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arijackz · 1 year ago

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PICK A CARD: Your FS' Secret Kinks

❦ “She lowered her lashes until they almost cuddled her cheeks and slowly raised them again, like a theatre curtain. I was to get to know that trick. That was supposed to make me roll over on my back with all four paws in the air." - Raymon Chandler, The Big Sleep

Disclaimer: This is a general reading, take what resonates. This is a gender-neutral reading, change any pronouns to apply to you.

p1 → p2 ↙︎ p3 → p4

✦ Pile One ✦

Poor lil pooh pooh. This person struggles to “fill their cups up” so they get off on denying themselves pleasure. They secretly like the feeling of hitting whatever rock bottom looks like to them. Honestly, they want to be saved. They are wallowing at the bottom of a well, waiting for their savior to swoop in and throw them a rope.

In a more literal sense, they want a person to be their reason to live. Their reason to feel daylight on their skin again. Everyone and everything around them is unsatisfying and “fake”. They want something real to coax them out of their hell and entice them with all the thrilling things life has to offer.

However, they also like this dark and brooding side of themselves. They have a bit of a corruption kink.

They fantasize about a virginal angel coming down to save them, but they end up convincing the angel to sink down to their level.

They like exciting, spontaneous people who are willing to jump up and run out the door to do something fun at any moment, but think innocent fun. Like going to the movies to theater hop, and getting away without paying. Or, running around the Target parking lot in shopping carts and trying not to bang into cars. Maybe even steal a few street signs.

Innocent childhood fun that you’d see in early 90s movies. But add a sadistic twist to it that only they are aware of.

You would be the innocent virgin (doesn’t have to be true, it's their fantasy) who is unknowingly leading this beast (also not true, they are just extremely self-deprecating) to your pretty little happy places which they plan to desecrate.

They want to fuck you in your family home and make a mess of your childhood bed, making you scream so loud that you’re family starts to look at you differently. They want to take you to your favorite movie spots where you usually chill and hangout with your friends and turn it into a place where all you can think about is them covering your mouth in the back of the theater while you’re squirming in their lap, trying to escape out of their grip as they edge you to the new Marvel release.

They have a kink for turning all of your innocent, fun moments into their very own filthy fantasies.

Ps. Fisting came out of the blue so lube up!

Come To Me, My Senseless Angel

✦ Pile Two ✦

I don’t believe this is a future spouse, to be honest. This might be a situationship you need to move past. They seem emotionally immature, or at least this is a side of them that exclusively comes out when they’re aroused.

They can be quite abrasive and feel like they are constantly under attack so they’re incredibly defensive. They have a history of lashing out at their loved ones when they feel overwhelmed and get so blinded by their emotions that they disregard their affection for their partners and say really unforgettable, harmful words which permanently alters the connection for the worse.

They carry guilt from these actions and are in a constant state of regret. In this state, their sense of pleasure is a little twisted. They get turned on by causing a genuine issue in the relationship. They like the idea of pushing you to your limit where you’re this 🤏 close to your breaking point and at your absolute lowest. It’s when you reach your rock bottom and realize the need to move away from this person and you scream out, “I DESERVE BETTER THAN THIS.”

They like to grovel. You know that cycle where somebody fucks up and then they’re in the dog house buying flowers and being extra fluffy just to get in the victim’s good graces so they can do the same thing over again. So far, pile one and two’s respective partners like to feel like shit. They secretly like the moment where they completely fuck up a relationship and have to beg on their hands and knees to get their person back orrrrrr they get off on emotionally tearing someone down to the point where they get on their knees to bed for this person’s attention.

Either way, there's a lot of fucked psychological issues underneath this fantasy that I’m not unpacking here because it differs from person to person.

In its best light, this person glorifies struggle love. At its worst, this person is purposefully emotionally abusive with the intent to tear their partner down for their own sexual gratification.

They’re conscious enough to know their actions are toxic but don’t have the emotional maturity to work past their actions. They’re at the phase where they’re just aware and are like “I know I’m shitty but that’s just who I am. If they stick with me and the sex is good, it’s meant to be.”

I’m honestly getting twitter relationship hypotheticals with this one. Iykyk.

They’re also an edgelord. Less in an internet cockroach way and more in a witty- can be funny if done well- way, but they get pleasure from shocking people nonetheless. This energy can be directed toward you to piss you off and annoy you with the intent of getting in your pants later.

I’ve been guided to switch the conversation briefly: If this resonates and is someone you are dealing with. It is time to move on. This person gets gratification from hurting you and will not get past that high of tearing down a relationship and then having a messy recovery. They have their own issues to work through and cannot see how they are hurting you. There is no future with this person, they came into your life to teach you a lesson about your self-value. That cycle has run its course and it's time to move on.

To be honest, I’m not a fan of this person and don’t even want to list the explicit kinks that came out but I will just in case this message is for you but you’re not sure.

Random messages: Hot tub/pool sex, hair pulling, break down crying, interracial, milk, broken condom, “i fucking hate you”, “whore”, mirror, drunk sex, complaining, smack a bitch, twitter

P.S. You’re too sexy for the bullshit! There is bigger and greater out there, you just need to believe that for yourself!

This person will not get a mood board out of me.

✦ Pile Three ✦

Okay, so this person has some deep religious guilt. This is a male presenting person. I am being clear with their sex because it plays a role in this reading. They have some majorly repressed feminine energy. They may even be attracted to the same sex.

This is a fs reading, so they are likely bi, pansexual, or trans. Either way, their family is close-minded and is not supportive of them. They were forced to leave home so they could finally live their truth. They have lived their entire life fitting somebody else’s narrative. They were the hypermasculine bro type to “cover up” their femininity.

So, they have a kink for hyperfeminity. It’s almost to the point where they obsess over the caricature of girlhood. I see lots of pink, high heels, full-glam, all-day mall shopping, pinup curls, flashy jewelry, sleepovers, day spas, that scene in Scott Pilgrim where that girl is like “SHE’S PROBABLY LIKE 25!”, and everything else that gets associated with “girlhood” nowadays.

They fantasize about you in your receptive energy, being waited on and cared for hand and foot. They like to observe the way you move. Everything about you and your feminine aura is incredibly alluring to them. The way with each breath your breasts fall, your hips swaying with each step, the cute way you match your accessories with your outfits. They notice everything about you.

You know those paintings of wealthy women lying on their sides and being fed grapes? That. They’re not in the serving role, they're the painter. Their kink is capturing you in those everyday moments where the world seems to be waiting on you like you’re the collective’s queen.

They see femininity in a higher light than the general population. They see women as automatically deserving of this type of care, they also want this care.

They have a secret hard-on for pregnant women and women with swollen breasts. They have a lactation kink. They fantasize about cumming in you over and over again. They see you as a Goddess, so they want to see you masturbate at church on an altar, like you're waiting to be worshipped.

A lot of their fantasies, they’re not even included in. It’s just you looking God-like and being worshipped by the world around you. This person may hate when you wear clothes. They act like the fabric is committing a sin by covering your body. They just want to capture your essence. Like an admirer and a student.

P.S. Dick game goes CRAZY. They watch a lot of women-focused porn to study what gets a woman off. Like Maddie in Euphoria, he is there to study.

Pretty In Pink

✦ Pile Four ✦

WE GOT A PLEASURE DOM IN THE BUILDING Y’ALL STAY CALM. As my mama would say, they love your dirty drawls!

You could do no wrong in this person’s eyes. They’re the golden retriever type. Head empty, leading with heart and IN LOVE>>>>>

You are the pot of gold and the end of the rainbow they’re chasing. They appreciate a good fling but they’ve never felt this before. The emotions you stir in them are unprecedented, this is puppy, sandbox love that most people lose touch with after life jades them.

This is raw love at its most unprocessed. I taste honey.

They have a kink for the power you have over them. It’s like you have a carrot on a stick and they’re the pig being led to a love den they can’t escape. And they’ll happily be the squealing pig in every lifetime they get with you. This is a soul yearning.

You will know this person because they will proactively pursue you and they will have no doubts in their mind about it. They are really attracted to your physical form, your curves. Even if you’re on the slimmer side, they like your structure and the dips in your spine. They’ll stare at you when you’re talking and zone out, thinking about how attractive they find you.

They’re not used to having to try to get someone to sleep with them. They have to put effort towards you and they like that. This person is downright thirsty and craves intimacy with you.

Their fantasies aren’t even dirty, they’re passionate. They want to put you in a mating press, with your knees pressed all the way up beside your ears. They want to penetrate (could be with a toy) deeply and touch that gooey part of you that makes you see stars.

They want to see an imprint of them in your lower belly. Any position where you’re in their arms is a go for them because they like having you. They want every moment to be just you and them away from the world. So very sweet and intimate. They also love marking you, expect lots of hickeys.

Ignore them from time to time too (healthily, these conditions should be discussed beforehand)! They see you as the ultimate prize, so if you delay their satisfaction, they’ll feel like they’re chasing again, which gets them off. They like to feel like they’re convincing you to sleep with them. You both are consenting, but they like the idea of you having better things to do and they’re trying to convince you to stay and party with them.

They are very action-oriented and love movement. Anything that involves an adventure together, they are down for.

PS. Surprise them with a bubble bath together, they’ll love that. And tease them while pulling their hair a bit!

Ode To My Darling Sun

#arijackz #pac #pick a card #tarot #tarot reading #pick a pile #astrology observations #muah

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chuellas · 3 months ago

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Initiation | I is for Intimacy

⤷ Ft. Nakahara Chuuya

V. A. L. E. N. T. I. N. E.

Warnings | Fem!Reader, N.SFW, 18+ only, use of the names “Doll” and “Baby”, physical and emotional intimacy, oral (Reader rec), fingering, unprotected sex, WC: 2.2k

A/N | This one is a lot tamer than the rest and once again I got wayyyyy too carried away but can you blame me? My baby deserves the world 😔

His hands tremble slightly as you both reach your apartment building’s entrance. The two of you have been dating for about 3 months now and Chuuya has held off on being physically intimate with you up until now. But he could tell your patience has been waning and tonight was your tipping point. You’ve been hinting to him all night that you want him to follow you up to your apartment. The extra touches that linger just a little longer than usual, the longing gaze at any part of him you find attractive, which apparently is every inch of him.

You fiddle with your fingers and keys, watching them before steeling yourself and inviting him. “Y’know, it’s still pretty early…Why don’t you come up? We could have a cup of tea or a glass of wine and watch a movie?”

Your eyes are filled with so much hope, how is Chuuya supposed to say no to that?

He doesn’t of course, as a matter of fact he’s quick to accept your offer and follows you anxiously to your apartment. The Port Mafia executive couldn’t figure out why he was so nervous. He’s slept with plenty of people before this. He’d even goes as far as to say he’s skilled in this subject, never having left a partner dissatisfied.

So why are you different?

