#but I was getting a little too into the satisfaction of it. And if you let yourself gloat in being nasty

[gf2bellamy]

bet — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: you and spencer have a bet on who is going to be the first to expose your relationship content warnings: mention of a victim a/n: when i tell you this took me ages omg i was struggling

You and Spencer had a bet. 

A ridiculous, entirely unnecessary bet—but a bet nonetheless.

The stakes? Bragging rights, and the satisfaction of being able to tease the other endlessly.

The challenge? Who would be the first to slip up and accidentally reveal your secret relationship to the rest of the BAU team. 

Both of you knew that secrecy wasn’t exactly your strong suit. Between Spencer’s tendency to ramble when nervous and your habit of wearing your emotions like a neon sign, it was only a matter of time before someone pieced it all together.

And that was what made the bet so much fun—because neither of you wanted to be the one to crack first. 

Some mishaps had already happened, moments that came far too close to giving you both away. 

Like the time Derek had caught Spencer staring at you during a team briefing. “Hey, Pretty Boy, you got something to add, or are you just lost in thought over there?” Derek had teased, a smirk tugging at his lips. Spencer, predictably, had flushed a deep shade of red and stumbled over a vague response. 

And, of course, who could forget the case in Chicago when Hotch had walked into the room just as Spencer had brushed a strand of hair out of your face? The gesture had been so natural, so tender, that even Hotch had paused for a fraction of a second before continuing his sentence. You could’ve sworn he’d given you a knowing glance, though he hadn’t said a word. 

Right now, you were sitting at your desk, trying (and failing) to focus on finishing your report on the case from two days ago.

“Spence, what was the address of the place where we found the second victim?” you asked, tapping your pen on the paper as you glanced up at your boyfriend sitting across from you at his desk.

“1375 Oakridge Drive,” he replied almost automatically, barely looking up from his own report.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, jotting it down and trying not to get distracted by the little curl of hair falling onto his forehead.

The bullpen was unusually quiet, save for the faint clacking of keyboards and the low hum of the coffee machine.

That peace didn’t last long, though, as Derek and Garcia burst into the room, engaged in what sounded like a very enthusiastic debate. 

“Reid, listen to this!” Derek called out, cutting across the bullpen as Penelope trailed behind him, waving her arms dramatically. Both you and Spencer instinctively looked up from your work.

“Okay,” Derek began, leaning one arm casually on the divider of Spencer’s desk. “Do you think watching a rom-com with someone is romantic?” 

“Specifically with a friend,” Penelope interjected, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because apparently, Mr. ‘Romance Expert’ here thinks it is!” 

Derek rolled his eyes. “Come on, Penelope. It can be romantic. I mean, think about it—it’s all cozy, emotional, and half the time someone ends up crying or sharing popcorn. You’re telling me that doesn’t create a vibe?” 

Spencer blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question. He sat up straighter, adjusting his tie slightly as he considered his answer. 

“Well,” he began, his voice contemplative, “the concept of watching a romantic comedy doesn’t inherently equate to a romantic interaction. However, if the participants have underlying romantic feelings, the environment—such as sharing an intimate space or engaging in emotional dialogue—could certainly facilitate a sense of connection. For example, I—” 

He froze mid-sentence, his brain catching up with his mouth as he realized where he was going. 

Oh no. 

Your eyes widened in panic as you watched Spencer flounder. His lips parted as though he might try to backtrack, but the damage was already done. 

“For example…?” Derek prompted, his brows shooting up, clearly intrigued. 

Spencer quickly cleared his throat, fumbling for a save. “Uh, hypothetically. I mean, generally speaking. Like, if two people…were, um, interested in each other—not me, of course—then maybe…” His voice trailed off as he glanced at you. 

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, knowing full well that he was treading dangerously close to losing the bet. 

Derek narrowed his eyes, studying Spencer for a moment. “Hmm,” he said slowly, drawing out the syllable. “You’re acting a little weird there. Something you wanna share with the class?” 

“Nope!” Spencer said quickly, shaking his head so forcefully it made his curls bounce. “Absolutely nothing.” 

Penelope raised an eyebrow, looking between you and Spencer with suspicion. “Uh-huh. If you say so.” 

You decided to intervene before they could dig any deeper. “Alright, Garcia, what’s your stance on the rom-com thing?” you asked, redirecting the conversation. 

The distraction worked, and Penelope launched into an impassioned argument, effectively pulling Derek’s attention away from Spencer.

You shot Spencer a look across the desks, mouthing close call. He gave you an apologetic shrug, his cheeks still faintly pink. 

Two days later, you made the mistake. The one that was ten times worse than the rom-com slip-up Spencer had made. 

You were in the file room, buried in paperwork that Hotch had assigned to you earlier that morning. The hours had been long and draining, and you’d barely made a dent in the pile.

Derek was there too, flipping through some files, his eyes narrowing in concentration, while Garcia sat at the table, her usual flair of colorful banter filling the otherwise quiet room.

She wasn’t doing much work, but she was keeping the rest of you entertained with her gossip. 

“This is tiring,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible as you stretched and yawned, your eyes heavy from exhaustion.

You handed Derek a file, trying to keep your energy up, though it was clear you weren’t succeeding. 

Spencer, who had been quietly scanning through a set of documents, glanced up at you, and then took a step closer. “You should go take a break and grab a coffee,” he suggested, his voice warm and concerned. “I’ll take these off your hands.” 

You spun around to face him, smiling at the sight of him standing there, his sleeves rolled up and his hair slightly tousled.

His expression was a mixture of concern and adoration, and you couldn’t help the little flutter in your chest. 

You smiled at him, genuinely grateful for the offer. You’d been working for hours, and the fatigue was beginning to take its toll. 

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice soft with appreciation. Without thinking, you leaned in slightly and planted a quick kiss on Spencer's cheek, your hand instinctively resting on his face—something you'd done countless times without giving it much thought.

The moment your lips brushed his skin, time seemed to slow. You pulled back almost immediately, but not fast enough. Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up into Spencer’s eyes, wide and shocked.

His brown eyes were locked on yours, the same stunned expression mirroring your own. 

It was like a slow-motion realization hit you both at the exact same time—you just kissed him. 

Before either of you could process what had happened, a loud gasp echoed from behind you. 

“Oh my god!” Garcia squealed, her voice thick with excitement. 

You felt your face burn as you snapped your eyes shut, feeling a flush creep up your neck. You could practically hear Derek’s mischievous chuckle follow suit. 

Spencer's back stiffened, and you knew exactly what was coming next. 

“Well, well, well,” Derek's voice rang out, full of teasing amusement, “Look what we got here” His tone was almost dramatic as he clapped Spencer on the back. 

“Way to go, my man! Getting the girl!” Derek cheered loudly. 

You dropped your hand from Spencer’s face to his chest, your shoulders slumping as you sighed loudly.

It was out in the open now—so much for the bet. 

Penelope’s voice cut through the air like a burst of confetti. “I knew it! I’ve been saying it for months, but nobody would listen to me!”

She was practically bouncing on her feet as she grinned at the both of you, clearly pleased with herself. 

Spencer gave you a nervous but warm smile. You could tell he was about to say something, but before he could, you were swarmed by both Derek and Garcia. 

“I knew you two were adorable,” Garcia squealed, pulling you into a tight hug. “Oh my god, you two are going to be so cute together.” 

Derek, on the other hand, ruffled Spencer’s hair. “I’m proud of you, man.” 

You could feel your pulse racing as you glanced at Spencer, who was doing his best to keep his usual composure, but the hint of a smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

He gave you a look that could only be described as amused exasperation, as if asking, Well, I guess we don’t need to worry about hiding it anymore, do we? 

A quiet laugh escaped your lips. Spencer’s smile softened as his hand reached for yours.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured softly, leaning in a bit closer to him. “I didn’t mean for this to—” 

He cut you off with a gentle squeeze of your hand, his voice just low enough for only you to hear. “It’s okay,” he whispered, “I think it’s about time they found out.” 

Later that night, you and Spencer were lying in bed. Your head rested on his chest, and your fingers absentmindedly drew soft circles over his chest as you listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you.

His hand was gently resting around your waist, his thumb lightly brushing over the skin of your arm. 

"Today was fun," you murmured into his chest, the sound muffled but sincere. 

“A lot of fun,” he chuckled, the vibration of his laugh resonating through his chest. 

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, remembering the teasing from Derek and Garcia, and the way everything had just spilled out into the open.

“I for sure thought you’d be the one to lose the bet,” you teased, your voice light and playful. 

Spencer raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a soft smile. "I didn’t," he said, his voice playful but confident. 

“Why is that?” you asked, lifting your head just enough to prop yourself up on your elbow. Spencer met your gaze, his smile never wavering.

He was looking down at you with that soft affection that always made your heart skip a beat, but there was something teasing behind his eyes now. 

"You're more obvious than me," he said, brushing a strand of hair out of your face with his fingers, the touch tender. 

You immediately furrowed your brow, sitting up a little straighter. “No I’m not,” you said, a playful frown tugging at your lips. 

But the moment his fingers gently brushed your hair again, any trace of the playful frown disappeared. A warm smile spread across your face, unable to resist the effect his touch had on you. 

Spencer tilted his head, his eyes glinting with that teasing spark you knew so well. “Oh really?” he said, his voice laced with amusement, his gaze never leaving yours. 

You rolled your eyes at him, but the smile on your face betrayed you. “Okay, maybe,” you admitted with a mock sigh, before leaning back down onto his chest. 

Spencer’s laughter rumbled softly in his chest as he kissed the top of your head.

You snuggled closer to him, your face against his chest once more, feeling the beat of his heart beneath you.

"Goodnight, Spence," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. 

"Goodnight," he replied, his hand gently squeezing your waist as he kissed your forehead one last time. 

[berfgrimm]

staring at the sun | choi seunghyun (t.o.p) x reader

pairing: choi seunghyun (t.o.p) x f!reader

warnings: smut, fluff, sneaking around, hair pulling, pet names, dirty talk, a smidge of self doubt sprinkled around.

note: this is my take on combining a few requests i got, because i got inspired from a couple of edits i saw on tiktok and listening to a tvotr song. i tried writing this a little differently than I normally write, and i had this vision of ‘deleted or extended scenes’ of certain moments described here, which is something i’ve never done before. maybe it’s silly, but if you guys like this then I’ll expand on those scenes and give you some more from this story’s universe. also don’t chat to me about this being pink hair era, it is my favorite so maybe I’ll be writing about it the most. so what. anyway, enjoy!

———————

The first time you kissed Seunghyun was an accident — well, maybe not an accident, because he intended to kiss you, but it certainly was unexpected. It was in the middle of one of the band’s performances when the boys stepped off the stage for a brief break in between songs, and as a stagehand, you were responsible for the hydration of Seunghyun that night. You waited for him at the stage exit, two bottles of water in your hands and a welcoming smile on your face.

When he walked towards you, there was a frenzied look in his eyes; not panicked, but more energized, wired from the show. As much as he likes to keep a stoic demeanor about him during most performances, you know he adores what he does. It brings him a joy that you seldom see in people, and it makes you both jealous and grateful that he’s able to feel such satisfaction — he deserves it.

Seunghyun had a determined walk that night to go along with his intensity, like he couldn’t wait to get off of the stage because he had to do something. You held the bottles towards him as he neared, smiling still. He stopped too close to you, that was the first thing you noticed. You didn’t have a problem with him being in your personal space, not in the general sense of the word anyway. It was more of a disadvantage, maybe a hindrance — you couldn’t operate at 100% with him that close.

It would happen each time Seunghyun even brushed you as he tried to walk by, or when he gave you the friendliest of touches. Your skin would flush, your breath would catch in your throat, and you’d find it hard to even speak. That night was no different, if possible, it was even worse. Not only was he standing in your space, you could feel the heat radiating off of him, he was so close.

“How is it?” he asked, taking a water from your grasp and twisting the cap off. He threw his head back to take a large glug of water; you couldn’t help but fixate on the sweat on his skin, and his throat as he swallowed. Your mouth went dry at the sight. “Well?” You hadn’t realized he was finished with the bottle and was focused on you again, a faint grin on his lips. You couldn’t answer him, your words were caught in your throat and the more he stared at you, the worse it got.

That’s when he leaned towards you, stooping just enough to dip his head closer. The moment felt almost cinematic. The buzz from the fans that still cheered on the other side of the curtain, the bright lights that shone from every direction, the way he paused just before his lips met yours. When you let out a shuddered breath and leaned closer to him, Seunghyun took the hint, and closed the distance between you.

The kiss was soft and quick, just a peck, before he pulled back to look into your eyes. You don’t remember what face you made in response, but it was enough for Seunghyun to place his hand on your hip, gently pushing you backwards until your back hit a wall. You were out of view of anyone who would have walked by, secluded yet surrounded by thousands of people. This time when he kissed you, he was pressed against you harder, more intensely.

He didn’t kiss you like he was frantic, or he needed it, but instead like he was curious, almost scientific. He admitted later that he was nervous but you didn’t get that sense at the time. He didn’t even act like he enjoyed it, and before you knew it, the kiss was done and he was needed back on stage. He took the other water bottle from your hand and was gone before you uttered a word. You were confused to say the least.

Seunghyun didn’t talk to you about it afterwards. The band had another show the following night, and when you stood in the same spot, two more bottles in your hands, you were nervous. As he walked in your direction, you were certain you’d pass out from the way your heart pounded in your chest, but thankfully, your feet were firmly planted.

This time, when he reached you, Seunghyun once again drank a whole bottle of water before planting another kiss on your lips. Since it was a different venue than the night before, the secluded space you shared was no longer an option. Instead, he backed you against a stack of trunks, one hand on your hip to pin you in place.

In the moment, you weren’t sure if it was some sort of fantasy that your brain was making you believe was reality. There’s no way that this highly sought after man would be kissing you in private during his shows. It didn’t make sense. But the kiss was different this time, as he slipped his tongue into your mouth to deepen it briefly. Before you could fully enjoy the kiss, it was over again, and he left you standing alone in seclusion.

That was the start of a tradition. Each night, during their very brief intermission, Seunghyun would meet you backstage and hide behind anything nearby so you could kiss. It was sneaky and clandestine, and it gave you a knot in your stomach each time.

It took you until the fifth night for you to put your hands on him — both hands set simply on his hips; until then, you’d stayed still, too worried that if you tried to touch him, it would spoil the moment. Seunghyun told you later that he felt the same way, overthinking the moments and thinking that if he touched you too much or said anything about it, you wouldn’t want to kiss him anymore.

By the eighth night of kissing in secret, you felt something switch inside of you, and when you put your hands on his hips, you slid them up his body, feeling the heat of his skin under his sweat soaked shirt. You vividly recall the way you could feel his heart pounding as you pressed your hands flat against his chest. He responded by wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

That night, when Seunghyun pulled away from you, that same switch inside of you drove you to grab his belt buckle and pull him in for one last quick kiss. As your lips were connecting, you could see a very small amused smirk on Seunghyun’s lips — at least he wasn’t mad.

Two weeks of kissing and gentle, explorative touching backstage at concerts. Away from your secret rendezvous, you had initially not treated each other any differently; friendly, joking, cordial. But at the end of week two, you started to notice the looks Seunghyun would give you when no one else was looking, along with the way he seemed to linger in your personal space. That made you more nervous than the kissing did.

“Why do you stare at me when the guys aren’t looking?” you asked him one night while he was kissing you. It made him stop altogether, peering into your eyes breathlessly. You were momentarily worried that you’d spoiled it by asking, as neither of you spoke during these moments before. It took him a few seconds of thought before he could answer, during which your eyes didn’t leave his face.

“I want to kiss you all the time,” he admitted. “I think about it whenever you’re around. Sometimes when you’re not.” You blushed, not expecting the softness and candor in his response. “This is my favorite part of each night,” he added.

“Can I tell you a secret?” you asked. Seunghyun nodded, staring directly at your mouth as he waited for you to continue. “I really like doing this in secret,” you began, feeling your nerves spread through your whole body. “It’s sexy.”

You’d never forget the glint in his eyes when you said it, excited and something almost devious. You wished you could have a picture of the way he looked at you, but it ingrained itself in your memory anyway. He looked like he was overcome with desire, for you.

The signal for him to return to stage came far too soon after that. He didn’t get to truly respond to what you had said, but he told you later that it was all he could think about for the rest of the night. You agreed with him, remembering the way that you trembled with excitement at what could come of the conversation.

The next night of the tour something changed. It wasn’t ideal to say the least. One of the other stagehands said they wanted to switch positions, and of course, your manager agreed to the change. You didn’t have time to tell Seunghyun of the change ahead of time, but you still tried to make yourself visible when he exited the stage.

The obvious look of disappointment and confusion on his face would have been funny if you didn’t feel the same way. He had glanced beyond the other stagehand to where you stood, mindlessly rolling up some cables, staring directly at him. He changed the look on his face quickly, shifting back to the stoic persona he usually presented, and acted as though nothing was wrong.

Later that night, after the show ended, you wandered through the corridors of the venue, making sure all of the leftover equipment had been gathered. You were so focused on the task, you didn’t hear Seunghyun sneaking up behind you, so you let out a surprised yelp when he grabbed you and pulled you into a nearby utility closet.

It was pitch black in the room, but you could tell it was him. His breathing, his smell, his energy, it was all around you and as you felt the warmth of his body closing in on you, all you could do was throw your arms around his neck to pull him in.

It was the first time he touched you. Like really touched you. You didn’t miss the slight tremble in his hand as it slid up your stomach, stopping just as his fingertips touched your breast. His hesitancy to not cross a line is what made you feel empowered; you took hold of his hand that barely teased your breast and dragged just a little higher to press his palm against you. He took the hint and wrapped his fingers around it, squeezing gently.

“I hated not being able to kiss you earlier,” he admitted, kissing your cheek as he held you close.

“I got reassigned.”

“I’ll take care of that.”

