#but if I finish sooner it’ll be sooner

[milliesfishes]

fic fest is a GO

[yallwildinrn]

Snake in the Grass: Chapter 1

For @ckhalloween23's catch-all prompt: An Empty Grave

This is a horror fic I've been working on since May or June. Given my current pace, it probably won't be out until the latter half of next year, butttt since I have this first chapter done (and I wanted it to be done in time for Halloween of this year), I figured I'd go ahead and post this as a preview and a treat! Well, treat for you guys and me haha.

Content warning for alcohol, bars, and general spookiness.

Pool balls whizz & clack against one another, but the sound is mostly drowned out. The bar, while not packed, is bustling with life, as is typical for a Friday evening; the sounds of yelling, laughter, and glasses clinking fill the already cramped space. It’s the victory cry of men who have been itching for the work week to finally, finally, end.

Dim, warm lights mask dirty floors and mysterious stains of unknown origin that seem to infect any and every upholstered seat. The single TV crammed into the back corner behind the bar top has caught the attention of several men, all shouting and celebrating – or complaining – at every pitch of the game with gnashing teeth. The bartender scrambles to sling out drink after drink of who-knows-what for the night’s customers.

Johnny himself is seated at a round, wooden table shoved near the back of the room. It’s almost uncomfortably close to the billiards tables, and each shrill hit against the pool balls becomes harder to ignore as the night wears on. He’s got some good distraction, though.

He lounges in his chair with a Coors in hand, surrounded by his friends. Bobby sits at his right, sipping his bourbon, while counterclockwise from there are Jimmy, Dutch, and Tommy. It’s tight, mostly because they had to steal a seat for Jimmy, but Johnny doesn’t mind. Not a damn bit.

He takes a long, slow sip from his drink. He still can’t believe they graduated from West Valley six whole years ago, and yet here they are, still thick as thieves. It’s not the same as it was back in high school (images of late-night, high-speed rides on their Hondas and getting plastered on the beach come to mind), but given how damn busy they all are, it’s an impressive amount of effort to keep traditions & meet-ups alive – like these monthly get-togethers at the bar, for example.

Johnny half-listens to a light-hearted argument between Tommy & Jimmy about baseball players he doesn’t give a shit about. Dutch, caught in the middle, has decided to antagonize the two of them by playing devil’s advocate for both sides. Things are getting heated, but it’s nothing Johnny finds worth worrying about. A nudge to Johnny’s arm snatches his attention away, and he turns to see Bobby with an expectant gaze and a soft, tipsy smile on his lips. Johnny reciprocates the smile without even thinking; he can thank the fact that he’s at least a few drinks in for that.

Bobby’s eyes sparkle as he leans towards Johnny. His cheeks are flushed, and his breath is rich and yeasty, laced with just a hint of sweetness. He smirks at Johnny and says, “I’ve been meaning to ask. How’s your back doing, old man?”

Anddd there it is. Johnny rolls his eyes good-naturedly as he answers, “Well, I’m no longer bed-ridden, so there’s that. I think I’ll be good to go back in a week or two once Dr. Gates gives me the green-light. I’m not supposed to see her for another two weeks, but if I feel better before then, I’m gonna see if she can squeeze me in, see if I can get back to work sooner.”

Bobby raises his brows in a look of mock shock, but it’s accompanied by a wry smile. “Did I just hear Johnny Lawrence say he’s trying to get back to work sooner? Thought you had worker’s comp to fall back on?”

“I do,” Johnny explains, snatching the neck of his Coors. The glass is smothered with wet drops of condensation that leave watery rings on the tabletop. “Just turns out that worker’s comp isn’t nearly as good as a roofing job. Pays the bills, but man.”

Johnny shakes his head and takes a swig of his beer. The icy cold liquid feels like a blessing, and he sighs as the bottle leaves his lips.

Bobby shrugs a little awkwardly. He tries to reassure Johnny as best he can by reminding him, “Hey, at least you’re getting comp this time.”

Johnny frowns harshly and shuts his eyes for a moment like he’s trying to will away a headache. He sets his beer down with a soft thunk, and the moisture clinging to the glass is already dripping back onto the table. He glares at a nearby wall and mutters, “Don’t remind me.”

“I’m just saying,” Bobby starts with a warm smile, swishing the alcohol in his glass with one hand. “Not working under the table has its perks.”

Another round of loud cheers fills the room. Sounds like someone finally hit the damn ball. “Yeah, but the government also takes half my damn paycheck. Jimmy still hasn’t helped me figure out how to deduct all my taxes yet,” Johnny says, loudly pulling Jimmy into the conversation.

Jimmy turns away from his own conversation with Tommy & Dutch. He leans onto an elbow and smiles at Johnny, but it’s certainly not genuine; if anything, there’s a bite to it. He answers, “Just because I’m an accountant doesn’t mean I can magically fix your taxes, Johnny. Become a business, then we can talk.”

Johnny flips him off, earning a round of chuckles around the table as Jimmy rolls his eyes and relaxes back into his seat. Dutch points at Jimmy with his beer bottle and asks the accountant, “Speaking of, have you finally been let out of your cage? First time we’ve seen you in, what? Months?”

Jimmy sighs, and Johnny realizes that the polo Jimmy’s wearing is probably the most casual thing he’s worn out and about in a while. “Tax season is finally over. Thank god for that,” Jimmy trails off, and he takes a long swig from his glass.

Tommy eyes his friends and pipes up, “Too late for another round of shots?”

Another round sounds fucking amazing. Johnny instead answers, “I’d love to, but my wallet says no.”

Bobby chimes in, “My liver also says no. That first round was enough for me.”

Dutch’s face crinkles into disappointment as he boos Bobby from across the table. His chair tips back an almost dangerous amount while he does. He shakes his head and laments, “Ya think you know a guy, but then he goes to priest school and becomes a damn prude.”

Bobby glares at him as his grip tightens on his glass. “It’s called seminary, and I’m becoming a pastor, not a priest.”

Tommy snickers & nudges Dutch, giving him a mischievous look. He points out, “Didn’t say he wasn’t a prude.”

Johnny snorts, earning himself a Bobby-patented glare, which then sends him into a laughing fit. Sometimes it can genuinely be scary to be on the receiving end of that gaze, but most of the time (especially after all these years,) it’s become damn hilarious. There’s another vicious clack of the pool balls; the start of a new game.

“I hate all of you,” Bobby huffs. He crosses his arms and leans back into his chair, dragging his gaze across the figures of his (almost) drunk friends, who are still much more sober than half of the room. “Why do I even hang out with you assholes? What did I do to deserve this?”

Jimmy sips on his glass and looks at Bobby. His lips curl into a wry smile. “Be a prude?”

Johnny thinks he can see a vein bulge in Bobby’s forehead, and he has to stifle another snort. Bobby’s lips pull into a tight, frustrated line across his face. He finishes the last of his bourbon with a small gulp and slaps his palm onto the table so he can push himself out of his chair. “I fucking hate you. All of you. I’m getting another drink.”

He pushes his chair back in with his foot and starts to weave through the maze of people & tables, and Tommy smiles like a Cheshire cat and calls out, “Can you-?”

“No,” Bobby yells back as he crosses the bustling room. Tommy cackles in his seat, and Dutch follows suit, clapping a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and howling beside him. Johnny simply shakes his head and leans onto the table, resting on his forearms.

The wood sticks to his skin. He can only imagine how much dust is trapped under layers of sticky god-knows-what. Probably more than he realizes. It’s kind of gross to think about, but it doesn’t really faze him, especially when everything about this bar fits that bill. Not much about this place is great: the bartender’s a dick, the bowls of pretzels are stale as shit and few & far between, it’s impossible to find a seat without a weird stain on it, and there’s never more than two beers on tap.

That doesn’t mean it’s all bad, though. Johnny never has to worry about them running out of Coors. It’s a pretty good distance between all their places. The prices aren’t half bad, and hell, it doesn’t even come close to gracing their top ten list of “Shittiest Bars This Side of California!” So yeah, really not all bad, at least if you ask him.

Tommy’s hyena-like cackle grabs Johnny’s attention and pulls him back into whatever conversations he’s missed. “No, no,” Tommy starts, smiling wide. “I’m just- can you believe any of us actually graduated?”

Jimmy levies Tommy with a self-satisfied smile. “No, I actually can’t believe any of you guys graduated,” he teases. Tommy rolls his eyes.

Dutch scowls. “Yes, yes, we know. You made an A once and got into a big boy college, keep it in your pants,” He replies gruffly, finishing his statement with a swig.

“That’s not what I meant,” Tommy elaborates dryly while gesturing with his drink. “You’re not wrong, but think about it. Our senior year was such a shitshow.”

Dutch smirks and looks Johnny’s way. “I blame Romeo over here. Had no idea a breakup would lead to all that bullshit with LaRusso.”

Johnny stifles at the comment, and his cheeks flush – now red from more than just the alcohol – as he glares at Dutch. He’s about to bark out a comeback, but Bobby cuts him off when he comes sauntering back, freshly filled glass in hand, and retorts, “Oh please, we’re all to blame. We escalated it when we should’ve just left things alone.”

Bobby slides into his chair a little ungracefully, wood scraping against the floor, while Dutch shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He nods his head down a little sheepishly because… yeah. Bobby’s right, as much Johnny hates to admit it. Back at West Valley, they were all chomping at the bit to put the twerp in his place, but none of that needed to happen or even should have happened. They saw red, and LaRusso got caught in the crossfire. It was like they didn’t even see him. Just a conveniently placed punching bag.

The table’s air stills; the rest of the bar continues to thrum with activity while the atmosphere of their little corner slowly ices over. Johnny purses his lips and sips at his beer. Guilt gnaws his ribcage. Even after all these years, after the apologies and many, many steps to make things right, he’s still stuck with bitter memories that choke him up. He opts to study the many dings & scratches on the table rather than meet any of his friends’ eyes.

Jimmy’s the first to break the tense silence. “You know, if we have anyone to blame, it’s Kreese,” he spits out. It hits Johnny like a jab to the chest. He’s taken aback as Jimmy says this, but the man continues, “He put so much bullshit in our heads! All that punch first, think second nonsense. Like, come on-”

“Wait, wait,” Johnny interrupts while waving his hand to stop Jimmy in his tracks. How can he just say that? “Look, he was a total douchebag – I should fucking know – but we’re the ones who took what he said too far. We were still the ones who fucked with LaRusso. He didn’t tell us to do any of that shit.”

Tommy shifts beside him and stumbles over his words. “Yeah, like- but- Look, okay, you’re right, it’s totally on us for taking shit way too far, but Johnny,” Tommy says, and he turns to Johnny with pleading eyes. “He literally taught us to have no mercy. Literally. That’s not an exaggeration.”

Johnny frowns. “Yeah, but we took it out of context. He obviously meant to not take no for an answer, to- to keep pushing on despite the circumstances,” he explains. Are they seriously saying this shit? Even after all these years? After everything Kreese did for them? For fuck’s sake…

Dutch is next to speak. He throws Johnny an odd look as he adds, “Did we go to the same Cobra Kai? Because the one I went to taught us to do fucking everything to the extreme. Including the no mercy shit. Hell, he even had us do karate to the extreme. All those extra goddamn practices…”

“Yeah, and they were good for us. We needed some discipline!” Johnny snaps back defensively. His blood is starting to boil with every bullshit argument that his friends make.

He starts to bounce his leg. The sounds of laughter pouring out from a nearby table makes him want to snarl. He doesn’t get it, how can his friends just- just pass the blame onto Kreese? The guy at least tried to help them and make them into better people (before his sensei lost his mind, that is.)

Johnny turns to Bobby, who’s worrying his lip and squirming like he’s sitting on an anthill. “Come on,” Johnny says. “Back me up here.”

Bobby looks away from Johnny, jaw tense, but he turns back. He lets out a breath, look Johnny square on with a worrying level of sincerity, and says, “Johnny. Kreese worked us so hard once that you forget it was Ali’s birthday. She broke up with you over that.”

Johnny’s skin buzzes. He’s all too aware of the overpowering noise of the room. Hell, he feels like he can feel the next table over breathing on him. His stomach rolls. “That is not what happened,” Johnny insists with a hard stare. “Practice that day was not that bad. I remember it. It was fine.”

Tommy scoffs, “Then why were you so quick to go out drinking with us?”

Johnny’s more tense than a stretched-out rubber band, and he feels like he’s going to snap like one, too. He scowls and answers, “I forgot because…”

Johnny blinks and turns his gaze down. Sweat collects at the back of his neck while his chest tightens.

“No, I-I forgot because…”

His mouth is a cotton ball. He’s reaching into his mind, searching for the memory, but he just… it’s not right. It’s there, but somehow, it also isn’t. He remembers being brought in for an extra practice with his cobras, Twig being brought in to watch & help, the end of practice, getting ready to leave, and then…

His temples throb as tries harder to remember, but he can’t. There’s a gap, a void where something should be. It’s not like he’s just forgotten the details, god no. He’s actively reaching into his mind, searching and grasping for what should be there, sandwiched between the sparring and the night at the bar, but he just… He can’t. He can’t get there. Every time he thinks he’s brushing against what might be the memory in question, a pulsing throb shakes his skull, and it rattles his train of thought loose.

His eyes dart between his friends. His heart pounds furiously against his vice of a ribcage, and he wipes his sweaty palms against the thighs of his pants. Their faces are a varied array of distress and confusion. Why do they look like that? Are they trying – and failing – to remember, just like him? Shit, why can’t he remember?

A chill threatens to run down his spine. Could he ever remember?

When he was fresh off the breakup with Ali, he would spend hours torturing himself with all the ways he screwed things up; it was his way of trying to nail down exactly what he did wrong. Except… he always left that practice turned night-on-the-town alone. He never touched it, to his knowledge. Is- Is this why? Every time he tried to play the events over in his mind, would he get to this downright anomaly of a gap in his memory, and did it make him feel- well, make him feel like he does now? Sick and shaken?

Is that why he never, never thinks about the inciting incident that led Ali to yell at him and tell him things were done? Did the avoidance become muscle memory at some point so he would never try to recall that night & the memories associated with it?

He knows the answer. He doesn’t like it.

It doesn’t even feel natural. It’s not like he just forgot; no, it’s more like something was ripped out unceremoniously or maybe strangled and hidden in an unreachable corner of his mind. Does it matter what type of wrong it is? He wipes the sweat from his brow; the heat from the crowd of the bar tonight has finally caught up to him, it seems.

His mind circles back. Why can’t he remember? Why is there a gap? How long has it been there? Has- has it always been there? And not just any gap. No, a gap that, when he tries to recall upon what should be there, snaps up & bites him like a cornered animal. His head is throbbing. He fumbles for his beer and takes a long drink.

