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norikuna · 2 months ago

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SALVATORE — jujutsu kaisen x reader minors dni

prologue. → going on summer vacations with the jjk men and things get a little...hotter?

pairings. satoru gojo x afab!reader / suguru geto x afab!reader / nanami kento x afab!reader / choso kamo x afab!reader / ryomen sukuna x afab!reader / toji fushiguro x afab!reader

warnings+. non-sorcerer/jujutsu au, from the back, exhíbitíonism, mild food play, ríding, máting press, creámpíe, against the wall, oral (f. receiving), fíngeríng, hey even in a cave! reader is called good girl, princess, baby, darling, my love.

word count. 4.1k! song inspiration. salvatore — lana del rey

a/n. update #1 writing this fic had me looking up shit on wikipedia pages abt cities around the world, had me checking meteorology maps...tried to choose cities i've been to but i was still racking my brains. update #2 btw whenever i write smut like this i'm filled with outstanding self awareness and minor shame but thats the fun of it 😭 this is day no.3 of me trying to rewrite this all from scratch update #3 day 4! fawkkkk i wanna go on holiday too now. lmao if i was in the sukuna one, i would have been mad as hell, istanbul is stunning <3

mp3. everything looks better from above my king, like aqua marine, ocean's blue

TOJI FUSHIGURO — all the lights in miami begin to gleam 📍 miami, america

"o-oh, fuck. think she's really tellin' me to keep going like this, don'tcha think?"

your boyfriend is mean when he's like this. sharp, jade eyes narrowed as they take in the sight of your puffy folds swallowing him up over and over as he's stuffing himself into your sticky walls. and if you turn your head away, from where you're smashed against the pillow, you can see the floor-to-wall ceilings of the high-rise penthouse that offers an uninterrupted view of miami's glittering skyline.

"how - how, did you even get this place, hah, toji?" it's a wonder you can even get a coherent sentence out right now, your guts are practically being stuffed with inches of your boyfriend's veiny cock, and it's leaving you, well, delirious.

but with humble credit and thanks to what you can assume is your own nasty grip, toji's not faring much better either. his brawny frame is practically shuddering, and while you can't see his face in this position, you're certain that a sharp canine has sunk into his lip, and his breath is coming out in hulking groans.

"heh, you're n-not meant to ask questions like that, princess? gotta, ohhh, gotta keep some business s-secrets up my sleeve, huh?" and he's practically a beast right now, handling you on all fours of this king-sized bed, draped in silk sheets the colour of red wine, "just a reward for a-, haah, a job well done."

any job well done from toji was most likely something illegal, but you can't even bring yourself to care, not when there's a bucket of chilled champagne on the glass table to your left, and certainly not when his fat cock is smearing right through you, leaving a coil in your abdomen that only he can unravel.

you whine, feeling the fat tip of his cock practically rummage and make a home in your cunt, "toji, wan' more," and you're pushing the plush of your ass against his pumping hips, and you hear his sharp intake of breath.

a rough hand has snaked underneath you, creating a small gap between you and the bunched-up fabric on the bed, and his callous fingertips are now circling sloppy, messy circles over your clit, leaving you bucking in his hold.

"n-now, stay still, princess. not done with you yet."

SUGURU GETO — ciao, amore. soft ice-creams. 📍 amalfi coast, italy

you're not sure how long you've been trembling under suguru's mouth, but it must have been an eternity under the ministrations of his tongue.

the sun has been blazing high, casting a golden glow over this part of the private beach, hidden away from the towns bustling with tourists like yourselves who had descended upon the coast for the summer.

soft waves lapped in ebbing waves, the rhythm breaking the perfect stillness of the afternoon, in this wooden cabana, separated from the terracotta villas.

and no, your mind was nowhere near admiring the turquoise waters of the ocean, but rather your lover's mouth practically exploring every inch of your cunt like this.

the tapered tip of his tongue had long been probing around your fluttering pussy, taking in every last drop of your pearlescent luster that was practically dripping over his chin.

not to mention the absolutely sticky and languid trails of melting ice-cream, each biting cream drop that fell on your hot swollen folds getting promptly cleaned up by the one who was enjoying this sweet game.

"shhh! don't wanna get kicked off this beach, do ya, pretty?"

and suguru looks positively devious, his violet eyes gleaming with crude intent. his black hair is a tangled mess, long locks falling victim to your clawing nails that tumble carelessly over his bare back, kissed by the sun and glowing with a soft, rosy pink hue.

and when he smiles, the sunlight catches onto his lips, making the slick on his mouth sparkle and wink up at you.

"been - it's been an entire hour by now, can't you just let me cum," you huff, closing the plush of your thighs around his ears, boxing him in.

geto flashes you a mischievous grin, running a slow finger through your sopping folds, and lightly brushing over your entrance as you mewl again.

"where would the fun in that be, pretty?" he murmurs, "love seeing how wet this cunt gets for me, need to let me have my fun."

what a devil. clearly, getting under your skin is a sport for him.

you're hardly given a moment to breathe before he's jostling two thick digits right into the thick of it once more, in and out, in and then out, as his thumb find its home on the slope of your bare mound again.

"besides, we can take it slow for 'nother hour, can't we?" and now suguru's toying with your clit, and his teeth lean down to graze the swollen, throbbing bud, "gotta see just how much you can beg for me."

NANAMI KENTO — catch me if you can, working on my tan 📍 gold coast, australia

"w-wait, darling," nanami shudders under your touch, under your fresh set of nails raking small patterns over his neck, "anyone could just walk past here, y'know."

you curl your lip, before pressing your mouth in an open mouthed kiss to his stretched neck, warm and flushed.

you can feel the galloping thrum of his pulse beneath your lips, the heat almost intoxicating, mingling with the faint tang of the pool water's chlorine, and the scent of banksia and frangipanis in the air.

you can also feel his thick cock dragging through your walls, as you ram the weight of your hips over and over again. it seems like the shimmering skyline of surfer's paradise was just what nanami needed, after months of work, and you're determined to make the most of your time here.

he's got you bouncing practically like a ragdoll, heavy balls swinging up and smacking your skin in what little space remains between the two of you, and he's panting into your chest, "whatd'ya gonna do if someone sees?"

"mhm, don' care, no-one's here, nanami."

his broad arms loop around you in the pool chair, as you straddle the sizeable bulge that's making a tent in his briefs, "nasty, sometimes, aren'tcha?"

you smile, as your husband's large hands roam over your back, making you arch your back into his touch — as he deftly pulls at the tight knot holding your damp bikini top together.

"ah, don't get shy now. let me see these," and you can only nod hazily as he lets your tits spill out, and press up against his bare, chiselled torso, "wanted this so bad, just a minute ago, yeah?"

"s-still want this," and for good measure, you grind your hips down over his cock with even more pressure, feeling him jolt with a quiet 'fuck!' underneath you.

"haah, that's not fair, darling," and he's crashing his weeping, curved tip so far into you, that you're certain you're seeing stars on the saltwater horizon, "what happened to playing nice?"

you know you should be weary of the flicker of challenge that glints in his stern brown eyes, softened by the haze of your squelching cunt, "do y-your worst, otherwise what? can't keep up?"

a cocky smile curves over his mouth, and that's the wave of satisfaction you were looking for, hoping that he'd take the bait.

he leans further back in the pool chair, now with an arm wrapped lazily around your gyrating hips, but you can feel his grip tighten, stealing the humid air right out from under you, "we'll see who can't play nice when you're begging for my cock to fill you up."

CHOSO KAMO — all the lights are sparkling for you, it seems 📍santorini, greece

"hey, shh, shhh..."

choso's voice is a low rumble as he glides his thick, leaking tip down your slick core, and you shiver as the cool ocean breeze mixes with the warm slick gathering between your bodies, "w-wow, you're doing so good, handling it so well, my love."

you must have made a good choice, choosing this suite. one carved seamlessly into the tan-rock of one of the island's famous caves. and well, your sweet boyfriend has been fucking you so incredibly that you feel your eyes start to water, blear away from the pretty blue and terracotta accents on the mantelpiece.

his girthy cock sinking into you send shivers to your pussy that leave you fluttering and squeezing around him tighter, clenching around the veins as he sinks even deeper, so the thickened head is practically kissing your cervix, and filling you in ways you didn’t know were possible.

"d-does it feel good for you too, cho?” you gasp, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, fingers playing with the soft choppy strands that fall around his shoulders, "this...this is what you wanted, right, baby?"

the pale mauve of his lips curves into a faint smile, and despite the sharpness of his thrusts making a home in your gummy walls, there's a tenderness in his shadowed, hazel eyes as his palm glides down your torso, cupping your tits gently, "w-would go anywhere in the world, if it was with you."

and he's looking at you with such love that you just cannot help but believe him when he says, no, shudders out a "you're so beautiful."

the sound of the water lapping against the rocks below fills the room, mixing with your soft whimpers, as the slow roll of choso's hips leave your puffy folds weeping. the thick, throbbing head of his cock brushes against your g-spot, right there, and you moan, lost in the sensation.

"god, y-you’re so good at this," he breathes into your ear, his voice hoarse and strained, and suddenly far more shaky, "ah - could do this forever."

"w-will you?" you whisper, eyes fluttering as you lose yourself in what is surely ropes of stringy white cum painting you lovingly inside, "wan' feel you all the time, cho."

choso's misty, flushed gaze locks onto yours, filled with a heat that makes your heart race, and fireworks shoot through your abdomen, "think you're g-gonna be my wife someday, yeah?"

you bite your lip, a shy smile painting your face despite the way that he's practically jostling inch after inch into your pussy, pressing into you like a vice, "really mean t-that, cho?"

"ahh, 'course i do," he shudders, brushing a thumb down the swan-arch of your neck, "now, hold onto me."

RYOMEN SUKUNA — dying by the hand of a foreign man, happily 📍istanbul, turkey

"huhh, oh my god! you're an animal," you huff at your fiancé, who's currently sprawled on the plush bed underneath your straddling thighs, under the sheer curtains that billow softly in the warm breeze from the open latticework windows.

and right now, sukuna looks like a mess.

and it brings you a great deal of satisfaction to see your usually composed and aloof fiancé so undone and disheveled, as he grins up at you — the black markings on his face creasing with the movement.

his rosy-pink hair is a tangled heap, but you can't resist running your fingers through the short, tousled spikes.

and his lips, which have been marking you up consistently for the past ten minutes, gleam glossy and full, as his crimson eyes lock onto yours with the smug satisfaction of a cat who's gotten its way.

he'd barely waited a mere minute after the two of you had arrived back to your hostel's room, from a whirlwind tour of the sultanahmet district, before he had pounced on you, and had practically tore your long skirt off.

you don't quite think it's worth mentioning that you've been pawing equally at your boyfriend in the same time as well, pulling his thick and lengthy shaft out of the confines of his boxers, and swiping a thumb over the angrily-gleaming tip.

"d-didn't even take a second to think about all the places we just saw? the history lessons, and - sukuna, were you even listening?"

by now, you're fighting back heaving shivers at the way the pads of his calloused fingers run under your top.

"hah! yeah, yeah. history and all that," he murmurs, low and amused, but his focus is clearly elsewhere, his lips now resuming their previous task of snapping at your torso, letting pretty berry-red marks beam.

you roll your eyes, though a smile tugs at the corners of your own glossy mouth, "y-you're impossible," and you try not to squirm as his forefinger and thumb on each hand pinch at a nipple under your top, "don' even know why i bothered bring this...this camera around. the guide said that these sights were o-once, oh fuck, sukuna, get a grip, said the sights were once-in-a-lifetime b-breathtaking."

"breathtaking, huh?" sukuna shifts closer to you, scooting you further over his wide lap, and his voice has dropped to a low and sultry whisper that sends a shiver down your spine, and leaves you aching, "i think you're breathtaking. wan' explore this," and here, he snaps at the elastic band of your lace panties, "instead."

"and besides, i was listening," and now, he's patting his sculpted, exposed thighs behind the plush of your ass on him, "the guide said that this city straddles two continents."

he's emphasising his words with a deliberate tap, clearly hoping you'd catch the awful word-play.

"say something like that again, and i'm booking the next flight home."

"hah, so now you hate it when i am cultured."

by now, his two rough hands kneading at you has left you...airless. thick heat has been pooling in your core, and you just can't help but let out a soft whimper, "sukuna…only wanted y-you to focus."

he shakes his messy head, laughter rumbling deep in his chest, under thick pectoral muscles, "no can do, brat. you’re my focus now. done enough sightseeing outside today, wanna do something inside."

"you’re impossible!" but you gasp as he skims a thumb over your cloying, dewy clit, making you jolt.

you know he must be in a rare, mellowed mood because he breathes, "impossibly in love with you," and it's quiet, teasing as the heat of his breath ghosts over your skin, "now tell me how much you want this, and maybe i'll think about giving you a different type of lesson."

franky, by now you want nothing more than to be filled with heavy, hot inches that curl into you, sloshing their way to the most sensitive spot of all, and sukuna must see that on your face.

"i -," you begin, but the words falter as he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, and the weeping tip of his cock taps against the wet pool staining your underwear darkly translucent.

"just say it, brat. tell me how bad you want it, i'll even be nice this time," he urges, his voice a sultry purr, "just gon' give it to you as you ask, yeah?"

"wan' you in me, 'kuna," you finally admit, breathless, "i want you so much it hurts."

"good girl," he mutters, his eyes darkening with desire. "now you're getting the right idea."

you sigh, content, but then still your rocking hips suddenly, "but after this, we're still going out to the bazaar for dinner."

"for fuck's sake."

