Sasuke after the third year, and you realized this had become your reality. It changed things for you, and though you have trouble admitting it, you liked being around him.

You enjoyed the silence, and the shared glances. You enjoyed the careful touches behind closed doors, and the way his tongue told stories on your skin, and the way your fingers found his hair as you cried in pleasure. You think of the way neither of you ever spoke about what it meant. Touch became a language for you both, an escape and exploration of feelings that otherwise neither of you had known.

You didn’t know how to talk about it.

He moved first—slow, deliberate—his hand brushing yours. That tiny motion sent a flare of heat through your chest, down your spine.

“Do me a favor,” he said. “Treat me.”

His voice was low, quiet. Almost casual. You nod carefully, and bring your hands towards his chest, facing him. You summon your chakra with the intent of repairing his internal injuries, and you close your eyes.

His fingers brushed against your thigh, tracing the edge of a bandage that had started to peel at the corner. It wasn’t tender—just curious, like he was checking if it still hurt.

When you finish, you open your eyes. He expresses a small “thank you”.

You turned your face slightly, just enough to look at him. “Do you ever think about what happens if we leave?”

His hand stilled.

You didn’t know why you asked. Maybe because you wanted him to say something real. Maybe because the question had been clawing at the inside of your chest for months now.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you whispered.

Your thumb brushed his cheekbone. He leaned into it, barely—like he didn’t mean to. His eyes flicked up to yours. Not soft. Not apologetic. But something burned behind them. Something hot and desperate.

You kissed him first. It was sharp, hungry — teeth and heat, tongues clashing, breath hot and ragged against each other’s lips. His hands gripped your waist, dragging you closer until you were straddling him, knees tight on either side of his thighs. You pressed against him, the tension breaking like a dam.

“I don’t know what this is,” you said, so softly it barely left your lips. “I don’t know what we’re doing.”

Sasuke turned his head. You could feel his gaze on you, a gaze heavy and unwavering.

“I don’t either,” he admitted, and the sound of that nearly undid you.

He approached you, his beautiful visage getting closer to yours once again. Sasuke’s lips trailed along your jaw, his hand found your neck, softly coiling it around the delicate flesh. He tilted your head toward him, his breath scorching your neck as he murmured, “You always do this.”

“Do what?” Your lashes flutter as you look up at him.

“Come to me . . . when you’re scared.” He smirks softly.

You bite your tongue. “I’m not scared.”

He pulled back for a moment, admiring your expression, his hands sliding under your shirt, fingertips brushing your bare skin. “You’re shaking.”

You were shaking, though not from fear.

His lips were on yours again—unforgiving and passionate. His lips consume yours, his teeth finding the pale pink flesh of yours, biting your lip and causing a stinging pain to emerge. You gasp softly, but relish in the painful bliss. His hands grip your hips, dragging your body flush against him. He kissed like it was a fight—fierce, commanding, too much. But you gave it back. You always did.

You peeled your shirt off in a single motion, the cool air prickling your skin. Sasuke’s eyes darkened as they dragged over your body—slow, steady, full of want he didn’t have words for. He pulled you down with him onto the large, grey mat behind you, the floor cool under your back, his body hot over yours.

“Open your mouth,” he commands.

Your eyes meet his, and you nod softly as you become a slave to your desire. You open your mouth, and he summons a white string of spit to leave his lips, one that falls straight onto your tongue. His hand finds your neck again as he softly but forcibly closes your jaw. You swallow the contents.

His pale hands find your soft skin, watching as the flames of the torches danced across your chest. Sasuke wasn’t one to admire beauty, so seeing him take a moment to observe your naked figure made you feel a rush of embarrassment. His hands travel up your chest, softly fondling both of your breasts. Sasuke brings his face towards your skin, his lips enclosing onto the soft bud of your breast.

“Sasuke . . .” your fingers find their way toward his black hair. His tongue swirled softly around your nipple, his free hand playing with the other.

“Don’t talk,” he muttered, voice hoarse as his lips moved down your throat, teeth scraping your collarbone.

You didn’t. You let yourself feel.

Sasuke reaches for the rope that tightened his obi, pulling it. The purple obi falls, revealing the pale white muscles of his thighs and his aroused length. You scrutinize his body in admiration, analyzing the soft definition and the excellent carving of his skin. His body was perfect, and it was the only beauty you’d seen, or at least, the only one you could remember.

His hips moved toward yours, and soft moans escape your lips. “Come here,” his hands reach for your back once more, and he sits you up. Sasuke sits down, his bare flesh touching the mat. He pulls you into him, a kiss that sparked the desire you’d had trouble controlling—but you let him take his own pace.

Sasuke’s hands find your bare back, lifting you up for a moment to remove the black skirt and mesh tights you wore. He sat you onto his crossed legs, forcibly moving your thighs on either side of his waist. Your lips quiver and your mouth releases soft sighs as he maneuvers your body to his desire, and your hands find his hair. You wrap one arm around his neck, eyes closing in bliss as his tongue drags across the sensitive skin of your neck.

A soft cry escapes your lips as you feel his teeth softly sink into your shoulder, a stinging sensation that released a pleasurable sensation and a shiver down your spine. Sasuke grabs your body once more, lifting you up as he adjusted himself. He lined his arousal with your sleek womanhood, that ached in desire.

Your body sank into his. Your lips part in pain that quickly wavered into pleasure as you feel your sex become filled with his length. Soft moans escape your lips, and you play with his black, tousled locks as you begin to move inside a rhythm you were comfortable with. You closed your eyes, and just let yourself feel—feel the way he moved inside of you, the way his hands traveled up your waist, feeling the soft contour of your ribs and the supple flesh of your breasts, the way his tongue swiped at your neck and in the delicate parts of your chest.

Sasuke moved inside of you deliberately, and he stifled the sounds that escaped him. Your thighs tighten around his hips, as he grips at your hips, digging his fingers into your skin, so hard that it hurt, and he moved your body up his length with an aching slowness. You cried out his name.

“You feel so good . . .” the words could barely escape your lips.

Sasuke’s hands find your thighs, and he touches your bruise without meaning to, and you feel a rush of pain envelop you. He pushes himself into you, a rhythm that made you a writhing mess. Beads of sweat began to stick to your skin, your hair sticking to your back and parts of your face. The way he moved, it was just for you, like he wanted you to feel more than just pleasure, a testament to the countless other times they’d shared each other’s bodies, and how he enjoyed it so much he’d memorized what you liked.

You pull away from his shoulder, your arm escaping his neck and you turn to face him. You bring your hand toward his cheek, admiring the blissful expression on his visage—the way his lips parted, though he held back the noises of pleasure, his pale skin, and his beautiful eyes.

When you came, it was with your eyes locked on his, your name falling from his lips like it was too much to hold back. He followed moments after, buried deep, forehead resting against your neck, breath shallow, body trembling with restraint.

Afterward, he didn’t move. He stayed there—heavy and warm, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

And still . . . no words. Though his hand found yours, and his fingers laced with yours.

His were darker than ever, bottomless. Not empty, but full of something he didn’t know how to express, like want, or fear. Like the aching, suffocating weight of needing someone when you’d taught yourself not to need anything at all.

Though his fingers were rough and calloused, they conveyed a gentle touch.

He reluctantly moved visage toward yours, eyes meeting your lips, and tongue swiping your bottom lips softly. When he kissed you, it wasn’t rushed or greedy—it was slow, lingering, full of something you didn’t know how to name. His mouth moved against yours with aching precision, like he was afraid to break you but couldn’t stay away.

The kiss deepened, his hands sliding up your body, slow and reverent. His touch was practiced now. He knew exactly how you breathed, how you gasped. What made your back arch and your thighs tighten around his hips. But this time, something in the way he kissed you felt different.

He stayed there, forehead pressed to yours, his breathing rough, his fingers laced through yours. You stared up at the ceiling together—damp stone, flickering candlelight, a crack in the corner you’d memorized months ago.

“I can’t leave this place,” he says, “to answer your question.”

“I made a choice,” he continues. “I knew what I was giving up.”

You watch the way his fingers twitch against your skin—like they want to pull away, but can’t.

He gestures vaguely around the room—the stone, the damp air, the scent of blood that never fully disappears. You’ve both spent too long here, in a place that eats away at parts of you you didn’t think you needed.

His fingers tense again at your hips, and for a moment he searches your face—not for comfort, but for confirmation that you understand. That you’re not expecting more, though he knows he badly wanted more.

His tone changes—rougher now, more grounded. “What happened just now . . .” He pauses. “It shouldn’t mean anything.”

Your stomach twists, but you don’t argue. You weren’t looking for a confession.

Sasuke leans his head back against the wall. He closes his eyes, and the tension in his jaw slowly fades.“But,” he adds, after a long stretch of silence, “I can’t go without it.”

He opens his eyes and meets yours again. “I haven’t wanted something in a long time. Not really.”

His fingers slide up your spine—slow and deliberate, and the air between you heats again, charged and quiet.

“Yet, you’ve made me want this,” he mutters.

He kisses you again—firmer this time, all bite and want—not because it’s safe, but because it’s the only thing that feels real in a place that strips everything else away.

When he pulls you tighter, it’s not about comfort, it’s about control, about needing to feel something he chose—which was you. The two of you could only enjoy the tender embrace of each other and the quiet truth you both shared.

#sasuke uchiha #sasuke #naruto #naruto shippuden #shonen jump #naruto shonen jump #naruto fic #uchiha #sasuke x reader #sasuke smut #sasuke x y/n #sasuke x you

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loveyouprongs · 2 days ago

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bringing up baby 3

remus lupin x whimsical fem!reader | Buttoned-up grad student Remus Lupin has the rare chance to work under one of the top scholars in the country. But his carefully laid plans keep getting derailed by the scholar's free-spirited whirlwind of a daughter who seems determined to unravel both his plans and his sanity.

upcoming content: FLUFF!! YEARNING!! mean boy (not remus, duh), protective remmy!

authors note: PART 3! my favorite part yet!!!! i really really hope you like it :')

word count: 3.5k

series masterlist | masterlist

tagging (pls lmk if you do or do not want to be tagged): @wrenisrad @daydreamandforget @jamesweather @oldhollywoodniall @sillygirlantics @shipwreckedlor @slutfortheblog @rulesareshadesofgrey @lettertovera @knew-better-forever-girl-two @siriusement

Over the past month, you and Remus had grown… quite close. Friends.

You showed up during most of his shifts with a new book in hand, the bookmark always tucked somewhere within the first dozen pages. You claimed the office was just better for reading. Remus always rolled his eyes and gave you a warning not to bother him. You always ignored it.

Within half an hour, the book was forgotten and you were crouched beside him, helping wrangle the more uncooperative volumes and telling him stories about your father that made Remus question everything he thought he knew about his boss. He still couldn’t quite picture Professor Binns in a pair of glitter wings and a tutu, but you swore up and down it had happened. “No one had shown up to my party, which was fine, I didn’t very much like those girls anyway. But all I wanted was a fairy princess there!”

In return, Remus humored you with stories about his own life — James’ latest disaster meal, Sirius’ deeply questionable fashion experiments, how their 50 year old neighbor always made eyes at Sirius in the laundry room. You laughed at all of them, sometimes too hard, and occasionally took notes in the margins of whatever book you were pretending to read.

You left a mess wherever you went. Crumpled wrappers, ribbons, feathers, a single sock (when you took off your shoe, he never knows) all part of your wake. You always conviently left before cleanup, leaving Remus to spend an extra fifteen minutes tidying up after you.

It was a mess. And Remus hated mess.

Except… he’d sort of gotten used to it. Used to you.

Which was why, when he hadn’t seen you all day, something in his chest had curled in on itself a little. He decided to ignore it. Probably just his chronic pain acting up again — it had been a rough morning, the kind that settled in his joints like damp in the walls. Bad enough that he’d asked Binns if he could go home early. He originally tried to push through, but Binns had taken one look at him fumbling to shelve a dictionary and called him over.

“You don’t need to be a martyr to the archive. Go home. Rest. These dusty old things will still be misbehaving tomorrow.”

Remus had protested, of course, but Binns just waved a hand like he was swatting away a fly.

So, with his tail between his legs, though admittedly with less guilt than usual, Remus packed up early.

By the time Remus stepped outside, the sun was high and obnoxiously golden, casting long shadows across the path. He squinted against it, adjusting the strap of his satchel on his shoulder as he fished his phone from his coat pocket.

“Hey,” he said when James picked up on the second ring.

“Oi! You live!” James replied. “Did the books finally stage a coup?”

“Not today,” Remus muttered, beginning the slow walk down the steps in front of the building. “I’m heading out early. Can you come get me?”

There was a beat of silence. “Wait, really? You? Leaving voluntarily? Who are you and what have you done with my best mate?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Don’t make a thing of it.”

“Is this about your knees? I told you to try that stuff I gave you, but nooo—”

“Yes, it’s about my knees, and no, I’m not taking a mystery ‘potion’ Lils got from a guy named Topher.”

“Topher’s legit! He has a table at the farmer’s market.”

“James.”

“Okay, okay,” James relented. “I’m finishing up at the gym. I can be there in twenty.”

Remus nodded, then realized James couldn’t see him. “Yeah. I’ll wait out front.”

Just as he was about to hang up, something caught his eye.

Someone.

Lying in the grass just past the footpath, familiar skirt, familiar hair, very much not reading.

Remus hung up without saying goodbye and already began veering off course.

You were lying in the grass, long white skirt fanned around you like a picnic blanket, sparkly vest top catching the light as you rifled through clumps of clover. From a distance, Remus thought you might be napping, but as he got closer, he saw the intense concentration on your face. You were definitely looking for something.

Remus, phone still in hand, stopped at the edge of the grass. “Am I interrupting a turf war?”

You looked up and grinned like you’d been expecting him. “Remus! Excellent. You can help me greet the fairies.”

He stared. “We’ve talked about this. You can’t just say things like that with no context.”

You patted the grass beside you. “Oh, come on. The fairies are shy. They’ll be more likely to show themselves if you look approachable.”

“I’m wearing proper trousers,” he said, gesturing at himself, “and I’m very tired.”

“You’re always tired,” you said cheerfully. “That’s no excuse.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Remus dropped to his knees beside you. “I swear, if something bites me again, I’m filing a report.”

“You’d have to report it to the fairies. They run the place.”

He glanced sideways at you. “You’re deranged.”

You just beamed at him. “That’s why you like me.”

Remus blinked, caught off guard.

“Please, Rem?”

You looked up at him expectantly, eyes squinting in the sunlight, lips curled in that familiar, self-satisfied smile that always seemed to know more than it let on. The sun lit up the fine edges of your hair like gold leaf, casting your whole face in a glow that was frankly unfair. Remus stared for a moment too long, something tugging in his chest before he shook his head, just a little, like he could knock the thought loose.

What was he, a crow? Drawn in by something shiny?

And yet, even as he thought it, he watched your smile stretch wider the slower he moved, like you’d known he’d give in all along. So with a sigh, equal parts fond and resigned, Remus was on his belly just like you were.

He squinted into the blades of grass, hands braced on either side of him, trying his best to make sense of whatever magical nonsense you’d pulled him into this time. Maybe if he stared hard enough, something would twitch, shimmer, fly away, anything!

But the grass remained stubbornly still.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low with concentration as he turned his head, “but what exactly am I supposed to be see—?”

You were already looking at him, chin propped in your hand, the sun catching in your hair and making your eyes look almost gold. He was squinting into the grass like it held secrets only he could decipher, jaw tight in concentration, and you felt something in your chest pull a little.

There was something unfair about how pretty he was when he was confused: soft and serious. You weren’t entirely sure when you’d started noticing things like that. Or when you’d started hoping he’d notice you noticing.

Remus blinked. “What?”

“I dropped my ring,” you said cheerfully. “Figured I’d have a better shot at finding it with your help.”

Remus reared back slightly. “You—you what? Then why did you tell me there were fairies down here?”

“Well, there could be fairies,” you said innocently, gesturing vaguely to the grass. “But not today. Not the season.”

“You had me lying in the grass in a dress shirt for no reason?”

“I had a reason,” you countered, nonchalantly plucking at a daisy. “And what’s so bad about a little grass stain? When’s the last time you let the sun hit your face, Gloomius Lupin?”

Remus stared at you for a beat, then groaned. “Okay. That’s it.”

He stood suddenly, brushing his trousers off, but made no move to leave. You raised an eyebrow just in time for him to dart forward with a mock-threatening glare. You shrieked and scrambled to your feet, laughing as you bolted.

“You can’t catch me, Lupin!”

“I shouldn’t have to catch you, you menace!”

You ran fast—too fast for someone who’d spent the morning sprawled in the grass like a cat in a sunbeam. Remus followed, but his body lagged behind, knees and hips groaning in protest. He pressed a hand to his side, willing the ache away.

You glanced back, eyes still bright with laughter, only to see him falter, pain pinching the corner of his mouth.

“Remus, are you alri-?”

You didn’t get to finish the thought. Your foot caught on a thick branch buried under leaves, and with a sharp yelp, you tumbled forward right into the pond with a dramatic splash.

Remus froze.

Then: “Oh, bloody hell.”

And he was wading in after you without a second thought.

When you resurfaced with a splash, sputtering pond water and hair sticking to your face, Remus was already wading in after you, shoes, satchel and all, like some kind of scholarly knight.

You blinked up at him, chest heaving, eyes wide at the sight before you: his button-down was soaked clean through, clinging to his arms and chest, and his slacks, well, what was left of them, were plastered to his thighs in a way that was somehow both hilarious and… unreasonably attractive.

It was, in all, a deeply stupid image. And yet you felt your heart kick a little, a lot.

“Remus, I’m so sorry,” you gasped, pushing wet strands of hair from your face. “I didn’t mean to—are you okay? You didn’t have to—”

He rolled his eyes, water sloshing around his knees.

“What?” you blinked at him, caught off guard by his flat expression.

Then, with great theatrical effort, he rolled his eyes again—bigger, slower this time, like he was trying to dislodge something behind them.

You stared at him for a beat, then let out a breath of laughter. “You’re such a brat.”

“I was lured into the grass under false fairy pretenses,” he replied dryly, pushing a wet sleeve out of his face. “I’m the victim here.”

You laughed, the sound ringing out across the water. “Come on, we can’t stay in here forever. The fish’ll get mad. Territorial little buggers.”

Together, you began trudging toward the bank. It was deeper than either of you expected, your clothes heavy with water, shoes squelching. Near the edge, you lifted your arms for balance, eyeing the embankment skeptically.

“It’s a bit of a leap,” you murmured, gauging the moss-slick edge.

Without a word, Remus stepped forward, one hand catching your elbow, the other settling at your waist.

It was meant to be practical, just a steadying gesture, but his hands lingered a moment longer than they needed to, and the world around you went quiet except for the sound of water dripping off both of you.

Your breath caught. His eyes met yours, and for the first time all day, there wasn’t a trace of sarcasm or exasperation in them. Just that steady, serious warmth that always seemed to slip past your guard.

You swallowed. “Thanks,” you said softly.

His voice was quiet too. “Anytime.”

This moment was like something out of a painting, the dew drops dripping down his jagged cheeks. Or a scene in one of your books that had you giggling under the blankets. You were just about to speak when a voice rang out from the path.

“Well, this is rich,” Evan called, coming up the path with that ever-present smirk like he was the cleverest person in the room. “Didn’t think you’d fall for her tricks, Lupin.”

You froze where you were, hand still brushing pondweed from your arm. “Go away, Evan.”

But Remus stepped forward, sodden and rumpled, hair dripping into his collar. “What tricks?”

Evan gave a little laugh, like he was amused to be asked. “You know—her little spells. Acting like the world’s her stage and everyone’s meant to chase her around in it.” His eyes flicked to you. “She’s good at it. But you? I thought you’d be smarter.”

Your face burned, and you hated that it did. “Seriously, Evan. Go away.”

“Oh, come on.” Evan tilted his head, now all false sympathy. “It’s not personal. It never is. You get to be the favorite for a week or two—maybe a month if you're charming enough. Then she gets bored and forgets your name.”

Remus’s jaw tightened. “You really don’t know anything about her, do you?”

Evan raised an eyebrow. “Don’t I?”

Remus moved in front of you then, still dripping, still visibly aching, and yet somehow standing tall. “I like her,” he said, so plainly and without flourish it almost sounded like a fact. “She’s brilliant. And funny. And deeply weird. And she’s with me, so whatever petty little grudge you;ve got, take it elsewhere.”

Evan scoffed, clearly rattled. “Seriously? You?”

Remus didn’t flinch. “Yeah. Me.”

“Well, enjoy it while it lasts.”

“We will,” Remus said, and didn’t look away.

Evan hesitated, clearly not expecting that kind of calm, pointed finality. Then, for once, he didn’t have a comeback. He huffed out some vague, sour noise and walked off.

The second he was gone, the confidence in Remus’s posture deflated by half. “God,” he muttered, raking a hand through his wet hair. “What was that?”

You were still looking at him. Really looking at him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Evan’s a real piece of work,” he muttered, flicking a bit of pondweed off his sleeve. “Nice to see him shut up for once. Even if it took a little lie.”

You glanced over at him, your voice light. “Right. Well. It worked.”

You tried to smile, and you did, sort of, just enough to hide the way your chest ached a little.

The two of you walked on in silence for a few beats, pond water squishing in your shoes.

Remus cleared his throat. “He is wrong, you know.”

You glanced over. “About what?”

“About you,” he said, almost shyly. “You don’t forget people. You care too much.”

That time, you really smiled. “Even when I leave socks in the office?”

He sighed. “Even then.”

As the two of you rounded the corner, Remus spotted James’s car parked a little crookedly in the staff lot, hazard lights blinking like it was an emergency. Through the windshield, James was very clearly staring, mouth slightly open, face twisted in something between alarm and intrigue.

Remus sighed. “That’s my friend. He’s going to kill me for getting pond water all over his precious leather seats.”

You followed his gaze, then turned back to him with a hopeful tilt to your voice. “You could ride with me instead? I don’t care if you ruin my seats. I mean, they’re already ruined from glitter and, like, snack crumbs,” you tapered off, crossing your fingers in your head.

Remus smiled, soft and crooked. “Tempting.”

Then, without thinking, he reached up, fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. His touch was tentative at first, but he didn’t pull away. His thumb swept across your cheekbone, slow and deliberate, eyes following the motion like he needed an excuse to look at you this closely.

“You had a piece of grass,” he said quietly, almost like it was an afterthought.

“Oh,” you paused, “I’m sure our drains will be filled with it when we wash tonight,” you said.

Remus chuckled, “If my mates even let me in the door, they might just hose me off in the back garden.”

You laughed, nudging his arm lightly with your elbow. “Tell them it was for a noble cause. Fairy diplomacy and all.”

Remus huffed a quiet laugh, his eyes still on you. “I’ll see you Monday?”

“Monday,” you echoed, with a little nod.

He turned and walked to James who was still looking at him unblinkingly, he mentally prepared himself for the questioning that would undeniably come once he entered the car. His shoes squished with every step. His hair was dripping onto his nose. His cheeks ached from smiling.

He turned back just as you stepped toward him, wrapping your arms around his middle without hesitation. For a second, he froze, caught off guard.

And then his hands settled at your back, drawing you in. He was damp and still smelled faintly like pondwater and summer grass, and somehow it made the hug feel even more like him. Solid and real.

His cheek brushed your temple. Neither of you said anything.

When you finally pulled back, your smile was bright and a little breathless. “See you Monday.”

And then you turned, squelching off in your soaked shoes like he hadn’t just been dunked in water for the second time that day.

Remus barely got one leg in the car before James was twisting in his seat, eyes wide. “Remus! What the HELL happened to you?”

Remus exhaled, water immediately soaking into the fabric. “Hi, James.”