Realistically Chuuya knows why but he doesn’t want to admit it to himself because if he does that then it means all of this is actually real. It would mean he cares for you far beyond anyone he’s cared for previously. So he’s avoided the subject with you altogether, letting himself stew in denial.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t also incredibly excited. It’s depraved, the amount of times Chuuya has fucked his hand to the thought of you, playing the little voice memos you like to send him every once in a while when you’re at work and typing takes too long. He always comes at the sound of your fluttery giggle, the sound casting a spell over his body every time without fail.

He wonders briefly, what the real thing will do to him when he’s nestled inside of you.

The ginger can feel himself getting worked up just at the thought of it. He needs to calm himself down. The two of you just got to your apartment. You let him into your home and he’s immediately greeted by a small cat that can’t be more than 6 months old. He’s never been too keen on cat’s but the little ball of fur takes to him immediately and you let out an incredulous laugh.

“She usually hides when I have company, you must be really good with animals.” You crouch down and hold your finger out for the kitten to sniff, just as expected she does so and rubs herself against your hand, clearly recognizing you as her owner. “This is Rika. She may not look it, but this little girl is feisty. She started out as a foster but I fell in love with her and couldn’t fathom the thought of life without her anymore. Sorry, I should have asked if you were allergic before bringing you up…”

Chuuya smiles fondly at you and the small creature, crouching down and mimicking your actions to gain the kitten's trust. “Nah, don’t worry, Doll. I’m not allergic, just- Never been the biggest fan of these guys. She’s cute though, just like her owner.”

You let out a groan and fall onto your butt, knees still bent, to make yourself comfortable on the floor. Rika starts at the movement but once she realizes that it was just you, she continues to headbutt Chuuya and even starts to purr. His attention is still on you despite the little furballs attempts to get him to pet her.

“That was so cheesy.” You’re covering your face with your hands and peek through them to look at Rika, then back up at the ginger. “...but, I suppose, she’s quite fond of you…just like her owner.”

Chuuya lets out a chuckle of his own because, yeah, that definitely sounded awfully cheesy now that he heard you say it. Yet, it still calmed his previous nerves. The Port Mafia executive stands up and offers his hands for help. You take them with an appreciative smile and he hoists you up. He’s aware that he used far too much force than he needed to but it’s entirely on purpose. You stumble into him and he’s ready to steady you, grip firmly set on your hips to hold you against him.

His lids droop down to look at you through his lashes and the air in your apartment thickens. Your lips part, Chuuya thinks you were going to say something, but he doesn’t give you time as he dips his head down and steals a kiss from you. Then another.

And another.

He continues to kiss you until you both find yourselves stumbling almost blindly into your room. You toe the door shut and start ridding Chuuya of his clothes with trembling hands. You’re nervous too, somehow that makes the ginger just a little more confident and he aids you in taking off his jacket and lifting his shirt over his head. He watches your reaction closely, the way your chest quickens with your breath, the way your pupils dilate in excitement, and most of all the way your face flushes in the prettiest way.

Chuuya is in trouble. Normally his interactions like this are only filled with desire and pleasure. Something only transactional or to itch a certain scratch. That’s it. But this is clearly different.

The ability user wants to take his time with you, wants you to feel good. He wants to touch and kiss every surface of your skin. Chuuya wants to mold your insides to only take him, to remember the shape of only his cock.

You're the most dangerous person Chuuya has ever encountered and you don’t even know it.

Chuuya makes good on his desires, slowly and carefully peeling your clothes away, making sure to kiss every bit of new skin being exposed. You aren’t as patient but you have no control over what he does right now. The ginger had a plan and you weren’t going to deter him from it.

When the executive gets you down to your underwear, he makes work of your bra first, expertly unclasping your bra with the snap of his fingers. You let out a pained whine, clearly enjoying just how easy it was for him to take off the usually tricky garment. He wastes no time in cupping your breasts in his now ungloved hands and kneading gently at the plush skin. His fingers run over your nipple and you let out a broken gasp.

A grin stretches at his lips, he can’t help it, pleased with the reactions he’s drawing out of you when he hasn’t even come close to touching you how he’d like to.

The ginger drags his hands down your abdomen at an agonizingly slow pace and you squirm impatiently in his hold. “Chuuya…Please, just- oh my god- just fuck me already.”

Your breath catches in your throat when Chuuya flips you around and has your back crashing into his chest and he dips his head to leave a trail of kisses down your neck.

“Gotta be patient f’me, Doll. I gotta make sure you’re ready to take me. Can’t have you uncomfortable, now, can we?” Your head falls onto his shoulder as you let out another whine.

You’re walked to the edge of your bed before you’re being flipped back around and pushed onto it, your legs hanging off the end. Chuuya kneels and pushes your legs together so he can guide them to one side of his head to slip your underwear off with ease. The ginger pries your legs apart once more and settles your legs on each of his shoulders.

When you’re finally fully exposed, slick cunt practically drooling for Chuuya, he lets out a groan. He has a physical reaction to the sight of you, his cock jumping in his very tight pants. If you would let him, he thinks he would be content with drowning in your pretty glistening cunt.

You reach for the ginger’s hair and let out another whine. “Chuuya…”

“Fuck, Baby. You been hiding this pretty little thing from me this entire time? A damn shame I’ve let this go to waste till now.” He doesn’t let you respond, diving right in and helping himself to your taste.

With expert precision Chuuya finds your clit with one swipe of his tongue up your folds. He’s quick to attach himself to the sensitive bud and starts sucking on you and then releasing, creating a delicious rhythm with his mouth. You grip at his hair with trembling fingers. It’s cute, really, how worked up you’re getting. The executive has a sneaking feeling you’ve never had someone who actually knows what they’re doing eat you out like this before.

As if you could read his mind you gasp out, “How- shit- how are you s-so good at that? It feels s’good…”

The ginger knows better than to deem that with an actual response, so instead he brings a hand up to your entrance and coats his middle finger in your slick before inserting it and immediately pumping it in and out of you. It happens fast. You pant out his name and twist your body as you try to almost crawl away from the pleasure building up in your stomach. Chuuya doesn’t let you, of course. He makes sure to bring you flying off the edge. You cum without warning and the sounds of Chuuya drinking you up bounces off the walls.

You twitch from the oversensitivity and subconsciously push at Chuuya's head. He gets the hint and pulls away. His face is a mess, lips, cheeks and chin glistening with your juices. What's worse is he licks it all off like a parched man, not satiated until he’s licked all of it off.

Chuuya finally pulls down his pants and climbs over you, dragging you up all the way onto the bed. He takes another moment to admire your lucid state. Body sheen with a small layer of sweat, hair splayed around you in a halo, chest flushed and heaving from your pants. You’re more beautiful than he could ever have tried to imagine. Whatever Chuuya had previously pictured, was put to shame tenfold with you here finally bare right in front of him.

He gingerly strokes some hair stuck to your face out of the way and lets his finger linger, traveling down the outline of your face. “Think you have one more in you, Doll?”

Chuuya doesn’t think he’s ever had to ask that question before. His usual partners are always selfish, having no problem asking for what they want. You on the other hand? You were far too soft, too kind to ever ask for more when this is your first time getting into bed with him.

Your eyes close momentarily and he watches your intently. Your eyelashes flutter as you lean into his hand that’s now cupping your face tenderly. When you open your eyes to look up at him through your lashes Chuuya swear he almost cums right then and there. How the hell is he supposed to survive the night with you when you look so stunning underneath him like this?

“Yeah. I want you, Chuuya.” You’re killing him—you really will be the death of him he swears, no dramatics, it’s simply factual.

He lets out a strained chuckle. “Okay, you got me, all of me.”

Chuuya leans closer into you and rests his forehead on yours before guiding his tip to your entrance. He swipes himself through your folds a few times, making sure he’s wet enough to slip into you easily before finally sinking into you. Your eyes screw shut and your arms fly to his back, desperately looking for something to slutch onto as he stretches you so deliciously. Your mouth drops open but no noise falls out.

Instead of letting himself get overwhelmed by how velvety and warm and inviting your walls are, Chuuya distracts himself by crashing his lips to your. You finally let out small whines and whimpers and while he’s running his tongue across your lips, asking for another entrance, you impatiently roll your hips. He lets out a surprised grunt but gets the hint and starts a slow but pointed pace.

Chuuya is used to having sex, he’s slept with countless people thanks to the nature of his job. It’s been seen as a skill for so long that he forgot that it could feel like this. This was something more than just a physical connection, it’s also emotional.

Chuuya thought he knew everything there was to know about sex, but he has a lot to learn about intimacy, and he doesn’t think he’d want to learn it from anyone else other than you.

#chuuya x reader #chuuya smut #bsd x reader #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs smut #chuuya x you #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x you #chuuya x fem!reader #bsd x fem!reader #bungo stray dogs x fem!reader #bsd chuuya #writings ʚїɞ

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corroded-hellfire · 2 months ago

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I was just thinking of them like moving house and there being boxes all over the place as they’re packing. Reader getting a little stressed, walking into the living room and finding Eddie sat in the floor with Eliza propped up on his knees instead of finishing off whatever task he was meant to be doing. Reader gets annoyed, he senses there’s something more than moving day stress going on. He stands and Eliza reaches for reader and Eddie holds the pair of them and asks her what’s really upsetting her, reader admits she’s feeling sad about leaving their current place because it was Eliza’s first home. She apologises and says he probably thinks she’s silly. He says of course not, it’s sweet…she’s *wrong* but it’s sweet. Reader is confused and then Eddie clarifies by holding her close and so lying his fingers across her stomach saying “THIS was her first home” Or something like that 😆 IDK the thought of Eddie being so cute about it made me all emotional 🥹 - Requested by the lovely @joejoequinnquinn

I know you requested this so long ago but I knew exactly where it needed to come in this story! I hope you like this sweet little blurb 💕

Warnings: pregnant!reader

Words: 1k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Patty cake, patty cake, baker’s man. Bake me a cake as fast as you can.”

Eddie grins as Eliza’s small hands smack against his. Ever since one of her preschool classmates introduced her to this game, it’s all she’s wanted to play.

“Roll it.”

Eddie copies her arm motions of rotating them around each other. She adjusts how she’s perched on his lap as the two of them sit on the floor.

“Pat it.”

Both of them tap their fingers against the palm of their other hand. The boxes that your husband’s back is resting against shift from his movements.

“Mark it with a ‘B.’ Put it in the oven for baby and me!”

“Yay!” Eddie cheers, taking her hands in his and shaking them back and forth.

“Again?” Eliza asks, looking up at him with those large brown eyes that he uses on you all the time.

He doesn’t get the chance to answer before you walk into the room and sigh when you see them lounging amongst a pile of boxes.

“I thought you guys were packing up the bookshelf,” you say, rubbing your hand across your forehead in frustration.

Eddie lifts his arm and points in the general direction behind the boxes at his back.

“All done,” he says.

“All done!” Eliza echoes.

Your hands come to rest on your hips as you look around the mostly packed-up living room. Boxes are scattered around the space, a mountain of them particularly bunched up behind the couch. They’re all labeled with black permanent marker, the handwriting from one of the five people in the house who have been hard at work on packing. Eliza’s scrawl might be the hardest to decipher but it’s the easiest way for her to contribute when she begs to help.