The way Seunghyun said it, without a single shred of uncertainty, because he knew whatever he would say to the team would happen…the power that he had…

You kissed him again, so worked up with excitement, you bit his lip. Not too hard, but enough to make him chuckle into your mouth. You didn't realize right away, not until he let out a moan, but your hand had worked its way down to touch him through his pants. You worried for a moment that you crossed a line but he was already getting hard before you touched him.

“Is this how you want our first time to be?” Seunghyun asked, kissing your neck as he ground himself against your hand. “In a utility closet? In the dark?”

“You can have me wherever you want me.”

“But you love the secrecy,” he teased. “You love hiding but you love the thought of being caught. You love being my secret, don’t you, princess?”

“I do,” you admitted. Seunghyun let out a soft gasp, a little rumble of that deep voice, as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“You’re a good girl,” he said, gently. “But we don’t have time to do this here.” You were disappointed, of course, but you knew he was right. You had a job to do and it would be suspicious for him to be missing for too long. “We have two days off of the tour next week,” he continued. “In Melbourne. We’ll get a hotel.”

“Okay,” you replied, breathless from excitement.

“I’ll make sure you’re back in your regular assignment, as well,” he added. “I won’t be able to handle not kissing you for a week. I love being able to see you like that every night.”

You’d never expected Seunghyun to be so open to admit what could be perceived as weakness. He always came across very closed off, and protective of his emotions around most people apart from his fellow bandmates — even then, he didn’t seem quite as open.

The next several days seemed to drag on forever as you waited to have alone time with Seunghyun. Still, you had your stolen glances and private make out sessions every night, each kiss more desperate than the last, hands moving heavier with more determination.

The last show before the two day break, Seunghyun unbuttoned your jeans and began to slide his hand into your panties. You tensed, and he froze, panic spreading across his face, thinking he crossed a line. You stared into each other’s eyes and his hand stayed just barely past the elastic of your panties, unsure of what to do. You nodded slowly to give him permission to continue, and then you lowered your gaze to watch between your bodies as his hand traveled deeper into your panties.

You could recall that first sensation when his fingers, surprisingly cold, gently touched your folds. He didn’t tease you, no, there wasn’t enough time and you were so close to your hotel date so he wouldn’t do it just yet. Instead he made sure his fingers were wet with your juices before he pulled back, sliding his fingers into his mouth as he kept his gaze on you.

You worried you’d faint from the sight of him savoring your taste, but he gave you a wink, and headed back to the stage before you had the opportunity to even respond. Seunghyun told you later that he could taste you on his lips and tongue for the rest of the show, and that he had to focus not to get hard in front of everyone. You told him that you could feel his cold, soft fingers touching you for the rest of the night, and that you would let him fuck you on stage if that was what he wanted to do. He blushed but you could tell he definitely envisioned it.

You weren’t sure what to expect when it came to being alone in a hotel with Seunghyun, so your mind came up with hundreds of different scenarios that could potentially play out. During your secret rendezvous with him, he was tender for the most part, with the occasional moment of audacity like when he touched you between your thighs.

The first time you had sex with Seunghyun was gentle, the kind of thing you feel like you’d read in a romance novel. There wasn’t a lot of talking apart from the occasional soft whispers of encouragement from him, but your head was too foggy for you to even think of anything else to do except breathe and whimper. You would have been embarrassed by how composed he was compared to you, but you knew he wouldn’t want you to think that way.

You stayed tangled together in bed for what felt like hours after, telling stories of your lives and dreams for the future. As you listened to him open up to you, telling you about all of his hopes and dreams and demons, all you wanted was to kiss him and hold him for the rest of your life. But maybe that wasn’t what he wanted from you.

“Is this it?” you asked him, trying to make your voice stronger than you felt. “After today, are we back to the way things were?”

“Is that what you want?”

“No, not at all,” you said, earnestly.

“Neither do I.”

Things changed from that moment onward, the start of your relationship with Seunghyun. You both agreed that it would be best to keep it between the two of you as long as you could, not ready to deal with the attention of his fans or his bandmates. Beyond that, sneaking around was still so fucking hot.

Once, Taeyang almost caught you. The group had a performance at an award show in Japan that your team wasn't required for. After several days of rehearsals and fittings during which you spent no time together, you finally found a brief moment, maybe ten minutes of time, where Seunghyun wasn’t being pulled in a million different directions. He gave you a quick nod towards the bathrooms, and you knew what he was suggesting.

It was an individual bathroom, no stalls. You snuck inside first, staying at the far side of the room to wait for him to join you. Only a few minutes went by before he finally entered the room, hurriedly locking the door and moving towards you.

“I missed you,” he breathed, crashing his lips into yours for a kiss that he clearly had been waiting too long for. You grabbed his hips and pulled him against you, longing to feel his body again. “Being around you and not being able to touch you like I want to,” he began, kissing along your neck. “Drives me crazy. I don’t know how I’ll manage the next few days not being able to see you.”

You slid your hand to the back of his head, your fingers threading through his short hair, to guide him to a spot on your neck that you love when he kisses. His hands grabbed your sides hard, pinning you to the wall and keeping you in place to grind himself against you.

“Don’t get too worked up,” you warned. “We won’t have time for me to get you off, baby. And I’ve been wanting it so bad, I’ve been dreaming about it. You can’t leave me hungry for you like that.” Seunghyun bit your neck, sucking harder on your skin, clearly trying to leave a mark. “Are you trying to claim me?” you asked, tugging on his hair to get a groan from him. “You want them to see that I already belong to someone?”

“I want you to remember it,” he muttered against your skin. “When I can’t be with you in the next few days, I want you to look in the mirror and see this mark so you’ll remember the way that only I know how to make you feel.”

That was the first time he showed his possessive side, and you were elated. You wanted to return the favor, maybe scratch up his back or his chest to give him something to think about while you weren’t near him but you worried that would be the fastest way to get caught. Sure, Seunghyun seldom showed much skin to anyone, but you knew that his friends enjoyed teasing and pranking one another, which has previously included sneaking pictures of one another while in compromising situations — like in the shower.

The knock on the bathroom door scared you both, and Taeyang’s voice made you even more terrified. All you could do was stare at one another with panic in your eyes.

“Hey, man, we have to leave soon for the next fitting,” Tae called out, knocking again. “Then to the airport for the flight.”

“Okay,” Seunghyun replied, hoping it would be sufficient.

“Are you alright?” came Tae’s response, and she shook the door handle as if he wanted to get in the room. “You sound odd.”

“Be out in a minute.” Seunghyun sounded as irritated as he looked, but thankfully, Tae took the hint and you heard his footsteps retreating. Seunghyun put his hands on the wall on either side of you, looking at you, discouraged. “Text me every time you think of me,” he said. “Especially if it’s dirty.”

“That will be a lot of messages,” you admitted, which made him grin.

“You think about me that much?” he inquired and you nodded, transfixed on his mouth. “Good. Give me details, so I know what my girl daydreams of me doing to her. I’ll miss you.” You make sure to give him another kiss, knowing you won’t see him for several days. “Stay here for a minute after I leave,” he directed. “I’ll make sure no one is around.”

Seunghyun exited first, casually to not draw attention. You counted to thirty before you made your exit, thankfully no one was in sight to be any the wiser.

You sent him fifteen texts that day, which was showing a tremendous amount of restraint compared to how frequently you actually thought of him. Your mind was almost entirely on him from the moment he left your side: sweet thoughts of how you’d love to hold his hand and walk through a market together, tender thoughts of kissing endlessly in his bed, filthy thoughts that you refused to elaborate on via text message but you made sure he knew you needed him in every imaginable way.

That night was the first time you had phone sex with Seunghyun. You couldn’t make it twenty four hours without each other. The sound of Seunghyun trying to keep his moans to a reasonable volume to not get caught by his bandmates in the next room was something you’d think about forever; you wished you could record the sound in your mind and play it whenever you wanted. The slightly static and muffled distortion of his voice coming through the phone somehow made his voice deeper, and when he told you what he would have done to you if you were there with him that night, you switched to a video call so he could watch you touch yourself.

You slowly found out about each other’s kinks. He liked watching you touch yourself because if anyone knew what you liked the most, it would be you. He also liked being called ‘baby’, and having his hair pulled. You told him you liked being more submissive, and you especially enjoyed dirty talk. He said he liked lingerie, the lacy kind, and he ended up buying you three different sets to wear for him. Though you were most nervous to admit this one, and you tried to avoid it altogether, you told him the contact lenses and costume for ‘Bae Bae’ were sexy.

“I’ll wear them for you one day,” he promised. “But you’d better be a dirty girl for me if I do, princess.” You tried to hide your excitement and embarrassment, but Seunghyun saw it immediately. “I love when you get shy,” he smirked, stealing a gentle kiss.

“I love everything you do,” you responded.

The first time you both actually said ‘I love you’ was during one of the intermissions about two months after you started your relationship. You both admitted later that you felt it much earlier on than that, but didn’t want to pressure the other.

Seunghyun said it first. The roles were slightly reversed from usual, as he was the one pressed back against the wall with your hands touching his body over his shirt. Your mouth was leaving a wet trail of kisses along his sharp jawline, tasting the sweat on his skin. His hands were on your backside, pulling you against him hard, letting you work your magic on him.

“I love you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss below your ear then resting his head against yours. You stopped kissing his neck, staying in place, breathing slowly as you let the words sink in. “Is that okay?” he questioned, his hands shifting to your hips now, rubbing soothingly.

“More than okay,” you whispered, nudging your head against his gently. “I love you, too.”

Seunghyun let out a small, excited yell in response to your words, roughly wrapping his arms around you and spinning you both in a circle. You laughed along with him holding on tight as he got out his excited response.

“I knew it, princess. You can’t get enough of me.”

“That’s funny, coming from you,” you retorted, playfully shoving him against the wall again and standing in front of him, both of your hands pressed to his chest. “I’m so fucking in love with you,” you whispered, wistfully.

Seunghyun gave you one last passionate kiss before he had to go back onto the stage. He told you later he felt like it was the best performance he ever gave because he couldn’t stop thinking about how much love was in your eyes when you looked at him.

When Jiyong almost caught you, it was enough to cause you and Seunghyun to have a conversation about the future of your relationship. It was after a show, when Daesung asked you to join the guys and a few others to go to a club. Ordinarily, you would have refused as you didn’t spend a lot of time clubbing, but when you glanced past Daesung towards Seunghyun, you noticed the hopeful look on his face — so you agreed. Maybe the night would give you an opportunity to dance with Seunghyun.

What you hadn’t thought of, however, was what happened a couple of hours before, during your intermission make out session. You decided to tempt Seunghyun, just a little bit, and you wore a skirt. You knew immediately that it worked, because his hands were under your skirt, groping your thighs, as soon as his body touched yours.

The issue was that you had slipped your panties off and handed them to him just before he went back on stage; hot pink panties from a set he had bought. You could see the surprise on his face initially, but his expression changed to something different, more intense. He shoved the clothing into the pocket of his jacket, swooping back towards you for another kiss before he went back to the stage. He told you later that it was one of the sexiest things you ever did, and that he tried to think of a way to do something similar for you, but he didn’t think handing you his briefs would have the same impact.

Fast forward to the club, when Seunghyun took his jacket off and draped it over his seat, only to have your panties fall from his pocket to the floor. Neither of you noticed it until Jiyong spoke.

“Lose something?” he laughed.

“Huh?” Seunghyun asked, prompting Jiyong to point to the clothing on the floor. Your heart leapt to your throat and you were thankful that the lights were low in the club so no one could see the look of shock and embarrassment on your face.

“Pink to match your hair, is that it?” Jiyong teases, taking a sip of his drink. Seunghyun scooped the panties up from the ground, stuffing them into the pocket of his pants this time.

“Caught them on stage,” he explained casually, sitting down again.

“And you decided to carry them with you after you changed clothes,” Jiyong continued, a smirk on his lips as he watched Seunghyun for any signs of deception.

“You don’t have to act so jealous because you didn’t catch any,” Seunghyun responded, a sly smirk on his lips. Jiyong laughed at his friend’s response.

“That’s a shame — I thought you’d finally found someone willing to put up with all of your quirks.” Seunghyun didn’t need to respond, and he told you later that if he didn’t relent when he did, Jiyong would have kept pushing until he figured out your secret.

The best moment of the night was dancing with Seunghyun. Even when you were just friends, you didn’t share a dance together, so you weren’t aware of how good it felt to slow dance and grind with him. To make sure no suspicions were raised, you danced with the others as well, and even though Seunghyun agreed it would be a good idea, you could tell he hated to watch it happen.

Later that night, Seunghyun sent you a video of him, a little tipsy from the drinks that night, and a little frustrated from the lack of time spent with you. He spoke deeper than normal, trying to avoid being heard by anyone through the walls.

“I didn’t like their hands on you,” he muttered. “Touching you like they had the right. It makes me crazy not being able to touch you when I want, princess.” He sounded needy in a way you hadn’t heard from him before, and it made you wish he was with you in your room right then.

It wasn’t until the next day that you had a few moments to spare together where Seunghyun asked you if you were serious about him. You were frustrated with the question at first until you realized why he was asking: you two were getting closer to being caught, and he wanted to save you from the relentless teasing and jokes you’d be subjected to once the others found out. You told him you didn’t care and you loved him, so that was all that mattered. You’d enjoy sneaking around while you still could.

The first time you played a prank on him wasn’t your choice. Daesung and Jiyong talked you into it, because they knew that Seunghyun would expect strange behavior from them during a prank war. You were an objective third party as far as they knew, and you thought going along with their plan would be the best way to keep the heat off of you.

You didn’t think it was a great idea because you knew how much Seunghyun didn’t enjoy showing off his body, but Daesung convinced you to steal Seunghyun’s clothes while he was in the shower. You agreed, and before you knew it, you found yourself sneaking into the shower room in search of his clothes. Until he caught you, all of his clothes bunched up in your hands while he stood opposite you with a towel around his waist.

“You turned on me, princess?” he asked, putting his hands on his hips. “You joined their team?”

“It’s just…for fun,” you explained, cheeks flushing.

“Are you blushing because you’ve been caught or because you want me to drop the towel?” He stalked towards you, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to run away or run closer. “Both?” he smirked.

“Maybe a little,” you mumbled.

“Take the clothes,” he nodded, finally in front of you. “I’ll make a big scene about it, don’t worry. But tonight, I want you to come by my hotel room, and you can pay me back.” He stole a quick kiss from you before gently shoving you in the direction of the exit.

You both acted perfectly together, convincing the other guys that you had pranked him. They laughed uncontrollably as Seunghyun cursed them for talking you into a stupid prank war. After you finally relented and returned his clothes, he spared a quick glance to the others to make sure they weren’t looking when he whispered in your ear.

“My room later,” he said. “You owe me.”

He got you off four times that night before he let you relax. It was a new record for both of you.

The next day was the first time one of the guys suggested Seunghyun ask you out. You weren’t around when it happened, working elsewhere in the arena setting up for the rehearsal, but Seunghyun was practically giddy when he told you later.

From Seunghyun’s retelling of the conversation, Tae was the first to bring it up, mentioning that he could see a spark between the two of you at the club. Jiyong agreed but Daesung mentioned that he felt he had more of a chance with you than Seunghyun did.

“Dae would be my second choice,” you joked with Seunghyun, and thankfully, he laughed in response.

According to Seunghyun, he played the whole thing as casually as possible. At first he denied that there was any sort of spark between you, and then he allowed his friends to make him see it. Still, he shrugged it off, saying he didn’t have time for a relationship. By the end of the conversation, he seemingly dissuaded them of the notion altogether.

“I don’t think I’m ready to tell them,” he admitted. “It’s fun sneaking around, and I’m happy being private. Besides, that’s one step closer to the rest of the world finding out. I don’t want you to face them until you’re ready.”

It was sweet how he wanted to protect you, but you felt in a certain part of your mind that maybe he wasn’t ready to tell the world because he wasn’t proud of you. It was a silly notion, and you knew from the way he looked at you that he would do anything for you, just as you would for him. Still, you couldn’t help but hear that small whisper of doubt if you thought too hard about your relationship.

The whisper got softer, and eight months into your still secret relationship with Seunghyun, you couldn’t hear it at all anymore. The tour had ended and you were able to spend more time together without as much worry of being caught. You spent most of your days in his apartment, sometimes yours, watching movies together or staying in bed. You were sometimes treated to the sight of Seunghyun at his desk, writing new music; you think those were your favorite days.

It all brings you to this moment right now. You’re tangled up in the sheets of Seunghyun’s bed, on your back with your hips at the edge, while he’s knelt on the floor with his head between your legs. He has your thighs spread wide for him, pinned down against the bed so he can get at you without issue.

“Fuck, baby,” you moan, fisting his hair to hold him in place where he sucks on your clit. “That feels so good, please don’t stop.”

“Mhm,” he hums against you, and you’re sure you can feel him smirking. He thrusts his fingers into you faster, sensing that you’re close from the way you’re squeezing and grinding against him. “Good girl,” he breathed into you. “Come for me, baby.”

Every time Seunghyun makes you come, it feels better than the last. Your body trembles and you moan out his name so much and so hard, you feel like you’ll lose your voice. This time is no different, and you ride out each and every wave of your orgasm, then dropping back into the sheets, panting.

“I’ll never get tired of the way that sounds,” Seunghyun says, licking the taste of you from his lips and fingers. “You, calling my name, breathing like you’re desperate for air. You’re so beautiful.” You reach towards him, cupping his face with both hands and urging him closer to you. He grins up at you, climbing on top of you on the bed to kiss you passionately.

You’re both so lost in the feeling of one another you don’t hear the front door of the apartment open, and you didn’t hear your friends talking idly while they changed their shoes in the entryway. If you had overheard them, you would have had more time to cover yourselves up or even hide before they entered the bedroom.

“Oh, damn!” Jiyong exclaims, laughing. “I’m sorry!” He covers his eyes and turns from the doorway, but is quickly joined by his two other bandmates who are hurrying to peer into the room.

“No way!” Daesung laughs.

