#but it’s the first I thought of when I saw him in the New Gods issue | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spcherryygirl · 2 days ago

Text

𝓜𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝓐𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 — 𝓙. 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒅

𝓢 YNOPSIS : : you have bewitched me, body and soul, and i love, love, love you.

𝓒ONTENTS : : yearner!jason todd. yearner!reader. female!reader. injuries( his scars. not detailed, the fic is sfw ). mentions of the lazarus pit. povs are separated ( still in second person. jason's first, then reader's ). ooc(?) jason feeling underserving woah woah woah. fluff. angst (?). mentions of sex. some parts are inspired by lyrics. ( new ) established relationship. no beta read, we die like bruce's parents. wc : 2.4k

BOOKS — DC BOOK

REQUESTED ; SUGGESTED : : @yeoniverseee && @laufeysgoddess

ᨦ𓏲 ، ݃♟❜ : : this is kind of,, a remake of this,,, if u squint.. layout slightly inspired by @laufeysgoddess ' carrd mwah mwah.,, ig it can be gn!reader, ithinkitjinkiithink also. i made hannie & ellie pick a fic to remake & they picked this !! & i was feeling very most ardently these days lolzsk. i am a STRONG believer that jay cried the first time he has sex with someone he really, really loves. like my "my love, mine all mine" fic,, JAY DED CRIED THERE SHUT UP. okay, now im really just recycling the pictures and layouts hehehehe. also,, 800???? YOU GUYS?????? ARE???? 800??? EIGHT HUNDRED ?????? EIGHT FUCKING HUNDRED ???? IM MAKING BABIES W U ALL. some parts here are actually what i said to @fromdove 😋( this is also dedicated to her btw. all of my works r prolly dedicated to her, hannie & ellie ) i love her ( including my cherries ) as much as i love jay, btw !! i tried to be poetic, guys. i really did🥀. idk if i hate this or love THEM. also... @yintous jinxed the crying part........ yin, you freak. this took me a whole week gng #writersblockslanderer. probably not ur taste in fics bc it's more focused on how they love

every time. every single time he finds himself staring at you too long, he hears it in his head like a fucking prayer. not that he's still into that kind of thing, but anyway. there's something sacred about the way you smile at him. something that gives him the sense that he has god's favorite secret beside him on the couch, his hoodie wrapped around your with her hair tied up in a bun and your toes against his thigh.

he thinks you're unreal. and maybe a little unfair. because you're soft with him. too soft. you're gentle in ways he doesn't think he deserves, like you were made to prove him wrong just by existing in his space. just by existing on this planet, actually.

it's a new relationship. not new in the way that it's uncomfortable or awkward. just new enough that he still feels the flutter in his belly when you kiss him first. just new enough that anything little you do still surprises him.

like how you touch his scars.

not with pity. not with horror. and obviously, not even with that unattached interest people sometimes get. no. you touch them like they're part of a map you're memorizing. like your fingers are tracing out every inch of what made him and you don't want to miss a single marker.

"this one," you said once, tracing over the raised scar near his ribs, "looks like a half moon."

and he looked at you like you'd said something ridiculous. because who the hell gazes at a scar━━a remnant of a knife that nearly killed him( not really )━━and thinks of the fucking moon?

you do. apparently.

he wants to write that down somewhere. with a permanent marker. place it into the back of his head so he'll never forget the way you looked at him that way. like you saw something lovely in all the spaces he thought were destroyed. maybe a tattoo would do.

sleeping beside you is its own kind of pain. he doesn't sleep much, usually. his body doesn't find stillness comfortable. but when you're in his arms, curled into his chest, breathing slow and steady and trusting him with your entire heart, he sleeps like the dead. it's dangerous. it's silly( not to you ). it's addictive. he wakes with his arm around your waist and his nose pressed to the back of your neck and wonders if perhaps this is what peace feels like.

god, not once in his life. even when bruce wayne took him in, thought he'd get to feel that.

and when you kiss him━━god, when you kiss him━━it's like you can feel what he wants before he can. you kiss him slow. careful. sometimes sloppy, sometimes quick. but always as if he belongs to you. as if there is another place in the entire world you'd rather be. and he breaks down. melt. dissolves for it every time. he leans into it with his entire body, as if the only thing holding him to reality is your lips on his.

having sex with you isn't forgetting. not with him. not anymore.

it's not an escape. or temporary. it's a return. a coming home. it's permanent.

you're kind to him. not only in kisses. but in the way you look at him when he undresses in front of you. in the way you stroke his back like it's holy. in the way you whisper his name like it's fragile.

he recalls the first time you had sex. the day he first cried while having sex with you. recalls how he attempted to hide it. bury his face in your shoulder and try to convince himself that it was merely sweat. but you were aware. of course, you were aware. and you kissed his temple and whispered, "i've got you," as if he wasn't shattering in your hands.

you make him believe that he is worth the gentleness. worth, this.

and perhaps he is. perhaps, with you, he is.

because you stay. even when he's not speaking. even when he's being grumpy or distant or two steps away from breaking. you stay. you wrap yourself around him and fetch him tea and refuse to ask him questions he doesn't want to respond to. and somehow, that gets him to speak. not everything. but enough. enough for you to understand.

he spoke to you about the pit. once. and only once. you didn't flinch. just gripped his hand. and said he was here. now. with you.

he trusts you.

and that shit scares him.

love was never simple for him. even before the pit. it was always rough. always a distance. but with you, it is. still. not in the boring sense. in the safe sense. in the "i can finally breathe again" sense. it's rough. but no longer a distance.

sometimes you're singing in the kitchen. poorly. on purpose. or not. and he leans in the doorframe and listens to you spin around in your socks, spatula clutched like a microphone, and he thinks, i could die right now and it would be enough.

he doesn't say anything. not yet. but he thinks about it all the time.

and he loves you. most ardently. passionately. in every possible way that a person can love.

in the way he remembers your coffee order and has a hair tie wrapped around his wrist for you.

in the way he allows you to see him when he's at his worst.

in the way he handles you like you're fragile. like you're not. like you're his.

in the way he sleeps more soundly when you're breathing next to him.

in the way he wishes to believe again in the future.

he loves you. hurtfully. shamelessly. completely. perfectly.

and if he could cut that into the sky, he would.

he loves you in the "let's run barefoot across the universe together" sort of way.

to saturn and back and then beyond.

to the spaces between stars where time loses track of how to move.

and jason todd━━jason peter fucking todd━━doesn't want to be rescued anymore. the child. the second robin. red hood. jason todd.

they all just want to stay.

with you.

he has no idea what he looks like when he is in love. but you do.

you've committed it to memory. tattooed it( at least, in your mind you did ) near your heart. the gentle droop of his eyelids when he gazes at you as if you're a dream. the slight opening of his lips, as if there is something he would like to say but can't. how his hand lingers in mid air before it settles on the small of your back, as if requesting permission still, even now, despite all that has happened.

he stares at you as if you're the last sacred thing in a world of tombs.

and you feel it. every ounce of the burden he bears. not because he loads it onto you, but because he never does. he bears it all as though he was meant to endure it alone, and you have to press yourself into the crack just to make him remember that he doesn't have to. not anymore.

you love him like breathing. all the time, without thinking, with no effort at all. it's just there. like his name on your tongue. like his shirts in your drawer. like the way your heart slows when you hear the front door open and it's him. again. and god, you never felt more real.

you remember the first time he told you about the pit. how his voice sounded like it was scraping the edge of something sharp. how he didn’t look at you, didn’t blink, just stared at the floor like it held the truth and the punishment and the apology all at once.

he said it like it was a confession. like it would be the thing that finally pushed you away. that will make you want to not stay.

it didn't.

you simply leaned over, wrapped your fingers around his, and told him, "you're here now."

he blinked then. just once. as if he was trying to process your words. as if he had no idea that something so simple could mean so much.

sometimes, you wonder if jason todd doesn't know that he's still alive.

not just breathing. but alive.

in the way his eyebrow creases when you laugh too loudly. in the way he rolls his eyes when you steal fries from his plate but pushes the rest up towards you anyway. in the way he allows you to sit on his lap with a book in your hand, not saying a word, just,, existing.

his scars don't frighten you. they never have.

he showed them to you as if he was getting ready to be turned down. again. god. it's like he expects you to just vanish. as if he was showing you the remains of a city he didn't think anyone would want to live in.

you touched them all. one by one. kissed the one under his rib. trailed your fingers over the one that curves into his shoulder. learned the mosaics of him with devotion. patience.

"you're not broken," you told him. "you're written."

he didn't say a word for a long time afterward. just gazed at you like you'd reached into your pocket and pulled out the sun and given it to him.

he tries━━no━━he does his best. every day. every time.

that's what bothers you the most. the way he's doing so hard. not to be good. not to be complete. but to be gentle with you. to be with you. even when it hurts. even when he's afraid.

you notice it the way he cradles your face like you'll disappear. the way he asks you "this okay?" even when it's just your limbs knotted up on the couch. the way he wears your keys around his neck( just to make sure he won't lose it, he told you once. ) like they're where they're supposed to be.

you recall the first time you had sex.

how he touched you like prayer. how his lips shook against yours. how his voice cracked when he said your name.

you knew. immediately. when his breath caught and his chest faltered and he tried to hide his face in your neck, you knew.

and so you cradled him. gently and slowly. allowed him to rest in your arms as if he were something fragile. kissed his temple and said, "i've got you," repeatedly until he accepted it. until he relaxed.

you don't realize that no one's ever made him feel little before. like that. little as in the safe kind.

he clung to you as if he thought he'd lose you if he relaxed his hold.

he didn't have anything to say then. just sat there. still. for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

he looks at you as if you're cut out of finer stuff. but you look at him and observe someone who has been to hell and is still willing to be kind. still tries. still wakes up every morning and makes coffee and leans his head on your chest as if he's found home.

you'd adore him in all the iterations of this life. even the ones in which you never get to hold him.

but you do. and that's the part that takes your breath away.

when he kisses you, it's all. everything. like he's famished and you're the only thing that ever satisfied him. he kisses you like nothing else exists. like if he died the instant after, it'd be alright. because he got to have this.

when you kiss him back, you kiss him with the same desperation. the same longing.

he once held your face in his hands, he didn't say it. i don't think he needed to. you don't either. the words, "you feel like home." was a line the author made solely for him. to recite it to you, the love interest. his love interest.

and you smiled as though your heart was breaking.

because that's what he is. to you. every hurting bit of him. every bruise and sigh and quiet stare and kisses. he is home. he is the place you come back to. the one you'd wait for lifetimes. the one you'd fall in love with all over again.

he can't say it in words, so he says it in everything else.

he gives you flowers wrapped up in yesterday's newspaper. leaves you little notes in your pockets. sits with you through thunderstorms just because you hate the sound.

he stays.

even when he's exhausted. even when he thinks he shouldn't.

and you do, too.

you stay when he's quiet. when he's distant. when he's hurting and doesn't talk until you're kissing his bruised knuckles.

you stay when he's laughing and when he's too far gone to remember why and how.

you stay because there's not a piece of him you'd want to leave.

you love him in the gentlest ways. in the harshest ones. in all the ways he doesn't believe he's worthy of being loved.

you love him when he's in your bed, breath warm against you, arms wrapped around your waist like a lifeline.

you love him when he's disappeared for hours and returns with your favorite pastry because he "just happened to pass by."

you love him when he refuses to say he's hurting but lays his head in your lap like a silent surrender.

you love him because you do.

because something in you saw something in him and chose him anyway.

and you think━━no, you know━━that he is the great love of your life.

he doesn't think in miracles. but you do.

and you think he could be one.

because somehow, some way, despite it all, despite the blood and the grave and the fucked up environment, he's here.

with you.

and if you could have him write that in the stars, you would.

because you love him in the way the sky turns soft pink when the sun forgets how to hide, disappear, go down.

because you love him in the pauses between words, in the spaces between stars, in every what if, could be, maybe, probably, really, statistically speaking, almost, & someday.

he has bewitched you. body and soul.

and you never want it to shatter.

455 notes · View notes

norristrii · 3 days ago

Note

hellooooo, i fear we need some good angst with greenlight and lando 😔🫵🏻 like RIGHT NOW 😭 tyyy <3

GREENLIGHT.

“I’m still waiting at the greenlight, to tell you what I feel like, but I can’t go.” — You liked Lando, but never truly saw him as someone meant for you. Fear kept your feelings buried—until one night, everything came crashing down, forcing you to face what had always been there.

pairing. Lando Norris x fem! reader.

warnings. misunderstanding, angst (happy ending), mention of partying. I haven’t wrote anything in a while, so sorry if this is shit.

babs’ notes. I’m back!! This is my first fic of the 800 event. I chose greenlight as the premiere bcs it’s my fav song, thank you for joining <3

music. Greenlight by Tate McRae.

800 event // event masterlist.

LANDO WAS STILL RELATIVELY A NEW PRESENCE IN YOUR LIFE. You’d met him at a club—where else? That chaotic blur of lights and music had somehow carved out a space for something that felt different. From the moment you saw him, you were drawn in. It was hard not to be. He was fit, young, effortlessly cool, and rich in that casual, enviable way that made heads turn. He was everything most young men wanted to become—and everything most young women wanted to be with.

You’d been talking for about two months now. Long nights filled with laughter, inside jokes, and the kind of comfort that crept up slowly and surprised you with its depth. You liked him—a lot. But somehow, despite all the time spent together and the closeness you’d grown into, it had never moved beyond friendship.

Best friends. That’s what you were.

At least, that’s what it looked like from the outside.

Because no matter how badly you wanted to tell him how you felt, something always held you back. Maybe it was the echo of past relationships that had started with hope and ended in silence. Maybe it was fear—fear that if you said the words out loud, it would all come crashing down. That you'd lose him, too. And this time, you weren't sure you'd recover.

“Oh my god, Y/n, why are you so jealous?!” Lando rolled his eyes, his voice laced with frustration.

You hadn’t meant for the night to end like this. It was supposed to be fun—just the two of you, dancing, drinking, laughing like always. But instead, here you were, caught in the middle of an argument with the one person you didn’t want to fight with. Your best friend. Your crush. Whatever he was to you tonight.

“I’m not jealous,” you snapped, cutting him off.

Of course, you were.

You could lie all you wanted, but the truth was written all over your face. It had started the moment you saw him tangled up with some random girl on the dance floor. Or maybe she was all over him. Did it really matter? Not when the jealousy burned this hot. Not when your chest felt like it might cave in with the weight of everything you couldn’t say.

This night was supposed to be yours. Just the two of you. But suddenly, you weren’t enough. Or maybe you never were.

“You are!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos around you. “Maybe if you weren’t so scared to tell me how you really feel, you wouldn’t even be jealous!”

You froze.

What did he mean? Did he know?

Your heart thudded in your chest, louder than the music, louder than the mess of thoughts unraveling in your head. Had he known all this time? The glances, the lingering touches, the nights you stayed up talking like it meant something more—had he seen through you?

And maybe… maybe you should have told him earlier. Maybe if you’d had the courage, he would’ve been yours by now. You would’ve been the one in his arms tonight, not some stranger in the crowd. Maybe this—this ache in your chest, this night gone wrong—would never have happened at all.

But you didn’t.

And now, it might be too late.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely rising above the music, thin and uncertain. The question hung there between you, raw and trembling. It was a stupid thing to say—you knew what he meant. You weren’t clueless. You’d felt the weight of your own emotions building for weeks, maybe months. You just never thought he saw it. Never thought he’d call you out like this. Not tonight. Not like this.

But still, part of you needed to hear it. Needed the words spelled out, because if you acknowledged it—if you admitted what was really going on—it might make it real. And real things came with risks.

Lando stared at you, and the frustration in his eyes shifted, softened. It was like he saw straight through you, through all the denial and fear and half-finished confessions. He stepped closer, his voice quieter now, but every word landed with force.

“I mean,” he said, slower, more careful, “it’s so obvious you like me. And… I like you too.”

The breath caught in your lungs. Your heart stuttered, like the whole world had just tilted off balance.

Had he really just said that?

Your mind scrambled to process his words, but they echoed over and over, drowning out everything else. He liked you. The one thing you had convinced yourself was impossible—the one scenario you hadn’t dared to hope for—was suddenly standing right in front of you, looking you in the eyes.

You stared at him, searching for a joke in his expression, some sign he was messing with you. But it wasn’t there. There was no smirk, no teasing glint. Just him. Honest, vulnerable. Waiting.

And all at once, the weight of everything you hadn’t said came crashing down. Maybe if you had told him earlier—if you’d pushed through the fear instead of hiding behind friendship—this moment would have come sooner. Maybe he would’ve been yours already.

“And why didn’t you say anything earlier?” you asked, your voice cracking under the pressure. It came out choked, nearly a whisper, and your throat burned with the weight of everything you'd been holding back. You could feel the sting of tears threatening to spill, blurring your vision as you looked at him. It wasn’t anger in your voice—it was hurt. Disbelief. The quiet ache of wondering what could’ve been if only things had gone differently.

Lando’s eyes widened slightly, taken aback by the emotion in your voice. “I thought you knew,” he said, almost helplessly. His brows pulled together, frustration melting into something more vulnerable. “I thought it was obvious.”

You shook your head. “No… I didn’t,” you whispered, blinking rapidly as a single tear escaped down your cheek. “I didn’t see it. I saw everything but that.”

Because the truth was, you hadn’t let yourself see it. You didn’t notice the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, or the way his hand always lingered just a little too long when he touched you. You ignored the late-night texts, the protective glances, the way he always seemed to find his way to your side no matter where you were.

Instead, you saw every worst-case scenario. Every possible way it could all fall apart. You saw rejection, awkwardness, distance—another heartbreak added to the list of disappointments you carried like armor. You didn’t dare believe something so good could actually be real. Not for you.

He stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking until you could feel the warmth of him, smell the faint trace of his cologne through the haze of alcohol and sweat. “Y/n,” he said gently, his voice softer now, almost aching. “You could’ve just told me earlier.”

The words were simple, but they cut deep.

You looked up at him, blinking through the emotion welling in your eyes, and for a moment, all you could do was stand there, silent. Because how could you have told him?

You never healed right. Not from the things before him. The people who made promises they never kept. The late-night heartbreaks masked behind forced laughter. The relationships that made you feel small, unworthy, like love was always something just out of reach.

Every time you started to rebuild yourself, someone else came along and tore it all down. So you stopped trying. You learned how to smile through the ache. How to be the “best friend” instead of the person someone chose. You convinced yourself that loving him in silence was safer than losing him completely.

So no—telling him felt impossible.

You swallowed hard, looking down at the floor because meeting his eyes felt too raw, too vulnerable. “I wanted to,” you said quietly. “I really did.”

And then, barely louder than a breath, “I was just… scared.”

And for the first time, it felt okay to admit it.

Lando didn’t say anything at first. He just stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest with a quiet urgency, like he’d been waiting to do it for far too long.

And you let him.

You melted into the warmth of him, the solid feel of his embrace, the way his hand slid gently up your back like he was trying to hold all the broken pieces of you together. It wasn’t just a hug—it was something more. It was safety. It was forgiveness. It was the answer to all the silent questions you’d been too afraid to ask.

And God, you needed it. You needed him—this steady presence, this boy who somehow saw through all your walls and didn’t run.

“I love you,” he whispered against your hair, voice low and steady. “I’m here to show you not every guy is an asshole.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. Not because they were perfect, not even because they were exactly what you wanted to hear, but because they were real. Simple, true, unpolished—and everything you never let yourself believe someone would say to you.

You closed your eyes, burying your face into his shoulder as the tears finally came, quiet and full of something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

You didn’t say anything at first. You couldn’t. The knot in your throat was too tight, the flood of emotion too overwhelming. But in that moment, words weren’t necessary. Not when he held you like that—not when his arms said everything you’d spent months trying to silence in yourself.

You clung to him, afraid that if you let go, this would all dissolve into the air, like a dream you’d wake up from too soon.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into his chest, barely audible. “For not telling you. For pushing you away.”

Lando pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still resting on your waist. His eyes found yours, softer than you’d ever seen them, full of something quiet and real.

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “You had your reasons. And I’m not going anywhere.”

The way he said it—so sure, so steady—broke something open inside you. Not in a painful way, but in the way that happens when something long frozen finally starts to thaw.

“I didn’t think someone like you would ever feel the same,” you admitted, your voice shaking with the weight of your own doubt. “You’re… you. And I’m just—”

“No,” he cut in, gently but firmly. “Don’t do that. Don’t talk about yourself like you’re less. You’re everything, Y/n. I’ve known it since the night I met you.”

You stared at him, heart pounding, his words settling into the cracks you’d tried to hide for so long. You didn’t know what tomorrow would look like, or the day after that. But right now, here in this moment—held together by the arms of someone who chose you—it felt like something was finally beginning.

You leaned into him again, this time not because you needed comfort, but because you wanted him. Fully, openly, finally.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, it didn’t feel like falling.

It felt like flying.

#formula 1 #mclaren #lando norris #lando norris f1 #formula one #lando norris x y/n #ln4 fic #lando norris x reader #ln4 x y/n #lando norris x you #lando norris angst #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #ln4 angst #ln4 imagine #ln4 #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula one fic

272 notes · View notes

monamedeiros12 · 2 days ago

Text

Achilles Heel

jackson!joel x fem!reader

Summary: Joel gets mad at you for putting your life at risk to save him. It took him years, but he finally admitted his feelings.

Warnings: Swering, infected, mentions of guns and knives. Joel can be a little mean, but just a little. Reader and Joel know each other for years. Guilt, fluff, age gap (unspecified). No use of y/n.

Words: 1,7k

A/N: So, I have no ideia of what I’m doing. This is my first time ever writing something like this and it looks like crap, however I needed to prove it to myself that I could do it.

Please be kind, and don’t give up on me 😔 It will get better, I promise!!!!

-------------

He was angry. He was really, really angry.

“Joel, come on,” you say behind him as he walks ahead with heavy, fast steps. He wasn’t listening—or didn’t want to. You knew he was mad and that it was your fault, but you didn’t have it in you to regret your decision.

He opened the door to his house with a loud thud, the doorknob crashing into the wall from his strength. He dropped his heavy backpack on the floor and went straight to the kitchen.

“I know you’re mad, and I—” you try to say, but he cuts you off immediately.

“I’m not mad. Mad isn’t even close to how I’m feeling.” There was no warmth in his voice. He couldn’t even look at you; he was too focused on searching for God knows what in the kitchen cabinets.

“I had to do something!” you say, starting to get frustrated with the whole situation. You take off your dirty coat and put it on the floor, next to your shoes.

You follow him to the kitchen and lean on the counter while he gets even angrier, his tone growing louder with each word.

“Doing something doesn’t mean almost dying in the stupidest way! You didn’t think! You were impulsive and dumb. After all these years living in this fucked-up world, I thought you would have learned something by now.”

You look at him with disbelief. You know he’s saying all that because he’s worried, but he can be a real asshole sometimes.

“Well, you taught me everything I know, so if I’m a shitty survivor now, it’s on you!”

It was supposed to be a normal, short patrol, like it usually was. The weather was cold outside, even with the sun shining bright in the blue sky. Winter was in its last days.

Like always, it was you and him, walking with the horses to a nearby small city to clear out any infected. The town was quiet, and everything looked oddly still. Even the wind felt weird there. You knew right away that something was off.

You both went to the department store on the left side of town, revolver and flashlight in hand, watching each other’s backs while looking for any sign of infected or people. When none were found, you and Joel headed to the pharmacy—and that’s when it happened.

The place was much smaller, so Joel took the left hallway and you took the right. Like you both expected, it was all empty. Or so you thought.

You were checking the names of the last few medicines when you heard a loud crash. A shelf was falling—followed by the unmistakable sound of clickers. Not one, not two, not three, but five.

You ran to the left side of the pharmacy and saw Joel trying to hold up the whole shelf with one arm while the clickers were running at him. His other arm—the one not holding the shelf—was completely exposed. If the clickers got close enough, that would be the first place they’d bite him, and he wouldn’t be fast enough. He couldn’t move fast enough.

“HEY! OVER HERE!” you screamed, and the clickers had a new target.

Joel tried to shout back. You could hear him screaming for you to get back, but you were already running out of the pharmacy and the clickers weren’t paying attention to him.

In the street, with the open space working in your favor, you turned and shot the first one in the head. Then the second and the third. However, the last two were already too close and grabbed you. Their noises, so close to your ears now, were piercing. Their dirty hands trying to catch you no matter what.

You tried to aim your revolver at the head of one of them, but the clicker slammed your arm away, making the gun fall from your grip.