GOJO SATORU — like a boss, you sang jazz and blues 📍paris, france

you're not quite sure where exactly you should be training your ears, whether you should be listening to the sultry notes of a saxophone that wrap around the plush velvet booth where you and gojo are seated.

or the thick, clingy swish of his fingers practically bullying themselves in and out of your pussy. the air is thick with the scent of expensive cigars that make you wrinkle your nose, and fine whiskey (that makes gojo wrinkle his nose) and the sweet tang of your own slick, privately, just for the two of you.

your boyfriend sits close to you, his left hand tight on your waist, and the other working a fine instrument, bunching up underneath your ysl silk dress.

"baby, look at how your perfect cunt's talkin' to me," he's whispering, and you can hear the sheer glee in his voice, his breath hot against your ear.

meanwhile, your jaw is slack and you're doing your best to not meet his touch with a sultry, rhythmic grind of your own hips, but the knot is quickening and tightening within you.

but gojo just smiles, and you can see the blue in his eyes darken underneath his sunglasses that have slipped slightly down the slope of his nose, "but can't have everyone hearing this melody, can we? might think you were the main fuckin' attraction for the night and not -" he cocks his head to the quartet serenading the paris night sky, and the other patrons of this filthy wealthy club.

you just sink your teeth into your painted lip, suppressing a whine as he curls three fingers within you, reeling you entirely pliant and having you lean against his broad chest under his jacket, "b-but satoru, 'm getting close."

he's being awful, you think. and when he had pulled his hand out earlier, it had been entirely coated in a ribbon of your arousal, the slow syrup beginning to run down his slender digit, but he had parted his lips and let not a drop go to waste on his tongue.

the music is swelling, it's a jazzy crescendo that fills the air, and your gaze hazes and wonders, focusing on the open window where the eiffel tower stands ablaze in lights. soft gasps are escaping your lips, when gojo starts slamming his fingers up and up further, right up to his glossy knuckle, clearly searching for your g-spot.

and you are so glad that this booth is turned away from the rest of the club's patrons, for if they saw you, it would be no secret as to what exactly was going on underneath your gown.

"focus on me, love. just focus on how you're soaking me."

he's pressing his fingers impossibly deeper, stroking your walls in a way that make it impossible to think of anything else but him.

"gojo, please…" you breathed, struggling to keep your voice low, "what if someone sees?"

he laughs, pressing his mouth to your neck, and you know he's inhaling the new scent that you had picked up at the luxury flagship stores earlier, his treat.

"let them. paid good enough money to get in here," and now he's getting more insistent, practically ravishing your aching pussy now, "besides, they wanna say anything about it? i'll cut out their tongue."

"p-pretty sure that's, mmph, i'm sure that's i-illegal, 'toru."

"don't want your pretty head thinking about anything else right now, 'kay?" and god, it's one of life's greatest works, how he just knows how to work his magic like this, and the way that he's pinching, rolling and twirling his fingers has you convinced that the holy six-eyes technique, passed down in the sacred tradition of the gojo clan, is being put to nasty work.

sure enough, a little spark! there, and a bigger zap! against your clit practically confirms your suspicions, as does the unearthly glow you catch in gojo's wide eyes, and you can feel yourself hurtling towards a precipice, panting open-mouthed against him.

"dirty girl, you don’t want to make a scene, do you?" he says this like he was not the one who pulled you into this booth, and palmed his way up your slip-dress. like he's not the one who tore into your lace panties, and shoved them into his pocket.

"it feels so good, satoru,” you babble, barely able to contain yourself, as he scissors his fingers wide, nudging your walls apart, "i can’t — "

"then don't," he interrupted, his voice low and commanding, "just let it happen. i want to hear you, i wanna hear her too, but only if you can keep it down."

you nodded, breathless, watching as waiters in impeccable black-and-white attire glide between the tables, carrying trays of delicate hors d'oeuvres and glasses of dom pérignon.

"good girl," he murmured, his fingers curling just right, pushing you closer to that exquisite precipice, "now, be quiet and enjoy the moment."

just as he pinches your clit, you feel everything around fall away in shattering starfall. bolts of lightning shoot and splash through your lungs, stilling your heart, leaving your cunt pulsing with a life of its own, fluttering against satoru's fingers which still haven't stopped.

it's only then you realise that the band has stopped playing, and the other patrons of the clubs are leaning out of their seats, slapping their hands together in fervount applause.

but you can only stare, dazed and boneless from the remnants of an excellent fucking orgasm, as gojo leans in, just over the shell of your ear.

"how about we go back to the hotel room? wanna see an encore?"

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ihrthoney · 2 months ago

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[ typing this laying in bed forcing myself to sleep but my brain wants to write so headcanon format it is. ]

thinking about ak!jason who has no idea that after his ‘death’ that you went insane looking for him. but you were no detective, you weren’t in the police field, you were just jason todd’s girlfriend.

but you damn well did everything you could, from begging bruce, to sneaking into offices, looking for nightwing, anything.

you taught yourself to use a gun to search places alone. jason would scold you for doing such a thing for him but you didn’t care, not when you knew he was alive.

you didn’t know.. but your gut feeling told you he was. a body was never found, nothing. you refused to believe it.

“you didn’t find anything? no pieces of his suit? no blood? nothing!?” you screamed and cried at batman, desperate, grieving.

“i’ve looked-“

“no! you didn’t! because if you did look everywhere you would’ve found something! all this technology and you still couldn’t track the location?”

“it’s not that simple.”

“right, because you aren’t the greatest detective in the world”

you tried to distract yourself with work but it was no use, not when you came home opening the spare bedroom door to your mess of a room. papers everywhere, maps, pictures, you would’ve seemed insane to any normal person.

you were exhausted, too many dreams of him in front of you but that’s all it was. dreams.

one night, you felt someone push your hair behind your ear. instantly, like jason taught you, you grabbed the knife under your pillow and went to slash at the intruder but the knife made a thud as it hit the floor.

a hand, gently, wraps around your wrist.

you blink your eyes awake, taking in the person in your home.

jason.

no. it’s another dream.

“you’ve gotta be quicker than that, sweetheart.”

you don’t speak, still taking in what’s going on. the light from the moon just barley shows his face.

“hey don’t cry baby, it’s okay.”

you back away, unable to take another hallucination.

“no.. this isn’t real. you can’t be here. i haven’t found you yet.”

“i’m right here, baby.”

shaking your head, you back into the corner of your bed, making yourself as small as you can.

“no, i have to find him. i have to find jason!”

“look at me, sweet girl.”

you can’t tear your face from your arms, so he softly pulls your face up with both hands, wiping your tears,

“i’m right here. i’m not going anywhere ever again.”

the closer he is, the more you notice the difference in his features.

the j on his face, the scars, but his eyes,

his sweet beautiful eyes still look at you with love.

“i’m so sorry.” you give in, real or not, you hug him.

he hates it, after everything he’s been through he can’t take the affection. but for you? for you he’d do anything.

so he lets you cry into him, squeezing him tight, even if he can’t be the jason you loved, he holds you all the same.

sobbing into his chest, “i tried so hard to find you”

“i know you did sweetheart, i saw the room. but it wasn’t your job to find me.”

“don’t say that, you’re the love of my life. i would rather die than stop looking.”

“you did good.”

“i didn’t. you still had to find me.”

“i’d climb out of my grave and crawl back home to you, i’ll always find you.”

“please don’t let this be a dream.”

“i’m right here.”

he holds you until the sun rises, rocking back and forth slightly. he’ll tell you about it all later, for now, he just wants you close.

edit: i will be making this into a fic later ;p

#ᝰ honeywrites #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #arkham knight #arkham knight x reader #arkham knight x you

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months ago

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Know Your Place 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall, destroyer!Chris [for the purposes of this AU, I will give him the last name Jackson] (Professor AU)

Summary: after a life time of home schooling, you finally get to experience the real world in college. (petite reader)

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all.

The noise all around has you reeling. You’re not used to so many people. So many voices and smells and sights. The frantic action of it all reminds you of a mid-00s movie about a high school. The coeds are like animals milling about in groups with the odd single body rushing between with a mission stitched between their brows.

You sit with your thermos of tea and try to focus on your schedule. You have a campus map from the Student Support Centre next to it, trying to map out your route for each day. Momma said you should try to get ahead, figure out where you’re going. She’s always right.

You have two classes that day. As you find the buildings on the map, planting a finger on each, you find that they are on completely different ends of the campus. Of course. Well, momma didn’t know that where they would be, did she? She said you have to balance your load; if you’re going to be an English major, make sure you take some math and science for your electives.

You circle the two buildings and put lets beside them denoting which day you need to be there, numbering them in the order the classes occur. A burst of laughter breaks your concentration and you look around, trying to find the source. You almost miss the calm isolation of your childhood living room.

No, you’re grown now and you begged Momma to let you go to college. Not online, but in person. You even worked all summer at the deli so you could live in a dorm. She was proud but worried. She’s never been good at letting go. She’s already called three times today and it’s not even noon.

As the crowd blurs around you, a sudden gust blows over the table as someone sits across from you. You stare back at them with a gasp. They must’ve mistaken you for someone else. You blink as the man tugs on the front of his letterman jacket and smiles. He doesn’t seem mistaken.

“Hey,” he leans forward on an elbow, “you waitin’ for someone? Got some cute girlfriends on their way?”

He’s so forward, he has your brows as high as they can go and your cheeks are on fire. It’s not much of an introduction.

“Excuse me?” You eke out.

“Ah, I’m sorry, hon, I’m getting ahead of myself,” he smirks as he crosses both his arms on the table. “I’m Colin. You looked lonely.”

“Oh, uh, I’m just... figuring out my schedule,” you utter dumbly. Yor brain isn’t clicking. Why is he talking to you?

Your ears tweak and you notice a group in similar jackets, sitting just across the dining area, gabbing loudly, snickering. You wonder why he isn’t over there with them. You wiggle your pen anxiously.

“Ah, you’re not gonna give me a name for that pretty face?” He says.

“Huh?” Your brows drop, “what?”

Your momma’s voice echoes in your head. ‘Be careful of those college boys. They only want one thing.’ You didn’t believe her. They don’t want that from you. You were sure once you saw the other girls in their tight leggings and short tops.

“Your name, baby? Gotta be something sweet, huh?”

Your face ripples as you wade through surprise, confusion, then something else. You’re almost giddy. This man, with his mussed blond hair and bright blue eyes, and his chiseled features, is asking you your name. It’s flattering.

“Mauve,” you can’t help but smile as you answer.

“Oh, yeah? That’s pretty, well, Mauve,” he takes out his phone, “me and my buddies are having a party tonight and we’re supposed to find a hottie to bring with us. I’m having no luck but if I show up alone, well... I might not get to stay in the frat. You get it?”

You stare at him. You're confused. You don’t really understand frats and whatnot. They just seem like clubs people join so they can drink.

“You wanna do me a favour? Come with me?” He asks.

He’s bold. Bolder than any one you’ve ever met. You sputter but can’t come up with any words.

“Please,” he pouts, “promise, I won’t try anything, I just gotta get these guys off my back.”

He looks over his shoulder at the table of rowdy guys. You squirm in your seat, uncertain. You’ve never been to a party. Wow.

“Here, I’ll get your number,” he taps on his phone screen, “I’ll send you the details--”

“Leave her alone,” a grizzly voice undercuts the frat across from you.

A thick man stands behind him. He has a cardboard cup in his hand as he glares down at the coed. His burly figure is swathed in a dark green sweater and grey slacks. He’s older and his dark curls are threaded with subtle twinkles of silver.

“Huh? Who the hell are you?”

“Why don’t you show her those pictures you were snapping of her? The ones you and your pals were laughing about?” The other man growls.

You frown. What? You don’t understand what’s going on. You look from one to the other. The younger man sat across from your sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Fuck it. Whatever. Lots of pigs to go around,” he shakes his head and stands, facing the other man. “You know, bro, just cause you’re too old to get with any ass around here, doesn’t mean you gotta ruin it for others.”

“Get out of here,” the thicker man snarls. The other winces just slightly before puffing up his chest and stomping away.

You remain as you are, aghast and lost. The man with the dark curls looks at you. You shrug at him.

“I’m sorry, sir, did I do something wrong?” You ask.

The harsh angles of his scowl ease and he lets out a long breath, “uh, no, not you. That boy, you know, any one that wears one of those jackets, they’re no good. Just some advice.”

“Oh, right,” you look over at that guy, Colin, “sorry, I didn’t know. He just started talking to me. I was being polite.”

“Seem like a nice girl. Just tryna look out for you.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you chew your lip and sniff. “Are you... are you teacher?”

“I’m a professor,” he confirms as he holds his cup close to his chest. He's one of the biggest men you’ve ever seen. And his eyes are as blue as the ocean. “Professor Marshall but unless you’re a psych student, you can call me Walter.”

“Walter? My neighbour is Walter. At home. He’s eighty-one and he collects baseball cards,” you let yourself smile. You always felt more comfortable around older people. You never had many friends your own age.

“Don’t mind some baseball myself,” he dips his chin. “Well, you look out for yourself and avoid the Greeks.”

“Greeks?” You make a face.

“Fraternities,” he says. “And sororities, if you can help it.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you, sir,” you feel a little better. You think he’s right and he is a professor. He would know. “I’ll do that.”

“Sir? It’s Walter,” he corrects you.

“Oh, sorry, Walter,” you smile. “I’m Mauve.”

He nods and shifts his cup, “Mauve,” he repeats, “well, nice to meet you.”

“You too, sir, er, Walter. Thank you,” you say.

He hesitates then steps back on his heel, “yeah, no problem.”

He slowly retreats and you watch him, your heart playing like a drum. You did it. You spoke to strangers and you didn’t melt. Things are getting easier. If you could get through that, you’re sure you’ll make lots of friends in your classes.