He looks again to his friends. He can only imagine the expression on his own face given theirs. He takes a chance and says, “Please tell me I-I’m not the only one who…”

Bobby slowly shakes his head, eyebrows knit, but he doesn’t meet Johnny’s gaze. Jimmy and Dutch don’t move; they simply squirm and keep their eyes down. Tommy’s chest is heaving as he sits up straight and looks ahead with a mix of fear and uncertainty. Johnny knows they must be in the same boat as him. They have to be.

Tommy answers with a shaky voice, “Who what?” Johnny almost drops his mouth wide open. Tommy’s asking that even though the man isn’t meeting anyone’s eyes and looks like he wants to run out of the room?

“Who what? What do you mean who what?” Johnny asks incredulously. “Who- who can’t fucking remember what happened that night!”

Tommy’s smiling, but it’s strained. He answers, voice as tight as his lips, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Johnny grips his Coors so hard he thinks it’s going to shatter in his hands. “What do you mean what I’m-? You know exactly what I mean. Look at us! Look at yourself! Something’s not right.”

“Johnny,” Bobby pleads. At some point he rested his forehead in his hands, elbows on the table. “You’re- you’re not wrong, but Christ-”

Johnny turns to face Bobby with an eager gaze. He cuts him off, saying, “You can’t remember, either. It’s not just me. Something’s wrong.”

Bobby sighs through his nose. He’s getting frustrated; it’s a tell Johnny knows well. “No, Johnny,” Bobby says shortly. “I can’t remember. But I don’t want to. God, I just… I think I can speak for all of us when I say let’s just drop it. Please. I don’t want to think about-”

Bobby’s practically pleading, but Johnny doesn’t care. What’s more fucking important: a little bit of discomfort or the fact none of them remember the same exact damn thing?

Johnny cuts him off again and snarls, “About the fact there’s a fucking gap in our memories? The same gap for all of us, I’m willing to bet? One we’ve probably had since that night?”

Bobby shuts his eyes, and Johnny’s not sure if the man is going to cry or punch him, but given their shared history at Cobra Kai, it’s probably the latter. Dutch speaks up next, snapping, “Johnny! Just drop it! Yes, our memories are fucked, big whoop. I don’t care! I don’t want to think about it either! I don’t know about you, but I don’t like trying to remember and feeling my skin try to crawl off my body.”

Johnny drums his fingers against his bottle. He can’t fight the scowl on his lips. “Seriously? You’re just going to ignore this? Just like that?”

Dutch laughs bitterly. “Seems like we’ve been doing that for years, man,” he says with a shake of the head, but he pauses and looks Johnny straight on. “You know what? Hold on, let me ask you something. Let’s say we do talk about this shit. Have a little pow-wow and Agatha Christie our way through this bullshit. What the hell would we even do? Seriously, how in the fuck would you even recommend we- we try to fix this? Please, share with the class!”

Johnny opens his mouth to answer but shuts it tight in that same instant. His cheeks flush again. He genuinely has no idea where to start, actually. He does know that if they work together, they might have a shot, but Dutch writing him off with that cruel smile makes Johnny want to scream.

“Exactly,” Dutch says like the self-assured bastard he is, gesturing at Johnny with his drink in hand. “We can’t do shit, and since we’ve gone this long without thinking about it, why stop now? Sounds like none of us want to think about it, for christ’s sake.”

Johnny’s throat is tight. He can hardly believe what Dutch is saying. What Tommy and Bobby have been fucking saying. His blood pulses under his skin, and he turns to Jimmy, almost begging, “Jimmy. Come on, back me up. We can’t just pretend this never happened.”

Jimmy doesn’t look him in the eye, and it’s enough to make Johnny’s heart sink. The brunette swallows, lips turned downward ever so slightly, and he hesitantly answers, “Look, I-I’m sorry Johnny. I can’t. Why don’t we just… let sleeping dogs lie? All remembering does is hurt, and we can’t do anything about it, so why can’t we just…”

Johnny screws his eyes shut tight and flexes a hand in and out of a fist a few times. He brings his Coors to his lips, takes a healthy gulp, and slams the bottle back onto the table with enough force to make his friends jump a little. He glares at them all. He can hardly believe all the bullshit he’s heard tonight.

“Why can’t I just what? Drop it? Why aren’t you pussies willing to do anything about this?! It’s not right! Something is fucking wrong, and you just want to act like nothing happened!” Johnny says. His voice is starting to raise, and he’s getting the attention of a few nearby patrons, but quite frankly, he doesn’t give a shit. Fuck ‘em. “What is wrong with you guys? Who gives a fuck if it hurts to think about it! Something is wrong, and it sure as hell wasn’t just forgotten. It’s gone. Or- or it’s there and we just can’t reach it but- Who cares! It’s still weird as shit, and you’re all just pretending like nothing fucking happened like a bunch of pussies!”

Bobby attempts to soothe him by saying, “Johnny, please, I don’t think this is as bad as you’re saying.”

Johnny feels his muscles tense, and he swears to god, he might break a tooth from how hard his jaw is clenched. He gets tunnel vision for a moment, only able to focus on the traitorous words that just came out of Bobby’s mouth, and when his vision clears, everything is suddenly too much again – screeching pool balls, wails & shouts from the crowd around them, the way his body is vibrating under his skin. He has to fight against the urge to throw & shatter his beer bottle on the ground (likely only because he’s not done quite with it yet).

He can’t believe that Bobby of all people would say that to him. Talk down to him like that. That simple sentence rubs him raw like coarse sandpaper dragged his skin. It conjures up painful memories of his mom brushing aside his pleas for help and, on occasion, Kreese asking him through a sneer if he’s a loser. And worst of all, Bobby knows this, better than anyone else. He’s been the one to listen to Johnny rant and rage about being brushed off and ignored. He knows how that phrase sets Johnny’s blood alight.

Johnny chugs the rest of his beer in one fell swoop and steps out of his chair so fast & hard it tumbles. He doesn’t even bother picking it up. He bites out, “Fuck this. I’m going home. I don’t give a fuck what you do. Pretend for all I care! Don’t come crying to me when this shit blows up in all of our faces.”

Johnny ignores Bobby’s protests as he begins to chase after the taller man, trying to get Johnny to talk to him or whatever. Johnny can’t talk to him, won’t. He can’t even look at him right now. He grits his teeth as he weaves between people, and the longer Bobby follows, the more certain Johnny becomes that he really might start swinging.

Johnny has to shoulder his way into an open spot and wait for the bartender to slide by, but flashing some cash is all it takes to grab his attention. He feels like his skin is going to vibrate right off his body, and he snaps at some asshole sitting beside him who tells him to watch it.

Bobby catches up to Johnny as he’s trying to pay the bartender, worthless platitudes tumbling out of his mouth, and Johnny hisses through clenched teeth, “If you don’t lay off, I’m gonna knock your teeth out, I swear to god.”

It works as intended. Bobby steps back, startled and wide-eyed. Johnny knows he looks a little wild right now, but he just does not care. He feels like he’s one wrong word or move away from snapping, from saying & doing shit he’s going to regret. He just wants to get out of this fucking bar and away from his shithead friends.

Johnny breathes a small sigh of relief when Bobby accepts defeat and slinks back to the table stuffed in the back of the room. He always was the smartest of the five of them. He knew when it was time to leave things be before it blew up in their faces. Johnny thinks of Daniel, and he feels a little sick, but it’s replaced with another wave of hot, tepid anger again, the same kind that haunted him all through high school.

With his tab paid, Johnny shoves his way out of the bar, other patrons throwing protests, swears, & a few obscene gestures at him, but Johnny makes himself ignore it and pushes on. If he starts to pay attention and care right now, even a little, he’s probably gonna get the cops called on his ass, and he just- he can’t deal with that on top of everything else tonight.

He opens the bar door with a hard shove, and the chill night air washes over him. While the streets are neither silent nor empty, it’s still much better than the bar, and he feels his chest loosen enough that he can breathe again. He stomps over to his Avanti, and halfway through sticking his key into the door’s lock, he decides that he doesn’t have enough beer at home to deal with this night.

[littlelovelyspiderling]

seriously can't wait to read your chunky chapter! 28k words will be an AWESOME read, especially how you write character dialogue!

i remember saying i was going to try to write shorter chapters moving forward so i could update more often but apparently i’m not good at that 🫠 if you look through all the chapters ive written so far, each one is slightly longer than the previous lmao. making this one the longest one yet…

i hope it’s somewhat coherent lol i kinda just had fun with this one and let the story go wherever felt the most natural 🤷🏼‍♀️ there is definitely lots of dialogue that’s for darn tootin 🤪 but thank you for your kind words 😘

[szczylpierdolony]

so. stressed out. can i please finish this thesis

[mielgf]

i’m pro working from home but not for myself, i’m supposed to be designing an important document and instead i’m playing stardew valley like 😭

[drghostwrite]

Seeing Green

Pairing: Larissa Weems x wife!reader

Summary: one jealous Larissa and her gorgeous wife.

Warnings: Minors DNI, smut, mommy, cockwarming, mentions of getting pregnant(breeding)… and ofc jealousy.

P.S. idk if anyone remembers shadow hunters but this is a bit of a crossover with reader being an shadow hunter.

******************************************************** Of all the places you wanted to be this wasn’t it, surrounded by pink and blues at a baby shower.

Before you met Larissa and moved into a full time teaching position at Nevermore, you lived in Jericho. You were a shadow hunter and had an ability to read feelings and emotions, you couldn’t hear a direct thought but you could feel them, if you were sitting in a room with a killer it came in handy. Then you worked for the FBI hunting serial killers and using your abilities, that was until one day you had a rough run in and almost died, that’s when you decided that the war between worlds was not your thing. So you moved to Jericho and built another life for yourself, when a teaching position opened at Nevermore you jumped and now you teach psychology, along with some magic classes.

That’s where you met your wife, Larissa Weems, a gorgeous goddess of a woman that now sat at a table watching as you talked to one of your old friends.

“Hey Y/N!” Jess exclaimed as she spotted you.

“Hey mama!” You said hugging her, her large baby bump pressing into you.

“Wow you look amazing…” you said pulling back, a hand coming to the side of her belly.

“Well between you and me, I don’t feel it.” She chuckled.

“Oh well you’re glowing, how’s baby doing? How’re you doing?”

“We’re good, though I miss you… a lot. You and Larissa should visit more often.” She said smiling gently at you.

“Jess, you know how hard it is… I’m lucky you came to terms with me as fast as you did…”

“it’s because you never scared me, intimidated me with the tattoos and everything maybe.” She laughed motioning to the runes that covered patches of your upper arms.

As you two stood there laughing and talking, Larissa slightly glared letting her mind wander, oh how she wished that you were the one standing there sporting a baby bump, the pride in knowing that it was her baby in there. To see you laugh and hug your girlfriends as they congratulated the both of you, it’s something she’s thought about but she never asked you if you even wanted kids, you were amazing with them from babies to teens but she never asked if you reciprocated the idea of having your own. But now seeing you standing there so happy as you talked with your best friend, the image of you pregnant with her baby searing in her mind, it made her heart beat out of her chest.

“Hey ‘Riss?…Larissa?” You called, jolting her from her thoughts as she heard you and saw you waving over to her. She stood smoothing out her jeans that she currently wore and the silky white button up, padding her way over to you.

“Hello darling,” she said leaning down to place a kiss on your lips, “Jess.” She nodded politely at the shorter woman.

“Hey Larissa.” Jess said reaching up to hug Larissa.

“So Jess and I were just talking about us maybe coming to visit once the baby is born.” You gleamed up at your wife, leaning into her side as she wrapped an arm around you, you rested you head on her chest.

“Oh, really?” She smiled looking between you and Jess.

“Yea, I want Y/N and you, both of you to meet them and with y’all being perfect for each other maybe it’ll give you some baby fever so y’all will have some.” She poked at your side as you all laughed.

“Well we would be delighted to you…” Larissa smiled.

“Yay! So to my next thing, when are we finally have a little Weems running around?” She asked and you leaned into your wife’s side hearing as her breath catch in her chest.

“Not sure,” you said looking up to Larissa, “sooner rather than later.”

“Well I’m-” before she could finish someone was calling her over to do another game, you stayed for a little while longer before it started getting late and you decided to head home.

You found your way in the house and carried your tired forms up the stairs, you stood in front of your vanity as you slipped into some pajamas. You watched as Larissa stripped in front of the closet, smooth milky skin exposed for your eyes to wander, you watched as she smoothly unhooked her bra tossing it aside and then slowly bent down to slip out of her panties, she knew you were watching. Pretending to pick which pajama pants she turned around, you could see the barren patch of skin between her legs. She saw you out of the corner of her eye as you quickly turned back around.

“Y/N, Dear?” She said a perfectly manicured hand sliding over your shoulder and down your front tickling the skin between your breasts.

“Yes, my love…” you said trying to keep your voice steady as you crossed you legs trying to feel some friction as the knot started forming.

“Do you like what you see?” Her hand traveled lower, as your eyes wandered over her reflection in your mirror, one of your soft linen flannels only a few buttons closed, loosely hugging her form, the dark colors contrasting with her milky skin, she had long forgotten the pajama pants opting to let her legs barren.

“Larissa, I…” she cut you off by using her other hands to force your legs open, slowly bending down next to you her breath warm on the shell of your ear.

“I want you to see what I do to you.” She rasped in your ear as you watched her in the mirror, your eyes fluttering as you bit your lip fighting to hold back a moan.

“Damn…” you chuckled as her long slender fingers dipped beneath your panty line. You tried staying as stoic as possible but the minute she found your clit you were a dead woman. You drew in a sharp breath and slightly leaned back into her.

“Mm… such a pretty wife.” She said pulling your ear between her teeth, leaning to rake her teeth over your neck before placing little bites and kisses along your pulse points. Her fingers continued to tease you, dipping down to collect your slick and back up to pressure your clit.

“Larissa please…” you said in a breathy tone and got no response except for a particularly harsh bite that would be noticeable tomorrow.

“baby…” you whined.

“I wanna hear you beg.” She commanded.

“Mommy…please…” you begged in a breathless tone, a deep chuckle resounding against you as her lips pulled in a scandalous smirk. You let out a soft moan in response feeling the knot pull tighter, so close to your high just from her teasing and that’s when you felt it, she pulled her fingers away, the heat of her breath no longer ghosting over your skin.

“Larissa?” You called as you felt her no longer behind you and heard your bed shift as she sat on it.

“Come here darling…” you turned and saw her leaned back, her legs crossed perfectly out in front of her, she was slowly playing with the buttons on her shirt opening it to reveal nothing underneath.

“Mrs. Weems, such a tease…” you whispered letting your eyes trail her body, she guided you to straddle her lap, her hands wandering up your body to push your shirt off.

“Mm… let mommy help you with these.” She smirked pulling at your shorts, you lifted your hips to help her slide them off. As soon as they were in the floor you were grinding yourself down into her hips, leaning forward and placing heated kisses on her lips.

“Mommy please, I…” you stopped as you felt something new between your legs. You pulled back to see the new member between her legs, hard and standing at attention.

“Larissa…”

She let out a low chuckle, “surprise…” she smirked.