Trying to be quick, you reached for the knife you kept tight on your thigh and stabbed the clicker in the neck at the same time you heard a gunshot, making the other clicker fall to the ground, dead. And you knew that if Joel had taken two seconds more to shoot, you would now have a bite mark in your neck.

So that's why you were here now, getting shouted at for trying to help.

“Yeah, well, guess you didn’t learn anything seeing how you acted today. Making irresponsible choices, putting yourself in danger like that—for what? To prove something? That you can take a bunch of infected by yourself?”

“For what? Are you serious? I try to save your fucking life and you’re here saying that I did what I did to prove something?” Your breathing starts to get heavier. You just can’t believe what you’re hearing. “You really know how to act like a dick when you want to. What do you think I should have done then? Let them take you?”

He finally turns to you, a look of pure rage in his eyes. “Yes! If helping me means putting yourself in danger, then fucking yes!” Joel wasn’t just mad. He was scared. Terrified at the thought that he could have lost you. And you get it, of course you do—you felt the exact same way. That’s why you made that decision. After all these years surviving together, going through crazy shit side by side, until finally finding Jackson and the peace it offered—you would always choose him first, even above yourself.

“What if it was me? You would have left me there with them? Of course not! That’s not us, and you know it.”

“That’s different,” he says, shaking his head and closing his eyes. He looks tired.

“Different how, exactly? Because you’re more skilled than me?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then why is it?”

“Because if I lose you, I die.” He finally snaps, and you stop breathing. “Because you’re everything that matters to me. If I don’t have you, there is no more meaning in anything.” He now looks at you with pleading eyes, like he’s desperate, like he can barely talk or breathe. After all these years, you can finally see his walls tumbling down.

“Joel...”

“You’re the reason I’m still alive. You keep me here—not just a body, but also a soul. Without you, I’m lost. I can’t lose you.” He puts his hands on the cabinet, looks down, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath.

“I take care of you. I protect you. I keep you safe. So when you put your life at risk because I was too stupid to fall into a trap, that’s on me.” He meets your gaze, eyes filled with guilt and fear. “If something happens to you, it’s over. It’s over for me.”

Your eyes fill with tears as you stare at him, trying to process what you just heard. Of course, you knew he cared about you. He never really said it, but actions speak louder than words—and he was always there for you, always making sure you were not only safe but happy. He made sure of that even after finding his brother in Jackson, when he told you that if you didn’t want to stay, he would leave too.

So yes, you knew he cared about you, but hearing him say it, with his intense tone and a look in his eyes that could make you do anything for him, was different.

You circle the counter, Joel following your every move. When you finally stop in front of him, you grab his face with both hands.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you try to say, but he is quick to disagree.

“It was. I was too slow—” He shakes his head, but your grip is firm.

“Listen to me,” you say, looking deep into his eyes. “I’m okay. You were there in time. Nothing happened to me, and nothing will. I’m here, and I’m not leaving.”

He has a serious look on his face while he warns you,

"You do something like that again, and I'm the one who's going to kill you, you hear me?"

You smile softly and say,

"Okay, deal."

He presses his forehead gently against yours and repeats:

“I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here with you, and I’m safe.”

He gives you a short nod, and you slowly press a kiss to his cheek. You can feel his breath on your face, the way he’s fighting to keep himself together, to believe in you.

When you look at him again, you whisper,

“I can’t lose you either. I don’t ever want to live in a world where you’re not in it.”

And then, after hearing that, his eyes flicker from yours to your mouth, and he finally leans down and kisses you.

When your lips touch, you can feel all the things left unsaid in all these years—the way he touched you, the way he grabbed your hair to have better access to your mouth, the way he let out a short breath when his tongue finally reached yours. You can feel it all through him.

You dive your hand into his curly hair—longer now than it was years before—and get lost in the feeling. It doesn’t feel real.

Joel pushes you back until you hit the counter, his kisses growing more desperate as they move to the soft skin of your neck, like he’s waited for this for years. The sensation makes you dizzy.

His hands are everywhere—on your waist, your hips, your back. He tries to kiss every piece of flesh he can find: your neck, your jaw, your cheek, your collarbone, your mouth.

You let out a moan when he roughly lifts you onto the counter. You try to pull him closer, but it’s not enough. You need him. You feel like you could die if his hands ever left your body.

One hand cups your cheek, while the other stays firm on your hip. He searches for your eyes, and with a tormented and needy look on his face, he says,

“You’re my weakness. You’re my fucking Achilles heel. I need you alive and well so I can breathe. So please, please don’t put yourself in danger like that again.”

“I won’t,” you say softly.

“Promise me.”

You hesitate for a second, knowing damn well you would risk anything, face any danger, just to keep him alive. But you know that’s not what he needs to hear right now, so you just murmur,

“I promise.”

#the last of us #joel miller #tlou hbo #fluff #reader x joel #pedro pascal #fem!reader #jackson!joel

139 notes · View notes

mickyschumacher · 15 hours ago

Text

[SIREN SOUNDS!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: everyone's warned you about charles leclerc. but what on earth could possibly be so bad? or in which you decide to ignore the glaringly obvious siren sounds.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minors dni), angst, bits of fluff, slightly toxic relationship, unprotected sex, p in v, cheating, love-bombing, both charles and the reader are idiots, not a particularly happing ending // poorly proof read as usual!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: charles leclerc x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3.1k

𝐀/𝐍: yes another 'so close to what' song 😅 although i will say, i kinda strayed away from the theme. nevertheless... it's one of my favs on the album.

🏎️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | ⚽️𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

If you had known that it would come to this... beforehand... you might've still picked it.

Realistically, you should've known that Charles was absolutely the worst person to be in a relationship with. Everyone had told you. He was a player. He knows everyone in Monaco. He has no code.

The signs were there. They were always there.

But you couldn't help it.

And neither could he.

You knew how you looked to Charles when he first saw you during the big break before this upcoming season.

Gleaming. Shiny. New. Untouched.

Something he had never seen before in Monaco.

To be honest, Charles wasn't sure how he missed you. You could run the entirety of Monaco, from east to west, in less then thirty minutes. He knew the place like the back of his hand.

And yet when his mother pointed you out, complimenting your dress from afar, Charles had found himself shocked. He indeed did not know Monaco like he thought he did. Because if he did... he would've found you a long time ago.

You remembered your first meeting with Charles as clear as day. It was fifteen minutes after his mother had pointed you out and you were still at a florist, picking out a perfect bouquet of flowers.

You were still deciding between the hydrangeas and the rose gerberas when you heard his voice.

"I think these are better," Charles stated, picking up one light pink gerberas before handing it to you.

"Oh?" You raised a brow, eyeing Charles keenly as you took the flower. You gave the flower a small twirl between your fingers. Tilting your head to the left, you opened your mouth and asked, "Any particular reason?"

Charles' eyes, a mix of blue and green depending on how he stood, gleamed at you. You watched his dimples deepen. "They bring out your eyes," he murmured, holding your gaze intensely.

"Thank you." You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to break eye contact. You flashed a grateful smile towards him. "And thanks for your help!"

Charles' small grin faltered as you walked past him and headed to the florist to tell you what arrangement of flowers you wanted. He pursed his lips, turning to your direction.

You could feel him linger behind you while you waited for the florist to gather her equipment. "So," Charles cleared his throat, leaning on the counter slightly. "The flowers.. are they for your boyfriend?"

You held in your eye roll. God, was he always this obvious? You pursed your lips and shook your head. "Don't have one," you retorted, fingers slowly tapping at the counter.

Charles nodded, relief easing his heart. "Good," he commented, making you raise a brow. He chuckled softly. "I mean he should be getting a girl like you flowers. Not the other way round."

You hummed in amusement, corner of your lips quirking upwards. You touched the display of roses and asked, "Roses or tulips?"

Charles pretended to mull over your question. "I would get you roses," he decided, straightening up, "Anyone else... tulips."

You laughed softly, making him smile. A moment of comfortale silence ensued between the both of you. "You're not walking around the track today? Don't want to know it a little more?"

Charles tilted his head, eyeing you carefully. He pressed his lips together and shook his head. "I know it enough. I know all of Monaco. Everything but you," he finalised, leaning in with curiosity swarming his eyes. "Why don't I know you?"

Charles had run over it several times before he reached the florist. Ten more as he talked to you. Surely... someone would've mentioned you.

You matched his tilt and gave a small shrug. "Maybe you should get to know me instead."

━━━━━━━━━━━

A moan slipped from your mouth as Charles pressed his body into yours. His hands urgently travelled your body, grabbing your burning skin while his lips hungrily devoured yours.

Charles didn't fight the shudder across his body when he felt your hands rake his hair. He only pressed into you closer, shamelessly rubbing himself against you. "Putain," he growled as the events of today unfolded in his mind,

"P8," he grunted, detaching his red and swollen lips. "P fucking 8 on the first race," he hissed, feverishly pressing kisses down your jaws, sucking the soft skin of your neck.

"Charles," you moaned, hand travelling to the back of his neck while your eyes closed. You could feel him guide you to the hotel bed, feet stumbling as he held you close.

"Fucking idiots. All of them," he cursed, peeling off your tight red long sleeve. He sighed at the sight of your breasts encased with matching red lingerie.

Laying you down on the bed, Charles' hands groped your breasts, cock hardening at the sight of them spilling out of his grasp. He groaned, leaning down to let his tongue trail down the valley of your breasts and to your lower stomach.

"I need to be in you, please," he breathed out, chest heaving with a rushed sense of lust as he pressed small kisses against your pelvis.

You gave him a dazed nod, not caring at all that you weren't taking your time or that he was mostly angry or that this was the first time you had seen him in a month since your 'break'.

Eagerly, Charles removed your black trousers, taking a second to admire your red panties, damp with a dark wet patch. "Merde," he swore, pressing his thumb into your lace-covered pussy.

You squirmed in the bed, back arching slightly, quickly becoming a whimpering mess at his teasing. You cried out gently, hips bucking up while he slowly swirled around your clit.

Charles smiled, satisfied with your reactions. Without wasting any more time, he shoved off his own underwear and pushed aside your panties.

"Oh fuck," he whispered, fixated on the wet slick covering your folds.

Usually, this was where he'd tease the shit out of you, leaving you begging for him to enter you. But he just couldn't wait any longer. Momentarily, he rubbed his cock against your drenched folds, hovering over your body.

His cock throbbed, every second feeling like a minute before he pushed into your pussy in one fell swoop.

Your head fell straight back into the bed, pleasure taking over your body while Charles thrusted back and forth at an unimaginable speed.

"Oh fuck, you feel so good," he grunted, hands tightening around your thighs, pulling you closer, feeling your warm walls clench further around him. Instantly, he had forgotten about today's race.

You shivered at the feel of his cold rings against your skin. "Charles," you moaned, hands travelling past his shirt to feel the warmth of his back.

"Chérie," he rasped, speeding his hips up. He moved a hand, grabbing your breast from your bralette, rubbing and squeezing your nipple.

"Shit, Charles," you mewled, back arching off the mattress, "I'm so close."

Charles tilted your head to face him, putting your eyes on him. His hand brushed past your stomach, arriving to where his cock was flushed with your pussy. He groaned at the sight, the coil at his stomach tightening.

He slipped his thumb to your clit, pressing firmly while he circled the bundle of nerves in quick motions. He could feel you tighten up around. "That's it," he encouraged, breathless as he felt the waves of pleasure begin to build up. "Come with me, chérie. Come with me," he chanted.

The both of you swore you were seeing stars spill into the light as your release crashed into you hard. Your chests heaved, erratic breathing slowing down rapidly while Charles slowly pulled out, falling next to you.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Thank you," he breathed.

━━━━━━━━━━━

You hadn’t talked to Charles three weeks since your night in Melbourne. Well, that was sort of a lie. Things had been sweet since then… at least that’s what you had thought.

Charles had been texting you as frequently as he used to, taking videos of Leo, bringing you flowers (the same ones from when you first met), and suddenly it all just stopped.

And you were far too tired to get to the bottom of it. You could only brave a smile when his mother told you stories of Charles because you knew damn well she had no idea what was going on between the both of you.

You were washing up, getting ready for bed, two days after Suzuka when a sharp ping lit up your phone.

charles 🙃: bonne nuit, chérie. good night, sweetheart.

You pressed your lips together, internally sighing at your phone.

you: so now you want to talk?

charles 🙃: don't be like that

charles 🙃: i was busy

charles 🙃: i'm sorry chérie ♡︎

A small huff left your mouth as you fell into your bed. This was just like him. To stop talking and piss you off before buttering you up as if things could just magically return back to normal.

Fuck, it was so annoying.

Because of course they did. Everything always went back to the way it was.

charles 🙃: will you come to bahrain? i really miss you.

You groaned in frustration, head hitting your mattress.

you: no. i also have things to do. i'm also busy.

charles 🙃: please? i'm sorry. i'll make it up to you.

charles 🙃: i'm sending the jet no matter what.

charles 🙃: so please come.

━━━━━━━━━━━

You sighed as you touched down in Bahrain, smiling gently at your driver who put your luggage in the trunk.

You were here. Just like he had asked you to. Again.

God, it was neverending.

You furrowed your brows at the series of notifications flooding your screen as you sat down in back of the car. Two miss calls from your friends, ten messages in your groupchat... what on earth was going on?

You skimmed through the messages, confusion only growing at the words 'dump him' coming across your screen several times. A link was sent to the groupchat, your friends telling you to cautiously open it.

Anxiety ran high in your blood as you opened the link. And just like that it had flattened, instantly turning your blood cold.

It was an anonymous rumour.

That Charles had been with another girl while you were away.

And if you didn't know any better, you would've said Charles wouldn't do anything as unreasonable as this.

But you did. And fuck, did it sound plausible.

━━━━━━━━━━━

The drive to the hotel was unbearable, filled with texts from everyone, including Charles, who had not a single idea of what was going on. All he could do was say he missed you and couldn't wait till you came.

You peered at the night sky in Bahrain through the window as you entered the hotel. Charles had finished his second practice session a couple hours ago, unable to convince you to get there any earlier.

You swallowed at the sight of Charles' wide smile as he opened the door, dimples deepening as usual while he brought you into a hug.

Hesitantly, you put your arms around him, unsure of how to feel. But his warmth was slowly breaking down the guards you had just put back up.

"I missed you so much," he stated, pressing a small kiss to your cheeks. Pushing back your hair behind your ear, he smiled again. "I'm so glad you could come."

If you had any sense right now... you would see he was love-bombing you. All the sweetness Charles could muster in one go to make sure whatever you had with each other would still work.

After ordering in some food to settle your appetite, you were unpacking some of your belongings while Charles finished washing up.

Wiping his face with a towel, he frowned at the sight of you. "Chérie, what's wrong? You've been so... quiet since you've came here. Did something happen?"

You tried not to wince, the endearment frustrating you more than usual today. You chewed on your lip, debating on what to do. You pulled out your phone, clicking on the link you had been sent earlier on.

Charles furrowed his brows as you pushed the screen in his face.

You watched him read the words on the screen and huff in amusement. His eyes sparkled with mirth as he looked up at you. "You don't believe this, do you?" He laughed softly.

You remained quiet, still unsure of what to feel or say. You had been gathering your thoughts quietly for the past few hours but you hadn't arrived to a conclusive decision.

Charles blinked at your silence. He scoffed in disbelief, taking a step towards you. "A-Are you serious? Do you think I would?" He asked, offence washing over his face.

You sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I mean... is it really that unreasonable, Charles?" You retorted. A pained smile sprawled onto your face. "You don't talk to me for weeks... your mother thinks we're okay... everyone thinks we're fine but–"

"We are fine," Charles interrupted, brows mending together while he pressed the matter. "We are perfectly fine."

You laughed tiredly, rubbing your face with your hands. You leaned on your elbows, chin resting on your hands. "No we're not. This is ridiculous," you mumbled.

Charles stayed silent, picking up the hurt in your voice immediately. He sucked in a sharp breath, putting your phone aside. Chewing on his lip, he stared at you for a moment before opening his mouth. "You knew it'd be like this."

You looked at him and he was right. You knew it. Everyone had told you to stay away from him because it would only leave your heart broken. But you continued. Not because you thought you were any different. But because in that moment at the florist, he had made you smile more than anyone had in weeks.

"Like what?" You softly asked, hands digging into the mattress by your side. "Like being treated like trash? God... am I that easy?"

"No–I..." Charles curled his lip at the connotations. You meant used... recycled... worthless. He sighed, pressing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Don't say it like that. That's not what I meant."

But in that moment, you both knew what he'd meant. By no account were you wrong. This is exactly what he had intended. The games, making you wait, the off and on interest... that was a relationship to Charles.

You had both willing entered a flaming house. And now, it was all burning down.

"Okay. I've had enough for tonight," you breathed, letting out a exhausted sigh. This along with the flight was killing you. "Are there extra blankets and pillows in the cupboard?"

Charles cleared his throat, nodding. "Yeah, why? Are you cold?"

You shook your head. "I.. I'll sleep on the sofa tonight."

His face fell at your admission. You didn't want to be near him. "No," he shook his head, walking to your before he knelt before you. He held your hands with his. "Come on... chérie, come to bed."

You looked away from those alluring eyes. "Charles," you started but were only met with more refusal.

"It's okay that you're mad but please don't do that. I hate when you do it. Just... just put a pillow between us okay? Please?" Charles queried, tilting his head, patiently waiting for your answer.

You sighed, shoulders slumping. Every fibre of you was screaming to say no. Your eyes were burning like they desperately wanted to cry. But your heart was telling you yes. And your heart always got what it wanted. "Okay," you murmured.

Charles sighed in relief, gripping your hands tightly. He leaned towards you before pausing. He raked his eyes over your face and hesitantly pressing a kiss to your head. "Let's go to bed, chérie."

━━━━━━━━━━━

"Hey," Carlos greeted Charles as all the drivers came out of the drivers' briefing.

Charles smiled, raising his eyebrows in acknowledgement. "What's up?"

The both of them walked through the corridor, throwing smiles here and there to all the staff. Carlos mulled over his words. "I was just wondering if ___ will be at any of the races? Rebecca's trying to get in contact with her for a dinner but she can't seem to get ahold of her."

Carlos could see Charles' facial expressions drop slightly. "Uh.. I'll try and ask her. She's very busy right now."

The Spanish driver stayed silent, eyeing his friend carefully. Carlos knew Charles well enough by now. The years he had spent with him as his teammate had only brought him closer to the truth of the Monegasque's relationships.

Carlos was wary the moment he had first seen you enter the paddock. Your bright eyes tracking all of Charles' moments like he was some sort of God.

Charles had brought you up in their conversations prior. Talking about how pretty you were, your job, how smart you were, your charisma... it was nonstop.

Carlos thought that maybe, just maybe, his friend had found a permanent relationship.

But then it had all gone quiet. Charles had stopped talking about you days after Melbourne, silent whenever anyone mentioned you and you had stopped attending the races.

"She's not talking to you... is she?" Carlos deducted, fear creeping into his mind.

Charles sighed, nodding his head. "I haven't heard from her for weeks since Bahrain. I text her and she won't even read them," he exasperated, running a hand through his hair. "Maman says she hasn't seen her around in Monaco. I'm just so worried."

"You don't treat her like you're worried."

Charles snapped his head to Carlos, furrowed his brows. "What?"

"If you actually cared about her, you would've never treated her like this. Like shit. I'm mean you cheated on her for Christ's sake," Carlos murmured.

Charles rubbed his hands over his face, letting his words sink in. And in an instant, the guilt crashed into him unexpectedly like a slap in the face.

He could remember the first few months of your relationship. They were mostly happy memories. Charles remembered thinking you were unlike anyone had ever met. Unafraid to tell him things as how they were. A smile that healed others. He'd come to his apartment some days and thanked God you were still there, waiting for him.

You flirted with a caution he had never seen before. And he had intentionally broken it.

And now... you smiled less. You talked less. You were gone.

You had escaped the burning house.

And now all he had around him were ashes.

#mickyschumacher #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 smut #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic

119 notes · View notes

mintyys-blog · 1 day ago

Note

Hi!! This is my first time requesting in your blog and I saw one post that being specific with the request helps you to write it better. This is more of a personal experience but main+variants reactions to accidentally find out that the tomboy best friend they have been trying to date for months has a very curvy body (big boobs-big butt) but she hides her body with baggy and ugly clothes because, in the past, each time she wanted to wear something cute that she loved the people would look at her and whisper horrible things like "attention wh*re" or "s*lt". Sorry if this one is uncomfy to write or something! Hope you have a nice day!

HEADCANONS | variants with tomboy best friend or s/o who is curvy but hides it

invincible masterlist

warnings ; body insecurity, getting walked in on while getting changed, mentioned bullying

MAIN MARK

You’d only meant to try on the jeans.

That was the plan. Just see if they still fit, maybe pair them with something new if you were feeling bold. You weren’t expecting to get stuck in front of the mirror in just your bra—hesitating. Second-guessing. Staring at the parts of your body you still hadn’t made peace with.

Then the door creaked open.

“Hey, I brought food—”

Mark’s voice cut off.

You spun around in slow-motion horror. There he stood, in the doorway, holding a crumpled takeout bag like his soul had left his body. His eyes widened, then darted away so fast he almost gave himself whiplash.

“OH MY GOD—I’M SO SORRY—”

He turned around, shielding his eyes. “I knocked! I thought you were in the kitchen! I didn’t see anything! I MEAN I DID, but I DIDN’T MEAN TO—”

You dove for your hoodie, heart racing as you yanked it on.

“Mark! What the hell!”

“I swear to God I didn’t know! I wasn’t trying to—that!”

You paused when you saw how red his ears were. Face flushed, hands up like he was surrendering to the authorities.

“I wasn’t expecting visitors,” you muttered, trying to smother your embarrassment with sarcasm.

He turned back around slowly, checking first like you were a landmine that might explode again. When his eyes met yours, he was completely serious.

“You looked…” He stopped. Swallowed. “Wow.”

You gave him a look. “Don’t.”

“No, I mean it,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to make it weird, I swear. It’s just… I didn’t know you—”

He gestured vaguely at your whole body. “That.”

You snorted. “What, that I have boobs and an ass? Real shocking.”

“That’s not—no, I mean—it’s not just that,” he said, tripping over his words. “You looked—confident. Even for just a second. Before you covered up.”

You hesitated. That hit deeper than it should have.

“I used to like clothes like that,” you admitted. “Fitted stuff. Cropped stuff. Bras that weren’t just plain beige garbage. But every time I tried to wear anything remotely cute, someone would look at me like I’d just committed a crime.”

Mark’s smile faded. His shoulders tensed.

“People called me stuff. ‘Slut,’ ‘trying too hard,’ ‘just wants attention.’ It got to a point where it wasn’t worth it anymore. So I stopped.”

There was a long silence.

Then, quietly, Mark stepped in and set the food on your desk. His voice was low. Steady.

“Those people were assholes.”

You looked away.

“No, I’m serious,” he said. “They saw you existing—looking good, being confident—and they decided to punish you for it. That’s not your fault.”

You didn’t answer right away. But your hands tugged at the sleeves of your hoodie, like you weren’t sure if you wanted to hide or be held.

Mark stepped closer, more careful this time.

“I’ve liked you for a long time,” he said. “Before any of this. Before today. And if you never wanted to wear anything tight or revealing again, I’d still think you’re the hottest person in any room. But if you ever do want to show off—because you want to, not because someone said you should—I’ll be the guy staring with hearts in his eyes and threatening to fight anyone who looks at you sideways.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

He smiled. “Absolutely. I will start throwing hands at brunch.”

Your lip twitched. “Even if someone just glances?”

“I will glare at grandmas.”

You laughed. And somewhere in that laugh, the shame started to slip off your skin like an old coat. Because he hadn’t made it about your body. He made it about you.

MOHAWK MARK

The wine stain started at your chest and slid downward like a crime scene.

You barely made it two feet into the guest room before stripping the ruined dress off and tossing it into the sink. The fabric was thin, slippery, the stain so deep it looked like blood. Just one drink. One dumb accident. One more reason you should’ve just stayed in your usual tomboy hoodie instead of trying to look like the kind of girl who fit into Mark’s world.

You were in the middle of blotting it out with a towel—barefoot, braless, teeth clenched in frustration—when the door behind you clicked open.

“Hey, you kinda ghosted on—oh.”

You froze. Your heart stopped. You turned, and there he was: Mark, in his black-and-blue uniform, mohawk slightly mussed, expression very interested. His eyes dropped. Then dragged up. Slowly. “Well,” he said, leaning against the doorframe like this was the best moment of his week. “This is a sight for sore eyes.”