“I knew it,” Tae laughs.

“Fucking go!” Seunghyun yells, pointing at them with one hand as he tries to help you cover yourself with a sheet. “Have some respect!” The other three men almost fall over one another as they scramble from the room, still in a fit of excited laughter. “I’m so sorry,” Seunghyun says, softly, as he turns to check on you. “Are you okay? I didn’t know they were coming over.”

“It’s okay,” you nod, your cheeks still flushed in embarrassment. “I guess the truth is out now.”

“So much for privacy,” he chuckles, grasping your jaw tenderly and pulling you towards him for a kiss. “I’m sorry, princess. If you go get cleaned up, I’ll talk to those idiots, and try to calm them down before you come out there.”

“Okay,” you smile. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he replies. You smile, tossing the blanket from your body and moving to stand up from the bed. “Wait,” Seunghyun says, catching your hips, and pulling you to stand in front of where he sits on the edge of the bed. “I’m not upset that they know. I’ll miss sneaking around because it was sexy…but at least we can be open about it. And we can start moving you in here tomorrow.”

“That’s how you ask me to move in with you?” you chuckle, putting your hands on his shoulders.

“You love it here,” he responds, one of his hands slipping between your thighs, touching your still wet and tender folds. “I‘ll be able to touch you anytime you want me to. And we both know…you always want me to touch you.”

“Mmm,” you hum, closing your eyes and letting out a soft sigh. “Maybe. But I’m not going to let you finger me while your friends are in the other room.” Seunghyun laughs, removing his hand from between your legs and making sure you look at him before he slips his fingers into his mouth to clean them.

“Go clean up,” he commands, gesturing to the bathroom. “If I get them to leave before you’re out, I’m coming in there and fucking you in the shower.” You laugh, playfully slapping his shoulder.

“Don’t make a promise that you don’t intend to keep.”

“Oh, you doubt me?” he laughs. “Now I’ll have them out of here in sixty seconds, so you’d better be in that shower waiting for me. Or else you’ll be in trouble.” You wish you could identify what it was about Seunghyun threatening you like this that set your inside alight with arousal, but you figure that’s an internal conversation for another time. “Go now,” he says, smacking you on your backside. “Be a good girl and listen to what I told you.”

As you enter the bathroom, you feel an excitement radiating through you unlike you’d felt before at the thought of being in a relationship with Seunghyun. Now that the truth is out, the possibilities are endless. And the likelihood of Seunghyun keeping his promise to meet you in the bathroom is now a certainty as he stands in the doorway, thirty seconds faster than he had predicted.

[storiesoflilies]

warning: nsfw, 18+, mdni.

thinking about toji fushiguro and the way he loves to press warm kisses just behind your ear, his lips trailing slowly to the back of your neck, and all the way down your spine. his arms are caging you in, and his body blankets yours, his heat and weight overwhelming you in the most delicious way possible, because he’s just so fucking big and he’s on top of you and it all just feels so good.

you can try and bury your face deeper into the pillow to try and hide how much you love all this, but toji would see right through you.

because god, he always knows exactly what he’s doing, he always has. nobody else knows you better, after all. nobody else knows what makes you tick, or just how to tease you so much that it makes your skin flush and you forget how to even breathe.

he slides his hand over yours, rough and impossibly warm. “why’r you hiding from me, pretty thing?”

but you can’t say anything at all.

all you can do is let out an exceptionally embarrassing whine.

toji chuckles lowly, and you can feel his lips pull back in a smirk, his breath hot against your lower back. your skin gets all clammy, and you tense up as goosebumps flare up on your arms and legs.

you know that he loves this.

he loves teasing you and riling you up so badly that your practically melting into your wrinkled bedsheets, begging him for more and more, because you feel that you’ll die if you don’t get that sweet release from him right there and then.

toji hums.

“oh, i wonder what my baby wants from me.”

and then his fingers are gliding over the curve of your ass, going round and round in circles, each time getting closer to where you need him the most. you let out a muffled moan, pathetically biting down hard on the pillow. his lips are back behind your ear, biting and nipping at your soft lobe.

toji wants to give everything to you, he wants to give you his all and make you feel all sorts of pleasure.

but he also loves this too.

the power.

“use your words.”

his voice is raspy, cooing at you and making your brain go dumb for everything except him and his touch.

“c’mon, sweetheart.”

he brushes against your sweet spot. it’s such a featherlight touch, but you’re so sensitive and desperate for it that it feels more like a cosmic explosion. stars dance behind your closed lids, and you can’t help but moan again as a searing heat pools to your lower belly. you know toji wants you to beg, he’s waiting for it, but it’s so hard to think and string together words in a coherent sentence when you’re so consumed by him.

but eventually, you will give into him.

because you always do.

“please,” you finally pleaded, broken and breathless and utterly desperate. “toji, please.”

and something in him snaps.

before you can say another word, a calloused palm finds your jaw and tilts your head backwards for him to claim your lips in a hot, needy kiss. a hand roughly slides underneath you, flipping you over before you can even register what’s happening. you let out a gasp, but toji swallows it whole as his lips captures yours again, his tongue slipping between your lips and dancing over your tongue.

“you gonna let me take care of you, baby?” he groans between kisses, settling himself more firmly between your legs.

“y-yeah,” you stutter weakly, your lips tingling and probably bruised.

then, you feel it.

his cock.

it’s hard and thick, scorchingly hot as toji begins to grind himself against your needy hole. even now, he just can’t stop teasing you, still wanting you to absolutely fall apart beneath him where you’re all safe and warm. and with every shallow thrust, he slips in just a fraction deeper.

and deeper.

and deeper.

just a little more.

you moan as he finally sinks into you, and it’s absolutely filthy – the way you’re just so full, stretched to your limit, and it’s still mind-blowing every time, no matter how many times he’s had you.

“that’s it,” toji groans, a hint of satisfaction in his all too smug voice.

he gives out a deep, guttural moan as he bottoms out, his hips flush against yours, and you can feel every ridge of muscle and power building up behind him. your nails instinctively dig into his bicep, anchoring yourself against something – anything – and toji’s forehead drops down to touch yours. his green eyes bore into you, and at first it’s full of adoration, reverence even. until he grips your thigh, pulling it around his waist, and they turn a shade darker when you let out a broken cry of his name at the new sensation.

“yeah, baby. say my name again. let me hear you.”

and with a snap of his hips, he rolls into you with the most obscene plap! plap! plap! noises filling the room. toji’s pace is relentless as he absolutely drills into you, like he wants to push a part of himself to live inside you forever. you know he’ll do it, he’ll spend all night trying if he has to, determined to leave the both of you in a trembling mess of love and spent ecstasy.

you know that you’re in for a very long night.

©storiesoflilies 2025, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[sterifels-blog]

simon "ghost" riley

The first time Simon saw your boyfriend, he knew.

Oh, he knew. Not in that “you’re too good for him” way you half-expected your protective, burly best friend to behave. No, Simon hated him with a ferocity so immediate, so visceral, it made his blood hum a little sharper. He didn’t just hate him. He despised him. Abhorred him. Wanted to roll his sleeves up and grate him into the damn carpet with the sheer force of his forearms alone. And if that wasn’t enough, he wanted to spend the rest of his natural-born life proving to you (and to himself, if we’re being honest) that he was better.

Tighter shirts. The flex of his fists when your boyfriend spoke in that grating voice Simon privately referred to as "discount Casanova." The subtle, almost casual cracks of his knuckles whenever the man dared to open his mouth about you in any way that wasn’t pristine worship. Every time your boyfriend laughed at you instead of with you, Simon would let out a low, bone-chilling chuckle of his own— a rumbling thing, gravelly and sharp, because he wasn’t laughing at all.

And then there was that one night.

It wasn’t like Simon was trying to hover. He wasn’t. He didn’t need to be your babysitter. You were strong, capable, smarter than everyone Simon had ever met— except, apparently, when it came to that bloody waste of oxygen you called a boyfriend. But when he saw the way your smile dimmed just a little too much at something the guy said, the way your fingers tightened around your glass as if to crush it, something ancient and primal roared inside Simon’s chest.

He stayed behind when you went home. Watched the fool stagger out into the night like a walking bad decision. Simon followed him with the quiet, measured gait of a shadow given form—leather jacket snug over his frame, boots heavy, but silent as sin.

Simon wasn’t poetic about what happened next. He didn’t need to be. There was no artistry in the precise, methodical lesson he taught your boyfriend in a dim alleyway under a broken porch light. (Broken now, thanks to your boyfriend's skull, if Simon were feeling particularly cheeky about it.) He made sure the man knew exactly why he was being "affectionately" restructured. And when the lesson ended, Simon left without a single word but with a vivid reminder that would stick for weeks:

stay the hell away.

The next morning, your boyfriend broke up with you via text message. A single line of lukewarm cowardice you barely had time to process before Simon was at your door, arms laden with snacks, beer, and the sweater you always stole anyway.

You curled up next to him on the couch, face half-hidden in the collar of that massive gray hoodie, and let out an exhausted sigh. Your voice was soft when you mumbled- sniffling with a stuffy nose from your previous sobs, “I just don’t get it, Si. I thought he cared..”

Simon didn’t answer right away, gaze fixed on the screen as Finding Nemo played in the background—a film you’d insisted on because you needed something light and harmless. Of course, to Simon, it wasn’t harmless at all. He frowned as Marlin yelled at Dory, the tiny blue fish babbling nonsense with frantic, short-term determination.

“'Course he didn’t care. Idiot didn’t even notice he was playing chicken with a shark,” Simon finally muttered, his deadpan delivery laced with something so dry you almost didn’t catch it.

You looked up, confused. “Huh?”

“Forget your boyfriend,” Simon said, tone flat as a blade. “This is why I don’t swim. Can’t trust anything with gills. Bloody sharks, jellyfish, clownfish...all useless. Why d’you think they call it Finding Nemo? Should’ve named it Simon Was Right: Stay Out of the Water.”

You snorted, unable to help yourself, and Simon glanced down at you, lips quirking upward just enough to show the barest hint of satisfaction.

And there it was. That warmth. That comfort. Simon didn’t need to say it, didn’t need to spell it out for you in big, stupid letters. You could see it in the way his arm stayed firm around your shoulders, in the way he made sure your blanket covered your toes, in the way his ridiculous commentary on Finding Nemo somehow made you feel whole again.

Yeah. You'd find your own way to thank him later.

[ma1dita]

not your goddess

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader words: 8k holy shit this is the longest fic for this series so far summary: (established relationship (uhhhh, well…)) The one where you both know the best of days eventually have to come to an end. Change in perspective is always good, but it makes you and Luke see your futures quite differently—you wonder if you’ll be together in it at all. (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader) a/n: mmmyeah this is a songfic - goddess by laufey. references to waiting for godot by samuel beckett if you squint

—

[ it always goes like this, could've predicted it || i'm so naïve to think you loved me for me, kissed as I ran off stage || you're too old to play this game, guess you're still growing up at thirty nineteen]

Once you open yourself up to someone and bare your soul to them in honesty, they get a choice whether they want to be with you or not. It’s as simple and as convoluted as that. Normal humans are complex as it is—but to be a demigod must mean to endure all of that and then some. Luke has been especially hard to reach lately, and trying to understand him feels like grappling wisps of smoke. You let him build his whole life around you without either of you realizing and suddenly the walls feel like they’re closing in. Though maybe he always knew that—Luke Castellan is always intentional, and always full of surprises. 

“We should run away from here.”

His voice breaks through the crunching of dead leaves underfoot on your trek to the stables. It’s hard to tell if he’s joking, even harder to decipher when your eyes meet in the dim light hanging above the Dutch doors that you walk through. 

The two of you move as if partners in an orchestrated dance, the steps routine and not needing instruction; you fill up the water troughs and he steps around you to grab the bag of feed while his other hand grazes your waist, beckoning you to the next task. Most days are like this now, plotted out perfectly from sunrise to sunset. 

To be content means that most of it is predictable, and some might call it boring, but it comes with the inner satisfaction that what the both of you share is only yours. 

It’s peaceful.

Neither of you has ever really had that—and in your own way, both of you want to hold onto it for as long as you have it. Like how comets are always predictable; the knowing doesn’t make them any less beautiful.

“Let’s go now then,” you chuckle lightly, not looking at him as you shut off the hose. Bowie, your pegasus, brays in thanks as he dunks his muzzle into the trough, splashing water at your ankles. The water is frigid, a chill crawling up your spine and when you look up, Luke’s already staring at you solemnly, almost blending in with the shadows that drape over the barn. He stands there leaning against the wooden fence with his sharp, stone-faced features carved out by moonlight.

“Baby?” 

Eyebrows furrowing, you take a step towards him and he’s eerily still, holding a hand out for you. His fingers don’t shake once you intertwine them with your own and he’s so sure of himself that his resolve is like a suit of armor. What a funny thought—him needing protection from you of all people, the girl he lays bare with most nights and who knows him at his most vulnerable. 

“What do you think? Do I look like I’m joking?”

Luke’s words creak like metal hinges—coming off abrasive at the sight of your resistant expression. Truthfully, he hates it when you look at him like this—like there’s something wrong about him that you’re convinced you can fix. You don’t do it on purpose, but he’d like to think that you don’t think of him as one of your little DIY projects. This is different, calculated—his plans for the both of you will map out the rest of your future.

“Are…are you planning to leave?”

Though you hate to make the comparison, he’s a lot like his father: a one-track mind with only him knowing what’s coming next. Luke just expects everyone else to keep up, and you’re left feeling like someone’s pulled the rug out from under you as he holds onto your wrists firmly in the dim light. He’s nervous, even if he doesn’t show it. You can still tell by the way his voice cracks, a melancholy sound like he’s pleading for you to understand a hidden meaning you must’ve missed in the past few months of bliss.

 “We are,” he corrects, before his voice begins to falter, “I mean we can. We…we should,” he says tentatively, and your arms jerk forward with the motion as you stumble into his grasp, “Think of it, babe. We could get out of here and do something great. Make a life for ourselves.”

You squint.

He’s not even asking, and that makes it worse, you think—it’s like he’s already got one foot out the door. You’re not sure if he even considered you possibly saying no.

Are you?

Entertaining frivolous conversations that your boyfriend has with you before bed is one thing—but acting on them? The truth is that you’ve never afforded yourself a future outside of the reality that you have now. You never thought you’d have this after everything—running across the country to find your father and make this family in nowhere New York. It wasn’t a possibility that your 14-year-old self would’ve ever dreamed of. 

But then it happened, and you count your lucky stars that it led you to Luke. This is your home; you built it from the ground up with him the day you both stepped into your roles and washed your hands of stupid pranks. And maybe what you’ve always dreamt of is something you already have now.

Is that a crime? To like your reality better because it’s tangible—not everyone needs to be the main character in a sweeping saga. You do have a life, and you’d like to say it’s pretty alright, all things considered.

“Luke,” you swallow, face scrunching up in the way it does when he knows you’re about to say no, “I mean what about our responsibilities? What about…”

It was cute back when you were fourteen, but he now finds that he hates the way your nose scrunches up when you disagree with something, and it always makes him feel stupid for even asking in the first place. Luke steps away, dropping your hands as he sighs gruffly, “That’s a shit excuse, you know that, babe.” Dust kicks up from under his feet and you think he looks like a child about to throw a tantrum. The pegasi whinny softly behind you, and if they could talk it would probably be something like, Oh shit. Like a flip of a switch, he’s erratic, something pent up inside of him is now uncontrolled.

“I mean what do you want me to say, Luke? You want us to leave? Just disappear and leave Annie and Grover… and my brothers? What then? We don’t have money or degrees, or anywhere to go to—”

“We could make do—I mean we’ve both done it before Trouble, and now we can be together without all this. We don’t need camp. Or the gods’ blessings, I mean what did they ever do for us?” 

He’s tired, you think—because the Luke standing in front of you right now isn’t anything like the one you know. Your Luke loves your campers as much as you do; he’s the type that gives piggyback rides and teaches the little ones how to swim in Canoe Lake. He prays at every mealtime—twice as long because you don’t see the point in it, and likes to fall asleep against your chest in the twinkly lights of cabin 12.

The Luke you know would never want to run away from the home you’ve both created for yourselves. Not without a proper plan. Luke always says that he loves making plans just as much as he loves you, which must mean a lot.

You already have what you want, for now. That’s the contingency of it—for now. You just don’t see it getting better than this; finding camp meant finding yourself, and that’s what your mother always wanted for you. Having a real shot of being a family, even if your dad drives you nuts, and the twins like to fill the bathtub with root beer, and Annie constantly demanding she prove that she knows the first 500 digits of pi comes with the path you chose. 

Family—it’s what you were promised.

“We’re not ready, Luke. I mean… the real world out there is a lot worse than getting a C in archery or avoiding bathroom duty. We’ve still got some growing up to do—what’s the rush?”

He’s testy now—jaw swinging the crick in his neck and he does this when he’s about to say something mean, like the words have to fight their way out of his mouth, “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

Luke watches you look cluelessly at him like nothing he’s saying is making sense and it’s so frustrating that it makes his head hurt. What happened to you—his free-spirited girl who would follow wherever he leads? You don’t know how crucial this all is—Luke needs to know…

He needs to know if you’ll still follow him wherever he goes, even if it’s away from everything you have here.

But maybe you both imagined growing old together quite differently then.

“You’re making it sound like I’m in over my head about this when I know you don’t like it here. Listen to what I’m trying to tell you,” he bristles, hand leaning over the wooden beam above your head, “This place is getting old. We’re getting old. I want everything with you. Can’t you see that?” It feels like he’s caging you in, and he makes it sound so simple that it makes you laugh.

“Of course I do. All I’m saying is we should think this through more. I mean…We’re demigods. I’m not saying we can’t handle it and I’m not saying no, but—”, you barely finish the sentence before Luke interrupts you again. 

The difficulty with Luke is that when he wants something, he wants it with his entire being. And he never goes down without a fight—even when its with you.

“But you’re not saying yes. Then what are you saying? That you wouldn’t be happy with me?”