“whaaa…” you breathed out against her as she sat up some more to place kisses across your chest.

“I wanna try something new.” She said guiding your hips up and lining up her new toy. She helped you guide it in and slowly let you adjust, a low guttural moan vibrating through your chest, your fingernails raked across her back and shoulders as she ran gentle hand across your hip and lower back, she pulled a taut nipple into her mouth letting her tongue swirl as your head fell back.

“Holy…” you moaned out as her hands grasped your hips. You slowly started to move but not before you heard a phone ring. “behave…” Larissa said as she leaned over scooping it up and answering, “Jess, hey what’s up?” She asked your best friend and you could hear the conversation on the other end, you sat perfectly still trying your best not to move but every second that she was inside you became more excruciating, you could feel your muscles clench around her dick as she occasionally shifted where she sat, hitting your sweet spot and sending shockwaves through your body, you clenched around her and she shot you a look, she adjusted your hips seeing as you bit your lip trying not to whimper or moan.

“Well hopefully it’s our turn soon… yea… oh you know Y/N… this is very true, she would look amazing pregnant… oh… why yes in fact… uh huh… you too, goodnight.” You caught bits and pieces of the conversation as your brain went fuzzy, your core was on fire, just begging for attention. As soon as Larissa hung up you whimpered.

“Mommy please…” you begged trying to roll your hips.

“oh does my poor baby need my attention?” She teased.

“just rail me already…” you groaned out in a sultry tone, hips starting to swirl more rapidly.

“If you say so…” she said thrusting up into you, at first starting slow and agonizing swirling her hips, just barely ghosting over your sweet spot.

“Mmnhh…” you let out a frustrated moan, her hips started to move faster and more deliberate, as you leaned forward to grab the headboard, she placed kisses in between your breast, turning to rake her teeth over one, she buried her face in your chest going back and forth between sensitive nipples, one hand coming up and slender fingers pulling at a taut nipple.

“Larissa… I-I think I’m gonna…” you moaned arching into her and closing your eyes.

“Nu uh… open those pretty eyes, let me watch them as I put a baby in you.” She thrusted harder.

“A baby… oh shit…” you moaned.

“Mm… I was so jealous seeing you hug her, seeing the baby bump, knowing how amazing you would look carrying my baby…” she growled in her raspy tone, breath hot on your ear as you rested your head in the crook of her neck still letting your hips rock.

“We would make… really, pretty… babies…” you breathed out, breath ragged.

“And you would look ravishing…”

“Damnit, cum in me…breed me, put a baby in me…” you said squeezing your legs around her as you hit your high, you watched her eyes as she let out a low moan feeling her release inside of you. Slowly she pulled out lifting you off of her and letting you lay down, she laid next to you, curling into one another, her fingertips tickling your lower abdomen savoring the moment.

“Do you think we have a little one in there?” She kissed the back of your neck, letting her mind wander at the thought of you being pregnant.

“mm well we could try again to be sure…” you smirked mischievously. A glint came over her eyes as she jolted her hips against yours.

“can’t hurt.” She said a sly smirk pulling at her lips, slowly shifting her body overtop of you. she bent down kissing your lips as you laughed into the kiss, her hand traveling back down to your legs, thumbs massaging circles into your inner thigh.

"absolutely breathtaking," she said softly between kisses as she pushed herself back into you, you could feel the stretch as you adjusted.

"you shifted again...God, that feels amazing." you said drawing in a sharp breath.

"Mm, you take me so well darling," she said watching as her dick thrust in and out of you, her hips starting to move at a superhuman pace, you could feel every vein pull in and out as she ghosted over your sweet spot. You let small moans slip out in between kisses, only breaking so you could both breathe.

"Let me hear you darling, let me hear how good I make you feel." she whispered in your ear, your sweet moans filling the dark bedroom. You could hear the unholy sounds of skin on skin, how wet you were as she let her hips do the work. You felt as she lifted your legs over her shoulder, letting her reach deeper hitting that spongy spot harder and faster than before, drawing multiple orgasms from your body. It wasn't long before you she started to break her rhythm getting sloppy as her hips thrusted, it wasn't long before you could feel her cumming inside of you, drawing one last moan from your lips.

"pretty sure I'm seeing stars..." you both laughed. She bent down to kiss your stomach, before going back up to your lips. "you know it's okay to be jealous, but you'll never lose me, I'm yours."

"Mine and one day the mother of our beautiful children." she smiled at you, kissing your lips one last time before settling in next to you, wrapping you in her long milky arms.

[kazuhaiku]

love is the warmest color

summary: scaramouche finds love in you.

warnings: gn!reader, spoilers for a bit of scaramouche's storyline, fluff, really mild angst (almost non-existent)

notes: scaramouche oh how i love you so very much

scaramouche is used to people leaving him during the moments when he needs them the most. considering that his own creator has abandoned him due to her seeing no worth in him, he has always been cautious when creating new relationships with people.

however, that somewhat changed when he used the irminsul to wipe everyone’s memories of him, allowing him to create new and fresh memories, starting from being a student in the akademiya, which is where he first met you and formed a relationship with you.

“y/n can you hurry up?” scaramouche’s annoyed voice echoes in the empty classroom. “we’re going to be late!”

“shut up! i can’t find my pencil!” you exclaim, seeing scaramouche stand in the doorframe with a frown on his face. “can you at least help me look for it?”

“no,” scaramouche says almost instantly. “it’s your pencil, not mine. why do i have to be the one looking for it?”

“it’ll be quicker when you help me! you told me we’re running late for our next class, right?” you beg. scaramouche groans but walks up to your table, searching for the pencil with you.

“why are we searching for a stupid pencil anyway?” scaramouche asks, looking under your desk. “it’s just a pencil. we can always go buy another one after class ends.”

you gasp, almost as if you’re offended he said that. “how could you call it a ‘stupid pencil’?! you’re the one who gave it to me, remember? on the first day of class?”

scaramouche’s eyes widen, remembering the little gift he prepared for you on your first day as an akademiya student. it wasn’t even a serious gift, he thought it was quite silly in fact. 

a pencil as a gift? surely you won’t treasure it that much. he thought to himself, but oh how wrong he was.

“you-” scaramouche stutters. “you kept that piece of junk?”

“don’t say that!” you slap his arm, hearing him hiss out an ‘ouch!’. “it’s precious to me, okay? that’s the only gift i’ve ever gotten from you!”

scaramouche pauses. seeing you frantically look around for a mere pencil made him feel guilty. has he never gotten you any other presents besides the pencil? you have been dating him for almost two months now and a pencil is what he gifts you? so, instead of continuing to look for the pencil, scaramouche taps you on your shoulder. “hey um,” he suddenly feels embarrassed seeing your eyes focus on him. “we can go buy another pencil. it’s not like it’s the end of the world losing it.”

“but-”

“i’ll buy you more gifts in the future,” he continues, not letting you speak a single word. scaramouche’s cheeks turn red. “so stop crying over a stupid pencil and let me give you another gift.” you stare at him for five seconds before laughing. scaramouche’s head turns towards you, a scowl on his face. “wha- stop laughing! why are you laughing?!”

“sorry it’s just-” you giggle. “i didn’t expect you to be so… kind? i don’t even know the word for it.” you wipe a stray tear from your eye. “okay, i’ll stop looking for the pencil if it will make you happy. let’s go out on a date after school!”

scaramouche choked on his own spit. “h-huh?! why today? we have so many assignments due tomorrow!”

“aw, since when were you so diligent in assignments?” you tease, pinching scaramouche’s cheeks. “you said you’ll get me a gift, right? why don’t we get one today?”

“huh?! since when were people able to choose a date for receiving a gift?” scaramouche frowns. “i am not going to buy you a gift today. it’ll ruin the element of surprise.”

“so we’re still going on a date today?” you ask excitedly. “yay! thank you, scara!” you give him a kiss on his cheek, catching him off guard. “come on, let’s get to class! the sooner we get there the faster we finish.”

later when you and scaramouche are working on assignments in a nearby cafe, you find the pencil you have been looking for in the bottom of your bag, covered by the mess inside your bag (to which scaramouche berates you for, saying you’re not good at taking care of your items).

[physicallyaveragementallyinsane]

quirkless au katsuki bakugo, who’s fresh out of college and meets you for the first time, hanging out with his idiot friends who didn’t introduce the two of you sooner.

(This turned out way longer than expected. Oops)

August is already right around the corner. The streets are beginning to fill up as it seems everyone’s preparing for the school season. The sun beating down on everything, illuminating the streets he’s walking down.

“Mina just texted, said everyone’s there. Wanna stop here and get something to drink before we head to her place?” Katsuki nodded and followed kirishima who was already opening the door to some local coffee shop katsuki never really remembered the name of.

Him and kirishima have spent, what seems like, the whole summer together. Not that katsuki had a choice in it. Both agreeing to rent an apartment after graduating. Kiri protesting it was the cheaper route for them both, and that he needed the company. Katsuki didn’t mind it at the time, but the more his roommate and friends dragged him around the city, the more he wished he would’ve just moved back home with his old hag.

an hour ago:

“C’mon bro, you can’t keep trying to hide in the apartment all summer.”

“I already said I’m not in the fucking mood to babysit you guys. Go without me.” katsuki retorts as he throws himself on the couch. He tried to ignore the phone calls from kaminari, sero, and mina, but it was hard to ignore kirishima when he can just show up whenever he pleases.

“It’ll be fun man! And you won’t have to babysit us. It’s just a cookout at Mina’s, nothing bad, I swear!” kirishima slams the door shut behind him pointing at katsuki who was trying his hardest to avoid the conversation, “Seriously I’m not leaving until you agree to go. I already let you get out of the last time!”

“Whatever.”

end of flashback.

After he finished being bombarded by everyone (mostly Mina who was pissed he ignored her 7 missed phone calls and 20 unanswered text messages) katsuki had settled himself in the kitchen of Mina’s lake house.

Often throughout high school, the group would find themselves spending weekends/holidays out at this place. Mina’s parents used to live in the house during the summer seasons to get away from the city, but in the groups first year of college, it was given to Mina to do whatever she pleased with.

Unlike the hustle and bustle the city, katsuki didn’t mind the quiet atmosphere out here and always enjoyed when the group would get together and hang out. Even if it did drive him absolutely insane sometimes.

The sun was already setting by the time he and kirishima arrived. Everyone inside helping mina get the food ready.

Except for you.

Katsuki hadn’t seen you before. No one said anything about someone else being here. Were you with Sero? Maybe Kaminari, but last katsuki checked him and jirou were still together?

“Y/n. She’s a friend from one of my classes last year. I tried to tell you she would be here but you decided to ignore my phone calls.” Katsuki shifted his gaze from you to Mina who was staring at him with attitude.

“why’s she sittin out there by herself? She weird or something?”

“Nah. She just probably doesn’t want to listen to everyone. She’s kind of like you in way. Gets annoyed easily. Especially by these two morons.” Mina repsponded as she smacked Denki and Sero on the hands as they were trying to sneak pieces of food she was cutting up for dinner.

Katsuki hummed in response as he looked back in your direction. He wondered if he’s ever crossed paths with you before. He must’ve at somepoint right? Not that it really mattered.

As Mina finished prepping the food, katsuki left the kitchen and found himself in the living room lost to a conversation kiri, sero and denki were having. During this time he must’ve not noticed you move in the living room until sero chirped out, “hey she’s finally not pissed at us kaminari!”

The comment making you giggle softly as you made your way to sit next to the two. “You guys make my ears want to bleed. I just needed to not hear you two talk for a bit.” Your eyes moved from them and glanced in katsuki’s direction.

His heart skipped a beat when you smiled and opened your mouth to introduce yourself to him. what the fuck-

“You’re bakugo right? Mina’s talked about you a bit. It’s nice to meet you finally.” You were beautiful. Katsuki found himself lost for words, which wasn’t particularly normal for him. All he could get out was a,

“Uh- Yeah.” Just as he was about to try and say something else, Mina shouted that the food was ready. You, denki, and sero, made your ways to the kitchen, working through the food. Katsuki stayed in his seat on the couch watching you talk and laugh at the boys and mina.

You must’ve met them all before.

How come they never said anything about you sooner?

Why does he care this much, he just met you.

“Mina introduced us to her about a month ago. Y’know, the last time you decided to not hang out with us” kirishima stared at katsuki with a half assed smile on his face.

“Why is everyone being such a prick about that. I didn’t feel like coming out here. Besides no one told me Mina was gonna bring her.” Kirishima laughed at katsuki as he stood up from the couch, looking down at the blonde,

“I don’t know man, seems to me you’re just pissed you didn’t meet her sooner.” Katsuki rolled his eyes, kicking kirishima in the shin. His eyes shifted back to you and met your gaze which was already staring at him.

Little did katsuki know, you just finished fighting with Mina about how she didn’t tell you her hot friend from college was going to be here tonight.

God, you could just kill her, and so could katsuki.

-

-

-

I did not proofread this so I apologize in advance if it is horrible. I just needed to get it out of my head. 🙏

[charliemwrites]

Mean Simon Part 4

Content: Panic Attack (Non-Descriptive), Hurt/Comfort, Gaslighting/Manipulation

please be safe and careful 💕

Simon’s got a bit of a puzzle on his hands. More accurately, you’re a puzzle that’s not in his hands. And getting you there, of your own free will, is only part of it.

Sure, he could just grab you or order you. You would be helpless to his will either way. It would be simple and easy, but it wouldn’t be satisfying. Not as much as coaxing you into the trap by your own volition, anyway.

Once you were just a shy thing, now you’re downright skittish. Quick to bend the knee and bow your head, but you don’t relish in doing so. Johnny has been nothing but adoring and sweet to you, yet Simon notices you still resist flinching and tensing on contact. Never mind if Simon himself were to attempt the same, you’d work yourself into hysteria over a pat to the shoulder. Seducing you would be its own challenge - but that leaves the contradictory matter of training you.

You would be so good. He knows it.

You’re quick to learn, eager to please. But it comes from a place of fear and distrust. The former has its place, the latter its natural offspring - but neither suits Simon’s purpose in this instance. Punishment and discipline would only serve to reinforce the trenches in your mind. To stay quiet and unseen, to avoid Simon at all costs and tolerate Johnny out of self-preservation. That neither of them can be trusted, are not objects for your affection or desire. Only a facsimile with a pretty face, that makes pretty noises, and soothes Johnny with pretty touches. Nothing real; nothing either of them can actually sink their teeth into.

And so there lies the puzzle. He needs (wants) to train you into the sweet doll he knows you can be, but he has to do it in a way fundamentally different to his instinct - or he risks breaking you entirely.

Luckily, he’s a patient man. Your behavior has been acceptable so far with the barest monitoring. He has time to develop a strategy.

“Um… excuse me, Mister?” you soft voice calls.

He grunts, turning his eyes to you. You shift, fingers twisting together tightly.

“I can’t, um… so there’s a light out? In the kitchen?”