You flinched, scrambling for a towel to cover your chest. “Seriously, Mark?! Knock much?”

He raised both brows. “I did. Twice. Then I thought maybe you fell in and needed rescuing, so I heroically barged in. You’re welcome, by the way.”

You glared at him, clutching the towel to your chest. “I was trying to clean it.”

“I see that.” His voice dropped a note. “And the view’s fantastic.”

You wanted to throw the towel at him. Or the ruined dress. Maybe both.

“I didn’t mean for you to see me like this,” you muttered.

“This?” He gestured lazily toward you, still leaning in the doorway with that annoying little smirk tugging at his mouth. “The underwear, or the whole ‘I have curves and forgot to tell Mark for six months’ thing?”

You stared at him. “Are you actually—flirting—right now?”

He grinned. “Not my fault you look like a secret goddess who cosplays as a couch on weekdays.”

That earned him a slap with the towel. He took it like a champ, even caught it when it slid off your hand.

“Damn,” he muttered, glancing down at the ruined dress. “You were killing it in this thing. What happened?”

You sighed. “Wine. Elbow. A very smug Viltrumite diplomat who was definitely not sorry.”

He stepped closer, holding your gaze now—not teasing, but curious. Still intense, still smug, but softer under the surface.

“Why’d you never wear stuff like that before?”

You hesitated. Your fingers curled at your sides.

“Because people talk,” you admitted. “When I wear things like that. I’ve heard it all—‘attention-seeking,’ ‘trying too hard,’ ‘must be desperate.’ It’s easier to just cover up. Baggy stuff, boring colors, no one looks too long.”

Mark’s face shifted—not angry, but sharp. Focused. Like the part of him that could tear a person in half without blinking just quietly filed away every insult ever thrown at you.

“They looked,” you added, bitterly, “but not in a nice way.”

His eyes dropped again—this time to your body, still mostly bare—but the look in them wasn’t gross or mocking. It was reverent. Like he was piecing something together.

“So you thought if you dressed down, no one would stare.”

You nodded.

He hummed. “Too bad. Because if you’d worn stuff like this from day one, I would’ve ditched diplomacy way sooner.”

Your jaw dropped. “Mark—!”

He grinned, stepping close enough that you had to tilt your head up. One hand lifted, fingers brushing your jaw. Gentle. Grounding.

“I’m serious,” he said. “You’ve been hiding this from me. All of this. The body, the blush, the way you look when you’re flustered and half-dressed in a random spare room? Kinda unfair, honestly.”

You swallowed. “You’re not… weirded out?”

“Babe.” His grin softened, voice turning low. “I’ve literally crushed a guy’s skull for insulting someone weaker than him. You think I’m gonna side-eye you for being hot and traumatized?”

You laughed—half disbelief, half breathless. Mark leaned down, his lips against your ear. “Next time,” he murmured, “wear something like this on purpose. For me. I promise I’ll appreciate it way more than those stuck-up bastards out there.” Your skin prickled. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Hell, I’ll start a war over it if someone so much as frowns in your direction.”

You bit your lip. “…Even if I go with lace next time?” His eyes darkened. “Now you’re really testing my diplomacy.”

SINISTER MARK

The laughter downstairs turned sour the moment the wine hit your chest. Someone brushed past too fast, too careless—your glass slipped, shattered against your stomach, and red bloomed down the front of your dress like a wound. You felt it before you saw it. Heard the whispers as you turned, face flushed, hands shaking.

“Of course she wore that.”

“Desperate.”

“Look at her—who is she trying to impress?”

You didn’t wait for Mark. You slipped away—out of the main hall, through corridors you didn’t recognize, into the safety of some guest bedroom where you could strip the stained dress off and blot it under trembling hands.

Now, barefoot, in your bra and underwear, you stood at the sink scrubbing at wine like it was blood. Your heart hammered. Your stomach turned. You wanted to be invisible again. Back in hoodies, back in jeans, back in safety. You didn’t hear the door open. But you felt the shift. You turned, and he was there.

Mark. Not smiling— Not mocking. Mark didn’t do small talk or casual glances. He looked at you like he was reading every thought you’d ever had. Like he was already five steps ahead of the situation.

But now?

He just… stared.

Unmoving. Unblinking. His black-and-blue suit hugged every inch of him like a second skin. He looked powerful, perfect, in control. But his eyes— They burned. You instinctively moved to cover yourself, but his voice stopped you cold.

“Don’t.” It wasn’t a command. It was a quiet plea. An ache. You dropped your hands, pulse still racing. “I—I didn’t mean for you to see me like this.” Mark stepped into the room and shut the door behind him with a soft click. “Why not?”

You hesitated. “Because this isn’t how I’m supposed to be seen.”

“Says who?”

“The people downstairs. Everyone, always. Every time I try to wear something nice, it’s like I’m asking for judgment. For labels. Slut. Attention-seeker. I get stared at like I did something wrong just by existing in the wrong outfit.”

His expression didn’t change, but the air around him shifted. He was still. Too still.

Then, finally, he moved toward you.

You stayed frozen, like prey watching the predator close in—but he didn’t touch you.

He stood close enough for you to feel the heat coming off him. His gaze dropped again—to your body, barely covered—and lingered there for one long, unbearable moment.

Then:

“So this is what you’ve been hiding from me.” His voice was low. Unsettlingly soft. Like he couldn’t decide if he was angry or in awe.

“I wasn’t hiding,” you whispered, “I was—protecting myself.” His head tilted, eyes flicking to yours. “From who?” You didn’t answer.

He reached out—not roughly, but with a calculated slowness—and took the ruined dress from your hands. He held it up, examining the stain, then let it fall to the floor like it was garbage. “You don’t need this,” he murmured. “You never did.” You swallowed. “You don’t get it, Mark. I don’t wear stuff like that because it brings out the worst in people.”

“No,” he said. “It reveals the truth.” You looked up at him. His eyes were fire. Controlled. Contained. But not cold. “You were never meant to hide,” he said. “Not from me. Not from them. You’re the only thing in that room worth looking at. And if they can’t handle it? They don’t deserve to look at all.” Something trembled in your chest. “And what if I’m not ready to be seen like that?” you asked, voice thin. “What if I’m scared?”

He leaned in, lips barely brushing your ear. “Then let me look. Until you’re not.” His hand skimmed your bare shoulder. Reverent. Worshipful. Dangerous. “I don’t want anyone else to see,” he said softly. “But me? I’ll never look away.”

OMNI MARK

The dress was tight. Too tight, maybe. It hugged your curves in ways you weren’t used to showing. The neckline dipped lower than your comfort zone usually allowed, and the slit in the side revealed a flash of thigh every time you moved.

But when you first saw yourself in the mirror? You liked it. You looked strong. Beautiful. Bold. You were proud of yourself—for once. Until the room turned. Until the whispers started. You caught the looks. Women narrowing their eyes. Men nudging each other. The words you couldn’t hear were worse than the ones you could.

“Trying too hard.”

“Look at her. She knows what she’s doing.”

“Must be sleeping with someone to be here.”

You laughed it off at first. Brushed it aside. But after a while, your smile got tighter. Your posture changed. Your arms folded in, hands tugging the hem lower. You stopped meeting people’s eyes. You started to shrink. He saw it.

Across the gathering—Mark stood like a monolith. Unmoving. Untouchable. Just power. But when he saw you falter, something in him snapped. He didn’t storm across the room. He appeared. One second there, the next in front of you. “You’re uncomfortable,” he said—low and certain. You flinched. “No, I’m fine, I just—”

“Don’t lie to me.” Your mouth parted. He wasn’t angry at you. But his tone left no room for masks. He glanced around once. Slow. Measuring. Calculating. You didn’t have to tell him who said what. He already knew.

Mark’s hand rose, fingers brushing your jaw—then dragging lightly, purposefully, down your collarbone. Over the curve of your shoulder. His thumb rested at the edge of your neckline. “You chose this,” he said. “You looked at yourself. And you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That you’re stunning.” You swallowed. “Maybe I overdid it.”

He leaned closer—his voice just for you. “No. They just understand that they don’t measure up. And they hate you for reminding them.”

Your breath caught. His fingers slid down your arm, grounding you. He didn’t smile. Not really. But his gaze was fierce. Possessive. Almost worshipful. “You never lower your eyes for insects,” he said.

You blinked. Mark stepped behind you, hands firm at your waist, posture straight. His presence loomed, undeniable. Every head in the room turned—because they could feel it. Him. You. The silent gravity between you. “They want to look?” he murmured against your ear. “Then let them see who you belong to.”

VILTRUMITE MARK

You’d stared at the outfit for twenty minutes.

It wasn’t scandalous—just fitted, flattering. It hugged your waist, showed some cleavage, accentuated your curves in a way that made you feel like the strongest version of yourself. You looked in the mirror and thought: maybe today, I’ll let myself be seen. So you wore it. And for a while… it felt good. Until you arrived. Until the looks started. Not the ones from strangers. Those you expected.

No—it was the ones from people you knew. Allies. Team members. People who were all too happy to accept you in shapeless clothes and background roles… now eyeing you like you’d committed a crime.

“Did you see what she’s wearing?”

“She’s never dressed like that before.”

“Thirst trap behavior, honestly.”

The words cut deeper because they were meant to. Quiet enough to be deniable. Loud enough to be felt. You smiled less. Pulled your arms over your stomach. Stopped laughing. And then you looked up—and saw Mark watching you from across the room. He wasn’t blinking. In the next second, he was at your side.

“You’re uncomfortable,” he said—softly. Not accusing. Just… noticing. You gave a forced smile. “No, I’m okay. I think I overestimated what I could handle.”

Mark looked at you for a long moment. Then, he said simply: “…You look beautiful.” You laughed under your breath, eyes darting down. “Don’t say that just to make me feel better.”

“I’m not,” he said flatly. “I’m saying it because it’s true. And because you’re clearly starting to forget.” Your breath hitched.

He stepped closer, his voice low and even. “I’ve flown across galaxies. I’ve seen species with skin like fire, wings made of plasma, voices that ripple time. And I have never once,” he said, “seen anyone who made me want to come home the way you do when you walk into a room.”

You looked up at him. Your throat tightened. His eyes dropped to your outfit. He admired it, but he wasn’t leering. He wasn’t claiming. He looked at you like a man who couldn’t believe someone this powerful could be afraid to take up space.

Then: “You wore something that made you feel strong,” he said. “And now you’re trying to make yourself small again because people couldn’t handle it.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. “Don’t let cowards decide what you’re allowed to feel beautiful in.”

You whispered, “But what if I can’t ignore them?” He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His hand cupped your cheek. “Then let me remind you. As many times as it takes.”

His thumb brushed beneath your eye—catching the doubt before it spilled over. “You don’t have to earn the right to be seen,” he said. “You already exist. That’s enough.”

PRISONER MARK

You hadn’t seen him in almost four years. Not since the day he was taken—dragged off in chains, eyes bloodshot, jaw clenched. Not since Earth fell, piece by piece, under the Viltrumite regime.

Now, they were calling it a new age. A time of peace. You didn’t believe it. But you still showed up to the gathering.

You still stood in the far corner, clutching a glass you hadn’t sipped from, wearing a fitted dress that had made you feel powerful in your mirror at home. A little low in the chest. A little high in the leg. You didn’t wear things like this before. Not back when you were just the tomboy friend at his side. But things changed. You changed. Or at least, you thought you had. Until the stares came. Until the whispers returned like knives to the ribs.

“Trying too hard.”

“She wasn’t like that before.”

“No wonder he came back—look at her.”

And just like that… You started folding into yourself again. You were halfway to tugging your jacket closed when his shadow fell over you. You didn’t even hear him approach. But you felt him.

The air shifted when Mark walked into a room now. Quiet and dangerous, dressed in black from boots to collar, no cape, no symbols. Just presence. Years older. Eyes sharper. Shoulders heavier. And when he looked at you— God, he looked like the war never ended.

“…Take your hands off your waist.” You startled. “What?” His voice was low. Measured. A rasp that used to be smooth.

“You were about to cover yourself up,” he said. “Don’t.” You laughed—nervous, unsure. “Mark, it’s not a big deal, I—”

“You think I didn’t see it?” he asked, voice just above a whisper. “You walked in glowing. Smiling. Feeling strong. Then they saw you. And now your head’s down and you’re ready to disappear.”

You froze.

“I didn’t come back just to watch you shrink,” Mark said. There was no heat in his tone. Just cold, hard truth. You swallowed. “You’ve been gone a long time, Mark.”

“I know,” he murmured. “And in all that time, I never forgot the sound of your laugh. The way you lit up a room. And the way you always made yourself invisible when people didn’t know what to do with you.”

He stepped closer. “…I never wanted that for you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Then, softly: “I wanted to feel beautiful.”

“You are.”

You looked up. His expression didn’t flicker. Not with lust. Not with pity. Just reverence. “You wore that for yourself,” he said. “And they turned it into a weakness.”

You lowered your gaze again. “Don’t you dare let them win.” Your throat went tight.

Mark reached out—slowly, giving you the chance to stop him. His fingers brushed your bare arm, warm and real and here.

“You were the only soft thing left in me,” he said. “And I’ll burn this whole goddamn room down before I let anyone make you ashamed of that.”

You laughed then—just a little. His eyes lit up like it was the only thing he wanted.

65 notes · View notes

ldydeath · 7 hours ago

Text

I'm Still Waiting | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

Summary: You and Jiyong have always toed the line between friends and more than, but you can’t seem to take the plunge and actually be with him. So he waits. Word Count: 1.3k Warnings: Mentions of cheating (not by reader or Jiyong), some angst, some fluff Author’s Note: I wasn’t going to write anything this week but as I was looking through requests I stumbled across this one and the inspo hit hard. This is based on a Tate McRae song called Greenlight. Enjoy <3

When you first met Jiyong you’d both been in relationships, a tragedy really because there’d been instant sparks. You were both too good to ever act on it. You’d stayed friends over the years though. Rooting for each other and supporting each others successes in life.

Despite the sparks, you’d gotten engaged to someone else. You’d been with him for years, it just made sense. Besides, Jiyong was in a committed relationship too, and he seemed happy. Until one day he’d texted you that they’d broken up.

You’d been knee deep in wedding plans when you’d gotten the news and had rushed to his side. You’d supported him through his breakup. You never crossed that line though. No matter how much you wanted to. His heart was broken, and yours belonged to someone else.

Jiyong had smiled at your wedding, danced with you like a friend when he’d always wanted more. Was on good terms with your husband. He would love you from afar if that was all he was allowed to have.

But then the affair happened. Jiyong saw red. How could he cheat on you? Jiyong had shown up unannounced and punched him in the face. You’d followed him out, explained to him that couldn’t happen again. You loved him. You’d change for him if it meant he wouldn’t do it again.

Jiyong didn’t get it. He loved you. He would never take advantage of you like that, never cheat, never ask you to change. Why couldn’t you see how great you were? He just smiled and nodded though, let you go after what you wanted.

It happened again a few months later and you filed for divorce. Jiyong offered his home to you, but you declined. You couldn’t live with him. It wouldn’t be right. So he’d helped you move into an apartment down the street. And he hoped.

“I appreciate you helping me, Ji. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You hugged him as he sat the last box down in the kitchen.

“You never have to thank me. There’s no place else I’d ever be.” He grinned. “Should we get dinner?”

You nodded and he led you out of the house. Dinner was more flirty than it had ever been. Now that you were both single there was nothing stopping either of you. That spark from years ago was still there, not that it had ever faded. You heart longed for him. And so when he walked you home and leaned in for a kiss, you didn’t stop him. You kissed him back like you’d been craving him for years.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

“You think you’ll ever want to take that next step?”

It had been months of this game. Dinners, movie nights, kisses. But you hadn’t committed to him. Every time you thought it was about to happen you would chicken out.

“Yeah. I just, I’m not ready yet.” You shrugged, giving him an apologetic smile.

He nodded like he always did when you gave this answer. Jiyong didn’t understand why you couldn’t just jump in with him, but he would never pressure you. When you were ready, he’d be ready. He could wait.

Another month passed and Jiyong was officially going crazy. He’d done everything he could think of. Even wrote a song about you, his eyes on yours the entire time he sang it when he debuted it at a show. Taken you to all your favorite stops along his tour. You still weren’t ready. He was running out of ways to show you how much he loved you, how much happier he could make you than anyone else.

“Ji, you didn’t!” You practically jumped into his arm when he presented the tickets.

“Of course I did. They’re your favorite band, right?”

“Yes! Thank you, oh my god!” You squealed before leaning in to kiss his cheek. “I love you!” The words were out before you could take them back.

Jiyong stilled in your arms and you leaned back to look at him, wide eyed. He never thought front row to your favorite band would be what made you crack, but here you were.

“You do?” He was hopefully, almost too hopeful and you nodded.

“Yeah, but I’m not ready.” You sighed, pulling away from him.

“Why not?” You paused, turning to face him. This was off script, but you guessed you started that.

“We were together for a long time, Ji. He hurt me really bad. I’m not ready to get my heart broken again. And what if we don’t work out? I just lose my best friend? I can’t do that.”

“But what if we do work out?” He moved to stand by you, “I love you I would never do what he did. I think we could end up being something beautiful.”

You let out a sigh, it was too much. Your feelings for him had always been too much. You’d always known he’d loved you, but hearing it out loud was doing something to you.

“Ji, I don’t know.”

“Give me a chance.”

“I’m scared.”

“Me too.”

You almost caved, you almost said yes. You wanted to say yes. He was giving you everything you needed but you still couldn’t pull the trigger. As if reading your mind, Jiyong just nodded, a sad smile on his face.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

As time went on, Jiyong still tried. Not as hard as he used to, but he couldn’t help how he felt about you. The time you spent together was always the best, it made you feel alive in ways you hadn’t before. Made you wish you weren’t so afraid to let him be more than that.

And then one night, it finally happened. You’d been out for drinks and a girl had hit on him right in front of you. Jiyong being the shy guy he was had laughed it off but she’d been persistent. He’d bought her a drink, offered to let her hang out with you guys. She’d been flirty the whole night. You stayed in the car as Jiyong walked her to her doorstep, watched in agony as he placed a kiss on her cheek, smiled at her before she walked in her house.

“What was that?” He’d hardly made it back in the car before you were fuming.

“I was making sure she got home safe, it’s called being nice.” He shrugged.

“Jiyong, please. She was flirting with you all night.” You sighed leaning back in the seat.

“Was she?” His brows raised. “I didn’t realize.” He turned to face you.

“Yeah, well she was.” You folded your arms with a pout. “And You were flirting back.”

“I was not.” He snorted. “I told you I wouldn’t do that to you and I meant it. Believe me, I only have eyes for you no matter how painful it might be.”

“I’m sorry.” You sighed, looking at him. “I don’t know why I can’t just let myself be with you. I want to, I really do. I just…can’t.”

“Ever?”

“I hope not. But if you don’t want to wait for me, I get it.” You nudged him, “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“I’d wait for you forever.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. There was something about the vulnerability in his voice that made you want to jump off the deep end and finally give into this whole thing. You’d find a way to make it work, right?

You moved in closer, your lips brushing against his softly. His mouth moved against yours, his arms finding their way to you as he pulled you closer. You’d done this a million times but today it felt different. Like a promise instead of a no.

“We try.” You whispered as you pulled away, your forehead resting against his.

“We try.” He nodded, a small smile on his face.

He’d waited years for this, but he knew he needed to move slow if he didn’t want to lose you. He vowed to never make you feel the way your ex did, he’d protect your heart for the rest of his life. He’d already been doing it for all these years anyway.

tag list: @wcnderlnds @infinetlyforgotten @berfgrimm @aizshallnotbefound @loveesiren @gdinthehouseee @tulentiy @petersasteria @ttturnitup @flymetothexmoon @mashtatosworld @alosss-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi @mirahyun @breakmeoff @1950schick @sherrayyyyy @bettelaboure @allthoughtsmindfull

#g dragon x reader #kwon jiyong x reader #gdragon x reader #kwon ji yong x reader #bigbang x reader #g dragon #kwon jiyong #gdragon #kwon ji yong #my fics #isw

70 notes · View notes

fr4ctvredm1nd · 2 days ago

Text

Don't Drop the Soap

Tags: Switch reader, gender neutral reader, sub Soap, dom Ghost, sounding rods, cock and ball torture, unintentional exhibitionism, non-consentual vouyerism, implied polyamorous, implied bondage, oral, MLM.

You and Soap started off as friends. Just simple friends who would prank each other, cause chaos, disrupt the peace in the 141. So how you guys got to the point of casual sex with no attachments is beyond you or him. You've tried dating, but it wasn't for either of you. You work better as friends anyway. The labels and expectations that come with relationships just wasn't for you. That's how you got in this situation. That's how you got him on his knees in front of you while you wore his best friend's shirt, and mask. You always thought he was at least bisexual, but it wasn't until this night that it was confirmed, when he asked you specifically to wear Simon's shirt and mask.

"Eyes on me."

You commanded, your voice authoritive and demanding. His cock dripping with his excitement as the scent of Simon filled his nostrils. His eyes found yours as you stalked around him. Soap's arms were bound tightly behind his back because his insistant need cause him to disobey your order of not touching himself. Despite his face red and stinging from your many slaps, he still didn't listen. So you had to bound his arms.

You walked back to your place in front of him, tears running down his face from the undoubted ache in his cock. You knelt down and touched his cock, sending waves of pleasure through his body, but you weren't gentle. Gentle hands were for good boys. He didn't want to be good tonight.

"Please Si, please. I need it"

He begged, his voice barely above a whisper and needy. God that tone turned you on. He was needy for you, or well, for Simon. But you didn't care. You were happily filling that role for him. Your hand gripped his cock tightly as your thumb rubbed his tip, going through the precum that beaded up on his tip.

You pressed your thumb into his tip, getting him ready for what was to come. You see, Johnny had come to you with a new toy he wanted to try out on himself. You were hesitant at first, seeing as you had never done anything like that with anyone before, but after some extensive research, and Simon talking you through on himself, you reluctantly agreed.

You grabbed a nearby bottle of lube and dripped a bit on his tip, your thumb working to loosen his hole. Soap shuddered and thrusted into your hand, desperate for friction. He earned another slap to the face, causing him to bite his cheek.

"You alright there, Johnny?"

You asked, keeping your tone flat and dismissive, but with and edge of genuine concern. When the only answer you got from him was a breathy chuckle and crimson stained drool. You stood and placed your foot on his cock, pressing down.

"I asked you a question."

He whimpered, and let out a soft sob, his body trembling from the pain. He hadn't said his safe word yet, so you pressed harder. You felt the heat and stiffness from his cock beneath your heal.

"I-im good!"

He managed out after only a moment longer. You pulled away and knelt back down to his level, your hand grasping his cock like you would a stress ball, squeezing and pulling on it. Your lips curled into a sadistic smirk as you saw the blood rush, turning his flesh an angry purplish-red.

Soap sobbed more. Strings of pleas and begging strewn out along with it. You pulled your hand away only to bring it down on his cock with a deafening smack.

"Please! I can't take it anymore, Simon! Please be gentle with it, it hurts!"

He sobbed out, his eyes glued to your eyes behind the mask, earning him a dark chuckle from you. He didn't feel it, but you did. You stole a quick glance back at his bedroom door which you knew you had closed. You gave a short nod towards the door as you retrieved a small bundle of rope and a black case.

Simon was watching through the crack in the door, his gaze glued on the sobbing and begging man who still knelt at your feet. From the corner of your eye, you saw his hand moving slowly below the belt. He was getting off on watching Soap and you.

You silently thanked him with the nod, knowing he'd be there in case something went wrong. You walked around to Soap's front and knelt on the ground, laying out the items you had gathered. You opened the case in front of him and selected the smallest rod from the set, putting the rest aside.

You poured some lube into your palm and rubbed the rod through it, coating it throughoughly, before pouring the rest on his rock hard length. You rubbed the rod along his flesh, teasing him and getting him used to the feeling. His eyes were glued to your movements, which you allowed. He needed to see what was happening with this all new territory for the both of you.

After a moment, you pressed the tip against his slit, dripping more lube over the top before slipping it inside slowly. He shuddered, his muscles tensing and his breath quickening. Your movements were slow, painfully slow, but you knew what to feel for. You pulled it back out and dripped even more lube before pressing it in a little deeper.