“Well, what about the DVDs in the entertainment unit? Or the video games?”

Eddie’s brow furrows as he takes in your hunched shoulders and tense posture. Gently, he moves Eliza off of his lap and pushes himself to his feet. A strained groan escapes his lips as his back cracks from the movement. He steps in your direction but Eliza reaches you first and lifts her arms.

You give your daughter a strained smile as you bend down to scoop her up. It’s harder for her to sit comfortably in your arms with your bump growing more and more. In fact, you feel bad that soon you’re not going to be able to lift Eliza at all due to your third trimester creeping closer.

Eddie reaches the two of you and tilts his head as he looks at you. You don’t return his gaze, your annoyance growing as you feel like you’re being inspected.

“What?” you snap.

Eliza frowns and Eddie sighs at the terse tone.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says, taking another step closer. He rests one hand on your back and the other on Eliza’s. “What’s going on, hmm? What’s really bothering you? I know it’s not the movies or games.”

Tears flood your eyes and you do your best to swallow them down. You rest your head against Eliza’s and take a deep breath.

“I’m just sad,” you admit in a whisper.

The little girl wraps her arms around your neck and the kind act causes tears to fall.

“Why sad, Mama?” she asks in a soft voice.

You lift your head and press a kiss to her curls.

“Sad leaving this house,” you say, looking over and finally meeting your husband’s eye. He gives you a sympathetic smile. “There are a lot of good memories here. Got married while we lived here. Liza’s first home.”

“Aw, baby.” Eddie gently cups the back of your head and presses a kiss against your forehead. “I know, it’s hard. We’ve had really great times here. And we’re going to have really great times at the new house.”

You nod and sniffle, causing Eliza to gently wipe your cheeks with one of her small hands. She kisses right in front of your ear and you give her a grateful smile.

“I’m sorry,” you say and shake your head. “You must think it’s silly.”

“Hey, hey, no.” Eddie’s voice is strong as he gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “It’s not silly at all. In fact, I think it’s really sweet. You’re wrong about it being Eliza’s first home, though.”

“What?” you ask as Eliza questions, “Huh?”

Eddie gives a soft chuckle and lowers his hand to lightly rub across your bump.

“This was her first home. Just like it’s the twins’ first home now. And you’ve made such a nice, warm place for all of them.”

You give him a watery smile.

“Right?” Eddie gives you a bigger smile in return, hoping to lift your spirits a little more.

“R-Right,” you admit with a nod.

Eliza reaches up and starts rubbing from your forehead onto the top of your head. It takes you a moment to realize what she’s doing; she’s trying to soothe you the same way you soothe her by smoothing her curls back and away from her face.

“And we found such a nice house,” Eddie continues. “Right, Lize?”

“Yeah!” she cheers. Eddie breathes a sigh of relief at her excitement because the four-year-old was not a happy camper when she first learned you’re all moving. “It’s so big!”

“Well, it’s gotta be!” Eddie pokes her tummy. “There’s gonna be five of you kids!”

“Oh boy,” you exclaim, still finding it hard to believe that you’re going to be a family of seven.

“My room has a pretty window!” Eliza reminds you.

“I know! You get to look at the big backyard,” you reply.

“And I don’t have to share a bathroom with my stinky brothers!”

Both you and Eddie laugh at that. The master bedroom, Eliza’s, and the twins’ room are all upstairs in the new house while Ryan and Luke are downstairs—by their choice, sort of. They actively pleaded to have the lone two rooms farthest from their parents. It made you both immediately suspicious but since you need to keep the youngest ones closest to you, you had no choice but to agree.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “They can keep their own smelly bathroom down there clean, right?”

“Right!” She nods her head. “Is gonna be good, Mama.”

“I know it is, sweet pea.”

“So,” Eddie says, clapping his hands together, “should we box up those movies?”

Eliza holds a hand out in his direction.

“Marker, please.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #older!eddie #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #Eddie Munson fanfiction #Eddie Munson fan fic #eddie munson fan fiction #dad!eddie #AYW #AYWS

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luvv1anime · 8 days ago

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hey...uhh soo like I was thinking you could write a short thing like.. bakuogu and his girl are doing a school project and she says kat...I don't think this is gunna work for us.. i think we need to break up- sqeezes, and bakugou thinks they are actually breaking up.. but the whole time she was talking about the project.. like..just somthing wholesome and a bit funny to me.. yk?

Hii sorry this took so long ive been busy and im not rlly a writer so i had no clue how to approach this so i hope its good and what you were looking for!!

Masterlist

The dorm common room was quiet except for the scratch of pencils and the occasional frustrated groan from Bakugou.

“Ugh,” you muttered, flipping through yet another page of notes. “This whole project is a mess.”

Bakugou, seated beside you, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed, glared at the stack of half-finished poster boards like they had personally insulted him.

“We’ve been at this for hours,” he muttered. “It’s fine. We’ll just blow the rest out tomorrow morning.”

You sighed and set your pen down. “Kat…”

“Hm?” he looked up at you, waiting.

“I don’t think this is gonna work for us.”

Bakugou blinked. His whole body stilled. “…What?”

“I just think it’s not clicking, y’know? Like maybe we’re not as good a team as we thought,” you continued, voice soft but serious.

His jaw tightened. “Tch… so that’s it? You’re giving up on us just because of one dumb project?”

You paused, squinting at him. “Wait. What do you think I’m talking about?”

Bakugou’s scowl deepened. “Us, dammit! You said— ‘this isn’t gonna work for us’— what the hell else would you mean?!”

You stared for a second… then burst out laughing. “Katsuki! I meant the project! Like, the concept? The volcano and the cardboard city? It sucks! I wasn’t breaking up with you!”

Bakugou’s face went red in a flash. “Hah?! The hell kinda way is that to word it?! Who starts a sentence like that?!”

“You!” you giggled, nudging his arm. “You’re the dramatic one, remember?”

He grumbled something under his breath, arms still crossed—but you caught the tiny smile he was hiding.

“You’re an idiot,” he muttered, ears still pink.

“And you love me.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it.

You were still giggling when Bakugou snatched the pencil from your hand and tossed it onto the table.

“Hey!” you protested, half-laughing, half-whining.

“Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no heat behind it. His eyes were still a little wide from earlier, still slightly red around the edges like he was holding back more emotions than he knew how to handle.

You tilted your head at him, smile softening. “You really thought I was breaking up with you?”

He grunted. “It sounded like it, okay? Don’t look at me like I’m some kinda dumbass.”

You reached over and took his hand, threading your fingers through his, warm and sure. “You’re not a dumbass, Katsuki.”

He didn’t say anything at first—just gave your hand a light squeeze, eyes flicking down to where your fingers fit perfectly in his. Then his voice, low and a little rough: “You scare the hell outta me sometimes, y’know that?”

Your smile widened. “Me? Scary? That’s rich coming from you, Mister I-explode-first-ask-questions-later.”

Bakugou snorted. “Tch. Yeah, well. Doesn’t mean I wanna lose you over a dumb science project.”

You leaned in and kissed his cheek, quick and soft. “You won’t. Not unless you somehow manage to blow up the dorm during this thing.”

A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “No promises.”

You both laughed, and somehow, the broken cardboard volcano and the crumpled poster didn’t seem so bad anymore. It wasn’t perfect—but neither were either of you. And that was kind of the point.

“Let’s ditch the cardboard,” you said. “We’ll do a digital presentation instead. Less mess.”

Bakugou nodded. “And less chance of setting off the smoke alarm.”

He tugged you a little closer and rested his chin lightly on your shoulder, voice low. “Next time, start with ‘this project sucks’ instead of ‘we need to break up.’ Got it?”

You grinned. “Got it. Wouldn’t want to traumatize my boyfriend again.”

He kissed the side of your head. “Damn right.”

Taglist: @midnightjewel

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mistyshane30 · 2 months ago

Text

You Were Never Mine to Lose (Chapter 10)

Synopsis: You're barely holding yourself together. Last night’s kiss lingers in your mind, turning every second around her into slow, agonizing torture. She carries on like nothing happened, while you're drowning in everything unspoken. But how much longer can you pretend before it all comes crashing down?

Word count: 4.7K

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol consumption, Angst, Unresolved emotions, Lingering tension, Mild language, Physical injury

You wake up to the sound of your phone ringing. Groaning, you force your eyes open, blinking against the morning light. Without even checking the screen, you reach for your phone, already feeling the dull ache in your head. When you finally glance at it, you see Wanda’s name flashing.

You answer with a weak, barely audible, "Hello?"

Wanda, however, sounds wide awake—and annoyed. "Where are you? We’re at the beach having surf lessons."

You close your eyes, exhaling slowly. Just the thought of moving, of facing people, makes your exhaustion feel heavier. "I’ll pass," you mumble. "Not in the mood."

Before she can protest, you end the call and, without hesitation, turn your phone off. You don’t even bother checking the time. What does it matter, anyway?

With a sigh, you pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to ease the pounding in your head. Your gaze drifts to the ceiling, empty and unfocused. Last night lingers in your mind like a ghost, refusing to let you rest. That kiss. Or, more likely, the one Agatha won’t even remember.

You couldn’t sleep last night, your thoughts running in circles, your body weighed down by something heavier than exhaustion. At some point, sleep must have taken over, but it doesn’t feel like rest. Just a momentary escape before reality came knocking again.

You let out a humorless chuckle. You must look pathetic right now.

Minutes pass in a haze before your doorbell starts ringing. At first, you ignore it, too drained to care. But when it keeps going—again and again, insistently—you sigh, already knowing who it is.

Wanda.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you still feel groggy as you make your way to the door. When you open it, Wanda takes one look at you—still in last night’s dress, hair a mess, dark circles under your eyes—and immediately deadpans, "Seriously?"

Before you can respond, she steps inside like she owns the place, not even waiting for an invitation. You sigh and shut the door, watching as she heads straight for the couch, making herself comfortable.

"You’re still in that dress?" she calls you out, raising an eyebrow.

You shrug, not really in the mood for her commentary.

Wanda sighs, leaning forward. "Go change into a swimsuit. We’re having a surf lesson."

"I’m not going," you say flatly, sinking into the couch across from her. "I’m too tired."

She studies you carefully, her sharp gaze softening after a moment. "Are you okay?"

"I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all."

She doesn’t buy it. You can see it in her face, the way her brows knit together in concern. She gets up, stepping closer, her hands gently squeezing your arms as she lowers her voice. "What happened?"

You force a weak smile. "Nothing."

Wanda isn’t convinced. "Did Rio do something?"

You shake your head. "No."

A pause. Then, carefully, "Agatha?"

Your stomach twists. You shake your head again, but it feels less convincing this time.

Wanda frowns, her worry only deepening. She’s your best friend—of course she sees right through you. And the last thing you want is to make her worry more. So, despite everything, you take a breath and force yourself to say, "Fine. I’ll get ready."