Rolling your eyes, you swing yourself out from under his arm and start taking off your apron because clearly, work is not on the agenda tonight. You fling it onto the hook before spinning around to look at him.

“Stop putting words in my mouth. I am happy with you. Here. Where it’s safe. Where we have beds to sleep in and food to eat and the only real reason I have to look over my shoulder is to see if my dad’s bribing your siblings to sneak him alcohol,” you say half-jokingly, and it so badly misses the mark as you see his brows furrow deeper into his forehead. 

“Give me a break,” he seethes, your name rolling out of his lips like acid and he has more to say but doesn’t know if he should. But he’s already started something and you’re just waiting for him to finish it. He has a habit of doing this, rolling the words around in his mouth for dramatic effect. 

This is gonna hurt.

“Oh just spit it out, Luke. Don’t whine like a baby.”

“Your dad? He’s a fucking joke. Can’t stand him half the time and I don’t know how you do,” he starts, pacing around you like a boxer in a ring. You stand still as a statue, eyes lit and tracking him in the dark as he continues, “You know I’m right. He’s just keeping you busy because now that he has you, he wants to control you. And you don’t even get a pat on the back.”

“You do not wanna go there, I can promise you that.”

“Well, I am. Because I’m tired of watching you waste your potential. You used to be so…exciting,” His arms swing around him like feathered wings and Luke shakes his head, turning away from you to look at the moon, “I need you to care about our future too, okay? Cut the shit and be a real fucking person for once and not whatever this little puppet show you put on for your dad is because it drives me crazy sometimes. All the time. I’m losing it, Trouble. Can’t you tell?”

It feels like a blow to the chest and you take a deep breath to placate your feelings in case they’re tampering with his—and you find that the anger is all his own. Your words shoot out like a lit cannon in rebuttal, “This drives you crazy? I didn’t know it was so hard on you, Luke. Poor you, picking up after me when you literally offer to help,” you scoff, stomping over to get him to look at you since he’s so intent on having this conversation, “Do you think you get granted immortality for checking off campers on your attendance log?” He can’t have thought it would be that easy, can’t have imagined you wouldn’t get defensive when things don’t go your way. Because it’s been like that for a while now, and Luke’s been falling off pace with life here. He’s not the all-star golden boy he used to be. Deep down, you know that too; he only likes it here because you do. They say with anything the first year is the hardest—and although he wouldn’t change a thing with your relationship, this took work. Loving you was supposed to be his reward, and it’s as if he doesn’t know you anymore. 

He’s not sure he knows himself that well anymore either.

“Of course not! That’s exactly what I’m saying—all of this won’t help us, so why are we exhausting ourselves instead of focusing on what’s important?” He runs his hands through his hair, tugging at the curls to anchor himself to this argument. And now you just want to strike back, to be damned with the consequences. Real love is a mirror, and although it's your first big fight…sometimes it hurts to be seen better than how you see yourself, and it hurts less to inflict it upon someone else instead of admitting that it hurts you.

“Oh so I’m exhausting to be with, is that it?”

He rips his apron off and tosses it at you, “Yes. Is that what you want me to say? You want a bad guy, you’ll get one. I don’t know what to—” His anger has always brewed like a storm—quiet and rumbling under the surface until he’s ready to strike. It comes down all at once and you’re covered in it with no way out but through. You bat the fabric to the ground angrily.

“You wanna repeat that?”

He laughs, a mocking, snarling sound, “You know what, it makes sense now—you’re just like your father. It all tracks!”

Your jaw tightens, pushing through by giving him another chance, testing him. Daring him.

“You wanna say that again?”

The wind picks up at his feet as he spins around you so fast it almost gives you whiplash, “Don’t give me that bullshit.” He’s tired and angry, but you’ve never seen this other side of him before—this ferocity that was unleashed at the idea of you wanting something he might not. Maybe you both are too similar then, too stubborn to give in until someone breaks.

“Don’t talk to me like that, Castellan. I’m warning you. Just because your dad hates you doesn’t mean that mine does.”

He laughs. 

Luke laughs like you’ve just told him you’ve put Chiron in another dress and that pigs can fly but then he looks at you… He looks at you with his chestnut brown eyes and they’re just empty, boring deep into your soul.

“What happened to you?”

It’s a weird feeling, to know someone so well that you can see the other side of them they can’t see for themselves. You haven’t got a single clue.

“I grew up. You were there, Luke. You helped me do it. I wanted to be just like you—the role model, the one that people like, and what, now that I'm not just some crazy idea in your head you’re bored?” 

Your voice cracks and so does a piece of Luke’s heart. You’re too tenderhearted, too good for him, and everything about you sends shockwaves through his being. This is what he told Kronos—even if you had it in you to force the gods to kneel and listen, would you be able to make the jump? Luke blinks, tuning back into your words.

“I mean you’re not even asking. It seems like you’ve made your decision for us. What does that mean to you? Us?”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, clearing his throat. His apology feels heavier than it should, and you can’t figure out why. He won’t let you find out if he even means it. 

“No, you’re not. You don’t even know what you’re sorry for, and now as soon as we’re happy, you get bored. You wanna talk about fathers, you’re just like yours too. Happy?” 

The words come out almost explosive, a shot in the dark and you didn’t think you’d say it, but you did. Thoughtless, without care, until it sinks into him like a sharp blade. Luke’s face hardens and you’re not sure how long he’s been standing so far away.

“Are we?”

It’s almost lights out and you’re still here arguing with Luke, so today was not as predictable as you thought it would be. Unease grips you by the scrap of your neck like a merciless kitten, holding on for dear life. This isn’t a feeling you should associate with the love of your life.

“What did you say?”

“Like you said, we’re demigods,” he says whispering your name, “what do we do now that we’re happy? That usually means something worse is coming up ahead.” Luke scoffs, half in disbelief at his own realization, the other half in defeat, “We’re meant for more than just being happy—that…this isn’t enough. We’re meant for glory, not shoveling pegasi shit and taking care of children instead of planning for a future with our own. This shouldn’t be the end of us.”

Your lip quivers, tongue in cheek and you need to touch something, hold someone, to remind yourself that this is happening. But you don’t reach out to him because if you get too close he’ll see the tears in your eyes. Grabbing the dandy brush, you trudge over to Bowie and rake it through his hair, mumbling, “I’m happy. I’ve got you,” you swallow, turning to Luke, “I love you.”

He’s already in the doorway, swinging the bottom panel closed with his hip as he looks over his shoulder, frowning.

“Is that all you’ve got?”

Bowie brays next to you and it sounds like someone blowing a raspberry when they’re tired of a situation—maybe you are going crazy and they do understand—but one thing you do know is that you can’t understand Luke right now. 

The truth is that love is a bunch of horseshit, really.

[ oh, were you surprised by me when you took me home? || When the glamour wore off, reduced to skin and bone || i can't even tell who you want to know || i'm a goddess on stage, human when we're alone]

Your knees hit the dirt again, falling forward onto your hands as you dry heave. In the blink of an eye, you feel Maimer resting against the apex of your neck.

“Yield.”

Clarisse La Rue has barely broken a sweat during this spar, and yet here you are at her feet feeling like today’s breakfast will make a reappearance on the arena floor. The younger girl rolls her eyes as she pulls you up by the leather strap of your chest plate, sighing at the unnatural pallor of your skin as she flops onto a bench with your dead weight following suit as your knees buckle.

“You know, I knew you said you were bad at this, but are you even trying?” she scoffs, throwing a water bottle at you that you fumble in your hands. Winning never feels as good when the other person isn’t putting up a fight. You gulp down the icy refreshment, shutting your eyes for a moment to escape the blinding sun as you mutter, “Never been a fighter unless necessary, Risse. That’s all you.”

“Alright, enough of this.”

Your eyes wrench open as you lean back on your forearms to look at the daughter of Ares. At thirteen, she’s a force of nature on her own and unlike anyone else at camp, Clarisse would never mince her words for the sake of others’ feelings. You needed someone to tell it to you straight.

“You know everyone can tell when you and Luke fight, right? I mean it rarely happens but when it does it always feels like the world is out of balance until you both fix it.”

You groan, throwing your arm over your face and unintentionally hiding from her. That couldn’t be true—the world does not revolve around whether or not a daughter of Dionysus and a son of Hermes had their shit together.

But Camp Half-Blood does.

“You’re lying, La Rue. It’s really not that deep.”

And then she looks at you like you’re stupid, which might be her customary expression for anyone else but to you—well, she at least respects you. For now, unless you keep whining like a badly written love interest.

“Gods, woman. You were so much cooler back then, what the hell happened to you?”

“Clarisse, it isn’t that easy—-” you grumble, putting your face in your hands as you stare at the dirt. Of course, you know that everyone knows, secrets run through Camp Half-Blood like running water. It slips through your fingers easily, soaking through the ground until everyone’s stuck in the mud. Your boots sink slightly into the softening earth and Clarisse realizes you’re crying before you do. 

Why the fuck are you crying? 

It was a stupid argument and it probably doesn’t mean anything but for once, you don’t know what to do. It feels stupid that your body decided to cry before your brain could come to the conclusion. This all feels so stupid.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to make you cry, weirdo,” she mumbles, unsure of what to do with a crying head counselor. Her calloused hands rub small circles into your back, and she can’t help but think you need more girlfriends your age. Scooting closer to you, she says, “What I meant was that you were way cooler when you didn’t give a shit about what people think about you, much less Luke Castellan. You’re starting to sound like you’re from 10, and I swear Sil is the only tolerable person from that cabin. Stop crying, please…”

You sniff, “Ugh… This is so dumb. Just lost myself for a second.” The statement rings true, and it bothers you more than you thought it would. There is so much more to you than playing the part of the agreeable girlfriend, the caretaker, the perfect daughter, that if you stared at yourself in the mirror you might not recognize who’s staring back. So many parts to play, and so little of you left.

“I guess, what I’m trying to say is,” Clarisse sighs, “and I’m no good at this feelings shit, but I think you need to remember that you’re allowed to be someone without him…without all of this. And you owe it to yourself to find out who that is.” You look up at her with watery eyes, tucking hair behind your ear as if it’ll help you absorb her words better. 

You can’t believe you’re getting sound advice from a thirteen-year-old, much less a child of Ares on matters of love. 

“It’s nice to be needed,” you mumble, “my greatest honor, I think. But it might also be my downfall.” 

Clarisse smiles crookedly like she’s watching you through a fresh set of eyes. There’ll be no words of this conversation once you leave the arena—the both of you have a friendship unlike most girls here at camp. Never touchy-feely, typical girl talk, but always what you need to hear. 

“How terrifyingly human of you. Yuck.”

“I can’t go on like this,” you groan, slumping further into your folded-over position and she sighs, going to take a sip from her water bottle before squeezing your shoulder.

“That’s what you think.”

[ you took a star to bed, woke up with me instеad || you must have felt so damn decеived when you made up a version of me that you thought you loved || but I am not your Aphrodite ]

When you were fifteen years old and he was just a month shy of it, you had somehow convinced Luke Castellan to run away from camp with you. 

This was back then. Just for a day—just for the tiniest taste of freedom. 

Luke had been at camp for almost a year, and Rye Playland sounded so much cooler than food service with the nymphs—which is one of the few things he would agree with you on. The both of you had kitchen duty for two weeks after getting caught attacking each other during Capture the Flag despite being on the same team, and it ended up with you ripping the fabric off the stick and chucking it into the middle of Canoe Lake. He’s lucky you didn’t lunge for his head, but the game was forfeit, and cabin 6 didn’t talk to you two for weeks because you threw the game. Including Annie, which was a surprising feat in itself.

After that day, you swore to never do anything Luke made himself in charge of and Chiron swore you two would never be on the same team again. You could remember D’s voice that day and how it boomed through the Big House, reminiscent of his father—a crackle of fury and impalpable seriousness that had Luke shaking slack-jawed in the chairs facing the mahogany desk. He’d never been told off by a parent before, much less an Olympian.

Taking it in stride even as the god threatened to turn you both into dolphins, you mimed the conversation when your father’s back turned, copying the odd quirk in D’s brow and conjuring a mouthful of grapes for teeth. You grinned at the son of Hermes like an idiot, a singular ripe sphere shooting out to make an audible thwack against D’s red Hawaiian shirt that made Luke laugh the loudest, ugliest guffaw you’ve ever heard him let out. He choked on his spit when the god jerked his head back to face the both of you like a comic-book villain.

Honestly, he might’ve peed himself a little. Just a tiny bit.

And the god of insanity himself was at his wits’ end—which is rare for him, very few things can get him to that point. Even less so with people. Pathetic, puny, little people he can drive to madness and violent death. 

But not his baby girl—you know every last nerve to step on, a lot like your mother sure, but still all him in every way it mattered. He loved it, even when he was mad at you like this. He just wasn’t good at showing it, and you knew that to some extent. Plus, you can’t take a man in a Hawaiian shirt seriously, much less a god.

So you and your self-proclaimed archnemesis (frenemy, Luke insists) find yourselves running down Farm Road before first light, leaving nothing but a trail of dust behind you as you rush to catch the LIRR at a stop two towns over.

It was a small amusement park filled with different money-grabbing oddities, tooth-rotting confections, and rickety, squeaking rides that the conductors could fold into suitcases at the end of the day.

Sketchy, but so much fun. You made Luke go on all the kiddie rides with you and screamed your head off like a lunatic; he apologized to the parents of a toddler and said you had too much sugar—but that was a lie, this was all you in your natural state. Berry chapstick, wind-tousled hair, and a smile brighter than a spotlight. And your laughter, oh, your laughter shook the walls of the funhouse even after you crashed into the fifth mirror being too busy poking fun at the wonder in Luke’s eyes because it was the first time he’s genuinely done something for fun and not out of necessity. It was nice, and so were you, for once.

It was the first time you’d let your guard down for him, he thinks back—watching you toss a ball so badly off target from milk bottles set across the booth. You twisted in his grasp (he doesn’t remember getting so close, Luke still swears he was trying to help you aim) pouting at him with those pretty plum eyes and he sighed so deeply you smelled the cotton candy on his breath. For a moment you wondered if he tasted like it too—and then the worker asked if you’ll be trying again and you went, “Hmm? Maybe he’d be better at it!”

Luke rigged the shot with the snap of his finger, all the milk bottles falling to the ground with a crash and he swore on his life he’d sell out every single one of these stupid games if it gets you to bite your lip at him like that again.

There isn’t a single hint of regret that passed that entire day—you were already in trouble, so you both figured that you might as well enjoy it. By late afternoon, your legs felt like jelly and it felt less like you dragging him around the fairgrounds and more like holding onto him for support (because there’d be no other reason you’d want to hold his hand, your stomach just felt funny…that’s all!) Luke was wolfing down a funnel cake, the powdered sugar dust getting all over his shirt and he looked up to see you staring at him with a shit-eating grin.

Hand pointed in the air, Luke simply shakes his head.

“Fuck no.”

But you always had a way of convincing him to do things (Luke is a sucker susceptible to double dog dares) and the both of you are surprised he let you because sooner rather than later, you’re sat knee to knee in a tiny, screeching Ferris wheel cart that inched 100 feet into the sky. The white paint was peeling at his fingertips and the air was warm—Luke tried to focus on that instead of the fact that he was in a metal death chamber in the sky.

“Never imagined a son of Hermes would be scared of heights,” you grinned, nudging him with your foot. You’ve folded into yourself, hugging your knees as you looked at him and he thought that he might be having a heart attack at the ripe age of fourteen and three-quarters. But the pink and purple rays of the waning sun framed you so nicely that he wished he brought a camera—he had the silly photobooth strips from earlier tucked into his pocket, but you looking like that; Luke had etched it into his memory for safekeeping. Not only was he able to breathe a bit easier, but if there was a memory he could materialize from today—it’d be you grinning maniacally through the bars of the cart, pointing at the city in the distance. 

“We’ve finally found something you’re not good at, golden boy,” you grinned, tilting your head to the side and inspecting him like he was a sad hamster in a glass ball.

“M’not scared of heights, I'm just scared of falling,” he reasoned, looking at the rusted floor. You were making your boots dance along to the beat of the fair music, tapping along to the cyclical rhythm. He was more scared of the lack of control he had at this moment—any of the other crazy rides, Luke had stood at the tiny gate next to the conductor holding the plush avocado he won for you, watching and hearing you scream for joy as the machines flung you into the air. The ones he did go on were relatively tamer, and by the third kiddie coaster, he realized that you probably whooped for joy just to make him feel better.

You kissed him on the cheek that day, so close to his mouth (but not close enough) when the Ferris wheel ultimately screeched to a stop. A necessary distraction, you said—but you weren’t sure for who. He tasted sugar-sweet and smelled like the late summer sun. You had never kissed a boy before, unsure if you’d even know how, or if Luke would even want to if you did.

The thought passed when you realized his fingers were clenched and white-tipped onto the guardrails and you…you’re terrible, so you started rocking back and forth, giggling until he yelled at you to stop, pulling you into his lap. 

The conductor thought you two were doing something way less innocent, and you both got kicked out of Rye Playland afterward—but you got your money’s worth.

Well, you both snuck in and Luke definitely pickpocketed someone’s mom.

All in all, it was a great day.

You fell asleep on his shoulder on the way back home, the Long Island Railroad car chilly with the AC. Watching you drool, he thought he might even like traveling again if it’s for fun like this, might even hate his dad less too. Luke threw his whole dinner into the hearth that night with a bright smile on his face even after Mr. D yelled at the both of you in front of everyone at the dining pavilion. After all, the only factor in his life that’s changed in the past year, an addition, if you must— was you.

[ you took me for a fool, you stole my youth, you wanted this so much || you watched me rise then killed my light || and now you know I'm not your fucking goddess ||  oh, i'm no goddess when i'm alone ]

Work is work.

That’s what you’ve both been telling yourselves throughout an already rough week gone even worse, but trying to avoid your significant other is an especially difficult task when you work together. 