He tilts his head, waiting for you to continue.

“And I don’t know where the bulbs are,” you finish.

He tilts his head. “You didn’t go looking?”

You shake out your hands a bit, shifting. “I didn’t know if I, um, if I should? Snooping, and all…”

Simon tries to recall if he’s ever implied that you shouldn’t go through the house. He knows he explicitly warned you not to go in his bedroom and the garage. But you’ve inferred it somehow, likely from those first few months after he got you for Johnny - when he would have had some objection to you treating the house as if it were your own.

You’re well past that by now, though. Spend more time here than either of them, cleaning and cooking and sleeping. In fact, he’s surprised you haven’t stumbled across the bulbs sooner.

“Hall closet by my room.”

You hesitate for another moment. “And is there, um… a step stool anywhere…?”

He blinks. “No.”

“Oh. Uhh…” you jolt a bit. “Oh! I’ll just use a dining chair. Thank you! Um, sir.”

You dart away before he can reply. That’s going to be the first bad habit he breaks, he decides.

For lack of sating himself with you, Johnny’s been especially needy. Simon accounted for this, of course, and despite it being a punishment, he’s not so cruel as to leave Johnny hanging. It’s meant to be a learning experience too.

So Johnny is still allowed to cuddle with you (to some extent) and exchange kisses (in moderation) while Simon takes the edge off the ever-burning inferno that is his libido. Sniper he may be, Simon might have miscalculated regardless. He’s already touched-out for the day.

You’re in the kitchen, prepping for a nicer dinner at Simon’s request before their next deployment. It’ll take a couple hours to cook, so you’re assembling everything early. Or at least trying to - because Johnny will not leave you the fuck alone.

He’s underfoot, making a nuisance of himself. Kissing at your neck and face, wrapping himself around you while you bustle about, stealing ingredients off of cutting boards, talking in your ear nonstop. Most days you wouldn’t mind - or would appear that way, at least. But today is not most days.

Simon is sitting on a stool on the other side of the counter when you reach capacity.

With Johnny still plastered to your back, you try to reach for something (for the umpteenth time) and trip over his feet. You knock over an open carton of stock, splattering translucent brown all over the floors, counters, cabinets, and yourselves.

“Fuck,” you cry, “Johnny.”

Your voice breaks on his name. Johnny freezes. Simon can see fault lines in every inch of your stiff body. How carefully you manage each movement as you disentangle yourself from Johnny and usher him away from the worst of the mess. You’re about to fall apart.

“Och, I’m sorry, hen. Lemme help—“

“It’s alright,” you interrupt, chin low as you pivot, snagging the paper towels off the counter. “I’ve got it. Just… stay there.”

Johnny opens his mouth to protest, about to help anyway, but Simon tuts in disapproval.

The kitchen is smothered in an awful silence as you clean, Johnny growing more shame-faced with each rip of the towel roll.

Unobstructed, you manage to clean up in only a couple of minutes, making an extra pass with a damp towel to wipe up any residue. When you’re finished, you wet another and offer it to Johnny to wipe off. Then do the same for yourself. Always, you keep your face obscured or hidden, body oriented away, tight and rigid.

When you spin to gather up the dirty towels, Simon sees how your eyes glimmer. You remember he’s there too at the same time.

“Sir, I’m so sorry. I d-don’t, um…” you have to take a breath to gather your voice. “There’s not enough for dinner now.”

Simon considers that for a beat.

“Johnny’ll run out ‘n get more.”

You swallow thickly. “Okay. I’m sorry, sir.”

“‘S not your fault. Kitchen only needed one cook, yeah?”

You make a noise that, if he was hard of hearing and listening through earmuffs, could almost be agreement.

“I-I’m gonna go wash off…” you rub your hands together nervously. “If that’s alright.”

“G’on.”

You’re gone in an instant. Simon can already hear you sniffling. He stands.

Johnny turns huge, pathetic eyes on him.

“‘M sorry, Si. Really, I didn’t mean to—“

“But you did,” Simon interrupts sharply. “Because you were being a rude little shit and playing too rough.”

Johnny gulps, looks a bit misty-eyed himself. Simon sighs and scrubs an exasperated hand through his mohawk.

“Go get the stock,” he orders, milder. “And an extra treat for the sweetie. Something actually for her. Understood?”

Johnny always does better with clear instructions. He perks up at being given a mission - and an avenue for making things up to you. He hurries off with a pep in his step.

Simon waits until the door is shut before seeking you out. You’re in the bathroom, as you said you would be. He can hear you muffling cries behind the door.

He taps his knuckles twice against the wood. It goes dead silent.

“Jus’ me,” he calls.

There’s a quick splash of water, the flutter of fabric, and then you crack the door open. Your face is cry-flushed, eyes red-rimmed and still glossy. You can’t look past his chest, mouth curved down.

“I-I’m really sorry about the-the mess, and dinner, and…”

“Stop apologizing,” he says, gentling his voice to take the edge off the command. “If there was something to be sorry for, you’d know.”

You swipe quickly at a tear that squeezes out. He tsks softly.

“Bit strung out today, eh?”

“Just… didn’t sleep well, is all,” you answer. “And I didn’t get a chance to nap.”

Right, he’s noted that, in the back of his mind. That you spend small portions of the day sleeping. Usually an hour or two at a time. But Johnny’s been so high maintenance today that you’ve hardly had a moment of peace.

“Cranky? Is that it?” he asks.

You look more miserable. “Just tired,” you answer.

He hums. Willing to bet it’s more than just a bad night of sleep. Poor thing.

“Sor - I mean… I know I’m not supposed to…” you rub at your eyes, drooping.

He tilts his head. “Not s’posed to what?”

“Cry or-or be annoying or…”

He coos. “You’ve got all these rules for yourself, don’t you?”

You sniffle again, hugging yourself tightly as you shrug.

The hunter in Simon perks. There.

“Look’it.” He takes your chin between thumb and forefinger, guiding your gaze up to his.

You blink slowly, heavily, wet lashes sticking together.

“What sort of terrible world have you built up in your mind, hm?” he soothes. “Never told you not to do any of that, did I?”

You blink, confused and upset.

“N-no, I guess… not.”

“No,” he confirms. “You’re spun up so tight you’re starting to fray, little one.”

You shudder, swaying into him a bit. He used the movement to slide his hand to your jaw, massaging his thumb into the tight muscle by your ear.

“From now on, you only follow the rules I give you, yeah?” he says, low and quiet. “Dunno why you think I’m so mean. I won’t punish you if you don’t know better.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, as if trying to resist the hypnotic lull of letting someone else think for you. But you still lean into his palm.

“How’s this,” he offers, “if you’re ever unsure, you ask me. Wont get mad at you for asking. Yeah?”

And finally, that wire twisted up between your shoulder blades loosens.

“Yes, sir.”

Johnny comes home with a chocolate cupcake. Simon approves it before sending him to you, decompressing on the couch with a cuppa.

You blink as Johnny drops heavily to his knees, placing the packaged cupcake in your hand.

“Lass, I’m sorry for bein’ so rough,” he begins, bowing his forehead to your knees. “Dinnae mean to, but I still upset ye, interrupted dinner when ye were workin’ so hard.” He tilts his face up, hitting you with the full force of his apologetic blue eyes. “Forgive me?”

You mouth parts, genuine shock washing over your features. “Y-yeah, Johnny, of course. I know you didn’t mean to. I was just having a bad day.”

But that doesn’t mollify him.

“I couldnae tell. You were just… goin’ on as usual.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

You set your tea aside to place your hand over his, trying to reassure him. But Simon knows his pup and you’ve just unwittingly put a thorn in his paw.

“I’ll get back to dinner now.” You lean in, drop a kiss to Johnny’s furrowed brow. “Thank you for apologizing. And the cupcake.”

Johnny stands with you. “At least let me help proper this time?”

You smile, though it’s tinged with exhaustion. “Sure. C’mon.”

Simon takes his place at the counter again and keeps a careful eye on you both. Things are a lot smoother this time round. Johnny follows your quiet instructions, happy to be useful. You seem to settle with dinner plans back on track.

Once everything is set to slow cook, Simon herds you and Johnny back to the den.

“Pick a movie, lamb.”

You blink from the corner of the couch you’ve curled up in. “Me?”

“You.”

You seem so surprised that you just blurt out a title. Simon hums and queues it up while Johnny all but interrogates you for the plot. As the opening scenes flicker across the screen, you snuggle in further, even tugging a blanket off the back of the couch to bundle up on.

Johnny shoots you a longing look - you’re too engrossed in the movie - so Simon snags him by the back of the neck and tucks him into his side.

You fall asleep two-thirds of the way through, but Simon lets you. Likes watching you breathe, face soft and smooth. Can’t for the life of him even recall what’s on the telly.

That night, after a quiet (but peaceful) dinner, and everyone’s showers, Simon ushers Johnny to the room he usually shares with you. Hope flickers across the pup’s face, confusion and trepidation across yours.

“In the middle, Johnny,” Simon rumbles. “The little one by the window.”

You and Johnny comply, cuddling in. Simon takes the side closest to the door, grunting a bit when Johnny instantly clings on.

“Is this the new arrangement?” Johnny asks eagerly.

“Go to sleep,” Simon answers.

He grumbles, but settles in. On the other side of the bed, there’s a bit of shuffling. Then your voice whispering, “Good night.”

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Masterlist

[jolapeno]

the man who has returned home

javier peña x f!reader | masterlist

summary: this week’s sex diary - the man who has returned home under the covers’s sex diaries series asks anonymous men to record their sex lives — with angst, sometimes sexy, and always revealing results.

wordcount: 3k warnings: sex diary. modern!times (for the plot). smut (it's a sex diary) 18+, so the usual explicit things. reader in this has a nickname to protect their identity. an: I've wanted to finish and post this for ages, all because I've read and been inspired by The Cut’s Sex Diaries for the longest time. not sure what this will be, but at most going to be a loose collection of the ppcu boys, but for now, i don't want to run before i walk, so meet javi p.

DAY 1 5.32am

He’s woken earlier than he wants to.

There’s sweat on his forehead, on his spine—it forces the off-white sheets, which are crumpled under him, to cling to him. Worst of all, he’s breathing heavily, his heart angrily thumping in his chest, a tightness that doesn't lessen the more he gulps still-warm air.

He knows it's another nightmare; another shapeless horror that can be added to the tab.

Foolishly, he thought they’d lessen in time, ease a little as time ticks from weeks to over a month of being back.

Instead, it’s only worsening. A thought which ruptures as he digs the base of his palms into his eyes, groaning, before stopping himself.

The last thing he wants is to wake up his Pop.

6.18am

The shower isn't fixing the irk in his bones, it doesn’t wash away the woven annoyance in his muscles as water cascades and slides off the slope of his nose to his chest.

He tries fucking his fist to the memory of... let's call her Cinnamon. Cinnamon is a woman he used to know and now knows in an entirely different way. She doesn't ask questions, doesn't appear to care what he did overseas or not and mostly doesn't look at him like he hung the moon.

It's why he fucked her. It's why he keeps fucking her.

Now, he's touching himself to the thought of her. Hoping it helps, alleviates.

A few tugs and he’s panting, forehead pressed to the cold tiles as he groans her name. It's all acidic, purposeful. It hisses out all coiled around pleasure before it's swirling down the drain.

It does rid the annoyance, but it’s replaced instead by shame. It blooms out similar to the red welts as he dries himself, running the towel over his shoulders, chest, stomach, and thighs.

He doesn’t recognise the person he greets in the mirror when he goes back into his bedroom. The one with dark bags under his eyes and a haunted look he manages to mask every day when he steps into the rest of the house.

He’s barely pulled his jeans up his thighs before a fresh irk swarms him. Wondering, nursing his lip between his teeth whether breaking the new horse in might help. It’ll keep him busy, at least.

Then he spots the number on his dresser. The one staring at him as he tucks his shirt into his jeans—the one etched in lipstick. His phone is next to it, all but tempting, making his jaw jut to one side as he contemplates if he should open that text chain again.

He doesn’t.

He wonders if he’ll crack sooner on this than he did smoking.

6.38pm

Twelve hours could be a new record.

Cinnamon’s fingers claw, scratching at the back of his head. Each slap of his thighs against the back of hers makes her whine. A delectable noise, a sight for sore eyes. Especially as she’s smothered in a faint sheen of sweat and perfume, neck bowing as he pants against her neck. Inhaling her. Feeling her pulse against his tongue.

Each plunge of his cock, each press of his fingers into her supple skin makes him grunt. The feel of her, squirming, desperately rutting back into whatever he gives you only makes him more desperate to fuck her so hard he hopes it’ll fuck the bad out of his head. Loud, sinful noises come from where the two of them are joined, the sheets a mess under the two of them.

He can still taste her on his tongue. He’d delved, made her thighs stretch around his broad shoulders as he buried his face into her pussy, fucked her hole with his tongue as her breath hitched and her fists clamped around her sheets.

He suspects she knows that he’s not sleeping, but she doesn’t ask. Likely has little care about how he’s using her, because he suspects she’s using him too.

Dragging his mouth to hers, she moans against his tongue. She pants out harder, as though knowing he needs permission. He does. Makes her skin ripple with the force of it as more sobs and mewls are punched out of you as your pussy clenches, flutters and pulses.

Fuck, he groans—quickening his pace, desperately clinging to not come just yet. Needing her to. Wanting her too. Feeling her squeezing and bearing down as she nods, as she tells him she’s close, I’m close, fuck I'm c—

When she comes, she arches into him. Tensing before becoming boneless and limp. Wrapping her tight, fucking heat around him that makes his morning feel futile.

And it is, because he never wants to leave this. A need. A desperate, hungry need. One he can never replicate this as a moan is forced from her throat and her pleasure crashes over her in a thick, heavy wave. It pushes him over with a few more thrusts until he’s groaning into her neck, bruising her hips to the point of no return as he pulses inside of her, fucks his spend into her until he’s softening.

Fuck, she says, panting.

Fuck, he replies, before he finds his mouth is latching to hers and the two of them become a heap in her bed.

7.12pm

He suspects there should be some guilt that he keeps doing this with her.

A thought that ruminates as his fingers twitch for a smoke. A need for it. One she must tell because she smirks and says nothing.

He won't admit it, but he likes it when she smirks. Has some perverse reaction to it. Because it reminds him she took him in her mouth behind the bar, his nails scraping brick, coming forcibly down her throat as she looked at him like she somehow expected more from him.

All that's to say, it's ruined her smirk now. It makes him hard now whenever she does it, like some sick Pavlov's reaction.

She may have a new number, a new look and an apartment, yet she’s the same girl he’d once known deep down. She's been shyer then, but he knew she wasn't innocent, not like she let others think.

But, he supposes that's the meaning of a true friendship. When you know a person intimately, like he knows her. Like he knows that she hates heights because of the time they climbed a tree and knows she sobbed when she tripped and broke her arm on his ranch. In the same way, he knew for a long time what oversized tees she owned, could almost predict which she'd choose, until one day there was suddenly a sundress that made his cock hard and his brain malfunction.