Your voice lacks enthusiasm, and Wanda knows it, but she lets it go.

Upstairs, you step into the shower, letting the cold water jolt you awake. The chill does nothing to erase the weight in your chest, but at least it helps clear your head. After drying off, you slip into a red two-piece bikini, draping a sheer black kimono over it. To hide whatever exhaustion still lingers on your face, you throw on oversized black sunglasses, grab your tote bag, and head back downstairs.

Wanda gives you an approving once-over and smirks. "Look at that, you’re a human being again."

You roll your eyes but smirk back. "Shut up."

With that, the two of you leave the villa, heading toward the beach.

But as you walk, your stomach tightens.

Because soon, you’ll have to face Agatha. And after last night… you don’t know if you’re ready for that.

When you arrive at the beach, you spot Jen, Lilia, Alice, and... Agatha. The sight of her sends a jolt through you, and you fight to keep your expression neutral. Your stomach twists, your cheeks threaten to flush, but you force yourself to keep it together. You have to.

As you approach the group, Jen is the first to greet you with a bright smile.

"Look who finally decided to show up!" Alice teases, smirking. "We thought you bailed on us."

Lilia chimes in with a chuckle, "Or maybe she just needed her beauty sleep."

"Or," Jen interjects, a knowing glint in her eyes, "she was exhausted from taking Agatha home last night and making sure she didn’t pass out on the floor."

Your body tenses at her words, though she says it playfully. It’s meant to be lighthearted—a teasing defense—but it only makes your chest feel heavier.

Agatha, who had been quiet until now, tilts her head toward you. "Thank you."

Then, with a smirk, she adds, "I just hope I didn’t do anything too reckless." She lets out a small laugh, like it’s a joke, like it’s nothing.

Your breath catches for just a second.

Reckless?

She kissed you. She kissed you, and now she’s standing here, acting like nothing happened. Because, to her, nothing did happen.

You muster a small smile and shake your head. "You didn’t," you lie.

She watches you for a bit too long, like she’s trying to read something on your face. Your fingers twitch at your side. You’re the one to break eye contact first.

Before anything else can be said, a voice speaks behind you and Wanda.

"Alright, where we at?"

You and Wanda turn around—and your breath catches in your throat. Your eyes widen in surprise.

She looks just as shocked as you. "Y/N?"

You stutter, barely managing to get her name out. "Natasha?"

Wanda blinks between the two of you. "Wait, you guys know each other?"

Natasha smirks, arms crossed over her chest. "Yeah, we do." Then, with an amused tilt of her head, she adds, "I’m her ex."

The group collectively gasps.

"Our surf instructor is your ex?" Jen blurts out, gaping at you.

You don’t miss the way Agatha shifts slightly at the revelation. You don’t dare look at her directly, but you feel the shift in her energy.

The questions are about to start flying, but you shut them down quickly. "Can we just get to learning how to surf? Please?"

Thankfully, that’s enough to steer everyone’s attention back to the lesson.

Natasha walks you all through the basics, demonstrating movements on the sand before sending you off into the water. You do your best to focus, but it’s hard when Agatha is only a few feet away—and now Natasha is here, too.

You feel Natasha’s gaze linger on you more than once, but you ignore it, keeping your head down and listening.

Once the lesson is over, Natasha claps her hands together. "Alright, let’s see what you got."

Alice, Jen, and Lilia eagerly grab their boards and head straight for the ocean. You and Wanda are about to follow when Natasha calls your name.

You hesitate before turning back to face her. "Yeah?"

She gives you a slow, amused once-over before grinning. "Long time no see, Y/N L/N."

You exhale sharply through your nose. "Natasha Romanoff." You mirror her teasing tone.

She tilts her head. "Well, didn’t expect to run into you here. What are you doing in Malibu?"

"Bachelorette vacation," you explain. "Jen’s the bride—she’s the one who probably hired you. And I’m one of her bridesmaids."

Natasha nods, processing that. "Makes sense."

She’s about to say something else, but you cut her off. "I should go. My friends are waiting."

She smirks but doesn’t push. "Go ahead, then. Try not to wipe out too hard."

You roll your eyes, grabbing Wanda’s wrist and dragging her toward the water.

Wanda, of course, is grinning like an idiot. "So. That happened."

"Shut up," you mutter.

You attempt surfing, but after multiple failed attempts, you give up, dragging your board back to the shore and opting to just swim instead. The ocean feels cool against your skin, a temporary relief from the weight in your chest.

As you float in the water, you glance back toward the waves, watching your friends ride them with varying levels of success. Your gaze drifts, scanning the group, until it inevitably lands on Agatha.

Your heart clenches.

She kissed you last night.

And she doesn’t even know.

You swallow the lump in your throat and tear your eyes away from her, turning and swimming farther out. Away from her. Away from everything.

But no matter how far you swim, the ache follows you.

Because you’re the only one who remembers.

After some time of swimming, your leg suddenly cramps, and a sharp pain shoots through your calf. Panic sets in as you struggle to stay afloat, your arms flailing against the relentless waves. Your breaths turn shallow, frantic.

"Help!" you manage to choke out, your voice barely carrying over the noise of the waves. You try again, louder, but the water pulls you under before you can see if anyone hears. Your limbs feel heavier, exhaustion creeping in. The last thing you register is a blurred figure rushing toward you before everything goes dark.

A rush of air fills your lungs as you sputter, coughing up seawater. The world around you is hazy, but the sensation of wet sand beneath your back is grounding. You gasp for air, blinking rapidly against the harsh sunlight.

"Hey, hey—you're okay," a familiar voice soothes.

Your vision clears, and the first thing you see is Agatha kneeling beside you, her brows furrowed in deep concern. Her damp hair clings to her face, and her breathing is still uneven. Natasha is on your other side, watching you intently, her lips pressed together in something like relief.

Jen exhales sharply, pressing a hand to her chest. "Jesus, Y/N, you scared the hell out of us. If Agatha hadn't noticed—"

"Luckily, she did," Lilia adds, still looking shaken. "And Natasha got to you fast with CPR."

Your chest tightens at their words. You slowly sit up, Agatha’s hands immediately steadying you.

"You okay?" she asks, her voice lower now, softer. There’s something in her expression—something that mirrors the look she gave you last night. It makes your stomach flip.

You nod, offering a small, reassuring smile. "Yeah… thanks to you."

Agatha doesn’t respond right away. Instead, her gaze flickers briefly toward Natasha before she helps you to your feet. Natasha moves in beside you, a steadying presence as you find your balance.

"Thanks, Natasha," you say, turning to her with another small smile. She nods, but you swear there’s a flicker of irritation in Agatha’s eyes when you look back at her.

Jen sighs, rubbing a hand over her face. "Alright, let’s get you out of the sun for a bit."

You all make your way back to where your belongings are scattered on the sand. Wrapping your kimono around yourself, you grab your tote bag, your body still trembling slightly from the ordeal. Just as you take a breath to collect yourself, Natasha steps closer.

"You sure you're really okay?" she asks, her voice dipping slightly.

You smirk, already knowing where this is going. "I’m fine, Natasha."

She grins. "Well, if you start feeling lightheaded or anything, I can always give you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation again. Just say the word."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll live."

Natasha chuckles before shifting gears, her tone turning casual. "How about tonight? Let’s catch up over drinks."

You hesitate. "I’d love to, but… I really just want to spend time with my friends for now." It’s not a complete lie, but it’s also not the full truth. You just aren’t interested.

Natasha studies you for a moment, then nods knowingly. "Alright. You’ve got my number—call me after the vacation if you change your mind."

You smile politely. "Nice seeing you again, though."

She returns the smile before giving you one last look and heading off. You exhale, letting the tension roll off your shoulders. When you glance back at your group, Agatha is watching you, an unreadable expression on her face, but the moment your eyes meet, she quickly looks away.

Your heart starts pounding all over again, and you know exactly why.

After that, you all head to Geoffrey’s for a late brunch. You order a ridiculous amount of food, realizing just how hungry you are after skipping breakfast and everything that happened today. The conversation flows easily between the group, filled with laughter and teasing, but you’re hyper-aware of Agatha sitting across from you. You do your best to avoid looking at her, but you can feel her gaze on you from time to time. Every glance makes your skin prickle with something you refuse to name.

Just when you think you’ve regained your composure, Wanda smirks and drops a grenade into the conversation. "So… how was your surfing lesson?" she asks, clearly enjoying herself.

You groan, already knowing where this is going. "It was fine."

"Fine?" Lilia echoes, raising an eyebrow. "You looked anything but fine when Natasha was giving you CPR."

You roll your eyes. "First of all, I almost drowned. Maybe focus on that? And second, it wasn’t that dramatic."

"Oh, come on," Jen cuts in, leaning forward with a grin. "You dated her. That’s pretty dramatic."

"Yeah, and we broke up," you remind them, stabbing at your food. "Over a year ago."

"Wait, how did you two even meet?" Alice asks, curiosity piqued.

You sigh, deciding there’s no escaping this conversation. "Some club. A year ago. We were together for three months, and it ended on good terms."

"And you didn’t know she could surf?" Lilia asks, amused.

"Nope. No idea."

They exchange glances before Wanda smirks. "Natasha still looks like she’s down bad for you."

You shrug. "That’s not my problem."

"First Rio, now Natasha?" Lilia teases. "What is this, a rom-com? Who are you gonna pick?"

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Neither."

Before they can push further, Jen claps her hands together. "Alright, enough of that. We’re going to karaoke tonight. Be at the main entrance of the resort at five. No excuses."

Lilia practically vibrates with excitement. "Oh my God, it’s been ages since we’ve done this! I can’t wait."

You smile, relieved that the topic has shifted. The conversation continues with lighthearted chatter, and soon, everyone finishes their meals and heads back to their villas to get ready for the night ahead.

You’re back at your villa now, moving quickly as you take a shower, letting the warm water soothe the tension from earlier. After drying off, you throw on a black cropped tee, high-waisted jeans, white Nike sneakers, and grab your black Saint Laurent Le 5 à 7 Mini bag. Simple, comfortable, effortless—or at least that’s what you’re telling yourself.

Just as you’re about to head out, your phone buzzes. You check the screen—Rio.

Hey there...

You stare at the message for a second before typing out a response.

Hi.

You cringe. That was so lame. But you don’t want to think too much about it, so you put your phone on silent and shove it into your bag before stepping out of your villa.

When you arrive at the meeting spot, they’re all already there, waiting. Your eyes instinctively land on Agatha. She’s wearing a black blazer draped over a black silk camisole tucked into high-waisted jeans, paired with black boots.

You swallow, pushing down whatever reaction threatens to surface, forcing yourself to look away.

Lilia claps her hands together, practically bouncing on her feet. "Okay, now that we’re finally complete, can we go? I’ve been waiting all day for this!"

Everyone chuckles, and soon you all pile into the van. You slide in beside Wanda, settling in, only for Agatha to climb in next, taking the open seat beside you.