Each time you withdrew the rod and pressed it further in, you watched his face for any subtle cues of pain. Eventually, the rod was fully seated inside him. His cock twitched angrily and was harder than you've ever seen it before. He loved this. You stole a glance back at Simon, who had now moved closer to the door. He gave you a small nod, and you focused on Soap once more. You stroked his hardened cock slowly, feeling the way the rod sat inside.

"F-fu- Ahh~"

Was all Soap could manage. You chuckled lowly again, wiping your lube-soaked hands on a dry rag before grabble the bundle of rope. You gripped his scrotum in a painful vice-like grip and synched the rope tight around it. You weaved the rope around the whole thing a few times, making sure it was tight, before splitting his balls down the middle and tucking the stray ends securely.

You gave the bruising sack a quick slap and chuckled at the way he jumped. Your hand found it's way to his length and strokes it some more, keeping your thumb over the top of the rod to hold it in place.

"Talk to me, pretty boy. Use those big boy words."

You purred out into his ear. You both wanted to hear more noises, and wanted to hear his thoughts. It was crucial.

"Ahh~~ S-so good. I-i-im so close... Already, Si."

This surprised you, if only for a moment. You knew he was enjoying this, but you didn't know it was that much. You pulled your hand away, wanting to prolong this for as long as possible, earning a whine of protest which was quickly silenced as you moved the sounding rod up and down. You essentially fucked his most personal area, and he was totally drooling over it.

Pools of drool were beginning to form underneath him, his legs and chest already soaked from it. Soap was going dumb from the stimulation. You pressed it back in, your hand starting its movements on him once more.

"Please Si! Please! Let me cum, please! I'll be a good boy, I'll be so good! Please just let me cum!"

He begged, but before you could answer, Simon stepped forward. When he got into the room was beyond you, but he was stripped of his clothes, leaving him bare apart from his mask. Johnny's eyes widened at seeing Simon in front of him.

Simon stepped in front of you and shoved his cock down the man's throat, his movements slow and calculated. You didn't cease your movements, your hand still stroking his cock while Simon fucked his throat.

"That's a good fuck toy. Take it all, I know you can."

Simon's gruff voice praised and encouraged. It wasn't even directed at you and you were squeezing your thighs together. You bit your lip, watching the two of them go at it, completely distracted until you felt Johnny's cock twitch in your hand.

You looked down to see the sounding rod being pushed out with his release. You scoff and force it back in, his cum squeezing out around the top and dripping down his length. Your mouth immediately took him in and suckled hungrily, trying to relieve some pressure.

Soap let out a strangled moan which was cut off from Simon's cock. The man pulled away, giving Johnny a chance to catch his breath. Simon's eyes were now glued on you as you suckled on Johnny's cock, the sounding rod moving in and out with every flick of your tongue and suction of your cheeks.

Johnny came again without warning, the rod shooting out into your mouth. Your froze and pulled back, taking the rod with you. You pulled it from your mouth as Johnny's release dripped down your chin. His entire body was shaking and shuddering, his eyes rolled back into his head. He was over stimulated.

Simon grabbed your head and slammed his cock down your throat, grunting as he set a grueling pace. You tried not to gag at the intrusion, your eyes locked on his. You still wore his mask, and in a way, it felt incredibly taboo. Simon was basically fucking himself. Fucking egotistical cuck.

"You broken, Johnny?"

His voice came out in grunts as he watched the other still shuddering and kneeling beside them. Soap managed a slow nod as his eyes began to focus on the scene in front of him. Simon's grip on your head tightened as he slammed his hips into your face, his scrotum hitting your chin. You could feel how tight they were, he was close.

You screwed your eyes closed as he slammed into you one last time, feeling the molten seed ooze into your stomach. You had never been the one to enjoy the taste, it had never been your thing, but they understood that and found ways to work around that. Only after Simon knew for sure that his cum was drained, did he pulled away, leaving your tear stained face alone as he bent to untie Johnny.

You took a moment to catch your breath, your head spinning from the assault, before untying Soap's scrotum and discarding the rope to the side. As you walked the used toys and materials to the bathroom to be cleaned, your eyes caught movement at the still open door. You didn't immediately register it, but when you did you could have almost sworn you saw Price standing there in the doorway.

When you went back out to check, the door was closed and it was only you three alone. Simon was already cleaning Johnny up by the time you returned, having moved him into the bed. You laid down beside Soap, pulling his head into your lap and playing with his hair to help ground him.

Johnny hummed at the feeling, and looked up at you with a cum-drunk smile on his lips. You pulled Simon's mask off to reveal your own smile.

"How are you feeling, lovely boy?"

"Mm... Good... Really, really good."

You look to Simon, who was now crawling into bed with you both. You hadn't gotten to truly enjoy yourself, and a part of you ached because of it, but you didn't mind too much. This scene was meant for Johnny. Besides, you never truly needed sexual pleasure to feel fulfilled. Seeing Johnny cum drunk was fulfilment enough.

"I think we're all going to have a nice long chat with the Captain tomorrow morning."

Simon spoke up. You froze, as this one sentence had confirmed what you thought was just a mind trick. You let out a sigh and leaned your head against Simon's arm. Soap was already passed out, poor thing, but you were well on your way that way too. Simon threw and arm around you as he slipped his mask off and laid it beside yours.

#cod smut #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #ghost cod #soap cod #simon riley #john mactavish #soap x reader #ghost x reader #ghost smut #soap smut

61 notes · View notes

wrathofrats · 5 hours ago

Text

Mushy May Day 20: big spoon/little spoon

Dew/phantom Sfw with some nsfw jokes, 800 words, prompts by @forlorn-crows !

Read under the cut or find all my mushy mays on ao3!

Dew opens the hotel door to find one bed, much to his dismay. Phantom has no problem with this

Or dew doesn’t like phantom, and rather sleep in the cuck chair.

"Oh copia is fucking dead when I catch him" dew froze in the doorway, staring at the singular bed in the middle of the room as if he could make it spontaneously combust, or somehow split by mitosis. Phantom peered over his shoulder, craning his neck to try and see what the issue is. he muttered a couple questions that dew entirely ignored, rubbing his face with his hands before grabbing his bag.

He threw it on the cuck chair as they so lovingly called it, studying it to see if maybe it was worth anything to sleep in. Though the scratchy, almost plastic feeling green upholstery was telling him that the answer was probably not. Though, he could make phantom sleep in it with enough bitching.

But, that would be cruel. Even for dew.

It wasn't even that fact that it was just one bed, if it was one king sized bed then dew could deal with that. But no, it was a full. Only a little bigger than a twin which is honestly cruel and dew doesn't even know how copia found a place like this.

He opened his phone and shot off a quick text to rain asking about their room situation. Maybe if he's lucky he and mountain got two beds and would be willing to cuddle. Those freaks are into that anyways, and dew could have a bed all to himself.

Sorry dew, only one for us. Besides, mountain has other plans for me tonight ;)

Asshole.

Phantom had no problem settling in. Already laying against the pillows tapping away on his phone. Probably playing that stupid merge game he saw from an instagram ad. Something's wrong with this kid, where copia even find these things?

It wasn't even that dew necessarily hated phantom himself, though a strong annoyance may be a better term for it. Dew just wanted his own space, or his own space with someone he was comfortable with. Not the new summon that had too much pep in his step and he rarely chose to interact with beyond accidentally catching him sucking Swiss' dick backstage one too many times.

Though maybe rain had the right idea. Maybe he could make the kid give him a quick blowjob and then make him sleep on the floor. Bdsm or something- god knows dew had to sleep in a cage once. Fuck aether and whatever weird shit he's on.

"You ok?" Phantom finally cocked his head at him. Dew must have been staring at lot longer than he thought. "Should be enough room for you. Was thinking about heading to sleep pretty soon, long show tonight"

Phantom had scooted to the edge of one side of the bed, practically hanging off of it. He patted the other, pulling up the covers to make room for dew. He looked, happy almost? Like he was excited for some reason to share a bed with him. Even if the kid was annoying at least he was sweet, though that didn't make dew move any faster. He gave another longing look to the cuck chair before sighing and flopping down.

"You stay on your side though. Don't touch me, Swiss says you kick in your sleep"

"I only kick Swiss because he kicks first"

Even with the warning it was almost impossible to not be touching each other considering how small the bed was. They'd both need to be laying on their side, flat as a board in order to achieve that. Unrealistic- borderline impossible much to dews dismay. It was also freezing which didn't help. Usually dew didn't care if it was cold, he could just grab the ghoul next time him and they could warm up in other ways. It was still an option. He could still make phantom sleep on the floor.

Dew sighed. He wasn't that cruel. And the poor thing was clearly shivering but trying not to bother dew. At least he had manners.

"Come here" dew finally rolled his eyes and turned over to face phantom.

"What? Why?"

"Your shaking is bothering me. I know you're cold" dew wrapped an arm around his chest and dragged him in, immediately using his element to warm him up. Phantom made a noise of protest that quickly died out as the warmth hit him, almost impossibly cozy. "Now shut up and sleep, and don't mention this ever again"

Dew nuzzled his face into phantoms hair. He forgot he was actually bigger than him, though he admitted he was nice to hold onto, at least he wasn't freezing cold like rain usually was. Phantom gave a stupid giggle and closed his eyes, grabbing dews hand to warm his up as well.

"So you're saying we can't room together again next time?"

"Nope."

#I was giggling writing this #another fic where wrath is just yapping #mushy may 2025 #mushy may #the band ghost #ghost #nameless ghouls #ghost bc #dewdrop ghoul #phantom ghoul #wrath writes

37 notes · View notes

mirhashi · 1 day ago

Text

SEAS UNFORTUNATE SOUL

chapter 3

It’s been weeks since Poseidon made Odysseus his servant. Odysseus was treated like some punching bag for the stupid god. Eleni helped him with cleaning his wounds, but most of the time Poseidon forced Odysseus to just bleed there. Each day he had a new scar on his body, a new pain to think about.

The past week had been different, though. Poseidon hasn’t been as aggressive as he usually is; he has been more calm. Odysseus was walking through the palace after he had grabbed some food to serve to the lord. His tunic was changed; Poseidon, for some reason, had a change of heart and gave him new clothing.

The tunic was soft, made of fabric that only the gods would be seen wearing. It was a deep blue color, and it hung from his waist most of the time, though he was able to wrap it around his shoulder.

He came into the room where Poseidon's throne was, and he knelt down. There was another throne there, most likely for the sea queen, but Odysseus only saw her once or twice. Poseidon looked at Odysseus. He stood, walking over to him, reaching out a clawed, webbed hand. Odysseus flinched, but all Poseidon did was take the grapes and walk out of the room. Odysseus looked at where he walked, shocked.

That was a first. Eleni walked in. “No blood this time?” She asked, moving over to help Odysseus stand, “I’m shocked he gave you one of his tunics,” she said, dusting off the tunic. “This is his!” He asked, shocked, “Yeah, what do you think? He provides clothing this good to servants?” She chuckled, “So that’s why it’s a bit big…” He whispered, looking down.

He was walking through the hall with a basket of blankets that the other servants cleaned. He saw Poseidon helping what seemed to be a young merfolk; he was teaching him something that, from Odysseus's view, couldn’t be determined. He shook his head and kept walking.

He made it to the room and sat down, helping the other servants. “It’s been two days, and I haven’t seen you covered in blood—new record!” Eleni smiled. “It’s not covered in blood, just a few scratches,” Odysseus said, shaking his head. “Whatever you say,” she shrugged. He helped her clean and do her tasks.

After the day slowly finished, he walked back to the cell that he called his room. It was uncomfortable, but he still didn’t trust sleeping with females, and the room that he could sleep in was full of female servants. He sat on the cold floor. He didn’t have new scars today, so that was a good thing. He lay on the hard stone floor, closing his eyes.

He started to hear the screams again… “Captain, captain! Why would the cyclops live when Ruth—” The voices were cut off when someone grabbed Ody, pulling him against their chest as they lay next to him. His eyes shot open, expecting to see a servant. “Poseidon?!” He tried to sit up, but Poseidon's grip on him was strong. “Shut up and lay down,” he whispered. Odysseus seemed hesitant but slowly lay next to him. The voices didn’t come back.

When he woke up, he wasn’t in the cell. He sat up quickly. He was in a bed. He looked around. The blankets and pillows were made out of expensive materials, and the decorations around the room looked expensive.

He quickly almost got out of bed. “Calm down, I put you there.” Poseidon called out, entering the room. “Why…?” Odysseus asked, scooting away, “You were sleeping on the cold floor; I decided to change that.” Poseidon shrugged. “Why would you let a mortal you despise sleep in your bed?” Odysseus asked hesitantly.

Poseidon looked to the side in thought. “That is something I can’t answer,” he said, shaking his head. Odysseus stared at him suspiciously. “Well, I have to go to Mt. Olympus, so, uhm, don’t blind anyone while I’m gone.” Poseidon said, walking out of the room.

Odysseus looked shocked. Did the god of seas try to make a joke? If so, it was horrible. He slowly got out of the god's bed. He looked at the room. Why would a god let a mortal that he intended on killing sleep in his bed?

He walked out of the room. He walked down the hall before he ran into Eleni. “There you are!” She said, smiling, “I went to wake you, but you weren’t in the cell. I’m glad you decided to sleep somewhere else!” She laughed, “Well, the thing is I didn’t choose. I kinda uhm, woke up, and I was in the lord’s bed…” Odysseus whispered nervously. Eleni looked shocked. “What?! No way! He let you sleep in his bed!” She smiled. “Wow, that’s insane to think about.”

They both walked down the hall. “Well, at least that means you got the lord starting to like you!” Eleni smiled. “Yea, after almost bleeding out how many times?” Odysseus whispered, his finger running over claw marks on his chest. “Hey, at least things will get better,” she smiled at him.

It’s been a week, and to say the least, things have been somewhat getting better. Poseidon didn’t show much aggression toward Odysseus now; unless he’s drunk, then there will be blood. But that was rare now. Poseidon gave Odysseus his own room, and even if it was an old room, Odysseus was grateful that Poseidon understood his fear, shockingly.

Poseidon was walking around Mt. Olympus when he ran into his brother, Zeus. “There you are. I was looking for you,” Poseidon said, walking over to his younger brother. Zeus looked at him suspiciously. “Ok, what do you want? You’re never looking for me; if anything, I have to look for you.” Zeus said, crossing his arms.

“Just a question, you know, uhm, you had your affairs with mortals.” Poseidon started off. Zeus looked annoyed that he brought up his affairs. “Uhm, how do you take care of a mortal’s hair that is kind of like your texture, just not...cloudy?” Poseidon asked, “Ok, first off, I don’t really stay long enough to figure out how to; second off, leave my cloud hair alone.” Zeus said, crossing his arms.

“If I wanted to, it could be real hair, and why are you asking? Does my brother have a mortal with my type of hair? Zeus asked curiously, “Oh, please do tell.” Zeus smiled. “So you can seduce him? No.” Poseidon sneered, “Oh, it’s him? Interesting.” Zeus had a thoughtful look.

He saw his brothers look and laughed. “I’m joking,” Zeus laughed. “You know if you can’t help me, I’ll find someone who can.” Poseidon said, turning to leave, “You know, since you’re not a professional at taking care of hair,” he said, waving his hand. “WOAH! I’m very professional. I take care of my hair better than anyone!” That was a lie. “Fine!” Zeus groaned in defeat.

Odysseus winced in pain. “When’s the last time you washed your hair?!” Poseidon asked, shocked and annoyed, “Here, let me think. I’ve been at sea for years, then imprisoned for seven years, forced to let a woman I hated do my hair, and then, before I could get home to my brush and wife, you enslaved me, so I don’t know.” Odysseus said, groaning in annoyance, “You could have just said a while.” Poseidon said, finally getting the tangle out of the king’s hair.

Eleni walked around before running into Odysseus; he looked clean, and his hair was in a braid. “Woah, what happened to you! Finally got a bath?” She teased. Odysseus looked at her with an annoyed look. “Poseidon happened,” he sneered. “Hey, look at that, you two are bonding,” Eleni smiled. “Oh, please, he just didn’t want one of his servants walking around looking like a rat,” Odysseus said, shaking his head. “Whatever makes you happy,” Eleni laughed.

#epic the musical #epic poseidon #epic odysseus #odyseidon #epic the musical zeus #fanfic

31 notes · View notes

written-in-flowers · 3 days ago

Text

Shackled For Life: Caleb x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Caleb x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6k

Genre: Smut, angst, maybe fluff?

Summary: A woman's wedding day is meant to be full of joy and merriment. You could only feel dread and fear. On your wedding night, Caleb surprises you in multiple ways.

Tags: virgin!reader, inexperienced!reader, experienced!Caleb, forced marriage, extortion, implied/reference abuse on both sides, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, breast play, body worship, slight choking, pet names (sweetheart, darling, honey mostly), vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, creampie, softdom!caleb, dirty talk, longing/yearning, naked female-clothed male.

A/N: This is a prequel to this fic right here it's not really necessary to read it, but it's there.

****

The point of no return has already passed. There was no way of backing out now. After today, you would be Mrs. YN Sykes, and you needed to accept that.

In the mirror, you saw yourself in a long white dress. Small pearls sewn into the intricate lace, you anxiously traced the floral patterns on your skirt. Lucy and you spent ages altering your mother's old dress. There’d been no money for fabric to make a new one, but you were roughly your mother’s size. You remembered standing in front of the mirror, watching Lucy alter it with pins as you held back tears. The dread of this day kept you feeling sick and ashamed. The fact that it’d all come down to this: marry Caleb Sykes or face poverty. Now, the day finally came and you thought of running.

“I’m sorry, YN.”

Your sister stood behind you, fixing the old veil clipped to your hair. Mama Sykes loaned you her floral veil, a wooden headband with a long train that went to your waist. It felt more like a shroud than a veil. Lucy came up beside you. She wasn’t a full blooded sister, in truth. Her mother was your father’s first wife; you came from his second. Yet, blood meant nothing compared to the bond you shared. Lucy’s mother had been like your own, since she came early into your life. When she passed, Lucy became your guide, your protector and dearest friend. She’d often been the one who stood between you and Caleb when your father wasn’t around. Truly, only your father’s presence kept him from doing anything particularly nasty to you.

Caleb might’ve been a Sykes, but he knew better than to cross Herman Wiltkins.

“It’s not your fault,” you consoled her. “It’s mine.”

“How could it possibly be your fault?”

“I gave into him,” you said, fiddling with one of the small beaded pearls on the dress. “I said ‘yes’. I was weak and said ‘yes’.”

“He would’ve hurt you if you’d said no,” she assured you, adjusting your new necklace. “You know how he is. He throws a tantrum whenever things don’t go his way. Lord knows what he would’ve done if you’d rejected him.”

You didn’t like to think of what might have happened. That fear alone forced the answer out of you.

It happened a week ago. You’d come back from the market, basket of meager goods on your arm, when you saw him on the porch steps. The flowers in his hand made your stomach queasy. Without Lucy around, you’d be alone with him.

“Good morning, Caleb,” you recalled saying as you approached the house.

“It certainly is a good morning now that I’ve seen you.”

He’d offered you the flowers. Wildflowers in various shades of blue, white and pink, you knew the places they grew in the woods. He must have spent some time gathering them for you. It was only proper that you accept them. You supposed it was a sweet gesture, but everything with Caleb came with a catch.

“Can we talk inside?”

You’d let him inside. God, why did you let him inside? You should have left him on the damn porch, but no. You actually invited him inside, poured him a drink and offered him one of the biscuits you made that morning. His eyes stayed glued to your body as you moved around the room. You wished you’d done more, then maybe you wouldn’t be here. But, if you had, you definitely wouldn’t be here and Lucy would be out in the cold.

“Besides,” Lucy sighed, breaking through your memories, “I suppose this is for the best. With you as his wife, we’d both be able to stay here.”

“No, I would. You’re still here because of his father.”

Lucy stiffened at your words. Unlike you, she’s not marrying the man extorting her. She only has to let him in her bed whenever he pleases. It never happened in front of you, but you knew every time she went to the little shack near your home. You knew how much she hated him; how disgusted she felt with herself afterwards. You’re sure she’ll become pregnant soon, if she’s not careful. You hated thinking what that’d entail for her if Mama Sykes ever found out. While James preyed on your sister, Caleb preyed on you. Between the two men, you’d still take Caleb.

“It’s a shame your Pa passed. Now, you and Lucy are gonna have to go elsewhere.”

“What do you mean? Your father said-”

“-My father is a man who tires of his girls easily. Soon enough, he’ll forget about your plain sister and turn you both loose. Then, you’d have nowhere to go. You got no family in this territory, and two women on the road won’t make it far. If you don’t die from exposure, you’d get kidnapped by some natives and be scalped.”

“Lucy and I ain’t dumb. We can take care of ourselves.”

“Oh? And what would you do if you did? Y’all can’t make much doing the work you both do. You’d have to do something a little less…proper to survive. Lucy’s alright, but you? Oh, you got a face a man would trade everything he owns for. It’d be a shame to see a sweet thing like you slumming around a brothel.”

“I’d never-”

“-But, if you had a husband, that wouldn’t happen. He’d take care of you; he’d make sure you’re comfortable with a roof over your head. If you had the right husband, you and your sister wouldn’t have to go anywhere.”

“We all gotta do things we don’t want to survive,” she said, looking at you in the mirror. “Caleb…Well, he’s taken with you. He’s always been taken with you. He…He might not be so bad.”

You could hear the comfort in her voice. “You weren’t there, Lucy. You didn’t see him.”

He’d given you the coldest of stares when you initially told him ‘no’. He’d leaned back in the chair, staring at you hard and not looking away. You couldn’t forget his gaze even if you’d tried. They stayed right on you like a wolf in the bushes. He’d smoothly stood up from the table to walk towards you. Fear streaked through you when you considered what he might do to you.

“No? You’re really going to say ‘no’? Need I remind you that you’re not in much of a position to be refusing me anything. Not when I’m the only thing standing between you and the whorehouse.”

He squeezed your throat just enough to cut off air. Visions of what he’d do next had you searching for an escape. His body, hard and long, kept yours trapped to the counter as he grunted in your ear.

“I've been patient with you, YN. I've brought you flowers and gifts. I've never forced myself on you or made you do anything you didn't want. I treat you like a lady. I think I deserve something for all that.”

“I'm not marrying you.”

“Yeah, you are. You're gonna put on a pretty white dress, stand next to me and swear to honor and obey me in front of God and everyone. If you don't, I'm going to make you wish your father never stepped foot in this territory. Got it?”

The thought of you and Lucy destitute in a run down town filled you with fear. You didn’t want that to happen. So, you agreed. You nodded your head in defeat, muttered a soft ‘yes’, and let him kiss you. He’d pulled you in roughly, lips crashing into yours as he kissed you hungrily. You’d gasped when you thought he meant to tear your dress, but he hadn’t.

“Don’t worry, angel. I’ve waited a long time for you. I can wait another day.”

“I think he would’ve killed me if I kept refusing him,” you thought out loud, still tasting the brandy on his lips.

Lucy did not agree nor disagree. More scenarios crossed your mind even after Mama Sykes came to fetch you for the ceremony. The short, stout woman wore a constant scowl. It honestly resembled Caleb’s. Leading you out of your family’s house, the three of you walked across the field to a tall tree near the forest. Generations of Sykes members married beneath the two birch trees on the forest line. Some of the women had decorated them with white floral garlands, which matched your bouquet. A nice affair. You might’ve liked it if you’d chosen your groom. Looking up to the clear skies, you prayed it’d be quick.

Standing at the other end of an aisle, you saw Caleb through your thin white veil. He’d cleaned up for the occasion: long hair combed, his beard trimmed down, and wearing his Sunday best, he didn’t look like the ruffian you’re accustomed to seeing. When your eyes met his, he stood stunned. You felt everyone’s eyes on you as you stood stock still, your feet not cooperating at all.

Lord, you wanted to run.

“Move, girl,” you heard Mama say from behind you, giving you a slight shove. “You can’t stand there forever.”

But, you wished you could. Taking a deep breath, you started walking. You never imagined it being this way. You always pictured your sister and father there, smiling proudly as you walked to the altar. A man you chose would stand at the end, and you’d be full of butterflies. It was a daydream you thought of during those quiet moments alone. You’d find a love that was greater than the word; a love to rival those in stories and songs. He’d be strong, brave and noble. He’d be tender and careful with you. He’d never raise a hand or yell at you. The both of you would have a little cottage somewhere, tend livestock and create beautiful children. You’d be the wife and mother you always wanted to be with a husband who was more than anything you could’ve asked for. Instead, you’re standing in front of a man who’d choked you when you’d refused him. You’re staring at a man who’d once beaten a man for scaring off game on a hunt. You’d seen him slap a barmaid for bringing him the wrong brandy during a trip in town. His anger became a blaze that couldn’t be put out. He also had no problem turning it on you.