“You’re soaking! You look like you got mugged by a pond! Why are you-? What happened? Did someone push you? Was it that nasty geese that chased you in sixth year?!”

Remus scrubbed a hand over his face. “She said there were fairies.”

There was a beat.

“What? …Are we talking literal fairies or code for something weirdly academic?”

“Literal,” Remus said flatly. “Or not. Apparently not. She lost her ring.”

James blinked rapidly. “Okay, okay, back up. Start from the top. Fairies?”

“I was walking out. She was in the grass. Said I looked too serious and needed sunlight. Lured me down there under the pretense of fairies.”

James made a high-pitched noise. “She tricked you with fairies? You deserved to fall in the pond.”

“She tripped,” Remus muttered. “She fell first. I went in after.”

“Oh my god.” James grabbed the steering wheel for balance, like this story was physically too much for him. “You leapt into a pond for her. In work clothes. You’re gone. Absolutely gone.”

Remus looked out the window. “And then Evan showed up.”

“Oh great, what did that walnut have to say?”

“Said she does this to everyone. That I was just her newest toy.”

James’ eyebrows shot up. “Did you punch him? Please tell me you punched him.” You’d met James a few times and immediately took a friendly liking to each other. You liked watching him do rugby tricks, always clapping like an easily entertained toddler, or like a seal sometimes, Remus thought. James liked that you always smelled like strawberry syrup.

“No, I said…” Remus gulped, eyes fixed out the window, “I said she was with me.”

“You WHAT.”

“I told him we were together, alright? Just to get him to shut up.”

James actually gasped. “Remus John Lupin.”

Remus winced. “Please don’t say my full name.”

“That’s basically a confession,” James said, flailing a little. “You told Evan you were together! That’s like… relationship declaration level three! Do you know what I would've given for Lily to say something like that in public before year six?!”

“It wasn’t like that,” Remus muttered, cheeks warm. “I just wanted him to back off. She looked... he was getting to her.”

“And then she hugged you,” James said, steamrolling. “I saw that hug. That was not a 'thanks for getting rid of the jerk' hug. That was a lingering hug!”

Remus stared ahead. “You’re imagining things.”

James drove for a few meters, then lowered his voice, as he spoke sincerely, “No, mate. I’m not. You’ve been in that office together every day for what, six weeks? She brings snacks, she steals your pens, she makes you laugh out loud, which I didn’t think was possible outside of Marauder-related mayhem. She likes you.”

Remus stayed quiet.

“And when you're with her,” James continued, “you’re more like you. Like how you are with me and Padfoot and Lilykins.”

Remus groaned softly. “You’ve got to stop calling her that.”

“Never,” James said cheerfully, “She likes you. And I like that she makes you happy. Because you do this thing… this thing where you convince yourself you’re too much trouble to love, but I’ve known you for ten bloody years, and I’m telling you: you’re not.”

Remus felt himself wilt a tad, caught.

“So take the chance,” James said, a little softer. “I really think it’ll be better than you think. And I really mean that, because I haven’t yelled once about you soaking my seats in pond water.”

Remus exhaled a half-laugh, shaking his head. “Yet.”

James smirked, satisfied. “That’s the spirit.”

They lapsed into a more comfortable silence after that, the windows fogged slightly from their damp clothes and the fading sun bleeding gold across the dashboard.

Remus shifted, pulling his soaked coat tighter—then paused, fingers brushing something in the inside pocket.

He pulled it out: a tiny corked vial, the label written in your unmistakable handwriting.

“Takes away the pain :)”

Remus stared at it for a long moment, heart thudding quietly in his chest.

Maybe, just maybe, you liked him back.

<- previous part next part ->

#bringing up baby #loveyouprongs #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x whimsical!reader #marauders #marauders fluff #marauders fanfic #remus lupin imagine

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myadagoat22 · 3 days ago

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Sammie x Reader

Sammie x reader

The Pearline Club is alive tonight. Velvet drapes. Whiskey-slick floors. Tables crowded with folks dressed to impress but acting like they’re not watching each other. Smoke curls in the air like gossip. Somewhere in the haze, the music starts—and the crowd hushes.

Sammie steps into the spotlight.

Sharp suit. Cigar tucked behind his ear. Fingers made of magic on the piano. He don’t even need to sing yet—you feel it in your chest already.

And you?

You walked in like you owned the floor.

Hair done. Dress hugging you in the right places. You ain’t tryin’ to steal attention, but baby… the spotlight don’t argue with you.

When Sammie sees you from the stage, he stumbles on a note. Just a little. Just enough for folks to wonder what happened. But his eyes stay on you, locked, like he just saw a ghost and a dream at the same time.

You sway with the music, hips slow, smile sharp.

And Sammie?

He starts singing just to you.

“Said I seen a lotta faces, but none that made the night stop cold…” “If beauty was a sin, girl—you’d have broke every rule I been told…”

People around you are clapping, whistling, dancing—but you and him? You’re in a bubble. Just two strangers playin’ with fire.

Show ends. Thunderous applause.

Sammie tips his hat to the crowd—but as he walks offstage, his eyes cut straight to you. And a man in suspenders comes by your table not five minutes later.

“Mr. Sammie’d like a word,” he says. “Back room. If you’re free, miss.”

You don’t hesitate.

Backstage, it’s quieter. Dim. The scent of tobacco and worn leather. Sammie’s waiting with a towel around his neck and a drink in his hand. He looks you up and down—real slow. Not rude. Like he’s appreciating art he don’t quite believe is real.

Sammie: “That seat taken?” You (grinning): “Ain’t now.”

He sits close. Not touching, but the air between you’s already warm.

Sammie (low, velvet-smooth): “I played that whole last set wonderin’ if you’d disappear when the lights came up.” You: “Then you better be glad I like jazz.”

He laughs—deep and warm, the kind that crawls up your spine and stays there. And then it gets quiet for a second.

No more crowds. No music.

Just you and Sammie, two people with history in their eyes and curiosity in their fingertips.

Sammie (soft): “You got a name, sugar?” You: “I do. But I ain’t give it to just anybody.”

He smiles like you just challenged him to a game he’s ready to lose on purpose.

Sammie: “Then I guess I’ll have to earn it.”

Sammie moved closer to you then sat down, he took your hand and kissed it.

Sammie: “You danced like you been hearing my music your whole life.”

You smirked, leaning one hip against the table.

You: “Maybe I have. Or maybe you just play the kind of songs a woman can’t ignore.”

That got a real smile from him—crooked, charming, dangerous.

Sammie: “You from around here?”

You shook your head.

You: “Just passing through. But maybe I’ll stay a little longer.”

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, like a man who knew what his hands could do but wouldn’t rush it.

Sammie: “You always come alone to clubs like this?”

You: “Only when I want to leave with a story.”

The tension stretched—delicate and electric.

His hand reached up, not to grab but to hover near your cheek.

Sammie: “Can I give you one?”

You tilted your head, smiling like a secret.

You: “That depends… will I remember it in the morning?”

He leaned in, his voice low:

Sammie: “If I do it right, you’ll remember it for the rest of your life.”

You didn’t answer—not with words.

The music from the club bled through the walls like a heartbeat as he kissed you. Slow. Like he was still playing piano with his mouth. Like your lips were his next melody.

Y/N shivered as Sammie's hands roamed over her curves, calloused fingers dipping and teasing into the deep valley of her cleavage.

He leaned in close, breath hot against her ear as he murmured, "You're fucking gorgeous, you know that? Can't wait to get my hands all over this sexy body."

Y/N blushed, pressing herself against him wantonly. She could feel the hard ridge of his erection through his tight pants and it made her ache with need. "Then what are you waiting for?" she breathed, nipping at his earlobe playfully. "I'm all yours."

Sammie growled low in his throat, gripping her hips possessively. "Fuck, you drive me crazy," he rasped, ducking his head to capture her mouth in a searing kiss.

Y/N moaned into it, fingers tangling in his dark hair as she opened herself to him fully. His tongue delved past her parted lips to tangle with hers, tasting her deeply as he plundered her mouth.

She could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against her belly and it made her head spin with desire. Y/N rolled her hips against him shamelessly, seeking some much-needed friction.

Sammie smirked against her lips, knowing exactly what she needed. He grabbed her ass, hands kneading the soft flesh as he ground himself against her. "Feel what you do to me, baby?" he rumbled, nipping at her bottom lip. "Gonna fill this sweet cunt up so good."

Y/N whimpered, thighs clenching at the filthy promise. She needed him inside her like she needed air. "Please, Sammie," she begged shamelessly, hands fumbling with the fastenings of his pants. "Need your cock. Now."

He chuckled darkly, helping her shove his pants and boxers down enough to free his straining erection. Y/N wrapped her fingers around him, stroking the thick length reverently. "God, you're so big," she murmured, feeling him throb against her palm. "Can't wait to feel you stretching me."

Sammie's hips jerked into her touch, head falling back with a groan. "Fuck yes," he rasped, eyes dark with lust. "Wanna feel this pussy squeezing my dick. Wanna make you scream."

Y/N shivered, still pumping him slowly. "Then what are you waiting for?" she challenged breathlessly. "Fuck me, Sammie. Hard and deep. Make me yours."

He didn't need to be told twice. Sammie grabbed her hips and spun them around, pinning Y/N against the wall. He hiked her leg up over his hip, notching himself at her entrance with a grunt.

"You ready for me, baby?" he asked, voice rough with barely restrained hunger. "Ready to take my cock like a good little slut?"

Y/N nodded frantically, gripping his shoulders for dear life. "Yes," she keened, feeling him teasingly brush over her slick folds. "Please, Sammie! I need it!"

With one brutal thrust, Sammie buried himself inside her to the hilt, stretching her around his thick girth. Y/N screamed, back slamming into the wall as pleasure and pain melded together.

"Oh fuck!" she cried, nails digging into his skin. "So big! You're so fucking big!"

Sammie just growled, giving her a moment to adjust before starting to move. He set a punishing pace, hips slapping sharply against hers as he drove into her again and again.

"Yes!" Y/N wailed, head thrown back in ecstasy. "Harder! Fuck me harder!"

Sammie obliged with a snarl, pounding into her with renewed fervor. The room filled with the obscene sounds of skin on skin and their harsh panting, Y/N's juices dripping down his shaft with every thrust.

"Gonna come," she warned shakily after several minutes, thighs starting to tremble. "Oh god, Sammie! I'm gonna-!"

Her words cut off with a scream as her orgasm crashed over her, back bowing sharply as ecstasy consumed her. Sammie just grunted, continuing to fuck her through it until she was a boneless, mewling mess.

"Fuck yes," he rasped, hips snapping erratically. "Milk my cock, baby. Gonna fill this pussy up."

He buried himself as deep as possible and came with a roar, spilling himself inside her with thick, hot ropes of his seed. Y/N gasped at the sensation, inner walls fluttering around him as she rode out the aftershocks.

They collapsed together in a tangle of sweaty limbs, gasping for breath as they tried to regain their bearings. Sammie pressed tender kisses to Y/N's face, murmuring praise and adoration against her skin.

"You did so good for me, baby," he crooned softly, thumb brushing over her cheekbone. "Took my cock like a perfect little slut."

Y/N just hummed in contentment, tangling her fingers with his. She knew this was just the beginning - that there was so much more pleasure and debauchery to come. And she couldn't wait.

Taglist: @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @harleycativy @christinabae @coldeforprez @ayeeeitsmiracle

#myadagoat22 #long reads #black reader #smut #sammie sinners #sammie moore #Sammie smut #preacher boy sammie #sammie x reader #sinners 2025 #sinners smut #black y/n #black girl #sinners movie #miles caton

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icarusinstatic · 2 days ago

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Murderbot Episode 6 review

Non-spoiler review: highly enjoyable, but there is a definite non-small amount of body horror in this episode. It actually gives me hope for Season 2 (if we get it) Murderbot having its operation/alteration done by its future non-human bestie and that scene being done justice. But seriously, no joke, if body horror / scene’s of a medical procedure make you uncomfortable, please be cautious.

Spoiler review under the cut

Mensah and MB’s developing (non-romantic) relationship definitely feels different than the books, but also very similar, if you catch my drift. Yes Mensah, you are still going to be MB’s favorite human, but it’s going to be a relationship founded on a little bit of snark, a definite difference of opinion on the quality of Sanctuary Moon, and a whole lot of understanding of each other’s (not flaws, but points of sensitivity) weak points.

I loved that MB used an episode of Sanctuary Moon to help Mensah come down from a panic attack, and at the same time let Mensah see one of the main things that gives MB a point of reference for humanity. (This is important later in the episode imo).

The body horror of Mensah having to do spinal surgery on MB and being horrified by it, but also seeing that MB is right, this needs to be done for the two of them to get back to the team. She is going to need so much therapy. (MB should get some too, but it’s not there yet).

I have a lot more thoughts on Mensah and Murderbot’s points of view on each other, but those thoughts are currently rotating in my head like a rotisserie chicken, so I might post about that later.

Oh LeBeeBee we hardly knew you - thank god for that.

I will say, despite my genuine distaste for her continued sexualization of MB, I did like how disgusted Gurathin and Baradwaj were hearing LeBeeBee do it. I feel like if Baradwaj and Gurathin were in the hopper to hear he make those first comments about MB while it was unconscious then they would have told off (Gurathin) or gently chided (Baradwaj) LeBeeBee right away.

Gurathin absolutely suspected LeBeeBee of shenanigans from the start, but didn’t have time to warn the rest of the team before Mensah and MB left to launch the beacon. That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.

I cannot wait for the threesome to fall apart, please let it happen already. Ratthi basically inserting himself into a moment that he was not invited into was just really off putting to me. Yeah, he’s definitely emotionally into Pin Lee and Arada, but they gave him some pretty obvious “we need some time alone” vibes when he asked them if they wanted his help packing and he still came in later to join them. It’s not just Ratthi’s fault though, because Pin Lee can’t be honest with Arada, and Arada is obviously not ready to terminate the threesome contract. In short, it’s a mess.

Baradwaj, you are my favorite non-Gurathin survey member for a reason, and that reason is your emotional honesty and your desire to see the best in everyone.

Obviously she was never going to get LeBeeBee to turn over a new leaf, that was just not in the cards. But her willingness to try even after LeBeeBee had shot Gurathin and it not feel like just a ploy to save the team, but to help LeBeeBee was really refreshing.

She has spoken to Gurathin about feeling compassion for others before - makes me think he was a real mess when Mensah found him in the CR. I cannot wait for next weeks episode, because I heard it was supposed to be Gurathin heavy.

The ending… OMG the ending was everything to me. (Okay I have one gripe, but that can come later). I feel like MB shooting LeBeeBee while she held a gun to Gurathin’s head was completely justified. Gurathin freaking out because he could have been shot to, was definitely in character, and MB’s pretty blasé response was very in character. Obviously MB wouldn’t have shot Gurathin on accident, but Gurathin was freaked out and MB doesn’t really like him, so fair’s fair. Though, I will say that once he has a chance to think about it I think that Gurathin will be the member of the team that’s not Mensah to really understand MB.

Mensah probably thought that all the work she and MB had done to understand each other went down the drain as soon as MB shot LeBeeBee, but I think this is something that HAD to happen, because MB is right Mensah was treating MB like a human, and that’s not what it is, and is not what it want’s to be. Mensah, by the end of this season, may not be all the way there, but Ideally will be in a good place to get to an understanding of MB in the future. She needs to really “see�� MB to be a good friend to it.

Everyone else’s reaction to MB was very visceral, and also very necessary. MB just killed someone in front of them, and these guys are NOT used to the level of violence that MB is. This is NOT normal, and that’s genuinely a good thing for PresAux. There is a reason we say the CR is hell after all. This act of violent protection is outside the norm for PresAux but they are not in a normal situation right now. They are being hunted by another entity (Evil Survey) and they don’t want to hold hands with PresAux, they want to kill them. I feel like this made everything real to the team, and it’s about time they get with the program.

Finally, MB realizing that its clients will not be acting like the Blorblo’s from its shows was really spot on. MB has been using it’s media to understand human’s and it’s self, which is a good thing, but It hasn’t really made the connection that that media isn’t based in real life human’s reactions to those types of situations. It’s going to be a rocky road for MB to walk, but if it wants to self actualize (and it won’t admit it, but it does) then it needs to have these experiences to be able to grow.

I maintain that MB didn’t feel good killing LeBeeBee for the hell of it. It felt good about it, because it was protecting its clients, and getting a bit of revenge for how LeBeeBee had treated it.

I am excited about the rest of the season, and pretty curious to see how everything is going to play out considering the changes that the show is doing, but so far so good. (If someone else sexualizes MB before the end of the season I will throw hands though).

*I wrote this at like 1 in the morning, I tried to keep MB’s It/It’s pronouns but If I messed up at a part, please let me know so I can correct any errors. Thank you guys!

#Murderbot TV #Murderbot

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thewinter-eden · 1 day ago

Text

Blood Sugar Virus (final)

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT (FINAL)

Genre: Horror, zombies, strangers to lovers, angst, suspense, slow burn Pairing: Kang Yeosang x female!reader Warnings: based on the Wanteez Zombie episode, Happy Lemon Drop Day 😁 We’ve reached the final chapter which kind of breaks my heart way more than I thought it would. It IS an 11k word chapter though, so I hope that soothes the sting (it didn’t for me but hey). I genuinely loved writing this story and I cannot believe that my hyperfixation on it carried me all the way through. I hope you guys enjoy ❤️

Story Summary: You (stage name Sugar) are the co-captain of a horror acting group. You and your guys are the ones the companies hire when they want to stage a zombie, ghost, or any vaguely horrific and dystopian episode. So when you get hired by Ateez to develop a zombie program, it's just another routine that you've done a million times. Everything's going exactly according to script--until suddenly it isn't, and it starts getting a little too real.

🏆 Esteemed Moot: @ramadiiiisme

⭐️ Reader Spotlight: @mrsminseochoi

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You and Jimin are still as the guys around you jump to their feet and get ready to head out again. Neither of you can move well enough on your own, left to wait for someone to help you. It feels unbelievably infantile, being unable to carry your own weight and having to expect someone else to carry it for you, but either you let them take care of you or you get left behind—and none of them seem willing to leave you in the dirt.

Hongjoong rounds them up into a huddle, reorganizing Ateez to proceed from here.

“Did something happen?” Jimin whispers to you, his eyes wide. “Did he hurt you? I swear to god, I told him I’d kill him—these fucking assholes, it’s like every time I turn around—”

“Don’t talk about them like that.” You deliver a sharp elbow to his ribs. “They’ve kept you alive all night, and they’re good people. Incredibly good people. You gotta stop flying off the handle at them, Chim.”

“You were deliriously happy—literally—ten minutes ago and now you’re over here looking like you did when we got back from the GOT7 program.” Jimin squeezes your shoulder tightly, like he’s trying to punctuate the memory he’s recalling with reassurance that he doesn’t mean to hurt you with it. “If he hurt you, I want to know.”

The group is moving, getting Mingi up, heading for the two of you.

The only thing that hurts is the weight of the wall you’ve just slammed down around your heart. “He didn’t hurt me. I swear. He’s been killing himself to get me this far. Don’t worry, Chim, it’s all good.”

“Yeosang, you’ve got Sugar?” Hongjoong asks, pausing in conferring with Taegyeom when he notices that you’re still sitting on the ground.

“Yeah, I’ve got her.” Yeosang says from somewhere in the middle of the huddle of guys, and you see him shoulder through them to approach you.

The stabbing in your heart conflicts with the betrayal of butterflies in your stomach. “No, Yeosang needs a break.” You argue out loud. “He needs to rest for a bit.”

He’s still coming towards you, ignoring your protest, when Wooyoung appears beside him. “I want her.” He pushes past Yeosang. “That good with you, Noona?”

You’re nothing short of eager to have an option other than the man you want to be able to let go of. Instead of trusting your voice to convey your agreement, you lift your arms like a child begging to be picked up.

When Yeosang utters your name, displeased, you almost break. “I’m fine, I can get you.”

“You’re hurt.” You mutter, as though he needs a reminder. “I’ll go with Woo.”

The younger man crouches down to your level, wrapping his arms around you to bring you up to your feet. Blood washes from your head to your toes in a rush, and you sway dizzily in his hold. He keeps you steady, helping you step away from Jimin so that San can move in and pick up your best friend.

“How do you want to do this?” Wooyoung asks you. “If I carry you on my back, can you hold on? Or will that hurt your hip?”

You don’t want to think about the position that will put you in, having to open your hips to wrap your legs around him, but you can’t ignore the fact that it will be less strain on him than carrying you bridal style in his arms.

He could toss you over his shoulder like Hajoon did to Jimin, but you predict that if the blood rushes back into your head like that, you’re likely to throw up all over him.

“I can get on your back.” You say. “That should work.”

When he turns and crouches low for you to drape yourself over him, you see Yeosang. Standing nearby, watching, uncertain.

It should be no surprise to him that you would insist on giving him a rest from taking care of you, but you’re also fairly sure that you weren’t the most subtle about freaking out and bolting away from him.

His expression has blanked out, but you’ve seen him shuffle through enough emotions over the course of the night that you can recognize the underlying worry.

You went from relatively okay, to losing your mind, to fleeing from him like a stranger in a short span of time, and he’s worried.

That’s not your problem.

He is Kang Yeosang of Ateez, not your boyfriend.

Not a member of your team.

Not someone who’s emotions are your responsibility.

You climb onto Wooyoung’s back. It’s more comfortable than you had thought it would be, your arms fitting securely over his shoulders and his hands cupping you firmly at your thighs. Your hip isn’t too strained by the position, more at ease without your weight on it.

“You good?” He asks you.

“Yep.” You lay your chin over his shoulder. “You can readjust if you need to. I’m good.”

He bounces you once, lightly, getting a better grip on you, and then turns to Yeosang. “We’re good, hyung. Ready to go.”

The older man trades his gaze between you and Wooyoung, not responding.

“Yeosang, you’re up front with me. Seonghwa, take the rear.” Hongjoong says.

“Get me if you need to swap.” Yeosang tells Wooyoung, and then offers you a small smile. It’s such a fond, open expression that you feel your heart clench, unable to stop yourself from returning it. Then he turns and picks his way to the front with the captain, leaving you with Wooyoung, San, and Jimin in the middle of the pack.

Seonghwa slips past you to take up the rear, and then the company is moving.

Morning light is spreading through the trees, making it easy to find their footing without tripping over branches and roots or running through short bushes and brambles.

You’re warm and comfortable against Wooyoung, lulled almost into a drowsy state by the soft rhythm of his gait.

Next to you, San carries Jimin across his chest. The raw deterioration of your friend’s entire leg makes it painfully impossible to carry him in the same piggy back configuration, since gripping any portion of the damaged muscle would instantly aggravate it. However, if any of your group are capable of holding a person’s entire weight in his arms for an extended period of time, the statuesque structure of San makes him the perfect candidate.

“Now that I’ve got you where you can’t run away,” Wooyoung starts softly, keeping his voice low. “What just happened between you and Yeosang?”

Of course he has to get to the bottom of it. Of course you can’t be left alone to bemoan your tendency to self-sabotage. You play dumb. “What do you mean?”

You can practically feel him rolling his eyes. “All that ‘he’s not my boyfriend’ bullshit. He said something dumb again, didn’t he? We’ve told you, the man is socially stunted. You’re gonna have to learn to read between the lines with him.”

“As adorable as it is that you are faithfully committed to being his matchmaker, I think you should hold out for another opportunity,” you tease, giving his shoulder a playful pinch. You have to treat it like a joke. You have to laugh it off, or you’ll sink into heartbreak that you have no business feeling.

“She’s emotionally stunted.” Jimin supplies quietly. “They’re perfect for each other.”

That’s not helping. “Jimin, shut up.”