You freeze for a second. You’re sandwiched now—trapped between Wanda and Agatha.

You subtly shift, trying to create even the smallest bit of space between you and Agatha, but she notices.

"It’s fine," she says casually, her voice smooth as ever. "I have plenty of space."

You glance at her. She offers you a small, knowing smile. You force yourself to return it, a tight-lipped attempt at nonchalance, before pulling out your phone as a distraction.

Inside, though?

You are dying.

Every second feels like an eternity, every inch between you both—too little. Your heart pounds, your mind races, but you sit there, face impassive, acting as if nothing is wrong. Acting as if this isn’t absolute torture.

After twenty minutes, the van pulls up in front of a karaoke bar. Jen hops out first, grinning as she leads the way inside. The receptionist greets you all warmly and escorts you to the private room Jen reserved. The space is dimly lit, with neon-colored lights casting soft glows across the plush seating and the large screen at the front of the room. A sleek karaoke machine stands ready, microphones resting in their holders.

"Alright, drinks first or singing first?" Jen asks, plopping down onto the lounge sofa.

"Drinks!" Lilia exclaims immediately, and the group laughs.

You all place your orders—food, snacks, and, of course, more alcohol. The drinks arrive quickly, and soon, everyone is eating and chatting, laughter filling the space. Then, the karaoke begins. Lilia confidently takes the mic first, dramatically performing a power ballad, exaggerating every note just to make the group crack up. Jen follows, belting out an early 2000s pop anthem with so much enthusiasm that no one even minds when she goes off-key. As the night goes on, the drinks keep flowing, and so does the music. Everyone is tipsy now, swaying to the rhythm, arms draped over each other’s shoulders. You don’t sing much, choosing instead to sit back and watch, occasionally taking a sip of your drink. But mostly, you watch Agatha.

You try not to. You really do. But the way she laughs, the way she throws her head back when she sings along to someone else’s performance—it’s impossible to look away. You tell yourself it's just the alcohol making you sentimental. But you know the truth. You’re still thinking about last night. About the kiss. About the way her lips felt against yours, even if it wasn’t real. Even if she doesn’t remember.

Then, it’s Agatha’s turn.

She stands up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before grabbing the microphone. She scrolls through the song list for a moment, then selects something. When the opening chords play, your heart drops.

Something by The Beatles.

Of all songs, why this one?

She starts, her voice softer than expected but effortlessly beautiful.

"Something in the way she moves…"

You swallow hard. It’s just a song, you tell yourself. But every word feels like a dagger, lodging itself deeper into your chest. The worst part? Agatha doesn’t even seem to notice. She just sings, swaying lightly to the melody, her voice wrapping around the lyrics like a gentle caress.

"Attracts me like no other lover…"

You grip your drink, staring at the condensation forming on the glass as if it holds the answers to your unraveling composure. Your friends are enraptured, some singing along, others watching Agatha in admiration. But she keeps glancing at you. Like she’s trying to gauge your reaction. Like she knows—no, she doesn’t know. She can’t.

And then, the bridge. The part that absolutely ruins you.

"You're asking me, will my love grow…"

"I don't know, I don't know…"

Your breath catches in your throat. You press your lips together, gripping your drink tighter, your knuckles whitening. You should look away, should laugh it off like it’s nothing. But you can’t. Because it’s not nothing. It’s everything.

Agatha sings the next line, her eyes flickering toward you just as she reaches it.

"You stick around, now it may show…"

As if you haven’t been sticking around. As if you haven’t been carrying this ache for years, waiting for something, anything, to tell you that maybe—maybe—you weren’t alone in it.

By the time the song ends, your eyes are stinging, but you refuse to let a tear fall. You quickly wipe at the corner of your eye before anyone notices. Before she notices.

Agatha beams as she puts the mic down. "That was fun!" she says, completely unaware of the damage she just did.

You feel like you’re drowning. You don’t know whether to leave, drink more, or just sit there and endure it. You stare at your drink, hoping the liquor will burn away the lump in your throat.

A gentle nudge pulls you from your thoughts. Wanda slides in next to you, lowering her voice. "Hey, you okay? You’ve been acting weird all night. Actually, all morning too."

You force a small, weak smile. "I’m fine."

She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she sighs and hands you another drink. "Here. At least pretend to have fun."

You take it, offering a quiet thanks, but your mind is elsewhere. On a song you wish you hadn’t heard. On a girl who doesn’t even realize she’s breaking you apart, piece by piece.

After a few drinks and multiple songs—mostly sung by Lilia—Jen finally notices that you’ve been unusually quiet. You haven’t picked up the mic even once.

“Alright, what’s going on with you?” Jen nudges you with her elbow. “You’re not getting away with just sitting there.”

“I’m fine,” you say, waving her off. “Just enjoying the show.”

“Lies,” Lilia interjects, grinning. “C’mon, Y/N, it’s your turn!”

You shake your head, but then Agatha speaks up. “Yeah, what’s up with that? Don’t tell me you’re shy.” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice, playful but expectant.

Alice smirks. “Maybe she just need the right song.”

You hesitate, but the way everyone’s looking at you—especially Agatha, who now raises an eyebrow in challenge—makes it impossible to refuse. With a resigned sigh, you push yourself up from the couch and head toward the song selection screen.

“Fine. One song.”

You scroll aimlessly, then, without thinking, you pick Can’t Take My Eyes Off You by Frankie Valli.

The moment the opening chords play, something in your chest tightens. Why this song? You don’t even know. Maybe it just slipped out. But the second the melody fills the room, memories from last night flood back. The way Agatha had drunkenly sung it on the way back to her villa, swaying slightly, smiling at you like she really meant it. Then— the kiss.

You steal a glance at Agatha. She’s not looking at you.

Taking a breath, you start singing, your voice softer than usual. “You're just too good to be true… Can’t take my eyes off you…”

The words sting. This used to be a happy song for you. Now, it’s a cruel reminder of something that only you seem to remember. Your voice wavers slightly as you push through the verse, trying not to think about how unfair this is. Agatha got to have that moment without consequences—without the weight of remembering—while you’re stuck feeling every second of it.

You reach the next line, forcing yourself to meet Agatha’s gaze. “But if you feel like I feel…”

It’s brief. Just a flicker of eye contact. Not enough to raise suspicion, but enough that something in Agatha’s expression changes. She wasn’t paying attention before, but now she is. Her head tilts slightly, lips parting just a fraction, as if some part of this is tugging at her memory.

You reach the chorus, willing yourself to keep your voice steady. “I love you, baby, and if it’s quite all right…”

You try to smile through it, but your eyes betray you. There’s an ache in your voice that wasn’t there before. The others notice—Jen and Alice exchange glances, Wanda’s gaze sharpens slightly. She’s thinking. Wondering. Who was this song really for?

Then, you see it—Agatha shifting in her seat, suddenly looking uneasy. She rubs the back of her neck, her fingers tapping against her knee like she’s trying to place a familiar feeling. Like something about this song is stirring something inside her.

But she doesn’t remember, does she? You can’t let yourself hope.

You finish the song, but there’s no relief. The room erupts in light applause, and Lilia nudges you with a grin. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

Alice teases, “Damn, Y/N, that was kinda romantic.”

You force a laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, sure.”

And then—

Agatha leans over, a smirk playing at her lips. “Didn’t expect you to pick that one.”

Your stomach drops. Of course, she doesn’t get it. Of course, she has no idea why you picked it.

You tilt your head, forcing casualness into your voice. “Funny, I could’ve sworn I heard you singing it first.”

Agatha blinks, caught off guard for a second, before she laughs lightly. “Did I? Must’ve been the tequila.”

And that’s when you know.

She really, truly doesn’t remember.

Your chest feels tight. You nod, forcing a small smile before muttering, “Gonna get some air.”

You don’t wait for anyone to respond before slipping out of the room, the sound of laughter and music fading behind you. Because you cannot sit there and pretend everything is fine.

You step outside into the cool night air, the neon lights from the bar casting shifting colors over the pavement. The distant hum of laughter and music filters through the walls, but out here, it’s quieter. Just the sound of your own unsteady breathing.

You lean back against the wall, tilting your head up, blinking rapidly against the sting in your eyes. Your shoulders shake, but you don’t sob. You just let the tears fall, silent and unchecked, gripping your own arms like it’s the only thing keeping you together.

The door swings open, and footsteps pause. A moment of hesitation before a familiar voice speaks—soft, careful. It’s Wanda.

“…Hey.”

You quickly wipe at your face, sniffling as you force a weak chuckle. “God. I—this is so stupid.”

Wanda doesn’t reply right away. Instead, she leans against the wall beside you, arms crossed, letting the quiet settle between you. She doesn’t push, doesn’t pry. Just waits.

Finally, gently. “It’s not stupid.”

You let out a shaky breath, staring up at the sky. “You ever just—want to forget someone?”

Wanda tilts her head, considering. “That bad, huh?”

You swallow hard, your fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeve. And then, barely above a whisper, “She kissed me last night.”

Wanda blinks. “…Agatha?”

You nod, lips pressing together like you can still feel it.

Wanda exhales, understanding dawning in her expression. “And she doesn’t remember.”

A hollow laugh escapes you, one that holds no humor. “Nope.”

Silence stretches between you. Then, Wanda huffs out a quiet, almost incredulous laugh, shaking her head.

“Of course she fucking doesn’t.”

You drag your hands over your face, frustration and exhaustion pulling at your features. “She was wasted. She—she grabbed me, and she looked at me like—like I was everything. And then she just—” Your voice catches, your throat tightening around the words. But you force yourself to go on. “She kissed me. And I—God, I wanted to kiss her back so bad, Wanda. But I didn’t. Because I knew. I knew she wasn’t thinking straight.”

Wanda watches you quietly, her gaze unreadable, steady.

You let out another laugh, brittle and strained. “And now she’s in there, laughing, drinking, acting like nothing ever happened. And I’m out here like a fucking idiot, crying about it.”

Wanda doesn’t tell you that you’re overreacting. She doesn’t tell you to move on, to brush it off, to pretend it didn’t matter.

She just sighs softly, then reaches out and pulls you into a hug.

For a second, you don’t move. You hesitate, frozen. And then you break—burying your face in Wanda’s shoulder, gripping onto her like she’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

And maybe, for now, that’s enough.

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ma1dita · 3 months ago

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asking for trouble

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader words: 7.8k prev -> when the curtains close | next -> as above so below summary: (post-TLT, compliant to TLO) The one where Luke's final wish is to see you. (He's himself again, and all he wants is to find out if the trouble was worth it all) a/n: non-descriptive mentions of blood and war, main character death. angst. a boyfriend that yall may or may not agree with. one chapter left after this!! i imagined the last scene to play out with luke in a room where they have the immersive exhibits at a museum

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[august 15th; camp half-blood kitchens, long island, new york — 9:49 pm]

Everything begins and ends with love if we are fortunate enough.