You barely heard the priest next to you. Thoughts of your doomed future kept breaking through. You tried huffing out the stinging building in your sinuses. The ring he slipped onto your finger felt more like a shackle keeping you to him. You’d forever be forced to answer to him. You’d be the pretty trophy he’d flaunt and boast about. You won’t be a partner; you’d be a servant. Your hands tightly grasped your bouquet, the long stems digging into your palms. If you didn’t go through with this, you and Lucy would be homeless and penniless. Your seamstress work wasn’t flourishing. The mercantile in town only paid a certain amount for Lucy’s jams and preserves. The money your father had made paid for mostly everything. You’d let your fear of the future and of Caleb cloud your judgement. The need for survival in a ruthless world made you stand here and say two significant words.

“I do.”

They’d been said through thick tears.

****

The party afterwards was nice. Hosted in a large barn, some of the Sykes’ men played a fiddle and drum to get people dancing. Mama and the other Sykes ladies made a feast that everyone dug into. Everyone was smiling, laughing and merry. Many of them congratulated you as you passed, giving gifts for the home or your marriage. You smiled politely and accepted them. You had no choice. Sitting at a long table outside, you watched the clan and their friends enjoy the festivities. You spotted Caleb with some other men, all of them drinking and laughing. You didn’t want to imagine the obscene things he’d say about you tomorrow morning. They’ll ask how his wedding night went, and he’d boast about the entire thing. You’d do your best not to sob.

“Don’t worry,” a high voice said, “James told him to take it easy on the liquor. He can’t get it up if he’s drunk as a skunk.”

You looked to see Lucy take up the seat beside you. She’d gotten herself a drink, likely to gather up courage for her own night at home. James will visit once his wife is gone. You hated thinking about that old man climbing on top of her. His son would be doing the same to you tonight.

“Does it hurt?” You asked her innocently.

Lucy hesitated. “Yes, it does,” she said.

“Bad?”

“Yes. But,” she grabbed your hand right away, “Just close your eyes and let him do what he needs to do. I promise you it finishes quicker than you’d think.”

You hated the images going through your head. Reaching for a pitcher of wine, you poured a cup and downed it. The bitter drink left a sharp taste in your mouth, but you didn’t drink it for the taste. Maybe if you drank enough of it, you wouldn’t feel anything. Lucy saw your anxiousness, and took your hand in hers.

“It helps to think about something else-”

“-How can you be so calm about this?” You snapped at her. “Do you really not care what he’s going to do to me when we’re alone? That man has hounded me for ages. He’s tailed me all over this god forsaken property. He’s not going to be gentle or patient. He’s going to…to…” your curled your hands around the cup to keep them from shaking.

“Of course I care,” she insisted. “I care deeply, but…this is what husbands and wives do. I always wished for you to marry a good, gentle, kind man who adores you, but it seems God had other plans for you.”

“What a cruel God…”

“YN, maybe…” she paused again, “Maybe he won’t be such a bad husband?”

“What?”

“He does seem to truly care for you. He’s been a complete gentleman to you, which isn’t his nature at all. Sure, he has his temper but you’re a smart woman. You’d learn to navigate it.”

“You’re telling me to roll over and surrender.”

“I’m telling you to adapt to your situation. There is nothing we can do to change it now, so we must walk through it.”

“If I hadn’t been so weak, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Neither of us would be here.”

“We would be with you seeing James.”

“James is temporary. Everyone knows that. He’d throw us both out once he grew tired of me-”

“-Lucy!” You both turned to see James Sykes, tall and bearded, stumbling towards your table. “Leave your sister to my son and come with me,” he smiled drunkenly.

“James, I’m talking to my sister.”

“You can talk to her tomorrow,” his blue eyes looked over at you. “My son’s been looking for you, girl. It’s time to do your wifely duties,” he smirked, his gaze making the wine in your gut churn. “Lucky boy.”

Lucy kissed your cheek and patted your hand, “Remember what I said and he’ll pass out once it’s over.”

You hated the meaning of this conversation. A sick feeling crawled onto your skin, making you shudder. You watched James walk away from the table, and then Lucy following him minutes later in the same direction. They hardly hid it from anyone. You imagine a day where Caleb picked up his own mistress. It might be a good thing.

“YN!” Caleb called to you from afar, a smirk on his face. It was similar to his father’s. You kept facing forward as if you didn’t hear him. Putting it off made you feel worse, but you couldn’t help holding it off. “YN, darling!” You counted the footsteps from behind you, and bit your lower lip when he came up behind you. “Darling wife,” he bent to your ear, alcohol in his warm breath, “Come to bed with me. Don't make me sleep alone on our wedding night.”

You stiffly got off the bench and let him take your hand. Hoots and hollers from nearby brought shame that burned your cheeks. Your body fell into a cold sweat, running under your dress as he brought you into his singular home. The moment the door closed, all sound died. Like a rat in a cage, you stared around for an exit. Jitters cracked through your nerves, and you started fiddling with the pearls again. The ring on your finger suddenly became heavier when you took it in. A simple gold band with his name engraved on the inside. You knew yours was written into his.

You stared around the modest house. A small dining table, a bench near a window, kitchen area and a nook where he’d built the bed took up most of the space. Animal horns high up on the walls acted as hunting trophies. A ladder led up to a small loft above where he’d built a window on the roof. You saw the night sky through the glass, stars twinkling and clouds passing as the world continued.

“Why do you have a window on your roof?” You asked, walking towards the ladder leading upwards.

“I like looking at the stars sometimes,” he said. “It’s nice after a long day.”

You never imagined Caleb having any soft hobbies. You looked away from the roof to see a rack of fur pelts. You walked over to them, and ran a rabbit fur between your fingers. It was grey with white streaks throughout it. It’ll make a lovely shawl or shoulder piece for coats. Caleb enjoyed hunting, and he often skinned his kills and gave them to his sister to sew and sell. Him riding out of the woods on sunny mornings, dead animals hanging from his saddle, was not an uncommon sight for you.

“That one’s for you,” he said from behind you. “Bonnie hasn’t gotten around to fixing it, but I meant for it to be your wedding present.”

You turned around to face him. Seeing him by the door made everything real. Your senses searched for that predatory gaze of his; the one that should be met with caution. Yet, Caleb didn’t appear tense or cold. Perhaps the drinking softened him up for you. If you’re lucky, he’ll have drunk too much to “get it up” and leave you for the night. Your knees still shook imagining what would happen soon.

“I’m sure it’ll be beautiful when Bonnie sews it. She’s very good with a needle,” you finally said.

“So are you,” he replied. “I’d love to see what you can do with those.” He stared over at you from across the room. “My god,” he breathed, eyes focusing on you. “The Lord truly took his time when he made you.”

His eyes stayed on you as he approached, boots thumping the wood floors. Your fingers curled into the fur, nails digging into the thick hair and leather. You tried steadying your breath, counting each step until he reached you. Any minute, he’ll be so overcome with lust he’ll be unable to control himself. Rough hands will grab your waist to toss you on the bed; they’d tear off your dress before he forced your legs apart. Like you’d told Lucy, he has waited for this night for a long time; a man can only withhold himself for so long. She’d said it’d hurt, and you believed her. You didn't want to know how badly it'd hurt with Caleb.

“What's got you shaking like a leaf, hm?” He asked, unbuttoning his vest. You saw his eyes glance over the rest of you, lust slowly brewing in them.

You put the rabbit fur back on the rack, taking a deep breath. “I've…I've never…” you gulped thickly, doing your best to muster up courage, “Done…this.”

“I know,” he removed his vest, “Don't worry, darling. You leave everything up to me. I'll take good care of you.”

“Lucy said it hurts,” you kept your eyes on him as he stopped right in front of you.

“Yeah, it would hurt with a man like my father,” he shrugged. He lifted the veil off your head, tossing it aside without care. “But, I promise I'll be gentle with you, sweetheart. I wouldn't dream of hurting you like that.”

“Re-really?”

“Of course,” he laughed softly. Bringing you closer to his chest, he said, “Now, give your husband a kiss.”

Beard brushing your chin and top lip, the light scratching sparked something inside you. A strange warmth started as his mouth slowly opened yours. At the altar, the kiss had been chaste and quick. Alone in your new home, Caleb deepened it right away. His tongue pushed through to yours, the muscle lightly rolling around it. The brandy he’d been drinking made him taste faintly of alcohol mixed with fruit. It took you by surprise for a moment, but then you found yourself sinking into his kiss. You never expected the tenderness of his lips, or the delicate way he held you.

Suddenly, your body came to life. The numbness in your fingers and toes warmed up; the placement of his hands on your back sent shivers up your spine. He gently caressed the muscles tensing against his fingers, brushing over the buttons fastening your dress. One hand stayed on your lower back, while the other slid up to the first button. It’d taken Lucy a bit to fully button the garment, but Caleb quickly undid them with one hand. The more he exposed your body, the more anticipation you felt. You stayed still in his arms, unsure what to do. Your hands stayed on his shoulders. You didn’t know where to put them, but it made his body real. This was really going to happen, and you couldn’t stop it.

But, did you want to?

He only pulled away to slide your dress from your shoulders. The lace skidded down your arms to your wrists, where you slipped out. You looked away shyly once it fell to reveal your corset and chemise. Caleb only brought your lips back to his, giving a small moan when you immediately let him back inside. The rough pads of his fingers grazed the back of your wrist when he put your hand on his top button. You started timidly unbuttoning his shirt, the warmth of his skin radiating when you untucked it from his trousers. Your cheeks burned once you realized you’d just removed his shirt, fair skin glowing in the candlelight. He was skinnier, leaner and smoother than you originally thought. Scars from bar fights and beatings left marks on his skin, which your fingers traced out of habit. You found a particularly nasty one that raised up from his skin on his collarbone. When he felt you touching it, he looked down to see your tracing fingers.

“Broke it after my father caught me sneaking his bourbon,” he explained, watching you examine the scar. “It took weeks to heal up.”

James sounded like the type to put a hand to his sons. Your father slapped you and Lucy from time to time, if you got too out of line. Though, he’d never broken anything.

“It looks awful,” you said.

“It was,” he replied. He started deftly loosening your corset. “Let’s see if you have any scars I don’t know about.”

You gasped when he finally lifted your corset off, and your chemise with it. Standing fully nude before him, you couldn’t help the burning in your cheeks. Nobody ever saw you like this before except Lucy. Caleb’s mouth dropped open when he gazed at you, hands gripping your hips as his arousal grew. Instinctively, you covered your chest from him, once again turning your head. But, Caleb gingerly pulled them away.

“I’m your husband, sweetheart,” he said tenderly, pecking your lips. “It’s okay for me to see.”

“I-I know…”

You bit your bottom lip once his hands cupped them. “They’re perfect,” he groaned, giving them a light squeeze that sparked that tightness in your belly. “To think you’ve been hiding these from me,” he started kissing down your chest, “All this time.”

“Caleb…”

“I’ve been dying to see you,” he said, reaching the tops of your breasts. He smirked against the supple mounds when you whimpered involuntarily. “Get on the bed. I want to see the rest of you.”

You let him lay you down on the bed. Your marriage bed. You never imagined it being so soft as your back hit the pillow. The reality of the situation hit you once he climbed on top, body nestled between your thighs. Your breathing heavier, you just held onto his shoulders for something to do. Fully resting on you, Caleb went back to kissing your breasts. Lucy never told you about this. She said he’d put it in, and then pull back out. Caleb’s warm mouth around your nipple, you enjoyed the feeling of his tongue swirling the hard nub. It slid over in small flicks; his free hand groped the opposite side, his thumb brushing the tip. The ball in your stomach went down to your sex, which pulsed. It felt so good. You wanted to keep him close, almost afraid he might pull away and it’d stop.

“You like this, huh?” he chuckled, sensing your yearning as he switched sides.

“I-I didn’t know people did-did this…”

“There’s a lot of things people do,” he said. “I’ll show you.”

You whined when he left your breasts and kissed further down. Heat flared up around your neck, and you shut your eyes as he reached the spot above your mound. Your fingers gripped the bed covers, mind focusing on his lips peppering up one thigh all the way to your knee. The garters keeping up your stockings were untied and thrown beside the bed; then he slipped the wool stockings off your legs one at a time. Finally unclothed, Caleb knelt up and admired you in the candlelight from nearby. Blue eyes heavy with lust, he licked his lips as he drank you in. You suppressed a nervous giggle, not used to being examined so closely in this state. He could see everything. Everything. Even there. You trembled as his hands slid down your inner thighs, thumbs pressing to the sides of it.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, eyes staring at your face and then gazing down at the rest of you. “Much more beautiful than I could imagine.” He rubbed your shaking thighs reassuringly, giving them tender squeezes. “Trust me, the Devil looks away when he sees what I imagine doing to you at night,” he scanned down to the middle of your thighs. “Thinking of you like this, naked and quivering at my touch makes it hard to not take you right away.”

“But you-you said-”

“-I know, and I keep my promises, darling,” he said, lifting your leg to kiss your knee. “You’re gonna tell me you ain’t ever thought of me like that? Not even a little?”

Not one bit, but this didn’t seem like a time for honesty. “Yes,” you whimpered when he kissed down your thigh. “Once or twice,” you added.

He grinned, “And you kept making me chase after you like a damn dog.” One hand moved back down and grazed over your sex. When you jerked at the touch, he started tracing his knuckle along the slit. “I knew I’d get you one day,” he pondered out loud. “I told everyone that one day you’d be my wife. They kept telling me there was no way you’d say ‘yes’ to me, and look,” he gazed up at you, “Here you are.”

Then he rested on the bed with his head between your thighs. A light flick of his tongue surprised you. He hummed softly when he gave another lick. Small jolts of pleasure came whenever he put his tongue to a part that you’d never touched before. The tip of his tongue circled the hard pearl slowly, occasionally dipping lower. You rested your hands on your chest, nipples yearning to be touched, while you watched him continue kissing that spot. People did things like this? Perhaps men like Caleb did it. His mouth brought out a deep seated desire you didn’t know you had until now. You suddenly had no control of your body. Your hips grinded up to his mouth, which he allowed while he wrapped his arms around your thighs.

“Cale-Caleb,” you shivered, his tongue languidly sliding up and down the length of your sex. “Caleb…That’s…”

“Good?”

“Yes.”

“Is this what you pictured me doing, hm?” He wrapped his mouth around that part and hummed, which caused your back to arch. “Me kissing you down here?”

“I-I didn’t know people did this,” you breathed. “I thoug-oh god, Caleb!”

His tongue swishing side to side took every clear thought from your mind.

“Show me where you want me, darling,” he groaned between licks. “Show me where you need me.”

Hand curling into his hair, you guided him back to the top. He didn’t hesitate to latch his mouth around that special spot, the flat of his tongue caressing it. Each move brought buckets of euphoria. Soon, you couldn’t control yourself. You lifted your hips to his face again, wanting more and more of his mouth and tongue.

“Mm, like that,” he said, his voice gently vibrating that bud. “Do whatever makes you feel good.”

This made you feel very good. Too good. Your muscles started shaking as you felt something big approaching. It resembled the sensation of relieving yourself after holding it too long. You envisioned a bubble about to pop or a cork flying out of a bottle. The feeling seemed brought on by Caleb’s tongue, which dipped downwards to your fluttering entrance. Your breathy moans grew louder the tighter this feeling became. You felt yourself getting lost in it. When you thought it couldn’t get better, something hard pushed to your core and went inside. A high gasp came when you realized his fingers went slowly forward, touching another foreign part of you. He restrained the eagerness, carefully pumping despite the walls squeezing the two digits. Your tight walls stretched slightly around his fingers, massaging the pair as they curled inwards. You kept going until that bubble burst, unleashing all the bliss he’d created. It racked through your body to where his fingers prodded and curled, and you never wanted it to end.

You gained back all the breath you lost when it subsided, but Caleb did not stop. He kissed back up your body, but he kept the two fingers within you. This time his thumb worked the top half while he gingerly pushed in and out. You jolted at the sudden sensitivity, whimpering in his ear.

“How was that?” He asked, nipping at your tender neck.

“Amazing,” you sighed, “I want more. Can I have more?”

“You will,” he promised. “We’re just getting started.”

You didn’t know people had a taste until he kissed you. A clean stickiness had clung to his mouth and chin, which you licked up. Your knees at his waist, you’d given his fingers a new angle. You chased down the special feeling he made inside, wanting more of it. How could this possibly be so good? How could a person want another so badly? You wrapped yourself around him with hopes of keeping him closer to you. His fingers continued pushing up to that spongy space deep inside. You swore it was like pushing a button.

“Touch me,” he sighed, kissing your lips and removing his fingers to rub you. “I’ve been dying to feel your pretty hands on me.”

Awkwardly, you slipped your hand between the both of you and grabbed the considerable bulge there. Lucy once said men’s privates got hard, but you didn’t think it’d be like this. Caleb groaned into your kiss when he felt your hand there. He seemed to know what you wanted without you saying anything. Quickly, he broke away to unfasten his trousers. You watched, panting and aching again, as he pulled himself out. A giggle suddenly escaped you, and you looked away again.

“What is it?” he sneered, bending back down to kiss you.

“I’ve never seen one before,” you admitted shyly.

“And mine is the only one you should be seeing. Here,” he wrapped your hand around his shaft, “Just slide your hand up and down like…like that…Yes,” he started kissing your breasts again, “Like that. Good girl.”

Hard, yet still spongy, you felt him throb in your hand. Something inside you worried you might not be doing it right, but from Caleb’s low groans, you must be. He occasionally murmured directions on where to touch: the lines underneath the very tip of him, the pulsing veins of his shaft and giving a firm grip. You did grab him too hard at times, and he had to tell you to slow your stroking occasionally. He soon started grinding his hips to meet your hand, the low angle pushing the tip to your wet center. You liked how he sounded. His raspy voice full of longing and lust was like music in your ears. You took cues from the groans and moans he made whenever you did something differently. It was when he rolled onto his back that you really heard him. Your hips locked to his, his shaft rubbed right to the most sensitive part. You started rolling on it, feeling his girth spreading your wet lips apart.

“You’re doing so well, honey,” he said, mesmerized by your rocking hips. “You’re making me feel so damn good…like a good little wife,” he moaned when he guided you to his tip again. He smirked when you moaned particularly loud at the part on your pulsing clit. “And you’re all mine. You’re mine,” he started pushing against you, “Understand? This belongs to me now. Only I get to enjoy this gorgeous body of yours…this warm cunt…”

His lewd words surprised and aroused you. He noticed this and smiled, “You like that too, hm? You like hearing me tell you that you’re mine?”

“Ye-yes.” You couldn’t believe you were saying it, but with his tip threatening to push inside, you couldn’t hold back. “I li-like it.”

“I know something else you’re gonna like.”

With a bit of maneuvering, he fully sheathed inside you. Your eyes widened when he broke through, a slight stinging coming but nothing like what Lucy described. Pleasure overcame whatever slight pain you might have felt. Your walls hugged the length buried in you, and you could feel the head prodding that space again.

“Up and down, darling,” he instructed, starting to help you move up and down. “You can go as fast or slow as you want. I want my pretty wife to enjoy her first time.”

You didn’t go too fast, since you still burned from the slight stretch. Yet, the need for that second release started slowly taking over. Your hands on his chest, your sex pulsed like before and ached for his attention. Shyly, you put one of his hands above it and he took the cue right away. His thumb stayed put for you to rub against how you pleased, sliding around to make you moan louder. His hand then left your center for your throat, which he held and squeezed lightly as he started pushing upwards into you. You struggled to breathe, but instead of fear, you only felt more arousal. Being on the edge of it, his cock pounding you, your nails dug into his skin as you drew closer.

“Say my name,” he said, releasing his grip but still holding your neck, “Say my name when it happens.”

And you did. His name fell past your lips the moment it happened. Shaking and gripping his wrist to keep his hand in place, you thought your body was on fire. Every muscle constricted as the powerful feeling hit you. Caleb didn’t stop even when you started coming back down. He rolled you onto your side, lifted your thigh to his waist and kept going. His face buried in your neck, groans filling your ear, he tightened his grip when he finally finished. An odd hot sensation formed right inside you as you watched him lose himself in his pleasure. It went deep, forced into you in every thrust.

Neither of you said anything for a few minutes. The bliss that came afterwards clouded any sense you might’ve had. You trembled in his arms, sweat shone on your skin and the world felt hot around you. When he withdrew, thick globs leaked out of your entrance. You felt it sticking to your inner thighs, causing an uncomfortable slickness when you laid on your side. A corner of the sheet in your hand, you moved to wipe it away before Caleb’s hand grabbed your wrist. You broke out of the haze when he spread your thighs to see the mess he’d left behind. A hint of satisfaction glinted in his eyes when he focused on it, like a prospector having found the gem he’d been seeking. He laid beside you, still keeping your legs open as he kissed you again. His hand didn’t go to your middle, but it idly traced the curves of your body in admiration.

You honestly still could not believe it. A bit of shame came when you realized he’d gotten what he wanted: you. You knew you couldn’t fight him off or refuse him now that he was your husband. It’d be foolish of you to deny Caleb Sykes anything, since he’d likely take it regardless. If it was this good every time, then perhaps you could live with it.

“My sister never told me it’d be like this,” you heard yourself say, eyes closed as you savored his touch and kiss. “Where did you learn to do all of that?”

“Places,” he answered, pulling you to him as he rolled onto his back.

“What places?”

“Places proper ladies don’t go.” He wrapped an arm around you, and held your hand to his chest. A tender kiss to your knuckles, he settled with you underneath the thin blankets. “My sweet YN,” he kissed the top of your head, “My pretty wife shouldn’t worry about things like that. She should just enjoy it.”

His pretty wife. That’s all you’d be now. You didn’t have a choice.

****

A/N: who's the bitch that said the last fic would be her first and only JCB fic? Not me, obviously >> I hope you enjoyed this one as much as the last <3 Thanks for reading!

#jamie campbell bower #jamie campbell bower fanfiction #horizon an american saga #horizon an american saga fanfiction #horizon fanfic #jamie campbell bower x reader #caleb sykes #caleb sykes x reader

23 notes · View notes

cautious-soup · 1 day ago

Text

Cooking Wars | Thunderbolts Headcanon Prompt fic #1

A/N: Hello, I wanted to write a fic based on one of the headcanons I came up with when I watched Thunderbolts a week ago. This is UNSERIOUS and CORNY and I was HUNGRY WHEN I WROTE IT so yeah. Enjoy :)

Tags: cooking and baking, domestic avengers (I have missed this tag so much oh my god), rivalry, Bucky is a sitcom dad, Alexei has too many ideas, Yelena is god's hungriest soldier

🥦🧇🥬🍕🥒🌭🫑🍗🥑🍟🍅🍔🍏🌯🍆🌮🍐

It started pretty simple.

Yelena had walked into the kitchen once a month and a half ago, and saw Bob pressing his weight onto the panini maker. (It was the one thing he'd asked Val for in exchange for moving in.)

"What is this?" She asked, gesturing to the ingredients strewn on the counter. A pan lined with foil and steeped in rendered bacon fat, a bowl of caramelized onions, slices of smoked cheddar cheese, deli turkey, and a bunch of seasonings.

"Oh!" Bob looked up at Yelena and smiled, "Yeah, I guess I'm just finally enjoying being hungry again. Meth just makes you wanna eat...more meth--but since I got my powers I have to stop myself from eating everything in sight,"

The panini maker beeps, and Yelena watches as Bob scoops out the sandwich. At the sound of her stomach growling, she blushes, and Bob smiles.

"You want this one? I can just make another for myself,"

Yelena feels her pupils dilating at the sight of the sandwich, at the browned cheese and onions sloughing off the sides.

"Ah, uma uh..." she shakes her head, "I have to get to rendezvous point soon em...but..."

"Oh, well I could wrap if for you," Bob says, grabbing a sheet of foil and carefully wrapping the sandwich. He slides it across the counter. Yelena takes it, feeling the warmth between her hands.

"...thanks," she smiles, "I think the other might appreciate one too, just a thought," she says as she walks away.

Bob watches her leave, then looks down a the panini maker. He turns and swipes a few times on the smart fridge to check tower attendance. Yelena just checked out 2 minutes ago, but the others were all still here--Ava in the conference room for that meeting with Sable, John in the gym, Alexei in his room, and Bucky in the library.