It’s the simple truth—you can’t ignore someone you have to talk to primarily because of these two factors: 1. Capture the Flag teams need to be sorted by Thursday mornings to be ready to play on Friday afternoons, and 2. it is weird for campers to see you two not interacting with each other.

Well, it’s Friday now, and you and Luke haven’t talked since that argument in the barn. 

Kind of, but the times you have didn’t count—the past few days have been both of you talking around other people; not directly to each other. Last night at dinner, Chris stared at you like one does when their parents are thinking of getting a divorce, eyes flickering between you two and his cheeseburger. Luke was sitting next to you on the bench blankly picking the tomatoes off his sandwich and you were staring glumly at your slice of pizza.

“Is there something going on between you two?”

He was one of the few brave enough to be blunt about it. You and Luke were all-consuming, like a black hole. It’s hard for others not to notice the gravitational pull, but when it’s bad…. everyone and everything gets sucked in, whether they like it or not. 

“Lee was excited to hear that your cabin is teaming up with them tomorrow. It’ll be quite interesting, all of you with 7 and 9,” you said, wiping grease off the slice with a napkin. Luke’s head jerked in your direction at your words, “Dude what—Chris! I thought I signed off on working with 6? We don’t work with Apollo for a reason,” he hissed, leaning over the table towards his brother. Chris scratched the back of his neck, knowing Luke was right. Cabin 7 isn’t that good in all matters that involve stealth—the last time they worked with them, Austin was scatting under his breath and it got them ambushed by the red team. Opening his mouth to speak, you quickly interjected, “Well it’s about time to change it up—keeps things exciting, don’t you think, Chris?”

Luke sighed, redirecting his brother’s focus to him, “What do you think, man? I just think when it comes to battle strategies we should stick to what works.” Chris swallowed, raising his hand in the air; he was grappling at the edge of a cliff just trying to hold on to either of you—he looked around to see if there was a way out of this. Next to him, Ethan averted his eyes and played with his carrot sticks.

“Funny how that works for battle strategies and not other things,” you hummed around a mouthful of pizza, “Don’t you think, Chris? I just think that you never want to be predictable in these things. It makes everything boring. Or so I’ve heard,” you munched thoughtfully, daring the son of Hermes to break eye contact with you as Luke scoffed, tossing his napkin onto his plate before standing up. He walked off without a second glance, throwing everything into the hearth—plastic tray included, and stormed off toward the cabins. The rest of the table minded their business, shoveling food into their mouths. Chris choked on a french fry.

And you smirked, satisfied at the small win. 

But now, almost a day later tramping through the sodden dirt of the North Woods in heavy body armor, you remind yourself that it is so very hard to prove a point to Luke Castellan. He finds you halfway through the game as you hold onto the red flag post, standing tall at the vantage point and looking like a stone grotesque protecting the area you’re surveying. By the time you notice, a blur of cobalt whizzes towards you—knocking out the three Ares kids standing guard around the perimeter. You gasp, raising a hand sending vines hurtling toward the air until you see him hanging upside down by the ankles, wrapped in green leaves and purple bunches of grapes. Luke’s headwear falls to the earth with a clang.

“I’m not here for the flag!”

You rush over, dropping the pole and sighing, “Luke…you scared me! I thought you were with Beck today.” The blood rushes to his head as he looks at you all out of focus. Seeing you the other way around gives him a new perspective on things—the epiphany almost makes him ache, but that might also be the pressure pooling in his forehead. You brush your thumb against his cheek before letting him down slowly, and all he does is look at you.

“We need to talk.”

“Like, actually this time?” you mumble, hugging yourself as you watch the vines unravel from his limbs and sink back into the ground. You’ve always been a good actress and Luke was the best liar around—this shared penchant for fabricating the truth used to make you one and the same.

It is more obvious now that actors and liars are wholly different; actors live in an imaginary world given to them, while liars strive to create it for themselves. There’s that saying—don’t hate the player, hate the game.

Luke finds that he’s starting to hate all of it.

“Yeah,” he mutters, “we can’t keep ignoring this, Trouble.” It takes a special kind of sadness to feel lonely even when you’re with someone. You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling your spirit sink into the ground below you, almost resigning yourself to what will happen next. All the petty backtalk, the times you’ve crawled into bed with him already pretending to be asleep— it all comes down to this. There’s this French word that Annie had taught you a few days ago when you spent extra time snuggled up in her bunk, partially to catch up with your favorite girl and partially… to waste more time before going home to him. 

Énouement—-The bittersweetness of having arrived in the future and seeing how things turn out, but not being able to tell your past self.

“Luke…” you start, watching him sheath Backbiter with a casual flick of his hand, “Would you go back if you could? Before…” Barely able to string your words together, he notices your lip quivering, “Did you like me more back then?”

“Baby…” he sighs, going to wrap his arms around you and you hold onto him in return at arm's length.

“I’m really trying…” you choke out, pressing your lips to hold in the onslaught of things you want to say. To understand? To apologize? The words die out on your tongue.

“I know. You’re always trying, Trouble. That might just be the saddest part.”

Wind whirls through your hair, pushing you against him for shelter as you gather your thoughts. In the silence of the woods, you wonder how many moments you’ve spent drawn to him like this for comfort. Luke’s always there for you, whether you like it or not. For better or worse—you wonder if there won’t be a lot of chances to hold and be held, and you can’t seem to let go.

“I didn’t change, okay? I’m still me. People don’t change, just like the gods don’t. I just don’t see us away from this,” you swallow, tracing a finger over his bicep to distract your burning eyes, “we can’t escape who we are Luke. Me and you. Isn’t that enough for now?”

He lets out a sigh and you know his answer; his shoulders sink low enough that your hold on him loosens ever so slightly. At this rate, you think it’d be easier if he’d just pull the trigger—maybe it would hurt less than this.

“I’ll change the gods’ minds and make them agree. They’ll know us, babe. The glory—”

Everything around you blurs as you hone in on your anger. This whole forest could go up in flames and you wouldn’t give a damn,”Oh FUCK glory! Just love me and that’s enough! Why can’t that be enough? Why can’t you stop running from me for once, Luke!” Your plea comes out like a wail and you push him away, feeling disgusted by what’s come of this conversation. You were never a beggar—the only thing left to do was kneel in the dirt and beg him not to break up with you. Before you can think of the irrational thought any further he shakes his head, almost growling, “How do you still not get it? It’s because I love you is why I can’t.”

“Listen, I love you too, babe. I just…don’t know if I like you right now.”

That’s not fair. He’s sacrificing the entire trajectory of his life and you can’t figure out if you like him? You don’t know the lengths he would go to, can’t fathom the obstacles he would conquer just to make sure that you and him have it all. And you’re not even trying to see it his way—to even imagine that he could make it possible.

Things couldn’t stay the same forever, that you could both agree on.

“You’re all talk, you know that, Trouble? You’re just mad that I want this life more than you. And you know I’d actually do what I need to do to get it. Would you?” he nudges you roughly, “Talk to me! This is your time to get it all out of your system. Say that I wouldn’t do anything for you. You know I would.” Fat tears are rolling down your cheeks; he hates watching you cry. It’s the whole reason he signed away his soul—he wants the world you live in to be a place where gods bow down to you and dry your tears, not cause them. Luke would topple Olympus in an instant if it meant you wouldn’t look at him like he’s a lost cause.

“That’s not fair, you haven’t even answered a single question I’ve asked you. It’s like you’re not even listening to me, Lu—”

“Not fair?”

Groaning, you turn away from him. The flag post you dropped earlier is long gone now—the game is still on and the world keeps spinning whether you like it or not. But you’re disinterested in all that now.

“Do you even hear yourself? To you, I’m still the girl on the Ferris wheel,” you sniff, wiping your nose with your sleeve. His hands squeeze your shoulders, begging, pleading for you to understand, “Is that a bad thing? You tell me you haven’t changed—I’m protecting her because you won’t. I’m getting her the hell out of here because I know she deserves more than this. Look around you,” he whispers your name against your neck, “We could forget all of this.” 

But that’s just not who you are. Your shoulders tremble as you hold them up under the pressure. Sure you could see what he’s saying—there isn’t a single future you can imagine without Luke in it. The house, the kids…but more than that you just want to belong somewhere. And Camp Half-Blood is where you belong. With him. 

“I don’t want everything, Luke. I just want you. And if you don’t want this, I need you to tell me now. Because I’m tired,” you warble, digging your nails into your palms, “ and I’m sick of this game. I feel like neither of us are winning.” You take a step back to look at him—sunlight filtering through his hair, eyes wistful and contemplative.

“Maybe we should take a break.”

And there it is. He’s already made his decision, whether he admits it or not. A horn blares overhead, followed by the sounds of cheering. You don’t know who won, and you don’t really give a shit if we’re being real right now. 

“Does it even matter?”

There’s a frozen look on your face like you’ve been struck by lightning, half between a crooked smile and subtle surprise. It’s a knowing look, Luke thinks, what he can see of you through half-lidded lashes and grief. He thinks years from now, if he even makes it that far, it’ll all come back to this moment in the North Woods, and you, the girl he was in love with at nineteen.

“It’s not even worth it now I guess,” he whispers. It makes you laugh—even your laughter sounds sad now. 

It seems that even breaking up with you is an inconvenience.

You sniff, wiping your face and looking around. Everyone’s gone already and Chiron will be looking for you two soon, “Then it’s not worth it. Because you say so… and we’ve got work to do.” Your watch beeps. 

Dinner service starts soon, but before you both head over to the pavilion, you and Luke are expected to set up the bonfire. He nods, loosening the straps of his chestplate, just something to do with his hands, “I know.”

“I don’t want to go. I’m not ready to leave this all behind yet. I’m still needed here.” Until your coming of age ceremony. Until your heart calls you elsewhere and your family can stand on their feet. 

Until then.

Somewhere, you hear Annabeth calling out to you, the melody of both of your names traveling through the trees. You and Luke turn your heads in that direction, before looking at each other once more. He licks his lips, “I know that. We should get back to it, then.” There’s no use doing this all alone, he thinks. And there’s a part of you that thinks there is no use for you when you’re alone.

“We should.”

Neither of you move. 

The winter solstice is tomorrow and there is much work left for the both of you to do.

—

I don’t understand how he grows colder from the same love that warms me. I didn’t know we loved differently—him partly, less and less, and I entirely. - JNH / @shatteredjuvenileday

[imloyaltoscoups]

just platonic? | yoon jeonghan

Once again, you're at Jeonghan's apartment, casually scrolling through Netflix on the TV, searching for a good show to watch, when you hear him sigh from the kitchen. It’s one of those exaggerated sighs that usually means he’s trying to get your attention without actually asking for it.

“Something wrong?” you call out, not looking up.

“I don’t know. Is there?” Jeonghan replies, his tone dripping with feigned innocence. You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

You finally glance up, seeing him leaning against the kitchen counter, holding a mug of coffee. His hair is slightly messy, falling into his eyes, and he’s wearing that oversized shirt he always claims is ‘comfy,’ even though you know he just likes how it makes him look.

“What are you on about now?” you ask, putting the remote down.

Jeonghan shrugs, taking a slow sip from his mug, his eyes never leaving yours. “Nothing much. Just wondering why someone would spend so much time on the screen when there’s such captivating company right here.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh please, you just want attention. You’re like a cat, always craving someone to pet your ego.”

“And yet,” he says, his voice lowering a fraction, “you’re the one who always ends up giving me exactly what I want.”

You feel your face warm slightly at the suggestive undertone in his voice, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. “Only because you’re so high maintenance. Someone’s got to keep you in check.”

Jeonghan’s smirk widens. He puts down his mug and walks over to the couch, sitting down a bit too close for comfort. “You sure that’s all it is? Because it kind of feels like you enjoy taking care of me.”

You huff, trying to ignore the way his leg is brushing against yours. “Someone has to. God knows you’d starve if I didn’t make you dinner every now and then.”

“True,” he says, his voice softening just a bit. “But I don’t just mean the food. You take care of me in other ways, too.”

The sudden sincerity in his tone catches you off guard, and you glance at him, meeting his gaze. There’s something in his eyes, something deep and familiar, and you know he’s not just talking about the meals you cook or the times you make sure he’s getting enough rest.

You quickly look away, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, someone’s gotta make sure you’re not getting too full of yourself.”

He chuckles, his shoulder bumping against yours. “Too late for that, don’t you think? You made me this way.”

“Yeah, right,” you mutter, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

There’s a brief pause, and then he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “You know, if you wanted to keep me in check more often, you could always move in. Think about it—all the time in the world to tell me off for being too charming.”

You laugh, pushing him away lightly. “And spend even more time listening to you whine? Thanks but no thanks.”

Jeonghan grins, undeterred. “I’m just saying, you might enjoy it. We’d be good together, you know? Like an old married couple—arguing one minute, making up the next.”

There’s that undertone again, the one that’s somewhere between a tease and a promise. You roll your eyes for what feels like the hundredth time, but there’s no denying the butterflies you feel.

“Keep dreaming, Hannie,” you say, though there’s no real bite in your words.

He just smiles, leaning back on the couch and stretching out like a contented cat. “Don’t worry, I plan to.”

You lean back, crossing your arms as you try to ignore the heat rising in your face. Jeonghan, as usual this fcker, seems to have an uncanny ability to make you flustered, even when you know he’s just messing with you.

He glances at you sideways, his lips quirking into that sly smile that tells you he’s thinking something far more wicked than what he’s letting on. “You know, for someone who’s always pretending like we’re ‘just friends,’ you really do let me get a little too close sometimes.” His eyes flicker down to where your leg brushes against his, and you know he’s doing it on purpose.

You scoff, trying to keep your composure. “We are just friends. Stop trying to make it into something else.”

He leans back, his body close enough that the air between you seems charged. “Sure we are,” he says in that tone, the one that’s laced with something unspoken. He reaches over, his hand resting casually on your thigh. “Just friends who can’t keep their hands off each other, huh?”

You want to push his hand away, but instead, you let it stay there for a second longer than you should. “It’s not like that,” you murmur, though the lack of conviction in your voice betrays you.

“Oh, really?” he says, voice dropping lower, the teasing replaced with something more insistent. “Then why does your heart beat faster every time I touch you?” His hand moves just a little higher, the fingers pressing lightly against the edge of your shorts. “You can’t deny it—we’ve crossed a line. You’re not just my friend, and you know it.”

You give him a side-eye, your lips pressed into a thin line. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

He shifts closer, his thigh pressing against yours now, and his hand that is resting on your thigh move casually to rests on the back of the couch, inches from your shoulder. His voice drops lower, almost a whisper, but still with that undeniable edge of cocky arrogance. “I mean, we both know how good we are at this whole... arrangement. Can’t really call it ‘just friends’ when we’re in bed, can we?”

You stiffen slightly, but you refuse to let him get under your skin. “You’re ridiculous. Stop acting like you’ve got me all figured out.”

Jeonghan’s eyes sparkle with amusement as he watches you try to keep your composure. “It’s cute, you know,” he says, almost mockingly, “watching you pretend like this is all so innocent. But we both know better, don’t we?”

You snort, trying to maintain some semblance of control. “You’re really full of yourself today, huh?”

“Am I?” His smirk is sharp, teasing. “Or are you just mad you can’t deny it? Again we’ve already the crossed line, and we both know it. We’ve had our fun. But let’s be real here—you like it. I like it. And it works. So why not just embrace it?”

The way his words hang in the air makes it hard to focus on anything else. You try to ignore the effect it’s having on you—the little shiver creeping up your spine. You know you should pull away, but somehow, you don’t. Instead, you find yourself leaning to him just a little closer, almost subconsciously, as if your body is betraying your mind.

Jeonghan notices this, his smirk deepening. “See? You’re not fooling anyone. So why don’t we make it easier on ourselves? Why don’t you just move in with me? We already spend so much time together, and you’re always here anyway.” His eyes glint with mischief. “It’ll be so much more convenient, don’t you think?”

You let out a deep sigh before looking at him, “I told you before,” you say, trying to regain some semblance of control. “I’m not moving in with you. You’re too much to handle.”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, leaning closer, his lips just a breath away from your ear. “Am I? Because I think you’ve gotten pretty comfortable with all the ‘handling’ I’ve been doing.”

The way he says it makes you flush, but you’re not about to admit it. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Hannie. I’m not that easy.”

He chuckles softly, a sound that’s laced with both humor and something darker, more dangerous. “Oh, I know you’re not,” he says quietly. “But you still let me in. And that’s all I really need to know.” He then leans in closer, his breath brushing against your ear as he speaks again, his voice lower, more intimate. “And honestly, I think we’d be even better if we were together more... You know, living together. Think of all the time we’d have to... reconnect. You wouldn’t have to run home after a long night. We could take things slower... or not.”

The way his breath brushes your ear makes you shiver, and you can feel the heat creeping up your neck as he continues, his words slipping into that seductive tone he always seems to master so effortlessly. His lips are dangerously close now, his presence overwhelming, and despite yourself, you’re starting to feel the pull of what he’s suggesting.

“You really know how to push my buttons, don’t you?” you manage to say, though your voice falters slightly, betraying the effect he’s having on you.

Jeonghan chuckles softly, his lips brush against your ear, just a feather-light touch, but it makes your pulse quicken. “I know you like this. Don’t pretend you don’t.”, he whispers.

You swallow hard, your breath hitching as he continues, his lips now tracing the curve of your ear. You try to keep your cool, but your heart is racing in your chest, and your mind is clouded by the tension between you two. His proximity is too much, and you feel your resolve will start to crack anytime.

“You’re so damn persistent,” you mutter, trying to keep your composure. “Always getting what you want.”

“You’re not so hard to figure out, you know,” Jeonghan replies with a smirk that’s all too knowing. He moves his lips down to your jaw, kissing just below your ear before pulling back slightly. “I already know how to make you give in. But imagine if I had more time with you... more time to make you forget everything but me.”