#walter marshall #destroyer!chris #dark walter marshall #dark!walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #series #drabble #know your place #night hunter #destroyer #chris x reader #dark chris #dark!chris #au #professor au

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mothandpidgeon · 7 months ago

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ave atque vale (Marcus Acacius x f!reader)

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

rating: E 18+MDNI

summary: Marcus leaves without saying goodbye. Ave atque vale meaning hail and farewell

contents: angst, yearning, allusions to sex moth never uses y/n.

wc: 500

a/n: I'm breaking my own rule here about not writing for characters that aren't out yet but Daddius Acacius broke my brain yesterday. I hope you won't hold it against me. I am just a baby. Not beta'd.

The sleepy whimper that you make when Marcus slides out of the bed is enough to make him regret this. His resolve slips, just for a second, and he considers slotting himself back beside you. Holding you just a few minutes longer.

Dawn is just breaking, gray light filing in the shadows. There’s still enough time for a little more. You’re still slick from the night before. It would be easy to fit himself inside of you, feel your velvet grip around him, your soft shoulder against his lips. But waking you is the last thing he wants.

His cowardice got the better of him. He couldn’t bear to see you with tears in your eyes, knowing you had a thousand questions he couldn’t answer. This was his last chance to see you before he’s sent away and this time, he’s not so certain he’ll be coming back. There's nothing he can do to change his fate. Duty bound to the empire– to wage war, taste blood and ash.

He wanted to have you, to remember you just the way you always are. One night of bliss. If he’d told you where he was going, it would have ruined it all. So he didn’t.

He made love to you for hours, until you were both marked and sore. He held your face between his palms, pressed his cock deep inside you as if he could hide himself inside of you. His lips and hands mapped the planes of your body, memorizing every detail. The freckles on your skin, the sounds of your pleasure, the taste of your cunt. It wasn’t enough. He felt like he’d lost you and he hadn’t even left.

Marcus stands frozen at your side, watching your bare chest rise and fall in peaceful sleep. Your hand is stretched out across the place on the bed where he’s just been, the spot cooling beneath your touch. Thank the gods you haven’t sighed his name in that drowsy rasp. It would surely bring him to his knees.

He aches to kiss you. Just once more, something to remember in the dark days to come. A respite through pain and cold and horror. But if he kisses you the way he wants to, the way he needs to, you’ll become suspicious. And he might not be strong enough to stop. He’ll go on kissing you, abandoning it all to live between your legs.

Despite how much it pains him, he’s steadfast. The same strength that has won him countless victories in battle keeps him from putting his lips to yours. He gives you a few more moments of peace, lets you go on dreaming that your lover is beside you though when your eyes finally open, he’ll be gone.

He carefully pulls on his tunic and collects his armor, strewn about as you’d unlaced each piece and tossed it aside. Guilt twists in his gut as he lingers in the doorway. Your naked form glows in the weak light and he’s sneaking out like a thief in the night without even a goodbye.

You’ll hate him for it. But perhaps that will save you from mourning him.

Thanks for reading. Your comments are always appreciated!!

#marcus acacius #marcus acacius x f!reader #marcus acacius fic #gladiator 2 #gladiator 2 fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic

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veltana · 20 days ago

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I have this idea for a cnc scenario that I'll never turn into a fic, but I still need to get out of my system!

Warning! Below is NSFW content that contains consensual-non-consent with Steve Rogers. Don't read if it might trigger or upset you.

Steve slips on the night-vision goggles, and the world turns green. Adrenaline pumps in his veins and his cock is already hard. He's been watching you for weeks, cataloging your every move to find the perfect one to strike. And now it's time.

The air is warm, the forest smells damp, but this is the best place to catch you. The one thing you never stray from. There could be a hurricane inbound, and you'd still go for your evening walk. Sometimes you do it with friends, but this time you're alone, headphones on like always, listening to your favorite music.

There are streetlamps along the path, but the trees have long since covered them with their branches, diming the light. Perfect for Steve.

He takes a deep breath, centering himself. He doesn't want to hurt you, but when you struggle he's gonna have to hold on tight. Despite the green hue, you're still as beautiful as the first day Steve saw you. The day he knew he had to have you!

As you stroll past his hiding place he reaches out, quickly janking you from the path. His hand covers your mouth as he moves backward, the retreat mapped out in his brain.

You struggle, of course, screaming behind his hand. He thought about drugging you, but he wants to see you move, wants to hear your voice.

He chose a part of moss-covered ground that would be soft for you to lie on, but you rip it up with your hands as he puts you down, trying to move away from him. He pulls you back and rid you of your leggings, ripping them down the seam. Then he does the same to your underwear.

Despite the weeks of stalking, he's never seen you naked. He wanted to wait for it until this moment. To savor the experience! And you don't disappoint. It's a shame he has to have the goggles on, but he can't risk you seeing his face.

You're begging, sobbing, and it makes Steve so hard he's about to burst.

Your cunt is warm and tight as he pushes in, and even though he's been quiet up until now, there is no way he'll be able to hold in his moans when you're taking him so well.

You've stopped struggling, now only crying and words tumbling out in a mess, begging him to stop. Out of a pocket, Steve pulls a bullet vibrator. He wants you to love this as much as he does.

When he puts it against your clit, you cry out in pleasure and start writhing on the ground again. He feels your cunt pulse around him, pulling his orgasm close. But he needs you to finish first.

He told himself he wouldn't speak, but he struggles not to tell you how beautiful you look, how amazing you feel, and how good you're being for him.

Instead, he tells you "Come for me."

And you do.

Steve wishes he'd set up a camera too, so that he could watch the moment you come on his cock over and over again. You're as perfect as he knew you would be.

With a deep groan, he empties himself deep inside you, then collapses beside you. He pulls you on top of him to protect you from the cold forest floor and reaches up over his head to pull down the blanket he's hidden there.

He kisses the top of your head before realizing he still has the goggles on. He removes them and the world turns dark. It's almost night and he needs to get you out of here. Into some whole clothes and a warm bath.

He kisses you one more time.

"Baby, you did so good, but I need to move you. Don't want you to get too cold."

You hum in response.

Steve stands up with you still pressed against him.

"I love you," your hoarse voice says.

"I love you too," Steve responds with a smile.

#steve rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers imagine #veltana writes

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daddyfordaeddy · 5 months ago

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Smut starts under cut, please be aware

Pairings x f! human! Reader (separated by fic): Dragon! Yunho, Kitsune! Minho (SKZ), Werewolf! Seonghwa, Tentacle Monster! Joy, Vampire! Wooyoung and Incubus! Mingi, Shapeshifter! Jongho, Ghost! Miyeon

Word Count: 1.3k

Genre: Haunted house au, smut, porn without plot, supernatural au, E for Explicit, smut warnings under cut

Summary: Moving into a house that the realtor claimed was haunted brought you more pleasure than pain...literally.

Smut warnings (in order): Monster fucking, oral (f & m), dacryphilia, overstimulation (f), creampie, breeding kink, lactation kink, multiple penetration, aphrodisiac (implied consensual), threesome, biting, size kink, fingering (f),

There's a lot, so lmk if i missed any!

This is written for thirst week! You can find @flurrys-creativity masterlist, @sanjoongie masterlist, and @mingsolo masterlist! <3

This was supposed to be posted last week but i forgot lol x) hope you enjoy!

Yunho - Suckday

“Shit–” you moan, or at least try to around the giant, thick, and ridged cock slamming in and out of your mouth. When the realtor mentioned the house being haunted, this wasn’t what you imagined. Not that you were complaining. Sometimes it was nice to come home and empty your brain of all thoughts other than just letting yourself get fucked seven ways from Sunday.

The grip Yunho has on your hair provides a dull pain that you barely register, his sharp claws trailing down your scalp and sending tingles down your spine. “God, you’re swallowing me so fucking well,” he groans, a rumble in his throat as his dick twitches in your throat. “So pretty when you cry and choke on my cock.”

Without warning, the first stream of come spurts down your throat and you gulp it down like its ambrosia. The amount spilling out of his length is too much though, and you can feel it dribbling out of your lips and sliding back down his cock to his balls. Your throat is working overtime as gurgling noises echo around the room.

After a long moment, Yunho pulls your head off his cock, and chuckles at the dried tear streaks on your cheeks and the creamy white painting your lips and neck. “You’re already this wrecked at the second load? Hold on, baby, because there’s a lot more to come.”

Lee Minho (Skz) - Moanday

The rough tongue of the kitsune sends sensations you’ve never felt up and down your spine and your back arches as you grab at Minho’s ginger locks and moan. It feels like no words are leaving your mouth, or even entering your mind, as he licks into you like it’s his last meal.

His chin is glistening with your release, but he doesn’t care as all he’s chasing are the moans falling from your mouth with ease. “You sound so good,” Minho mumbles into your dripping cunt, lapping at your clit. “Could eat you out for hours until you’re hoarse, and it still won’t be enough for me.”

Instead of gracing him with a response, you gasp and shriek as he nips at your clit and shoves three fingers in your clenching hole. You already know becoming hoarse is inevitable.

Seonghwa - Tongueday

You feel like your body is no longer your own as Seonghwa knots you for the second time this evening, your pussy raw from the pounding he gave you not two minutes prior. As your mouth drops open, Seonghwa leans in, shoving his long tongue into your mouth and mapping out the walls with his tongue. You moan tiredly around the muscle.

The only sounds filling the room is the wet noises of his hips gyrating into you and him licking into your mouth, his sharp teeth scraping against your lower lip. “Gonna pump you full of my cubs, yeah? Fill you up until you’re dripping me for hours to come. When my litter comes I’ll just fuck you full of another,” he moans, his hands gripping your waist as his dick twitches, spilling more come inside of your already-stuffed womb.

He moves his head, travelling his tongue down your neck and chest until it reaches your tits, the tip of it flicking at your nipple and you sigh at the feeling. “Your milk will taste so sweet, mommy,” he whines, nuzzling into your breasts. “Can’t wait to knock you up.”

Sooyoung - Wetday

The slick sounds of Sooyoung’s tentacles sliding in and out of your stuffed cunt and ass, as well as your mouth, are the only sounds that fill the room. You’re unable to make a noise due to the slick limb in your mouth, and Sooyoung isn’t very vocal, instead preferring to watch her extra limbs explore your body silently.

Your body is covered by the thick wetness coating every one of her tentacles, sending a warm tingle like a relaxant. It’s also slowly dripping down your throat, sending a comforting haze through your mind. You’re thankful for it—you’re not quite sure you could handle two tentacles in your cunt and one in your ass otherwise. More days than not you request it, and Sooyoung is happy to oblige you either way.

They’re exploring your body, playing with your nipples, your ass, tightening around your throat, but you never feel any sense of panic or danger. Perhaps the natural aphrodisiac helps with it, but even when you don't want to ingest any (usually when you want to kiss her), you’re always relaxed for Sooyoung.

Out of everyone, Sooyoung is the gentlest, and it’s something you’re always grateful for.

Wooyoung & Mingi - Thirstday

“Look at our pretty girl,” Wooyoung grins, all teeth and sharpness, his crimson eyes boring into yours. “All ready for us to feed. Such a good girl.”

Mingi’s large hands grip your hips from behind, rutting his huge cock on your ass. “So pliant and ready. We really lucked out this time. We’ll have a good time tonight.”

Wooyoung hums in agreement, before lowering his face to the crook of your neck. A long sniff is the only warning you get before he sinks his teeth into your skin and a moan rips its way out of your throat at the sharp pain. It’s quickly silenced by the incubus behind you sliding into your cunt, pushing past your folds and spearing into you.

As Wooyoung’s teeth leave your throat, you throw your head back and gasp as pleasure courses through your body from Mingi’s energy. “Shit– I’m gonna–”

Mingi chuckles low against your ear as Wooyoung re-attaches to your neck. “Coming already? You’re still this pent-up after four other days of the guys fucking you? God, you’re going to be so delicious. Just let go, YN.”

His words affect you, and your body instantly relaxes into both his and Wooyoung’s hold. “Good girl.”

Jongho - Freakday

Your mouth drops open but no sound comes out as you feel Jongho’s thick cock entering you. You should’ve known what would happen if you teased the shapeshifter about his size, and now you’re reaping the punishment…or is it more of a reward?

You don’t have the time or the brain space to think about it as long fingers enter your mouth, pushing against your tongue until drool spills over your lips. Another hand makes its way around your throat, and two others find their way to your breasts.

It doesn’t take long for you to become a whining, drooling mess as Jongho’s thick cock grants you no reprieve. “Gonna take it back?” Jongho hisses into your ear, his hot breath fanning over your already warm cheek. “Or am I gonna have to fill up your ass with another cock, teach you a real lesson?”

Before you can answer, if you even could, the hand around your throat tightens and you choke on his fingers and clench around his length.

Miyeon - Saturday

Miyeon’s chest is warm, her breasts pressing into your back as she thrusts up lazily. “Look how well you’re stretching for me,” she hums, her cold fingers trailing down your skin to flick your clit, causing you to gasp and bury your head into her neck. “Don’t look away, YNie, and don’t make me ask again.”

You whine a little but when Miyeon tsks, you bring your head up to look at where her transparent fingers are pushing into you, and she is right. You really can see just how well the ghost stretches you out, your walls greedily sucking her in every time she pulls out. It’s entrancing, and if the shame didn’t hit you every so often, you’re not sure you could pull your eyes away.

“God, you’re still so fucking tight, even for my fingers,” Miyeon groans, her other hand moving from your waist to your chest, playing with your nipples. “After this week and your cunt is still so fucking greedy for more. You’re so fucking incorrigible, baby. You really are a perfect match for us.”