"Hm," he said, "Well, s'not like I have anything better to do,"

And that's how it starts. First it's the paninis, greasy and cheesy and way too good to make sense--then it's an honest to god funnel cake, then fried green tomatoes because of course--he's from Florida, then key lime bars, then nachos--

"Alright, this has gone too far," John says at dinner one night. It was surprisingly easy for everyone to sit down eat together at least twice a week. Turns out they all preferred it to eating alone like they'd each been doing for years.

John planted his palms on the table and leveled Bob with a stare, "This isn't healthy,"

"...yeah we know, and so does the media but we got thrown into a shitty team anyway--" Yelena starts.

"No not, us I mean the food," John gestures down at his, completely clean, plate where a smash burger and tater tots once were, "I mean come on we're eating like high schoolers...or stoners--stoner high schoolers,"

Yelena and Ava look at him, then start snickering.

"Ok mom," Yelena says, and Ava cackles, "I mean come on Walker it's like you're allergic to fun,"

"There's fun and then there's destroying your microbiome--Bucky come on. Back me up," he says.

Bucky, who's nose deep in his news paper, wordlessly grabs a handful of tater tots and shoves them into his mouth. He was a surprisingly messy eater.

"You know as much as I do that we burn energy too quickly for it to matter where that energy comes from," he says, voice garbled from the tots.

John shakes his head, "So I'm alone in this, huh?"

The next morning, Ava trudges into the kitchen, and sees 6 glasses lined up on the counter, all filled with a chunky, forest green liquid.

"Ah, you're up," John says, rinsing out the complicated luxury blender nobody knows how to use but him, "Take one,"

Ava snorts, "Yeah, no thanks. I'm not drinking one of your almond mom smoothies,"

"And I'm not asking," John says, opening a drawer and taking out a handful of metal straws. He drops them in each cup, and slides one across the counter to Ava.

"Go on,"

Ava grimaces down at the smoothie, but grabs it and takes a sip. Her eyebrows raise slightly at the taste, "Huh, I was expecting that to taste miserable, like you."

John scowls, "Being healthy isn't miserable. But I did have to add a bit more honey than usual because you're a fiend for sweets,"

"That I am," Ava says, walking off to the elevator, smoothie in hand.

Later on a little before noon in the group chat, Yelena says that she wants a snack. Bob, seeing this, grins and stands up to head to the kitchen. When he arrives, however, he sags at the sight of John arranging peanut-butter celery on a platter.

"At this time of day onion rings would be the last thing she needs," he says, walking off toward Yelena's room.

Yelena is unfamiliar with the combo, but enjoys it anyway.

Bob tries to beat John to the punch the next morning, but is shocked to see six acai bowls lined up on the counter, along with a smug looking John.

"Pancakes are basically dessert, anyway," He says, clapping Bob on the shoulder.

Bob begrudingly eats the acai bowl...and it's good.

"Hrrm," he pouts, wracking his brain to figure out how to get ahead of John.

Their next mission is a steakout, which is the worst because who wants to sit in one spot for hours with limited ways to occupy yourself?

And, of course, you get peckish sitting in one place for too long. John is about to pull out a bag of dark chocolate covered blueberries, but is beat to the punch by Bob handing everyone candy bars and chips.

As Ava ravenously unwraps her king sized cookies n cream bar, Bob looks smugly at John, who shoves the bag of blueberries back in his bag and grumbles to himself.

At dinner the next day though, John takes his revenge, and the team eats lemon pepper salmon and asparagus.

"Do they know that we don't care what we eat as long as we don't have to cook?" Yelena asks a week later, nibbling on a piece of brownie brittle.

"Shhh, let them have their little dick measuring contest," Ava says.

"Dick measuring? This is male-wife behavior," Yelena laughs, making Ava follow suit.

Alexei looks at Bucky, who shrugs, "I stopped keeping up with slang years ago,"

Things come to a head when, on Wednesday night, John and Bob make it to the kitchen at the same time. There's 4 pounds of 80/20 ground beef in the fridge, enough for one meal.

"Sloppy joes," Bob says, inching towards the fridge.

"Stuffed peppers," John counters, reaching for the handle.

"I don't think so," Bob whispers.

John squints at Bob, then hisses and steps back.

"Jesus Bob, calm down," he says at the sight of gold swirling in the other man's pupils.

Bob shakes his head, "You need to learn your place," and throws open the fridge. Contiments rattle and clatter against the shelves as he takes out the packs of ground beef.

John grits his teeth and surges forward, grabbing the packs off the counter and putting distance between himself and Bobtry (not quite Bob not quite Sentry)

"Aw come on, don't be like that man," Bobtry says, fingers trembling, "Gimme the beef,"

"No way," John says. If he could just make it to the breakroom kitchen a few floors down. But he still needed the peppers...

"Shit," he muttered, Bobtry was hovering (literally) in front of the counter by the fridge. John looked longingly at his precious bell peppers, guarded by the junk food tyrant.

Bobtry floats around the counter. He sticks out a hand, and John yelps as the packs of beef are torn from his arms by an invisible force. The cabinets fly open, and contents come flying out.

"Waahow,"

John and Bobtry look toward the elevator as Alexei steps out. Beef, seasonings, and utensils hang suspended in the air, frozen.

"Is like Chopped but more intense. Ah! That is great idea now that I think," they watch Alexei dig his phone out of the pocket of his new and gaudy AvengerZ tracksuit, "I call Valentina. Superpowered Chopped...Super Chopped!" He says, disappearing down the hallway.

Noticing Bobtry is distracted, John lunges for the bell peppers. Bobtry clenches his jaw, pulling John back with what must be the force of fifty men.

"No,"

"Jesus Bob I just wanna--"

"NO!" Bobtry yells, the force of it making John freeze. Bobtry's chest is rising and falling, his eyes ablaze.

"This is what *I'm* good at. Me!" He says, "Y-you guys already do all the work, go to all the meetings, do all the interviews...this is the *one* thing that I..."

Bobtry's feet finally touch the ground, and the ingredients are dropped unceremoniously onto the counter.

John blinks at Bob, then sighs, "Shit man,"

Bob clutches his arms, turning away from John, "M'sorry. Shit m'sorry I'm just gonna--" he starts walking off, but John strides forward and grabs him.

"No, no no you're not gonna go isolate yourself. We agreed that we'd talk about shit like this right?"

Bob glances at John before nodding.

John sighs, "Good." He looks at the ingredients on the counter, pondering for a moment.

"...how's meatballs sound?" He asks.

Bob's eyes brighten slightly, and John feels the tension ease a bit. One step in the right direction. They start prepping, and Bob tentatively explains how he's been feeling a bit useless lately, how he wanted to be supportive but was unsure how.

"I just wanna make stuff that tastes good for everyone I guess, but then you just kinda...I dunno,"

"Yeah, I did kind of go control freak on you huh," John sighed, "Sorry. I was um, like that with my kid and Olivia too--read all these articles and stuff about nutrition and just kinda went haywire on her whenever she gave him fruit snacks," John says.

"Yeah well, the stuff you make is still good...and way healthier," Bob says.

The conversation flows a bit easier as they work, then turns to banter about what kind of bread crumbs they should use, and whether or not the blue cheese in the back of the fridge was still good.

"Ohf," Yelena groans when she steps off the elevator, inhaling the scents wafting from the kitchen, "That smells fucking incredible," she says, but stops short at the sight before her.

Bob is grinning down at the counter, stuffing meatballs with blue cheese and setting them off to the side on a lined baking sheet, while John frets over a pot of what must be tomato sauce on the stove. The kitchen is a wreck, but at least there isn't any arguing.

"So...what's for dinner?" Yelena asks, smirking.

John glances over his shoulder at her, then at Bob.

"Uh," they both start talking at the same time, "Ricotta...yeah ricotta and blue cheese meatballs," is what they settle on.

"With breadsticks," Bob pipes up.

"And steamed broccoli," John adds.

Yelena nods, taking a seat at the table, "When's it gonna be done?"

"About 45 minutes" Bob says as John says, "Don't rush us,"

It turns out to be an hour, because cooking with another person makes things go by slower than faster most of the time, but everyone crawls out from their little holes in the tower to sit down and eat. Ava is sweating, towel around her neck, Bucky brings a stack of paperwork to the table, and Alexei is talking animatedly about the Super Chopped pitch meeting he has with Valentina tomorrow.

But, they all go silent once they start eating. Not a sound was to be heard beyond chewing and clattering cutlerly. Everyone on the team struggled with giving and receiving compliments, but John and Bob get a series of affirming nods from the others as they eat.

"That," Bucky sighs, sitting back in his chair, "Is the best meal we've had so far I think,"

Bob's grin is so wide and so bright that John has to fight to keep his own mouth from quirking up.

"It was a team effort," John says, and Bob nods, "Yeah, a team effort, heh,"

🥦🧇🥬🍕🥒🌭🫑🍗🥑🍟🍅🍔🍏🌯🍆🌮🍐

Thanks for reading! Will be writing another one of these bc I had way too much fun with this lmao

#fanfiction #fanfic #fic writing #thunderbolts #thunderbolts headcanons #thunderbolts fanfic #yelena belova #robert reynolds #bob reynolds #sentry #john walker #ava starr #alexei shostakov #bucky barnes #crack fic #kinda #idk it gets sentimental at the end #cooking #food

25 notes · View notes

wildflowersandvibranium · 24 hours ago

Text

Winter’s Grip

Bucky Barnes POV / Inner Dialogue Summary: moments after Bucky fell off the train and was found. word count: 1.5k ish

warnings/tags: angstttt , just sad , mentions of blood , injuries and loss of limb , hints at verbal abusive parent (buckys dad) brief happy flashbacks , if I missed anything let me know!

author's note:

This is my first ever fully written one shot / story so if you see this and read it fully through thank youuuu, hope you liked it and i'm just yapping here eeeee yay!

I made Bucky's dad verbally abusive and them not having a good relationship here btw! And made his family richer then most people based off of some things he mentioned or were hinted to in CATFA :3 🌷

“Bucky! hang on!....Grab my hand! , No!”….

“Ouuugh” I can barely cough out a sound as I peel open my eyes , slowly , painfully - focusing all the strength I have to just breathe.

“C’mon Barnes, open your eyes!” I scold myself in my head.

My lungs crackle , every scorching breath I take is agonizing

but I take it anyway , hoping the next won't be my last.

“Just gotta wait for steve..just wait for Ste…”

My eyes crack open , they are beginning to crystallize , due to the bite of the icy wind.

I try to look around for anything–anyone.

All I can see is the hazey white storm , it does not allow my eyes to focus on what's in front of me.

If– there's anything in front of me.

All I see is white.

It stretches around me in every direction, too bright and too empty at the same time.

My chest heaves, not with vigor , but with the jagged inhale of panic and instinct to stay tethered to earth.

Snowflakes cling to my lashes, melting against the warmth of my cheeks, and then freeze again in the same moment.

My body is still warm.

I'm alive. I don't know how–

My head throbs, pain radiating ; outward like a furnace begging to be extinguished.

And my arm— God , my arm hurts.

I Iet out a guttural groan –using all my energy , turning my head just slightly to the side.

It’s a mistake.

The world tilts. I hold back a gag as I cry out, swallowing back blood and bile.

I don't dare move like that again.

Something warm trickles from the bridge of my nose ,

but my skin is so numb I don't know if it's blood or tears.

My body is in shock.

Somewhere, deep –inside the mangled spiral of thoughts running wild through my mind.

Where I am not numb, I feel pain , I can handle the pain.

Just like my Pa raised me to.

But mostly, I'm just cold. And God– I'm tired.

My breathing is shallow , each inhale ; dragging glass into the flesh of my lungs.

Every exhale feels heavier than the last. The snow falls softer.

Or maybe the world is dimming altogether.

"Just , Wait for Steve." those words like a broken record on the turntable , spinning in my mind playing over and over.

God, Steve…

I always seem to be waiting for Steve.

Even when we were the small, scrappy kids back in Brooklyn , fists– too big for our bodies and hearts– bigger than all of New York.

I would wait for him on the sidewalks , as he tried to enlist again and again , I think the most recent time he was claiming he's some kid from Iowa?

Even when the world told me I was nothing but my family's money and looks, Steve was there.

I would always wait , wait for him to tell me exactly what I needed to hear after every fight with my Pa, which was what he saw inside me , courage , purpose and heart.

A scrawny kid telling his taller , rich friend everything he doesn't , but craves to hear from his own father.

I laugh at the memory or just cough really , more blood pouring out the corner of my mouth staining the snow.

Snow.

Funny.

Rebecca and I love the snow. I smile—or at least I think I do.

When I get back home , Becca is gonna laugh at me for the fall–when I'm all patched up.

“Clumsy and Irresponsible” she’d say, like she did when brushing my dusty shoes and shoulders off , always , after I tripped or skinned my knees.

Even as the younger sister she's always parenting me , that one.

Hands on her hips , ponytail swaying in her wrath as she points her little finger poking my chest.

“Snow doesn’t like you, Jamie. You’re too warm for it–”

This specific time I was racing Steve through the streets, got caught on black ice and slid knees first into the snow.

“–Now go home before I tell Ma , the trouble you and Stevie got yourselves into today!”

Snow all became helpful when we would settle who takes out the trash with snowball fights–

I would throw them at her head. Always missed.

On purpose.

She never knew , and would just call me a “bad shot” as I carried the heavy bags to the curb.

We made snow angels every Christmas behind our apartment building on the soft, untouched stretch of cotton like snow

near the alleyway.

We'd lie there until our coats soaked through and our lips turned blue, and only then would our Ma shout from the fire escape to come inside. Ready with cocoa and warm socks.

I– We were happy.

It’s hard to hold onto that. The memories slipping , melting , leaving my mind , leaving me more disconnected from my frigid flesh.

My body’s shutting down. I know it is.

I've been trained enough to understand what shock and trauma can do. Added to my blood loss and these cruel temps–

The edges of my vision blur and pulse with every struggling beat my heart quivers to make.

A grunt slips from my lips, barely a sound. My chest heaves again. Vision blacks out for a second longer this time before returning, the white world around me growing dimmer.

I can’t move. Can’t feel my legs. My arm— the left one – right under my shoulder , is more numb now than anything.

The adrenaline has unknowingly masked the pain. Unaware and unable to feel the absence –

the pulsating void where it used to be.

My eyes snap open and ears perk up when I hear footsteps in the snow.

My heart lurches.

Steve.

It has to be Steve. Who else besides him , stupid , relentless , would come down here looking for me.

I try to speak, but all I can manage is a wheeze.

My lungs are still burning , my throat raspy .

The footsteps grow louder.

Crunch….Crunch….Crunch–

Slow.

Too slow

Steve wouldn’t walk like that.

Steve would run , sprint , chasing after the hope.

Steve would be yelling my name already.

Pleading me to get up , to wake–

“C’mon, Stevie,” My voice breaks. No sound. Just thought.

Just hope. "Hurry up."

A cough wracks my chest.

The steps stop.

Silence.

Then—“Barnes”

Not yelled. Not panicked. But measured.

Clinical.

My eyes flutter, lashes heavy with flurries.

My gaze tries to track toward the voice, but everything is so hazy.

But that voice.

It wasn't Steve. Not my friend. Not my brother.

Dread is cutting through my mind like a cleaver.

Then again–

“Barnes.” Closer.

I try to roll away , to sit up. My muscles twitch, but nothing works.

My body is a wrecked thing , useless and heavy , nothing but wasteful strength.

“...Sergeant Barnes.”

That accent. That name. It's—a shadow , leans over me, blocking out what little light remains in the ravine.

A figure in dark wool and thick goggles, face expressionless as it studies my state..

The outline of a fur hat. The glint of snow on dark boots.

Zola.

My ears ring , heart thuds , hard.

Not Steve . Not rescue. Not safety.

But Zola , Hydra–

Fear.

I open my mouth to curse , to scream , to spit in that smug german face , but nothing comes up.

My lungs fail me. All I can do is breathe—and even that feels like a waste.

My vision pulsates. The shadow above me is fading.

On the scientists sleeve , is a red star–

I think of Steve again.

The way Steve used to look at me like I was more—

more than the punk with riches , more than just muscle and charm.

Unlike the way Zola looks at me in this moment like i'm nothing more than–

his prey

More footsteps , closer , heavy with purpose.

I want to tell him. I want to tell Steve–

It's not your fault–

A rough hand grabs my ankles tied with rope.

–I'm sorry for breaking the promise.

The line– broken.

The snow finally absorbs the last of my warmth.

My last thoughts.

Zola kneels, face blank behind his glasses , as he studies the broken shell of a man in the snow.

“Take him,” he says to the soldiers behind him.

“Before the body dies.”

Hands grab me.

Gloves against skin. Straps pulled tight.

A needle is jabbed in my neck.

They begin to drag me away by the ropes on my feet leaving a crimson streak behind.

My mangled body is lifted like cargo , like a doll.

As my head lolls , eyes rolling back ,

I breathe in—I breathe out

Without putting up a fight , the cold surrounds me fully ,

allowing the icey tentacles of hopelessness to creep in –

the grip of winter is too strong , I'm too tired to pretend I have a fight left in me.

It fully consumes me as I give up all I have and allow my mind to enter the darkness.

-end

#bucky barnes #sebastian stan #james bucky buchanan barnes #winter soldier #bucky barnes pov #emmyscornerwrites #first post #thunderbolts #the new avengers #marvel thunderbolts #falcon and the winter soldier

23 notes · View notes

ritsuka-is-dawn · 2 days ago

Text

Collection of destined one

Pairing: Sun Wukong x Destiny

The destined one = Tianming

Note: This chapter has a slight stalker ish vibe, but everything happens with mutual consent I promise!

———

For some reason, Tianming had always liked collecting things. Not valuables or treasures, really—just small trinkets he found along the way. But when it came to him, things always seemed to escalate.

He’d wander off the path just to dig up herbs, smash every jar he saw, and open every treasure chest in sight. Nowhere he visited remained untouched. It was as if the god of thievery himself had passed through.

Even though the journey had ended, this habit hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had gotten worse especially after he found a new target: Sun Wukong.

It started innocently enough a stray golden hair that had fallen out. But once there was a first time, there came a second, and then a third.

Soon, he began stealing bigger things: the spoon Wukong used to eat, the cup he drank from, even the used napkins he left behind. Tianming collected them all. In his room, a cozy little corner piled high with Wukong’s things looked like a warm bird’s nest.

And more than that, he had a small figurine of Wukong from one of his secret trips to the human world, set up like a miniature shrine.

Then one day, he saw Wukong’s robe draped casually over a chair. It still held Wukong’s scent.

…He took it with him.

He knew he shouldn’t have. He knew it was creepy. But he couldn’t stop himself.

⸻

Recently, Sun Wukong had started to notice… his things were disappearing, one by one. The pillow he used had been replaced with a softer one. Something or someone had clearly been “collecting” from his room.

Don’t think he hadn’t noticed. Not even the slightest movement within ten meters escaped his sharp senses.

It had to be one of the monkeys in the troop.

And it had to be one he trusted enough to let close without his guard up.

He didn’t feel creeped out on the contrary, he was more amused by this little thief’s boldness.

That day, Wukong reclined against a suspiciously soft pillow, lazily popping grapes into his mouth while scanning the room with a sharp, slow gaze.

He’d known for a while now that things were missing. Not just the pillow little things, too. His favorite pair of chopsticks, a robe he’d forgotten, even an old sash he hadn’t worn in ages had vanished without a trace.

And of course, he knew exactly who had taken them.

That little monkey.

He smirked, reached out, and deliberately placed a bright, eye-catching bundle of cloth on a chair in the middle of the room.

Then he left intentionally leaving the door ajar.

⸻

Tianming stood outside the cave, puzzled. A report was clutched in his hand. As the “Little King” of the mountain an honorary title given by the monkeys of Huaguo Mountain he was here to deliver a progress report. But the door, which was usually shut tight, was slightly ajar today. Did the Great Sage leave in such a hurry he forgot to close it?

Normally, he should’ve waited outside. He shouldn’t enter without permission.

But… when he thought about the Great Sage’s private quarters surely filled with priceless things his feet seemed to gain a will of their own. By the time he realized it, he was already standing inside Wukong’s room.

The room smelled of mountain air, clean earth, and dry grass like the scent of nature in the morning after rain blended with the faint sweetness of divine peaches.

He inhaled deeply, letting out a low, contented hum like a cat. Then his eyes landed on the bundle of cloth resting on the chair just what he needed to complete his little nest.

“Just one piece of cloth…” he murmured, walking toward the chair.

His hand reached out slowly, heart pounding for no reason.

But just before his fingers brushed the cloth a voice echoed from the shadows.

“You like my stuff that much?”

There was amusement in the voice.

Tianming jumped, the cloth slipping from his hand. He turned sharply toward Sun Wukong, who was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, tail swaying lazily behind him like a pleased observer of a good show.

When did he get here?! How did I not hear his footsteps?!

“And what should I do with a little thief like you, hmm?” Wukong stepped forward, still wearing that amused smile.

“I—I only came to report on Huaguo Mountain’s affairs, Great Sage. I didn’t mean to trespass,” Tianming mumbled, his voice trailing off. He stared at the floor, not daring to lift his gaze to meet those golden eyes. cheeks burning red, clutching the report in his hands like it was his last lifeline.

Wukong took another step closer. His robe fluttered gently with the breeze. He leaned down slightly to catch a glimpse of Tianming’s face, now Hiding the face behind a Paper

“I haven’t even scolded you yet. Are you blushing all on your own?”

Wukong’s voice dropped to a whisper near his ear, and Tianming’s face flushed even redder. He lowered his head even further, practically burying his face in the report.

“…No,” he mumbled almost inaudibly. “I just… realized I might’ve gone too far…”

“Too far?” Wukong chuckled softly. “You stole all my chopsticks. And those used handkerchiefs? I don’t even want to imagine what you did with them.”

“I just kept them!” Tianming snapped, looking up instinctively, his face as red as a ripe peach. “I didn’t do anything weird!”

“Just kept them, huh?” Wukong grinned wider, the look of someone enjoying a very fun toy. “Did you know? Ever since I found out what you were doing, I’ve been leaving things out on purpose for you to take.”

“…?”

“But it’s funny, you know.” He picked up the cloth and casually pressed it into Tianming’s hands. “You’ve stolen so much from me… yet I don’t want any of it back.”

Tianming clutched the cloth tightly. He was about to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

Wukong looked down at his hands, then spoke softer:

“Maybe it’s because I’ve been stealing from you too.”

Tianming froze, like time had stopped. His mind went blank, hands trembling as if he might drop the report at any second.

Then Wukong laughed gently and patted his shoulder.

“Just kidding,” he said. But the look in his eyes said otherwise. “Now, you said you had a report? Come on, read it to me.”

Tianming thought though it was just a routine report his heart was still pounding like he was trying to sneak off with something precious.

Only this time, it wasn’t an object he was stealing.

It was someone’s heart.

#sun wukong x destined one #black myth wukong #sun wukong #monkey king #destined one #jttw

25 notes · View notes

demigod-shenanigans · 2 days ago

Text

The choiceless hope in grief (chapter 2)

Summary: Leo Valdez has lived and died for the gods. Their war has shaped his life since he was a baby. With Gaia defeated, he sort of hopes he can finally rest. He has friends and some semblance of home to return to for the first time since he was eight years old. Just this once, he allows himself to hope the good things might stick.

But the gods aren’t done with them just yet, and by the time Leo finds his way back, Jason is gone.

This time, Leo decides he’s done just taking the Fates’ bullshit lying down. If getting his best friend back means striking a deal with the gods and venturing into the Underworld… well, it’s probably not even the most reckless thing he’s ever done.

The caveat of said deal? He has to trust Jason will follow him, or his self-doubt will doom them both.

And after the life he’s lived, Leo is so intricately familiar with self-doubt that he could probably trademark the word.

Or: The only possible way for Orpheus to succeed is if he learns to think of himself as a person worth loving.

Word Count for chapter 2: ~6k

Rating: Teen and Up

< Prev | Next >

General notes for this chapter: -More grief/self-loathing themes. Not sure if I’ll be warning for those for each chapter individually since they’re quire relevant to the overall fic, but it’s been a minute, so I thought the reminder probably couldn’t hurt. (It having been a hot minute since I posted the first chapter is also the reason why I put the fic summary here again, I won’t do that for every chapter) -This does also go into the demigod deaths from Tyrant’s Tomb (at least a little bit). The death toll in that book is huge and I honestly found it really upsetting. I’m aware the Hunters don’t canonically stay behind to help rebuild but this is my fic and I can do what I want <3

-For my sanity and yours, we’re suspending our disbelief and taking the fact that Calypso is mentally sixteen in canon at face value. Her and Leo have a variety of problems, and, as should be clear by the premise of this fic, they’re not gonna last, but please note that I will be treating them both as traumatized teenagers.