His lips are soft as they peck your cheek, just a brief, innocent touch, but it sends a jolt of warmth through your body. He doesn’t give you time to respond, immediately tilting your chin gently to face him. You don’t pull away, but your breath catches in your throat as his eyes lock onto yours, deep and intense.

“I don’t just want you to be here for a night, or a weekend, or when it’s convenient. I want all of you,” he murmurs, his lips barely brushing yours as he speaks. “I want you here, with me, all the time. Think about it—having everything we want, whenever we want. No more distance, no more playing games.”

It’s not a suggestion anymore. It’s more like an invitation, wrapped in all the quiet promises that make your heart race and your mind spin. You try to hold onto the threads of control, but his gaze is too damn intense, too disarming. Your mind flashes with the idea of being with him all the time—living together, waking up to him every day, hearing his voice close by at all hours. And just the thought has your stomach flipping.

He tilts his head slightly, still close enough for his lips to brush against your skin every time he speaks. “You already leave things at my place. You think I don’t notice? You’re halfway there already. We’re already halfway there.”

You bite your lip, caught somewhere between wanting to push him away and wanting to pull him closer. He’s always been like this—persistent, unrelenting, and yet somehow irresistible. It’s dangerous. It’s thrilling. And the worst part is, you’re starting to want it, too.

“You’re really a pain in the ass,” you say, but the edge in your voice is gone, replaced with something softer, something that gives away just how much he’s getting to you.

“I’m only persistent because I know exactly what I want,” he says with a grin, brushing your hair behind your ear as his fingers graze your skin. His gaze flicks to your lips, and the tension between you both heightens in a heartbeat.

You can barely find your voice, the words coming out quieter than you intend. “And you always get what you want, right?”

Jeonghan’s grin deepens, his lips barely brushing yours as he speaks, his voice low and smooth. “Exactly. So what’s stopping you?”

p.s: I leave this to your imagination

....... ≿━━━━༺JEONGHAN༻━━━━≾ .......

[zeroseuniverse]

Safety Blanket

Word Count: 1.2K Summary: "You’re right. I can't resist. This is... incredible." Hoshi let out a dramatic sigh of contentment, resting his head on the mound of pillows. "I told you. It’s the ultimate self-care." Pairing: Hoshi X Fem Reader

She walked into the living room, hoping to find her best friend, Hoshi, ready to hang out and do something productive. Instead, she was met with an unusual sight—an entire fortress of blankets piled high on the couch, with only a small gap near the edge for Hoshi's face to peek through.

She blinked. "Uh... are you okay?"

There was a muffled voice from within the blanket fortress. "I'll let you take one guess."

She raised an eyebrow, walking closer to the pile of fabric. "Hoshi, what... what happened? Did you get buried under here or something?"

A hand emerged from the side, flailing weakly in the air. "Nope! I'm just... embracing my inner potato today." The voice was muffled by the blankets, but she could tell Hoshi was grinning.

She couldn't help but laugh. "Inner potato, huh? Is that a new thing? Because it looks more like you’re hiding from the world."

Hoshi’s head popped out from the blanket cocoon, his messy hair sticking out like a haystack, eyes wide with determination. "It’s called self-care. You should try it sometime."

She squatted down next to the blanket mountain, peering into the small gap where Hoshi’s face was framed. "So, you’re just... hiding in there? Not doing anything productive? Not even thinking about lunch?"

Hoshi dramatically sighed and lay back into the mound of fabric. "Well, considering I spent the entire morning trying to perfect my dance routine for one move, which I still haven’t nailed, I decided it was time for a retreat. You can only fail so many times before you need an emotional support blanket."

She leaned back and crossed her arms, trying to suppress a laugh. "So, you’re giving up on dancing?"

Hoshi shot her a look, his face partially visible beneath the blankets. "I’m not giving up. I’m just... recharging my spirit with the power of blankets. You can't underestimate the healing properties of a cozy fortress." He adjusted his position, fluffed his pillow, and let out a deep sigh of satisfaction. "Okay, I might be a little bit giving up. But at least I’m comfortable."

She rolled her eyes, but there was something endearing about his dramatic behavior. "What happened to the guy who wanted to become the world’s best dancer?"

Hoshi’s head popped up again, and he gave her a serious look, his blanket cocoon shifting with the motion. "He got temporarily replaced by a potato. It’s a phase."

She chuckled. "Alright, well, if you want to embrace your potato self, I guess I’ll leave you to it. But the world’s best dancer doesn’t get to hide forever, you know."

Hoshi’s eyes sparkled mischievously. "That’s why I’m training to become the world’s best blanket ninja right now. It’s all part of the plan."

She shook her head in mock disbelief. "You’re ridiculous."

Hoshi grinned, sinking further into his blankets with a dramatic flair. "Thank you. It’s an art form, really."

She let out a sigh, still smiling. "Well, enjoy your blanket paradise, Potato Hoshi. Let me know if you need anything. Like, I don’t know, a snack or a wake-up call when your blanket fortress collapses."

Hoshi’s muffled voice came from beneath the pile, far too calm. "I’m already preparing my escape plan. Just give me a few hours. Maybe days."

She laughed. "Alright, take your time, Potato Hoshi. Just... don’t forget about the world outside your blanket fortress."

Hoshi, from the depths of his blanket hideout, gave a triumphant thumbs-up. "World? What world?"

And with that, she left him to his blankets, knowing full well he’d emerge sooner or later, probably with a new ridiculous story to tell. After all, this was Hoshi—a potato by day, dancer by night.

She had left Hoshi to his blanket cocoon for a good while, but curiosity—and an undeniable sense of comfort—pulled her back. As she peeked around the corner, she saw him still hidden beneath the layers of fabric, looking like a human burrito, only his eyes visible. He was definitely not planning on leaving anytime soon.

She hesitated for a moment, but then the mischievous side of her took over. She wasn't going to let him have all the fun. Without saying a word, she casually walked over to the fortress and, in one swift move, pulled a corner of the blankets back and slipped underneath.

Hoshi, who had been staring at his phone with a half-interested gaze, blinked in surprise as she crawled in beside him, her face emerging from the same gap he'd been peering through.

"What are you doing?" Hoshi asked, his voice half-amused, half-confused.

She gave him a grin, her hair slightly tangled from the blanket’s cozy chaos. "Joining you, obviously. I can't let you have all the potato glory to yourself."

Hoshi’s face lit up, and a playful laugh bubbled out of him. "So, you’ve decided to embrace your inner potato as well? Welcome to the club."

She snuggled into the pile of blankets, enjoying the soft warmth around her. "You’re right. I can't resist. This is... incredible."

Hoshi let out a dramatic sigh of contentment, resting his head on the mound of pillows. "I told you. It’s the ultimate self-care."

She laid beside him, mimicking his posture. They both stared at the ceiling for a few moments, cocooned in silence. The outside world—work, obligations, the chaos of life—seemed a million miles away.

"How long do you think we can stay here?" she asked lazily, her voice muffled by the blankets.

Hoshi raised his hand as if he were about to give a speech. "As long as we need. The world outside does not exist in Blanket land."

She chuckled, nudging him lightly. "You’re ridiculous."

"I’m serious!" Hoshi replied dramatically. "I’m at peace with the universe right now. No distractions. No responsibilities. Just blankets and—" He paused dramatically, looking at her. "—you. My fellow blanket warrior."

She smiled. "I never thought I’d be hiding from the world inside a blanket fort, but... I think I get it now. This is the best idea you’ve ever had."

Hoshi grinned, satisfied with his self-proclaimed genius. "Told ya! It's the ultimate fortress of tranquility."

She rolled onto her side, facing him. "What do we do now? Should we come up with a plan to conquer the world, or just nap for the rest of the day?"

Hoshi tapped his finger to his chin, deep in thought. "Hmm, I think I’m going with Plan B: nap first, conquer the world later. This blanket fortress has taken a lot out of me."

She laughed and settled her head onto a pillow. "Sounds good to me. I’ve got absolutely no plans anyway."

The two of them lay there for a while, wrapped in warmth and comfort, talking about everything and nothing. No deadlines, no pressures, just the soft hum of the world outside, barely reaching them beneath their blanket fortress.

And as they both drifted into a peaceful nap, She couldn’t help but feel that this was exactly what they both needed. After all, sometimes the best adventures were the ones where you simply stayed still.

"Hey, Hoshi," She whispered sleepily, "I think this might be my new favorite thing."

Hoshi let out a contented sigh, his voice barely a whisper. "I told you. The Potato Club is the best club."

She smiled, snuggling deeper into the cocoon. "Best club ever."

And so, in their blanket fortress, the world outside could wait.

[curlysfist]

04. Bass Fugato

Coda

Synopsis: Eventually, the bile rises back from his throat, smears his teeth, and burns him whole. (tw suicidal ideation, unethical medical practices, curly’s misogynistic + trad awakening, manhandling, likely ooc curly. MINORS DNI.)

Word count: 2.5k

Chapter Navigation: [1] [2] [3] [4]

Notes: hehe. this is what i was building up to write... i love you misogynistic curly my beloved.

Call it an impulse, call it a consequence, or the price of free will.

Curly didn’t know what exactly called him to scale the abandoned parking lot; nor did he understand why he was so compelled to stand on the rooftop, feet planted on the very edge of it. It’s not like he wanted to die. He hadn’t a single suicidal bone in his body.

But he was curious, what stood between where he was, and the plummeting depths below. A conclusion to his lifetime of cowardice, probably. Likely something more, beyond the bleak loneliness of space. 

You were at home, sleeping. He was rougher with you, in all the places he hadn’t before. You seemed to take it well, enjoy what was never in his nature. 

Fuck. Just what did any of this mean? And why was he so compelled to find the answer to this stupid question? It was only a step and a short fall away. Maybe everything he’d wanted in his life would be there. His past would be meaningless. 

But was it cowardly to abandon what he had now, or cowardly to forego a future possibility?

He closed his eyes, feeling the wind tug at him, daring him to let go. A part of him wanted to. But a deeper, quieter part whispered something else—stay. Not for you, not for love, not even for the hollow comfort of familiarity. Stay, because nothing else had worked, and maybe, just maybe, there was something left to try.

With a sharp exhale, Curly stepped back from the edge. All this will be a reliable end if that ache gets worse. It’s all it should ever be. 

It’s as good a day as any could be.

He’d finished with what little he had to do early: went on a run, did some pumps that bit his muscles in all the right places, and made breakfast. He even cleaned up after himself. It was only 9 AM. Not much else to do.

Curly rolled his shoulders, feeling the pleasant ache settle in his muscles. For a fleeting moment, there was a quiet satisfaction in the routine, in the control of it. But the moment passed quickly, leaving him restless, an itch under his skin that had nowhere to go.

His feet carried him without thought, wandering through the apartment, past the things that were once his, now softened by your touch, your choices. He found himself outside your study, the door ajar just enough to peek inside.

He hesitated.

It wasn’t like he was snooping. Just looking.

The desk was cluttered, as it always was. Your laptop sat open, but it was the papers strewn across the surface that caught his eye. 

His name. Over and over. Scattered across the desk like the pieces of a shattered mirror, each page imaged detailed pieces of himself to form a dirty, wounded reflection. Curly stepped in, his stomach twisting with a visceral unease. He reached for one of the papers, fingers brushing it like touching something dangerous, and scanned the words before his brain could keep up.

‘Unresolved attachment issues. Aversion to emotional vulnerability.’

His jaw tightened. He shuffled through the stack. Psychological assessments; evaluations of him.

‘Need for control rooted in a lack of foundational self-worth.’

‘Reluctance to assert needs or boundaries due to chronic validation-seeking behaviour.’

It was accurate. Too accurate. But as he read, that accuracy only made it worse. Every carefully worded observation, every neat, clinical summation of his entire fucking life reduced him to a collection of symptoms, carving away anything human until all that remained was a hollowed-out list of defects. His life—his essence—is compressed into bullet points and diagnoses. 

A project. A broken thing to be analyzed, studied, fixed.

It didn’t say anything about the nights he stayed up with you, laughing at dumb movies. It didn’t mention how he still carried the lessons he learned from falling on his ass a thousand times, or the times he made people feel safe just by being around. None of that was here. Just deficits. Weaknesses.

‘Subject exhibits passive tendencies that indicate a deep-seated need for external guidance.’

Subject. Subject.

His grip tightened on the paper, fingers curling so tight the edges crumpled. Is that all he was to you? A case study? A puzzle you were piecing together in your spare time?

His eyes landed on another section; this one made his stomach twist.

‘Potential paths for improvement: Encourage assertive behaviour within a structured environment to counteract learned helplessness.’

Learned helplessness. Fuck.

His breathing grew uneven, heat rising to his face. Is this what you thought of him? That he was just some helpless thing trailing in your shadow, waiting for you to guide him to salvation? His fists clenched at his sides, muscles twitching with restrained anger.

And then, there it was: the final blow.

A note, scrawled in the margins, like an afterthought.

‘Sometimes I think he doesn't even know what he wants. Maybe he never has.’

Curly’s heart slammed against his ribs. He swallowed the lump in his throat, but it did nothing to smother the sick, simmering feeling inside him.

This wasn’t just disregard. This was everything. Every ounce of himself, every scrap of pride and autonomy he had left, compressed down into a neat little file for your convenience.

He let the papers fall from his hand, his pulse a steady, pounding drum in his ears.

You thought he didn’t know what he wanted?

Curly’s lips curled into a humorless smile, something dark and bitter rising inside him.

He stood there for a long moment, the papers scattered at his feet like the remnants of something he should have seen coming. His hands flexed and curled at his sides, itching for something—anything—to ground himself. But there was nothing. Just the quiet hum of your study, the soft scent of your perfume lingering in the air, and the sharp, suffocating realization that you’d been dissecting him like some kind of fucking specimen.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand down his face.

Alright. Fine.

He turned and left the room without a sound, but each step felt heavier than the last. He could feel the tension coiling inside him, wrapping tight around his chest like a wire about to snap. Every second, every breath, the weight of it pressed harder.

By the time he found you in the living room, curled up on the couch with a book in your hands, he wasn’t even sure what he was going to say. But it didn’t matter, because the second you looked up at him, eyes soft and warm like you hadn’t just shattered something inside him, it all came rushing out.

“Is that what I am to you?” His voice was low, rough, edged with something. “A fucking case study?”

Your brows knit together in confusion. “What?”

Curly’s jaw tightened, and he took a slow, measured step forward. “Don’t do that.” His voice was sharper now. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

You blinked at him, setting the book down. “Curly, what—”

“I saw them.” His words cut through your sentence, and the shift in his tone made your lips part slightly in surprise. He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “The psych evaluations. My life—my mind—spread out like some kind of fucking school project.” He took another step forward, and this time you leaned back slightly. “Is that what I am to you?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out at first. When you finally spoke, it was quiet, careful. “Curly, it’s not like that.”

He let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “Then what the hell is it like?”

You hesitated, and that hesitation was enough. It was all he needed. His patience, his restraint—whatever fragile thing had been holding him together—shattered in an instant.

Before you could react, he was on you, hands gripping the arms of the couch on either side of you, caging you in. His face was inches from yours, his breathing heavy, controlled, but his eyes—his eyes were something else entirely.

“You think you get to decide what I need? What’s best for me?” His voice was a low, dangerous rasp, the weight of it pressing down on you like a physical force. “You think I don’t know myself well enough, so you had to do it for me?”

Your lips parted in protest, but he cut you off again, his voice rising just enough to make your breath hitch.

“No. Not this time.” His grip on the couch tightened, knuckles white. “I’m done letting you make the calls. I’m done being your goddamn… pet project.” He leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing yours, but there was no tenderness in it—just the sharp, electric tension that had been building for too long. “If you want to stay in my life, you do it my way. Do you hear me?”

Your breath trembled against his skin, and for the first time in a long time, he saw something other than certainty in your eyes. Doubt.

Good.

After a moment, your fingers hesitantly found his shirt, grasping it tightly as your face pressed itself into his neck. He doesn’t waver, and he doesn’t breathe a word, even when your hands tremble, and dampness smears the skin of his neck.

He lets you breathe for a moment, a small mercy he allows, before sitting on the couch and dragging you right onto his lap. His instincts war against the rational part of his mind, leading to a palpable stiffness in his limbs as he struggles to not hold you too tight. For all your indifference and unwavering nature, you always have bruised so easily.

But was it wrong that everything felt so fucking right, seeing you tremble on his lap with the uncertainty that plagued him, weighing on your shoulders? 

Thumbing your cheek with a calloused thumb, coaxing you to shamefully meet his gaze, he spoke quietly.

“You don’t respect me.”

“I—I do—”

“You don’t do this to a man you respect.”

“I just wanted to help you.”

“You didn’t. You made everything worse,” he muttered, pinching your cheek gently while the other hand settled on your hip, squeezing the flesh. You don’t push at him, instead shifting your hips to sit more comfortably on his lap, straddling his thighs. 

Curly’s hand on your hip, though tense, wasn’t threatening anymore. It felt like an anchor, like he was trying to keep both of you from spiraling into something neither of you could come back from. His fingers dug into your skin, but the pressure was different now, not out of anger, but as if he was grounding himself—and you.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek, his voice a quiet command. “Just stop talking.” His words weren’t laced with venom, but with something harder—something like control. He’d taken the papers, the clinical assessments, the theories, and thrown them out the window. His being isn’t a collection of issues. 

“You think you’re the one who’s been hurt in this, don’t you?” Curly’s voice was low, steady

You opened your mouth, but he cut you off, palm pressing to your lips.

“You’ve been so busy trying to make everything right that you’ve lost track of what really matters,” he continued, his voice rough but calm, measured. “What matters is us. And you don’t get to decide what that looks like.

“I want kids. I want a small home near the woods. Away from the noise of this stupid fucking city. We’ll get married, we’ll pack our shit, and we’ll leave. On my dime.”

Your head bows, nose brushing against the stubble of his jaw. A pause, and then you spoke. 

“You’re serious?” The words barely made it out, caught somewhere between disbelief and something darker you didn’t want to name. You were so close now, so tangled in the warmth of his presence that it was hard to tell where you ended and he began.