“Do you not like him?” Wooyoung asks. “It’s totally fair if you’ve decided that you’re not really into him—though that would make you certifiably insane—but it really seemed like it was mutual.”

You debate your answer. Maybe it would be easier to just say that he’s right, that you felt a disconnection somewhere and didn’t end up feeling quite as strongly for him as thought you did.

It’s too big a lie. Even with all your training and experience in acting, you don’t think you can be believed.

There’s nothing about Yeosang that doesn’t draw you closer to him and make you feel safe.

There’s nothing about your decision to take a step back that doesn’t feel like you’re losing something you can never get back.

“I don’t think we should be talking about this right now.” You say instead. “We should stay quiet.”

“You’re avoiding.” Jimin says flatly. “I’ve never seen you like you are with him. I think you’re overthinking. I know I’ve been kind of caustic tonight, but I think you’d be foolish to walk away from this.”

You can barely think past your numbing headache. You’re nowhere near present enough to stand at odds with Jimin. If you have this conversation now, you’ll admit to Too much. “Nothing happened. Everything’s fine.”

“So you do like him.” Wooyoung states evenly. “You don’t think he likes you?”

Frustration tightens your jaw. You have to stop yourself from snapping at him to shut him up.

He’s being kind.

He’s trying to help you.

He wants Yeosang happy, and for some reason, he thinks you’re the ticket.

Maybe explaining the truth of the situation will show them you’ve made the right decision. They can’t argue the facts. “I think we both got swept up. I think this can’t survive real life.”

Jimin utters a disbelieving laugh. “You think you’ll face something more difficult than this? If you can work through the zombie apocalypse and come out of it madly in love with each other, I’m pretty sure you can handle taxes and family planning.”

“I don’t think real life is going to be harder than this, I think it’s going to be more boring. It’s easy to feel strong emotions when everything’s on fire, but when it’s mundane? Normal? Boring? What then?”

You can’t keep him entertained all the time. You can’t keep up the thrill of living like you’ve experienced together tonight.

But Wooyoung just laughs softly. It’s not mocking, or belittling—it’s relieved. “Oh, sweet Sugar. Your man lives for the mundane. We get all the excitement we can take in our concerts and promotions. When we get time at home, he’s the epitome of normal. He goes to the gym. He eats good food. He takes his vitamins and supplements. He plays video games. We have to convince him to go out with us. If you think domestic life with him is gonna be anything other than quietly mundane, you’ve been misinformed.”

Jimin breathes deeply, like Wooyoung has just taken a huge weight off his shoulders. “God, see? It’s like you’re already primed to coexist. You both go to work, you come home ready to take a load off—and at least this guy will make sure you eat and sleep properly.”

It is a comfort. To know that you wouldn’t have been expected to spend your off days or weekends chasing every social engagement under the sun. But the fundamental problem still remains—he doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know who he thinks he likes.

And you’re already in deep, completely entranced by him. Even if you went on a number of dates to get to know each other, him deciding to either ghost you or inform you that he doesn’t think you want the same things would crush you.

You’re woefully poorly adjusted to the uncertainty of dating, the eggshells you walk to be on your best behavior and hope you won’t make an insurmountable mistake—your anxious heart wants unwavering commitment, not existential doubt.

It’s not Yeosang you’re rejecting, it’s the concept of dating.

You want your life to be full of certainties—lunch with your mom every so often, work every day, your cat every time you come home, peace inside the walls of your own home.

You’re a coward.

“He won’t want me when this is over.” You’ve said it. It’s out there. Your head is spinning and your limbs are on fire, but your heart is hanging out in the open.

“You won’t even give him the chance to find that out for himself?” Wooyoung argues. “He’s openly fixated on you, and you seem to like him just as much. That’s not fair.”

It may not be fair.

But you’re a coward.

“I don’t want to go through that again.” You whisper.

“So you’re never going to try?” Jimin questions. “You’re going to turn down every guy you like, just in case it one day stops working out?”

“I’m good alone. I’m safe alone.”

“Yeah, but you’re lonely.”

At Jimin’s deadpan response, your brain stutters. “I’m not lonely.”

“You are.” He says softly. “I can see it. We could all see it. You think we don’t know why you work yourself to the bone? Why you don’t give yourself any time to be alone? We could all see it.”

Silence resounds between you. The gentle crunch of leaves under their feet is the only sound besides the quiet murmuring of the guys ahead of you.

You are lonely.

Your routines keep you busy, and your work keeps you fulfilled in a professional capacity, and your friends and family filled almost every corner of your heart. But you can’t deny that the safety of your private apartment sometimes feels like emptiness. And the peace of your quiet life at home sometimes feels like abandonment.

But what’s left for you now?

Even if everything can go back to normal—you don’t have your job. You don’t have your family. You would be walking into your empty apartment with nothing but your cat and the memories of this horrible night and all it took from you.

Everything is uncertain now.

Everything you had to hold onto and protect yourself with is gone.

You’ll be starting from nothing.

“I’m not enough for him.” The broken whisper bares itself without your permission.

“I think you’re wrong.” Wooyoung says, just as softly.

You can’t believe him. You’ll be too driven by your pursuit of the career that you lost, too broken by the deaths of your friends, too guarded emotionally, not useful enough, not nurturing enough, not happy enough.

“The first time he met you, in our second program prep session in that coffee shop, he was inside his head all day.” Seonghwa’s voice floats into the conversation from behind you. “That night, we couldn’t find him for dinner—Yunho discovered him holed up in his bedroom, reading your orientation packet like he was studying for a test.”

Your heart flutters all over again, and it’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever felt. It shouldn’t matter so much to you that he cared so much about your program, but your body is filling with pride and excitement.

“The next day he was in the gym so early—like, the moment it opened.” San says. “We didn’t have a schedule, so we couldn’t figure out why he was up so early. But then on the way to our next meeting with you, he was reciting facts about the program. Like he’d memorized it overnight. He told us to behave, and to listen to you and Rosé, as though we were a bunch of little kids on a field trip.”

“It was weird,” Wooyoung agrees. “We were all kinda confused. He was all like, ‘she worked really hard on this, we should be respectful.’ And we were like, ‘well yeah, we all want to do this, stop being weird about it.’”

“We figured it out pretty quickly after that.” San says. “He was trying to be cool. But he kept asking things like what your drink order had been, if you had said anything about a dress code, if we thought he had said something dumb or embarrassing. Wooyoung cornered him by the third day, because we were all catching on. What did he say to you, Woo?”

“I mean, he was in denial for a bit, but I got it out of him.” Wooyoung says proudly. “He liked you. He asked me if I thought it would be inappropriate to ask you for your personal number. He called you pretty—which, duh—he said you seemed really nice and really smart, and he thought your stories were so cool and creative—like, completely raving about you. I was trying to poke at him, to see how deep he was; I said that I was gonna ask you out, and that I thought we had a connection.”

You give him a small laugh, shaking your head fondly against his shoulder. “We had such a great connection.”

“Oh, such a great connection,” Wooyoung teases back cheerfully. “But I had to let him have a chance, you know?”

“Oh sure, sure.”

“Anyway, he was…” he pauses, struggling to find the words. “He kinda looked like I’d sucker punched him, a little. I had to tell him I was kidding, because he would have backed off for me—that’s just who he is—but the guy was so disappointed.”

“Once we knew, he didn’t really try to hide it anymore.” Seonghwa says. “We’d come home from your prep sessions and he’d be all giggly and flustered, talking about all the times you’d spoken to him. You’d think he was in high school or something. He was dressing up for you, asking us to help him come up with things to say to you, getting all sensitive when we joked about how nice and pretty you are.”

Your heart is racing. “He was?”

“He was giddy.” San says flatly. “We were taking bets on how quickly he would embarrass himself in front of you. We told him to get through the program and fulfill our contract before trying to change the dynamic, and he said he already planned to do that, but he was thinking about places to take you. Should he take you to a movie? To dinner? Out for drinks? Get a reservation at an impossible-to-reserve restaurant?”

Seonghwa breaks in again. “I told him he should find the nicest place in town and impress you, but he said he thought you might feel like he was trying to throw status at you. He said he wanted it to be comfortable, not competitive, whatever that means. Anyway, he decided he wanted to find a place where you could just sit and talk and just spend time together—and he found this beautiful coffee shop—”

You feel horrible.

Monstrous.

Cruel.

What is wrong with you?

He’d put thought into making you comfortable and you had laughed at him.

Forget being too boring, you’ve insulted his consideration of you.

You’d been propositioned by wealthy clients who thought they could impress you with the nicest restaurant in town. If he had expected you to show up, dressed to the nines and sitting stiffly as a team of waiters buzzed around you like you were a couple of VIPs, you would have gone home and turned the page on him.

You’re a horrible person.

“Why did he like me so much?” You ask timidly. “Was it the way I had to wrangle you guys like cats? Because I was pretty impressed with myself.” You’re praying it’s not that. You’re praying he didn’t notice you for the way you were organizing events and talking to staff to make sure all of the messy details got cleaned up and patiently enduring all of the various speed-bumps that you ended up running into—like when the trampoline place lost your appointment, or when the company didn’t have enough seats on the bus.

“Girl, he was on our asses for being out of control. He was lecturing us left and right for our craziness, telling us you shouldn’t have to be parenting us like wild children.” Wooyoung snorts. “Which is absurd, because we were perfect gentlemen.”

You don’t comment.

“He said he could tell you love your work. That you get all bubbly and excited when you talk about your stories. That you’re cute when you sing karaoke. That your dry sense of humor was the funniest thing—and yeah, Sugar, you’re funny, but you’re not that funny. Anyway, the point is, Yeosang thought you were interesting and kind and beautiful from the moment he met you. He didn’t develop an adrenalized crush on you tonight. Do you remember when Jongho threw you at that fake zombie? And Yeosang caught your hand and rescued you?” Seonghwa asks.

You do remember.

It’s one of the funniest things that’s ever happened to you in a program. “Yeah.”

“I don’t know if you saw it, but he was bright red. Like…as soon as he realized he was holding your hand he looked at me and he was blushing so hard. It was adorable. You were acting like a scared high school student and he was all flustered about holding your hand.”

He’d told you he wanted to ask you out. He’d told you he was interested in you before today—or yesterday.

But hearing this, hearing that all of the thoughtless and mundane things about you had been what had caught his eye in the first place, it has your entire body thrumming.

You’d been doing your job, enjoying casual hangouts with clients, and he’d liked you for you. Not for the psycho who runs into danger, or the nurturer who protected his brothers, or the provider who gave up too much of herself.

Even now as you think back, he’d been working with you, trying to restrain your urges, staying loyally next to you in the terrifying moments of danger, but it was the quiet moments that he drew closer to you.

When Jin bit you, when you distracted the hoard for Hongjoong, the zombie pile, the fight for Jimin, the zombies with Wooyoung and Hongjoong, the swarms of wasps—he’d been focused, concentrated, working.

But when he patched you up, when the lockdown happened, all the quiet moments in the office, after the plan to axe the barricade didn’t work out, when he rescued you from the classroom full of zombies, when you’d been scheming about the fire—those were the moments that he pulled you closer.

When the danger had passed, when a bit of normal returned, when you could sit and be yourself, that’s when he reached for you.

Maybe you’re wrong.

Maybe you can risk it.

Maybe you can last.

“He really cared that much?”

It’s Jimin who answers. “Babe, it sounds like this guy likes you in spite of tonight. Not because of it.”

“I laughed at him for his couples therapy comment,” Wooyoung remarks lightly. “But he was kinda right. He would have asked you out anyway, but now you guys know who you are under pressure. Most couples don’t get that before the first date.”

YEOSANG

“Is she okay?” Hongjoong bends low to crawl under a branch and peeks up at Yeosang. “She wasn’t looking good there for a minute.”

The younger man pushes the branch back and pauses to hold it for Yunho and Mingi to duck under. Jongho takes it from him and waits to hold it for Wooyoung, San, Seonghwa, and the two they carry with him.

“I don’t know,” he admits carefully, finding his place next to Hongjoong again. “She was going pretty strong until a little bit ago. I’m a little worried about the way she started losing clarity. Do you think that’s a sign of a bigger problem?”

Hongjoong shrugs cluelessly. “I’m not a medical professional. But I wouldn’t think she needs a bigger problem. She’s got like five bites, all of them muscle deep. That, paired with her being responsible for us while watching all of her friends die doesn’t make a very hospitable environment for a speedy recovery.”

That’s about what Yeosang had assumed on his own. “She’ll be fine. Just as long as we can get out of here and get some help.”

“What did you say to her?” Yunho whispers, urging Mingi a little faster. They crowd in behind Hongjoong and Yeosang, glancing cautiously at the soldiers who travel on the perimeter of the group.

“When?” Yeosang glances back to find both of the taller men peering at him with unbridled concern. His brow furrows, baffled. “What? What’s wrong?”

Mingi raises an eyebrow at him, adjusting his hold on Yunho’s shoulder. “Whatever you said that made her run to Jimin. You’d think you’d have gotten that foot out of your mouth by now.”

Yeosang’s face scrunches with offended confusion. “What? She wanted to check on him.”

“I can’t believe, after all this buildup, you’re fumbling this girl.” Yunho mutters. “She’s like actually your other half, and you can’t stop yourself from screwing it up.”

“Woah, hey, I didn’t say anything. She went to check on Jimin. Then she wanted me to take a break. I didn’t fumble anything.” Yeosang glares back at them, not at all enjoying the miffed expressions on their faces. “Mind your own business. Focus on walking.”

“Then why did she tell Jimin you’re not her boyfriend?”

At Yunho’s hissed words, Yeosang’s pace slows. His spine twists, looking back at Sugar as she clings to Wooyoung’s back. Her eyes meet his, and slide away.

His heart feels like a rock in his chest. “Because we haven’t actually had time to label anything while we’ve been running for our lives.” But his mind is sorting through the events of the past through minutes.

She’d started losing awareness, calling out for Namjoon. Then she’d seemed to come back to herself a little bit, only to continue to slip between reality and memories like she couldn’t distinguish between the two. She’d been fine, safe, holding him like he held her, until the moment she decided to move over to Jimin and tell him she didn’t want him to be the one to carry her.

He shakes his head. “She should be unconscious by now, with all the shit wearing on her. She needs her wounds treated and she needs to sleep.”

Yunho shrugs. “I don’t know, she seemed bothered by something. I think she was crying.”

“She’s in a shit load of pain, leave her alone.” Hongjoong mutters. But then he glances at Yeosang. “Back in the school, when she came to help me and Hwa, it seemed like she was thinking you wouldn’t stick around after all this. If I were you, I’d think very carefully about this crush you’ve got on her and figure out if you want to be serious about it or not. She just lost almost everyone she loves. She doesn’t need to be played with right now. Either commit to this or cut her loose. It’s not a game, Yeo. If you’re serious about her, just be there. Otherwise, let her go. All of us survived this, we can work through the aftermath together. All she has is Jimin.” He pats the younger man’s arm once and returns his focus to the path ahead.

The reflex to defend himself, to argue that he’s not playing with anybody’s emotions, dies abruptly by the time Hongjoong is finished. Unable to ignore the weight of that truth, that her circumstances are more serious than his desire to chase these invigorating feelings that he has, Yeosang follows along in pensive silence.

Everything his captain said was true.

She’d lost nearly everyone. She’s escaping with her life, and very little else.

His job may not look the same after tonight, but at least he and the rest of Ateez can figure out a way to reform as a group and continue to put out music wherever they land.

Her entire production team and management team, and stylists and coordinators and actors, all died tonight. She doesn’t have a team to go home with. She doesn’t have a job to go back to.

She and Jimin will have to face tomorrow by making ends meet and trying to start over from the bottom.

A flood of questions swarm his mind.

Not regarding his feelings for her—if he’s certain of anything, it’s that everything he’s been through with her has only confirmed what he thought from the beginning: she’s strong, smart, loyal to herself; she’s someone he can understand, relate to, connect with; even under the stress and pressure and fear, she continued to be the person he wanted to be next to, trusting her as she lead them through.

He believes he’d seen her moments of weakness and rashness for what they were—not the hopeless actions of a women who doesn’t want to be saved, but the scared resignation of someone who doesn’t know she should be. She proved that much when she saved herself.

Her selfless habits of loading herself down with responsibility, taking burdens from others to bear them herself, her belief that her purpose is to serve and not to live, all struck him as the behavior of someone who hadn’t been allowed to be human; to make mistakes; to need to be cared for in turn.

His only questions now are regarding what she needs to be able to continue to be the best version of herself.

Would his presence in her life hold her back?

Would he just be a distraction, inhibiting her from finding what she wants the most?

Would he just be a reminder of everything she lost?

Is he the best person to be by her side for whatever comes next?

Jimin knows her. He looks out for her. He knows what she needs and what he denies herself. She trusts him, and they don’t stop each other from reaching their dreams.

Would he just be getting in the way of the life she wants to build?

His mind goes back to the lockdown, when she’d told him that all she wanted was the chance to rest and enjoy life without the pressure of work and responsibilities. He’d known in that moment that if he could give her nothing else, he could make sure that she could have days like that.

Not just one, but so many that she forgets what it’s like to dream about it, like it’s something out of her reach.

He wants her to be able to take rest and relaxation for granted, to learn to be lazy sometimes and forgive herself for it.

He hasn’t known her for any longer than a week, but god, he wants to.

He wants to see her create a life for herself that she’s proud of, like she had when he met her. He wants to watch her create stories that make her giddy with confidence and excitement, to watch her become everything she can be, because he’s never seen anyone so perfectly made for a vocation like she is with her programs.

He wants to be there when everything feels like it’s falling apart, when she feels like giving up, when she has moments where she loses faith in herself—because he’s seen what she can do and what she can create, and he knows that she’s capable of so much more than she thinks she is.

He started this week with an inexplicable crush on a pretty girl, but now he feels like he’s found a partner. She’d responded to his affection in a way he never dreamed was possible, but she’d also trusted him implicitly. She hadn’t spent the night pushing him to the side so she could face the situation with the people she knew and felt comfortable with, she’d fallen into a rhythm of partnership. She’d trusted herself with him, and he’d trusted himself with her.

That wasn’t the thrill of infatuation.

That was compatibility. Communication. Faith.

He can’t dismiss that.

He can’t walk away from tonight without her, not after he’d discovered a sense of self next to her. Not after she took his breath away at every turn.

She’s scared.

She’s hurt.

She can conquer this, and the world, on her own two feet.

But he has no intention of letting her do it without him.

Not when he doesn’t want to do it without her.

SUGAR

“We’re gonna stop here.” Taegyeom brings you to a stop in a stretch of woods that faces the gas station. The lights are on at the pumps, but the store is dark. It’s not open yet in these wee hours of morning, and won’t be for a few more at least.

He directs your little group of survivors into a tight cluster of trees and tells you to find places to sit down again where you can lay low for the next few hours. Once satisfied that his charges are following his instructions without question, he turns to the soldiers and positions them at the best vantage points to keep watch.

Wooyoung crouches low to the ground to allow you to get off his back, moving his hands from beneath your thighs to your arms so he can anchor you when you land. Despite trying to be careful, your feet hit the ground with an impact that sends shocks of tingling pain from your heels to your hips.

Staggering dizzily, you let yourself lean against him and use his grip on your hands to ground yourself until the uncomfortable nerve sensation passes. “Ugh, I think I’m gonna puke.” You groan, tucking your chin to your chest as nausea swirls in your gut and heats your cheeks.

“Alright, alright, hold on, don’t puke on me.” Wooyoung says quickly, kindly, turning himself so he can catch you against his chest and spin you to face the bushes. “I’ve got you. If you’re gonna be sick, aim it over there. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

San slips by you, easing Jimin down against a tree and helping him arrange his legs. “You should try to sleep, hyung,” he says. “We’ve got a few hours to wait.”

“He’s right.” Seonghwa agrees, sitting in the middle of your friends and crossing his legs beneath him. “You both should try to rest. We’ll wake you up when it’s time.”

Hongjoong sits at the front, leaning against his own tree with a long groan. “God, what I wouldn’t give for my bed right now.”

“Anybody else starving?” Yunho drops like a rock to the ground next to Mingi. “I feel like I could eat a whole cow.”

“I want pasta.” Mingi mutters. “I’m dying for pasta.”

“You always want pasta.” Jongho grumbles. “I’m with Yunho.”

As the debate continues, you focus on trying to settle the violent upheaval pulsing between your slamming headache and your tight stomach. After a few seconds that crawl like a lifetime, your taut muscles start to relax. The fire fades from your face, your organs stop heaving. “I’m good.” You whisper when you can trust yourself to breathe again. Your body is calming. “I’m good now, Woo.”

“You sure?” He pulls your hair away from your shoulders and arranges it against your back. His face appears near yours, brow furrowing as he takes in the color of your cheeks. “Don’t force yourself, it’s okay.”

You shake your head, no longer buzzing beneath your skin like you’re one wrong move away from losing whatever’s left in your stomach. You can’t imagine there’s anything left in your system anyway. “No, I feel better. I just needed a minute to orient myself. You can put me down.”

Footsteps crunch through the leaves behind you, and Wooyoung’s hands still against your back.

He’s not helping you find a place to sit down, so you reach out your hands to catch yourself against the nearest tree, rewarded by the harsh bite of bark against your palms.

“Wooyoung.” Yeosang.

His soft voice comes from right behind you, sending a shiver down your spine. Even the low timbre of his tone sends your heart racing, even though anxious apprehension still crashes into your thoughts.

How did you go from cool and steady to craving his presence next to you with the desperation of addiction?

It’s not even just attraction swirling through your blood, coloring the way you see the world, but a sense of security that you didn’t realize you were missing until he’s beside you again.

Everything you had done tonight, with the exception of the turbulent early moments where they weren’t sure if they could trust you, you had done by his side.

You hadn’t realized how much courage you had drawn from having him with you.

“Give her a minute, hyung. She’s okay for now, I’ll sit with her.” Wooyoung keeps his hands on you, supporting your weight so you can turn yourself and slide down the trunk of the tree to land on your butt in the dirt.

Now that you’re facing them, you find Yeosang’s eyes on you. He stands next to Wooyoung, posture strong and sure, gaze hard as stone. He doesn’t even look at his younger brother. “Go sit with San, Wooyoung.” He’s not asking.

You can’t break eye contact. It occurs to you that you might have pushed him far enough away that whatever he’s now come to say to you is exactly what you’ve been afraid of. The look in his eyes terrifies you.

Wooyoung glances at you, worried. “I don’t know if she wants you to—”

Yeosang fixes him with a blank stare. “She speaks for herself. Go on, Woo.”

Your vision is weak as your eyes flash between them, catching the hesitation on Wooyoung’s face and the determination on Yeosang’s.

You owe him a conversation. Whatever it leads to.

A few minutes ago, you would have let Wooyoung run interference for you. You would have done everything you could to drive a wedge of professionalism between yourself and Yeosang to protect yourself, but your curiosity is defeating your fear.

You want to see how Yeosang treats you with freedom so near. You want to see how he’s going to react to how you pushed him away, how Wooyoung is trying to keep you from him. You want to see if you can find the steadiness of the man who stayed by your side all night, or if you’re going to get the sense that he doesn’t know what he wants. Or, worse, if he knows what he wants, and it isn’t you.

“It’s okay,” you tell your self-appointed protector. “Really, Woo.”

Wooyoung glances down at you, trying to read your face, searching for any sign that you’re just trying to keep the peace rather than actually feeling comfortable about being left with the man who has the power to break your heart.

When he sees only open, weary vulnerability, all pretenses at strength and courage long since disappeared, he kneels down next to you. “If you want to be left alone about all of this until after you’ve gotten a chance to rest and recover a little bit, just give me a signal. I’ll fight him off for you, okay?” He flashes you a cocky grin and smacks a kiss right to the apple of your cheek. “I’ve got your back, Noona.”