With a chuckle, she thrusts up one more time, pressing a third finger into your cunt, where you can see your release dribble out and coat your thighs. Your body relaxes into her body but you know this whole week will restart tomorrow.

And you can’t deny, you’re looking forward to it.

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unreliablesnake · 1 year ago

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A special kind of therapy (Alex Keller x reader x 141)

Summary: Alex is stressed and frustrated, but you're more than happy to help him with that.

Warning: SMUT, MINORS DNI. Blowjob, unprotected p in v.

Note: I love Alex, my boy deserves the world. / Check the barracks bunny fics tag for more. / Follow @unreliablesnakefics if you wanna know when I post new stuff, and hit that get notifications button.

Alex knew Price would take the rest of the team away from the base, and so it would be the two of you working on the pile of documents and maps he brought with him. What he didn't expect was you having no idea what personal space was.

You were always there next to him, little finger not-so-accidentally brushing against his every now and then as you leaned above the table to take a better look at a piece of paper. It was clear you were flirting with him, but he tried to ignore it as long as he could.

"We should keep a break, I can't focus anymore. Maybe some coffee could help. What do you say?" you asked as you rested your hip against the table and turned to look at him through your lashes.

It became difficult to resist because his body automatically reacted to your advances, mirroring your flirting moves, then soon his brain began to make him wonder what it would be like to kiss you. Should he say something to prepare you? Or should he just kiss you without a warning?

He looked down at the map in front of him and gently knocked his fist against the table as he thought. You and Price were close, he had seen that the first time you met all those months ago. It wasn't clear how close, though. He didn't want to cross a line by making a move on you, but something the captain said made him think.

"I'm sure she will be eager to help you with everything," he had said, and there was a smile he didn't understand until now.

Maybe he knew you would do this, maybe you were attracted to him since that time you worked together on a mission, but in all honesty, he had never thought about you this way. Well, until now. Until you made a move on him and made him feel all sorts of things he had been pushing to the back of his mind in the past year or so.

He was alone in this office with you, having more than enough time before the others came back, so why not? Why shouldn't he take the opportunity you were offering? So he finally made up his mind and pulled you closer, his lips crushing into yours in a passionate kiss.

You didn't hesitate to sneak your arms around his neck, pushing your body against his in an attempt to make sure he didn't change his mind. But Alex wasn't about to push you away, after all this one kiss was enough to make him feel like a man again, awakening a primal side that couldn't wait to have you at his mercy.

He felt you unzip his pants, your hands beginning to push it down as you sank to your knees. You gently ran a finger along his cock, causing him to grab a fistful of your hair and pull you a little closer to it, ready to force you to take his aching member between your lips.

"That's how badly you want me?" you asked with a quiet chuckle as you wrapped your fingers around him. "Tell me what you want."

"Open your mouth, baby," he ordered you, barely able to wait any longer. You did as you were told, gently taking him between your lips before he eagerly pushed your head closer to his body, making you gag as the tip hit the back of your throat. "You're such a good little girl for me," Alex praised you, easing his grip to let you do your magic.

After all the time he had spent alone, most of it passing with him dreaming about a woman he couldn't get, it was nice to have you like this. You were clearly happy to please him, letting him fuck your mouth relentlessly, and your eyes were locked with his the whole time that made the whole experience even better.

By the time he had you bent over the table, buried deep inside you, he could barely think straight. He was pussy drunk, there was no other way to describe it, but he didn't mind the way your tight cunt could take his mind off his problems. Your satisfied moans were like music to his ears, encouraging him to keep going, to keep fucking you through your orgasm.

Alex wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you up against his chest. "You okay?" he asked you, whispering into your ear before playfully biting on your earlobe.

You were a slurring mess by then, but you still managed to say yes, sweetly begging him to keep going and fuck you harder. Who was he to say no to that? So he went on a quest to make you reach another high, all while going after his own climax this time.

He wanted to pull out. He fucking swore himself to pull out in time because he didn't want to take any risks, but he couldn't stop himself. Feeling you come again, your body shaking in his arms made it hard to stay focused.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath.

As if you knew what his problem was, you reached for his hand and threw your head back against his shoulder. "It's okay, don't worry."

"You sure?"

With a short laugh you turned your head to kiss him softly, silently telling him everything was fine. "Don't stress too much about it, Alex. Did you have fun?" He hummed in agreement before placing a soft kiss on your temple. "Good. That was the plan."

#alex keller #alex keller x reader #barracks bunny fics #call of duty #modern warfare #mw2 #echo 3 1 #echo 3-1 #smut

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doodlinge · 8 months ago

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my writing tips, that i think people will find useful:

- write dialogue first and THEN make a scene around it.

i like to do this sometimes for multiple reasons. first, if you’re in a flow of good ideas, getting dialogue done will be a future GAME CHANGER. you don’t have to be stuck fussing over little word choices because you just do it when you have a good idea, and it works! fuss over it now, save time for descriptions later. second, the characters you’re writing usuuallly wont be able to read eachother’s minds. we people do everything by communication and talking! so, map out what you want your scene to look like through dialogue! i like to do mine as a screenplay or movie script, so that way i can ensure that the characters are speaking Like Real People (tm). and THEN I READ IT OUTLOUD >:)

- map out your chapters before you start to write. seriously, do it.

so, personally, my favorite part of fanfiction and writing is the planning stage. and i like doing it on paper, but we’ll get into that after this. first, you get the idea, the spark in your brain that could make an AMAZING story, comic, or au. that’s the general premise to work off of! write that down, if you need. next, do a VERY rough draft of what you want to happen—specifically, the 3 main points of your story: the beginning event, the middle event or climax, and the ending event, or your point A, B, and C. work off of and build up (or build down) from each of these core events of your story, planning the small events that lead up to The Big Guy (or B). these ideas or premises for each leading event can and probably will be VERY, VERY rough, but once you’ve got the rough idea of what will probably happen done, you can get to work on MORE PLANNING (sorry guys. learn to enjoy it)

- PLANNING PART TWO BABY WOOO (plan out your chapters. and if it doesnt work when you’re writing it, that’s okay!)

this is what you will do before you write your chapters, that works for me way better than just going in with no plan. personally, when i started to write the fic i’m currently writing, i mapped out all the rough details that i want to happen in the climax chapter of my story, because most people find the middle the hardest part. since i already had an rough idea of what would have happened before the climax with my previous planning stage, i already was able to connect how all of the buildup would lead into the climax of the story pretty easily. every action in your story will have a consequence, big or small, and that all will lead up to your protagonist bursting into tears or the main couple confessing their love or the final, epic battle between the protagonist and antagonist! if, when you’re writing, the rough idea you had just isn’t working out, you can either a: redo it completely if it’s a huge problem, or b (my favorite): work around it in the moment and improvise. i ended up making my fic’s climax way better just because of the extra scenes i added in while writing, but since i had my original plan to work off of, everything was a lot easier.

- make every scene with a motive to accomplish

most people know this one, but i thought it was good to add in. whether it’s to flesh out the world around your characters with fun and shenanigans or to give the audience a little more insight into a character who will be useful in the future, every scene and every chapter should have a purpose. when people act, they also like to give their characters motivations, and for a while, i wasn’t sure how that could connect. however, now i understand. let’s say a character is trying to motivate another one to be brave and face their fears, but character a is actually only interested in their own interests. character a’s motivation is to be self-serving—they’re not as concerned with helping character b, but instead, they want to help themself. this shows a lot about character a! when you have a purpose for every story beat and a motive for each character, it can help you flesh out the character much better.

- show don’t tell (and what i interpret that as)

okay, so for a while, i had NO idea what show don’t tell even meant. i LOVE writing about my character’s thoughts, their interests, their perspectives on what’s going on around them. character analysis is one of the best parts, for me! but there are ways to show what a character is thinking without the use of heavy description. for example, take this part from the fic i’m currently working on right now:

the character i’m writing for had not mentioned her mom the entire chapter, but when you go back and analyze her character throughout it, you can see major hints that part of why she who she is stems from her trauma with her mother. when she connects to an older adult female figure and feels understood, the issues she has are shown and not told, clear as day. by using dialogue and trusting your audience to connect the dots about your characters, you can make a better-written story! remember motivations; sometimes, characters don’t even know they have the motivations that they do, and the audience has to figure it out based on context clues. leave room for intrigue and mystery! think; if you were this character in this situation feeling the way they felt, what would you do? what would you say? why would you say it, and what would that reveal about you?

- write one story beat per day and WRITE ON PAPER

the word count, for me, doesn’t matter. if the quality of your writing is good, and the pacing gives audiences room to breathe, then that’s enough! quality over quantity, in my opinion. if you’re not up for writing, PLAN CHAPTERS! plan scenes, plan events! plan dialogue, make it fun! that is writing too. for me, when i have the planning done, i go with the One Story Beat Per Day Rule. if you get one small event done each time you write, you’ll be finishing The Big Event you wanted to accomplish in no time. and if you’re in the middle of a big story beat and you just need a break, i’d say to take one…. and later, come back with a notebook and a pen and think. paper has helped me write better because the flow of thought just keeps going when i’m focused, and i think it might work for a lot of people.

- remember, YOU CAN DO THIS! MAKE IT FUN!

writing and finishing stuff is really, really hard. but if you get one small thing done for the characters in your story, comic or au each day… you’ll eventually have an amazing, finished story. make it fun for yourself. listen to music, act out the scripts, use color theory, analyze your characters and don’t make it a chore! every small step contributes to getting to the top. make something you will love to write, and that you will love to read. make something for yourself, because in the end, if you enjoy it, the audiences will enjoy it.

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givemea-dam-break · 1 year ago

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daughters of the evening

⭒⭒⭒⭒ in which luke’s descent from good may be found.

pairing: luke castellan x (fem) reader

a/n: hey guys!! first fic in a while and i know, i know, pjo book readers are disappointed in me… but i’m just a girl! i’m literally just a girl! please enjoy my brain baby i love her :) i love writing quests so much, so this was really nice to write for my first fic back on tumblr. i hope you guys enjoy! if anybody wants to be added to my pjo taglist, let me know!

warnings: canon typical violence, book spoilers, blood/injury description, rusty writing

words: 5.8K ⭒⭒⭒⭒

(y/n) couldn’t remember when the change in Luke became permanent.

She could remember the hints of something at the corners of his eyes, something that bit at the happiness that filled them, eating away at it like rot on wood. She could remember the slow decline in his respect for his father, respect that had barely been there for years, though was now bridging on outright disrespect.

She could remember the crux of it all, the very moment in which all of the little things began to coalesce into something ugly. A flash of claws, the deep scarlet of mortal blood followed by shimmering gold ichor. The horrible sound of screaming. Gleaming fruits of gold. Gorgeous, blooming green trees towering above them that concealed the violence below.

It was after the quest that Luke, her Luke, was never the same.

⭒⭒

“I don’t remember San Francisco looking like this.”

Luke’s lips curled into a smile. “You’ve never been to San Francisco.”

(y/n) rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen it in movies through which I have lived vicariously. It’s in one of the Indiana Jones’s, right? Looks different.”

“Those movies are from the eighties,” Luke said. “So, yeah, it’s going to look different.”

Charles Beckendorf, their questmate, heaved a sigh. “Do you guys ever stop?”

“Stop what?” (y/n) asked.

“Being annoying? Flirting? Whatever you want to call it.”

Her face felt awfully hot and she found herself unable to even look in Luke’s general direction. It was a comment that had been made many times in the past, one she was sure Luke was sick to death of, but she found herself yearning for comments like it. They meant that maybe she wasn’t dreaming up something between them.

Either way, she didn’t acknowledge it, rather stuffing her hand into her unzipped backpack and scrounging around until finally she found what she wanted. With a dramatic flair, she revealed three paper maps, each embellished with their names written in colourful pen at the top.

A moment of silence, then Luke said, “Why do we need a map each? Can’t we just share? And where did you even get those?”

“I got them back in Salt Lake City, before we happened upon that massive crab, you remember the one? All blue and slimy.” She pressed the maps into their hands. “There are multiple because knowing you both, you’ll lose them and I’m not buying any more. But, look! They’re colour-coded. Green for me because, duh, Demeter. Orange for Beckendorf, red for you. We can at least make this quest for some stupid apples interesting.”

Beckendorf raised a brow, giving her a strange look. “With glittery gel pen?”

“Glittery gel pen makes everything better,” she insisted. “I’m glad you acknowledge that. Now, come on. With all this talking you two have been doing, we don’t have much time to spare. You’re like a pair of gossiping grannies.”

The two shared a look over her head, one they thought she didn’t see, but it only made her hold back a laugh. They were a relatively upbeat group as it was, but she prided herself on keeping the mood light, especially when danger was looming. With the might of glittery gel pens, a travel-size game of Monopoly, and a cheesy puns book they had picked up off the side of the road, they would be unstoppable should their enemies need a good laugh.

It wasn’t that they weren’t capable of what was ahead of them that she felt the need to joke around, it was just her regular nerves. The three of them were experienced and powerful demigods, skilled fighters and strategists, the best of the best. Luke had his immense skill with a sword and the mind of a trickster; Beckendorf had the brains and strength of a blacksmith, and could sense a trap a mile away and disarm it in moments; (y/n) herself was a powerful daughter of Demeter and, though not to the standard of Luke, was also skilled with a sword.

They hadn’t faced much trouble before. They were a tried-and-tested trio, having been on multiple quests together in the past and finding themselves working well together.