Fuck, she still has nice legs.

A thing he had witnessed when he was a teen. When she began dating a friend of his and wore their jacket on cooler evenings with him on the ranch. We're ranch friends, she used to say, hooking her pinky with his.

Now he’s fucking her.

Spearing her and making her fingers clamp around his as she needs him for leverage as she careens towards another orgasm. Those glorious, beautiful, stunning fucking legs wrapped around him or pressed to her chest as he sheaths his cock inside of her.

She reminds him of how good they are when she slips from his arms to retrieve water. Naked. His and her slick likely still smeared between her thighs.

His arm comes up over his forehead, muscles relaxing into your mattress and flower-scented sheets. He shouldn’t sleep.

He shouldn’t sleep over.

He falls asleep anyway.

DAY 4 9.12am

He’s not sure whether to be offended that he doesn’t hear from her or if he’s out of practice.

Before, back in Colombia he supposed it was more scheduled. A need for info and a need to forget. Routine, almost booked in. I’ll be here to hear what you have to say and then hear how you say my name.

Back home isn’t like that.

Cinnamon does have a job—a good one, from what he has been able to pull out of her. She keeps things locked down. Any time things toe the line of getting too close, she clams up and shifts the conversation.

There’s no faded tan line on her finger, though. No gossip when he enters stores about her.

He thinks he could ask his pop. Quiz him.

He decides against this ten minutes later.

4.12pm

Cinnamon is busy tonight.

He kinda hates that he was the one to ask. He hates it more than she only replies with the word can't.

10.48pm

He hears his phone go off when he’s doing his best to pretend the world doesn’t exist.

For one, he should be asleep. A thing he knows but hasn’t quite managed to get more than five hours since he came home.

The sound of nothing bothers him more than the old sounds of busy streets, guns and shouting. It crosses his mind he should check in on M tomorrow. See how he coped when he came home.

His phone sounds again. Jaw grit, he checks it, and sees a photo from Cinnamon.

Felt bad not being available is accompanied by her holding a towel in a way he’d describe as art. He can almost feel the condensation from her skin, how the droplets would feel on his palm and how he’d collect the beads from her perk breasts. She’s chosen her angles, even made sure to twist her hip toward him, casting a shadow that leaves your perfect pussy hidden.

He’s hard before he can wrap his head around it. Palm around his velvet skin, tugging, hips meeting his movements.

He comes hard, phone in one hand, fist around his cock.

You’re forgiven, he texts back when he’s cleaned up.

He sleeps for six hours.

DAY 13 9.02pm

It’s been days.

Odd texts, a phone call that lasted 18 minutes. But otherwise, silence. Awkward, weird silence that makes him feel shitty.

He wonders if he’s the other man. If there’s a whole life that she lives and he’s the break for her. It makes him think, question, ponder. Delve into a side of his thoughts he shouldn’t do sober or without a smoke.

Then, like the sun after a storm, Cinnamon asks if she can come to the ranch.

A thing she has yet to do since this thing began. There’s a white line, he imagines, between the road and where he sleeps.

She looks upset when she exits her vehicle, with red eyes and a sternness he thinks is forced. He asks her what she needs, and she responds with a shrug.

He doesn’t think when he places his hand on her lower spine, when he leads her down the beaten path—when he scoops overhanging branches from her face and takes her to the edge of the ranch.

It’s crosses his mind that he should ask, that he should check she’s okay, but then her mouth is on his. Hot, fervently, breathing him in as her fingers slide into his hair and pull him as close as she can have him.

Stop with the puppy eyes, Peña. You don’t have to… we’re not like—

He kisses her instead of letting her finish her thought. Better that than ask why not. Choosing to part her lips with his tongue, moan into her mouth like he’s starving, like he needs a taste of her as much as she needs him.

Maybe he does.

Maybe that’s why he can’t fucking sleep again.

Wanna taste you on my tongue, Javi…

And her hand is undoing his belt, not even needing both hands, managing with one and a smirk. Easing his jeans down to his knees, licking a stripe up her palm before he’s grunting, shifting his hips into her hand as she kisses his lips, his jaw, before descending down to her knees.

Can I?

He snorts before nodding, because how could he refuse her? A thing he almost says but Cinnamon has the sweetest mouth.

She takes as much of him as she can, right down her throat. He knows if he reached his hand around, he’d be able to feel how determined she is, trace his fingers over the bulge of him there.

The thought makes him grunt her name—her real name. Hissing it into the quiet air that only is interrupted by the cicadas.

He bites at his lip as she swirls her tongue, gazing down to find her cheeks hollowed and her eyes staring up at him—uncaring that her knees are in the dirt and she’s slobbering over her chin.

Her breaths are measured, nostrils flaring as she bobs up and down, and the sounds of it meet his ears.

And shit, fuck—she looks wrecked, fucked, and he’s not even touched her.

Suspecting if he did, however, he’d find her soaked, dripping, desperate to be stuffed full of him.

It’s that which almost makes him confess that he can’t stop thinking about her. He’s almost become sore from how much he’s stroked himself to the memory of her, to the image she’d sent and the one she’d let him take.

His photo album is becoming dedicated to her, to them. A shrine. Images of her in lace or nothing; her body contorted and her face hidden. Then, the latest one, her body splattered in shadows from her undrawn window, skin wearing only moonlight and the light sheen of their activities—one covering a breast, the other dipped between her legs, doing as he said, two fingers swirling around her clit, chin tilted up, take the photo, Javi. Just take it.

He wonders if she’d let him take one like this. Or if he’d have to settle on a memory.

A grunt passes through his clenched teeth, hand firm on the back of her head as she takes him deeper, as she bobs her head and sucks and swallows—

A louder noise leaves his throat soon after. One that rips from it as he spurts down her throat. When his body is licked by flames and something has tightened to an impossible degree in his lower stomach before he’s hissing, feeling her cleaning him up and releasing him with a pop.

Then, he’s treated to another prize, another treat. Cinnamon’s mouth opens, seeing the white ribbons swirling in her spit. Her tongue almost outstretched as though presenting him with a gift wrapped in a bow.

Swallow, he commands.

And she does.

He wonders if it’s romantic to fuck her in a field.

He does so anyway.

DAY 20 7.02am

There’s something about morning sex he can’t put his finger on.

Whether it’s because it’s a thing he hasn’t indulged much in. In Colombia, he’d only encountered it a handful of times.

He suspects it’s Cinnamon.

Her soft thighs on either side of his waist, the way she arches into him, contorts so her chest is flush against his as he finds himself deeper like this, hitting that spot inside of her that makes her look at him with nothing but lust.

It’s slower, less rushed. The pace not punishing, but controlled thrusts that somehow make her slicker, tighter.

He comes to the conclusion it’s her when she grasps his forearm, feels it flex under her fingers as she splutters his name and splinters around his cock. He realises this because he understands her, and knows what she needs. Has her figured out as he shifts her muscle-slacked body to hit the angle she needs to see stars again. It makes her eyes and her whines become desperate moans. He wishes she’d bury the sounds into his skull, into his brain. Wishes they’d cover screams and the sound of a life being taken.

For a moment they do. She makes sure of it.

Heat becoming blistering in his lower stomach, a need to increase his pace as she keens and whines, fingers digging into his shoulders, cut me he thinks, dig your nail down he silently pleads.

Her orgasm crests and he becomes dizzy from it—pushing a thigh closer to her chest, staring down at the place the two of them conjoin. Seeing the mess he’s made of her, how she takes him, how her slick coats around the base of him and the tight curls.

Then his own breathless moan forces itself out, small jerks followed by a stillness before her lips find his. The taste of him there, evidence of what began the entire morning thing.

12.33pm

He has a call with M, one he takes in his truck—overlooking the place he’s from.

It’s quiet here. A favourite from when he was at school, a place he brought people to so he could impress them.

Once, a long time ago, he’d brought Cinnamon here too.

As a friend. To make her smile—cheer her up.

He thinks about that when he should be listening, a thing he seems to do more and more of lately.

He hopes M hasn’t said anything helpful.

8.24pm

Do you fancy grabbing food?

Five fucking words that he regrets typing out, never mind sending. Biting his nails, rocking on the two legs of a garden chair as he prays his weight won’t make it buckle beneath him.

He stares at the slight curve of his stomach under his tee. The one that had formed as age caught up with his horrendous diet and his lack of fitness out of running and fucking.

He almost launches his phone when it beeps, and he sees a reply.

Now or as a date?

He contemplates his reply.

DAY 24 7.02pm

Cinnamon arrives looking fucking beautiful, just as he expected she would. Her eyes latch and dig into him as she moves between tables and he finds himself on his feet to pull her chair out.

She’s wearing a different perfume, a different lipstick than the night they’d reunited. She also looks nervous, politely asking for water before turning her smile to him. She likes his shirt, and teases him about not wearing a tie—he laughs. Finds it slips from him with ease.

He keeps laughing, interspersed with hers.

She finally shares that has never been married. Engaged though, once. He asks her if the breakdown of it is as rememberable as his, and she smirks, eyes shimmering, nothing can be as memorable as you, Javi.

He hopes she chose her words carefully.

She confirms later she did, dragging him through her door, his fingers undoing her dress.

Finding her wearing his favourite colour. A thing he’d said offhand the night they reconnected in the bar.

I remember, Javi, she had said then.

Now, he realises he maybe should have believed her back then. 

an: hope you like this different styling. I've had this half-done in my drafts for ages, trying to find the courage. so a huge thank you to @thetriumphantpanda for always believing in me, cause without her so much of what i'd write would find its way into the bin.

[squoxle]

hey gurl!! noticed ur taking early kinktober recs so here’s mine

i see this with Jake cuz he’s my bias but u can do Heeseung or whoever I just want a fic with yns and her bf having a competition to see who could get the other off first like I saw this post on ig about going thru a car wash and i kinda want a fic like that

[8] QUICK FUCK ~ HeeJake

boyfriend!jake + bestfriend!heeseung x girlfriend!reader

plot: one freaky instagram post leads to timed car sex... | wc: 900 | cw: public sex, car sex, quick sex

“You sure still wanna do this?” Jake asked as you sat next to him in the back seat.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I think it’ll be fun.”

“I think so too, but what if we get caught?”

“Relax,” Heeseung interrupted. “You won’t…beside I’m the one driving. All you two have to worry about is not shaking the car too much,” he smirked, taking a quick glance a you and Jake through the rear view mirror.

You thought back to about a week ago when you stumbled upon a freaky couple’s post on Instagram.

“Fun couple idea: go through a car wash together and see who finishes first…loser has to pay😏”

Though you knew it was just a stupid post, something in you wanted to try it out…at least once. You shared the video with your boyfriend, Jake.

“Hot, but do you actually wanna do this?”

“Do I have to answer honestly?”

“Yes lol.”

“Awww whyyyy?”

“Because, babe. I’m curious.”

“Okay…I kinda do, but just a little…”

“I can try to set it up if you want.”

“Really?!”

“lol yeah, I’ll have one of my friends drive for us. Just in case we need a little more time.”

“That wouldn’t be awkward?”

“No, he’s chill.”

“Chill enough to let you quick fuck your girlfriend in the backseat of his car?”

“We’ll be in my car silly. I have leather seats…easy cleanup.”

“Hmmm…true. I just feel a little weird about doing it while someone else is there.”

“Babe trust me, you’ll be fine. It’ll be like he’s not even there.”

“Hmm…okay.”

“And if you change your mind we can just go do something else, okay. I won’t be upset or disappointed.”

“Okay,” you replied with a red heart emoji.

“So…d’you wanna do it?”

“Yeah,” you agreed.

From that moment the plan was in motion and all you had to do is wait for the day your boyfriend pulls up to your house with his best friend driving. A day that came sooner than you anticipated.

You heard the car horn beeping as your boyfriend texted you, “We’re here.” He had told you to get ready about an hour ago which gave you enough time to prepare yourself. You pulled the curtains back, looking out the window to see your boyfriend’s car parked out front.

You walked outside as Jake stepped out of the car to open the door to the back row of seats for you. "It'll be easier if we do it back here," he smiled shyly as you climbed into your seat. He closed the door before walking around to get on the other side next to you.

"This whole thing should last about 15 to 20 minutes," Heeseung said as you arrived at the automated car wash. "That should be enough time for at least one of you to get off," he smirked as he rolled in, shifting the car in neutral as he drove onto the conveyor belt.

“You sure still wanna do this?” Jake asked as you sat next to him in the back seat.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I think it’ll be fun.”

“I think so too, but what if we get caught?”

“Relax,” Heeseung interrupted. “You won’t… besides I’m the one driving. All you two have to worry about is not shaking the car too much,” he smirked, taking a quick glance a you and Jake through the rearview mirror.

Darkness surrounded you before dim, bright, colorful lights took its place. Water and foam covered the car and a faint cherry scent filled the air.

You looked to your left as you saw Jake pulling his sweatpants down. Luckily you wore a dress for easy access. "C'mere," Jake said, directing you onto his lap. You spread your legs as he angled his dick with your entrance.

You groaned softly as you felt him push into you. Your arms were wrapped around the headpiece on the driver's seat. You gripped onto it as Jake pumped into you. You felt his fingers dig into your hips as you felt him coming close.

Not wanting to lose that early, you turn around to face him, giving you the opportunity to grind against him as you stimulate your clit.

He pulled your face in, kissing you as your hips continued to rock back and forth. You felt the vibrations from his gentle moans as his tongue wrapped with yours.

You leaned back to watch his dick go in and out of you. Something about watching his thick cock stretch you open turned you on more than you cared to admit.

Jake took this as an opportunity to press his thumbs into the lower part of your stomach. You groaned, feeling his dick inside of you even more now with the added pressure. Your chest heaved as his tip stimulated your g-spot.

You could tell that he was enjoying it too as he threw his head back before filling you with his cum.

"I win," he smiled cheekily before circling his thumb against your clit as he helped you finish.

From the looks of it, the car wash was almost complete.

You climbed off of your boyfriend, readjusting your clothes as you sat down next to him. "Well, I guess I'll pay," you smiled.

"Don't worry about it," Heeseung chuckled. "I already paid for it."

"Thanks," you smiled, sitting back to play with your boyfriend's cum as it seeped out of your pussy.

"We should do this again sometime," Jake sighed as he pulled his pants back up.

𝒦𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓉𝑜𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

❀ Thank you all so much for reading! Make sure to check out other works on my masterlist!

Sorry, this one was late…I fell asleep while working on it and then Tumblr glitched and deleted a bunch of stuff I wrote 😅

@chlorinecake

@wonbinisbabygurl

@nishiimuranights

@wildflowermooon

@heeseungshim

@ramyeonzprincess

@bangchans-gf5

@wand3rlustm3

@heeseunghee7

@norihoyeon

@gacktsa

[sister-lucifer]

One Must Stake His Claim: Chapter One 

Or: The Game Begins 

[Prologue] [Masterlist]

Nightbringer Diavolo + Lucifer x Male Reader 

Genre: Fluff, I suppose. Not overly sweet, though. 