Laughing at his brazen closeness that is clearly meant to poke at Yeosang, you land a weak slap to his shoulder. “Get out of here, punk, you’re breathing on my face.”

He winks at you and scoots back, rising to face Yeosang again. “Don’t make me come back here and separate you two.”

Yeosang doesn’t seem to be in a playful mood. “You have five seconds.”

Wooyoung throws his hands up innocently and shuffles away to find San, stretching the stiffness out of his back as he goes.

You forgot to thank him for carrying you like a child this whole way, but it’s probably too dangerous to call him back now, especially since Yeosang looks like he’s actually five seconds away from putting him on his face.

When he turns back to you, the tension melts out of his expression.

It gives you whiplash, mind scrambling to make sense of the shift.

You’d braced yourself for confrontation, but now he’s looking at you with so much softness that you’re stuck between letting your guard down and keeping yourself firmly bolstered to face rejection or anger—or both.

Stepping towards you with careful movements, he takes a second to glance over your body, checking your hip, your arm, your neck. All of your bites are bandaged, but you’re sure they’ve all bled through.

You must look horrible. Hair matted and knotted, clothes torn and soaked with blood, face covered in scratches and probably sweat and grime—you suddenly wish it was dark again so he can’t see you so well.

Yeosang lowers himself to his knees in front of you. “Can I stay?” He asks softly. He’s watching you, eyes wide and focused, waiting for you to tell him to leave.

He knows you pushed him away. He knows you chose Wooyoung for more reasons than just to give him a rest. You can see it in his face. Either he’d heard some of what you’d said, or someone else had and told him about it.

Instead of wanting to keep him at arm’s length or further, you just feel horrible. You’d panicked about the possibility of him turning on you, but you had been the inconsistent one. You had been the one who was unfair to him.

Your brain is still screaming at you, begging you not to let yourself be dragged in and hurt again, but for once, you’re not listening. “Please stay.” You whisper.

What are you doing?

Going against everything you’d disciplined yourself to do just because you learned that he’d had a crush on you a week ago?

Letting him in because after tonight, you don’t think you’ll ever meet anyone who makes you feel the way he does?

Yeah, apparently.

Yeosang turns himself to sit beside you, leaning his back against the tree with a heavy sigh. He scoops one of your hands off your lap and holds it tightly in his, resting it against his thigh as he stretches out his legs to lay alongside yours.

The confrontation doesn’t come.

Everything about the moment is so grounding, his shoulder pressed against yours, your palms warm and fingers intertwined, that all you want to do is put your head on his shoulder and give into the sleepiness tugging at the loose threads of your consciousness.

He’s just sitting there, breathing next to you. So why does it feel like you’ve finally found the safety you’ve been craving all night?

Yeosang tilts his head back against the tree, blinking up at the last of the stars that are still visible in the faint glow of morning. “I’m gonna stay with you,” he says simply. “For whatever happens next.”

It takes you a second to figure out why those words, in that voice, have touched your ears before, rooting themselves into your head with resolute finality. The memory comes back with a rush of heat. It’s what he said to you right before he kissed you for the first time, so many hours ago in that hallway.

I’m staying with you.

You don’t have to care about me, but I care about you too much to pretend that I don’t.

Your hand twitches in his, fear and uncertainty rearing their ugly heads when your heart flutters in response to his words. “How do you know?” Your voice is timid, broken by embarrassment, hoping that there’s anything he can say that will calm the trepidation in your soul.

He doesn’t even look at you. “Do you want to stay with me?” Easy. Firm. Level. Like he already knows your answer. Like your terminal inability to hold your tongue around him has given him all the confidence he needs to confront your fears and quiet them.

To you, his question isn’t even a question.

It requires no thought.

He is solid and stable against you, the embodiment of comfort and refuge.

“Yes.” It’s the easiest thing you’ve ever said. Yes. Yes, you want him. Yes, you want to stay with him. Yes, he’s the one you would risk everything for.

And you would, if he gave you that chance.

He sucks in a slow breath. Despite knowing what you would say, to hear it out loud is absurdly thrilling. “That’s all it takes,” he tells you. “I’m not going to pretend that you and I are strangers, talking about exploring going on a first date and hoping it works out. Tonight—last night—took us farther than that. I know you better than that. And I know that I want you next to me for whatever comes next.”

The things you learned about him from his brothers ricochet through your thoughts—how he’d been silly and exhilarated with blossoming feelings for you, making the guys laugh and enjoy his boyish excitement and nervousness, how he’d gone to them with trivial uncertainties, like if he’d said something dumb or if they thought you might be interested in him too.

That’s not the man sitting next to you, not where it matters. He’s sure. Steady. He knows you and your thoughts and your fears now better than any of the other guys’ clueless perceptions of you. He knows you return his feelings. He knows you’re scared of them. He has your hand in his like that’s where it belongs, and goddammit if you don’t believe him.

“Yeosang,” you turn your head to look at him, drinking in his profile, memorizing the lines of his face, cementing the exact shape of that little mark in your mind until you can see it with your eyes closed.

“Hmm,” he meets your eyes, and there’s nothing but quiet assurance there.

What are you even afraid of?

“I’m sorry I made fun of your coffee date idea. It was sweet. I would have loved to get coffee with you.” It should have been said with fondness and promise, but knowing how much thought he had put into choosing that date for you, your voice is only filled with remorse.

A smile cracks across his face. His thumb sweeps over the top of your hand. “How about you let me make you coffee instead?”

Your eyebrows lift. It sounds so domestic, like you’re making plans for tomorrow morning as though you’ve been doing it for years. “Can you even make coffee?”

Damn your inability to have a vulnerable conversation.

But he doesn’t seem annoyed, rather blinking once in pause. “I’ll learn to make coffee, and then I’ll make some for you.”

You snort. “I can make it.” That’s a lie. “Actually, all I have is instant coffee.”

His head falls back against the tree like he’s in pain. “Oh my God.”

“No, wait, I’m out of instant. I can offer you a glass of milk and some stale Oreos.” You really need to reevaluate your pantry situation if you’re going to be sharing meals in the future.

Yeosang groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “Sugar.”

You just shrug. Most of your food expenses are vending machine lunches eaten over well-worn scripts.

“First thing, when we’re out of here, I’m taking you shopping.” He tells you.

“You know, usually when guys say that, they don’t mean grocery shopping.” You remark lightly.

That gets a chuckle out of him. “You need groceries. Lots of them. Real ones, not packaged in tin cans.”

Something occurs to you with a disappointing start. “You know, I don’t think I’m actually gonna get paid for this program.” Shit, you don’t have any money. You’re gonna have to sign up to teach acting classes just to make rent—which is something you’ve done far too many times to count.

Maybe there’s a weekend seminar coming up that needs teachers.

“I’m taking you shopping.” He repeats with inflection.

“Now hold on, I’m not your charity case. I’m not letting you pay for stuff, I can handle my own living expenses.” You frown at him, flooded with feelings of inadequacy and embarrassment at your inferior financial situation, but he just shakes his head at you.

“You’re not my charity case, but you do need groceries, and I’m going to personally make sure you get them.”

You want to argue with him, but you do need groceries and you can’t properly afford them at the moment. It’s better than giving Jimin more reasons to call you his sugar baby, and at least if Yeosang is offering, you can find a way to make it up to him. “Fine, but don’t get used to it.”

“Okay,” He says, with not an ounce of conviction. He meets your unimpressed stare with an innocent smile. “And you’re definitely getting paid for this program. Like I said, zombies were in the contract. You did nothing but deliver.”

“Oh my god.” It’s your turn for an exasperated groan. “That’s only assuming we don’t have to flee the country.”

“Not to bank on a bunch of evil people dying horrible deaths, but there’s still hope.” Yeosang shrugs, and when you drive your elbow into his ribs he groans dramatically and slumps over.

“Oh god, Yeo—” For a minute you think you might have actually hurt him until you realize that he’s shaking with laughter, not pain. You elbow him again. “Don’t do that, Jesus, you scared me.”

He just pulls himself upright, still laughing. “Sorry.”

You’ve never heard anyone sound decidedly less sorry.

Soft conversation hums from the other guys throughout the group. Hongjoong and Seonghwa are still talking about meals, deciding if they want breakfast or dinner foods. Jongho and Jimin are debating chartering KQ’s private jet (Jongho’s argument) versus sneaking onto a cargo ship (Jimin’s argument) to get away from the government. Wooyoung and San are snoring quietly, slumped against each other, completely knocked out.

It’s not everyone. There are so many people missing, so many cracks in your heart as you count heads and scan faces.

So few of you had survived that stupid program.

But the ones who are here are okay. They’re safe. They’re happy, as much as they can be. If nothing else, they’re capable of being happy and whole and normal when this is over.

You made it.

You survived.

Your soul is bleeding with the ripping away of your family, but you’re not in this alone. You didn’t lose Jimin. You didn’t lose these people, who somehow came out of this wretched experience with the two of you in tow, like they’ve adopted you into their family and have no intention of leaving you behind with the memory of this hell.

This could have been so much worse.

You have one more question. Only one more —one that you don’t think can be answered. Not right now.

But your heart aches with the pressure of it. “What if I’m just a reminder of all of this?” The words fall off your tongue with debilitating weight. Because you will remind him of tonight. He’ll never forget what happened tonight.

None of you ever will.

“All I see when I look at you is my future.” Yeosang meets your wide eyes, glancing at the shocked flush on your cheeks with a satisfied smile. “I get to be cheesy, I’m a songwriter. But I mean that, by the way. This will always be in our past. I can live with that if my future is with you.”

It should be cheesy.

It should be the sappiest line anyone’s ever given you.

But you’re searching yourself, eyes pricking with tears, chest thick with warmth, and all you find are the same words inside you. If your future is him, you can bear tonight.

It’s allowed to be the sappiest shit you’ve ever felt, because you almost didn’t live long enough to hear it.

“You’re right, you are cheesy.” You say, even though tears are slipping down your cheeks in direct opposition of your cool response.

He brushes them away with gentle finger tips, and then his lips are warm against your cheek. “It’s gonna be okay.” He kisses your face again, the words whispered softly in your ear. “I promise, it’s all going to be okay.”

You have to drop your face, overwhelmed by pain and exhaustion and the utter safety of his presence that completely encompasses you. You press your lips to his bare shoulder, wishing you knew how to tell him all the things that are bursting inside of you.

His arms wrap around your waist, the way they always seem to. He lifts you gently to sit between his legs, letting you lean back against his chest instead of the gritty, scraping texture of the bark. “Try to rest, Sugar.” He says against the curve of your throat. “I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

Wrapped securely in the heat of his embrace, his heart pounding steadily against your back, you’ve never fallen asleep so quickly in your life.

A hand cupping your face startles you awake. The sun is high above you, warming your skin, shining bright light of day down on the forest around you.

Yeosang says your name, sweeping his thumb across your cheek. “Sugar, they’re back. Are you with me?” His hands move to rub up and down your arms as you slowly come back to yourself.

You feel like you’ve slept for hours. Stiffness throbs in your joints, your butt numb and aching from sitting on the hard ground for so long. The fog of exhaustion has lightened a little, and your eyes actually focus when you drag them around the movement happening in your group.

Wooyoung and San are awake now, on their feet, hurrying towards the edge of the tree cluster you’re hiding in. Mingi is sitting with Jimin, both of them craning their necks to see what’s happening.

Taegyeom is calm as he passes where you sit, rifle slung comfortably across his chest as he strolls by.

“What?” You sit up abruptly, clocking the excitement on Hongjoong’s face. “What’s happening?”

Yeosang puts his hands to your back to give himself room to get his feet under him, and he lifts you with him as he stands. “Woosung is back.” He tells you, keeping one arm strongly around your back until you get your bearings.

Looking into his face, you find him watching you with mixed curiosity and concern.

“He’s back? Is he okay? Is it…” You don’t dare to hope.

Your thoughts are scrambling to remember the plan, desperate to put the distant sequence of events in order.

They were supposed to come find you if they survived—but was that only in the event of everything else going completely up in flames? Or are they running? Are they hurrying back to you to escort you out of the country?

You can’t remember.

“Are they hurt?” You ask, trying to see through the trees. “What about the other two? Hajoon and Dojoon?”

“It’s all of them.” Seonghwa says, coming to stand with you. “Like, the Black Berets and all the enlisted men.”

Practically trembling with excitement, you turn back to Yeosang, gripping his arms where they fall around your waist. “What about the service station? It’s open now, right? Did we get any calls out?”

He’s nodding, pulling you closer, settling your weight against him when your bad leg buckles.

“Hongjoong and I went over there about an hour ago, as soon as they opened.” Seonghwa says. “We called everyone we could think of—they’re on their way and should be here soon. We just told them we got lost out here and needed help, and not to talk to anybody. They’re coming.”

They called for help.

People out there know you’re alive.

They’re coming for you.

“Oh my god.” You clutch tighter at Yeosang’s arm, both legs now weak beneath you. While you’re still trying to process the information, the fact that you’re so close to getting out of here, you hear the throngs of footsteps approaching your position.

“Are you okay?” Yeosang asks you quietly. “Can you stand? I can put you on my back.”

You’re shaking your head, too scattered by the conflicting hope of victory and the anxiety of bad news. If you have to pack up and start running, you’re going to need help.

But you have to hear the news on your own two feet. You have to face this, whatever this is.

“Not yet.” You let him support you, but no more than that. “Not yet, I’m okay.”

He helps you move closer to the outskirts of your little huddle until you’re standing next to Wooyoung and San, in full view of the entire army trodding in your direction, with Woosung in the lead.

“What’s the situation, hyung?” Taegyeom asks.

“What happened?” Wooyoung demands. “Is it over? Are they following you?”

“We had a front row seat to an utter shit show, that’s what happened.” Woosung utters with a weary sigh, coming to a stop in the middle of your group. “Those guys showed up shortly after you radioed it in, but by then it was too late. That whole field turned into a zombie outbreak. Those fucking parasites were everywhere.”

Hongjoong looks panic stricken. “Are they still out here? Are they loose in the forest? Holy fuck, it’s the end of the world.”

Seonghwa and Yunho are immediately restless, eyes on the ground, kicking at leaves and branches and bushes, as though the giant insects are going to burst out of the ground at any second.

You’re not so sure it’s not a possibility, yourself, until your gaze sweeps around the troops.

The soldiers are milling around wearily, falling into the grass with no apparent concern for an impending zombie apocalypse.

“They started popping out of the burning bodies and attacking the officers. When the reinforcements showed up, they were nothing but a buffet. Delivered like Door Dash right into the hands of those hungry fuckers.” Dojoon says. “I’ve never seen anything so disgusting.”

Hongjoong presses a hand to his chest and falls back against a tree trunk with a heavy sigh. “I’m going to hell for how relieved that makes me feel.”

“Speak for yourself.” Jongho mutters. “Adi-fuckin-os.”

Yunho smacks him right in the chest. “Don’t say that, dipshit, people died.”

“Bad people.” Jongho corrects him. “Bad people died.”

While a large part of you is weighing the same dilemma of unbelievable relief and somewhat heavy remorse as a result, you’re a little sick of letting yourself be a slave to guilt over things you can’t control. “They’re all dead?” You can’t believe it. You don’t want to believe it—not if there’s bad news to go with the good.

Yeosang’s arms tighten around you. Even now, he refuses to let you go.

“They’re all hamburger.” Woosung corrects you. “We spent the rest of the time blasting those goddamn bugs to smithereens, waiting around for them to come out of the dead ones. We burned the bodies. Of the officers and the parasites. They’re all but ash now.” He casts a sweeping gaze over your faces, ensuring that the same number of you made it here that escaped the school yard. “I hope you guys are ready to put on the show of your lives. It’s time to go public and go home. And remember—last night was the best night of your lives.”

Silence falls over your group.

They’re all but ash now.

It’s time to go home.

Best night of your lives.

It’s over.

“Oh my god,” Wooyoung breathes. “We’re going home.”

Woosung sits on a fallen tree, peeling his gloves off. “If you convince the world that nothing happened here, and if you convince everyone you know that you weren’t almost eaten alive.” He glances at Hongjoong. “You have a lot of work ahead of you.”

Hongjoong is already digging his phone out of his pocket. “We’ll start right now. I don’t want to give anybody any time to wonder what to do with us.”

Woosung hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve got some of these guys bringing your vans up here. There won’t be any sign you were ever there.”

“Jimin,” you whisper, eyes flashing to where he’s still sitting with Mingi. He’s hunched over, palms pressed to his eyes, visibly trembling. You lurch towards him. “Yeo, please,” you don’t even have to finish your sentence.

He brings you to Jimin and helps you sit, crouching next to you.

“Chim,” you put your arms around your best friend and feel him throw himself against you, ragged sobs soaking into your shoulder. “Chim, we made it. It’s over.”

The forest around you comes alive with noise.

Wooyoung and San whooping with excitement. Yunho and Seonghwa laughing like all the tension and stress is just pouring out of them. Hongjoong frantically mumbling about posts and selfies and statements to release to the fans, voice trembling with exhilaration. Jongho barraging the Black Berets for more details, gleefully wringing them for information about the downfall of the men who did this to you.

“We’re going home.” Jimin rasps against you, laughter breaking through his sobs. “Oh my God, Sugar, we’re going home.”

“Yeo!” Wooyoung flies towards you with a shout, clearly intending to tackle his brother in a hug.

Yeosang glances at you, eyebrows lifted in question.

You’re smiling, blinking back tears, nodding for him to go. You’re okay. You’re all okay. All you want to do is see them celebrate.

You survived.

It’s over.

He touches your back, returns your smile with a toothy grin of his own, and then he’s gone, swept into San and Wooyoung’s arms.

“God, Sugar, I thought we were gonna die out here.” Jimin squeaks. He finally lifts his head, scrubbing at his face, and laughs at the sky. “Fuck last night and fuck those goddamn zombies.”

You don’t have time to join in the catharsis of cursing out the absolute hell you’ve just escaped, because Wooyoung and San have moved on to their next target, and now Jimin is crushed between them, helpless to do anything but cry with laughter as they squeeze him from either side.

You’re inadvertently pushed out of the group hug, but you don’t even care.

You don’t care about anything.

Hands catch you under your arms, and then you’re dragged up to face Seonghwa. He yanks you into a hug that knocks the air out of your lungs. “Thank you,” he says in a rush. “We couldn’t have done this without you. Shit, I’m so grateful for you, Sugar.”

You snort gracelessly into his chest. “You mean my zombie program that got us into this mess?”

He squeezes you tighter. “Girl, don’t even start. We’re all going for breakfast. I can’t wait for you to meet our team and everybody. God, we’re okay.”

Hongjoong appears next to you, looping an arm around you to join the hug. “Hell yeah, just as soon as we do an impromptu photo shoot. I need your help staging all of this, Sugar.”

You nod, easing yourself out of Seonghwa’s arms. “We can play the injuries off as horror makeup and prosthetics. If we make it fun and silly and talk about your upcoming episode, then we can go get you cleaned up and into fresh clothes and you can put out some more detailed content.”

Hongjoong is taking notes on the phone, already putting together concepts for solo and unit selfies. “Jeez, I don’t know if I remember my Instagram login. We’ll have to get our phones too. As soon as the vans are here we can do more.”

“We can do lives later, but they’ll notice we’ve still got scratches on our faces.” Seonghwa worries.

You wave off his concerns. “I have amateur makeup skills. I can cover up the scratches if I get a kit from one of our vans. As long as you cover the big bites with clothes, I can make sure no one notices.”

“Some of our fans are scary good at analyzing our content.” Hongjoong says, frowning. “What if they see the makeup?”

“Jimin can manipulate the footage so it looks grainy or choppy, like you’re filming on bad internet. We can cover you until they heal up.” You promise, touching his shoulder reassuringly.

His features loosen and a smile breaks over his face. “Okay. Good.” He turns away from you. “Wooyoung! San! Come over here and pretend you hope to get eaten by zombies again!”

While he trods off to orchestrate the first of your public cover-up, you scan the crowd. The forest is packed with soldiers, your friends dispersed throughout them at random. Jongho is still sitting with Woosung and Hajoon, Taegyeom and Yunho have gone to greet the arrival of the vans as they roar up the road towards the service station.

You can’t believe it’s over.

You’re gonna have to buy a new phone to call your mother.

As soon as you have a phone, any phone, you can arrange for a mobile triage unit to set up at your company to treat all of you discreetly, since they won’t publicize your company until after the episode is released. Nobody should be watching your building, as long as you can make it happen quickly enough.

Oh god, you’re gonna have to write a new zombie program for them to have an actual episode to release.

Fuck your life.

It’s going to be in your building, in the middle of the city, far away from the military, as short as possible, and intentionally the worst program you’ve ever written.

You hope they laugh all the way through it.

Your name reaches your ears and you turn, finding Yeosang pushing through the crowd to get back to you.

He collides with you with an exhilarated laugh, stealing you right out of Seonghwa’s arms. “I promise I’ll still take you to Vienna and Venice and wherever else you want to go but can we stay home for a bit first?” He teases, swaying you together.

Home.

You’re going home.

You can’t even give him an answer.

You tug him down and meld your lips to his, right there in front of everybody. Yeosang drags you against his chest, meeting your kiss with every ounce of fervor that you give him.

Seonghwa gives a shout of surprise, and somewhere you hear Wooyoung hooting at you, but you don’t care.

When you can breathe again, Yeosang rests his forehead against yours and smiles down at you. “Is that a yes?”

You kiss him again, soft and sweet, and he melts against you.

Your heart is singing.

Life may suck as soon as this moment is over, when you have to get work crafting the most important story you’ll ever write, a story that has to save your lives, but for right now, you’re completely alive.

“Let’s go home.”