This time, it seemed like a match made by the Fates. A quest ordained by Hermes, Luke’s father, to retrieve the Apples of Immortality from the Garden of the Hesperides - gardens and plants being the domain of Demeter and, by extension, (y/n). And, no doubt, there would be many traps or the need for a strong mind, hence Beckendorf. He was a year or two younger than she and Luke, but had proved himself upon countless occasions. She trusted him with her life.

Almost a week now they’d been on this quest, and still she felt like a giddy child. Almost seventeen and, at her big age, she was holding back smiles and giggles befitting of a schoolgirl with a crush. Part of it was gratefulness that a demigod such as Luke had chosen her to join him on this quest, even after being friends for years and having gone on numerous quests together already. Part of it was simply that she was madly in love with the boy.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, then, watching the way the afternoon sun gleamed on his face, setting his dark eyes alight with flame. There was a curious smile on his lips, one that concealed mischief and intelligence; one she had loved for as long as she could remember. His hair was messy after days of travelling and not bothering to fuss with it - she dreaded to think of what her own looked like, the only mirror she had being her sword - but there was something so extremely endearing about it. Wild curls that gave his lightly-freckled face even more life.

Their maps didn’t help their hunt for the Garden an awful lot. For what had to have been at least two hours, they stumbled around the city, turning this way and that, earning odd looks from strangers.

“For being the son of the god of travellers,” (y/n) said, “you are horrendous at reading a map.”

Luke gave her a nudge with his elbow as he scanned the map. He was grinning. Her stomach was doing cartwheels. “Maps make sense enough, but I think these ones are out of date.”

“Maps don’t go out of date, stupid.”

Beckendorf was holding back a smile. “I think he’s right. I think our maps are too old.”

(y/n) glowered at them, plucking their maps from their hands. Fine. They didn’t deserve to hold maps graced with her glittery gel pens anyways.

“Well,” she said. “Unless either of you have any ideas, we’re going to be stuck wandering for hours. Come on, Luke. Use your magicky journey powers. They got us this far.”

His eyes shone, and her knees felt a little weak. She loved it when he looked at her like that, when she had said something funny. It was as though the heavens themselves had descended and flooded his face with light and beauty. She couldn’t look away.

“It’s a big garden,” he retorted. “Find the big garden, daughter of the mighty Demeter!”

She knew he meant it as a joke - the sarcasm was practically dripping from his voice - but there was something in his tone that she couldn’t identify. Something deeper than a simple sarcastic comment. This had been a pity quest, of sorts, she knew. Luke had been getting restless and his father had wanted to satiate him, but it wasn’t enough. He was displeased with the gods, to say the least.

But he kept a good lock on his expressions, on his words. She wouldn’t have suspected a thing had she not known him as well as she knew the feeling of grass beneath her feet.

Eventually, combining their powers and the single brain cell that seemed to be taken by Beckendorf, they found their way to the Mount Tamalpais State Park, which was not open to visitors now that the sun was setting.

They stared up at the distant mountain, the sloping greenland and towering trees that led towards it, and heaved a synonymous groan. Quests could never be even slightly easy, it seemed. Why would the gods let them head to a random park in the city when they could have them trespassing in a state park at night, lives in the hands of the monsters and animals alike that roamed the woods? The gods would rather have them arrested than have something be easy.

“You’re kidding, right?” Beckendorf said. “We don’t have to walk all that way?”

(y/n) frowned. She wished more than anything that they could just turn around and leave, a feeling she did not often get on quests. But something didn’t feel right. There was a twist in her gut, a deep intuition that told her something was going to go wrong.

But her gut was also pulling her towards the mountain. There was a power there, unlike any she had felt before, and she wanted to know what it was.

“We’ll be fine,” she insisted, though she didn’t feel entirely sure herself.

She was the first to make the step towards their darkening fates. If she had known the outcome, she would have turned and fled immediately.

The three of them trudged up the path, flicking on torches when the sky grew darker and the ground in front of them too hard to see. It gave them an eerie glow, entirely unlike the warm glow of their weapons. All of their features were in stark contrast to the dark surroundings; Luke’s cheekbones, Beckendorf’s eyes, her brownbone. It was disconcerting, and it felt all too much like they were the lead characters in a ghost story.

She was considering turning back about halfway there. The tug in her gut was becoming stronger, almost unbearable, and her head was pounding, filled with the worry of the possible incidents that had not happened yet.

The only thing that kept her going was Luke’s pinky finger wrapped around hers.

Maybe he felt her nerves, so acute that she feared her sinews and tendons and bones could snap at any moment. But Luke knew her. He had known her since they were barely teenagers. He knew her better than she knew herself: every habit she had; every face she made; every hint of a feeling before she knew it was coming. He had some deep understanding of her, one that would have made her feel vulnerable in any other situation with any other person. Luke was not any other person.

His pinky was wrapped around hers tightly, warmer than the rest of her body put together. It curled around hers just so, acknowledging her worry. His jacket sleeve brushed hers.

It wasn’t until they reached the Garden at the foot of the mountain that his hand wrapped around hers fully, encasing it entirely in warmth and comfort. His palms were calloused, fingers ribbed with light scars, but she could not imagine it any other way.

The Garden of the Hesperides was easily the most beautiful place she had ever seen and was likely the most beautiful place she would ever see. Stars hung above them in the night sky, glittering so brightly it was as though they could reach out and touch them with their outstretched fingers. Lush green grass coated the ground beneath their feet and beyond, speckled with flowers so bright they almost glowed in the dark. It was bristling with life, so full of it that (y/n) could feel it all deep in her bones.

But the source of the power lay further afield.

A tree, much taller than the rest, stood at the centre of the garden, boasting more golden apples than (y/n) could count. Its branches swayed in the faint breeze in mesmerising swoops, and the scent of fresh fruit laced with something that could only be described as addictive brushed over them. A faint mist swirled around the trunk of the tree, glittering slightly in the moonlight.

“Holy Hephaestus,” Beckendorf murmured, slack-jawed.

“That’s one big tree,” Luke said.

“You certainly have a way with words,” (y/n) said.

His hand only squeezed hers in response. She could feel his heartbeat in his wrist. How was it so steady?

There was a shift in the wind, then, and a soft bite came into the air. Goosebumps prickled the skin of their arms, raising the hair there. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she swore she could hear the faintest lull of singing voices and could feel the weight of some large presence in the air. Nothing could be seen but the beautiful garden and the decadent tree in the centre.

“Luke Castellan,” said a soft voice. Luke visibly tensed, eyes narrowing at the usage of his surname. “(y/n) (l/n). Charles Beckendorf. We have been expecting you in our Garden for quite some time now.”

The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. But, finally, after a few moments, the speaker emerged from the fine mist.

She didn’t look like much, appearing to be barely older than (y/n), but there was something about her surrounding aura that suggested she was much, much older. Dark, inky hair tumbled over narrow tawny shoulders, framing even darker eyes that shone with unknown magic. The woman seemed to blink slowly, as if bored or tired, and it looked as though she were merely floating over the ground rather than walking. It was hard to tell. Her Greek chiton covered her feet.

“We are the Hesperides,” she said, voice ever gentle, as four more women appeared, each almost identical in appearance. “Daughters of the Evening. Nymphs of the Sunset. Protectors of this Garden. What is your business here?”

There was a cockiness to Luke’s smile then, one that had (y/n) on edge. “If you’ve been expecting us, then surely you know our business.”

The lead Hesperide drew nearer, stopping a few feet away from their trio. Her sisters gathered at her sides, dark eyes sparkling with stars and cold curiosity and something overtly bitter. The demigods were clearly unwelcome here, but they intended to make a game of their quest.

(y/n)’s hand squeezed Luke’s in warning. He spared her a glance, her heart drawing still when his warm eyes met hers. His chin dipped slightly in a nod, and he gave her hand a squeeze before turning his attention back to the Hesperides.

“We’ve been sent here on a quest by my father Hermes,” Luke announced. His voice held more confidence than she felt. “We’re here to retrieve a golden apple.”

It was strange watching the Hesperides’ heads tilt in unison as if they were each an extension of the other. Voices lulled around them, soft and gentle, and the worry seeped from her very bones. Her hand fell from Luke’s. Something felt strangely at ease in her stomach despite their circumstances.

“You may try,” said the lead Hesperide. Her skin glimmered like marble in the moonlight. “Our dearest Ladon protects this tree with his life. He does not sleep. Every second of every day, he guards our gift from Gaea, the goddess Hera’s wedding gift. Do not think it will be easy to pass him.”

The Hesperides seemed to fade into the mist, then, their bodies becoming light and transparent as they slowly backed away until nothing was left but the faint singing swirling around them. The voices gave (y/n) a strange feeling, as though pulling her towards the tree.

“Who’s Ladon?” Beckendorf asked.

The three of them stood for a moment, watching the swirling mist.

“A dragon,” (y/n) said. “A big dragon.”

She could feel his presence, she realised. The heavy weight that had settled over them upon entering the Garden, it couldn’t be anything else. Even still, she could feel him through the ground, like an impending sense of death and doom. She’d had similar feelings before, an innate knowledge that the strawberry fields were close to wilting one year. Campers had called her crazy, but she knew. The earth knew.

And it knew now. She was horribly aware of the heaviness in her gut that surrounded the bright power of the apple tree. It could be nothing but Ladon.

“Any ideas, Luke?” she asked. “You’re our idea guy.”

He scoffed. “Since when? You’ve been dragging us around by our ears this entire quest.”

But he could see the nerves that she felt. He knew how strange this was for her, to feel so deeply worried about a quest. He knew something was wrong.

“I’ll get the apple,” he said, and his shoulders rose with confidence. His hand, the one that had held (y/n)’s moments ago, twitched just so. “I’m the fastest out of the three of us. You two, keep our friend distracted.”

There was a deep grumble at that moment, as if Ladon were making himself known. It shook the ground and the boughs of the tree trembled. Sweet-smelling apples tumbled into the mist.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to get the apples?” (y/n) asked. “You brought along a daughter of Demeter for a reason.”

He smiled softly at her. “That’s not the reason I brought you along.”

And, before either she or Beckendorf could protest his stupidity or question his statement, Luke’s glowing sword materialised in his hand and he was running into the mist.

The mist spread apart as his feet made contact, and (y/n)’s heart dropped. Beckendorf, one of the bravest demigods she had ever met despite his age, had a tremor in his hands as he pulled free his sword.

Within the mist was the largest monster (y/n) had ever seen. It was wrapped around the tree in a serpentine-like way, scales glimmering in the moonlight like molten copper and bronze. Massive claws sunk into the dirt surrounding the tree, at least the length of her forearm and as wide as Beckendorf’s. Every breath it released shook the branches of the tree as though caught in a gale.

The most horrifying part: the dragon had a hundred heads.

She had read about Ladon, had familiarised herself with the myths surrounding the Hesperides. Days before the quest, she and Luke had sat down at the canoe lake, poring over old history books that told the tale of Heracles and his Twelve Labours, one of which was the very quest they were being made to repeat. Luke had made a joke of it back then, unhappy with the quest he had been given and disbelieving that what they faced would be much of a threat.

But Ladon was no joke. It was an entirely different thing seeing drawings of the dragon and seeing him in real life. His hundred heads slithered through the air like snakes on the water, luminous yellow eyes watching the demigods with piqued interest.

Even Luke faltered.

A deep breath came from all two hundred of the dragon’s nostrils, washing over them in a hot, acidic wave. The smell alone was horrendous, like an old, decrepit sewer filled with rotting rats, and it had the hairs on her arms standing and her eyes burning.

She was worried that she may never be able to move again, frozen in place by the sheer might of Ladon, but when Luke turned to look at her, blood flooded into her veins again. He was counting on her. She wouldn’t let him down.

Ladon expected a frontal assault. He was waiting for Luke to attack, watching like a predator on prey, but he did not expect the very tree he protected to act against him.

With a heave of energy, (y/n) stretched out her arm and watched as the tree’s trunk began to swell as if filling with liquid. Ladon’s serpentine body writhed around it, twisting as he moved to accommodate the growing tree. The branches above him shook, dipping towards the ground slowly. Too slowly.

The dragon seemed to realise what, or who, was causing the change, and snarled ferociously. It was at that moment that Beckendorf grabbed a ball of Celestial bronze from his belt and, with a strong arm and remarkably good aim, threw it at the beast.

An explosion of green ignited before them as the ball slammed into Ladon’s thick hide. The dragon roared, whether in pain or fury, and set its bright gaze on (y/n) and Beckendorf.

Fear coursed through her body. She could hardly breathe. The branches wavered, pausing the pursuit to the ground. Beckendorf launched another one of his Celestial bronze bombs.

A pity quest, that’s what this had been. But, maybe, it was more than that. Maybe this was Hermes’ punishment for Luke wanting more from his life. Maybe this was (y/n)’s consequence for falling so irrevocably in love with Luke - for feeling the way she did, she would have to follow him to impossible circumstances.

But none of them deserved it.

It was at that moment that Luke took his leap.

With speed befitting a child of Hermes, he leapt onto Ladon’s mighty body, feet finding purchase on his rough scales, and launched himself upwards towards the descending branches.

For a moment, there was hope. Even Heracles had not retrieved the apples by facing Ladon, but maybe Luke would. Perhaps Luke would succeed where Heracles had not. Pride swelled in her heart, coated her tongue like warm honey, and she almost smiled.

Copper-coloured claws flashed in the moonlight. A chorus of soft, harmonising voices swirled around them like mist.

Mistake, they sang. The boy has made a mistake.

There was a cry of pain so guttural that (y/n) felt it in her soul. Her feet were moving before she could truly comprehend what was happening. The grass tried to reach for her ankles, tried to stop her in her mission, but nothing could. Had a god stood before her, she would have found her way past them. Nothing could stop her, not even this dragon that caused such fear in her bones.