There’s a stillness that fills the air the night before what historians and future demigods alike will deem the Battle of Manhattan. It’s stifling—suffocating in the silence of the camp kitchens as you cover a sheet cake with blue frosting, piping the edges with a steady hand as you check the clock, time always ticking over your shoulder.

Almost lights out.

The circumstances are different now though, and surely no one will be able to sleep soundly tonight. Fate is hard at work unraveling the future, the gods and their spawn alike are preparing for war, yet you’re here putting sprinkles on Percy Jackson’s birthday cake.

It’s the most nonsensical thing you’ve done all week amidst the war preparations, taming the whirlwind of mixed emotions that shook camp in the days before. Perhaps it comes with the knowing that everything will change, and the only way out is through. Only the lucky ones get to go home after this.

“Are you really not coming with us tomorrow?”

Clarisse chuckles at your question from her position against the doorway, crossing her arms and watching you stick candles on the top of the sweet dessert. Her hands flex over her sleeves, tugging at the fabric like she needs to hide away from the rest of the world, “You make it sound like it’s a walk in the park instead of what it really is.”

“Is that why then?” You look up from your piping bag raising an eyebrow at her, “We need all the help we can get, Risse.”

“It’s a death wish. I don’t know how you do it grandma, but the world will keep spinning no matter if 5 shows up or not,” Clarisse mutters, rolling the words around in her mouth, “How do you do it? Knowing that he’ll be there…I-I don’t want Chris to put himself through that again. We’re going to lose anyway—something, if not everything.”

You know that too.

There’s something ironic about how the children of war won’t be joining the fight of their lives, but Clarisse La Rue is as stubborn as a mule when she doesn’t get her way. Only something truly special would send her running to the battlefield at this point.

“A part of me feels obligated to be there and help fix it, Risse. This is the path I chose.”

She scoffs, her sneakers knocking against the side of the kitchen island. The daughter of Ares is wistful, hesitant… and nothing like herself tonight. You suppose conflict shapes someone like her like how insanity lines the essence of your being. Intangible, but the base of every choice—the driving reason connecting you to your godrents.

“Yeah, I know that, but I still don’t get it. You don’t have to be here anymore,” she says thoughtfully, moving the cylinders of sprinkles around on the counter by height order, then by colors of the rainbow, “you could’ve chosen the easy life without all of this…I mean, if I ever got out of here alive, I wouldn’t look back.” The statement is sharp in the silence as if she’d attacked you with Maimer. Your eyes meet hers as if there’s a big secret she’s missing out on. You always look at them like that now, with a faraway gaze of a place none of them can reach.

“Who’s to say? Getting old and aging out of here is harder than you think, you know… College, rent, taxes…” you list off with every squeeze of the piping bag, spelling out Percy’s name with white frosting. Clarisse bites her lip, resting her chin against the palm of her hand as she watches you.

When she closes her eyes at night, she often dreams of being home in Arizona, dry heat prickling at her cheeks and dust swirling at her ankles. That’s what her future will look like, she thinks—and she’ll let herself be selfish if it means she gets what she wants. What do you dream of? Do you think about a future for yourself if you’re so worried about saving everyone else’s?

“But you still came back. Is this easier than that?”

Not easier, but familiar. Nothing you ever want comes easy after all. There is a comfort in walking the grounds of a camp counselor job you used to dread instead of filling out job applications; easier to you means fighting with the gods and slaying creatures of old instead of paying student loans and making rent.

“I think you’ll find out that you do stupid things for love, Clarisse La Rue.”

She’ll never tell you this, but you’re the strongest person she knows. You’ve shown her that strength doesn’t always mean brain or brawn. Sometimes strength is loving someone without expecting anything in return, and the gnawing feeling in her stomach eats at her in an unsatisfying way—like Tantalus reaching for the grapevine, fingertips grazing the leaves for eternity.

Instead, Clarisse wipes down the counter with a Clorox wipe as you make your way towards the door, cake in hand. Tonight, she and her siblings will sleep with the knowledge that they’ll get to see another day. Call her selfish, sure—but that’s how she loves them. Alive.

“I still stand ten toes behind the fact that Michael Yew can be knocked down a fucking peg,” she mutters. There’s a small smile on her face and when she looks up at you, she sees your face is illuminated by moonlight. Clarisse hopes this won’t be the last time—silently praying to her father to extend his hand onto you.

“I’ll see you when I see you, La Rue.”

Whenever that is, she thinks. This is easier than a goodbye. What matters is showing up. What matters is that they try. That’s what she reminds herself as she turns off the big light and heads toward Cabin 5.

Does any of that still matter in the end if they aren’t alive?

Her siblings are already asleep when she tucks herself into bed despite the music and laughter coming from 12. Light from across the way filters through her window, a warm glow cast across her face leaking through even when she shuts her eyes. It warms her, reminds her of the orange of the stupid shirts they wear, sunsets on Fireworks Beach, and the molten lava that drips down the climbing wall.

Home might not be what she remembered it to be after all these years. Clarisse decides to sleep on it, hoping that when they wake, there’ll be something worth fighting for.

[august 15th; cabin 12, long island, new york — 10:08pm]

Camp Half-Blood is quiet as you walk through the dark forest, minding your step over the brambles and checking off your mental list of responsibilities before day breaks. The air is especially cool for a summer night, melancholy being your only jacket as you move on auto-pilot. Your fingers tighten around the tray you hold, pushing the door open to Cabin 12 which currently houses most of your campers. It’s lively and bright in here—you would think they’re all celebrating a Capture the Flag win instead of being sent off to their deaths for the greater good.

Tomorrow, they’ll wake up soldiers.

The wood creaks beneath your boots and it’s drowned out by the sound of soft chattering and laughter, a few of them still scuffling over sleep spots, and then—”HAPPY BIRTHDAY PERCY!”

There are only enough people in here to comfortably fit in a few of the strawberry trucks tomorrow—some went home to their parents to avoid the chaos and some chose not to fight at all. And the ones that remain— all 40 of them, that is, are spread out on the floor in sleeping bags writhing like worms. All the whooping and cheering is accompanied by Michael leading his siblings in song (and Connor and Travis ruining it by chanting CHA CHA CHA!).

Percy is just shy of sixteen now, but the sheen in his blue eyes still reflects the tranquility of open water and something tender that you saw in him when he came to camp at twelve years old. Later, through mouthfuls of cake and smears of blue buttercream on his cheek, the son of Poseidon looks up at you thoughtfully, “Is this a pity cake?” He tries to make light of the situation by acting like the fate of the world doesn’t depend on his life or death, and you take a deep breath.

Even demigods fall victim to fate, and the gods still push on. But what of their children that fight for change in the world they set the rules for; their children that fight their battles for them and lose their lives for immortal beings that live forever?

“This is a birthday party, not a pity party, Percy Jackson. There's no pity for the damned,” you chuckle. Damned if we do, damned if we don’t. All of the world’s problems seem so permanent when you’re 15 years old. It’s just fucked up that his will actually alter the course of humanity.

“And if this is the end of the world, I just wanted to make sure we’ve told you happy birthday first.”

“Well thanks,” Percy mumbles over a spoonful of buttercream, face reddening when Annie throws a paper towel roll at his face, “Hey!” It reminds you a lot of when you and Luke would fight in the dining pavilion, chicken tenders and mac n’ cheese flying through the air, and apples cut just the way you like.

You blink.

It all boils down to him or Luke.

“Wipe your face, Seaweed Brain!”

Percy rolls his eyes, smiling down at his plate regardless of the weight he carries upon his shoulders. The more you want to live the more you have to lose, you think as you brush your knuckles against a spot of frosting he missed. You don’t look at the blonde boy and see a hero of the Great Prophecy—still, you see him as the little boy who was mesmerized by you conjuring strawberries on his plate on his first day at camp, innocent and honest.

Looking around the room wistfully at that thought, you start to see the memories of their childhood blanket all of themlike ill-fitting clothes; it’s all you can notice. The feeling is so big it swallows you whole. Annabeth is still the little girl who’d rattle off obscure facts from Snapple bottle caps from her time on the road, drawing pictures of buildings with your eyeliner after sneaking into your room. Silena still makes blush out of berry juice and would call you about boy problems as if she’s not a child of the goddess of love herself. Will is still the boy who sings as he lights up fireflies and draws smiley faces on bandages. Katie, the girl who makes flower crowns for your birthday and eats strawberries with you soaked in morning dew. You look around and see scraped knees that you’ve kissed better, sleepy eyes you’ve sung to, and hearts you’ve kept warm—this is your glory, your greatest achievement being the family you’ve found in the woods of the Long Island Sound.

“You see it too?” Grover mumbles, nudging you and you sigh, squeezing his shoulder. Sometimes you forget the satyr is older than you; he stands tall as your pillar of support, unwavering in his promise to protect these kids.

“We’re getting old, man.”

“You’re only 23. There’s so much left of you,” he deadpans. Laughter comes out of you in waves as you shake your head smiling.

“And what a pleasure it’s been to grow up with you.”

Grover bids you a good night as you walk up the stairs to your old room, phone in hand while you dial a familiar number. Your boyfriend answers before the end of the first ring.

“Hey, I didn’t think you’d still be up!”

Settling against the windowpane near your bed, a soft smile graces your features and you realize he’s not there to see it. It’s always been easy with him—Dex was unbelievably kind, and he had a heart that he’d share without you having to ask. He was unlike any man you’d ever encountered before, and over the past year and a half you found it easy to love him.

Worst of all, he’s utterly devoted to you. At least every part of you that you were willing to give him, even if it wasn’t all of you per se. Plus, you saw the ring in his desk drawer last week.

It was too…good to be true.

You recognize that this was your way out like Clarisse said, your escape from the turbulence that was your life as a demigod. But it was hard to believe that you were deserving of it. He’d never know of the ichor that runs through your veins, and the life you’d have to leave behind to truly be with him. You suppose every love you’ve ever had was sacrificial. You just wonder if because of that, easy makes it hard to feel real.

Maybe if you survive this one you’d tell him the truth. But for now, he’s rambling in your ear about his sudden work trip upstate. Morpheus and Hypnos are already at work then, redirecting the city dwellers out of Manhattan. It must be later than you thought already and in a few short hours, Apollo will be shining his rays across the Island for what you hope won’t be the last time.

“I wish I was with you right now,” you mutter in a hushed tone, and you hear him laugh breathily through the static sound of the phone. It’s easy to imagine him twirling the telephone cord between his fingers, flopped over the tiny loveseat you went halfsies on with your first big paychecks. The apartment you both moved into after graduation is more accurately a shoebox—but it’s yours, and the love you have for it is immeasurable in comparison to the square footage. You hum, listening to the sound of his voice, “Maybe I can catch you before I go—stop by and say hi before I drive up.”

He won’t. By morning, you’re not even sure if he’ll remember you—all traces of Greek gods and their counterparts wiped clean from memory until it’s all over, whenever that is. You’re mindlessly walking in circles around your room, bare feet padding against the floorboards. He repeats your name and you realize you haven’t been paying attention, the tail end catching your ear, “Hmm?”