< last chapter | masterlist

tag list :

#ateez #kang yeosang #yeosang #ateez x reader #kang yeosang x reader #horror #zombies #horror au #zombies au #blood sugar virus

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sevarchive · 2 days ago

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bllk babbles! #6

mikage reo! sending you a letter after finding out you’re being married off;

i heard the news from someone else. i wasn’t even supposed to know. but you know how it goes, one careless conversation, one name dropped too lightly, and suddenly everything feels like it’s been split in two.

you’re getting married.

i’m supposed to say congratulations. i’m supposed to smile like it doesn’t feel like something in my chest just gave out.

so here it is: congratulations.

i hope you get the dress you dreamed about: the one you sketched on my arm with your finger when we were half-asleep and the world felt soft. i hope the music isn’t too loud, because you always hated crowds. i hope the man waiting for you at the altar looks at you like he’s just seen something holy. and i hope he realizes you are.

you once told me i was the kind of guy who’d never learn how to lose. that i’d spend my life chasing gold and glory. that i’d always get what i wanted. you smiled when you said it. like you didn’t know you’d be the one thing i couldn’t have.

i wish i’d told you sooner. i wish i’d said it before the silence between us got comfortable. but i loved you. i still do. quietly. in the spaces you left behind. in the corners of my life that still feel like yours.

thank you. for the nights we spent saying everything and nothing. for the way you’d argue with me just to keep the conversation going. for making the world feel less like a chessboard and more like a story i actually wanted to live in. you made me forget about my last name. about expectations. about the way people look at me like i already have everything.

because i didn’t. not until you.

i didn’t think i was allowed to want something simple. not with how i was raised. but you made me want slow mornings and shared toothpaste and mismatched mugs. you made me want real.

and now i’ll spend the rest of my life pretending i never imagined that future with you.

i used to think about it more than i should’ve. that small, ordinary life. you, me.

i remember one night in the backseat of my car, when we were joking about baby names. you said emi for a girl—because it meant beauty and blessing, and you wanted her to be both. i said souta for a boy—because i liked how calm it sounded, like he’d never have to prove himself the way i always did.

we said we’d argue over middle names. you wanted something poetic. i wanted something cool. you said we’d compromise, then refused to define what that meant. i let you win. i always let you win, even when you didn’t know it.

we planned a house once. not seriously. just for fun. but it felt real to me. you wanted a soft yellow kitchen. i said white marble. you said no way, it looked too sterile.

i said fine—white cabinets, soft yellow light. you called it our first truce.

we said we’d build a small library. you’d fill it with novels. i’d pretend to read them. you’d laugh, call me out, and i’d act offended until you kissed me quiet.

we said our daughter would love piano. our son would be the quiet one, just like you. we said the backyard would have a tree we’d carve our initials into. we said we’d grow old, together. we said a lot of things.

so this is my goodbye.

goodbye to emi and souta: the children who’ll never come into this world, but who lived so vividly in the quiet, imagined corners of our life. goodbye to the walls we would’ve painted and repainted. goodbye to the floorboards we would’ve scratched by accident, then blamed on each other. goodbye to the smell of your shampoo on my pillows. goodbye to your books in the kitchen, your shoes in the hallway, your voice in the living room. goodbye to your laughter echoing down the staircase. goodbye to grocery runs at midnight, and stupid inside jokes, and burnt cookies, and shared playlists, and everything that should’ve been ours.

goodbye to the life i built for us inside my heart. the one you’ll never even know existed.

it wasn’t fake to me. not for a second.

i hope he holds your hand in the quiet. i hope he memorizes the sound of your laugh and earns the right to hear it often. i hope he lets you be loud when you want to be, and soft when you need to be. i hope he knows that loving you isn’t a task—it’s a gift. and i hope he never takes it for granted.

you deserve all of it.

and i’ll keep going. i always do. i’ll play my games. win my matches. smile for cameras. but even when i’m standing at the top, it’s going to feel a little like falling. because you won’t be there to see it.

i never wanted someone to cheer for me more than i wanted you.

i don’t know if you’ll read this. maybe it’ll get tossed away. maybe your name will change before the ink even dries. but i had to write it. even if it’s too late. even if i’m not the ending you wanted.

you were my favorite chapter anyway.

so congratulations, again. and goodbye, my almost. my could’ve been. my never-was-but-always-wanted.

even when the world forgets us, i won’t. i’ll carry what we never had like it was real, because to me, it always was.

forever yours, reo

#sevarchive 🍎#blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock angst #blue lock fluff #blue lock au #reo mikage x reader #reo mikage

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goldensunset · 3 days ago

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there are several pokémon games now whose stories have absolutely microwaved my brain (positive). but black and white is really unique in that out of all of them, it feels the most like it had to have been a pokémon game. not even in the sense that it’s my absolute favorite but it’s probably the most creative when it comes to making a compelling plotline out of pokémon-specific game and story assets.

most games feature being a trainer, bonding with pokémon, learning about them and catching them, often times getting up to some insane stuff with the region’s legendaries, etc. pokémon are obviously always present- as characters, tools, or narrative devices- but the core conflict about the game is about something else. those staples of the series were only one possible means by which that sort of story could have been told. you could keep the core characters the same and change details like the method by which they fight each other and it’s the same thing.

in some games, these classic narrative/gameplay tools even sort of clash with and distract from the main conflict. battles that in any other story would be to the death are much like a fun little competition. that’s sort of just an innate thing to the game series’ turn based combat that is obviously based on pokémon, and most games are guilty of it. but there are ways to make it work in-universe, such as really emphasizing how any given pokémon is stronger than any given human and therefore whoever has even a single one of their soldiers left after the battle is holding a weapon against a defenseless target. in any case really it's generally up to the player to suspend their disbelief and allow themselves to get immersed in the aura of danger. but i would really love more games to make battles feel like a threat to the trainer as well… usually it's about trying to scare you off or maybe rob you, at most.

and my true pet peeve… in certain games, you awkwardly take turns between stopping the big bad and collecting gym badges and often even if there’s a story excuse for why you need to go get the badge or whatever, it’s kind of weak. you want to go after the evil team leader but first and foremost you want to become the champion and play with your cute little pets and these different desires rarely come up at the same time. the main antagonist might not even be the final boss; you’re expected to all but forget about them by the time you get to the pokémon league. the story is cool, yet not the point. ok yes this is me vagueing about dppt again listen platinum means the whole entire world to me but it hurt me to wrap up the cyrus plot at seven gym badges and get just a few lines of gratitude from cynthia for it later

but that aside. even in games where there’s no story-gameplay dissonance, where the story might be absolutely one hundred percent golden and the gameplay might be incredibly fun and work perfectly. you at the same time might be like 'wow, this is about pokémon? it didn’t even need to be.' (not to say that’s bad, obviously! people who are here to collect and play with cute creature friends deserve some insane banger plotlines too. the children yearn for existential angst and childhood trauma. i love unique storytelling devices and i hope these games have super cool utterly wild storylines that go way crazier than the child friendly marketing would indicate for the rest of the series.)

but like. black and white is so fascinating in that the core conflict is about being a trainer. it’s about the relationship between humans and pokémon. most games have a couple lines thrown in here and there about how anything is possible if you bond with your pokémon as equals, but this concept is central to black and white. team plasma are such good villains because they’re not another round of unhinged terrorists, they’re a sociopolitical advocacy group that legitimately challenges ways of life that most of the people of unova have never thought critically about. they ask the question of whether these norms and traditions are right and good. it’s like an attack on the whole entire series!

now obviously team plasma is like. wrong.., of course,,, both in terms of what they’re promoting and how they carry it out… but the fact that they make you think. the fact that they start a conversation. the fact that they hold assemblies in public and stand proud and don’t hide and even convince some people… that’s terrifying. their original plan was to rise to power not by force but by changing hearts. and through that they arguably got closer to winning than any other evil team.

and there is absolutely dissonance between the way they talk and the actual gameplay which requires you to pokémon battle them. but this dissonance is intentional. it's proving them to be a bunch of hypocrites who think that they alone know how to treat pokémon right and are therefore justified in training them. and it's meant to be obvious that behind the scenes (not even truly in secret, just like anywhere on any path outside of the big towns and cities) they are abusive bullies. but though the player can figure out what kind of people they really are right off the bat, most of unova might not. either news of the sorts of theft and threatening they do travels slowly, or certain people are being manipulated and swayed into believing it really was for the greater good. truly team plasma has a level of power that no other evil team has ever had.

then there's n.... n knows it feels wrong and hypocritical but he doesn't know any other way. or perhaps he also justifies it to himself by saying it's fine as long as he lets them go afterwards (which is, ironically, arguably even more like using them as tools for an intended purpose than properly being their trainer.) but after chargestone cave he commits to what he believes in and swears he won't battle again other than in the few cases it's absolutely necessary for his goal.

and of course. the way he's also trying to become the champion, the way interrupts your journey through the pokémon league, is so iconic. but he did tell you that quite early on. 'I need power... Power enough to make anyone agree with me.' and then 'I'll defeat the Champion and become unbeatable, unlike any other! I'll make all Trainers free their Pokémon! Just try and stop me! If you want to be together with Pokémon, your only hope is to collect the Badges from each area and head for the Pokémon League! Try and stop me there, if you dare! If your conviction is not strong enough, you will never be able to defeat me.' you see how neat that is? see how narratively awesome and efficient it is to give the player yet another, more serious reason to do the gym circuit? it's one of your personal dreams, like those of your friendly rivals. but now you have a not so friendly rival. not in the sense that he's some neighborhood jerk but in the sense that he's a madman running for public office.

but seriously, it's very important to me that they broke the tradition of the region's official champion being the final boss. they show you the league in all its glory as usual, and then make a big deal out of having team plasma show up and summon a whole entire castle that absolutely disrupts everything. they made it loud and clear that they knew what they were doing as far as breaking tradition. they said 'i know entering the hall of fame is very cool and important to you, and maybe you can do that later, but we have bigger problems right now.' alder is no idiot. he just got defeated! sure he could heal up with some revives and hyper potions but let's get real, he's in no mood to fight you, and it would be irresponsible for both of you to battle at a time like this.

like. now n has all the accolades he needs to set himself up as some sort of god king that no one would dare argue with, and basically the evil new york branch of peta just won the election by a landslide and took over all three branches of the government, and that's sort of a problem maybe. sure they aren't killing anyone or destroying the world (yet) but. they are a much more realistic type of threat. it wouldn't matter if alder was the coolest champion in the series (and i do like the guy as a character); i would not have been able to care even a tiny bit if we had battled him at that moment. and i would have been actively frustrated and let down if we had gotten to battle him after the epic climax of the plot and n's heartbreaking farewell. it was a very unique creative risk to save the championship for postgame, but it worked out so well.

but see like! when n does battle you it's not even because he actually wants to win. every single time, he wants to battle you because he wants to get to know you and to understand the strength (and accuracy) of your convictions. from the very first fight in accumula town to the grand showdown between the two of you. n never wanted victory. he wanted truth. he wanted righteousness. and slowly he learns that he wasn't the one who had either of those. his external journey was a facade for his inner one, which he can only bear to admit to you after everything has unfolded and he's finally safe and free from ghetsis and team plasma.

that's all to say, when it comes to him, pokémon battling is the only appropriate gameplay mechanic by which you ought to interact with him. unlike other antagonists he's not fighting to tell you to get lost, or to rob you, or to kill you, etc. he specifically needs to hear the voices of your pokémon in battle to realize you are a good and kind trainer and that he was lied to about battling. this specific conflict wouldn't work in another piece of media. of course, a more general theme of having been lied to about truth or justice could be done, but black and white specifically wants to talk about the ethics of pokémon training itself (to which there really isn't a real-world equivalent, since making animals fight is usually either rare and specific, or outright illegal. as far as i know. it’s definitely not a public sport that children are encouraged to participate in. and we don't have pokéballs so we can't verify irl how comfortable and fun it is to be digitized and put in a machine. it's probably fun for them but idk.) and that's so fascinating.

now of course, ghetsis is a more typical antagonist who actually wants you gone. dead, even. but for him, i think a pokémon battle as a final conflict still works. for one, they don't overuse it. in lots of cases, you battle evil team leaders or their admins multiple times- the majority of those times being an attempt simply to get you to stand down. when they finally 'get serious', sure the battle may be harder later on, but you're still doing the exact thing you were before. and like. you probably expected this, right?

ghetsis, however, doesn't even seem like a pokémon trainer at all until the very last second. it doesn't take you too long to figure out he's rancid and a manipulator, and that team plasma is trying to capture pokémon in order to have a monopoly over unova, but for all you know, he really might not use any pokémon himself. maybe only the king and the grunts do the whole battling thing but it's the sages' job to just walk around and say cryptic poetic things. and then. boom. he whips out a full killer team of six. he goes from 0 to 60 real fast. you've had zero experience with battling him thus far and therefore have absolutely no idea what he's packing and it's scary.

and of course, how could i not talk about his actual team? his infamous ace is a few levels too low to be a legitimate hydreigon, implying something fishy or forced. and in the sequel it's got frustration in its moveset, executed at maximum power- first of all, what kind of sicko even runs that move in the first place? unless you're like. working with buneary or otherwise doing something really specific. and what kind of sicko is so abusive to their pokémon that they lower its base friendship from 35 to 0? of course, that's a rather low base friendship value to begin with. but see, with this entire evolutionary line being vicious in its lore, you'd think it would be perfect for a guy like ghetsis, right? they're both brutal and also irrational- being geniuses, and yet knowing nothing but destruction. hydreigon is a killing machine and ghetsis flies into a genuine insane rage upon losing. point being you'd think they'd have fun together. we've seen villains legitimately bond with their pokémon before. but instead they're two toxic haters that don't mesh. ghetsis is so evil even his own partner hates him. and he delights in that and actively chooses to benefit from it via the use of a particular move. ugh i love when pokémon battles subtly say something about trainer npcs through gameplay mechanics...

also did i mention he's trying to Kill You. other villains are probably fine with doing that if necessary but scaring you off or taking away all your pokémon would also work. ghetsis implies that he specifically needs you dead because you know the ugly truth, and that knowledge makes that battle a lot more chilling than usual. that is a case of a true pokémon battle to the death. it doesn't feel cheap or like a relatively casual competition there, it's not a fight where either side is trying to prove anything, etc. and you can tell his bloodlust was genuine because he does not give up or admit defeat. he tries to murder the next protagonist too and goes to even more extreme measures that time.

ghetsis is using his pokémon as weapons against you because they're the most efficient way to murder you. that's all he wants. and you can tell he needs them because purely visually you can see he's gotta be kind of an old man with at least two physical disabilities, and he's not really dressed for physical activity- he's dressed like a big shot noble (or thinks he is. that fit is so ugly) who could never get his own hands dirty. and thematically it's perfect for the big bad leader of all hypocrites to use pokémon as tools, as opposed to any other type of weapon. like he could go get a gun or something if this was rated higher, but i think the sicko probably delights specifically in lording power over his tormented pokémon, if choosing to run frustration on hydreigon when there are probably better move options available means anything. i think he'd choose this means of battle in any universe he could.

in conclusion! the generation 5 games, more than any other games, absolutely needed to be pokémon games in order for the story to work. they closely examine fascinating aspects of the pokémon universe that are otherwise taken for granted. they seamlessly merge the goal of travelling and working to become the champion, and the goal of stopping the villains, instead of having these be awkwardly separate storylines. the gameplay is relevant to all three tiers of antagonist- grunts, main antagonist, and true mastermind villain- in different ways. i would love for another set of pokémon games to have such a focused, unified plotline that also feels relevant to the overall series. very swagful. something something mic drop

#wow i said so much.#pokémon #bw #pokemon black and white #pokémon black and white #pokeposting

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idksmtms · 3 days ago

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You Are Not One of Us (Poseidon x Norse Goddess!reader) - Part 10

Full Request

Part 9 << PART 10

AN: Omggg! Guys, I can’t believe we made it to the final part. I can’t believe I finished this series! (Let’s not talk about how long it took me…) Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading, who has kept reading. Thank you so much to blue butterfly anon, your request has taken me on a crazy writing journey! I hope you guys enjoy the final part of the Poseidon series! Brb, trying not to cry right now…

Summary: After some huge revelations, Percy must finish the journey he has started on.

Word count: ~17.9k

Trigger Warnings: she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, profanity, innuendo, age gap (even tho they are both thousands of years old), personal insecurity, absentee parents technically, abandonment issues, angst, kidnapping, depictions of someone being held against their will, way too heavy use of dramatic irony, any warnings associated with Percy’s adventures, not proofread at all bc I never do that, (please let me know if I missed any)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians characters. I do not claim to own any of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. (I do use some scenes from the show verbatim so I did not write the dialogue for those scenes, only the descriptions attached.)

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

“But… but I don’t feel like one,” Percy mumbled, frowning as he looked down at himself, as if his limbs were suddenly so strange to him.

“Well, of course you don’t. All you’ve known is a limited sense of yourself. There’s a lot more to you, to your powers.” Hades leaned forward and rested his elbows to his thighs. He clasped his hands in front of him and looked gently at Percy. “Look, kid, they hid you as a demigod for a reason. You have a lot of hidden enemies, on both sides, enemies that would want to get rid of you before you matured to your full potential. I’m the last person that should be commenting on parenting, but… they had a reason. She had a reason for not being there.” Hades watched Percy frown as he thought about everything. “I… I don’t know what happened to your mother. I don’t know why she hasn’t contacted you now that you’ve entered our world. But there is a reason.”

“Y/n…” Percy mumbled, feeling the name in his mouth. “Y/n and Poseidon. My parents.” He ran over his memories, at all the different stories Aunt Sally had told him, Greek and Norse. It made so much more sense now, the mix of cultures. She was trying to tell him everything, before being able to tell him anything.

Percy looked at the god, looked at his hands, at the statue that was once Aunt Sally. He set his jaw, and straightened up.

“This changes nothing. I’m going to finish this quest, I’m going to get you back your helm and return the lightning bolt. And after that… after that I’ll get my answers.” And with that, Percy threw the pearl at his feet and fell through the light.

Your entire body felt like it was full of light as you watched Hades tell Percy about you. He knew. He finally knew. Perseus. Your son. He finally knew your name. You savoured the way he said your name, closed your eyes and listened to him say it again. You cherished each sound, each syllable. Tears, beautiful crystalline tears trickled down your cheeks as your body began to tremble. He knew. He finally knew.

Your fingers twitched, just at the tips, and the entire prison shook and trembled like Ragnarok had begun. Your son knew. He knew of you, of your history. He knew the story of you and his father. He knew Y/n and Poseidon. Your entire head felt filled with glorious fresh air, like the world had begun spinning off and had suddenly been righted.

You could almost hear the cracks spiderweb through the walls.

Percy blinked his eyes open. He could feel the coarse sand on his cheek, the dampness seeping through his clothes. He pushed up a little and a hand reached out to help him, another pair hauling him up by the shoulders. He looked at Annabeth and Grover as they frowned at him in concern.

“What took you so long?” Grover mumbled, gazing worriedly at his friend, but Annabeth had already turned away. She was gazing at something far down the beach, a big blot that was slowly strolling its way toward them. A blot that began to clear into a tall man, a huge sword slung over his shoulders and a satisfied smirk on his face. Ares.

Percy watched as the god of war came to a standstill. He stood tall, casual, legs spread and chest out, ready to fight. Percy clenched his jaw and uncapped Riptide. He began walking cautiously toward the god of war, Grover and Annabeth following a few steps behind. Ares smirked at the sight before him, and Percy stood up straighter before lifting the sword and pointing it at Ares.

“Single combat!” He challenged, glaring at the god. Ares’ brows came together as he smiled in confused-shock, huffing out a ‘what?’ echoed by Grover and Annabeth. Percy glanced back at them for a moment before returning his eyes to Ares. “One-on-one, but I set the terms.” Ares brought his sword down and gripped it properly in his hand, waiting for the child to finish. “If I draw first blood, I keep the bolt and you surrender the helm.”

You began to tremble in your prison. Your fingers twitched incessantly, your eyes swivelling back and forth across the scene, your jaw clenching and unclenching, your throat beginning to squeeze. He couldn’t be doing this. Percy could not be risking himself like this right now. He was too young, a fledgling of a god, he was not safe. It was too risky, especially against a creature like Ares. No. He could not do this. You could not let him.

Ares slowly began to laugh. It was incredulous and wheezy at first before turning into full-blown belly laughter. He pointed at Percy, mouth wide open as he bellowed his chuckles. He was two seconds from bending in half and full on wheezing. Percy looked around awkwardly, but didn’t drop his sword.

“Do you accept?” He asked, hand trembling only just.

“I mean, it’s your funeral, kid,” Ares responded, smiling brightly. “Although, just to be clear, no funeral,” and the smile dropped instantly from his face. “Any trace of you leaves a trace of my plan, and we can’t have that.”

“It wasn’t your plan, though, was it?” Percy accused, an almost-smile of clarity overcoming his features. “It was Kronos.” Ares began to glare. “It was his idea to frame Poseidon’s kid and steal Hades’ helm and Zeus’s bolt to start a war.” Behind Percy, Annabeth grabbed Grover’s arm and turned him to look at her.

“What?” She demanded, staring at him with eyes of stone.

“Is that where he got to you too?” Percy asked, beginning to walk closer to Ares, his sword dropped low at his side. “Through your dreams?”

“Gods don’t dream, little man…” Ares bit out, before his face burst into a life of anger. “And no one tells the god of war how to start a fight!” He was seething, his face stony with rage. Percy frowned at him, moving to grip Riptide with both hands as he began setting his feet into the ground. “And after you die… say hi to your aunty from me.”

Percy’s nose twitched in anger, his jaw clenched and his eyes glaring with the might of a storm on the sea. He gripped Riptide tightly between his fists and lifted it up close to his chest, bending his knees slightly, ready to pounce.

Ares began to stomp over the sand toward Percy, sword clenched at his side as he moved closer. Percy stood rooted, waiting just until he was in Ares’s sword range before pushing forward and ducking under the first swing of the god of war’s sword. He stumbled past Ares before hurrying to turn around, sword held up just in time to fend off Ares’s first slash.

Your prison began to tremble. You listened to the clash of swords. It was abrasive in your ears, repugnant to your core. You were a goddess of war, you berated yourself. Fighting was in your very blood. But you could not watch it for your son. You could not find any peace nor joy in it when it was your Percy. You could not offer him your blessings, could not gift him your sword, could do nothing to help him in this perilous endeavour, and that was just as much torture as anything else.

You could almost see cracks appear in the world around you.

Percy stumbled back as Ares jabbed relentlessly at him. Left, right, the god was a swift wind, a force of violent nature. Percy could only hold up his sword in the right places, stumble back and try to steady himself on the crumbly sand. One parry, one clash, Ares shoved him in the chest with the hilt of his sword. Percy’s breath left him, his ribs almost cracking under the pressure of the hit. He fell onto his back, the sand instantly beginning to dampen his shirt, but he managed to keep a hold of Riptide. He raised the sword in front of him, redirecting two of Ares’s slices to either side of himself.

Ares lifted the sword above his head and brought it down with all his might, but Percy held true. Riptide, smaller in every way, kept pressed right to the hilt of Ares’s sword, keeping the weapon away from Percy’s body. His arms trembled and slowly began to dip back toward his body, but Percy held strong.

As the swords began to near his neck, Ares bent further and released one of his hands to grip Percy by the scruff and lift him back onto his feet. The god of war was toying with him. Like a cat releasing the mouse only to slam its paw right back on top of it once the small creature had had a taste for freedom. Percy would not be a mouse.

When Ares reared back to bring his sword down again, Percy ducked under the swing and forward rolled over the sand. He stumbled onto his feet behind the god of war but one minor slip of his foot left him shaky and Ares slammed his sword into Riptide, wrenching it from Percy’s grip and flinging it off into the sand with Percy left watching after it.

Your heart was in tatters. Your entire body was shaking now where it had once been so still. Your hair shifted over your shoulders and you could almost feel your limbs again, almost feel the magic you had once possessed coursing through your veins.

But you could not tear your eyes away. If you were to watch your son’s doom, then you would watch it with your eyes wide open. You would etch every detail into your celestial memory. You would memorise each moment, his little face, his anguish. And you would use it to fuel your revenge. You would remember it exactly as it was when you would chop up Ares’s immortal body into pieces and feed it slowly to the sharks.

The cracks were spider-webbing through your vision now.

Ares gripped the boy by his neck and wrenched him closer until they were face to face. He glared into the child’s eyes, let the fire in his immortal soul burn through his gaze, then hauled the boy up over his head before flinging him into the sand like a ragdoll.

Percy groaned as his entire body was jarred. His spine felt like a stack of loose coins and his head throbbed ceaselessly. His face was contorted in pain and he wasn’t sure he had the clarity of mind to keep going.

Across the beach, Grover began to step forward. He couldn’t watch his best friend die in front of him. He wouldn’t. But Annabeth grabbed his arm and stopped him from going any further. She had faith. She would have faith until the final second.

“Wait,” she told him, eyes trained on the fight before them.

Ares stood over Percy as he lay on the beach. His sword gripped in his hand, ready to be used. But Percy began to push himself up, groaning through the pain. First his head, then shoulders, and he dug his hands into the sand to get himself up faster. He tilted his head to look up at the god of war as he came stopping toward him, arm out, sword ready to cut through Percy. Instead he kicked him square in the chest, sending the boy flying across the beach. Percy rolled three times over the sand, each hurting worse than the one before. His entire body was on fire, his limbs were disconnected from him, his brain was no longer working, and he writhed in pain on the sand.

Ares began to look a little triumphant, smugly shrugging his shoulders to shake his jacket into place as he kept his eyes pinned on Percy. But behind Percy, the sea began to pull back. Slowly, the surf creeped back across the sand and a wave began to rise on the horizon, frothing white at the edges, churning like a storm. Percy began to push himself up, his entire body aching, limbs shaking, his hair damp with sweat and sea water.