Summary: After a fair bit of tension, Lucifer finally decides to make his move. 

Content/Warnings: He/him Reader, Jealous Luci, competition, not exactly a love triangle since Reader is completely unaware of the bullshit they’re in the middle of, praise, Luci is bad at flirting, suggestive but not NSFW, inappropriate and unprofessional touching, a few instances of profanity 

NOT FULLY PROOFREAD! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU SEE ANY ERRORS!

If tension was a tangible thing, one could cut through the current fog of competition with a knife. 

All day Lucifer and Diavolo have practically been circling each other, staring each other down like territorial animals, both of them more than prepared to fight but neither wanting to make the first move. 

After all, war is not a subject to be taken lightly. One must keep his deniability in tact should the worst come. 

You, on the other hand, have been carrying on quite as usual. Regardless of how the game escalates, neither Diavolo nor Lucifer are particularly fond of the idea of bringing your attention to the situation. Perhaps it’s simply easier that way, or perhaps on some level they can’t bear to even imagine the look on your face when the realization of their childish squabbles comes to light. To some extent they’re both aware of the ridiculous brawl that will inevitably become of this—not that it’s completely reasonable to begin with—but they both fall to the whims of their pride. 

That is to say, they would both sooner eat glass before they concede to the other. 

They’ve both been keeping a watchful eye on you as you flitter about the House of Lamentation. Every now and then you’ll look up at just the right time and catch one of them staring you down with more intensity than he means, but you’ve yet to raise any sort of question about it. It’s not all that odd, really; they all did that when you first showed up. If you looked just a bit closer you might be able to see that swimming fury in the back of their eyes, but staring in through the window’s of a demon’s soul for too long will send shivers down your spine. 

Over the past hour or so Lucifer has been slowly working up the courage to approach you. He’s been wary about striking first, but he just can’t wait any longer; he needs to out-play Diavolo, and in order to get one up on as skilled a strategist as the demon prince he has to have quite the reserve of courage. It’ll be unexpected, too, especially with Barbatos currently occupying Diavolo with some royal responsibility he can’t sneak away from. 

The pieces of quite the sly plan have been slowly coming together in his mind. He’s got to have the perfect mix of wit, gall and charisma to pull this off, to pull you in without overwhelming you or putting you off. He has to carry himself with confidence but not arrogance when he approaches you, and he has to choose every word carefully. On top of that, he has to make his move at exactly the right time, as even a second of miscalculation could completely ruin everything that he’s— 

“Oh, Lucifer! I finished that paperwork you asked me to!”

He nearly jumps out of his skin, suddenly ripped from his thoughts by the sound of your voice. 

It looks like you’ve made the decision for him. 

The thick stack of papers falls into his desk with a hard thud a moment later. He looks up to meet your eyes, and the proud smile on your face makes his heart skip a beat. 

“I did it,” you say, “I’ve gotten everything from the contractors in order, and I’ve gotten all the budget reports back. Now we can officially move on to the next stage of building R.A.D.!”

Lucifer’s lips part just slightly, but no words come out. He hates being at a loss for words, but he you have an odd way of doing that to him with the most minuscule gestures. It’s not even a gesture, really, he asked you to go this, but…

He manages to snap out of it quickly, clearing his throat. 

“Ah, I see. This…will surely take quite a bit off of my work load.” 

The words sound much more forced than they should be. Lucifer inwardly cringes when you raise a brow curiously. 

“Are you, um, alright, Lucifer?” 

He quickly nods, waving his hand dismissively. 

“Of course, of course. Just a bit, you know, worn out. This sort of thing is quite demanding.” 

“Definitely,” you agree with a nod, “let me know if you need anything else. I could always grab you a coffee, or maybe some tea if—“

“That won’t be necessary.” 

The rejection is far more firm than he means it to be, and for a split second he braces for the worst, only to breathe an internal sigh of relief when you shrug and turn to walk away. 

…Hold on, walk away? 

Wait, no! 

This is his chance, and he was completely caught off guard! He can’t let you leave now, not when this is the perfect opportunity to show Diavolo what he’s capable of! 

And yet, he’s not moving. 

He’s just watching this moment slip through his fingers in slow motion, like a miserable fool. His hands twitch uselessly against his desk without pushing him to stand. 

Dammit, dammit, dammit! 

It shouldn’t be this hard. 

It really shouldn’t be this hard, but something about you makes his mouth go dry and wrings every last drop of intelligence out of his brain. Goodness, he didn’t even thank you! He had meant to, surely, but he choked. 

No! 

No more waiting. No more letting Diavolo have the power. This is more than just a stupid competition for your attention, this is Lucifer’s chance to prove that he won’t roll over and be an obedient lapdog for the Devildom crown. 

With a sudden burst of energy he pushes himself up from his desk, making quick strides towards you. The aggressive clicking of his dress shoes on the tile startles you enough to make you turn around. 

“Lucifer—?” you start, but you don’t get to finish. 

Two strong, gloved hands come down on your shoulders. When you look up and see the deathly serious look on Lucifer’s face, you gulp. Shit, are you in trouble?

“Human,” he says, his deep voice booming in your ears despite his composure. 

You struggle to look him in the eyes, mentally bracing for the verbal misery that is surely about to be inflicted on you as punishment for whatever sin you’ve committed against law and order in the House of Lamentation. 

“…Thank you.”

Wh…huh?!

Despite your best efforts to stay neutral, you can’t fight the look of skepticism that twists your features. 

“Thank you,” Lucifer repeats upon seeing your expression, though it doesn’t make the words coming out of his mouth any less surreal for either of you, “you’ve done me a great favor. You always work diligently when given a task, and I…” 

There’s a pause.  

The silence is deafening. 

He can’t believe he’s going to say this. 

“…I couldn’t do it without you.” 

No. Fucking. Way. 

Fireworks go off in your head, exploding in vibrant blooms of every color you’ve ever seen and some you’ve never even imagined. For a brief moment a wave of pastel paint strokes sweeps through your world like the still life of a Rococo painting, all synapses firing with bursts of star-bright mirth. 

Such high praise from Lucifer! Great heavens, someone wake the King! 

The wide grin that spreads across your face threatens to split your visage in two, and Lucifer nearly forgets himself at the sight. 

Yes, he thinks, he said the right words! He’s done it! 

You can barely stop yourself from jumping for joy. You manage to thank Lucifer in return through your utter elation, and he even lets you see him smile. It’s nothing big, just the smallest quirk of his lips, but it’s priceless to you. It’s as if in this moment you and Lucifer are the only ones who exist, and really, all he can see now is you. 

He wasn’t expecting the mere sight of your genuine smile to affect him so deeply, but it does.  It sparks a gentle fire deep in the core of his being that warms him like nothing has since his wings were white. 

Damn, that feels good. 

He gives your shoulders a pat before releasing you. 

“Go on, then,” he says, not taking his eyes off of yours, “I’m sure you’ve got other tasks to attend you. I shall call if I need you.” 

You nod, giving a quick goodbye before you turn on your heel to take your leave… 

…only to instead run right into Diavolo’s chest. 

Suddenly all of that joy is draining from Lucifer at an alarming rate, like water through his fingers. He can feel Diavolo’s booming laughter burrowing into the recesses of his brain and promising to induce a horrid migraine. He doesn’t know why Diavolo is here, but from what Lucifer has observed of the prince he can tell he has something of a sixth sense for when someone is trying to usurp any sort of power from him. It’s an important talent for any royalty to have. 

You have to crane your neck to look up at the demon prince towering over you.  Your lips part to speak an apology, but you choke on your words when he reaches out to cup your chin with a gentleness unbecoming of Devildom royalty. 

In a moment your face has become unbearably hot. 

“I must agree with you, dear Lucifer,” Diavolo says, not looking up at the other demon, “our little human here has been quite the asset to our cause. I simply can’t imagine where we would be without his efforts.” 

His voice carries a sickly-sweet sense of self satisfaction that only registers to Lucifer‘s ears. He could kill him right here and end the royal bloodline for good, he thinks. A horrible choice that would be, but the last thread of his composure is quite strained and threatening to snap right in two, with the break being helpfully hastened by that awfully smug look on Diavolo’s face. 

You stammer, unsure what to say. You’re completely flustered. 

It would be cute if Lucifer weren’t so angry at the cause of your foolish stuttering. 

For a brief moment Diavolo looks up, and he makes eye contact with Lucifer. In his eyes Lucifer sees none of that gracious persona he’s putting on, all he sees is ‘I’m better than you.’ 

This cannot be allowed to stand. 

Lucifer steps closer, his front nearly against your back. You squeak in surprise and slight confusion. 

“L-Lucifer, what—?” 

“I must say, Diavolo,” he interrupts, forcing a polite smile of his own, “it’s even beyond that. I dare say we’re all better in character because of this human. Wouldn’t you say?” 

His hand finds its way onto your back, sliding a bit lower than you were ready for before settling into a stop. He can feel you shiver at the touch. My stars, you’re small, he thinks. He hadn’t realized the true size disparity until now. 

You’re frozen, sandwiched between the strong bodies of two demons who practically dwarf you. Alas, the perils of being a human in this world; you may not ever fully realize how different you are from them. 

Diavolo’s hands move to your arms, giving you a little squeeze and making you jump. You’re nearly engulfed by them as they lean over you to speak to each other. 

“You’re certainly right, Lucifer,” Diavolo replies, “I hesitate to compare a human to an angel, but I must say I’m at a loss for any other equivalent.” 

His grip on you gets just a fair bit tighter. 

You can’t take much more of this. You may just melt into a whimpering little puddle. 

“I’d say it’s a far enough comparison,” Lucifer says with a nod and just a hint of a growl in his voice. 

“I do hope so; I hate to brag, but I do think the demon prince himself should know best,” Diavolo  states with an air of certainty beyond what his words would imply. 

“Now, now, let’s not get cocky,” Lucifer bites back. 

“I’m only suggesting the truth,” Diavolo replies firmly. 

“And for what reason do you think this to be the truth, hm?” 

“Well, I’ve yet to seen this disproven, especially by you.” 

“Perhaps you’re merely not looking hard enough. Must be awfully hard to see over that silver spoon in your mouth.” 

“Do you truly think—“ 

“Wait. Diavolo—“ 

“No, no, Lucifer, let me finish—“ 

“Diavolo.  The human has left.” 

“The hu— what?” 

There’s a pause as they both look down at the empty space you were occupying moments ago, then to the doorway just in time to see the last sliver of you before you’re gone. 

Diavolo blinks. 

“Where do you think we lost him?”

Lucifer sighs. 

“Around your stupid angel comment, I’d say.”

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[eli0004]

Rain, Rain

Sub!Levi x Gn! Reader

Synopsis: not much of a plot, just messing around with Levi in an office while it’s storming outside.

Warnings: hand job, fist-fucking, praise, very slight pain pain play, love confessions, very soft sappy shit

A/N: This was finished way sooner than i thought it would be, i got carried away 😭 also i couldn’t think of a title that wasn’t cringe, please ignore how cliche that one is.

Before everything went to shit, this kind of rain was the biggest inconvenience for the people within the walls. Closing down market stalls, turning the grass all muddy and the sky bleak and grey. You could almost hear it, the grumbling and moaning on the streets about when this dreadful weather would pass. Nowadays, however, no one bats an eye.

You’d never minded the rain, and truthfully, neither did Levi. It’s good weather for reading indoors, or lulling you both to sleep on nights when your mind is particularly active. Often, the two of you find yourselves sitting by the window, watching the storm clouds rolling in and lighting flashing, commentating to one another every now and again when a particularly loud rumble of thunder cracks through the silence. And the rain is especially lovely when it allows you to tangle up together after particularly difficult expeditions, soft touching and gentle kisses to the sound of the droplets drumming on the window panes.

Almost as if thinking of him summoned him to your door, Levi emerges with two steaming cups, placing one on the desk in front of you.

“It’s really coming down out there.” He gestures towards the window, bringing the cup to his nose and softly inhaling the fragrant aroma before taking a sip.

“It is, isn’t it. I wonder how much longer it’ll go on for.” You respond, glancing down at the black tea in front of you. “Have you got a new one?” You ask. He nods once.

“New shipment, i like this one more than the last one i got. It was dreadfully weak.”

You chuckle softly, taking a sip and nodding. “It is stronger, hm?”

There’s a moment of silence before he speaks up again, and you notice how he has subtly inched himself closer to you.

“The rain made me think of you this morning. I wish we could’ve just taken the day off.”

He doesn’t look away from the window, but you know him well enough by now to know that there is subliminal meaning behind his words. Levi has been missing you.

“I’m glad you’re here now, let’s spend some time together, forget about today.” You reach out to beckon him closer. He willfully obeys, placing a hand on the arm of your chair and leaning down to kiss you. But you pull him in closer, and he rests his weight on his knees, placing them on either side of you. Cupping his cheek gently, you brush a thumb over his lip, leaning in once more.

Your lips meet his, ever so softly, and Levi feels like he’s floating. Nimble fingers find their way, trembling slightly, to the roots of your hair as he allows himself to melt into you completely. Your arms snake around the curve of his lower spine, pulling him down so that he is no longer hovering above you, but now sitting firmly on your lap, knees straddling your thighs. At this, he lets out a soft whimper, but it’s nearly inaudible- disappearing where your lips connect.

Levi is no stranger to this, the two of you have engaged in this sort of heavy kissing in the dark many times, but at this moment he feels strangely vulnerable. Desperation is slowly chipping away at his resolve, and suddenly he’s thinking about how it feels- having you touch more of him, peeling off his clothes. He can almost feel the warmth of your palms against his bare skin. It’s in that moment that he realizes he wants all those things. Levi wants you.

You take notice in this shift in energy, if not by the eagerness with which he’s kissing you, needy and open mouthed, then by the hardness of his cock pressing into your stomach, now noticeable through his uniform pants. You don’t push, opting to see just how far he takes things on his own initiative.

You bring one hand up to the back of his head, affectionately tugging at the thick, inky-black strands of hair. His grip on your own hair tightens at this, and he groans softly against your lips, breaking the kiss only for a moment before returning again with three times the desperation. Returning your hand to his waist, you attempt to pull him impossibly closer. Close is not enough.

Levi gasps, breathing air straight from your lungs as the motion of your adjustments sends him slightly forward, his erection pressing deliciously against your lower stomach. The feeling sends his mind reeling, and he experimentally rolls his hips forward again in attempts to replicate the feeling. At the sight of him unraveling before you, so sensitive to every touch, you raise a brow, smirking against his lips.

“You ok, Levi?” You whisper, eyes meeting his in the darkness for only a moment before he casts them downward again. He hesitates, as if he’s about to make a decision that will change the course of his entire life, hands dropping from your hair and down to his lap.