“When have you ever known me to joke about something like this?” His voice was calm. Calmer than the turmoil in your mind.

You leaned back just enough to look at him, your eyes searching his face for cracks—some sign that he wasn’t as steady as he seemed. But his expression was unyielding.

“Curly,” you began, your voice softer than you intended, “this isn’t something you just decide on a whim. People don’t—”

He cut you off, his head tilting as if he were observing something small and fragile. “People don’t what? Make decisions for themselves? Take control of their own lives?” His lips quirked, not quite a smile. “Sounds exhausting, being the one holding the reins all the time. Maybe you should try letting go.”

“That’s not what I meant.” The words rushed out, defensive, but they felt hollow even as you said them.

He let out a quiet laugh, low and bitter, his gaze locking onto yours. “Of course not. You never mean anything, do you? You just... guide. Shape. Mold. All for my own good though, right?”

“Don’t twist this,” you snapped, though your voice trembled. “I’ve always been trying to help you.”

“Help?” He scoffs softly, his hand slithering to cup the back of your neck, then gently tugging your hair, goading you to look at him. It was hard to. “You mean help me become the version of me that fits your description? That’s not help.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came. There was something about the way he was looking at you now that froze the thoughts in your mind before you could grab hold of them.

“I let you steer for years,” he said, voice steady but cutting. “Told myself it was safer that way, easier. But letting someone else lead? It’s never where you need to go. It’s always where they think you should be."

“I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” He leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted over your skin, close enough that his presence felt overwhelming. “Didn’t mean to strip me down piece by piece? Didn’t mean to leave me feeling like nothing I do is ever enough?”

“That’s not fair,” you whispered, but the words carried no weight.

“No,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous softness. “It’s not. But fair doesn’t matter, does it?”

The air between you felt too heavy, oppressive, and you realized too late that he wasn’t waiting for a response. He wasn’t asking.

“Curly—”

“No. Enough. I’m sick of your voice. I made myself clear. Once I get some things put together, we’ll start preparing for a baby and move into the countryside.”

Again, you opened your mouth to speak, but he tugged your hair again, a little rougher.

“Enough.”

You fall quiet.

“...Good. Good girl,” he sighs, softening the slightest bit, cupping your jaw, fingers digging to the soft of your cheek. “I get that in your field, drugging your patients is the key to happiness. I wouldn’t be surprised if you eventually would’ve tried to prescribe me something.

“...”

“Hundreds of years, societies found happiness in their homestead. The answer doesn’t need to be some bullshit established just a couple of decades ago. So be quiet, and I’ll bring us somewhere peaceful. Spiritually and physically, because God help me, I’m done with this shit.”

A pause. You contemplate.

Then, with uncertainty, you nod quietly. With a huff of a laugh, he kisses your forehead.

“I knew you’d understand. You’ve always been smart.”

[ladyloveandjustice]

My Favorite Books I Read in 2024

I read a ton of good novels last year- 32 in all (and uh, 82 manga/graphic novels, but we’ll examine that in another post). Here’s a link to my Goodreads year in books (the manga is at the beginning, the novels start with Red, White & Royal Blue) and my storygraph wrap up.  

I got to have fun reading some classics like The Odyssey and The Wizard of Oz, but I also read a lot of notable newer books! Let's take a look!

The Spirit Bares Its Teeth by Andrew Joseph White

The story follows Silas, a trans guy in an alternate 1883 where violet-eyed people have the power to talk to spirits. If someone is perceived as a man by society, this power is treated as useful. But for anyone society perceives as a woman, it's a different story. There's this idea that the power to speak to the dead causes women to "go mad". Silas is diagnosed with this "sickness" and gets thrown in a horrible sanatorium that forces patients to become obedient wives. But this school has some dark things going on under the surface, and Silas might not even make it out of this alive...

This is a horror that keeps you on the edge of your seat the whole way though. The setting is vivid and creative, the characters who suffer under the weight of oppression are varied and complex, and the protagonist is easy to root for. It's very spooky, pretty relentless, pretty gory and pretty twisty. It's very hard to figure out who you can actually trust! It's also a fascinating exploration of transphobia and misogyny. It obviously draws on real things women and trans people struggled with in the 1800s (accusations of having "hysteria" and other "illnesses" just for existing) but also talks about ableism too, as the main character is autistic. It really makes you consider how terrifying and isolating it would be to live in a time with so few resources and such limited knowledge, but of course, this still persists in a lot of places today.

 It's not all horror though, there is some catharsis and nice moments of Silas finding solace and support in other trans people and it leads to some really touching scenes and relationships. There's also satisfaction in seeing marginalized people banding together and doing all they can to fight back.

Emily Wilde’s Encyclopedia of Faeries and Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands by Heather Fawcett

This fantasy series follows Emily, a professor and dedicated researcher of the mysterious and often dangerous fae. Emily is out to make an encyclopedia of fae lore, and she has no interest in socializing with others when there's faeries to find. Unfortunately for her, her scholarly rival, Wendell, show up and decides to be all insufferably social and charming and interested in her. He might secretly be a faerie though, and Emily is interested in that, so, ugh, maybe she has to put up with him.

 These books are a ton of fun. It's a cozy adventure the creatively draws on some cool fae lore. It's biggest charm is our protagonist, who is wonderfully grumpy and stubborn and clever and only wants to bury herself in researching this thing she likes She's the kind of person who puts footnotes in their own journal, and it's delightful.

Even when she starts catching feelings for Wendell, her research is always her number one priority. And Wendell, who is very obviously smitten with her the second he appears, is okay with that! In fact, her stubbornness and fearless, unshakeable commitment to her research is pretty much exactly why Wendell is so down bad for her, which makes him a really relatable love interest. He's obnoxious in a genuinely charming way and the teasing banter between Wendell and Emily is very entertaining.

Lonely Castle in the Mirror by Mizuki Tsujimura

Kokoro has been unable to go outside her house ever since she dropped out of school due to horrible bullying. One day, her mirror glows, and she enters it to find herself in a castle with six other students. A little girl in a wolf mask tells all of them that there's a room in the castle that can grant one single wish, but only for one person, so whoever finds the room first gets the wish. They'll have an opportunity to hang out in the castle every day until the deadline, after which the castle will disappear. But as the kids get to know each other, things get more complicated.

This is such a lovely, healing story I'm glad I finally got around to reading it. While the story goes into the causes behind the epidemic of hikikomori and futoku in Japanese students, it's also a universally relatable story about the ways bullying, grief and trauma can affect a child and lead to severe anxiety. Kokoro's slow journey of recovery is touching and feels realistic, despite the fantastical elements. The book shows how brave and hard it is to take these small steps, and how Kokoro struggles to even talk about what happened. The focus of the book is the connections the kids make with each other. It explores the secrets they carry, how they accidentally hurt each other, but also how they ultimately are able to empathize with and support each other. Each character is interesting and achingly human in their own right. The whimsical fairy tale elements of the story complement the themes well, and the book delivers some really solid plot twists that serve to make its themes stronger too.

One thing to warn for is we learn that a fourteen year old girl has entered a relationship with a man in his 20s. This isn't shown to be healthy or good for her though, and the reason she does this is heartbreaking. There's also some (non graphic) attempted SA. With that in mind, this is just a really cool tale, and I full recommend it!

First Light by Liz Kerin

This is the second part of a duology that began with Night’s Edge, which I recommended last year, and honestly, this book is even better than the first one, which was already pretty great. The book continues to use vampirism to explore the cycle of abuse effectively. This time, Mia is seeking vengeance on her mother's abusive ex-boyfriend, who was responsible for turning her Mom into a vampire. But when she finds the ex-boyfriend and infiltrates his little cult (with her kinda-girlfriend, who actually genuinely wants to join), she gets manipulated by him the way her mother did, her trauma and past making it easy to fall into a cycle that's familiar. She starts to understand her mother, and vampires in general, more than she ever thought she would. It's just a really interesting take on vampires, and this one actually addressed some of the thing I thought were a little iffy in the first book. It's dark, but there's also a lot of catharsis.

I think these books are easily among the top of my list of favorite vampire media. Content warning for abuse, and the vampire bites having a hint of a metaphor for sexual violence like they often do.

Bright Young Women by Jessica Knoll

 Bright Young Women follows a young woman in the aftermath of a serial killer breaking into her sorority and killing several of her friends. The media and police are all too willing to question her testimony and distort the details to fit their narrative. Another woman suspects her girlfriend was murdered by the same killer, and they team up to find the truth.

Bright Young Women is a page-turner, and I honestly didn't realize it was so heavily based on the Ted Bundy murders until I read the reviews, because I didn't know much about him (or most real life serial killers, a fact which I am very okay with). But the book is here to dunk on Ted Bundy and the ways his "intelligence and charisma" were greatly exaggerated by the media and even the judge at his actual trial, rage about the ways the victims stories are erased in favor of the killers who are glamorized and fawned over, point out the ways the police constantly fail victims, and to set the record straight to those who idolize serial killers.

The story centers the survivors and victims, talking about their lives and triumphs and the goals they were working toward and what could have been. It's depressing, but it also shines the light on the bravery of the women whose testimonies got the killer convicted even when the rest of the world was dismissive of them.

This book is a really tough read, and obviously there's a huge content warning for sexual violence, the graphic aftermath of horrific deaths...the method of one rape and murder actually really disturbed me (mentioned in the aftermath, the book never shows the actual acts), it was so gross and horrible (and unfortunately, happened in real life). Read with caution. But it's a book that will definitely stick with me for a while.

The Rise of Kyoshi and the Shadow of Kyoshi by F.C. Yee

I never got around to the Kyoshi novels because there's been a lot of mediocre Avatar the Last Airbender spin-off media...but I should not have hesitated, because these were actually really good. They follow the life of Kyoshi, the famously badass Earth Kingdom Avatar, and shows how she became how she is.

Yee does a great job capturing the world of Avatar, while also expanding on it in interesting ways. I really liked a lot of the little details that deepened the world--for instance, it's mentioned that Firebenders shave their heads when they lose an Agni Kai because of the disgrace, which gives context to Zuko's initial hairstyle and actually makes the fact he actively kept his hair from growing back for three years extremely sad, since it implies he thought he would only be worthy of that once his father approved of him again. It was something I think Yee definitely came up with himself, but it made a lot of sense with the show in a way that felt natural.

The novels were definitely darker than the show, but not in a Netflix Avatar let's-watch-a-bunch-of-people-we-don't-care-about-burn-to-death way, but in a way that felt natural to Kyoshi's circumstances. I found I usually did care a lot when a character died because they were often likeable. I found the death of one character in particular near the end of book one genuinely heartbreaking.

The books did a good job explaining why Kyoshi became more severe later on, and in how she wrestles with how far she can go with her role as the Avatar, what justice is, and whether killing people solves anything. The second book was not quite as good as the first, with its decision to switch out the cast of the characters for entirely new people and just being more meandering in general, but it was still a good read. I definitely rec if you're an Avatar fan, odds are you'll really enjoy them!

Voyage of the Damned by Frances White

In the country of Concordia, each province has one heir who has a "Blessing"--basically a unique magic power. Ganymedes (a.k.a Dee)'s dad cheated on his wife a bunch, and one of the children from those affairs must have inherited the Blessing rather than Dee. To keep this a secret, Dee's dad makes him pretend to have a Blessing. Now Dee has to go on a voyage with the other Blessed and, sick of the charade, he's decided he's going to make them all hate him so he gets kicked out of the group. But that plan is extremely interrupted when his shipmates start getting murdered one by one.

Voyage of Damned is just a really good time. A queer murder mystery romp with a ton of suspicious and varied characters vying for power, a fun lead with a distinctive voice, tragic romance, cute friendships, and even some touching exploration of prejudice, suicidal ideation and self loathing. It was just extremely readable and I was entertained the whole way though, but it also made me feel things sometimes. It also delivered a ton of solid plot twists, including a big and satisfying one that made me want to go back and read through a bunch of scenes knowing the truth (and I did).

Dee and his distinctive glib narration probably won't be for everyone but I liked him and vibed with him. He goes through a lot, including finding out his boyfriend he'd been separated from for five years is now engaged to a girl and acting super cold to him. The tension between Dee and Ravi and how it affects all his relationships is a real emotional hook, and his banter and dynamics with the people he likes (or even some people he doesn't) are generally fun to read. If all I've said sounds cool to you, give it a try, you might like it!

Bonus Rec: Someone You Can Build a Nest In by John Wiswell

Shesheshen is a blob monster who dines on the humans (mostly those who try to kill her). She can look human with some effort, and go into town to feed sometimes. But the she falls in love with a kind woman named Homily. This clearly means she needs to do the proper romantic thing and lay some eggs in Homily so their little monster kids can be born by devouring Homily for the inside out. Wait, humans aren't into that? That's awkward. And despite her biological impulse she doesn't really want Homily to die? Even more awkward. Oh, and Homily's family are monster hunters and it turns out that was Homily's brother Shesheshen ate a while back? Super mega awkward. What's a monster to do...

 I'm a lover of actually monstrous monster women, so I was hyped for this one, especially with the great cover by @jmfenner91! While it disappointed me in some areas, it was still fun and heartwarming enough I'd recommend it.

Our monster lady is a great character, and her unique point of view where she's nonchalant, cynical and often hilariously baffled by humans is a joy to read. Her personality, her super gross biology, and how she sees the world...she's so charming and her romance with Homily is very cute. I also really like that the book focused on healing from abuse and finding a way to move forward with each other's support. I also liked the romantic climax, and the discussion of finding kissing weird, because that made me feel seen.

There were quite a few things that kept it from being a five star review in my heart though--Sheshesen is completely disconnected from people, has just spent her life alone in her cave, but she knows what an abuser is and exactly how abusive people operate in a weirdly modern way. Abusers are also only portrayed one way: openly cruel and evil with zero sympathetic qualities to every single person they interact with. There is no cycle of abuse with these people, they never act nice to to draw their victims back in, we don't see more subtle, manipulative emotional abuse, almost no claims of caring about people. Obviously cartoonishly abusive rich people exist in real life, and I don't necessarily need abusers to be humanized. Still...it just felt like the nuance of most real life abuse was being ignored. And because these people were so one dimensional, it was pretty tedious to spend SO much time with them.

Still, the book was very monstrously sweet, and it was overall a good read. I wish it could have been a little more, but what we got was pretty nice.

[girl-lostconnection]

can we get some graves kissing fluff :( how does he like to kiss?

Sure thing, anon! I didn’t write for him for some time so I’m glad you are asking

Graves’s kisses wary, depending on circumstances and how much time he has, but overall he is the man that loves kissing.

Especially if he’s kissing you.

He presses lips to your temple after a long day, murmurs “hey there, beautiful” and wraps himself around you.

He kisses your forehead or cheek when he hurries out — lips pressing for just a second, hastily throwing “gotta go, darlin’, be good” above his shoulder as his one foot is already out the door.

He trails his lips down your neck and peppers your shoulders with kisses when he has time to really savour it, practically purrs with satisfaction because god, this is nice, that’s what life is all about, you know?

I think the traditional upbringing in him would be thrilled at the thought of kissing your cheeks and jaw, showing off his affections to his pretty spouse, grin a little too wide when you smile at him.

He shows you off a little, a bit of silent claim for anyone who had been looking at you a little too long, his lips curling against your cheek in a wider green, breathing out “lookin’ good, darlin’, let’s go before someone tries to steal you away. I can feel 647 men already droolin’.”.

But it’s actual kisses that Graves would savour, pressing his lips to yours, diving into the kiss like he’s submerging himself into the lake, knowing full well it’s too deep for him to feel the bottom.

He wants to feel lightheaded and little lost when he pulls away. He wants to forget about the world and lose train of any thought he had before because this moment when he kisses you — it’s something only for you two. No one else. Nothing else.

Graves kisses like every one of his kisses is delectable little thing and he just needs to feel every damn shade of the colours that burst inside of him when he kisses you. Tugging your lower lip with his lips, probing your mouth open.

He’d be drinking in every sound and expression, breaking kisses just to kiss you again. And again and again.

I think he’s a person who really could spend significant amount of time just kissing, letting his lips trail lower sometimes — murmuring soft sweet nothings in your neck and collarbones before returning to your mouth.

Who’d knew that a man like him kisses so sweetly.

[damned-punk]

That’s Too Bad (Kidd Pirates x Reader)

@gratefulcheeses Kidd Pirate’s Month 2025

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Content Warning: language

Content Description: you and your crewmates purposefully bicker to liven up the quiet moments at sea ♡

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The last several days had been nothing short of chaos which wasn’t entirely unusual, but things had not slowed down at all. In fact, they’d only grown more hectic with the innumerable pranks that every member of the crew had been pulling on one another. It was like a downhill slope that only continued to get steeper, first starting with Dive attaching rhinestones to Wire’s cape throughout the day and escalating to House snatching Kidd’s goggles from his head and hiding out in the hull for hours. You weren’t sure you’d ever heard so many curse words be used consecutively before.

To add to the tomfoolery, she waited him out until he finally relented to his cabin and dressed the goggles with a bow before laying them on his workbench like a present. He was grumpy the next morning, but no one could deny her commitment to fucking with him relentlessly. Bubblegum felt like you needed to be brought into the fun and took it upon himself to turn nearly everything in your cabin upside down. The bed, your books, the pictures on the walls, your clothes, anything that he could flip or turn inside out without completely destroying was maneuvered out of its place.

“Alright, who did it?”, you asked dumbfoundedly as you entered the mess hall for dinner.

“Who did what?”, Dive asked first, initially causing you to place to the blame on her.

You approached her and leant down to meet her at eye level, her expression not quite faltering but she was known for having a decent poker face.

“It wasn’t enough to take the Captain’s goggles?”, you interrogated her.

“With peace and love, I honestly have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”, she replied while backing away, the sight causing the actual culprit to laugh a little too hard.

Your attention shifted to Bubblegum who seemed to be enjoying your frustration, he honestly thought he’d get away with it but resolved to relent when you approached him.