“I warned you…” he croaked out, glaring at the war god. “If you’re not careful…” he pushed himself up onto his knees, then shakily rose to his feet. His shoulders were hunched, and he did not cut an impressive figure, but the wave behind him reached higher and higher, curling at the top. “You’ll find out who I am,” he panted, glaring at Ares with the might of all the oceans.

The wave rose high above their heads, touching the skies, and Percy became a blip against its background.

You watched the water rise and laughed. It was a breathless, incredulous, laugh. It was light itself, tinkling brightly into the air. He was his father’s son. You were almost hysterical. Tears, bright and shiny like liquid gold, like pure light, dripped from your eyes and pattered against your hands and dress.

You could see Poseidon in him so clearly. In the face of adversity, your husband too would attempt to simply wash everything away. You could see the power of it all coursing through your son. He was your son, he was Poseidon’s son.

Your heart was soaring with love and relief and everything between. If your Percy could fight until the end, so could you. You had to get to him. Someway, somehow, you had to get to your son.

Your fingers twitched again and you glanced down. You could feel it in your chest now, deep inside you, the little tingle of power you had regained. It was barely a touch of what you were truly capable of, but it was there. If nothing else, for now you could at least send him a message.

Slowly and carefully, you moved your fingers back and forth, and just at the tips, the magic began to weave together, glowing and blue before it began to take shape. First the antennae, and then the little spindly legs, then the wings fluttered into life, blazing and blue, etched in black at the edges. You carefully crafted the butterfly before gently lifting the tip of your finger and sending it into the air. You watched it flutter about, slightly lost at first before it found its purpose. Then, with the gentlest movements, it floated across to a crack in the white walls and slipped through. Your face cracked into the brightest smile, and you began focusing on gathering your power back.

You would get to your son, one way or another.

Ares watched the wave rise and pull closer and closer. An inevitable reckoning. Percy was swallowed by the wall of water, disappearing into the dark blue. The crest rose a little more before it curved down and slammed right into the god of war. Frothing white water crashed around him, filling his nose and lungs, ripping his body this way and that.

When the water finally stopped churning and spat him out onto the beach, he was face down and drenched. His hands slipped across the wet sand and his entire body was weighed down by the water filling his clothes, hair, nose, mouth. He couldn’t gather his bearings, palms flat on the ground and head moving this way and that as he tried to reorient himself. He began blinking the water out of his eyes and taking panting, salty breaths in.

Ares noticed his sword lying a few feet in front of him, covered in wet sand, almost sunk into the beach. He began crawling forward, like a fish flapping about on land, and hurriedly reached for the hilt. He gripped it in his hand and scrambled on all fours to turn around just as Percy began running at him. Ares managed to rise up onto his knees just as Percy slashed at him with Riptide. The god of war narrowly missed being sliced in half as he raised his onyx sword and parried the attack.

But Percy was smooth and swift like the sea. He slung his sword through the parry and lifted it in his right hand before bringing it down across Ares’s calf just above his ankle. Riptide sliced through cloth and flesh as Percy ran forward to face Ares once more. But the god of war turned back to grip his leg tightly. Golden ichor, pure and blazing, dripped through his fingers, painting the sand. He scowled in wretched pain, an animal crazed as he turned back to glare at Percy with all his might.

Annabeth slammed her hand to her chest as she watched, eyes wide and still disbelieving. Grover huffed out a laugh as he turned to look at the girl beside him, mouth dropping open slightly in shock. Annabeth turned to face him, lips pulling into an incredulous smile as she quickly glanced back toward Percy.

He stood up shakily, licking his lips and panting as he frowned in shock and confusion. He stared at Ares, at the ichor dripping on his fingers and palm. Percy turned back to look at Grover and Annabeth, hoping they had seen, hoping he wasn’t already dead and dreaming of a victory that would never occur. But the two of them were suddenly staring right at him. Well, moreso right above his head.

Percy turned to look up, wondering if he had received another sign from Poseidon. But this time, instead of a glowing blue trident, a bright blue butterfly hovered over his head. It was bigger than any butterfly he had ever seen before, and glowing a blue so bright it was almost blinding. It was almost hazy at the edges, and flapped its wings three times before it… shattered. The entire thing burst and broke into a million little pieces of glittery sparkles and rained down over Percy. They stuck to his skin, mingling in the water still dripping from him, glinting for a few moments before they disappeared. He panted sharply, and the sudden urge to cry beset him.

“What was that?!” Grover and Annabeth asked as they ran up to stand beside him. “You okay? You hurt?” Grover asked quickly, reaching out for Percy before pulling back to stand next to him.

Percy kept his sword arm up slightly, blood still rushing, heart still pumping, and mind still waiting for another attack from Ares. He only shook his head slightly in response, glancing back to Annabeth for a moment.

“What kind of pathetic sign is that?” Ares bit out as all three kids turned to look at him again.

“That,” Percy spat, glaring at the war god with renewed anger. “Was a sign from my mother. Y/n of the Aesir, Goddess of Love and War.” Ares’s face dropped. He looked almost… afraid.

“Y/n… And you thought you were just a kid,” Annabeth told him breathlessly, smiling small but proud. He nodded in her direction, face relaxing just slightly, before Ares began to clap sarcastically.

“Yay!” He gripped his hands in front of him, a bitter and sarcastic smile grotesquely painting his features. “That was so cool,” he picked up his sword and used it to help himself stand up to his full height again, stumbling a little as he moved forward. “Wanna know what you really won today?” He growled out, baring his teeth like an enraged wolf. “An enemy for life. Congrats. And tell your mother… tell your mother she can only be lucky once.”

He began to smile, wide and deranged. Then a bright, burning glow began to light up under Ares’s skin. It was like a fire was lit right in the middle of him, slowly engulfing his insides, glowing behind his eyes. It burned brighter and brighter until it almost became blinding.

“Don’t look at his true form!” Grover yelled, and all three turned their heads away, clenching their eyes shut as Ares burned as bright as the sun. Then the light flashed away. One bright pulse and it was gone.

Your insides were burning up. Slowly, like the ebb and flow of the tide, you could feel your magic rise up within you. It pulsed out from inside you, curling in your chest and warming up your insides. Then the tendrils began to curl upwards and outwards, pressing into your chest and heart, slithering down to your knees and toes, pouring through your arms and legs before kissing the tips of your fingers. It took everything from you. You were burning through more magic than you were gaining, but you would not stop until you either got out or… or you no longer existed.

The cracks appeared directly across your vision now. Little black lines ran through the image of Percy and his friends on the beach. You couldn’t hear them as clearly anymore, their voices becoming disjointed and garbled. Little pieces of the image around you began to fall away, like something made of glass had been put back together but now slowly all the pieces were falling away again.

You could feel your hands begin to move now, each of your fingers flinching and stretching as the restraint began to pull away. You could soon lift your arms at the elbows, move your legs at the knees, and you pushed yourself forward, falling onto your palms. Your chest heaved with the effort, the fire of your magic burning brighter. Even your dress began to move around you again, the blue fabric flowing like water in the air, caressing your skin gently.

You pushed again, pressing the magic out from your fingertips until it was almost painful. It burnt within your chest, it burnt at your fingers, it burnt at your very being. But you pushed, and you pressed, and you kept on burning until the picture finally fell away. Until your limbs were suddenly loose and you could move at will.

It was like waking up. You blinked your eyes blearily and looked around at the room you had always occupied in Asgard. You slowly stretched each of your fingers, then your arms, legs, moving side to side. Your entire body was tender, exhausted, and you stayed on the floor for a little while longer. Your throat was parched, your eyes heavy, but there were things to be done.

You needed to get to your son. You needed to get to Poseidon. You needed to… you couldn’t do any of that. Not yet. Not without your magic replenished, and certainly not without your weapons. You needed to find Loki.

You carefully pushed yourself up, first onto your knees, then gripping the bed beside you in clawed hands, you managed to pull yourself up onto your feet. You swayed dangerously, toppling onto your palms on the soft bedding. You were panting, a cold sweat building along the back of your neck. But you were determined. You got to your feet once more and stumbled your way to the door. You blinked furiously, trying to make sure your vision stayed clear as you felt the cold drip of your power slowly begin to settle in your stomach once more.

You peeked at both ends of the hallway and then stumbled your way through, slamming into the walls any time you went too fast. The door at the far end of the hallway opened and your heart dropped out of your chest. You clenched your hands into fists and prepared yourself to fight. You may not have your powers at your disposal, but you could still fight. Being a goddess of war had a few requirements after all.

Freya poked her head out there, frowning in confusion at who was causing all that ruckus. When she noticed you leaning against the wall, trembling in fear, her eyes widened. She looked past you, just to make sure the coast was clear before rushing over to you and gently grasping you by the arms. She hushed you gently, kissing the top of your head and gently cupping your face. You looked up into your mother’s eyes and felt everything hit you all at once.

Your eyes well up with tears and your face crumpled. Your lips trembled as you dissolved into sobs. Freya wrapped you up in her arms and kept hushing you softly, pressing soft kisses to the top of your head as you clenched your hands in the soft material of her dress. She smelled as she had always done, soft and warm and motherly.

“Hush now child, hush. You do not have much time to cry.” She pulled you away from her chest and began wiping the tears off of your cheeks, gently dabbing at the corners of your eyes with the fabric of her sleeve as she smiled encouragingly. “You have much bigger things to attend to, hm?” She nodded at you, waited for you to nod in return like a little duckling copying her mother. “Yes, good. Now, let’s get you to Loki while I ensure your father remains distracted and unaware. Loki has all your things, he will feed you and clothe you and then… then you can go find your husband.”

You could see the tears building in Freya’s eyes as well, a soft crystalline line at the edges of her lower eyelids. She threaded your arm through hers and began walking you down the hall. She half carried you against her through the palace to the other wing where Loki chose to reside far from everyone. You simply closed your eyes and let your feet take one step after the other. You needed to conserve any and all energy until you felt anywhere close to the goddess you had once been.

Freya gently knocked on the door to Loki’s abode. He swung it open and stared at the scene before him. He was quick to take you off your mother’s hands, gently grasping you as Freya told him what to do. Your head was still ringing. He led you over to a chair and deposited you onto it. You swallowed thickly, grasping the armrests and forcing your eyes to open again. The door was closed and Freya was gone.

You tilted your head to look up at Loki. He stood by his bed, hands on his hips as he shook his head before snapping his fingers. In a flash of light, something appeared on his bed, covered with a dust cloth. He smiled gently at you before pulling the cloth off and holding your sword up to the light. Your beautiful, magnificent, sword. You almost began to cry for joy.

“Right,” he clapped his hands, “let’s get you sorted.”

Slowly, carefully, the trio peeled their eyes open, one eyelid at a time, and began to turn back to stare at the spot where Ares had once been. Instead there sat a helmet, shiny and golden, etched with all sorts of patterns.

“It’s Hades’s helm,” Annabeth spoke, almost in astonishment. She walked over and bent down, gripping it with both hands before beginning to lift it up. It was heavy, heavier than she was expecting, and she brushed some of the sand off.

“Come on, we have to find a way to get it back to Hades,” Grover said, beckoning Annabeth back over.

“I can’t believe Y/n is your mother. I can’t believe it!” Annabeth exclaimed, looking at Percy with wide eyes. “She’s my favourite non-Greek goddess. I mean, a goddess of love and war? The parallels that could be made, the interconnectedness of concepts, it’s… wow. Did you know one of the stories cites her as single-handedly defeating an entire army of zombie-creature-thingies called Draugr? And old Viking stories cited her as being there during their biggest battles. The humans could literally see her walking among them and giving help to their campaigns. She’s… magnificent.” Annabeth was gushing. Percy had never seen her like this before. She had all this stored in her head and he could see it all bubbling out of her. He exchanged an incredulous look with Grover right before he started hearing whispers of his name. And it sounded an awful lot like Mrs. Dodds.

After returning Hades’s helm to the Fury, and a final plea for Hades to fulfil his end of the bargain, Percy readied for his journey to Mount Olympus. Grover and Annabeth tried to talk him out of it, citing how it was a doomed journey. The war had already begun, the gods wouldn’t listen, he would not make it out alive. But he was determined to go. He needed Zeus to listen, because whether he liked it or not, Kronos was coming back.

And when Annabeth had gently clasped her camp necklace around his throat, his heart had swelled with joy. He had found friends, real friends. He had finally found people that understood him, understood all the struggles he had been through. And not just understood but related with, respected. He could have cried. But again, emotion could wait.

Percy walked casually through the entryway of the Empire State building, his backpack swung over one shoulder, as if he wasn’t carrying the god of thunder’s masterbolt. He walked all the way to the end of the hallway and right to the white marble reception desk. Just as he approached, the man began speaking.

“Tour starts by the sign.”

“Not here for the tour,” Percy responded, slipping the bag off his shoulder and resting it by his feet, “I’m here to see Zeus.” And he dumped the master bolt onto the desk with a thump. The receptionist’s eyes widened into saucers. “I don’t have an appointment,” Percy shrugged.

He took the elevator all the way to the top, and then higher. The doors opened with a small ding, and Percy witnessed the most magnificent sight he had ever seen. Pillars of marble, and huge white palaces as far as the eye could see. Fountains and balconies and beautiful bright yellow sunshine. Olympus was… endless. Each rise seemed more magnificent than the next, domes made entirely of sapphire or onyx or ruby, lush olive trees and bushes of fruit grew everywhere. It truly was a land for gods. And all he could think of was Luke’s advice, “you don’t want to be small and scary. When you’re small and scary, you get squished.” He had never felt as small as he did at that moment.

Percy trekked his way through Olympus and to the top of the tallest tower. The air was crisp and clear everywhere and he took deep fresh breaths in and out. When he made it to the top, he found a circle of thrones. The floor was pristine black, marbled with orange from the flickering sconces of fire placid all around the edges. Pillars of black stone rose everywhere around the outside and the sense of impending doom weighed heavy on his heart once more when he spotted the man sitting in the largest throne of them all.

He was still a little too far to see him properly, but Percy knew it could only be Zeus. A throne that large, towering over all the others… only one god truly had the ego and temperament to match that. As he traversed closer, Zeus became clearer. The god was wearing a dark navy suit with a blue tie and light-coloured pocket square slightly poking out, sitting as casually as if he was on a couch.

When Percy reached the middle of the thrones, Zeus leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Percy paused in the middle and began taking the bag off his shoulders, trying not to let the tremble in his hands show. Zeus stood slowly from his throne, like a cat slowly stretching right before it began the hunt. He began to walk closer, leisurely long steps, but heavy, almost thundering. Percy held the master bolt out to him in both hands, proffering it out as he bowed his head. Zeus kept his eyes on it, as if Percy wasn’t even worth a glance. When he reached the boy, he did glance up, a quick flick of the eyes, before he reached out and grasped the bolt in his right hand. Percy brought his hands down to his sides and slowly raised his head to look at the king of gods.

“I didn’t steal it,” he broke out. “Neither did any of my friends,” he added quickly. “We found it. We got it back.” Zeus simply stared at him, his naturally frowning face set in stone. “We tried to get it to you on time, but…”

“You failed,” Zeus finished, his deep voice like liquid rock.

“Yes,” Percy nodded, a little defeated, “but I had to come. I had to tell you who did steal it. It was Kronos.” Zeus’s head rose a little, his eyes glancing around for a few seconds before he turned his back on Percy and began walking to his throne once more.

“He’s behind all of it,” Percy spoke quickly, desperately. “He’s emerging from Tartarus, or trying to.” Zeus kept walking to his throne. “He’s gathering strength and he’s coming for all of you!” Zeus only paused at his throne.

“You may go,” he ordered, not even bothering to turn back and look at Percy as he did.

“But…” Percy began to argue back, but Zeus finally turned around to face him again.

“I know where Kronos is. I put him there.” Then Zeus sighed and began walking back toward Percy. “I know who Kronos is. I am his son. Of course, he’s gathering strength,” he spat. “Of course, he’s coming. That is what we do. We snap and plot and strive. It was only a matter of time before he did again.” Zeus paused just in front of Percy and looked at him for a long moment before sighing. “Thank you for the news. It is the only reason I am letting you leave alive.”

Percy stared at him, mouth drooping open in shock. This couldn’t be it. This could not be it.

“I have a war to prosecute now, so when I say “you may go,” it means be grateful, and it means be gone.” Zeus’s eyes widened just so, threateningly so, but Percy couldn’t let this be the end.”

“But the war can’t continue,” he argued.

“Boy!” Zeus yelled, and thunder crashed through the sky like the roar of a lion. Percy’s lip trembled. “The war proceeds. And it ends with victory. You escape with your life. That is your prize,” Zeus explained, warning him not to argue further. “What did you think, that you and I would negotiate?” The god seemed to almost laugh at the suggestion.

“I thought you might listen,” Percy told him, voice light with panic. “Kronos wants you to fight my father. He wants you both weakened.”

“I will not be weakened by my brothers,” Zeus rejoinded.

“You already are. Your family is a mess,” Percy spat, glancing around at the empty thrones. “They don’t support you because they love you. They obey because they’re afraid. Ares, your son, he turned on you the moment someone stronger showed up. Do you really think he’ll be the last?” Percy could almost see the lightning flash in Zeus’s eyes, could see the thunder build across his face as it crashed in the sky behind him. “How afraid of you do you think they’ll be when your dad shows up looking to put you back in your place?” He began to shout, anger shaking his bones.

Zeus’s face contorted in anger, eyes almost bulging and mouth scowling. The master bolt began to buzz and glow blue in his hand. He lifted it, preparing to strike Percy down where he stood.

“Wait!” Percy yelled, and ducked down, arm coming up to cover his face in his last moments but… but the last moment never came. The buzz stalled and he heard heavy breathing behind him. Then there was a flash from in front of him, bright and dazzlingly blue and he clenched his eyes shut tighter. There was a metallic ‘schwing’ sound, like someone ripping a sword out of its scabbard, and Percy peeked his eyes open to find… a woman.

A beautiful woman stood just ahead of him, a long billowing dark blue dress blowing around her legs, and a sword as black as night in her hand. She pointed it toward where Zeus stood and held her head high. Her eyes were made of fire and stone, blazing with power. And her hair… She had bright blue hair, stranger than anything he had ever seen, but magnificent too.

Percy glanced behind himself when he realised he wasn’t being burst into smithereens only to find Zeus, arm still raised with the master bolt, and another man grasping him by the forearm. Both Zeus and the man had turned their heads to look toward Percy now, but the man holding Zeus had his eyes trained on the woman behind Percy. On you. Though he held fast to Zeus, his eyes were shining and his mouth dropped open a little as he stared at you. Percy glanced between you, back and forth…

“Do not. Touch. My son.” You bellowed, lifting the sword even higher as you kept your glare on Zeus. The king of gods wasn’t sure where to look, whether at his brother or the Norse woman.

“I surrender,” the man huffed out, turning back to glare at Zeus. Lightning shined in his eyes.

“What?” Both men were panting from the effort.

“I surrender,” he huffed out again, and glared straight into Zeus’s eyes.

All in one go Zeus deactivated the master bolt and the man let go of his forearm. They stood glaring at each other as Percy got back to his feet and you stomped forward until the tip of your sword was just shy of brushing the god of thunder’s neck.

“You dare raise your sword at me?” Zeus seethed, stepping even closer, but Poseidon, because it could only have been his father, stepped between him and the goddess once more. “And showing up at such an opportune moment. It would not surprise me that you were the thief once more.” Percy could almost see fire shoot off you as you stepped even closer, jaw clenching as you readied to fight the king of gods. But Poseidon just turned to face you and gently grasped the hand on the hilt of your sword. He reached up with his free hand and softly touched your chin, jaw, cheek, and tilted your head until you were looking into his eyes.

His eyes were so beautiful. He was so beautiful. He had not changed his form in the time since you had met him. Perhaps a little more muscular, a little thicker around the shoulders and the midriff, but you were enamoured all over again. You stared into his eyes, the blue of the very depths of the ocean. Your favourite blue. You reached up and ran your fingers over his beard, cupping his cheek in return.

Percy had never seen two people look at each other like that. Both your faces were on the verge of crumpling. Your mouths made these sad little joyful smiles as if you were in pain from being so close. Both of your eyes filled with tears, mirroring each other, and Poseidon cupped your cheek for a moment more before turning back to Zeus.

“Take your victory,” he huffed out, “just spare my son.” Percy watched on, mouth hanging open in shock.

“Your forbidden son…” Zeus chastised, glaring superiorly between Poseidon and the woman. “Who should have never been born.” You looked as though you were about to speak but chose not to at the last moment.

“The same as your Thalia…” Zeus’s face fell just a fraction, “whose bravery still inspires all demigods. Perseus is one of those heroes, and has shown a measure of that bravery today.” Zeus lifted his head and looked at Poseidon before glancing over his shoulder, as if he was already done with this. Poseidon wrapped his hand completely around your wrist then stepped forward a little more. He looked Zeus in the eye and sighed. “Who else knows about Father?” He asked in Ancient Greek.

“Ares, Hades, Hermes. So…”

“Everyone,” Poseidon finished, frowning slightly. Zeus glanced back at Percy, glared at the goddess just in front of him, then looked back at Poseidon.

“I’ll have Athena set a meeting. The whole council. We’ll declare my swift and crushing victory…” Poseidon huffed out a breath, almost a growl as he looked away from his brother, and the goddess began shifting forward again, ready to attack. “And then discuss family business.” Poseidon nodded, a little dip of the head as Zeus glanced back to Percy and the goddess. “Make sure I never see them again,” he added, and Percy clenched his jaw just as Zeus disappeared in a flash of light.

Poseidon and you stood still for a moment, before the black sword clattered from your hands and you turned to Poseidon. Your face looked pained, distraught, and tears began spilling down your cheeks. But Poseidon only smiled, looking deep into your eyes with something Percy would never be able to name until years in the future. Poseidon reached up with both hands and cupped your cheeks. He pressed his forehead to yours and the two of you closed your eyes and smiled, teary and almost hiccuping laughs with joy. You pressed your noses together, breathing in each other’s air. Your hands pressed gently to his sides, digging your fingers into the fabric of his shirt. You could smell the salty sea air again. You would never let go of him again.

A tiny little cough echoed from the side and the two of you slowly pulled away from each other. You blinked your eyes open and turned to the side and… there he was. Your son. Tears began to fill your eyes again as you looked at him standing there awkwardly, one hand rubbing the back of his head as he glanced between you and his father.

He had beautiful curly blond hair, and the bright blue eyes he had inherited from Poseidon. His little face was painted with a smattering of freckles and his clothes were a little worn down. You had so much to teach him.

Slowly, you walked forward, one hand grasping Poseidon’s and pulling him along behind you. You walked until you were standing just in front of Perseus before bending down a little so you were face to face. Your hands were trembling. Your entire body was filled with elation and you couldn’t control the tears spilling like waterfalls now. You felt Poseidon rest one of his large hands on the small of your back and you gently reached out and brushed your thumb on Perseus’s cheek. It was just a graze, barely a touch, but his cheeks began to turn rosy pink and you let out a little huff of a laugh.

“Perseus…” you whispered, and it felt magical to say his name to him. Not even a goddess could conjure this type of magic. He cleared his throat and awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Uhm, it’s just Percy, ma’am,” he broke out, feeling awkward but being unable to tear his gaze from you. You smiled even wider, letting out a soft watery laugh.

“Percy, yes, of course,” you whispered, and you reached out to gently touch his hair, soft and curly, just as you had imagined. You touched his shoulder, bony and awkward, just as young humans were. Then you could help yourself no longer. You wrapped him up in your arms, bending down so you could press your face into his head and his was squished into your neck. You held him as tightly as you had always wanted to, as you knew any mother would. You pressed your face to his hair and cried into it, your shoulders shaking with your sobs. Arms came to engulf the both of you and the shadow of Poseidon curling over the two of you darkened your eyes. You began to cry even harder.