“Or you could come to me. I’m sure your dad won’t mind. It’s time I meet him, don’t you think?”

And out of anything happening tomorrow, that especially sounds like a nightmare so you make a noise of disagreement, “I can’t. You know I can’t, honey. I’ve got…” your voice trails off as your lilac eyes land on a faded photo strip thumbtacked to your wall, “unfinished business to deal with.” There’s nothing left but inky silhouettes on the sun-damaged paper, two past lovers huddled together. But you know what it’s a picture of. Rye Playland, you and Luke at fifteen, cheek to cheek and covered in wisps of cotton candy.

“Mm. Sounds important. Does your unfinished business have a name?”

Dex sounds playful now, teasing despite the silence on your end of the line. A beat passes, and then another, and he can hear the sound of your hands rifling through the things in your desk drawer. The dragon scale necklace is cold in your palm.

For good luck, you think.

It’s been a while since you’ve worn it—keeping it safe in the only home you and Luke shared, and as soon as it touches your neck, you feel a little less empty inside. It feels like a safety blanket, protecting you from whatever might come next. You almost feel guilty to be relieved.

Thumbing the cord absentmindedly, you mutter, “You don’t even know the half of it, Dex.”

“Maybe one day you’ll tell me.” Sometimes, it’s like he knows— Dex must be the ivy that grows over the walls you’ve built up around yourself, and he can see glimpses of who you try to hide behind your stone-cold resolve. He wonders if you’ll ever tell him about the names you call out at night— an indistinguishable language he’ll never fully understand. He wonders where you’ve gotten your constellation of scars and where your mind goes when you sit next to the window and stare at the skyline.

Oh, he wonders.

The glow-in-the-dark stars are faded now on the ceiling when you look up at them, fighting to give their last bits of light. You wonder too, if there’s any fight left in you; a bit of Luke always remains—he’s everywhere you look. You can feel him as night falls upon New York, bidding you goodnight before it crumbles tomorrow.

“Maybe. Good night, honey.”

Dex yawns into the receiver. You know his feet are kicked up onto the coffee table even though you always tell him he shouldn’t, and that his glasses are already off for the night. You really think he could be a nice guy to end up with, all things considered. Dex was the epitome of normal, and after almost two and a half decades of existence, it’s quite evident that you are anything but.

Normal might be quite nice.

He yawns again. Hypnos must have reached his window, “I love you, you know that?”

“I do. Me too. Good night.”

It’s the truth.

You love this man and the spaces he’s filled within the chaos of your life. You love all of him, from the perfectly normal way he makes breakfast for you every morning (and laughs when he burns the toast), and takes the train to work at a middle school in Harlem (“6th grade ELA takes a lot out of a man,” he jokes). He picks you up from your job at the therapist’s office downtown if you get out too late, as a gentleman would (though you’ve fought monsters that he’d scream at the sight of). Once upon a time, normal was exactly what you used to wish for.

There’s a moment where your breath hitches and you sink against your pillow and you wonder if he would love all of you—demigod and all. Could he get used to this— summers at Camp Half-Blood with chariot races and gladiator-style fighting, pegasi and harpies roaming the grounds, and watersports with woodland nymphs? Dex never even questions your green thumb or how Pollux made him hallucinate your dead brother when he came to visit (“It’s what Castor would’ve wanted! The full twin-terrogation!” he insists. You convinced your boyfriend he got food poisoning that night). Could you come clean about knowing how to slay a chimera, or why you never get drunk, and have the stamina of an Olympian (the athletic kind, but not too far off from the truth)?

But it shouldn’t be called coming clean. That makes it sound like you’re ashamed of who you are—which you’re not. You’ve just been hiding this part of you from a normal human that you love very much.

Gods, is this how your dad felt when he was seeing your mom?

Somehow insanity has always felt bearable—love, however, has always been such an ordeal.

The phone bounces onto your bedspread once you hang up the call. There is no more time to worry about playing a part. Tomorrow, everyone comes as they are—whatever happens after will be a problem if you reach another day. Fate has its way of making itself known, you know that by now. Blinking, you take a deep breath, and very intentionally, with your feet criss-cross applesauce, you pray—for what, you still try to figure out as the minutes tick by.

Better late than never.

Here at camp, you were always the last one up after lights out, anyway. Tonight of all nights shouldn't be any different.

[august 16th; 34th street and herald square, manhattan, new york — 9:17 am]

“Where do you think you’re going, mister!”

Your little brother flinches, immediately turning tail and walking across the deserted street to meet you in the middle. He’s taller than you now, craning his neck down to look at your angry glower as you thrust a finger into his face, “You’re sticking with me.”

“Jake said he’s taking 9 and 12 to the Holland Tunnel,” Pollux calls out, shuffling his feet and you punch his arm hard, “OW! —It’s what Percy wants.” He swats your hand away for good measure, his arm guards clanking against yours when he dodges another swing at his head.

“We are Cabin 12, you shithead. I’m not letting you out of my sight for a second.” Your staff is heavy against his shoulder and Pollux can’t help but let his gaze wander to where Jake Mason and the other children of Hephaestus are waiting for him a block over. Manhattan is a warzone, and the difference between fighting empousai and fighting his older sister right now is very similar in theory—hard to do alone. The tunnel is halfway across the city from the Empire State Building—if something were to happen to either of you…

"M’not here to fight,” he sighs, “with you at least. I need to do my part, sissy.” The old nickname is an arrow through your heart and you grab Pollux’s hand, “I just want to make sure you’ll be okay. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I couldn’t get to you in time.”

“HEY 12! You coming, or what?”

The two of you look towards the small army down the block, both of your hands intertwined like grapes from the same vine. You’re not sure if you can let go; you’re not sure if your father could lose another child. But Pollux’s face is almost set in stone—he’s never been more sure of himself. Your lip wavers, forcing itself into a stiff smile and he softens at the sight, “I’ll be okay.”

“And if you’re not? Then what?”

He shrugs, “Then… then I’ll get to see Castor.”

You nod, breathing shakily, and flinching when Jake calls for Pollux again, “Well. If you are okay…You come find me. After this is over, you come straight back home to me. You got it?”

Pollux hugs you, hard—the force of all of him sending you sprawling into his arms and it knocks the wind out of you. As the twins have grown, it’s been rare for them to show you any affection. They’d usually recoil or whine about how mushy their older sister is, and each time it makes you laugh. But right now, you stand there gripping onto his t-shirt, breathless; the ringing in your ears gives way to words he mumbles into your hair, “I love you,” he says, in case you didn’t already know.

Just in case this is goodbye. You take it in for a moment longer, running a hand through his blond hair and cupping his cheeks as you finally step away, “I love you. I’m so proud of you, P. We all are.”

“Haven’t done anything yet,” he grins, backing away slowly, a skip in his step as he nears the small troop of Hephaestus kids. You wave them off, blowing a kiss as they band together and turn in the other direction.

Why is it that you can only be proud of someone if there’s something to prove it?

You think about all 40 of your campers fighting for their lives in the greatest city in the world. The sound of hellfire, roaring monsters, and screams that could only come from your kids. Fatigue wears you down with each swipe of magic towards enemy forces, monsters writhing in pain at your feet, demigods reduced to insanity and blood-curdling screams. It disgusts you even more so that no one can witness the weapon you've been forced to become.

After all, no one knows any of you were there. Life continues on outside of the bubble containing the Battle of Manhattan. And only the ones fighting will be able to remember this. Only you will remember the blood you spilled to wrestle for your destiny.

The rest of the city continues to sleep, safe from the people who swore to protect it.

[august 17th; empire state building, manhattan, new york mount olympus, in the sky above new york??? — 11:22 pm]

Running up 492 flights of stairs was another type of hell you didn’t expect to put yourself through, but it was faster than waiting for the elevator to Olympus. It’s quiet besides the steady rush of blood pumping in your ears, your boots slapping against the tile to reach your friends who might be in danger at the hands of someone you know well. But it’s too late to give up when you’re so close—you realize you’re praying to anyone who’ll listen as you push through the pain of always being a little too late.

“Ugh!”

Air pierces through your lungs painfully as you trip up a landing, hands clawing against the banister. Have you been running in place this whole time, quick to start but hard to follow? Your lip quivers, eyes trailing up the stairwell faster than your legs can take you.

Whatever the outcome, you’ll be better for it, you hope.

It’d be easier to give up. To stay away and not watch Percy fight for his life against him. You dry heave as you press your head against the wall, wondering if it’s worth not seeing what will become of this wretched prophecy. It’s hard to survive loving the villain when the rest of the world is dying because of it. Your legs feel like jelly underneath you, and not a single soul in Manhattan knows you’re here—until you feel the strength of an old traveler lift you up and revitalize your soul. Looking down to see your boots retie themselves tightly, the feeling in your chest reminds you of him. Everything leads back to Luke, and you think wherever he is now—Hermes knows that too.

“Thank you,” you mutter. He’s handpicked your prayer through the tempest that hangs over Manhattan so that maybe your hands will be gentler in smiting his lost son. You find yourself with the nerve to run up the last dozen flights of stairs, pushing past the entryway to see Thalia Grace under a statue of her stepmother, “THALIA!” You barely make it to her fallen form before her free arm tries to push you away from the rubble.

“Get out of here! I mean it—” Thalia spits out your name through gnarled teeth and bones crunching under the heavy hands of Hera. The statue lays over the bottom half of her body, holding her legs down like how one forms a fist, and the daughter of Zeus pushes through pain and millennia worth of her dad’s karmic debt in giving her life—the essence of being a forbidden child still has a hold on her, even now.

“I’m not gonna…leave you…”

With everything in you, both demigod strength and sheer desperation, you push at the unmoving stone and your fingernails begin to splinter from the pressure.

But you know what it feels like to get left behind.

Desolation slowly sets in your bones, a hollow feeling that spreads through your core as sweat rolls down your cheeks, and when you sniff to wipe it away, Thalia’s lip quivers. She’s writhing in pain and everything is coming to an end down the hall from where you stand.

“We’re so close, Grace. I’m not giving up on you when we’re this close. I need you in there with me so you just hold on, okay?”

The marble is cool to the touch under your moist hands, and her face is fixed in a grimace as she looks up at you and sees you for who you are—another demigod who was never given a fair chance at fate but with a spirit of a hero waiting for the right chance. Thalia coughs before slapping your hand away, “LISTEN TO ME! I’ll be okay. He needs you to be there. We’re almost out of time!”

You barely register your body moving as you get up and start to run, looking back at Thalia by the time you’re at the top of the landing. There are no words that you could imagine to string together when your eyes meet hers in the distance that separates you two—the feeling of grief bearing down as you both know the end is near and inside those doors.

As you turn back around, you take a moment to wonder if you might’ve had different people in mind for who’s up there waiting for you.