She reached Luke as Ladon wound around the tree tightly, snarling protectively. Something in the beast’s demeanour hinted at pain beneath the danger, and when she saw the gold blood pooling just a few feet away, she knew why.

A claw, one of Ladon’s, severed from the knuckle down lay strewn in the grass. The dragon hissed as Beckendorf snatched it up, hefting his sword as (y/n) pulled Luke away.

He was bleeding badly. A deep gash ran from the tip of his brow down to the corner of his mouth, somehow missing his eye but cutting just above and below. His skin was already becoming dangerously pale. Her hands were covered in blood. His blood. She was going to be sick.

“Hey,” she murmured, gently laying his head on her lap. Her hands trembled as she reached into her bag. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Luke shuddered, eyes half-lidded and struggling to find something to focus on. “Are you -?”

“I’m fine,” she said. After a terrible moment, one that took far too long, she pulled free a small vial of nectar, wrapped tightly in old face-cloths to keep it from smashing in her bag. Her hands couldn’t stop shaking as she tried to unwrap it.

Beckendorf knelt beside her, claw at his side, and took the vial from her hands. She didn’t know how his hands could be so steady. She could hardly breathe. Not with Luke so injured, not with Ladon eyeing them hungrily.

He handed the vial back, and she propped Luke’s head up slightly. With a hiss of pain, she managed to open his mouth just enough to pour the small amount of nectar in. He swallowed with a struggle.

There was no telling how long it would take the nectar to work, but they couldn’t stay there under the watchful glare of Ladon, who looked ready to attack again. (y/n) took a trembling breath.

“Beckendorf,” she said, “are you able to carry him? At least until we can get out of this place. I can try - I can clean the wound when we’re safe.”

He nodded and hoisted Luke up into his arms, careful not to jostle his head too much.

She didn’t realise she had been crying until they stopped.

Beckendorf set Luke down on a soft patch of grass beyond the Garden, and (y/n) tucked her jacket underneath his head. The nectar seemed to be working, albeit slowly. Some colour was returning to his skin, but it was hard to see under all of the blood.

“You’re okay,” she murmured again, but she wasn’t sure who she was telling. She wiped her tears with the back of her hands.

She grabbed one of the face-cloths the vial of nectar had been wrapped in, soaking it in water from her water bottle, and slowly brought it to Luke’s face.

His eyes seemed to have some ability to focus now, watching her beneath a glaze of pain. It tore her soul in half to see him in pain, wincing as she gently dabbed the blood from his cheek. Her fingers were stained. His cheek was, too.

“I’m going to keep watch,” said Beckendorf. “Those Hesperides gave me a bad feeling.”

(y/n) nodded, watching for a moment as he trudged a few feet away, just out of earshot, but her focus soon returned to Luke. She tried not to think too much about how his hand was gripping her knee as she cleaned the rest of the blood.

“Is the nectar working?” she asked when she saw his eyes drooping. “What does it taste like?”

His gaze found hers, warm and cloudy. A pained smile fought its way onto his lips despite the slowly-healing scar on his cheek. She could see the skin trying to sew itself back together with the aid of the nectar.

“That smoothie you made a few months back with the - with the camp’s strawberries,” he uttered. “And whatever those green leaves were.”

She found herself smiling despite the red coating her hands. “Mint. And it was that good, huh? Last I checked, nectar for you tasted like that weird concoction of Coke and Sprite you liked so much.”

For a moment, his eyes grew distant before refocusing on her face. They flickered over her features as if seeing them for the first time. His hand felt awfully warm on her knee.

“Anything you make is better,” he said.

“Is that so?” She brushed his hair back from his face softly, cleaning the last bits of blood.

His skin was still stitching itself back together, but the nectar seemed to have stopped the bleeding. Second by second, blood flooded back into his face, giving him the colour that seemed to have been leached from his skin.

He nodded, his smile seeming as though it pained him less. His hand slipped from her knee, coming up to wrap itself around hers. The cloth fell from her fingers and onto the grass. Her fingers were still wet, though in the dim light she couldn’t tell if it was from water or lingering blood. She didn’t have the stomach to find out.

“You said you didn’t bring me on this quest because of my mother,” she said cautiously. Her heart was pounding in her chest. “So why did you?”

A soft squeeze of her hand. “This wasn’t a quest I wanted to do without you,” he said. “I like having you by my side. You give me strength.”

She was sure he could feel her pulse beating rapidly in her fingers, but he didn’t say anything about it. He didn’t need to. It was entirely likely that he was able to read her mind, he knew her so well. And she was okay with that.

“You’re stupid, you know,” she said, but her voice wavered.

“Stupidly brave?” he suggested. “Stupidly handsome? Stupidly charming?”

“I’m supposed to be supporting you right now,” she grumbled. “Not the other way around.”

His cocky grin was back and her heart fluttered. “Which one is it?”

“Which what?”

“Stupidly brave, handsome, or charming?”

All three, she thought. All three and so much more.

“Stupidly stupid,” she decided.

Her thumb grazed his cheekbone, the one without the scar, and a shiver ran through his body. His hand tightened on hers and his smile softened into something more personal. It was the kind of smile she would have leapt into Tartarus to ensure its permanence on his lips. Soft and kind and reserved just for her. If she'd been standing, her knees would have buckled.

“You give me strength, too,” she murmured.

A sliver of hair slipped in front of her eyes, and moments later, Luke’s free hand was there, gently brushing it away. His eyes sparkled. They seemed clearer now, less agonised.

The events of the last hour - gods, it had felt like much longer - came crashing back onto her at his touch, asphyxiating and terrifying. Overwhelming guilt filled her veins and arteries with terrible speed, sapping all the strength from her bones. Her fingers trembled once more.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Her throat felt suddenly raw. “If I’d done a better job distracting Ladon, maybe you wouldn’t be hurt.”

Luke’s eyes were dark for a moment, swirling with something she couldn’t identify, but they softened seconds later. His hand rested on her cheek, warm and comforting, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at his eyes now.

“This is not your fault,” he said, and his voice was remarkably strong. “This is the gods’ fault. It’s my father’s fault. But it is not your fault.”

She tried to believe him, truly she did, but looking at the fresh scar on his face, even having been almost entirely healed with nectar, had her heart heavy in her chest.

He knew this. Gods, he knew her every thought. His hand slipped from hers, cupping her other cheek and tilting her head so that she would look at him properly. There was a flush to his cheeks now - good, it meant he was getting better.

“My father did this,” he insisted. “You hear me? This was not you. And, gods, believe me when I say that I’m glad it was me that went for the apples and not you. I couldn’t live with myself if you got injured.”

But you did, she wanted to say - no, scream. How do I live with that?

“I’m okay,” he said softly, cautiously, as if talking to a child who had just woken from a nightmare. “I’m okay.”

His hand fell from her face, taking hers in its grip once more, and placed her fingers on the newly formed scar.

She jerked back, terrified that the sensation would cause him more pain, but he just gave her that smile again, the one that made her knees feel like jelly, and pressed her fingers to it once more. Already, the skin was raised and slightly twisted, accommodating for the injury. She could faintly feel his pulse beneath his skin, slow and infuriatingly steady.

“It doesn't hurt,” he promised. His voice was so reassuring that she could feel it in her bones, and she was half-convinced he was secretly a child of Aphrodite, blessed with charmspeak. “I’m okay because of you.”

Her throat was achy. “And Beckendorf.”

He gave a small laugh. “And Beckendorf. But mainly you. You’ve given me strength.”

It was then that the world itself seemed to stop. He was leaning upwards, bringing her face close to his, and his lips brushed hers so softly that she feared she may have been dreaming the entire encounter.

She could taste the faint remnants of metallic blood, though it was easily brushed aside. Luke’s lips were slightly wind-chapped but she found herself uncaring when they slotted perfectly against hers.

This kiss was something she had been waiting years for, and it was better than she could have ever dreamed. The feeling of his hands on her, his lips against hers, it was something that could not be replicated in a dream, like flying for the first time and feeling the clouds beneath your fingers.

It was addictive, more so than the stupid apples that had caused Luke such pain, and she found herself wanting more. It was an effort to pull away from him, but eventually, she did. Beckendorf was only a few feet away and she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. It would make for an awkward journey home.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” Luke murmured.

Finally, there was a smile tugging on her lips again. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting.”

It took another hour or so before Luke was well enough to get moving. The dark trails gave all of them a bad feeling, and (y/n) wasn’t able to shake the almost hypnotic choral voices of the Hesperides until they were out of the State Park. Luke was shaky on his feet for a little while but his strength was returning.

And with it came anger.

Not anger at (y/n) or Beckendorf, no. He still smiled at them as usual, fingers entwined with (y/n)’s so tightly it was as though he was afraid she would slip away. Jokes still slipped past his lips despite the events of the evening.

But he was filled with fiery rage. It was hidden, but (y/n) could read him like a book. She had seen the inklings of it throughout the previous days of their quest, had seen it more clearly while she was cleaning the blood from his face - this anger, though, was pure. Harder to mask.

He had already been furious with his quest, a detail he had tried to keep hidden from her. He hated the idea of repeating history and the fact that this quest was simply made to satiate him, to prevent him from growing restless at camp and questioning the authority of the gods.

This was a breaking point.

It became clearer the more time passed. As the days and weeks went by, he would hold her hand like a lifeline and kiss her so softly it felt as though she was dreaming, but the anger never left. It ate away at him, dimming his smiles and reducing any respect he had left for the gods until there was nothing left but a shadow of what had once been there.

The scar never faded. It became a reminder of what he believed to be the gods’ failure. His failure.

He was still her Luke. The Luke she had known and loved since she was thirteen. She was just terrified of what he might become.

#givemea-dam-break #luke castellan x reader #pjo luke x reader #pjo luke castellan x reader #pjo x reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #luke castellan #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #x reader #fanfiction #luke castellan fanfiction #pjo fanfiction

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aesthetictarlos · 9 months ago

Note

little fic prompt maybe?

so someone asked lou in one of his cameos who would be the big spoon and who would be the little spoon when buck x tommy are cuddling and lou (wisely) said that both ways are good and why not switch it up? and honestly who doesn’t like to cuddle and be cuddled when you’re falling head over heels for you hot new firefighter boyfriend who is sweeter than sugar?

I missed that Cameo but I'm so glad he said that because I agree with him, I'm a big switching fan ✨ here we go, thank you for sending the prompt, I hope you like this short fic ❤️

Tommy's brain is still foggy with sleep but he's absolutely sure he fell asleep with Evan's back against his chest and his arm wrapped around his boyfriend's torso, so he feels a bit surprised when he stirs and the first thing he realizes is that there's a hand splayed on his stomach and a pair of lips pressed on his shoulder blade.

His heart skips a beat at the realisation that Evan's spooning him. It's�� new. No one has ever spooned him before; he's a big guy, so he was used to being the big spoon, but Evan is almost as tall and ripped as he is, and now he's holding him and Tommy relaxes against his chest, relishing in the feeling of warmth and domesticity.

He almost feels small like this, surrounded by Evan, and it's incredible, he's never felt like this before.

Suddenly, Evan's fingers start moving, grazing his stomach and then his arm while his lips map a trail across his shoulder and neck. And it hits him then, that Evan's enjoying this newness as well, because he's not used to having such a strong body between his arms, and it's evident in the way Evan traces his muscles and lingers on his pecs.

"Good morning, baby," Tommy rasps, voice still sleepy.

"Morning," Evan replies, tugging him impossibly closer. "This is the best way to wake up. Hugging you in your bed, with the sun creeping in through the blinds that you forget to close because you're a neat freak but you're also a bit forgetful."

"Shut up," Tommy grunts, reaching behind to tickle Evan's side. "You like holding me, huh?"

"Yeah, I do. I really, really do," Evan admits, pressing a kiss to his neck. "I love when you spoon me, but I also love this, I love when you let me take care of you and hold you and lull you back to sleep when a nightmare wakes you up."

"Move in with me," Tommy blurts out, but it's not an impulsive decision, it's something he's thought for a while now. He turns around so that he can repeat the same question looking Evan in the eye. "Move in with me. I want this every morning, I want us to fall asleep together and switch position during the night because we always find our way back to each other. I want to see your baby blues as soon as I open my eyes–"

"Yes," Evan cuts him off, his eyes teary and his smile so bright that Tommy almost has to squint. "Yes, baby. Yes, yes, yes."

Tommy cradles his face and drags him into a kiss, murmuring a string of I love yous on his pink, plump lips.

#evan buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy #buck and tommy #tevan #kinley #911 #my writing #allie writes #short ficlet #bucktommy fic #anon answered #anon ask #tumblr prompt #fluff #accepting prompts #my fic

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seenoversundown · 23 days ago

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Come Back For Me : Chapter One

Danny Wagner x Melody (Fem OC)

Warnings: Cute wholesome mom & daughter bonding time, the Kiszka Twins, mentions of death/grieving, ASL is used throughout this fic, and a little reminiscing.

Word Count: 3k

Summary: Melody is out with Iris, thinking that they’re just running some errands. Well, that is until some familiar faces from her past abruptly change the course of her day.

Author's Note: AND WERE BACK, BABY!

I’m excited to give you this story and finally get Danny and Mel on the map for everyone. This is a pretty hefty shift from where I last left you— but I think it’ll be a fun change for all of us 😏🤭

*Disclaimer- this story comes before Charlotte exists. There is an order to these stories, but my brain simply couldn’t behave when writing. If you have questions, my DM’s are always open!*

Older - Gracie Abrams "I went quiet, And you went cold, Guess that happened when we got older."

Nothing has changed.