“Yeah, i’m fine. Do you think…tonight would be a good night to…y’know…” he feels his cheeks burn, fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on the chair-cushion as he awaits your response. You grin softly, rubbing your palms up and down his thick thighs, softly kneading at them.

“I’m not sure i do, what is it you’re asking for?”

“Tch…you do know, I’m being serious.” He scolds you, rolling his eyes. “I want to.”

Your eyes finally meet his as he absentmindedly leans in a bit closer, and you take notice of newfound vulnerability that shines through them. His gaze is soft and longing- a stark contrast to his usual laser-focused expression- and you bring a hand up to trace a finger, softly over the wrinkles it’s left behind. Over the crease between his brows, the crows feet by his eyes, the dark bags beneath them from his many nights of exhaustion. He leans into your touch, and you speak through the silence.

“I love you.”

Levi is unable to stop the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and he crashes them against yours once again before you can comment on it. His kisses are heated, almost aggressive, and for a split second you’re taken aback by it, closing your eyes and letting your grip on his thighs loosen.

His hands find your shoulders, sliding up your neck, cupping your cheeks gently before re-tangling his fingers into your hair. You hum softly against his lips, and he slips his tongue into your mouth just enough to tease. Unsatisfied, you allow one arm to pull him snugly against you again, bringing your other to grip the back of his neck, deepening the kiss and forcing your tongue past his lips. He moans softly at this, exhaling through his nose.

Levi grinds himself forward against your stomach once again, languidly rolling his hips and pressing his dick firmly against your abdomen. By now, your mind is reeling with the thought of having him do this without those god forsaken pants to get in the way. Breaking the kiss, you look down, snapping open the buckle of his belt and nearly tearing the zipper of his pants down. He lifts himself up off your lap to shimmy out of them, tearing off his shirt in the process, as you peel off your own shirt.

Once restrictive fabric is discarded, Levi re-positions himself on top of you, shivering slightly as the air nips at his bare skin. You don’t notice the chill, already busy pressing open mouthed kisses to his bare shoulders, over his collar bone, the skin of his neck. Levi tilts his head back ever so slightly, arching his back as you trail your fingers, feather-light, down his spine. How desperately you want to leave marks there on the column of his throat, not as an act of possession, but to serve as a reminder of this moment for you to look back on tomorrow morning when the two of you must get up and dressed before sunrise. To watch him anxiously adjust his collar, making sure to hide the evidence from any wandering eyes.

Breaking away from him, you drop your gaze down to observe the wet spot seeping through the front of his underwear. You take a minute to admire the product of your ministrations, before bringing a finger to trace the dampness there. He gasps, head falling forward and bangs flopping over his eyes.

“Don’t tease, damn it…please” he breathes, shakily against your ear. “I want you.”

“I can tell.” You chuckle. Deciding against waiting any longer, you hook your index finger into the waistband of his underwear, pulling it forward to let his cock spring up against his lower belly, smearing that slick wetness below his navel, before letting go and watching it snap against his length like a rubber band. He jumps, surprised at the sting. “Hah…ouch!”

“I want these off too.”

He lifts once again to kick off the final layer, leaving him fully exposed, returning to you to present himself at your mercy. His tongue is poking through his lips as he watches you curiously, as if to try and predict your next course of action.

You place a hand on his hip, smoothing a thumb over the bone and gazing up at him lovingly. Your other hand finds its way to his stomach, open palm and fingers splayed, running it all the way up to his chest and up to his jaw, gently forcing him to look at you.

“You’re so beautiful, every inch of you, I’m enamored by it all. You know that?” He rolls his eyes, and you wrap your other hand around the base of his cock, squeezing slightly.

“Hnn..ah!” He chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You know that, Levi?” He nods, frantically, and you’re unsure if he even remembers what you’re asking, his body is melting into you, hunching forward. Chuckling softly, you begin to slowly slide your hand up and down, languidly. Thumb circling his tip every so often, spreading the pre-cum down his shaft.

Levi lets his head fall against your shoulder, huffing against your neck, his rib cage expanding and contracting with every breath. You trace over his chest, over his peaked nipple, pinching and rolling it gently between your thumb and forefinger as you continue to stroke him off, and his breath catches in his throat.

“F-fuck~” he whimpers out, jaw slackening as you speed up your pace and tighten your grip. His hips lurch forward and his hands are searching for something to hold onto, settling on gripping the back of your chair with white knuckles, snaking his other arm around your neck and pulling you closer to him, almost in a hug. You can feel his abdominal muscles beginning to tense, and you slow your pace, but Levi isn’t willing to wait any longer. His hand falls from the back of your chair to grab onto your wrist.

Holding it steady, he begins thrusting his hips forward, fucking your hand like it’s sheer instinct. Any other time, you’d stop him, but seeing him so fucked out and desperately humping into your closed fist is what prevents you from doing so. This isn’t something you see often.

Levi is dangerously close, moaning against your ear long and drawn out. Holding him close, you press your mouth against his ear and whisper “good boy, so good. You need to cum? Let go for me, ok?”

His eyes roll back, lids fluttering closed as he freezes, holding his breath for a second as his hips stutter “ah-ah oh god, fuck, i love you, i love you, i love you” he rasps out, gushing thick, creamy ropes over your fist, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm as it tears through him. You smile softly at his confession and it’s timing, allowing him to guide your fist over his length to milk himself of any last drops.

And as his breathing slowly returns to normal, his tired body slumps against your own. The rain outside has begun to die down, now only a soft drizzle. You hold him there, as long as he needs, tracing shapes over the skin of his bare back. In the end though, it’s Levi who breaks the silence, whispering against your skin

“let’s get to bed, we can…uh…spend more time together there.”

[ma1dita]

crazy little thing

a ‘partners in crime’ installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 3.4k

summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where he spends all his drachmas to make you smile. Sometimes, the Apollo kids are better matchmakers than Aphrodite herself. Everyone’s tired of you two dancing around each other. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader

a/n: lil valentines day special though im working on more est. relationship fluff after this!! happy season 2 renewal babies

(posted 2/9/24 unbetaed)

—

“Come on, you gotta admit—it’s kinda funny!” 

Luke is met with blank stares at the camp store after he places a few drachmas onto the folding table in front of the Apollo kids. They’re not sure if he’s trying to convince them, or himself.

Because yeah, that’s the excuse he goes for, wanting to spend his savings on having them sing to a certain head counselor instead of admitting his blatantly obvious feelings, so if you ask Lee Fletcher and his half-siblings, it’s kind of pathetic.

“What do we look like, a traveling mariachi band, Castellan?” he deadpans, watching the usually confident boy scratch the back of his neck with his face red like someone who’s been sitting out in the sun for too long. 

“I’m not saying to follow her around all day or whatever, just pick a random time to sing a song and catch her off-guard,” he insists, before meeting the judgmental look of one of Lee’s younger siblings.

Lee chuckles, ruffling his sister’s hair before looking at Luke quite seriously, “She’s a good friend. You’re gonna have to pay us more than that. Special song for a special lady after all.”

The son of Hermes knows he’s gonna regret this sooner or later, but proceeds to throw the rest of his meager earnings onto the table. He has other ways of being resourceful anyway, the box of chocolates he nicked from behind the store counter feeling heavy in his jacket pocket.

“Right… she’s just a friend.”

Luke’s hands fidget at his sides as he stands there, feeling a little stupid.

Lee’s little sister scoops up the coins from the table, her raised eyebrows and light aura mirroring that of her older brother. 

“What song were you thinking?” she asks, “Gotta make sure I know it if I’m singing it to your…friend.”

The 18-year-old boy tugs at his dark curls, getting more embarrassed and wanting to retreat with every minute that passes, but he’s never been one to back down from anything–swordfights, monsters, capture the flag, but this—trying to impress you...is a whole different story somehow.

Why are feelings so damn complicated? 

It feels like being at the butt of a joke, or more accurately—at the sharp edge of a sword, and Luke never lets his fights end in a draw.

“You guys got it covered. Just…surprise me too, I guess,” he sighs, walking off without finishing his sentence. He wishes he could pray a little harder to his dad for luck, even if he’s unsure of what exactly he’s wishing for (or if his dad will even listen).

“Castellan’s hopeless. You think he knows it yet?” the girl asks her brother, to which Lee laughs.

“I don’t think she does either, even though everyone else can see right through them. The new bets are on who’s gonna break first. Chiron’s been keeping track, but don’t tell Mr. D.”

If Luke wants a show, they’ll make sure he’ll get his money’s worth—and hopefully, it’ll push you two along faster. Lee bet on you two getting together before the summer after all, and he’ll be damned if he loses to Clarisse.

—

Valentine’s Day might be the day of love, but for you, someone who’s single (not by choice), and heavily busy with making sure people aren’t so…enamored in public (you’ve lost count of the reports you’ve written out due to indecent behavior this morning alone)---this just feels like another Wednesday, except with more hormonal teenagers with uncontrollable urges than usual. 

Oh, the joys of being the daughter of the camp director, also known as everyone’s favorite narc.

Honestly, love can suck it. With this much love in the air, you can feel it suffocating you like a plastic bag over your head. 

That’s an uncontrollable urge. Too much?

Maybe Silena was right, you do need to open yourself up more to romantic opportunities. But if you have to watch another person swap spit and get pawed at like they’re the last dinner roll at the table…. You might commit arson and set this place ablaze.

You just didn’t understand why people had to go all out today of all days. Shouldn’t love be shown year-round? Though you were a person of theatrics and enjoy a good show, it is amazing how much grandiose displays of affection make you cringe. It felt very performative, instead of genuine, and you would know, you’re the best actress at camp. You’ve acted out stories before, knowing all of the greatest romances and tragedies by heart. And you pride yourself on being a decent teacher to the campers, but for some of them, love still translates to a bad rendition of a ballad they heard on the radio.

Nothing gets past you at this point.

But that sucks too sometimes, you know?

Multiple failed flings and a heartbreak or two weigh down on you on days like this one, as you’re stuck being a bystander to outlandish displays put on by the Aphrodite kids being put to work. Love is their domain anyway, and yours…makes you feel a little less undesirable. Each demigod has their own strengths and weaknesses, but perhaps in the name of love, some of them don’t know how to take a hint. Several forgettable prose readings, a Sparknotes version of Eros and Psyche, and too many red roses to count have you reeling from exhaustion and a bit of disgust—-and it’s only lunchtime. 

So yeah, maybe you’re a little jealous; they could call you Nemesis at this point.

The only flowers you got today were from the little kids from along the path to the strawberry orchard, and though it’s sweet—the human side of you misses affection. 

Devotion. 

To be a daughter of Dionysus meant to deal in extremes, obsession or nothing, and there are very few people who can handle that. Always being too much to handle, or uninterested as a defense mechanism. Perhaps that’s what scares admirers away. 

That, or the fact that Luke Castellan is always attached to your hip. To be honest, you’ve always preferred it that way—the both of you working as a pair always gets things done faster around camp and he brightens your mood, whether you admit it or not. 

But you two are just friends. 

Really good friends who look for each other in crowded rooms, hands constantly brushing against the other for comfort, and able to pick up where the other one leaves off. Usually he’s the first person you see in the morning, and the last person you say goodnight to. You know how he likes his coffee and he cuts your apples for you as you two sit together in your unassigned seats in the dining pavilion. You watch each other’s workshops and if one of you is missing, everyone knows to ask the other to get an answer.

Right? That’s totally normal coworker/friend behavior.

If you were ever given immortality, perhaps they’d make you the goddess of denial.

You’re sweeping up confetti from the dining hall floor after an uncoordinated excuse of a flash mob was performed for one of the Demeter kids… and not to sound like a heinous bitch, but maybe next time they should use something biodegradable… or less messy. Sighing deeply, you feel someone’s eyes on you, and when you look up, Luke’s standing there with two full plates of food.

“Take a break, Trouble. No one’s paying you overtime,” he jokes, and you roll your eyes as you put the broom aside.

“No one’s paying me at all…” you groan, before taking the plate out of his hands and knocking your head against his shoulder in thanks. He snickers as his hand brushes the small of your back, tickling your spine as he leads you to sit at a table.

“Just another holiday. You know how it is.”

“It’d be nice to have a night off though. Sometimes I regret taking up the position,” you mumble through spoonfuls of soup. He throws his large hand over your shoulder, kneading some tension from your trapezius. Head jerking along with the movements, you giggle as soup dribbles off your spoon, which makes his lips quirk into a small smile. Being around you felt so thoughtless and easy that if you told him to jump off a bridge he’d do it without question, which should be more concerning—the hold you have on him is irrevocable. Feelings are way too difficult for his teenage brain to comprehend at this stage. It’s easier to wash dishes with lava or fight off a dragon (bad example, he knows, but there’s something about you that already makes him feel like he’s losing before anything’s even happened).

Luke is someone who fights until the end, a soldier who’s always trained and so ready for anything that sometimes it makes you wonder what war he’s preparing for. Infatuation, or the scarier, four-letter word was not something he was ever briefed on.

“No, you don’t. You’re a control freak,” he says with a grin. 

Luke watches you play with the pendant on your necklace, the dragon scale he fashioned into your favorite accessory glinting in your hand. Running your fingers back and forth over the smooth surface, your other hand puts the spoon down and you place your head on his shoulder. He thinks if he had to describe the four-letter word on the tip of his tongue, he’d tell whoever’s asking about the way you kissed his healing cheek after you both left the Garden of Hesperides. More than a year later, Luke is still unable to find the right words even if the weakness has made a home in his heart with your name written all over it.

“I swear if I have to hear another person croak out a lovesong I might just drown myself in the Long Island Sound,” you scoff as his fingers trace circles onto your waist.

There’s a low strum of a guitar that reaches your ears and your forehead meets the cool surface of the table as you shut your eyes and grumble. It’s Lee and his half-siblings, beginning to walk through the hall seconds away from singing until they see Luke shaking his head and dragging his finger across his throat to please, gods, stop. The Apollo kids swivel and 180, walking out of the hall as the music stops dissonantly, rolling their eyes and dragging their feet.

“That was quick,” you say inquisitively as your head pops up from the table to see Luke looking off in the distance.

“Heh… I think they were just practicing or something…”

He then had to run off and pay them more drachmas for the inconvenience. 

Fucking hustlers.

—

The sun sets quickly on Camp Half-Blood since it’s mid-February, and Luke finds you trying to calm your nerves as you look at the mess of glitter and paper mache that covers the arts and crafts hall from floor to ceiling.

“I can’t believe this!” you say in disbelief as you look at Luke, and he takes the can of Redbull out of your shaking hand.  

“There’s just no fucking way everyone decided to use glitter. It’s everywhere! I’m—CONNOR, PUT THE SCISSORS DOWN!”

Luke sighs as he holds his hand out for his younger brother to give up the craft scissors, which he relinquishes with a mischievous grin. 

“Guys, go find trouble somewhere else,” Luke mutters, pushing his head away, and where Connor goes, Travis quickly follows, tossing a canister of glitter back at him and not knowing it was still open.