“C’mon, a little bit of change is good every now and then.”, he attempted to defend himself, which was admittedly funny but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“I’m going to sleep in your cabin tonight while you put everything back in its place.”, you smiled at him before giving him a swift flick between the eyes.

“Damn, you’re just gonna take that?”, Mosh pushed to get a reaction out of Bubblegum while several onlookers giggled at how unserious the situation was.

“I don’t know, she might beat his ass.”, Heat remarked in a further attempt to keep the rivalry alive.

“Might?”, you eyed the bluenette, “I can take him.”

“In a fight, right?”, Boogie bellowed out in laughter, your face heating up at his explicit comment.

“You know what, fuck it.”, you began trudging toward the door, not at all serious in your demeanor, “I’ve had enough of every single one of you.”

“It’s not like you to back down so easily.”, Killer added one last burn, “I guess it’s not a bad thing to know when to walk away.”

The entire crew began laughing at his remark, he wasn’t typically one to partake in everyone’s antics but it was always so much fun when he did. Killer could not only take a joke, but could give one right back with no hesitation. He balanced Kidd’s hotheadedness which was also so much fun to prod.

“I can handle Bubblegum being an asshole, but you? My heart’s in shambles.”, you feigned being upset and although you couldn’t see it, you could feel the sassy eye roll emanating from beneath his mask.

Just as you stepped out onto the main deck in hopes of getting some fresh air, you nearly walked directly into Kidd who was dangling a giggling Emma above his head by her ankle.

“What the fuck did you do this time?”, you couldn’t help but be amused by the sight.

“I might’ve snuck into Kidd’s workshop to hide under his bench in an attempt to scare him and it also might’ve worked.”, she attempted to stifle her laughter as Kidd’s angry face turned to meet your own.

“That’s too bad, I was gonna try that later.”, you replied, snorting a bit as Kidd huffed loudly.

You glanced up at the Captain and placed a hand over your mouth in a feeble attempt to hide your expression. He rolled his eyes and continued past you into the mess hall where yet another barrage of curses could be heard. You scurried back toward your cabin and away from the ever present chaos that was sure to surmount even further. Despite the minor inconveniences, you couldn’t complain. You loved these dorks, tempers and all.

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[paperbackribs]

The Rising Sun (1) | Ao3 Fic tags: shapeshifters, mysteries, explicit rating, possessiveness Fic summary: Eddie is confronted by what it means to be a monster and will have to decide how far he will embrace it to protect the ones he loves.

Eddie can’t put his finger on it, but he thinks that Steve’s expression is off and figures that the romance woes of him and Nancy are still ongoing, past the heat of the Upside Down where he’d begrudgingly watched the two of them gravitate around each other like the heroes of an action movie.

The reminder of the picture-perfect couple from months ago has Eddie’s own jaw briefly clenching and he leans into his curiosity like picking at a scab. A little painful but it’s there and he’s got to know what’s under it. He sways too far into Steve’s space, the sweet and spicy scent of the smoke coating his tongue and Steve’s eyes widen imperceptibly.

Eddie relishes in the satisfaction of catching him off guard as he asks, “The little lady still giving you grief? I thought you two lovebirds would’ve buried the hatchet by now.” He waggles his eyebrows, feeling like a letch and an idiot, but he wants to know. Has to know. “Or buried something.”

The gold in Steve’s hazel eyes dulls and he leans back, “Real mature, Munson. No,” he rejects, “nothing has been buried. Nor do I want it to, just for the record.”

Eddie scoffs, unable to believe it, “Sure.”

Frustration sloughs off of Steve’s frame and he curses softly before flicking his cigarette away; he turns back to Eddie with his hands falling to his hips, “Forget Nancy, we need to talk about us.”

A hint of ice blooms in Eddie’s gut: he’s pushed too far. Again. And now Steve’s going to tell him that he’s sick of Eddie picking at the scabs, picking at him, and if the golden boy wants him gone then the rest of the party is going to be behind Eddie being booted out of the group.

Eddie of old may have scoffed and loudly told Steve to fuck off before he has a chance to do it himself. But the sharp shadows inside these days, the pieces that barely cling together like fraying wire, have him inching away, waiting for the blow rather than fighting back.

“Just say it,” he grits out. “I already know, so just say it.”

The tension radiating from Steve softens and Eddie bitterly notes that he’s already making it easier for Steve to reject him. Practice makes perfect after all.

“You do? I thought...” Steve stutters, brow creasing in confusion like he’s the first person to want ‘the freak’ to leave, “I didn’t think you could have known. It’s not like it’s a normal conclusion to come to.”

Eddie barks out a laugh, “Yeah, okay. Sure. Let’s say that’s true.” He gestures with a sarcastic wave of his arm, almost bowing as if deferring to his liege, “Please, go ahead — let’s get this over with so we can all say ‘wow, what a surprise.’”

“Okay,” Steve grips the back of his shirt with a scowl, “you don’t have to be an asshole about it, but yeah let me just—” And with that he swiftly pulls off his shirt from behind before reaching down to deftly unbutton his jeans.

Eddie stumbles, gobsmacked, as Steve gets naked. Toeing off his shoes before, in one swift move, shucking off the denim, dropping them to puddle at his feet as he strips them of his socks, leaving him clad in only a tight pair of boxer briefs.

The green material of it clings to his thick, hairy thighs and Eddie desperately clenches at his cane in lieu of honest-to-God whimpering because he’s faced once more, so fucking unfairly, by that wide chest again, absolutely covered in a thick pelt and making Steve look like some goddamn Playgirl centrefold.

Eddie’s pretty sure he has a lumberjack-themed version stashed under his bed that Steve would easily trump in a heartbeat. A heartbeat that is currently loudly pounding in his ears as fantasies since Lover’s Lake come storming back, coating those jagged pieces inside with a patina of lust that hides the broken mosaic for a brief moment, reminding Eddie of a bolder self.

He gulps around a salivating mouth and finally lifts his eyes to Steve who shifts nervously, one bare foot to the other and he seems almost beseeching, pleading, and Eddie wonders if Steve’s going to ask him to suck his dick. Because he’d be willing to bury his pride for the opportunity. He’d hate himself afterwards, but this is a dream come true.

And then Steve says in a terrible echo to the start of Eddie’s night, “Ready?” and the trap of the dream snaps close, locking Eddie in a nightmare that has haunted him for weeks now.

Chapter

[randomfoggytiger]

in Never Again, Mulder begins with a jerk of an attitude. I would like to think that he was responding to the forced vacation, so his irritation was with "management" making him do what he didn't want to do. But then, there are times when I watch the episode and think that maybe this was the unpleasant personality trait that Scully had to deal with. I also think that the angst was helped by Duchovny's possible moody personality so it helped with disliking Mulder in those scenes where he is dismissive of Scully. The "where will you be" question seemed a little "girlfriendish" than platonic coworker. I don't pry into my coworker's whereabouts as if I need to know where they will be. Such mixed messages. The angst is further developed because Mulder distances himself from Scully by saying "it's personal" and almost like it's none of her business. My personality would have been to say "well good F'n day to you too and F off Mr. Invade my space all the time and suck up all my air at any given time".

I go back and forth in assessing his mood as angry or scared in the end scene and right after the date scene when he calls her motel. There have been times when I watch the phone call scene to the motel when she has her Jerse sleepover that he is not calling her because he wants to catch up on a case but to make amends as if he is scared or saddened that she had a date. It's almost like he is concerned that he pushed her away or can possibly be replaced. He seems like a scared kid. In the final scene, he starts off irritable and just a jerk to her. Sure, he is making a joke but deep down inside the joke is some truth to try to sting her. Was he angry at her for having her one night stand/date so he vents? Then, there are moments in the final scene that I read the facial expression that he is scared that maybe he is the cause of a distancing from her. He could also be irritated that he doesn't know how to deal with a woman and her emotions and having to deal with relationship issues. He keeps people at a distance to avoid getting hurt but here he has hurt Scully and deep down his guilt or empathy gets the better of him. I read this somewhat when he makes the body shoulder slumping movement when he stands up as if he is saying "I want to move on from this topic but don't know what to do because she may be mad at me". They are in 2 completely different planes at this moment and distanced emotionally which supercedes the professional life for Scully.

I find it interesting that when Scully calls Mulder from Jerse's apartment, she says "no" before she hangs up and right before he answers. Did he hear the "no"? In this moment, she rejects Mulder and how she runs to him when she needs help/saving. Did she say "no" because she thought that she could figure this out on her own, "no" to the I don't need him, "no" to I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of being "the man", no to "I won't give in and be the first to call because that would seem like an apology", no to "I don't want to explain this guy and what i did to Mulder, or "no" to I am breaking this endless line of making everything having to do with Mulder? What was the "no"?

Ooh, interesting thoughts.

Gonna rush this out, so sorry for any typos!

MULDER'S BEHAVIOR

Mulder's petulance was key to this episode. Forced off the files on mandatory leave just as he caught the scent of a new case, he storms about the office then sits to discuss the assignment with his partner. To be fair, he wasn't meaning to project his mood onto Scully, and was even attempting, actually, to lift hers. His humor, however, is discordant with her unsettled state of mind; but she tries to set her rising irritation aside as she debunks the merits of the investigation.

However, Mulder's last tease pushes her over the edge:

Mulder: "So you’re refusing an assignment based on the adventures of Moose and Squirrel?"

Scully: "Refusing an assignment?" It makes it sound like you’re my superior."

Finally fed up himself, he stands and slams the drawer shut-- feeling personally dismissed:

Mulder: "Do what you want. Don’t go to Philadelphia.... This work is my life."

When Scully responds ("And it’s become mine"). he's pulled up short, immediately shaken. His questions-- "You don’t want it to be?"--is soft and scrambling. He stands by the file cabinet, physically crumbling in on himself as Scully tries to simultaneously walk the strength of her statement back and assure him it's not about him (a sentiment she spells out for him explicitly later.)

Scully: "This isn’t about you. Or maybe it is, indirectly. I don’t know. I feel like I’ve lost sight of myself, Mulder. It’s hard to see, let alone find in the darkness of covert locations. I mean, I wish I could say that we were going in circles, but we’re not. We’re going in an endless line - - two steps forwards and three steps back. While my own life is...standing still."

Mulder, unable to see how in the world to tackle this, thinks that maybe Scully's just sick of having him around so much... which is a sad internalization, but on par with every other person in his past. "Well, maybe it’s good that we get away from each other for a while."

Scully, penitent but emotionally mixed, asks him where he'll be; and he tries to soothe the rift by confessing, "Ironically enough, it’s personal. It’s a... place I always wanted to go. What I anticipate to be a spiritual journey. I hope to ... discover something about myself. Maybe you should do the same."

Ironically, perhaps that's what Scully needed instead of getting lost in the woods with Jerse-- but it's something she finally accomplishes, on her own terms, in all things.

I do disagree on his "it's personal": they were both working through things internally, but Mulder only volunteered his information after Scully confessed hers. It was an honest moment... and one she misunderstood (because he didn't communicate clearly) as rejection; but he truly thought it was an equal disclosure.

She was girlfriendish here, just as he's boyfriendish with Jerse later-- there is no dividing line between personal and professional, and Scully misudges that enmeshment as the root of her problem (when, in reality, it's her own avoidance of her inner self.)

Mulder calling was him trying to include Scully in his personal moments-- he doesn't see their "enmeshment" as a problem, and isn't used to Scully seeing it as a problem, either. When he does patch through, he checks that box then asks the next important question-- how's the case? To Scully, this reads again as dismissal; and so, she decides to go on a date with Jerse. Mulder doesn't call her again after that-- he got the message-- but Scully reaches out when she realizes Jerse is a danger to her and himself.

The ending scene: a glaring light over their shared problem. Mulder and Scully don't talk-- well, they don't talk about The Big Issues. About the fact that both feel equally neglected by the other, that both felt this relationship was "personal" but that Mulder ran off to Graceland and Scully ran off to Jerse, that Scully has a tattoo on her back and Mulder might be down one basement member.

Mulder is afraid here-- Scully is no longer responding to their old routine: he makes a pop joke, she smiles or rolls her eyes, neither takes things too seriously. Instead, she stares him down, continues to withdraw, and won't speak. Finally, this forces Mulder to take courage and just ask her what she needs: "All this, because I’ve ... because I didn’t get you a desk?"

Scully isn't frustrated or angered by this question: she's almost relieved. Kindly but firmly, she states, "Not everything is about you, Mulder. This is my life."

And, of course, we arrive at the ending-- which I've discussed at length here and here-- where Mulder realizes Scully's true meaning and withdraws; and Scully, seeing his withdrawal, withdraws into himself. (This is also why I place Leonard Betts right after: not only because GA and Morgan wrote the episode that way, but also because Mulder sought out a medical case for them to investigate in order to steer them back on track. And Scully's in her element, and he's enjoying himself... and then bam, cancer.)

SCULLY'S "NO"

I pulled up the episode to rewatch the morning after scene. Scully calls through, Mulder gets up and runs to the phone, she pulls the phone away from her ear, whispers "No" then disconnects, and Mulder's face drops. Both are angsting, and unaware how in-sync their struggles and emotions are.

No, I don't think Mulder heard her "No": the receiver was already away from her mouth when Scully muttered, and her word was really just a mutter to herself-- a "No, you got yourself in this mess and you can get out of it, he wouldn't understand."

Little did she know, he would... but that, as mentioned above, still doesn't chew away at this "thing" between them.

CONCLUSION

I loved reading your ask-- thanks for sharing! :DDDDDD

[reidhalstead]

All he can think is, good. A flutter of mild satisfaction that she's got something right in the insanity of her mind. He won't care for someone who let him rot in his own grime for months. But all his snarks weren't supposed to have answers. Fuck. I. Don't. Care. He isn't sure how many ways he can say it to her. He knows one language at best, with a questionable amount of two more. Reid doesn't think he has the capacity to try in another.

It practically stings when she tears the remnants of an open shirt off his back, breaking open scabs of blood, long healed under. He's all scarred up by the verbena that's grown familiar with his system now; they're not allies, but it burns a little less each time his body wages its internal war. He won't look at what its left behind, between crass bullet holes and jagged lines.

He's stony as she washes the layers of debris from him. "Maybe I do like him, after all." Reid remains pissed she turned him too. Because at least they'd give him an end and not an eternal unlife. Nisha's got the tendency to drone on, veering off on tangents of lore that Reid doesn't need, nor want. It doesn't help him. He knows Markus is one of Nisha's old flames or whatever. He notices the quiet then too, the ghost is gone. Is it a new day; has he grown tired? Eleazar might not have noticed because he's almost absent in his awareness after. He's stopped recoiling or flinching at her touch because it'll change nothing. Stopped thinking about sensation at all, really, beyond tension and aches.

There's no argument about the chains, just a glare that nearly elicits a scoff at how she might be afraid he's got enough strength to escape her, even if he tried. Nisha's infuriatingly gentle. He's used to her harshness; her nails cutting his stomach open. He knows that tiredness. Here, he just lets it happen.

But to talk about the apartment; the wreckage of more than she ever deserves to know, he realises she's gentle in her movements because her tongue is a weapon just as sharp.

Reid doesn't react, he's spent hours and weeks playing scenes in his head; a self-torment he's tried to cease by burying his fingers in his scalp, or in the ribcage, testing to see how far he might get his heart dislodged before Nisha might catch him in the act. Why would she attack you? "That's what they do." He mutters as though she's stupid for thinking any different. "We're not friends." It's with bite, raspy as he shifts underneath the weight of her washing his flesh. Reid's near her face when he hisses: "Hunters don't befriend monsters. She's dead. Because I'm on the wrong side of the war now."

"I am completely aware that you don't care, Reid." Nisha said as she stared at him with a somewhat vacant gaze. Her mind threatened to tug her backwards -- decades away from here. She wasn't looking for sympathy when she'd decided to bring up her own sire. She, instead, was trying to show him that she was not evil. Well, not in the way other's could be with him.

Two months in a basement of an abandoned house was nothing compared to what her own sire had put her through. Decades. Centuries. And Nisha was doing Reid a favor by placing him there. She'd nip it in the bud before it got worse; teach him a lesson so that this didn't happen again in the future. A blip in the timeline of his life that would last forever, thanks to her.

"He wouldn't be, actually." Nisha said as she ripped his dirty shirt off of him, tossing it to the side. She then pulled out a towel and some bottled waters from the bag, pouring the water on the cloth and then she ran it over his skin. Her goal was to get most of the grime off before she put the new shirt on him."He'd be extremely pissed that I turned another vampire." Nisha ran the towel over his neck. "He'd have probably killed you." A pause. "Or, well... that's what I thought. He made sure I knew that he killed Markus but... He's still alive, clearly. I'm not quite sure what happened with that." Her and Markus had yet to discuss much.

"I'll take the shackles off, one at a time, as I help you redress." She said as she guided the wet towel down his arm, siping most of the dirt from his skin. "I think that a Hunter attacked you." Nisha said, softly as her eyes lifted to meet his. "I know her scent. It's been all over you for a while now and I've met her before. But I also know that you associate yourself with Hunters. So, if my assumptions are correct, you two were friends, at the very least. So why would she attack you?"

[hajihiko]

💕

[knockknockitsnickels]

Themed Slay the Princess Playthrough Ideas

Someone Explodes: Razor -> Fury -> Wild (via Witch) -> Cage -> Happily Ever After

Big Princess: Wraith -> Razor -> Apotheosis -> Eye of the Needle -> Den

Narrator has a Very Bad Time: Princess & Dragon -> Apotheosis -> Moment of Clarity -> Wild -> Thorn

Hard to Draw: Beast -> Moment of Clarity -> Razor -> Cage -> Fury

I would Trust them to Watch my Drink at a Party: Spectre -> Prisoner -> Adversary -> Wraith -> Thorn

Opportunist is There: Razor -> Wraith -> Moment of Clarity -> Witch -> Happily Ever After

I'm out of ideas suggest YOURS in the comments thanks