Walking through this Hannaford, all I see are the same employees; the store hasn’t been renovated and it feels like I’ve been transported back to high school. Running through the aisles with the boys, hoping not to get kicked out. It’s shocking the things we got away with then.

Flash forward at least four years later; I’m toting my daughter around to grab a few things that we need for dinner. She’s content in the cart with her little stuffed animal, so I can quickly grab what I need. Thank god, honestly. I’m pretty sure she just enjoys hanging out with me at this point; we’re best friends, in my head at least. She doesn’t really have a choice right now.

Not having a job means that I can come here in the middle of the day when nobody else is here– not that Maine is that busy in general, to be quite honest. After a few years of living on the outskirts of Boston, everywhere feels like a ghost town to me. Not being stuck in ungodly traffic is nice, though, I’ll take the wins where I can get them these days.

Rolling up to the cashier, the lady smiles at Iris and waves. Don’t do it, I think to myself.

“Hi, sweetheart. Do you want a sticker?” And you did it.. Okay.

I tap Iris’s arm lightly, her adorable little face glancing up at me.

‘Do you want a sticker?’ I sign to her. Her smile was enough, but she nodded quickly with a little ‘mmm’ sound.

“She would love one,” I tell the cashier, smiling softly at her. Iris reached out to take it from her and signed ‘Thank you’ back to her. I hesitate but then spit out, “Oh, um, she says thank you.”

“Well, she’s very welcome.”

The rest of the interaction was pretty quiet as she rang us up. I don’t mind when people want to talk to her, but we’re both learning ASL together, so it’s not always easy.

‘Mom wants coffee,’ I tell her as I buckle her into her car seat. She just giggles back at me while I pretend to fall asleep. I don’t know what I did right in order to have a generally happy child, but I thank god every day for it. She loves being out of the house, which bodes well when you’re the only parent.

‘Ready?’ I ask her, peeking in the rearview mirror to see her nodding.

Driving through the Old Port is always weird, knowing these places and how to get there, but not having done so in so long. I missed this. All the brick buildings, the small locally owned stores, and the restaurants, are definitely something I longed for while living in a city.

It only takes a few minutes to get reasonably close to the coffee shop I’ve been craving. Finding parking can be a pain with all the one-way streets but, thankfully, this time of day isn’t terrible. Packing and unpacking my child is one of my many talents at this point— my arms have never been so toned in my life.

She knows just to stand close to me while I lock the car. Once the little honk sound happens, I pull her up to spare myself the outrageously slow walk. Before I can even finish situating her, my heart jumps into my throat.

“Melody?”

I haven’t been back here all that long and somehow haven’t really run into anybody that I would talk to. It was all of two seconds before I turned to see him, but I felt frozen in the moment. I haven’t had to introduce anybody to Iris yet, and I was kind of hoping to avoid it a little longer. My head whips around, not expecting to see him. Josh?

“Oh my god, hi!” Not thinking I would be so excited, I moved a little closer to him, shifting Iris up onto my hip.

His voice sounds the same when he asks, “How are you, dear?”

“Oh, I’m okay,” I tell him, shaking my head subtly. Before I can return the question, I see his mouth ready to fire off another question.

“Who is this?” He gestures to Iris, not getting too close to her yet. I can see her eyeing his hair already, though.

I move some of her curls to make sure her sweet face is visible before telling him, “Her name’s Iris.” She just beams at him. Tapping her belly and then doing a little wave at him, she takes her turn to wave.

I know that Josh loves kids; he always has– probably because he just a big kid himself. His eyes light up when she looks at him and he just coos at her little smile.

“How old is she? Hi, beautiful,” He asks but is immediately distracted by her.

I laugh as I watch him, “She’s three, but she can’t hear you.”

His eyebrows shoot up, “Deaf?”

“Practically, she’s in the severe hearing loss category. We don’t know what happened, but she’s a happy little thing regardless.”

‘Nice to meet you,’ Josh signs slowly to her, making her laugh and lean against my shoulder.

All the thoughts in my head halted as he signed to her. I blankly stared at him for a second before I asked, “You.. know ASL?”

“I was friends with one of the Deaf students in a college class, just picked up on it,” he tells me, with a shrug.

Suddenly, it hits me. There is a whole person attached to him. Quickly looking over to them and spitting out, “I’m sorry– I’m Melody, and you are?”

“Quinn! I didn’t want to interrupt,” they respond sweetly; the smile on them could light up a room. I don’t know how to describe the outfit they’re wearing, but it is very clear to me why them and Josh work together. The two of them just look cute together; I can’t imagine that Quinn wouldn’t be a creative person if they were in a relationship with Josh.

“Ahh, yes! This is my partner! I was caught off guard by the little angel,” Josh chimed back in, looking over to Quinn with a quiet, “Sorry, bug– I haven’t seen Melody since.. Oh goodness, has it actually been four years?”

“Probably,” I sigh. “God, that’s so long?”

He nods, letting out quietly, “It is, it is. When did you move back?”

“It’s a long story, but,” I breathe out. “I just moved in with my dad and this one.”

I had been living in the Boston area for college with my mother. She moved down there when I found out I was pregnant with Iris to help make sure everything went smoothly. It was wonderful getting that time together; nothing prepares you for being a mom, so having mine with me at the beginning was incredibly helpful.

She unfortunately had been sick for a while, and I lost her a few months back. It’s hard to think about, but I’m glad she’s not miserable anymore. Living in Boston as a single mom just became unreasonable. Plus, staying in the area was just making me depressed. So, I came home and moved in with my dad.

He took us in happily– I don’t know who needed it more. The three of us have fun together so I’m sure he’s excited to get some time with Iris, especially now that she’s at a fun age. It’s a different dynamic with him, obviously, but I appreciate the fact that he was so willing to help us out.

“Well, I’m so sorry it’s not the happiest of reasons, but it’s nice to see your face again,” Josh’s hand landing on my arm as he tells me.

“It’s okay,” I say, with a slight smile, so Iris can’t pick up on what’s being said. Chuckling as I tell him, “The worst part is trying to find a fucking job at this point.”

“Oh!” he basically yelps, tapping my arm a few times. “You know what.. Give my boss a call. I think we’re actually hiring.” Winking at me– that’s suspicious.

“That would be amazing?” Surprised that he was so quick to help. I hand him my phone, “Just text me the number, and I’ll call in a little bit.” Watching him happily add his number to my phone and text himself quickly.

“There you go, darling,” he says, handing it back to me. “I’m sure we have something that you could do, but we will let you get going so Miss Iris doesn’t get too antsy!”

Carefully pulling him into a side hug, I whisper, “Thank you so much, really.”

“Anything to help,” he says, his smile beams at Iris as he reaches out to gently give her hand a little squeeze.

“Nice meeting you,” I say, smiling at Quinn. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around!”

They excitedly let out, “Yes you too!!”

Both of them waving at Iris and giggling as she tucks her face against me– she is the biggest flirt known to man I swear. She gives them a small wave back before we start our trek to find coffee. Breathing out more air than I expected, a small smile creeps onto my face. Maybe things will turn around a little quicker than I thought.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

We take our time walking to grab some coffee, looking into all the shop windows as she points out things she likes or thinks are funny. It does not take much to make you laugh when you’re three.

I never thought I would want a child so young, but honestly, she’s probably the best thing that happened to me. Definitely put a lot of things into perspective for me and I feel like I have a better grasp of who I am now.

She makes me laugh all the time, especially because of how friendly she is to everyone. I swear she wants to befriend anyone who holds eye contact for more than a second. Lucky for her, she’s adorable, so people aren’t one to say ‘no’ to that.

She batted her lashes at the nice barista taking our order but got shy when he waved at her. Grabbing my coffee and her snack from the end of the counter, we found a seat outside. She’s three. I can’t let her eat this cookie inside and watch the nice employees sigh when they see how many crumbs are about to hit the ground.

‘Good?’ I ask her.

She just grins up at me, still chewing the bite she took. I’ll take that as a yes. Sipping on my coffee as she picks away at this cookie, just enjoying the sun for a few minutes.

I pulled my phone out and saw a text sitting there.

Josh: Hi! Here’s the boss’s number :) I’ll let him know that you’ll be calling so he knows to keep an eye out for you!

Me: thank you again!

Once she’s about destroyed the cookie, I hold her out and wiggle her around a few times, making her laugh. I do not need more cookie crumbs getting squished into her car seat. Her laugh could brighten anyone’s day; she truly is such a good kid.

Walking a different way back to the car so she can have fun looking at new store windows. It’s a lot of her pointing, and me trying to decipher what she’s pointing at.

Something about the Old Port just makes me feel at home. To be fair, we spent a lot of time in this area, between trying to sneak into bars for local shows and going on dates once Daniel had his license.

He really was such a good boyfriend back in the day. Always giving me rides, even if I told him it wasn’t a big deal. He would take me to different restaurants out here all the time after he started his first job. Parking in the first spot he could find, just as an excuse to have to walk so we could spend more time together.

It’s hard to believe we were so inseparable for so long, and now, I haven’t said a single word to him in at least four years. But it’s okay, really. Times have changed, and I have more important things to worry about now— like how I desperately hope this kid falls asleep on the drive home.

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I took the longest way home, and my plan worked. Peeking into my rearview mirror to see her sweet face out cold, thank god. Not that it’s the worst to do things while she’s awake, but when I want to focus on something important, the last thing I need is her trying to get me to play or, even worse, have a meltdown.

Carefully scooping her up out of the car seat, we manage to make it inside with her still asleep. I slip into her room and tuck her into bed so I can hopefully get this phone call done. As I go to leave, I whisper, “Love you, baby.”

Practically falling into the couch, I stare at the texts from Josh. It would really be so helpful if I could work with him. It is very much Josh to do something like this. He has such a pure heart; too much love in that heart of his.

“Just call him,” I whisper, in hopes that I can pep talk myself. You need this for Iris. Everything I do at this point is to make sure she gets the life she deserves; becoming a mom has really shifted a lot of my perspective on things.

Tapping on the number, here goes nothing– I listen to it ring maybe twice before they pick up.

“Hello?”

I take a shallow breath before saying, “Hi, this is Melody. Josh gave me your number because you may be hiring?”

“Mel! Yes, he mentioned bumping into you— how are you?” Why does he sound familiar..? Oh–

“Wait..” I hesitate before asking, “Jake?”

He just hums back a quiet “Mhmm.”

“Oh god, he must have given me your number by accident,” I say with a sigh, my hand immediately rubbing over my face.

He sighs along with me, “Did he not tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Ah, for fucks sake, Josh— he works for me,” he tells me.

“Oh?” I squeak out, whispering, “I figured it would end up the other way around, but..doing what?”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that,” he breathes out. “I own a bar in the Old Port. He bartends for me.”

“Oh shit, sorry,” I let out an uncomfortable laugh. “You would own a bar.” Thinking of the handful of parties I’d attended where he was a bit more drunk than I’m sure he’d like to admit.

“I’m not that wild anymore,” his soft giggle along with me, telling me, “I do absolutely need more help though if you are interested.”

“I don’t really know what I could do, but I am desperate.”

Jake has always been the calmer of the two, so it was less shocking when he asked, “Why don’t you swing by tomorrow if you have a chance, and we can figure something out?”

“Are you sure?” I know I probably sound nervous, but shit, if I can get a job with people I know, that would be amazing.

He chuckles, “Of course, I’m sure.”

“Okay,” I breathe out quietly. “I really appreciate it.”

Jake and I were never particularly close growing up, but I did spend an awful lot of time around him. Well, with all of them, honestly– given that Daniel is best friends with Sam, and Sam always wanted his brothers around, the five of us did a lot together.

Jake was typically overshadowed by his brothers because he was the quieter one, which makes picturing him owning a bar even harder. But I definitely know the other two very well. I was a little surprised at how pleasant Josh was, even going as far as offering me a potential job.

I never had issues with Josh, but given the situation with Daniel, I figured he would have been more hesitant. To be fair, it’s been a while since I’ve seen him, and maybe he’s still the same Josh that I knew growing up. God—I hope he is.

It makes me wonder how Daniel is doing, but not enough to try to reach out to him. We haven’t spoken since the night we broke up, but now that I’m back here, I feel like it’s only a matter of time before I run into him.

“Just let me know when you’re gonna head over,” Jake’s voice brings me back to the conversation. “I’m always in the bar, so whenever you have time, works for me.”

It feels like a weight has been taken off my chest. I nod my head, as if he can see it, saying, “Of course. Thank you so much. I will see you tomorrow.”

The sense of relief, knowing that there’s a chance I’ll have some sort of a job in the next twenty-four hours, is unexplainable. I never thought I would spend time with the Kiszka twins as an adult, but I’ve never been more excited to see them. They were always fun to be around, even if the chaos was a bit overwhelming sometimes. I just can’t shake the feeling that where there’s a Kiszka, Daniel will probably come around. It’s been years; I think I can handle it, even if he does show up at some point. I’d like to believe it’s been enough time since we spoke that we could be adults about everything. Also, it’s been so long at this point; there’s no chance he could still be upset.. Right? I kind of want to see him eventually, not like that, but we spent so much time together that we could at least be friends now.. maybe. There’s no use in dwelling on it; we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

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Chapter Two

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mamamittens · 3 months ago

Text

Every Fold a Wish

This is my piece from the Marco Zine, not related to Spooktober, I promise! For the rest of the fics--and even artwork!--just click the link provided above!

Also, I swear I didn't mean for it to be so sad--the original plan was goofy shenanigans and maybe ending with Marco trying to throttle Thatch when he cracks a joke about his little paper cranes but then...

well, this happened!