Finally, finally your little family was all together again… Poseidon simply breathed slowly against your hair, rubbing your back softly.

Gingerly, you began to pull away, unfurling yourself from around Percy like a snake letting go of its clutch, and turned your back to him and Poseidon for a moment to quickly wipe your tears before turning back again. Percy looked up at both of you, gulping and blinking rapidly.

“You have blue hair,” he blurted out, and the red brightened his cheeks once more. You giggled, soft and high-pitched and nodded.

“Yes I do,” you nodded, “but it can be anything else too.” With a snap of your fingers your hair changed to an almost painfully bright bubble gum pink. Another snap got you deep, dark, forest green, and another changed it so every strand was a different colour so your head looked like a jumbled mess.

“No, no, I liked it, I liked the blue,” Percy added hurriedly, hoping he hadn’t offended you somehow. “Blue’s my favourite colour.” Your smile brightened and you almost wrapped him up in a hug again.

“Blue is my favourite colour as well.” The three of you stood in silence until Percy coughed again and glanced between you two.

“So…” he trailed off.

“Obedience does not come naturally to you, does it?” Poseidon asked with a small smile, gazing down at him gently.

“No, sir,” he answered softly, his head dipping down a little as if he had been chastised.

“I must take some of the blame, I suppose,” Poseidon sighed, “the sea does not like to be restrained.” He reached over and gently gripped Percy by the back of the neck, his thumb settling along the side of his face as he stared down at his son. You smiled between them, the tears welling in your eyes once more. Percy sighed and dropped his head down a little as Poseidon released his grip.

You let yourself rest your eyes on Poseidon once more. He was… everything. He was what you had craved all these years apart. He was your nectar, your ambrosia. To see him again, to be with him again… you moved forward and gently pressed yourself against him until your entire body was molded to his. You pressed your face against his, your foreheads touching softly. Your noses brushed, and you stood there just like that, breathing each other in after so many years apart.

Percy watched on awkwardly, his eyes glancing around, even turning his back for a moment before he finally could bear it no longer.

“Uhm, can you guys not?” He asked, face contorted in slight disgust. “I get that embarrassing your kid is, like, essential to parenting or whatever, but… stop it.”

You pulled away from Poseidon slightly, only just far enough so you could turn your head, and began to laugh. Percy just stood there and frowned at you guys, but you only smiled and turned back to Poseidon. You looked into your husband’s eyes and pressed your hands to his face, feeling his beard under your cheeks and enjoying the simple ability to just look him in the eye.

“My husband,” you whispered, and he blinked his eyes shut, pressing you just a little closer to himself again.

“Say it again,” he whispered in return, and you smiled wider.

“My husband,” you repeated, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek-

“Guys!” Percy huffed exasperatedly, and you pulled away from Poseidon once more, this time a little farther and a little more shy, a slight tingle in your cheeks. You had never felt… embarrassed before.

You took a deep breath in before noticing your sword still on the floor where you had dropped it. You walked over and picked it up, holding it across in your hands before it disappeared in a flash of light. Then you turned back to your little family and offered your hand to Percy.

“Come, let us take you back to Camp Half-Blood. You have news to share with your friends and… I would like to see it,” you smiled a little hesitantly, but you simply kept your hand proffered to him.

“You’re… gonna come back to Camp with me?” He asked incredulously, staring at the two of you with wide eyes. You smiled and nodded, glancing at your husband as he followed your nod with his own, though rather more hesitantly.

“I do not want to stay on Olympus any longer than I have to,” you added, and Poseidon gently wrapped his arm around your waist, tucking you in close to his side, before holding his other hand out to Percy.

Percy looked at both of you, glanced between his mother and father, before gulping and reaching forward to grab both of your hands.

As Percy walked through Camp Half-blood, he was shocked at the reception. Everyone stood around clapping for him, cheering him on as he made his way through to the Big House. The claps soon became silent though as everyone saw who followed a little ways behind him. Soon the entire camp was shrouded in silence as you, tucked close into your husband’s side, strolled through. No one knew where to look, whether at you or Poseidon, or if they shouldn’t look directly at either of you.

You were simply in awe at the beautiful camp, the trees sheltering all the cabins and growing proudly along the walkways, bathing everything in a beautiful yellow-green light. You smiled in joy at all the little children staring up at you in awe, knowing how precious each one was, knowing the parents who worried for them at every moment. You could feel the love emanating from all over the world, reaching out its beautiful hands to the precious children collected here.

You looked ahead to your son as he paused and was quickly engulfed by Annabeth in a tight hug. She seemed to be trembling almost, but you could see that it was anticipation, you could see her lips moving as she whispered something in his ear. You smiled softly before leaving your husband’s side and moving forward to greet her.

“Annabeth Chase,” you sighed happily, reaching out your hand. She simply stared up at you in awe, mouth dropping open a little before she snapped it shut and hesitantly reached out to shake your hand. You smiled a little wider, shaking her hand firmly before letting it go. “Thank you for looking after Percy on his journey.”

“I… thank you, ma’am, thank you so much,” she replied haltingly, still not able to tear her eyes away from you. You giggled and gently patted her on the head before stepping away, following after Poseidon who was standing just ahead on the path, waiting for you so you could go and speak to Chiron at the Big House.

“Um, hey,” Percy called after you quickly, wincing slightly, “I’m gonna go talk to Annabeth and Luke for a sec, I’ll-I’ll catch up,” he explained hurriedly. You smiled and nodded, reaching out and gently petting the top of his head.

“Don’t be too long,” you whispered, cupping his cheek gently for a moment before turning and walking to Poseidon.

You did not want to be separated from him for even a moment, not after you had only just got him back. But you also knew he had responsibilities. He had lived a life without you, and you couldn’t just overwhelm him in a moment. You could wait… you already had.

“Clarisse stole the master bolt!” Percy exclaimed, frowning at Luke and Annabeth.

“It’s complicated,” she responded, urging Percy to be patient with her eyes.

“Everyone was ready to join the war here,” Luke explained, “to start fighting each other. An accusation against Clarisse…”

“Without proof,” Annabeth interjected.

“Exactly,” Luke nodded, “without proof, it would have lit this whole place on fire.” Percy glanced between them, nodding his head once, hesitantly. “But now you’re back. You’ve stopped the war. You’ve saved the world,” Luke smiled at him, and Annabeth nodded, a hint of pride colouring her expression. “Now, it’s safe to tell Chiron and finish cleaning up the mess. I told him we needed to meet him away from the celebration so we can talk without any of Clarisse’s supporters noticing.” Luke looked between Percy and Annabeth as he spoke, a look of calm collectedness settling on his features. Annabeth nodded in response.

“I’ll keep an eye on Clarisse while you’re gone. Make sure she isn’t going anywhere,” Annabeth told them, steeling herself.

“Great. And we’ll meet back here.” Luke paused, looking Percy up and down. “Re-”

“I have to go see my… mom and dad,” Percy burst out hesitantly. “I… they’re here and… I don’t know, I need to speak to them, like actually speak to them, about everything.” “Your mom’s here?” Luke asked quickly, looking out the door of the cabin for a moment.

“Yeah, she… she came to Olympus to try and save me. Her and Poseidon brought me back, so… yeah. They just went to speak to Chiron and Mr D. I should go with them,” Percy responded, frowning a little in thought.

“Alright, but don’t say anything about Clarisse yet, you don’t know who could be listening,” Luke urged.

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Percy nodded, placating Luke. “I’ll be back in time to go, yeah,” and Percy looked almost dazed as he left, making his way up to the Big House.

“We are… grateful, that you deigned to visit us,” Chiron said, bowing politely as you smiled at him. He offered you and Poseidon seats at the small table across from Mr. D and you took one, but Poseidon chose to stand just behind yours, one of his hands resting softly on your shoulder. You reached up to gently stroke it, placing your palm over the back of his hand.

“Chiron, it is we who are grateful to you for helping Perseus,” you replied.

It was then Percy came ambling into the room, pausing just in front of Chiron to look at the scene. He still couldn’t believe you were there, you and Poseidon, sat in Camp Half-Blood…

“Hey guys,” he greeted softly, looking between everyone awkwardly.

“So, wait, where the hell have you been this entire time?” Mr. D turned to you and Poseidon, eyes squinting into a frown as he leaned onto the table and looked at the two of you.

“Where do you want the story to start?” Poseidon asked, sighing imperceptibly at his nephew.

“Uh, the banishment would be good, right? That’s a good place to start,” Mr. D nodded sarcastically, but Percy actually agreed with him.

“Yeah, uh, I think maybe go back to the whole stealing the lightning bolt thing, then maybe we continue on, just because it might be a little bit relevant to… everything,” Percy interjected, looking between his parents. You sighed and nodded, grasping Poseidon’s hand a little tighter.

“I didn’t steal the master bolt that first time, and I don’t know who did either. Poseidon and I were… busy at the time,” you explained hesitantly, cheeks turning pink as Percy scowled in disgust and Poseidon’s lips pulled up into a smirk.

“Yes, we were away from the palaces of Olympus and when we returned, someone had stolen the bolt,” Poseidon added, and Percy nodded. It was exactly as Hades had told him.

“Ok, and you still don’t know who did it?” Percy asked.

“No, the bolt was found a few days later and Zeus was no longer angry about it, but he and Odin agreed it would be best to keep the worlds separate. There was too much possibility for something like this to happen, and Olympus was already big enough without adding more gods with unfamiliar powers to the mix,” Poseidon explained.

“By then I was banished and not allowed to see Poseidon anymore. Though we didn’t stay true to this rule for long… Your father began to send me small signs, and eventually he asked me to marry him,” and you smiled, a soft watery smile, as you spoke, turning to look at Poseidon for a moment. “I sent my own signs in return, of course, and we spoke this way, cautiously, fleetingly.”

“It continued in secret for just over a century, I counted the days until I next saw her. Time had never been an enemy before,” Poseidon sighed, bending down slightly to press a kiss to the top of your head.

“Then, one day, a little over twelve years ago, I was called to battle. An army of draugr had assembled on a beach and begun to terrorise the midgardians. Though the mist works similarly for us, it would not do.” You could still remember facing them, the searing pain as they had slashed your arm. “Then, just as the battle was finished, your father appeared again.”

You glanced at Percy and he was listening intently, that little frown on his face when he was concentrating heavily on something.

“It was magical in the way mortals claim. It was something untouched even by the power of Olympus or the Yggdrasil,” you sighed.

“And a few weeks later, I received a message from your mother. She was with child,” Poseidon smiled this time, soft and sweet and full of the joy one would experience upon becoming a father.

“You were forbidden for many reasons. Poseidon and I should not have been seeing each other in the first place, let alone conceiving a child. Our worlds were not to interact, not in any way,” your face fell as you relived the panic you had experienced at the time.

“And then the pact between Zeus, Hades and I… I was not to have a child at all, especially a godly one,” Poseidon’s face became thunderous, and his grip on your shoulder tightened just so. You simply rubbed your palm over his knuckles, a soft attempt to soothe. You understood, of course you understood.

“We needed to find a way to hide you, just until you could reach an age where you were no longer vulnerable as a new god, an age at which you could begin to explore the powers you were blessed with.” Then you smiled again. “The beach where your father and I had first kissed, so many eons ago, was a perfect place to hide. Humans had begun using it as a holiday destination, there were cabins, and I would be close to the water. That’s where I met-”

“Aunt Sally,” Percy interjected, looking at you with wide eyes of surprise. “It’s the beach in Montauk, that’s why Aunt Sally takes me there every year.” You smiled brightly, nodding at him.

“Yes, that is where I met Sally Jackson. Within days of meeting her, I knew she should be the one to take you. She is what a human ought to be. Sally is kind, and friendly. She is thoughtful and… she is the best of the humans. After meeting her, I was doubly decided on disguising you as a demigod and having you live in the world with the humans. I wanted you to know what it was like, to be human. I wanted you to know that us gods are nothing without the humans.” You paused before turning to look directly at Percy. You leaned a little further across the table so he would be forced to look you in the eye. “The gods often forget that we are nothing without the humans who believe in us. We often forget that just because we are powerful, does not mean we need to wield that power against those who do not possess it. And most of all, we often forget that it is our job to protect those people, not to do harm to them. We are flawed, Percy, just like people, but we should not forget that we are meant to be better, that we are meant to strive towards betterness. I wanted you to know that most of all.”

Percy gulped, nodding his head as the gravity of what you said settled over everyone. Mr. D shifted in his seat, clearing his throat and gulping from his can of diet coke.

“Your mother told Sally Jackson about our world. It was good luck in the end that she was born with the clear sight,” Poseidon added.

“On the day of your birth, your father created a storm to hide us. We only held you for a few moments,” you paused, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat as you thought about that day. Your eyes filled with tears and you closed them so no one would see. “We only had you for a few minutes. A storm that large would attract attention if it went on too long. The other gods would have known that it was your father causing it, but they would not have known why. Too many eyes would begin to turn.” You felt Poseidon caress your cheek with his finger and you blinked your eyes open. He ran his hand gently up your neck to where your hair began before stroking back down to rest it on your shoulder. He was warm, strong, a firm presence and you simply turned your head to press a soft kiss to the side of his index finger.

“And you are aware of the rest,” Poseidon finished for you. You glanced up at him worriedly for a moment but did not speak up. He began to frown, staring at your face as you nibbled on your lip before reaching up and gripping his hand.

Percy was still staring at the table in thought, before he looked up and glanced between the two of you.

“So, when it rains on my birthday…” and Poseidon smiled gently, dipping his head in a small nod.

“Your mom was banished from here like a million years ago, kid. We’re ALL shocked, not everything’s about you,” Mr. D sneered, and Percy just turned to stare at him, one eyebrow raised as if the god couldn’t possibly be serious. Chiron simply sighed as he looked at Mr. D, shaking his head as you smiled the type of smile one makes when they are trying not to laugh.

“Could I have a moment alone with my son?” You asked everyone suddenly, standing up from your seat and gently grasping Poseidon’s hand. Chiron immediately agreed, nudging Mr. D who grunted and groaned before following less than eagerly. Your husband was the last to remain but you pressed your hand to his cheek, cupping his face and nodding once before letting him go and waiting as he slowly walked out. He kept walking until he reached the water’s edge, and you could see him standing with his feet in the surf. You smiled at the sight for a moment before going to sit down next to Percy in the seat Mr. D had vacated. “Are you alright?”

“I mean, I could have done without the stories of my conception but… yeah, cool,” Percy shrugged, turning slightly in his chair so he was facing you. He still looked at your face hesitantly, and though your heart clenched at it each time, you knew you would have to be patient. You couldn’t just become a happy family overnight.

You gently took one of his hands between yours and softly held it. Just as you would have done if you had been there during his childhood, in the moments where he had needed you most…

“Almost within a year of having let you go, I began being unable to watch you, Percy. I couldn’t see you in the pools of the Yggdrasil, I could not tune my mind into your life, nothing.”

You remembered the panic you had felt at the blindness, like someone had ripped a portion of you out and now you were half a soul, doomed to a restless eternity.

“And then one night, after you had arrived at Camp, I heard a call. I could smell burning jelly beans,” and you let out a small watery giggle, remembering the smell of burning sugar. “Sally used to bring me blue jelly beans as well. They are my favourite of the Midgardian candies.” You reached up and gently petted Percy’s hair, moving some of the curls back from his forehead and smiling at him. He was still just a boy.

“You had made a sacrifice in my name, and whatever magic had been keeping me from seeing you had dissipated, even for just a moment. It broke my heart, Percy.” You paused, swallowing the lump in your throat. “After you made your prayer, I was on my way to find you. I was going to come to Camp, tell you everything and explain…” The tears filled your eyes again, quickly and ferociously, uncontainable.

“But… It was Odin. All along it was Odin. He was keeping you from me, hoping that I would be content not knowing anything about you for your own safety.” You swallowed, gripping Percy’s hand tighter. “As I was leaving Valhalla to come find you, Odin stopped me. He… imprisoned me. I have been imprisoned since.” You wiped the tears haphazardly from your face and looked right at Percy. “I could finally see you. I could finally watch you grow just as I had wished to for the past 12 years. Though I was imprisoned, he had returned the sight to me and I have watched you complete this quest.” You gripped his small face in both your hands and made him look you right in the eye.

“You have been incredibly courageous. You have been kind and valiant and done everything as you should have done. No one could be prouder - no one could be luckier - to have a son like you.”

You could see the tears build in Percy’s eyes. You could see his lower lip begin to tremble and suddenly he was hugging you. He wrapped his arms tightly around you and buried his head in the crook of your neck. His curls tickled your cheek as you pressed the side of your face down to the top of his head.

“I am so sorry, Perseus,” you whispered, “I am so sorry for not having been there.”

You wrapped your arms around him, engulfed him, and sat there breathing him in. You could hear him sniffle softly, the little twitches his nose made rubbing against your neck, and you simply held him. You held him tight and close and you never wanted to let him go again.

After a few moments Percy pulled away, rubbing at his eyes and cheeks and glancing away from you. He patted your back awkwardly, as if he was trying to comfort you, and you simply smiled softly in return.

“It’s alright,” he finally told you, “we have forever to get to know each other,” and he gave you a little smile in return.

As Percy pulled his head away from your shoulder and smiled a pale and watery smile at you, Poseidon and Mr. D reentered the room slowly. Poseidon came to stand by where you were sitting and Mr. D swiped his can of diet coke off the table, grumbling about how you had stolen his seat before Poseidon sent a sharp look his way. Percy looked out the window and finally noticed how dark the sky had gotten.

“Crap! Um, I gotta go,” he huffed out, glancing between you and the door. You smiled patiently, reaching up to gently cup his cheek before bringing him closer and pressing a long kiss to his forehead.

“Of course,” you whispered gently.

“I’ll try not to be too long, promise,” he added quickly, but you simply smiled and nodded in return. Despite how much you wanted to tell him to hurry back, you didn’t want to smother him either.

“Chiron! Peter Johnson’s leaving!” Mr. D hollered, finally looking up, only to glance around the room and realise that Chiron had not returned. He frowned in confusion as you began to giggle, shaking your head as you pressed your hand to your mouth. Percy just huffed and shook his head, already exasperated with Mr. D, a similar frown of tiredness gracing Poseidon’s face.

“You have not changed Dionysus,” you told him, and he simply smiled, bright and true (the most sincere smile Percy had seen from him in his short time of knowing the god), flapping his hand in the air as if to brush you off.

Percy just waved in your direction before hurrying out the door. Only narrowly missing Chiron returning through the big house as he set off in search of Luke for their meeting.

Percy and Luke walked through the woods, a lantern gripped in the older demigod’s hand. A loud whistle and boom echoed across the sky and Percy looked up to watch the colours flash and spread in a dizzying array. He chuckled as Luke nudged him on the shoulder, smirking.

“Talk about a celebration,” he huffed, “they really pulled out all the stops for you.”

Percy just smiled in return, continuing to slowly follow along the path. Luke turned to look at Percy properly, holding the lantern aloft in front of them. “Come on, you’ve said like two words since we left the cabins.” Luke turned to look ahead of them again, waiting for Percy to speak.

“Just…” he sighed, “thinking about everything. Thinking about what the Oracle said. That I’ll fail to save what matters most in the end.”

“You’re thinking about your Aunt Sally,” Luke responded, nodding in confirmation and a sort of kinship. “I get that.”

They paused in a small clearing, what looked to be the remains of a pavilion littering the space, old crumbling columns and blocks of stone. Luke turned and set the lantern down on one of the larger rocks, setting it at about waist height.

“Believe me, I do,” Luke continued, before turning around to face Percy with a frown, shaking his head, “but prophecies? Those things are so vague,” he huffed, dismissing it in an instant.

The light illuminated only one side of Luke’s face in the purple twilight, his scar shining an angry red against the rest of his skin. His eyes looked so black in the dark, almost stony and soulless. Percy frowned, shaking his own head.

“The quest is over, and everything the Oracle said has either come true or makes sense,” he responded. Luke was quiet for a second, and Percy could almost see his face become sterner, his eyes darker.

“Has it?” Percy leaned forward a little, as if desperate to convince Luke.

“‘You shall go west and face the God who has turned’.” Luke nodded slowly, glancing up then back down.

“Ares, okay,” he nodded to the side, as if he was convinced just a little.

“‘Find what was stolen and see it returned’,” Percy continued, and Luke nodded again.

“Clearly the bolt.”

A frown began pinching Percy’s features as he stared at Luke.

“‘And you shall be betrayed… by one who calls you a friend.” The fireworks flashed red and pink in the sky, painting the gaps in the trees and surrounding them in a myriad of shadows and beams of light.

Luke gulped as Percy watched him, both of their bodies still as wires pulled taut. He could almost see the realisation settle behind Percy’s eyes, his own suddenly shiny with a film of tears.

“Well, the reason Clarisse is still here is because…” Percy’s voice became scratchy, low, “you never said anything to Chiron about her. Did you?”

Luke shook his head a little, one nudge to the side, then again, before a small, almost sheepish, smile played on his lips. HIs eyes were so glossy, Percy couldn’t help but notice how shiny they had become.

“You couldn’t…” Luke stepped closer, slow and just barely, but Percy continued glaring into his eyes.

“Because you knew Clarisse didn’t steal the bolt,” the pieces were falling perfectly together in Percy’s mind. His eyes were wide and pained, a soft crease appearing between his brows as he stared at Luke. “You did.”

Luke could only continue staring at Percy, jaw slightly clenched and eyes like two black pits in his head. The fireworks shined orange and red, bathing one half of his face in the light.

“You worked with Ares to plant it on me, so when the shoes you gave me pulled me down into Tartarus, the bolt would be delivered right to Kronos.” Percy could see everything now, could see how easily everything had played out without him having even an inkling that anything was wrong. He focused his eyes again, looking directly at Luke.

Luke gulped, a quick movement at his throat as his eyes became even shinier, a quivering line of tears settled just above his lower lashes. His lips trembled as he spoke.

“I didn’t think you’d give ‘em to Grover to wear…” his head shook, a twitch to the left, as if something inside him wanted to deny, but it was too late.

Percy’s eyes widened, as if he still hadn’t believed it until the words left Luke’s mouth. His lips fell open, hands trembling and he took a sharp breath in.

“I am your friend,” Luke said firmly, as if he was stamping each word into stone. “Percy, none of this was meant to betray you.” He added quickly, shaking his head as he watched Percy sway back and forth, as if he was about to fall over. He blinked quickly but kept his eyes on Percy. “The gods are my enemy,” Luke added firmly, leaning in a little closer. “You…” and Luke walked closer now, ignoring the way Percy’s chest heaved and his eyes darted all over his face, his lip twitching as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t. “I’m here to recruit,” Luke nodded with his words.

Percy could only frown, his head tilting in confusion, but his eyes stayed open, wide and glossy and trained right on Luke.

“Recruit?” Luke nodded in response before turning slightly away from Percy. He seemed to pull something out of his pocket, but Percy could neither see his face nor his hand. Then there was a soft ‘schwing’ sound, the same sound Riptide made when he uncapped it, and a long curved blade appeared in Luke’s hand. It was pure instinct that had Percy pulling Riptide out, the blade appearing to life in his hands as he held it up.

“Easy,” Luke placated, raising his free hand. “I don’t wanna fight,” he put his palm out to Percy before bringing his attention to the sword in his hand. “This is what I wanted to show you.”

Percy couldn’t stop staring at Luke’s face. He couldn’t decide if the boy looked manic and crazed, or if it was the same Luke he had always known. His eyes were open and bright, his posture relaxed and calming. Percy gripped Riptide tighter as he glanced between the sword and the boy.