“Oops.” 

Immediately, the both of you are showered in iridescent particles, floating over your heads and stuck in your hair as the older Stoll brother looks at the two of you wide-eyed.

“You've already got Trouble anyway,” he says teasingly, and this asshole winks at Luke before bolting out the door.

The room is silent now, and you pinch the bridge of your nose, before speaking, “I don’t care if he’s your brother, Luke. I might just fucking kill him.” You'd say more but your eyes are shut as you try not to breathe in glitter, and then the sound of the doorknob rattling catches your attention. Luke is standing there, finally faced with a door he can’t open, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance–but the effect isn’t as menacing as it should be when he’s covered in red and pink sparkles.

“Not if I get to him first, the little bastard.”

“Just open the door,” you say panicked, running over and forcing his hands off the doorknob.

“I can’t if you won’t let me do it!” He grits, elbowing you and trying to unlock the door with both his inherited gift and brute strength.

“What kind of demigod even are you? Lockpicking is supposed to be your thing!”

“Well OBVIOUSLY, but it’s not working, now is it, Trouble?”

Luke finishes off the rest of your energy drink before throwing the can over his shoulder and he swears he can hear you cuss at him under your breath as you berate him about the mess, so he chooses to focus on busting the door down instead of looking at the glitter stuck in your eyelashes and thinking about how the idea of being stuck in a room with you makes him feel weak at the knees.

Through the window, his eyes meet the group of Apollo kids staring at the predicament you two are in (and the barricade of chairs the Stolls put in front of the door). He sighs, and Lee’s little sister flips him off as they start to walk away again, instruments in tow.

“You gonna charge him again?”

A tiny Will Solace looks at his elders for guidance as they walk along the path. As one of the youngest in the bunch, he especially idolizes anything his half-siblings do, going along with whatever they see fit.

“No, but we’re close enough to the archery range that I might just shoot them through their hearts myself. Eros and Aphrodite themselves are pretty much begging us to,” Lee grumbles.

“Why are we doing this again?” Will babbles, and his half-sister grabs his hand to help him walk faster.

“A crazy little thing called love. You’ll understand it better someday, kid.”

—

Thankfully, it all starts winding down after dinner. Luke finds you leaning against a tree flipping through your clipboard during the camp sing-along, so he tugs at your elbow to get your attention.

“Wanna get out of here?”

You look at him, slotting your pen behind your ear as you notice faint glitter particles still dotted along his cheeks. As your lips pull into a small smile, you say, "I still have a few things to do after this, don't you?"

"Cleared your schedule for the night," he mumbles, and whether it's the glow of the bonfire or he's actually blushing, a teasing expression crosses your face as you step closer and cross your arms at him.

"You cleared my schedule for the night. How on earth did you do that?"

Instead of a proper reply, he grabs your hand, tugging you out to the docks near the lake.

"Don't worry about it."

He's not going to tell you that he owes Chris and Annie a few favors before the end of the month to make up for the night shift they ended up taking. Instead, you both sit cross-legged at the edge of the dock, a gentle breeze brushing at your clothes and for the first time today, you're able to just exist.

"I hate Valentine's Day," you suddenly say, looking up at the night sky, and he's watching you closely as the gentle shine of the moon casts a cool glow on your face. Luke cringes at your statement, thinking he's already thrown away his shot.

"Why's that?"

"Tell me something Luke, am I unlikable? Like, is there anything wrong with me?"

He looks at you like you've told him you’re secretly a cyclops.

“The fuck? How many times do I have to tell you that everyone thinks you’re great?"

You don't even give him a chance to finish his sentence before you blurt, "I don’t want to be great, I want to be loved!" Reeling back a little, you lean back on your hands to create some distance.

 “Sorry... that was a lot, and I’m just...wanting to be noticed. It's nice to have people's attention sometimes, you know?”

You’ve got all of mine, he thinks, realizing he never stood a chance at fighting it—this four-letter feeling you give him is the first and only battle he’ll back down from, and you're the only person he’ll wholeheartedly surrender to.

In short, he’s fucked.

"I always notice you." He pulls out a dented box of chocolates from his jacket pocket, opening it up for the both of you to share, and the look of amusement on your face makes him glad that at least one thing somewhat went to plan today, even if the chocolate truffles are a bit smushed. You’re popping one into your mouth and his dark eyes follow the trail of your fingers to your mouth, feeling his heart beat a bit faster.

But then you both hear the soft strum of a guitar from near the trees, and the two of you turn to hear some of the Apollo kids singing beautifully along the coastline.

I'll be seeing you, in all the old, familiar places... That this heart of mine embraces...

You gasp, grabbing Luke’s arm to push yourself up so that the both of you can turn and face a small group of your closest Apollo friends singing to the both of you. Luke’s eyes soften further when he feels you grab his hand and squeeze, leaning against his shoulder as you listen.

“Did you do this?” you mumble, still entranced by the performance.

“Only if it makes you laugh.”

And you do, in the way that he loves—a bit crazy and too loud, and it’s perfect.

I’ll always think of you that way… I’ll find you in the morning sun….

Whether it’s fireflies or Will bouncing light off the water to look like small, glowing candles, Luke can’t tell—he’s too busy watching your lips pull into a smile so confectionery his sweet tooth starts to ache. The little kid was never good at archery like his other half-siblings, but as your eyes shimmer under the ambient lights, you think his added romantic gesture shot you straight through the heart.

“You know, sometimes I really do hate you, Luke Castellan,” you whisper, and it couldn’t be more far from the truth.

“No, you don’t.”

His eyes flicker to you again, but you’re already looking back at him.

“I don’t.”

And when the night is new, I’ll be looking at the moon… but I’ll be seeing you…

It’s quiet now, and you’re unsure of where the Apollonian ensemble disappeared to but instead of worrying about if they’ll make it back before curfew, you stand there in front of Luke with your guard down.

Getting a little closer than he expected, your noses brush before you pull the slightly crushed wildflowers from your jean pocket, the only physical reminder you’ve kept from today, and tuck them into his jacket pocket, sitting right above his heart. 

“Thank you.”

Luke doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he feels your lips gently kiss the marred skin on his right cheek, the blemish having an uncanny resemblance to a stroke of lightning; it serves as a reminder of his weakness. The lines blur as his eyes close to savor it and he doesn’t know if weakness is your kisses or his scar—but he is vulnerable to it all the same, realizing there’s a crack in the otherwise perfect persona that he’s worked so hard on.

When his eyes open again, his Achilles’ heel has taken human form.

—

“This has got to be cheating,” Clarisse grumbles as she watches from the distance, hidden behind the trees.

“It’s not cheating if I’m winning. Silena’s gonna get a kick out of this,” Lee chuckles, ushering everyone back towards the cabins. It’s a bit harder to do this in the dark as they try to be quiet and not interrupt whatever will happen next between their favorite counselors.

“Well lucky for you, your gifts are cute and romantic, what am I supposed to do? They fight enough!”

“That’s what got them into this mess in the first place. Come on, curfew’s in 10. We’ll find out which of us wins the bet soon enough,” Chris mutters, pushing them along back onto the main path.

“Easy for you to say, Rodriguez, you live with Luke!”

“Would I ever lie to you, La Rue?” he says with a mischievous grin, and the Apollo kids giggle at the irony.

—

“My body ages,

my anger burns into a seam.

I am so annoyed by love

and still it comes.”

-Kate Baer

ask to be added to luke/general taglists!

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[temiizpalace]

helloo may I request a prompt for the love triangle event please?

I'd like to ask for Jade and Vil with prompt 3 where they both offer their shoulders to rest on! tysmm

☆┊PUT YOUR HEAR ON MY SHOULDER! NOT HIS! (👑 vs.🐬)

SUMMARY: THEY BOTH OFFER HIS SHOULDER TO REST ON. WHO KNEW IT BECAME A FULL BLOWN WAR!

CHARACTERS: vil schoenheit vs. jade leech

EVENT MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: no determined end couple, jealousy, mentions of jade ssr vignette

NOTES: eel mafia vs a world star. sure why not!!! thank you for your request!

reader is g/n, reader is yuu

˚∘☆∘˚

vil did not mind helping you study.

actually, it was quite flattering. all these students around you with incredible grades, and you hand selected him as your tutor. i guess it was only natural. smart and goodlooking? you have good taste.

“and you have to carry the 7 or else it’ll throw off your entire answer. keep note of that.” he pointed at the equation on your worksheet. “ohhh.. that makes sense. thanks vil!” you smile, eagerly writing down the answer. your happy smile was so enthralling. a moment that cannot be captured elsewhere. a one of a kind sight. thank goodness he was an actor, hiding his emotions came like second nature.

if only you were alone together...

“well done, prefect. that was a difficult problem.” jade chuckles, nodding as you solved another equation. “at this rate, you’ll become quite the mathematician.” vil was less than pleased to be accompanied by jade.. especially considering what a manipulator that man could be. he’s already been played for a fool once, he doesn’t dare allow you to fall under similar influence.

“your steadily improving. i say finish a few more problems and you should have it memorized.” vil adds, pulling out a couple more pages. “oh! that’s.. uhm.. can we take a little break?” you ask hesitantly, fearing the tall stack of papers vil had seemingly grabbed out of thin air. almost offended by the thought, vil scoffs.

“this isn’t only about the material, it is also routine. perhaps not this entire stack, but we must do a few more to ensure you’ll continue to do well.” vil places a new worksheet in front of you, sounding like an enraged father when their child can’t memorize the multiplication table. “yes sir..” you mumble.

“oh come now, vil. the poor prefect looks positively exhausted. just look at their eyebags.” jade sighs, suddenly patting your shoulder. as much as he hates to admit, jade had a point. your eyebags stick out like a sore thumb. what an idiot he was to not notice sooner, a fault on his part. “tell me, [MC], when have you last slept?” jade asks, making you flinch.

“next question, please.” you reply, breaking into a cold sweat. the eel tuts in disapproval, shaking his head with a frown. “this simply cannot do. didn’t you know you need at least 8 hours of sleep?” it felt like a lecture. an incredibly boring and uninteresting one.

“agreed. beauty rest is important and staying up late is horrible for your skin,” vil adds, massaging is temples. “i’ll send you some of my own personal skincare for you to use and hide your eyebags, but you must get adequate amounts of sleep.” he huffs, crossing his arms. “okay, okay, i hear you both.” you yawn, stretching your arms out.

“please, rest now. we can always carry on another day.” jade smiles, patting his shoulder for you to rest on. “i can rest there?” you ask, a bit taken aback. “what’s the catch?” vil raises a brow, feeling uneasy with jade’s suggestion. it might be the jealousy, but something doesn’t sit right with him. “please, my intentions are entirely pure. i want nothing more than to see our beloved prefect resting well.”

jade put a hand over his heart, keeping his usual expression while hiding the beating of his heart. “mostro lounge might need their vice soon, no? the prefect may rest on my shoulder. i insist.” vil points to his shoulder, imploring you to place your head onto it. “huh?? guys it’s fine seriousl—“

“mostro lounge can handle itself, i assure you.” jade cuts you off, finding vil’s intense glare quite amusing. it was clear he was livid, and honestly that was the best source of entertainment jade could ask for. “i just wish to care for the prefect. your presence is excused.” vil waves jade off, signaling for him to get lost.

“oh? but wouldn’t having [MC] rest on your shoulder be harmful to your image and theirs? think of the scandals that might go around.. fufu, quite intriguing, hm?” jade hums, lifting a gloved hand to his chin. “i have a man taking care of any possible scandal that might go around, so that is truly the least of my concern.” vil smiles smugly, standing his ground.

as the argument, or rather, civil discussion, continued, the drowsiness began to capture your body. their murmuring began to sound like soft lullabies as you allowed the sleep to take you. your head rested against the hard wooden desk, staying unnoticed til both boys heard your snores.

“they look quite peaceful.” vil murmurs softly, looking at you with a twinkle in his eyes. “breathtaking.” jade coos, brushing stray hairs out of your face.

this rivalry wasn’t over, oh no, much farther from that. however, to keep you sleeping for as long as you could, they’ll hold off their insults and bite their tongue.

how could you turn him like this?

A/N: sbsbsbsb writing is feeling difficult lately

date published: 9/16/24

[blakeprentiss]

unspoken

emily prentiss x reader

warnings: smut, alcohol

a/n: fun little thing i came up with

(my gif)

***

people have unspoken rules everywhere. you and emily? no exception.

it started at okeefe’s one night after a particularly bad case, the two of you taking it worse than normal. victims looked like emily while having similar childhoods to yours. you found yourself knocking back more drinks than usual, emily doing the same.

it was only a matter of time before your drinks caught up to you. announcing your departure, you stood up for the bathroom. “i’ll go with you,” emily said. it was just one of those unspoken rules. girls always go to the bathroom in groups. what happened in that bathroom, though, was definitely not something that groups of women always do.

soon enough, it became an unspoken rule to you two.

now, it was down to routine.

a few drinks in, you’d make your way to the bathroom, emily tagging along. she’d push you into the small bathroom, using her strength to pin you against the counter. tongue deep in your mouth, she’d make quick work of unbuttoning your jeans while your own hands found their way under her shirt.

time was always of the essence, so your pants never came down past your needs. her hand would slide your underwear to the side, and thanks to the effect she has on you when inebriated, you were always dripping for her. your hand finds her nipple as hers finds your clit, your moans perfectly time. one, two, three fingers dive into your cunt as you pull your head back.

as she fucks you, emily often takes a moment to look in the mirror. without fail, she feels herself get more turned on as she looks at you in the mirror, eyes closed and mouth agape with pleasure. she smiles to herself, grateful for that little unspoken rule you two share.

like clockwork, however, she’s pulled away from her reflection as she feels your pussy clenching around her, your orgasm imminent. she tangles her free hand into your hair, pulling you upright and resting your head in the crook of her neck. nothing but praise is whispered in your ear, only pushing you further to the edge. you all but leave a bite mark on her shoulder, muffled moans making their way into her skin as you finish around her.

she pulls out moments later, erotically sucking your juices from her fingers before she fixes your appearance. still coming down from your high, you bring emily in for another kiss. it’s brief, a promise that it’ll happen later, sooner than you think.

you two make your way back out, stopping at the bar for a final drink. you dance with jj, watch garcia lose to reid in pool, and bid your farewells to the others at the table. emily does the same. after all, it’s so convenient to share a cab when you live on the way to her place.

except, she never goes back to her place. you always invite her up for a nightcap, which turns into a night spent entangled in the sheets and each other. a night of slow, proper fucking, something that just can’t be done in a bar bathroom. a night of falling asleep in her arms, only to wake up with her gone.

it’s never for long, though. she comes back bearing an iced coffee and the best bagel in washington, curing your hangover before your drink can start to melt. there’s a shower, a quick goodbye, and a soft kiss.

and then you have to wait for the next time. after all, even if there’s feelings on both sides, it’s probably better to leave them unspoken.

right?