———

Chapter 2: Piper tries to make burritos unsupervised

The first Iris Message came through on the ninth of April, barely ten minutes after breakfast. Piper’s dad was already at work, which at least meant they thankfully didn’t have to explain why there was a floating rainbow that had people’s faces in it chilling in the middle of the living room.

It was Thalia and Reyna.

Leo hadn’t even realized they knew each other, but apparently the Hunters of Artemis—Diana, whatever—had come to Camp Jupiter’s aid. This should have been a relief, but there was no relief to be found in Reyna’s expression. The only flicker of joy he saw on her face was when she told them she’d be joining the Hunters.

It wasn’t the kind of decision Leo had expected from Reyna. Then again, she barely looked like the same girl that had shown Leo around New Rome with a proud smile, eagerly listening to and expanding on Leo’s ideas for fortifications and long-range weaponry. Had it really only been a few weeks since then? It felt like a lifetime ago now.

There was still that same grim set to Reyna’s jaw, but her usual proud posture looked more like she was… well, posturing, for lack of a better word. And the expression on her face…

Leo knew that expression. He had seen it in the mirror many times as a child, and again in the last few weeks. It was the expression of someone who’d seen their home get burnt down to the foundations and found themself sitting in the wreckage.

He knew the kind of news they were getting even before Reyna started telling them what had happened.

Thalia was easier to look at—Thalia, whose grief was all fury, small bolts of electricity dancing through her dark hair like she was the human embodiment of a storm cloud.

At that moment, she looked nothing like Jason. It was such a relief that Leo almost cried.

They’d won the battle against the emperors, but Reyna called it a Pyrrhic victory—one that was so disastrous for the victors that it was basically indistinguishable from a defeat.

New Rome was in ruins. So many had been wounded. Even more people were dead.

Leo felt sick to his stomach. He’d known some of these demigods. Not well, admittedly, but he’d fought side by side with them. The thought that so many lives had been cut short, and that none of the gods had bothered to interfere for the longest time, despite the fact that it was their kids down there, made him want to punch something.

Knowing that at least some of them had probably been friends with Jason in the life he’d never properly remembered, and how desperately Jason had always tried to protect everyone when the gods couldn’t be bothered to…

Leo clenched his trembling fists, flames dancing in his curls and licking at his arms, all the way up to his elbows.

He needed to go outside and cool down for a bit to avoid lighting Piper’s bedroom on fire by accident.

~~~~ They were talking about Jason’s funeral when he got back. Thalia hadn’t been able to make it, which felt like a punch to the gut. She hadn’t found out he’d died until after it was already over. Percy and Annabeth still didn’t know, and Reyna wasn’t sure about Nico.

And there was the regret Leo had been so terribly afraid of feeling. He didn’t regret keeping Piper safe, especially not after hearing just how hard-won the ensuing battle had been. She was sitting here, next to him, alive, and nothing would ever make him regret that. It wasn’t even that he suddenly thought attending the funeral would have brought him any closure. How the fuck could there ever be closure for something like this?

But the thought of Jason, who’d been abandoned by both of his parents and had his memory wiped by his patron—whose camp had barely looked for him after he’d gone missing—going into death alone, surrounded mostly by strangers who had only known the person he’d been before he’d lost his memories, if that, made Leo feel sick to the stomach.

It didn’t matter that he knew Jason would have cared more about them being safe than he would have about them attending the funeral. It felt like failing him all over again.

“I ditched you both in life, and now he’s gone, and I couldn’t even bother to be there for him, then.”

His eyes were swimming again. Piper wrapped her arms around him wordlessly.

Reyna—serious, stoic, collected Reyna—had an expression on her face like she wanted to reach through the Iris Message and pat his head.

“I held some private rites for him,” Thalia said gently. It wasn’t worded as a suggestion, but the meaning was clear anyway. “I’ve also spent a lot of extra time shooting arrows at stuff lately. It helps, if only a little.”

“The only thing I could shoot here is Leo, and he hasn’t annoyed me that much yet,” Piper commented, so Leo promptly kicked her in the shin. “Ow! Actually, keep it up and I might use you for target practice, after all.”

“You can’t. I still owe Thalia hot sauce.”

It was such an absurd statement that even Reyna almost cracked a smile. “Yeah, I’m going to need context on that one.”

~~~~

Two hours later, a rainbow image of Frank and Hazel popped up. The worst part of that conversation was them asking how exactly it had happened, because apparently Apollo had performed a song about it, which had been emotional but not super clear on the details. Piper struggled to tell the story again, and she was reassured several times that she didn’t have to, but she pushed through. The only slight comfort was that Jason would have been dead right away—hopefully he hadn’t been in pain for long.

The second worst part of the conversation was way more mundane: Frank asking what their plans were going forward.

Leo didn’t think there would be much going forward for him, just in general. In his mind, he’d been planning on staying in this reprieve forever—playing video games and getting lost in the woods with Piper as they continued to pointedly ignore the emptiness of the third chair at their little table.

Jason’s face kept popping up in his dreams, but the days were mostly bearable as long as he was here with Piper.

But then Piper talked about school, and the classes she was planning to take, and the possibility of college somewhere in the area. She talked about her dad and camping and maybe getting a job to help out.

Things that a person with a normal life would have done.

And, okay, maybe a part of Leo had realized that his idea of the future wasn’t exactly realistic. He also realized he couldn’t stay

there forever. He didn’t want to be a burden on Piper and Tristan. He knew how long Piper had been wanting to properly spend time with her dad, and now she actually had the chance to, and here Leo was, inserting himself right into the middle of their already complicated father-daughter-relationship. He wasn’t supposed to be here, messing this up for her.

As much as he disliked thinking about this, he couldn’t keep ignoring that particular part of reality. He’d already spent too much of his life in homes where he wasn’t wanted. He couldn’t stand the thought of bothering Piper so much that she started feeling that way about him, too.

As good as it felt to see Hazel and Frank, a part of Leo was relieved when they ended that call. The even more horrible, selfish part of him was also glad Hazel had promised to be the one who told Nico. Leo didn’t know him that well, but he knew Nico didn’t have many friends and that he’d already lost too much. That particular breakdown Leo felt like he was in no way equipped to handle. He could hardly even deal with himself right now.

The calls didn’t stop.

Piper’s siblings called, asking how she was and what had happened, and so they had to tell the story again, tearing off the scab and making their wounds bleed all over the place.

Then, like everything else wasn’t bad enough, Leo got an IM from a very anxious Harley, who seemed relieved he was alive and asked when he was coming back to camp.

“Don’t know yet,” Leo said, forcing a smile. “Probably not for a while. I’ll call you, though. I promise.”

He didn’t have the heart to tell his kid brother that he wasn’t sure he was ever coming back—that even thinking about stepping into this place that was brimming with memories of Jason made him feel sick to the stomach.

Leo supposed he couldn’t blame Reyna for wanting to leave behind a city full of ghosts when he couldn’t even handle one of them.

~~~~

Shel invited Piper out for coffee two days later. Via letter, of all things, because obviously Piper hadn’t had a phone number to give her but Shel apparently wouldn’t let that stop her.

“You falling out of a tree really did it for her, hm?” Leo teased, trying to read the letter over Piper’s shoulder.

“Har. Har. Har.”

“Hey, you were the one who said you liked me being supportive and annoying.” He nudged her. “Come on, what’s it say?”

“Like I told you, she just asked me to grab coffee with her.” She folded the letter before he could get a proper look at it, but Leo knew it had way too much text to just be that.

“Liar.”

“Okay, okay.” Piper held up her hands defensively. “She really did just ask, but she might have done it with a poem.”

“Damn.” Leo raised his eyebrows. “You think she’s picked out engagement rings yet?”

“Shut up.”

“I will refer back to your comment about liking that I’m supportive and annoying again! You’ll never get me to shut my mouth now. Besides, I did promise to make you regret saying you missed me,” he teased her. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

Piper snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Shel’s picking me up in an hour. Are you sure you’ll be alright here on your own?”

It was clear that she was reluctant to leave him, especially since her dad was at work.

Truthfully, Leo wasn’t super thrilled about the thought of being alone, either. But it was clear that Piper wanted to do this, and that was more important than him not wanting to be alone for a few hours.

He could totally do this. He’d spent a pretty large chunk of his life alone. He had plenty of experience keeping himself busy.

“I’ve third-wheeled on enough of your dates for one lifetime, thanks,” Leo informed her, still grinning. “Besides, I should probably call my own girlfriend. That’ll be a lot less awkward without you being around to give me shit.”

Because contacting Calypso may have barely crossed his mind in the past few weeks due to him being both a garbage boyfriend and a garbage person just in general, but at least in theory, they were still dating.

Piper stuck her tongue out at him, and he just hoped his laugh wasn’t too obviously fake.

“For the record, though, this won’t be a date,” Piper said determinedly. “I’m not- I don’t think that would be fair to Shel. Not when I still have so much to figure out, and not when I’m still dealing with… you know.”

“For the record, I don’t think Jason would be the type to show up and haunt his ex during dates. If he does, let me know, because then I might have to unfriend him post-mortem.”

He knew Piper didn’t love when he made these kinds of jokes, but she never told him to stop. Humor had always been how he coped. Piper got that.

“Leo.” Piper groaned, exasperated. “Be serious for a second, yeah?”

“Oh, I’m super serious. Possessive ghost exes are a total friendship dealbreaker for me.” Leo nudged her again. “As the resident expert on constantly getting rejected, maybe don’t take my advice on this, but I don’t think there’s a timeline for these things. It’s okay if you find her cute. I think he’d want you to be happy. That’s the kind of awful sap he is.”

Leo realized he’d slipped into present tense again, but he didn’t have it in him to correct himself. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

“I do find her cute. I just don’t think I’m ready for a relationship at the moment.”

“That’s fair.” Leo shrugged. “If I don’t get to be best man at your wedding, I’ll be really pissed, though.”

Piper stepped on his foot, so he kicked her in the leg and a moment later, they were swatting each other with pillows like they were little kids. Piper was actually laughing. For the first time in weeks, she seemed genuinely excited about something. And Leo wanted her to be happy. He was glad at least one of them was.

~~~~

The door closing behind Piper was terrifying. Suddenly, Leo was truly alone with his thoughts for the first time since Jason had died. Even late at night, when his thoughts inevitably drifted in all kinds of awful directions, Piper was there. Even if she was asleep and all he could do was hear her breathing, that still helped. This? Being alone with his thoughts in a completely quiet room? 0/10 experience, would not recommend.

He didn’t give himself much time to think. He rummaged around in his tool belt and pulled out a golden drachma for an Iris Message—as upset as Leo was with all the gods right now, he supposed at least his dad had the decency to actually give him an allowance—then pulled out the device he’d been working on. It was a small cylinder, no larger than the palm of his hand, and it obediently folded out into a prism at the push of a button. You just needed to fill it with water, switch it on, and voilà: you got yourself a rainbow. It even had an inbuilt flashlight in case you needed to use it when the sun was out.

He tried to swallow his anxiety and flipped the drachma into the rainbow.

“Iris, goddess of the Rainbow, please accept my offering. Show me Calypso. Waystation, Indianapolis.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the rainbow flickered and an image appeared—blurry at first, then slowly taking shape. Calypso was sitting at a desk by a window, brooding over some notebook that almost looked like…

Leo blinked.

“Huh, am just heroically saving you from your homework?”

Calypso’s head snapped up. Her eyes went wide as saucers. “Leo?”

“I do recall that being my name, yes.” He grinned and waved. “Hi.”

He tried to remember how to talk to Calypso. The thing was, Leo wasn’t sure he’d ever actually known. Hell, even if he had, how exactly did you greet a girl you’d sort of ditched a few weeks ago and hadn’t called since?

Calypso didn’t look very amused. “Where are you? You were gone so long that- I was beginning to think you’d died!”

“Well, yeah, I did,” Leo said with a shrug. “That’s how I rescued you, remember?”

It was easier to say that than to say anything else. To admit it really did feel like there was a part of him that had died and that he was never getting back. He didn’t want to have to actually talk about Jason—to tell the story again—especially not without Piper there.

He realized his mistake a moment too late. Calypso’s eyes flared with anger.

“For the last time, you did not rescue me!” she snapped. “And do you think that’s funny? You disappear for weeks without a word, and that’s one of the first things you say to me? Do you have any idea how worried we were?”

Right. Joking back and forth with Piper had been so natural and easy that he’d briefly forgotten Calypso didn’t like it when he did that.

Okay, admittedly, Piper probably wouldn’t have appreciated that particular joke either. She would have crossed her arms and told him off. But they would have been okay, after.

He never felt like he and Calypso were okay, coming out of these arguments. Most of the time, he just felt like shit.

“Yeah, well, things happened. And it’s not my fault communications were down.” He didn’t look at the image in the rainbow.

“What is it?” Her voice softened a little. “What happened?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Well that’s not exactly helpful,” she huffed. “Will you tell me when you’re coming back home, at least? Maybe we can talk then.”

Leo was pretty sure he visibly winced at the word ‘home’. He wasn’t sure what the Waystation was, but he’d only spent a few days there. It wasn’t a bad place, but it most definitely wasn’t home. Home had burnt down when he’d been eight years old. The only other home Leo had ever found was ashes scattered across the ruins of New Rome now.

Leo pushed the thought away. He had to keep it together.

“I… listen, I don’t know yet. I just need some time to… I don’t know. Process, I guess.”

“Process whatever it is you’re refusing to tell me about.” Calypso crossed her arms. “Fine. But you are coming back?”

There was an edge to her voice now—that of someone who had been left behind a few too many times. Over the course of her life, every person who’d ever kept her company had eventually dipped and left her heartbroken, never sparing her another thought.

And now Leo had done the exact same thing.

Wow, he was a terrible person.

“Obviously.”

He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t continue bothering Piper when she clearly wanted to at least try to move on. And he had promised Calypso to try and stay somewhere with her—to live a normal life with her. Going back on that wasn’t fair to her. Not even when he was sure he was too broken to live that kind of life—too broken for anyone to ever properly put him back together.

Staying here wasn’t fair on poor Festus, either. Leo knew his dragon friend didn’t like being folded up into suitcase form as much as he was, but Piper’s new home wasn’t exactly made for huge metal dragons.

Leo tried to keep talking to Calypso. He really did. She lit up a little when he asked about school, and so they talked about that for a while. Calypso told him about classmates she got along with and how she liked marching band and Emmie tutoring her in the subjects she didn’t understand.

Leo listened and tried to get past the fact that he just didn’t get it. He tried to grasp her excitement for a place that had at best been boring as hell and at worst been actual torture for him.

“That sounds… I’m glad you’re happy.”

“I wish you were here. You’ve already missed several weeks of classes, but I think you’d like this school.”

Leo almost laughed. “I highly doubt that. They have yet to invent a school that can even contain me, never mind one that I actually like.”

“If you’re still refusing to engage in any sort of actual conversation with me that even vaguely implies there is a future where you may be coming back,” Calypso said bitingly, “will you at least tell me where you are so we can all stop worrying so much?” Leo kept brushing past the answer to that question because he knew it would prompt more questions that he wasn’t ready to get into. “Did you manage to help Camp Jupiter?”

“I-” Leo’s throat closed up. Not enough, his brain supplied. I couldn’t save Jason, and I couldn’t protect his home, either. I’m not sure me going there made a difference at all. He couldn’t bring himself to say any of that. “Kind of. I’m with Piper right now.”

Calypso’s expression soured even further.

“You ditched me and let me think you were dead for weeks so you could hang out with your friends? Let me guess, Jason is there, too.”

Somewhere, there was a rational part of Leo’s brain that realized this did sound bad. If he had been listening to that rational part right now, he probably could have had a mature conversation about this with Calypso. They could have resolved this like reasonable people.