Oh, and here's a link to the fic specific artwork for it by @luna-orix, it's a wonderful take on the Big Scene in lovely color and style!

Word Count: 2,757

Under much pressure, Marco would have to confess this all started a very long time ago.

Back when he was still a deckhand sorting through musty maps littered with ink blots that barely passed as navigation tools. Their contents were downright illegible at best, but did well enough as teaching tools for what not to do. Over time, as they were passed from hand to unsteady hand, the parchment became worn. Rips becoming tears and holes until the only thing keeping them in one piece was hopes and dreams.

What to do with such a well loved piece of parchment?

Tossing them seemed almost an insult. And making them into paper again, while an interesting task, was usually not worth the effort. The ink bleeding and dying the usable parts darker and darker. Until it was good for little else but tissues. Marco had done it a few times just for something to do between tasks. The paper drying in the press able to be left for hours if needed. And he did hold a fondness for the old parchment made new again. But it was still not terribly useful. The ink needed to be even darker, or chalk but it smeared something terrible at the slightest touch.

In all fairness, he didn’t start with the worst off pieces.

A kind, older nurse with weathered hands and a gentle smile showing him the way. Every crisp fold building up to a new, enchanting shape. Even money could be manipulated. A cute way to leave a tip, if he was so wanting. And something to do with his hands.

And he kept doing it too. Starting with his clumsy, childish fingers. Baby fat clinging to his digits as he used his bitten nails to scrape the edges clean. Until they started to even out, habit and hard work turning them into slender, calloused tools of his trade. A little treat for himself as he learned the medical trade. It was good, to know that his hands could create even if he could not heal the hurts in others. A small comfort for himself after his patients fell asleep holding his hand, yearning to not be alone with their sickness.

He got some flak for it over the years. Always teasing remarks about how cute he was being. Little flowers and fortune tellers a popular demand when a particularly mischievous brother or sister was bedbound. And Marco would sigh. Teasingly remarking on their ungrateful attitudes even as he was plied with gifts of decorative paper for his little hobby.

They decorated his office shelves. Tucked in corners and atop the spines of medical texts. Peeking behind picture frames or marching along the windowsill of Oyaji’s room. A cavalcade of shapes in a rainbow of colors and prints. Every so often one would be found covered in layers of dust somewhere forgotten and returned to him with a wide grin. Laughter echoing down the halls as Marco racked his brain to remember when he made it.

Officially, he had no favorite paper craft. No beloved origami he had mastered over the years. Just as he had no favorite sibling.

But, if his family had the wherewithal to gather every one of his little treasures from over the years and fill up a room or four with them, there would certainly be an obvious contender.

Starting with the very first one he made with a crooked wing, crumpled lightly from the very hand that had taught him so long ago.

“I saved this one for last, boyo. Hope is… so dangerous to have on the high seas. Without it, you’ll never truly live. But too much and you’ll be too drunk to survive. And this little fella? This is what he’s all about, in a way. They say a thousand paper cranes, each folded with love and care, can grant you a single wish.” She whispered to him softly, guiding his hands over the worn map of some distant island lost to time. “Make as many as you want, it’s important to remember what it means to live—to wish. But never forget the work that goes into them. Wishing—wanting—that’s not even half the journey. Admitting you want something bad enough to dream is but the first step. After that, you still need to fold the paper. And fold it over and over again until it’s fit to fly. And then? And then, little Marco, you need to do it again. Until you have a flock a thousand strong. It can’t be done in a single day. Most won’t have the patience to do it in a lifetime. But one little crane at a time…”

She never finished that sentence.

She sighed, leaning against the pillows of her bed as Marco finished his first little bird in the palm of her hand. His own cradling the bird between their palms and she squeezed gently. Bending the worn paper a little in the cramped space.

Then she let go.

And Marco hadn’t stopped making them since.

Even as he gained his devil fruit. Grew from a boy to a man. They were his little indulgence, the fuzzy memory of a weathered hand clasped in his, paper crinkling between them never far from his mind. It hurt in a good way. A way that his fruit never gave him. A sense of release. A long sigh after a hard day. Sea breeze wrapping around his bare ankles in the hot sun. Endless blue before him with heavy storm clouds littering the horizon behind him.

His office door slammed open.

A boisterous voice practically singing out as Thatch sauntered into his office with a hot meal. It was late. Later than Marco realized. The bubbly, cool fire running thick in his veins. He’d been pushing it as of late, Marco acknowledged reluctantly.

“I come, O’ Great One! With the gift of food~!” Thatch sang, squinting into the dim candlelight of Marco’s office. Free hand hovering ominously over the light switch.

“Do it and I’ll kick you into the sea.” Marco warned. His fruit offering little reprieve from eye strain at this point. Bigger fish to fry, he supposed.

Thatch pouted, nudging the paperwork on his desk aside. Rather than setting down the food, Thatch instead placed his ass there. Wafting about the food Marco still couldn’t quite identify temptingly.

“C’mon, Coco! You’ve been in here for hours! It’s time to eat up and get some rest!” Thatch huffed.

“Stop calling me that.” Marco was ignored, as usual. The nickname a little rare but typically whipped out when Thatch thought he was being an idiot about himself.

“What could possibly be more important than enjoying some good food and even better shut eye? C’mon, I’ll even give you breakfast in bed! Doesn’t that sound scrum-didily-upmtious? This handsome man personally serving you up a hot plate of food in the morning?”

Marco imagined—not Thatch ‘handsomely’ serving anything—but sputtering as seawater ruined his hair. The woeful cries for mercy as he drowned, just a little while, he swears Namur. He deserves it!

Familiar with Thatch’s everything by this point, Marco doubted many would argue that Thatch didn’t deserve just a little waterboarding.

As a treat.

“Sounds like my sleep paralysis demon talking.” Marco drawled, fixing Thatch with a dry stare.

Thatch arched back as though struck, his dramatics nearly sending the food and himself to the floor.

“My own brother! After all the hard work I put into this? Every ounce of love I put into it?” Thatch emphasized, finally lowering the plate enough for Marco to see it was flayed sea king, glazed with honeyed pineapple and served with stuffed potatoes, a hot roll, and a slice of upside-down pineapple cake. A cup of what could be anything from tea to booze to wash it down with.

It looked fucking good. But just for being obnoxious, Marco rolled his eyes.

“Gross.”

That earned him a sharp gasp and playful tears as Thatch attempted to clamber into his lap for apology cuddles. Pressing obnoxious kisses to his face like Thatch was trying to console him from some terrible tragedy that had occurred.

“G-Get the hell off of me, you ass!” Marco sputtered, reeling back as Thatch smashed Marco’s face into his chest with petulant cries of forlorn love.

“—Oh, my poor, stalwart brother! You’ve worked so hard and can’t even accept crumbs of affection! It doesn’t make you any less of a man to cuddle!” Thatch reassured him as any protest was muffled into his shirt. “I promise I won’t think any l-LE—ES--! SHIT! ACK! M-MARCO—NO!”

Marco dug his fingers into Thatch’s unprotected sides, trapping his idiot brother in place for the deserved payback.

“Marco, yes!”

Thatch wriggled fiercely, yelping with every poke and prod as they laughed, eventually knocking back the chair and ending it with Marco wheezing under Thatch’s weight.

Finally, Marco shoved Thatch off into the floor, face aching from the smile they both shared.

“Ugh! Fine! I’ll eat and go to bed, you prick!” Marco huffed, Thatch still giggling beside him.

“Great! I’ll be sure to deliver breakfast to you, as promised~!” Thatch tittered cheekily, dodging the swipe of Marco’s hand.

“The fuck you will!” his fingertips grazing the fabric of Thatch’s sleeves. Still warm with laughter and affection.

Thatch was cold now.

Somehow colder than Marco’s veins as he desperately lifted up the other man into his arms. So much heavier than before, faint breaths wheezing with blood on his lips. Cool blue fire danced over his pale face, sinking in deep with a desperation Marco hadn’t felt in a long time. Hands slick with blood, skin blossoming with feathers and scales. Teetering between bird and man so violently his words were more akin to bird cries.

There were hands pulling him away. Trying to tug his trembling body from curling over Thatch’s cooling corpse. Hot, burning hands ripping him away.

A large hand, firm and steady. A rock in the ocean that beached him with such violence.

A deep, rumbling voice.

“We’ve got it from here, my son. We’ll save him, my boy. Come back to me. Come back to us. We love you.” Those words followed him into the dark. The world shaking as his lungs rattled with sobs.

“We love you…”

There was a beeping.

That was all Marco could think about.

All he could handle.

His hands were wrong. Almost incandescent. The bones vague shadows flickering in gossamer blue light. Gold licking his fingertips as he stroked… something. Lips stiff. Twisting with difficulty out of the pointed beak they were trying to form. Every ragged breath licking across his tongue with a heady weight to it.

There was something in his hands, Marco knew.

It was… thick. A little tepid. Some give until stiff scaffolding within protested. Thin threads slipping beneath a strange, upper layer. A steady, weak thrum beneath his touch.

His eyes burned. He wanted to rip into it, whatever it was. Until it was hot and thrashing and alive—

But a keen slipped from his lips as a rhythmic beeping finally registered properly.

He was at someone’s bedside.

Again.

He was a little deckhand tending to a dying nurse.

No.

He was a man at a bedside.

A friend?

A brother?

He loved them fiercely. Whoever they were.

Marco wanted whoever it was to wake up already. Tease him for losing control like this. Obnoxiously cry about the display of affection that was cutting into Marco’s chest. Turning his lungs to ribbons. Hooking into the arteries of his heart until every thump made him ache for release.

There was a blanket over his shoulders, Marco realized.

How long had he been here? He shifted in the chair and heard paper crinkle.

Fresh, patterned sheets. Traditional ocean waves with little fish peeking here and there. Tiny boats fighting even, arching waves. All in soft blues that transitioned to richer hues, imbuing the artwork with depth and emotion.

It was instinct to reach for the paper. But the weight of a whole person stopped him. Marco looked.

Both his hands were grasping a limp wrist with a faint pulse.

Letting go felt like ripping away his flesh. Piece by piece.

Fold it over and over again.

Marco’s hands were steady despite everything. And it felt like betrayal.

He shouldn’t be able to do anything right now.

Not even breathe.

But his heart kept going. Lungs expanding with the scent of cold antiseptic.

The paper was smooth. Flawless despite the neglect he’d shown it for… however long he’d been sitting at…

Here.

Without it, you’ll never truly live.

She meant this, didn’t she? His family?

Even without a smooth surface, Marco’s hands knew the way. Folding and pinching the edges clean.

No, Marco remembered.

She meant dreams. She meant hope.

Marco knew, deep down, that eventually there would always be a goodbye at the end of their stories. Said or avoided like the plague.

But he expected it…

Marco never wanted to expect it.

He’d rather drown than look forward at a time he’d say goodbye with any one of his precious family members.

The little crane perched between his fingers. Perfect after years of practice.

Marco choked up as he placed it in Thatch’s hand. Gently curling those limp fingers around it’s delicate shape. Calloused hands cradling the bird in a loose cage.

Marco retreated. Shuffling into his dark room. No one stopped him, their gazed burning his hunched shoulders.

In the bottom desk drawer, so rarely opened it almost got stuck, was a single item.

A lopsided paper crane with a bent wing. Stained with faded ink and weathered with age.

Like he was scooping up a live bird, Marco lifted it to his chest. Careful even as he collapsed to the floor.

He cried. Wept like he’d been cut in two with sea stone. Tears gushing out instead of blood. His fire, confused at the agony he was experiencing, danced in the air. Casting dizzying shadows across the space battered with open sobs.

Marco couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t fill his lungs enough between his cries that ached down to his bones and the fire filling his lips with faux heat.

Everything hurt.

Nothing could heal.

He was a little boy again in his father’s arms. Weeping and certain he was dying from grief. Every wail a benediction. A plea against the inevitable. What was already past.

A wish burning in his veins even as shame filled him.

Death was natural. A long sigh at the end of a hard day.

But Marco wanted to hold his breath until he burst. Stop in the middle of a hurricane just to keep feeling the rain.

Parchment protested in his grasp and Marco shot up like he’d been burned.

Opening his palms to find the paper crane bent even further. Flickers of light cast across the ragged edges of ink—no?

Burns.

The bird was smoldering. Fueled by the open air of his shaking hands, it burst into golden fire. Marco wailed, shaken and confused as it lit up. Flying into the air with a trail of burning embers. Dancing in an unseen wind until, before Marco’s blurry eyes, it was gone. As though it was Thatch’s vivre card.

Time stopped. Stuttering as his heel stamped into the ground.

His shoulder nearly slamming into someone.

A door bashing into a wall.

That damn beeping so like Thatch. Annoying and reassuring in its consistent presence.

Nurses crowded Thatch’s bed, arguing over each other as familiar hair rose over them. Wide eyes looking around, face flush with warmth again.

He smiled, that crooked, familiar smile that tugged Marco’s lips into a similar shape.

“Hey, Coco, look! I got a little hospital buddy!” Thatch crowed, voice a soft rasp as he gently held up a small, blue paper crane. Gold catching the light as fire flickered over it’s wingspan. Every cresting wave lined with unnatural color that had not been there before. It seemed as alive as Thatch.

Thatch let out a creaking rush of air as Marco hugged him. Body awkwardly half in his lap as he buried his face into Thatch’s neck. Careful and weak, Thatch curled his arms around Marco’s chest. He smelled of antiseptic, sea salt, and spice.

The storm was behind them now, but there was still time for rain. One breath after another.

Little paper cranes littered across a pirate ship.

Every fold a wish.

Every step hope.

#one piece #marco the pheonix #one piece thatch #platonic love #and themes of unexpected resurrection

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