Luke stepped closer again as he brought the sword toward Percy. “This… is our way out.” Luke looked at Percy as if he had introduced him to exactly what he had been looking for, as if he had suddenly answered all of Percy’s questions, that almost smug look he got every time Percy agreed with him about the faults of the gods before Percy had set out on his quest.

Percy glanced between the sword and Luke, frowning as he bent a little lower, farther from the sword and keeping his knees ready to lunge.

“Way out of what?” he asked quickly, face pinched in disbelief and confusion.

Instead of answering, Luke clenched his jaw and turned away. Percy didn’t relent though, and simply watched him from his slightly crouched position as he lifted the sword and said ‘camp’ before carving a line into an old stone pillar. A bright blue line appeared where he wanted and dragged down with the tip of the sword before appearing in the air near the column, as if Luke was cutting the world. A thrumming sound appeared from the slash and it began to billow like fabric in a strong wind, as if being pulled in slightly by whatever existed on the other side. “And their control,” Luke spat, turning around to face Percy as he backed away just a step, his entire body shaking as Luke almost frowned in disgust.

“Backbiter can open secret doors,” Luke explained, “we can stay on the run as long as it takes.” He was rushed now, almost manic as he moved closer to Percy again, holding the sword aloft beside him.

“Stop saying ‘we’,” Percy rushed out, backing away from Luke as he glanced between the portal, the sword, and the boy he once thought he knew.

“It’s the word Zeus fears the most,” Luke responded, shaking his head as if he was annoyed that Percy wasn’t understanding everything he had been trying to show him. “The gods want us to fight for them, worship them, fear them. And they couldn’t care less what we want.” Luke’s eyes were almost pleading. “They’re bad parents, Percy.” He paused, standing up straight until he had to look slightly down to meet Percy’s eyes, his jaw clenching before he spoke. “And they’ve gotten away with it for far too long.” But Percy was done listening, shaking his head as he ground his teeth.

“No, no, this isn’t you!” He yelled at Luke, pointing at him with his free hand, his eyes filling with tears. “This is Kronos. He got to you.” But Luke was already shaking his head, eyes widening, ready to respond.

“No, he opened my eyes to the truth.” Percy pressed his lips together, something like a sob suddenly pressing against the back of his throat. Luke stared at him for another moment before turning away. He looked back and began carving another line down the dilapidated pillar, another identical slash appearing in the air, the same bright blue light spilling out. “A golden age. That’s what they called it when he ruled,” Luke turned back to Percy, a half-smile on his lips, as if he could see the vision before him. “We’re gonna help Kronos bring the Golden Age back.” Luke’s eyes were wild now as he moved closer to Percy.

“Stealing the bolt and the helm was easy. I wasn’t the first one to do it. At least that’s one thing my dad did do for me. For what comes next…” and he looked right into Percy’s eyes, blue and brown clashing in the yellow light of the lamp. “We’re gonna need all the help we can get.” As Luke turned back to begin carving the rest of the door, Percy whirled around and used Riptide to parry Backbiter away. The sound of the swords clashing echoed in the woods and Luke backed away a little from where Percy now stood just in front of the unfinished portal. He brought Backbiter down a little and stared at Percy and Riptide with wide incredulous eyes.

“Our parents aren’t perfect,” Percy huffed out, and he could almost see your’s and Poseidon’s faces flash across his eyes, smiling down at him with tears streaming. He could feel your arms pulling him close, wrapping around him as if to cocoon him from the world, Poseidon’s hand gently gripping the back of his neck and ruffling his hair. “But they’re trying their best,” he huffed out, continuing to point Riptide right at Luke. He could see the anger begin to rise in the son of Hermes as he lifted his own blade to point back at Percy. It was longer, more menacing, but Percy simply ignored it, continuing to look right at Luke’s face.

“I met your dad, he-” but that was the wrong thing to say. Luke’s face contorted in rage, and he shook his head before slashing at Percy. He used his free hand to shove at Percy’s chest before rearing back and swiping at him, but Percy was quick. They clashed swords, swiping back and forth, dodging and jabbing, before Luke managed to parry an attack and grab Percy’s wrist, pointing Backbiter at his chest. Percy stared up at Luke, panting and trembling. An almost smirk tugged at the older boy’s face.

“You did get better,” he commended, and Percy yanked his wrist back, slashing at Luke again. Luke spun with the motion and slashed another line across the two he had already drawn for the portal. Percy shoved him back but he could hear the portal opening, pointing his sword at Luke’s head as he glanced back at the shimmer, the very fabric of the world billowing in front of him. Luke capitalised on the boy’s distraction and slashed at Riptide, leaping forward and kicking Percy in the chest so he stumbled back against the stone column. Percy pressed himself against it, cowering away from Luke as he pointed Backbiter at his chest.

“Last chance,” Luke spat, moving closer. Percy glanced back, slowly moving himself around the column that seemed to thrum with the lines Luke had drawn on it. Instead of answering, he used it to push himself forward, launching himself at Luke and shoving him across his middle.

Percy threw himself into the fight, slashing and jabbing, moving Luke backward and further away from the portal and into the trees. He rolled across the ground and slashed at Luke’s stomach. The older demigod groaned, curling forward and clutching at his stomach as he stumbled back.

“I’m sorry,” Percy quickly breathed out, reaching out a hand as Luke slowly straightened and began turning back to face him. “I didn’t mean to-” but Luke lashed out, swiping upwards with his sword and catching Percy along his arm, sending the son of Poseidon sprawling on the forest floor. Percy landed with a thud and Luke stared down at him, both of them panting heavily. Percy turned onto his back, clutching his arm as he scrambled back a little, staring up at Luke in a mix of anger and trepidation.

Luke took slow steps to come stand over Percy. He no longer spoke, simply looked down at Percy with a disdain he had never seen before, a deep-seated anger, resentment, and revulsion he had only seen in the monsters he had faced along his journey. Luke raised Backbiter, face trembling as he glared down at Percy. Just as he was about to bring the sword down, twigs cracked underfoot and a dagger came rushing at his face. It was pure instinct that had Luke deflecting it away, stumbling back as he followed the dagger’s trajectory. He glanced between where the dagger landed, Percy, and a spot in the woods that began to shimmer only to reveal Annabeth staring at him with pure shock and dismay.

“Annabeth?” He was trembling now as he watched the girl pull a sword from the scabbard at her waist and point it at him.

“I heard everything,” she breathed out, watching him with eyes made of stone, not a trace of the love and familiarity she had once offered him. Luke stared back at her like a betrayed dog, his brown eyes soft and pained. He gulped, glancing down at Percy who was still on the forest floor clutching his arm, frowning as he frantically gazed between Annabeth and Luke.

Luke looked between them again and again, a frantic back and forth before he finally gripped tightly to Backbiter. Annabeth readied herself, Percy curled a little further around his injured arm, but Luke simply sprinted for the portal he had created and jumped through.

You clutched Percy close to your chest, your entire body trembling. The magic flowed from your hands and into his skin without your awareness, healing his cuts and bruises as he held you tightly in return. You cried into his hair, your tears dripping gently against his scalp as he closed his eyes and inhaled your scent.

The others in the room whispered amongst themselves at the table. Though they had already become aware of Kronos’s involvement, the knowledge that Luke - and most likely not just Luke - had been pulled into the conflict changed a lot. Poseidon glanced over at you two occasionally, allowing you to process your fear with your son. Mr. D, Chiron, and Annabeth frowned as they discussed what this could mean for the rest of camp.

You slowly pulled away from Percy, pressing your thumbs to his cheeks and cupping his face. You looked him all over, making sure your magic had done its job before wiping your own tears. Percy led you back over to the table where Poseidon wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in close. He pressed his forehead to your temple and you breathed in his scent of salty air, allowing it to calm your heart. You gently reached up and ran your fingers through the hair above his ear, pressing your lips to his bearded cheek and sighing softly against his face.

“I love you,” you whispered, just barely a movement of your lips against his face. He leaned a little farther down and pressed his mouth to the shell of your ear.

“I love you too,” he whispered in return, and you allowed yourself the smallest smile before Percy cleared his throat and called everyone’s attention.

“There’s one thing that Luke said that I still don’t get,” he frowned, looking between you and Poseidon. “He said he wasn’t the first to steal the bolt - we all know that - but he said… he said ‘at least that’s one thing my dad did do for me.’ What did he mean by that?”

You turned to look at Poseidon, a frown pulling the corners of your lips down. But your husband’s face had turned stormy, his brows pulled down and his jaw clenched. You could almost see his brother’s lightning flashing in his eyes. You could see the ferocity that created the storms, the power that made the waves rise and crash.

“He means it was Hermes who stole the master bolt the first time,” Poseidon growled out. You pulled away from him, eyes widening and breath catching in your throat.

“What? No!” You shook your head, holding your hands up in disbelief. “No, how could you possibly think that?”

“It makes sense. It has made sense from the beginning. I have suspected him for some time, and this only confirms it.”

“Poseidon, no. He was… he was my friend. He would not do that,” your eyes became teary as you thought about your time on Olympus, how kind Hermes had been. “No…” you whispered, shaking your head, Poseidon simply sighed.

“He may have pretended to be your friend but not without other motives. He wished to court you, to bed you, and he was angry that I got you to love me first. He is mischievous and vengeful. Zeus would leave his lightning bolt lying around all the time before, and with his winged shoes it would have been easy to sneak in and steal them. He had the means, the motive, the opportunity…”

Everyone could see that Poseidon was raging. The waters of the lake were unsettled outside, sudden waves crashing against the sandy shores, frothing and foaming, scaring the campers who began retreating their celebrations from the beach.

“That explains why the bolt was returned only days later,” you whispered, clenching your eyes shut as you pressed your hands to your face. Your back ached as if he had actually stabbed you through it.

“A guilty conscience, perhaps,” Poseidon bit out. He clenched his hands on the back of the chair just in front of him and the wood cracked beneath his palms. He pulled it away and tossed it to the floor, rubbing a palm across his mouth and beard before moving closer to you and gently grasping your wrists. He brought your hands away from your face and looked you right in the eyes.

“He must have told Luke about it at some point,” Percy mumbled, biting at his lips as he frowned and tried to think through the situation.

“He must have thought it would be a way to get Luke to talk to him. And I bet Luke finally seemed interested in talking to him when Hermes began telling the story,” Annabeth added, glaring at the table as if it had personally offended her.

“I am going to Olympus,” Poseidon announced, his cheeks beginning to turn red with his anger. The lights flickered for a moment and you quickly grasped his arms before he could move too far from you. Chiron and Mr. D looked fearfully at him, eyes wide and mouths trembling. “The punishment of Prometheus will be a blessing compared to what I will do to that sniveling little ra-”

“You will do no such thing.” You lifted your head and glared at your husband with eyes made of stone. He clenched his jaw, readying to argue, but you simply shook your head and silenced him. “You have only just narrowly avoided a war with your brother, a war that would have been an unnecessary distraction from the true battle at hand.”

“So you mean to forgive him?!” Poseidon snapped, though he did not move out of the clutch of your arms. You shook your head sharply, grasping onto him tighter and pulling him a fraction closer.

“No, I do not mean to forgive him for this betrayal. But I also know that this is not the right time to seek punishment, especially at your own hands. He is your nephew, Zeus’s son. The same Zeus who was ready to smite you and your child not a moment ago. Let us handle the problem of Kronos first, rebuild your relationship with Zeus even just a fraction, then you may seek whatever punishment you desire. You may even be able to have that vile brother of yours on your side for it.”

The two demigods and camp leaders watched your interaction with baited breath. They watched Poseidon almost melt in your arms, allowing you to snuggle into the clutch of his arms and gently hug him to soothe him. They watched him huff and grumble quietly against your ear but ultimately wrap himself around you as you gently whispered in return. They could not hear what else you were saying to each other, but they were certain you had managed to talk the god of the sea down from his instant desire for justice.

The two of you pulled away from each other and went back to the table, ready to discuss the next steps with everyone.

That evening was the final night of the summer for the children who would be returning to their homes for the next school year. You sent Percy and Annabeth to bed, pressing soft kisses to both their heads before walking back to the lakeshore where your husband stood in the shadows of the night.

You paused just before the beach started and watched him. He was staring off over the black water, at the ripples in the breeze and the movement of light from the Big House. His arms were crossed over his chest and his feet were bare, slightly dug into the sand as if he was slowly sinking into it and one day would disappear beneath the surface. His linen trousers were wrinkled, his blue shirt rumpled, and even his beard was getting a little longer and looked scraggly. His hair looked smooth and soft but was a bit messy where it sat against the nape of his neck and you smiled. He looked so soft. He looked so gentle. He looked like he loved with all his heart.

You finally moved forward, your dress billowing around your legs and the breeze brushing over your bare arms, ruffling through your hair as it waved behind your shoulders. You gently touched his arm and he dropped them both open, waiting for you to snuggle yourself against his chest before wrapping them tightly around you. You pressed your left cheek to his chest, listening to his heart thud against your ear. You breathed in the scent of freshly washed clothes and bright sea air, feeling the way his entire body seemed to emanate a warmth that touched your skin like a million gentle caresses. You let out a sigh, closing your eyes and wrapping your arms around his torso, gently running one of your hands up and down his spine.

“To feel you in my arms again…” he began, a soft whisper against your hair, “this is what true magic feels like. Not even Aphrodite could conjure a love so pure.” You smiled, a soft breathy chuckle falling from your lips.

“Careful she does not hear you say such a thing or you may have to fend off a revenge plot before creating your own.” He chuckled, shaking his head and rubbing his lips back and forth over the top of your head.

“I hope they can allow me a few moments of peace with my beloved after so long,” he sighed.

“What is twelve years in the grand scheme of existence?” You responded, though it sounded more sarcastic than sincere.

“Twelve years, twelve seconds, twelve millenia, each is as painful as the other. To be parted from you in any way, for any morsel of time is wrong.” He sounded so sure, his voice firm with conviction. You chuckled again but did nothing to rebuff his words. Though they may sound silly to any other god, they were the truest words ever spoken. You had felt the thoughts keenly in all the time you had been away.

The two of you were silent for a little while, just listening to the waves gently lap at the shore, the rustle of sand and the distant crackle of fire from the sconces all over the Camp. You could even hear the gentle tinkle of the chandelier inside the observatory and the stamping of the pegasi hooves in the stables on the other side of camp.

You gently pulled away from Poseidon, just a smidgen so you could turn to face him fully. You pressed your stomach to his and leaned back so he could look down into your eyes. He smiled, the small little smile of his any time he met your eyes as if it was a blessing to simply be able to look upon you, and you gently cupped his cheek, rubbing his beard.

“We may have to be parted over and over as this war heads our way,” you informed him, as if he didn’t already know. He closed his eyes and nodded, pressing his lips tightly together.

“I know,” he sighed.

“But never again will we be separated without knowing exactly when we shall see each other again,” you added firmly. “I will not allow it. From this day forth, we will only be separated if we know the exact moment we shall return to each other.” He smiled at your conviction and nodded along, reaching up and caressing your cheek, cupping the back of your neck so your ear sat perfectly in the crease between his thumb and forefinger. He swiped his thumb back and forth over your cheek and simply marvelled at you.

“We have a long journey ahead, but it is all worth it with you by my side.” And then he leaned down and kissed you.

You waited at the boundary of Camp Half-Blood for Percy. The sun was shining brightly across the land, the sky a perfect blue, the leaves crisp and green, the grass swaying in the softest breeze. You gently rested your hand against the tree that was once Thalia and sent a soft pulse of energy toward it. You felt the bark of the tree pulse in return and you smiled, stroking the rough wood once more before venturing away from it. You walked along the perimeter for a while, breathing in the fresh air and stretching your limbs.

You had quickly realised how truly ungrateful the gods were. Being able to move whichever way you wanted, to possess a power that gave you endless possibilities… you had only now begun to appreciate it the way it deserved after tasting the hell that existed without it. You had grown a further appreciation for humans as well, how strong they must be to live so solidly for their entire lives, unknowing of the pleasure of existing without… existing.

You realised you had strolled for longer than you had intended and turned to begin the march back to Thalia’s tree. From a distance you noticed Annabeth standing there, gently touching the tree as you had done before Percy came ambling up to her. They smiled at each other and began to speak. You paused where you were, bending to sit in the grass a moment as you allowed them to talk without your presence. You felt the blades swish softly under your palms as you watched the small smiles they offered each other before Grover came rushing up to them. He pulled open his jacket and you smiled as you saw the flower pinned to his jumper. You would congratulate him for it later.

You watched the three of them jump and hug each other, clutching tightly and swaying side to side for a moment. You laughed softly before standing from your spot and walking toward them once more. You were so proud of your little trio.

As you came within hearing distance, the three of them pulled away and turned to look at you. You walked over and gently pet both Annabeth and Grover on the tops of their heads before standing beside Percy and dropping a kiss to the top of his head.

“How are my little demigods faring this morning?” You asked quietly, gently ruffling the curls on the back of Percy’s head. He squinted in feigned frustration but didn’t stop you.

“We’re alright, ma’am,” Annabeth and Grover chimed quickly, trying not to look at you for too long lest they expose their awe. You simply chuckled and nodded as your husband appeared on Percy’s other side in a flash of light. He dropped a hand to Percy’s shoulder and looked between the two of you.

“Alright, is everyone ready to return to New York?” You asked, and they all exclaimed little ‘yeah!’s. You dropped your head to look at Percy and found him already looking up at you. His big blue eyes were shiny and he squinted lightly in the sun but he was smiling, bright and open. You gently nudged him under the chin then nodded. “Let’s go see Aunt Sally, then.”

BONUS SCENE:

“Alright, let’s try one more time,” you encouraged clasping your hands together in front of you.

It had just hit twelve in the afternoon on a Saturday. You had whisked Percy and Sally away to Poseidon’s palace for a family weekend. While Poseidon was off solving a dispute between some particularly vicious seeming Nereids and Sally was taking a well-deserved nap, you and Percy had agreed to attempt to jumpstart the godly powers he would have inherited from you. Thus far you had been mostly unsuccessful, but you had started to see some progress in the last ten minutes.

“Why don’t you try thinking of an animal? What’s an animal that you think would represent you well if you were ever to send a signal to someone?” You asked, crossing your legs under you and smoothing out a wrinkle in the jeans you had begun to wear.

“Um, I don’t know?” He shrugged, brows furrowing as he concentrated. “A seahorse?”

“Yes! That is a good place to start,” you clapped your hands together, smiling brightly at him. “Picture a seahorse in as much detail as you can, or in whichever way you like really. Accuracy is not essential but try to make the image you conjure as detailed as possible, then… will it into existence.”

Percy closed his eyes, clenched his jaw and his brows became so furrowed you were worried he would hurt himself for a moment. For a moment nothing happened, and he began to mumble the word ‘seahorse’ over and over again. You pressed your hand to your mouth to hide your smile, watching his lips move over the word again and again.

Then, when you could tell he was starting to lose his patience, there was a flash just in front of you and a tiny seahorse appeared. It was just about the size of your palm and seemed to glow from within. It was blazing electric blue and looked as if it was made up of razor sharp edges. Then it burst into a cloud of shimmer that dissolved into the surrounding water. You leapt towards Percy, pressing obnoxious kisses all over his face and head as you yelled in triumph.

“Look at you! I’m so proud of you Perseus!” He cringed as you yelled by his ear and patted you lightly on the back.

“Ok, I know I can breathe underwater but can you let go, Mom? I’m kinda suffocating,” he wheezed out. You instantly let him go and moved back, pressing a hand to your mouth as you muttered little apologies. But when you looked back up at him, your eyes widened once more.

“Oh Valhalla,” you exhaled, staring directly at his head.

“What?” Percy frowned, trying to look up but seeing nothing. He reached up and swiped at his forehead but there was nothing there. As he moved his hand back down, a lock of his hair fell into his eye and he blinked rapidly. He quickly plucked at it, pulling it lower so he could see it more clearly. “You’re joking…”

You snapped your fingers and a mirror appeared in the palm of your hand. You handed it to him as you began to laugh, leaning back on the sofa as your stomach convulsed with each giggle. You leaned forward again, gently touching his hair and smoothing it out so you could see the roots.

“Please tell me this was you and not me,” Percy breathed out, trying not to hyperventilate.

“I did nothing,” you wheezed out, staring at the blazing blue mop of curls that now sat on his head. In every other way it was his hair exactly as it had been before, except now it was as electric blue as your own, as the seahorse had been.

“What the fu-”

“Perseus!” You exclaimed, glaring at him for a moment before he raised his hands in surrender.

“Sorry,” he grumbled, continuing to stare at it. “But how do I change it back?!”

You simply doubled over laughing.

BONUS SCENE 2:

Clarisse sat outside of the Ares cabin sharpening her collection of daggers. Though the day was bright and beautiful (as it always was at Camp), her countenance was thunderous and even her siblings avoided where she sat near the entrance of the Cabin.

A pair of children of Apollo were slowly strolling by as Clarisse was pulling out her next dagger and she caught a snippet of their conversation.

“I heard that she beat Ares in…” Clarisse’s head snapped up and before the two kids could even utter their next words a celestial bronze dagger came flying past their heads, sticking into the nearest tree trunk. The two girls jumped, clutching their hands to their chests as they shrieked and turned to face Clarisse storming toward them. The girl reached over and yanked the dagger out of the tree before pointing it at the pair.

“What were you talking about?” She spat, her eyes blazing.

“What?” The girl on the left uttered, her entire body shaking.

“I SAID, what were you talking about?” Clarisse yelled, thrusting the dagger closer until it touched the tip of her nose. The girl on the right whimpered and her eyes filled with tears.

“We were talking about Y/n! Percy’s mother!” She replied, her voice so high-pitched and shaky that it was a miracle Clarisse understood her in the first place.

“What about her?” Clarisse growled, unrelenting.

“We were told a story about the first time the Norse Gods went to Olympus,” the girl on the right cut in, her eyes clenched shut and her hands clasped together tightly, as if begging Clarisse for mercy. “They said she beat Ares in single combat, and he lost badly.”

Clarisse ground her teeth together, her jaw popping as her eyes seemed to fill with flames. She pulled back from the two girls and slowly pointed to all the demigods that had gathered to watch the commotion.

“If another one of you tells this lie again, I will personally make your life such a hell that you will WISH Hades had taken you already,” she spat, glaring so fiercely that one of the younger campers began to whimper and sob.

“It is not a lie,” came a firm voice from behind Clarisse. The girl froze, spine suddenly ramrod straight. Everyone around her was now looking behind her, mouths dropping open in awe and eyes widening in succession. Clarisse gulped, hands suddenly trembling. She could feel the power pressing against her back, daring her to turn and face… you.

You looked down at the girl without a smile on your face, your eyes hard as stone. You were ethereal, your hair blowing in a phantom breeze and your dress settling perfectly around you. A belt kept a scabbard at your side, so dark and black that it seemed to suck the light in. A blade that inspired a fear in Clarisse like none other had. She tore her eyes away from it before more terror settled in her bones. She gulped again.

“It is not a lie that these children tell, Daughter of Ares. Next time you meet with him, I would suggest asking him how those events played out. Or even any other god that was a witness on the day,” you smirked, a small self-assured smile, and Clarisse nodded, too fearful to even speak. Then you met her eyes properly and smiled again, this time it was sweet, gentle and motherly. You reached out and gently pushed some of her hair over shoulder so it didn’t fall in her face. “Don’t be so scared, Daughter of Ares, I can see that you are a good fighter, and under all the anger there is a loving heart. Do not fret,” and then you gently caressed her hair once more and walked past her, saying hello to all the demigods you passed.

Clarisse stood there, stunned. She gently reached up and touched the part of her hair that you had, thinking about the sword that dangled from your belt. And as she went back to polishing her daggers, she suddenly felt giddy at the thought of you approving of her.

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