But at the mention of Jason’s name, he just shut down. He did not tell Calypso anything. He just hung up on her.

~~~~

Leo showered, so by the time Piper got home he didn’t look like he’d spent the past hour curled up in a corner, bawling his eyes out.

Piper wasn’t an idiot, though. She knew that something was up the second she stepped through the door to find Leo in the kitchen making burritos.

“You okay?”

“Just got hungry.” He shrugged, like he wasn’t in fact trying to cook out the feelings he hadn’t been able to get rid of with his tears. It hadn’t really worked—cooking couldn’t exactly fix relationship issues or the fact that his best friend was dead—but rolling up the ingredients in one of his handmade tortillas at least helped keep his hands busy, and he actually was a little hungry. “You can have one, if you didn’t already eat on your date. Ingredients are pick what you want,” he said, gesturing at the mess of bowls and the still sizzling pan of fried tofu, “but they’re all vegetarian.”

“You are my favorite person in the whole entire world, and also definitely trying to distract me,” Piper said, shaking her head, but she did move to fill up one of the still-warm tortillas with a ridiculous amount of black beans, lettuce and tofu, combined with not nearly enough salsa, as far as Leo was concerned. “And it wasn’t a date.”

“Mhm, sure. Did you guys-” Leo broke off in horror. He’d been watching Piper work, and sure, he’d been lovingly judging some of her completely unbalanced food combos in his head, but this he could no longer tolerate. “Pipes, what in the world are you doing? I’m unfriending you.”

He set his own food down on his plate and moved to stand beside his best friend. Screw the date interrogation, for now he had to save Piper’s poor tortured burrito.

“I thought I just had to roll the tortilla. Did I put too much stuff on it and that’s why it doesn’t work?”

She’d been trying to roll the entire thing in a single direction, impressively managing to make her excessive amounts of filling spill out of three sides at once.

“This is what I get for briefly forgetting you grew up a rich kid with a private chef,” Leo groaned, shaking his head in exaggerated disbelief. He gently shoved Piper away from the kitchen counter to do rescue breathing on her half-slaughtered dinner. “You can’t roll it like that, you absolute heathen. You need to tuck the sides in. Here, like this. That way you won’t end up with ingredients all the way down your shirt.”

He gently opened the tortilla back up, took a spoon to move the filling Piper hadn’t spilled to the middle and then rolled it properly, like his mom had shown him when he’d been five. He made a point of doing it way slower than necessary, like he actually expected Piper to memorize the steps and maybe take notes.

“Okay, okay, point taken.” Piper raised her hands. “But heathen is a hilarious insult considering we both have a Greek god for a parent.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a riot.” Leo grinned, neatly cutting the burrito down the middle and handing the plate back to Piper. Then, he started wiping down the counter. Kitchens were the only work spaces Leo had ever properly bothered to keep tidy. “Now that neither you nor your food are at immediate risk of death, tell me how things went with Shel. You engaged yet? For your sake, I hope she’s better at rolling burritos than you, because otherwise you’re both doomed.”

He made a show of looking at her hands like he was actually expecting to find a ring.

“Shut up.” Piper rolled her eyes, but she smiled. “It was pretty great, actually.”

“Hello? Details?” Leo waved his hands in circles for emphasis. “You don’t seriously think I’m letting you off the hook that easily, do you?”

Instead of moving towards the table like she should have, Piper flopped down on the small couch with her food, so Leo grabbed his plate and joined her there. He wasn’t complaining about dinner on the couch.

“I’m only telling you if you tell me what’s up with you first. Because, distraction or not, you won’t get rid of me that easily, either.” She nudged him gently, then stuffed her mouth with food like she was trying to emphasize she wouldn’t go first.

Her face melted into a completely content expression, and Leo immediately felt happier.

“That good, hm?” Piper made a humming noise of confirmation. “Then I think you owe it to me to tell me how your date was. I promise I’ll tell you what’s up with me after,” Leo said with a grin.

He knew he had to give her something or she would never talk, but he really wanted to hear about Piper’s day before he went and ruined the mood.

“Ugh. You’re the worst.” Piper sighed, letting herself fall against the sofa’s backrest dramatically. “Fine. But only because you’ll be completely unbearable otherwise.”

“You know me so well.”

Leo tried not to feel a sting at how great Piper’s day had been without him there. What he felt when she talked wasn’t the same painful sting he’d felt when it had been her and Jason dating, though Leo couldn’t quite explain why. Most of him didn’t mind this. Hell, most of him was happy for her.

But it certainly didn’t help the feeling that he wasn’t exactly needed here.

The not-date itself actually sounded pretty nice, as long as Leo managed to make all the useless voices in his head shut up.

Shel and Piper had grabbed coffee (which Leo couldn’t sympathize with) and just talked for ages. Shel was apparently on her school’s swimming team, did theatre in her free time and liked a lot of the same music and movies as Piper. She’d lived in Tahlequah her entire life. She’d also known she was a lesbian since she was eight years old.

At that point, Piper had apparently felt like she owed her some sort of heads up—both about the fact that she was still new to all this and about having recently lost a really close friend that she’d dated at some point and how that didn’t leave her with much headspace to figure out… everything else.

That seemed like a lot to share so early on, but Piper said Shel hadn’t minded. She’d just thanked her for being so honest, and told her she was there if Piper needed someone to talk everything through with.

“Which I obviously can’t, because well, if I told her a Roman Emperor came back to life and stabbed my ex, she’d definitely think I’ve lost it completely, but it’s a nice sentiment.”

“Yeah, I thought everything else was already a bit much, but ‘my mom is a Greek goddess, I can brainwash people and me and my friends saved the world last year’ really isn’t a conversation for a first date.”

Leo wasn’t sure how Piper could stand it. The thought of having to keep most of his life secret from a mortal parent and any new friends he made seemed impossible to him. Hell, even if he’d wanted to, Leo was pretty sure he’d inevitably slip up and make a joke about the time he almost got eaten by a giant killer shrimp, and that was if he didn’t anxiously catch himself on fire first.

“Anyway, she said it’s totally understandable that I need time, and if the worst she can get out of this is a friendship with a pretty girl, that’s still a win in her book. And she still insisted on paying, to welcome me here,” Piper told Leo fondly. “It was… I don’t know. She’s nice. I’ll probably end up at the same school as her, and she’s offered to show me around.”

“So, how soon can I expect a wedding invite?” Leo asked with a grin. “You’ll remember the best man thing, right?”

“Keep this up and you won't get an invite if I do actually get married one day,” she teased back, gently flicking him in the head. “Now, tell me what’s going on with you. You promised. Did your call with your girlfriend go okay?”

Leo winced, which was answer enough in his opinion, but he knew Piper would disagree with him on that one. He still didn’t want to have this conversation. He also really didn’t want to bring Piper down when she’d finally had a good day for the first time in ages.

But she was looking at him expectantly, and Leo knew that no matter how much he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to get out of this one.

“It wasn’t great. Apparently, me being gone for so long had everyone pretty worried. Go figure,” he admitted, hoping he could avoid elaborating. He didn’t exactly want to dump all of his relationship issues on Piper, especially since there wasn’t anything she could do to fix them. He knew it was sort of necessary to keep talking, but he could barely get the words out. “And, uh. Because of that, I think it might be time for me to head back to the Waystation.”

It was something he’d been thinking about on and off since that IM with Frank and Hazel. And as much as the thought of going back made his stomach pool with dread, the call with Calypso had just sealed the deal. Once he’d managed to stop crying like a baby and his heart had quit throbbing out a painful rhythm of Jason, Jason, Jason until he couldn’t breathe, Leo had at least tried to figure out what he wanted to do now. He couldn’t keep staying with Piper, who was finally starting to be somewhat okay again. He couldn’t keep ignoring the fact that he’d just ditched Calypso for the world’s longest, most depressing sleepover.

If he wanted any chance to salvage that situation, and if he wanted to give Piper a chance to actually move on instead of continuously dragging her down with him when he didn’t want to move on the way she was trying to, then he had to go back to the Waystation.

The teasing smile slid off Piper’s face.

“Oh,” she said, her lip wobbling a little. “Do you really have to go?”

Leo felt almost relieved that Piper seemed sad, though he realized maybe that was a bit of a shitty reaction on his part. At least he hadn’t completely annoyed his way out of this friendship just yet.

“See, that’s why I refused to go first. Instant mood killer.” He tried for a half-smile. “But yeah, I should probably go back soon. I’ve kind of been neglecting my girlfriend a whole bunch—I haven’t seen her in over a month, which is pretty shitty of me. Besides, poor Festus deserves to be in a place where it’s easier for him to stretch his legs. You know he doesn’t like being in sleep cycle this much.”

Piper wrapped her arms around herself. “I guess that makes sense, but- do you have to leave right now?”

Leo shrugged. “I mean, I don’t think another day or two will make a difference at this point. I’m going to get an earful once I get back either way.”

“Okay. Good. I know that you can’t stay here forever. But I need a few more days with you. I’m sure Festus will forgive you eventually.” Piper was obviously trying to sound like she was teasing him, but something pleading, almost desperate crept into her voice, which had Leo worried.

“Yeah. Festus.” Leo cringed internally. He actually wasn’t all that worried about Festus staying mad at him—sure, he might pout for a bit and would probably complain most of the way back to the Waystation, but he was usually easily appeased with enough motor oil, Tabasco sauce and maybe an upgrade or two.

Leo was unfortunately pretty sure his relationship issues with Calypso would need fixing that was beyond the magical abilities of Tabasco sauce—though what would fix them, he had absolutely no idea.

Them having problems wasn’t exactly new, and hadn’t entirely been caused by him running off on her now—even if that admittedly hadn’t helped.

“So, are we doing the world’s longest goodbye movie marathon, or do you need me for anything specific?” Leo joked, trying to hide his relief at getting to stay for a few more days, consequences for his relationship with Calypso be damned. “I know you’ve been lucky to bask in my presence for so long, I’d be reluctant to let me go, too, but that sounded like you might have actual plans.”

Piper didn’t laugh. She didn’t even roll her eyes at him, which was a terrible sign.

“If you really have to leave, there’s something I want to do first.” She reached out and took his hands with shaking fingers. “I- I’ve been thinking. About what Thalia said. And I want to find a way to properly say goodbye, too. But I don’t think I can do this without you.”

Leo felt like someone had punched him. He could basically feel the way all color drained from his face at Piper’s words.

“I- I don’t know if I can-” he stammered, fighting his instinct to immediately turn on his heels and run—out of this room and this house and preferably the entire state of Oklahoma.

Joking about it was one thing. Facing the reality of it—the fact that Jason was truly gone and he’d never get to see him or hug him or joke with him again—was an entirely different beast.

Leo wasn’t sure he was ready for that. He wasn’t sure he would ever be ready for that.

“You don’t have to say or do anything you don’t want to. I promise,” Piper told him, gently squeezing his hand. “I won’t force you to do anything you don’t feel ready for, okay? I just need you there. Please?”

Piper wasn’t charmspeaking him. Leo would have known if she was, and he knew that she’d never do that to him—not when it came to something as important as this. But she was looking at him with such wild desperation in her eyes that it was still impossible for him to say no.

It didn’t matter if this didn’t help him. Piper needed it. He’d left her for over six months. She was the one who’d actually been present when Jason had died.

The thought of that kept him up at night. He kept imagining Piper kneeling over Jason. Piper shaking Jason’s shoulders and screaming his name, hoping desperately for an answer she’d never receive. Piper clutching Jason’s body to her chest for the very last time. Piper wailing on that awful beach while Leo was a thousand miles away.

He hadn’t been there for her when she’d needed him the most. This was the least he could do to start making things up to her.

“Okay,” he said, reaching out to pull Piper into his arms. It was a mostly selfish act, really—if he hadn’t been holding onto something, Leo wasn’t sure how he would have kept himself from falling apart. “What do you want to do?”

“Jason wasn’t just a Roman demigod. Not since-” Piper broke off, but Leo caught her meaning anyway. Not since he met us. “He belonged to both camps. That was important to him. I think he should have a proper Camp Half-Blood funeral, too.”

———

Some more notes:

So, it’s been six months since I posted the first chapter of this fic and about fourteen months since I first started working on it, and I am delighted to announce that it’s finally done! I can therefore reliably promise both weekly updates and that this fic won’t be abandoned partway through! Hooray!

It still feels kind of dizzying whenever I think about this story actually being done considering how long it’s been my main writing project. I originally thought this whole fic was going to be done in like three chapters. It turns out what my brain wanted instead was a whole Leo Valdez novel. I cannot say that I, personally, am upset about this outcome.

Special shout-out to my friends who have listened to me ramble and rant about this fic for months LMAO

I poured a lot of love into this story and I hope you’ll have a good time with it! Comments obviously super, super appreciated. Thank you all for reading!

Tag list: @poppitron360 @bookIshpolythist @lilyfrey @lady-silkwing @intenebrisobscurat @manygeese @ann-rex

(If anyone wants to be added/removed from the tag list, let me know!)

#leo valdez #heroes of olympus #hoo #piper mclean #Piper and Leo #valgrace #leo x jason #lost trio #jason x leo #my writing #Tchig #pjo #HoO fanfic

21 notes · View notes

sadnightforus · 2 days ago

Text

PARTY 4 U (HVC)

party-goer!vernon x party-thrower-gn!reader

SYNOPSIS: What's a better way to catch the attention of the man that you’ve been silently (or not so silently) pining for since your first year of college? Throw a party of course, or go to the same party that he attends. You chose the former, throwing the party, as you only have a semester left until you both graduate. Your prayer was answered when he showed up, but will he return your feelings too?

WORD COUNT: 4.3K

WARNINGS: alcohol, marijuana and drugs usage, yearning, implied suggestive content, a little misunderstandings, a few cuss words, insecurities. The reader is sort of implied to be AFAB with outfits and such but I’m writing mc to be as neutrally gendered as I can. mentioned of yves from loona (ha sooyoung the goat). I try to keep the hair color out of the picture so it’ll only mention the hairstyle!

A/N: Nobody knew but I'm Charli's biggest fan (the Jaehyun’s fic next life was based on her demo). Also wrote this cause Vernon is a huge Charli’s fan. In honor of the mv to this song finally dropping, I dedicate this song to him <3 (also why is this au so long???)

reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated!

“Are you sure that he’s coming?” Your friend asks, her arms crossing as she looks at you with skepticism.

“I’m sure. The news is all over the campus.” You say, masking your own fear behind the confident and nonchalant persona that you think you have mastered over the years.

“Well…” She trails off, before slowly stepping out of the kitchen and she picks up one of the lighters to do god knows what.

As the neon lights that are installed from every corner of the room flashes across everybody’s faces, making them look alluring like stars under the spotlight and the sounds of people talking pass by your ears, you are reminded of how you got here.

Let’s start at the very beginning.

You recalled, the second semester in your first year of university, where you thought that your regular life would proceed with the usual boring, mundane and predictable routines, becomes much spicier.

As you sat in your seat for your first lecture of the day, and only had 7 minutes left until the professor entered the classroom, you saw a man who walked into the lecture hall with confidence and his head held high, headphones covering both of his ears, as his washed denim jacket and the white plain shirt tucked loosely and ragged against his skin in a way that suggests that he knows a thing or two about dressing up. You were face to face with the most beautiful man you’ve seen, who will be your classmate. Your first impression of him was that he must’ve been a confident person, maybe even someone who socializes and interacts with others quite often, a friendly person.

You hoped to get to know him better.

By the second year, as you continued to share classes with him, and being in the same class as him for many months made you realize that your first impression was the opposite of him. Sure, he was kind, but he keeps to himself a lot, and he hangs with a circle of people, who are all popular. This made you distressed, actually. You might’ve had some excuses to get close to him if he was more outgoing, but he wasn’t.

So you spent the next two years silently admiring him from afar, even actually went as far to change your ways. Although you are quiet, also remain in the background at first and never quite fond of parties, as you prefer to do real night outs like at abstract places or places buzzing with extreme energy, you slowly find yourself going to parties that his friends throw.

Then, there was an incident in the 3rd year of college, where you recalled that it was your second party of the school year, where you also smoked weed for the first time. Lame. You know. But you typically don’t ever indulge in them, mainly only alcohol and cigarettes on the side. But he tasted like marijuana and the love that you’ve harbored for him all this time as your tongue slipped down his throat in the dingling bathroom that shone of bright blue neon lights, inside Chan’s house.

It never went further than that.

You both kissed. And kissed. You both did this when the opportunities arose, which is whenever the conversation took a different direction, and occasionally hung out where he was the one to call first. It’s quite impressive that you both go this long without getting physical.

It’s a routine that you never get used to, but always looking forward to. You both hardly made out, but you both talked to each other quite a lot, for people who had no affiliations and thread on the lines of strangers, friendship and romantic relationship. You’d notice— sometimes, he showed up at the parties, sometimes, he didn’t. Admittedly, you were disappointed, as you put on the prettiest dress and so much effort was wasted just for it to not be seen by him.

You felt like you were being played, and even your friend tried to knock some sense into you.

“I told you a million times. He’s playing with your feelings.” Your friend, Sooyoung, reminded you again as you did your makeup for a party that you heard that he’d attend.

“I know.” You muttered in annoyance, even though your friend was right about it. In your head, you’d

“And you do the same thing, every time.” She complained as she watched you repeat the process of dolling up, it wasn’t surprising to her at all, but like normal human’s nature, she herself got exhausted as she watched you stuck in a cycle of unreciprocated love.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” You questioned, rolling your eyes as the brushes stroked against your skin. Sooyoung looked at you with her judgmental stare, her tongue spelled it out, loud and clear.

“Sort of.”

That was the conversation that you had with her. It’s a mantra at this point.

And every time that she was right, each time after the party ended, you went home and wallowed in self pity and inferiority. And Sooyoung watched you being pathetic and hopeless like that, but you just wouldn’t listen.

You’re determined to change it today.

That’s why you managed to convince Sooyoung to help you with the party preparations. And she swore up and down that this is the only time she’d ever help you if you did something for Vernon to notice you.

Your parents’ house, now left empty for days now, has transformed from a living space into a place for entertainment, void of treasures and valuables that could be stolen or broken, as you locked them away.

How… pathetic you are, throwing a party for a guy who you’re in this weird talking stage with.

You put on the shortest dress, one that makes even the less-than-holier you feel uncomfortable. But really, for the sake of him, you’re willing to endure the discomfort. And your lipstick was carefully applied and curated in a way that makes your lips kissable, in hope that he would find it hard to not be kissing you until nothing around you both mattered.

The sound of kisses, laughter and music fill your ear, but you tune it out as you stand in the kitchen, directly facing the front door, even from the very back away. With this place, you can effectively monitor the event and also see the newcomers of the party firsthand, as quickly as you can. You have nothing on you, not even the drink, because you wanted to be sober enough to see his face. You can’t afford to be so drunk that you’ll be throwing yourself at a guy because he looks just like Vernon, or you made it all up.

Time passes by quick, as quick as the time that it took for you to realize that you harbored more than a feeling of admiration for that boy you saw in your first year of college, as quick as your impulsivity to throw this party, just to have him come to your house. 10, 20, 30, 40, and 57 minutes passed by since it started, yet you can hardly spot even his friends walking through that door first.

60, 70, 80 passed and there’s anybody but him passing through that door. You start to get impatient and anxious. You try so hard to not bite on your now manicured nails, you want Vernon to notice all those pretty little charms on your nails, in hope to be appealing to him.

There’s a nagging in at the back of your head that goes;

What if he doesn’t show up?

Then it would mean nothing, would it?

What do you even call him? He’s not your friend with benefits. And certainly not your boyfriend, far from an acquaintance or just merely a classmate. But are you friends with him?

99 Minutes has passed, you let out a sigh as the night grows older.

You remember today that it was a full moon, and even if you don’t believe in anything like manifesting, you make a prayer. You close your eyes and make a wish for every second that counts.

May he show up. May he return your feelings.

If only he shows up exactly on the 100th minute.

You open your eyes, and you’re met with the striking figure that has stolen your breath 4 years ago. At the same time, it has been 100 minutes since you’ve waited for him. Just as you wish.

He came through that door like a star, shining bright in the sky, out of your reach, only letting you admire his beauty before he walked out again.

His hair has been dyed back to brown, after a period of him bleaching it in a dark blonde. This hair color makes him look even more unattainable, to you. It highlights his beauty and his deep set eyes so beautifully that you’re left to stare at the universe's creation, who knows your name, and exists in the same time as you, but not your heart.

That’s what love does. It breaks your heart but you can’t stop wanting him.

He comes with a few friends, you think you see Wonwoo, the most introverted person ever, comes out of his hibernation. There is probably something in the stars, but you don’t want to overthink things. You also spot Soonyoung, the most introverted person, tags along. It’s like they’re there to balance Vernon tonight, seeing the polar opposites of them both.

The metal necklace around his neck, which you instantly recognize that it’s from a brand that he has been wanting to get for quite awhile, as you remember this fact from one of the talks with him, the washed, rough looking denim jacket and jeans, and a tank top that has texts written all over, which you couldn’t be bothered to read, as you are distracted by the man that you’re at least 20 feet away from. Vernon greets the people who greet back to him, but keeps the interaction short and almost professional, as if it wasn’t his intention to get to know new people.

“So, are you going to talk to him?”

“Jesus, you can’t warn me beforehand?” You lose your balance and stumble backward as Sooyoung’s voice snaps you out of your daze when looking at the man who is in your vision. You feel like an invisible wall has been built just for you both to act like nothing has happened. You don’t know when she will even come back.

“You throw a party for him but you won't even talk to him? Really?” She looks at you like a disappointed mother, and honestly, she probably is. “You know this is your last chance.”

Right, it’s so goddamn close to the graduation period. And nobody, including him, will attend parties by then. They’ll be too busy studying.

You roll your eyes, fed up by her, but you just lack the courage, as you fear rejection more than silence. But it also kills you to not know what he is thinking about, or his opinion on you. He’s too calm and stoic, while you're an open book of an emotional mess.

“Give me a blunt or alcohol first, maybe I’ll find it in me to go and finally say it.” You say it as a joke, but Sooyooung doesn’t take it so lightly. She just silently opens the cabinet and reaches for a plastic cup, then fills it with some soju, while her face shows that she reaches her breaking point.

You can only stare at her in horror. She means business.

“You can’t complain that you’re nervous now, here.” You got handed a drink and like a grateful friend you are, you just sadly thank her, and then gulp down, finishing the first cup after a while.

After 3 cups of it, as served by your friend, you finally find it in you to go and walk around to Vernon, who is seemingly standing in the corner, on his phone and keeping an eye out for Hoshi and apparently, also Seokmin, who you have no idea when did he get here. Nonetheless, you pick a place, standing not too close to him, leaning against the wall, trying to not show the significance of his presence in your brain.

“Hi.” You smile awkwardly as Vernon seems to finally snap out of his daydream or train of thoughts. “Sorry I’m late to greet you. As a host, that’s impolite.”

You try to insinuate subtly that this party is not just any party, it’s yours, one that you threw it in hope for him to come.

Surprisingly, Vernon smiles back, he didn't seem disappointed, and he seems to be in quite a friendly mood.

“I know, that’s why I came.”

You swear that you’re delusional but that’s… crazy to hear it. It makes it sound like he came to this party because you throw it.

“Really? I guess the rumors go around as intended.” You chuckle, trying to extend the time you have with him. “Is the party to your liking? I throw it for the first time, so I’m quite nervous.”

You're lying, you’re more nervous about your crush right here, you’re not worried that the party isn't good, but you want the party to be good for him,

“No. The party is really fun.” He reassures you and you can tell that it comes from his heart, so the tension from your body slowly eases out little by little. “But I don’t feel like doing anything, so I’ll sit and watch.”

Your smile subtly drops. Should you celebrate the fact that he isn’t so drunk by now that he most likely will kiss someone or upset that he doesn’t think it’s cool enough to let loose? You put on that plastered, perfect subtle smile to hide that growing ugly feeling of disappointment that attempts to eat you.

You almost ask him why he even bothered to come to your party then.

“I guess I’ll do the same then.” You shrug it off, biting the inside of your tongue lightly, preventing yourself from utter more words that would ruin the mood.

“Hmm.” He nods, then he looks at you, like he always has been. You just never notice it, but he sneaks glances at you. “Did you do something to your hair?”

You can’t hide your expression that goes from stunned to one filled with happiness. So he notices that your hair has been dyed as you needed a new change in appearance and even completed with slight curls.

“Oh yeah I did. The color fades away so I dyed it.”

The last time he saw you properly (and last time you both kissed) was at least a month ago. Since then, Vernon appeared less and less in your line of sight and you thought that you lost him for good, but he still shows up to his classes, just that he barely goes to parties for unknown reasons.

You both fall into a comfortable silence, from outsiders’ perspective. From your perspective, it’s as awkward as it comes, but you have to pretend that you don’t enjoy being near him, even if the atmosphere was nothing short of platonic. If only they know the history that you both share together.

You inch yourself closer to him, doing ever so subtly, by pretending that it’s all accidental, but you might've been too eager, and he can probably tell that you faked your nonchalance around him.

Something about him tonight seems different– he talks less, and he lingers his stares to spaces that you can only imagine, or hope it involves you. You missed the taste of cannabis, the liquor whether it’s cheap or highly sought after because it’s the finest drink on earth, nicotine, or soda; anything really, as long as it sits on his lips, and his tongue allows yours to intertwine like he’ll never let this go. But with the way the silence seems to be stilling everything around you both, even if your own party turns obnoxious and chaotic, you still yearn for the excitement that he can give you.

The pink balloons start float around, and you don’t remember setting it up at all, in fact, you don’t remember seeing this many balloons in your life in a single space, but when you see Sooyoung just keeps bringing them more and more, and the sound of music and music goes from a mild to extreme joy and recklessly wild, you know that it’s getting out of control. You do nothing to stop it.

Vernon suddenly nudges you, then you only by then notices that he took sips of champagne, and you have no idea who provided him that. But as his lips are pressed to the glass, you are reminded of how his kisses usually taste like, and it has you wondering, wanting to know what it feels like if you kiss him right now. You wonder, would it taste sweet, or would the champagne taste like a sour heartbreak that you only can swallow it down with every will that you have?

“Can we talk somewhere private for a bit?”

Is he finally addressing the tension and the weird relationship that you have going on?

You feel like you need another drink, but the alcohol finally hits a little after a long while, so it washes some of your doubts away. It really boosts that confidence, while you’re less than completely sober.

“Oh sure.”

You follow his lead, and it was really somewhere, so goddamn quiet and secluded, in fact, nobody would’ve come to check the available spot here at all. The fact that it was upstairs made your mind run with wild thoughts but you calmed yourself down, not wanting to get your hopes up, just to be let down.

“You look like you’ll be cold.” He says, inspecting you as he takes off his jacket, and it drapes all over your figure, providing an additional warmth to your body– and maybe even heart.

You don’t understand why he’s so nice all of the sudden. You both barely talk, what was the last meaningful conversation you had with him again?

“Why-”

“I-”

You both speak at the same time, interrupting each other. Vernon, the man that he is, speaks up, his voice is deep, husky and brings this weird emotional feeling to you.

“You go first.”

You sigh, searching for the look in his eyes that he somehow feels the same as you do. You’re met with the familiar warmth, which makes it hard to read. Why does he look at you like this? You hate that he isn’t an open book, unlike you.

“Why are you so nice to me?” You question him, voice wavers from the underlying vulnerability that threatens to surface and spills over any time soon, if you don’t have a hold of it. “You’re so confusing, I don’t understand you.” You bite your lips, trying to hold back from becoming an unpleasant memory to him.

For the first time ever, his eyes flicker with an emotion– there’s confusion and almost… affection, but also hurt. You both have been walking on this weird line that blurs between a normal and intimate relationship, one that doesn’t hold any value or title but so much substance yet with no filling. It’s like chasing a high that never stops. And you hate chasing it, you want a definite answer now.

“Because…” He looks at your face, observing how there is an expression of melancholy, regret and shame. “You have always been there, you have always been someone to me.”

Your face drops, again, but he is quick to clarify.

“I came to this party because you threw it.” He gulps, and you see the facade that he works so hard to build starts to crack, little by little. “Because it is you, it has always been.”

He inches closer to you, and the tears now are filling your visions as you finally hear the confirmation, which he cups your face gently and wipes it away.

You cry as you feel his gentle touch, this is what you were dying to hear, but the ‘I love you’ hangs in the air like a ghost, even as the pink balloons and the DJ mixes fly around to accompany this newly changed atmosphere between the two of you. You close your eyes, and then re-open, confessing it to him. No more games, no more pretense.

“I threw this party, just for you. I was hoping that you would come and see me.”

He looks at you like you just hung him the moon, and his hands gently fall to caress your soft lips now. You know what he wants, you both want it, but there is too much to talk about.

“I have always loved you. You helped me out in Mr. Song’s class once. I knew it was silly, but it was the first time we properly talked, and my crush for you snowballed since then.”

You remember that it was the first semester, that one time he got sick and he ended up reaching out to you through a friend of a friend to send over the class’ materials that he greatly missed. The interaction was short lived and so insignificant to you that you blocked it from your memory. You feel like shit for not remembering it.

“You probably don’t remember…” Vernon mutters, looking disappointed and you just pout in his hold. All his moodiness disappears, he can’t ever be mad at you.

“I make excuses to see you, and kiss you every time. I feel sorry that I took advantage of our friendship… like that.”

“Friends don’t kiss.” You state, your eyelashes batting so prettily as your heart beats wildly, syncing with his. “And I’d like to kiss you again.”

This time, he pulls you closer, and then you feel it– the kiss you have been waiting for. Your eyes are closed in contentment, feeling like jello. You finally know what is the taste and flavor that sits on his tongue– the finest champagne there is out there, and it tastes like addiction and the future with him that you hope will become a reality as you wake up next to him onward.

As the neon lights cast a shadow, changing colors constantly from blue, pink, purple, and everything in between, so are your swirling thoughts, but they only involve him, and the same goes to the man who can’t get enough of the taste on your tongue, which mirrors his, despite you drinking a pretty cheap alcohol that slowly fades away as his tongue acts as a cleanser, attempting to vacuum it away.

Once the oxygen runs out and the unbearable urge to breathe consumes you both again, you pull away, your body trembles slightly in exhaustion due to prolonged makeout session. The intense high you try to chase through kissing seems too far out of reach now, but at least you have your answer now.

“I love you, Y/N.”

You don’t have to say it back, you never have to, as you reach over to kiss him on the lips, now incoherent and too drunk on the taste of his tongue.

And the neon lights switch to pink, celebrating the new relationship changes and a now clear definition between you both.

BONUS

“Hey, where did Vernon go?” Soonyoung asks Wonwoo, who’s lost in his own reality of god knows what. He didn’t even want to come, but Vernon bribes them with favors to pay for their lunch and that’s how the man himself got Wonwoo to come to this place.

“How would I know?” Wonwoo groans, and then a presence of an unfamiliar girl walks to them, she looks like she is looking for them both personally.

“Are you Soonyoung and Wonwoo?”

“Yeah. But who are you?” Soonyoung is quick, and Wonwoo’s soul already leaves his body, his exhaustion catches up to him.

“I’m Y/N’s friend, Sooyoung. Does that ring any bells?”

Soonyoung sits up, yes. Now he remembers why Vernon begs them to come to this fucking party. Sooyoung smiles at the flicker of the recognition in his eyes. He knows how you look, and you, but not the girl in front of him.

“Look over there.” She points to their right, which is the direction of the staircase, and Wonwoo, who wasn’t interested at first, follows her command, and then sees something unbelievable.

Vernon, his arm slings around you, and even the jacket wraps around you. He knows, they know instantly that it has to be Vernon’s– nobody wears that DIY-stitched up jacket and the denim that got abused to the point it almost becomes white.

“Is that what I think it is?” Wonwoo questions, he looks like he couldn’t believe his eyes. He thinks to himself that Vernon would definitely get more annoying now that you both make it official. He definitely didn’t sign up for that.

“Yep.” Sooyoung’s voice confirms their suspicion– and the cherry on top? Vernon kisses your hand and cheeks, you both laugh as the purple light shines on you both, making you both look like the romantic leads in a play. The act that is too intimate for two people who sometimes hang out with each other.

“I’m going to kill him if they both start kissing now.” Is the last thing Soonyoung said before he turns away, ignoring the sight of you both. But they’re all happy for the both of you, even if it comes in the form of annoyance.

Now both men just need to make sure that Vernon can pay their lunch fees now. After all, Vernon dug his own grave for suggesting the deal that he’ll totally get them expensive takeouts if you do happen to like him back.

COPYRIGHTED BY SADNIGHTFORUS, 2025

#kpop au #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop fanfic #kpop fluff #svt fic #svt x reader #svt angst #vernon x reader #vernon svt #vernon au #kpop angst #ha sooyoung #loona #svt x y/n #svt x you #vernon chwe #vernon angst #vernon fluff

16 notes · View notes