[august 17th; the hall of gods, mount olympus, the sky above new york— 11:48 pm]

Finally pushing through the heavy doors of the Hall of Gods, your eyes burn like salt in a wound as you travel toward the center to see three figures laid out on the marble mezzanine. There’s a cramp in your calf by the time you reach them, your legs giving way as you skid to a stop in front of Luke’s corroded body. The pain doesn’t register for you, split skin going numb as you stare into the eyes of a storm you fell in love with almost ten years ago.

A stranger is no longer wearing your love’s skin. Percy and Annie’s eyes feel heavy against your back as they watch you sigh in relief, a landslide of emotion rolling off of you when you see he’s still breathing, even faintly, as if he waited for you to make it back to him.

“It’s Luke,” Annabeth chokes out, “the scythe transformed into Backbiter and I knew it was him. He was fighting for us.” Her voice makes you flinch, makes this more real—it echoes as the wind carries it through the hall. Without a doubt in your mind, you know it’s him by the way he looks at you with tired eyes, soft and amber—the light pushing away the shadows and he reaches out for you. His skin is paled by the River Styx, face weathered by the Titan as you gently guide his head onto your lap. A pathetic cry slips from your mouth when you realize there’s more pressure in the fingers he brushes against your cheekbone versus the one holding the blade embedded in his chest.

Fuck, what do you even say?

He’s dying right in front of you and you can’t think of a single word to say.

The clock is ticking and every breath of his comes out weaker––he speaks before you can find the words, breathing out, “I missed you,” like it was a relief to say it. And it all comes spilling out like a secret you’ve been safeguarding since the day he left— a mix of your tears and his blood smearing across your cheek as he reaches out to wipe them ever so gently. You find yourself smiling in the face of death itself—smile even if the both of you can feel death’s hand on him saying that time is finally up because the act of meeting each other here in the middle makes the years you’ve gone without him worthwhile.

The reunion is also the loss; a nasty habit you’ve both fallen into over the years. But this time, Luke’s finally able to give you the world he wanted to see just before he leaves it.

You clutch him close without intending to let go, purple eyes scavenging for confirmation that this is your Luke, the one who pushed you through the brambles of the North Woods, wind in his hair and mischief in his smile. He’s citrus and musk, cunning smiles, something sacred kept within cabin 11, calloused fingers pulling at your t-shirt, and the voice out of tune at nightly sing-a-longs—and he loves you still.

Loving you was the only thing that never changed.

“Shhhh, don’t waste your energy. The gods will…” you swallow a sob despite yourself, “I…my dad’s going to be here soon. He’ll help us.” There’s a lump in your throat that carries the weight of everything unsaid. Who would help you now that everyone else is getting what they wanted—a brighter tomorrow without the villain? But the prophecy unveils itself so cruelly, and the one who hurt you is the hero in this story, just as he’s always dreamed. It so happens to be at the cost of loving you.

Luke’s eyelids flutter like butterfly wings descending softly. You press a kiss onto his forehead like you used to while waiting for him to fall asleep. The chuckle that rumbles his ribcage is faint against the hand of yours that’s holding him together and the war is finally over and no one even knows that besides the four of you in this room.

“I'm running on borrowed time,” Luke wheezes, “I think my life ended the day I left you.” His thumb weakly traces the tear tracks cascading down your face, and he’s reacquainting himself with every feature of yours while he can touch it—to hold and be held by you after so long feels like drinking up ambrosia, his last bits of strength telling you what you’ve always known.

Is there a word stronger than love?

One that would explain how close and how far you feel to him at this moment and you don’t want to say the wrong thing but there are no wrong words when it comes to the right person. Hoarsely, through wavering lips, you chuckle, “Then it's time to stop running, baby. I’m here now.”

It’s exhausting to carry the weight of tomorrow in your arms and to know it’ll be made possible only by letting him go. You’re holding him too tightly, claws sinking in to feel—to ground yourself and keep him tethered to this reality, just in case a different answer falls out of the sky.

But falling with Luke Castellan, falling for him, has been nothing like you wanted. You've said your goodbyes more often than you can count.

This part is just about letting him go.

“I think I’m doomed,” he laughs, coughing harshly. Blood soaks his airways, retribution for the lives he took. It drips out of his mouth and you still look at Luke like he’s asked you to marry him. What a soft, funny thought.

Love must be more violent than war, to feel like this—to know he’s wrecked your world and still come out the other side smiling at him like he put the stars in the sky. His fingers are slipping out of yours as you hold onto the knife that keeps him here and Luke mutters, “I’m so s-sorry. You deserved better in this life.” You hear Annabeth sob from somewhere behind you but you can’t look at anything else but his eyes, not daring to miss another moment of him.

“Can’t be all that bad,” you say with a watery chuckle, wiping his mouth with your thumb. There’s more of a mess now with your feeble efforts but the action comforts you more than him; caring for Luke is something you cannot unlearn.

“This life gave me you. I don’t want to know anything else. Do you hear me?”

You want Luke to know this—to understand that even if this is how fate has handled the both of you, there is no other hand you would hold but his.

“You’re my whole life, Trouble.”

“I know, angel. I know. It’s always been me and you.”

You and me, he mouths, an echo of himself left to relay the message as his eyes lose their warmth, empty now and unseeing. And then he's home in your arms again as you hold every broken and bloodied piece of him together until he's no more. The parts of him he leaves behind blur into you, rivulets of his lifeforce weaving through your fingertips even when you put pressure against the knife you both hold, hands cradling the spot under his armpit, and to Percy and Annabeth it looks like you're holding his heart, clutching it between your fingers.

Protecting it until his last beat—when he finally gives it over to you.

It was always yours, anyway.

Before, in the in-between, and now after, his heart is yours.

Time stops for Luke Castellan, the man born to die, in the Hall of Gods that day— in the arms of his partner and in the presence of his little sister and truest friend.

Lips against his ear, no one tries to pull you away, even when the gods of Olympus march in expecting a battle to only find a dead hero and a story that needs to be told.

You’ve never seen him so still before.

Luke’s always been the one with something to say, hands fidgeting to hold yours. Still, you hold his hand even if he can't feel it, still smile even if he can't see you, still whisper words of devotion even if he can't hear it. By the time you feel your father’s hands on your back and hear Percy say, “We need a shroud. A shroud for the son of Hermes,” you imagine that he’s miles away from where he lays motionless, dead weight in your grasp. Nothing can pull you away from the mantra you set to remind him that he’s yours even when he leaves again. Luke’s soul will soon journey where you cannot follow, and you whisper to him in the stillness amidst the noise, “I love you, I love you, I love you…”

When the Fates come to collect the body, their ancient hands spin around the two of you as they unweave your hold on him. You weren’t given a choice—his material body dissipates in front of your eyes and you swear you feel the tug from deep within your core as you watch them float Luke away. It’s so much different now from when he used to fly around your room with his stupid winged Converse—even the gods avert their eyes when you let out a sob that shakes the ornate hall. Hopelessly you watch, sat down on the marble and unable to move or follow—as if maybe he’d still answer to your sweet nothings, and not leave you hanging once more. You slump against your father’s side, catatonic and at a loss for words—they leave with him, floating away into the distance.

Humanity’s biggest problem and resolution has always been love—this was never a story about the lack thereof.

[august 18th; 12:00 am, death, pre-judgement? — the seven minutes after]

The path that Luke Castellan takes after he dies is most peculiar and unlike any path he’s traveled before. And yes, there have been several times that he’s come close to death—under Ladon’s claws in the Garden of Hesperides, and when he relinquished his physical self by bathing in the River Styx, but neither of those times where he’s cheated his way out can compare to the real thing.

He once read in one of Annabeth’s textbooks that there are seven minutes of brain activity that wanes in your consciousness before you die. There’s a distinct thrumming in his ears when he comes to, and Luke discovers he’s completely in the dark with no sense of direction and most importantly, no visible way out. The old him, were he still alive—would be panicking by now, short terse breaths and sweat upon his brow. Old Luke would have fidgeting hands and eyes that rocket around for an exit. But this Luke, whoever he is—whatever he is now, finds himself eerily calm. Everything glows in a vignette, and familiar scenes materialize before his vision, a kaleidoscope of color and your shrieking laughter surrounding him in the familiarity of your happiness with him—it feels like lifetimes ago. He realizes he’s smiling.

Versions of you swirl in the space he stands in, taking up space wherever he can look, wherever he turns—you’re there.

And he remembers.

Memory is a choice after all, much like love is. And no one can take that away from Luke Castellan except death itself.

The scene flickers for a moment, eyelashes fluttering against morning light peeking through the windows of Cabin 11.

It’s Luke’s first morning at Camp Half-Blood after the storm that brought him and Annabeth there. You’re standing over him with a half-beaten pillow and a menacing grin that grows as he spits out feathers. It’s his first impression of you, Kool-aid tipped hair and hands shaking with a crushed Redbull can in your other fist.

“Good. You’re still breathing. Wasn’t sure for a sec.”

A voice yells out your name and you make a run for it, barefoot and giggling and looking back at him every few steps—his breath catches in his throat again like how it did on the first day you both met.

The scenery changes and he’s sitting next to you on the dock of Canoe Lake.

“I dare you.”

“No way,” he hears himself say, and then he sees you fling algae at him in ropes, cold and slimy that it makes his voice crack, “He—ey! You’re gonna get us fired and it hasn’t even been a full day since we got the job,” he says, clearing his throat as you bite your lip.

“What’s one last hurrah?”

“You’re always gonna be Trouble, aren’t you?” he says, getting annoyed by the orange fabric that temporarily blinds him. Chuckling, you pull your shorts off and look back at him, eyes glinting in the moonlight and he can’t help but ogle at the rest of you, gulping hard. You catch him staring and he averts his eyes, looking back at the treeline to see if anyone’s come to find you both. A resounding splash echoes in the silence between you and Luke turns back to find your head bobbing visible above the water and not much else.

“I double-dog dare you, Castellan.”

He jumps in.

The dark blue of the water turns into light reflecting the pinks and purples of the sky above Montauk Point at sunset.

“We’re alive! Told you we’d be fine,” you yell, clicking your seatbelt off and jumping out of the car before Luke can even put the hatchback in park. It was his first drive anywhere—you’ve finally graduated from looping around Farm Road.

“Hey wait up!”

He calls out your name, but you’re already kicking up sand as the distance between you grows until he locks up the car and chases after you. You didn’t stand a chance, slipping and sliding in the sand as the son of Hermes quickly grabs you around the waist and throws you over his shoulder as you scream bloody murder. When he sets you down, your arms are looped around his neck and you’re smiling against the pink and tender scar on his cheek.

“Think we can break into the lighthouse before the guards come, angelface?”

The sound of crashing waves turns into chattering cabin counselors and when Luke looks around again, he’s at the Big House, with everyone else pushing their chairs in and walking towards the door. He holds his hand out and you grab it with no words or instruction—like a key nestled within its lock, exactly where it’s meant to be.

“Last order of business, kind of…” Your dad drones from his spot near the windows. Luke tries to let go of your hand but you don’t let him, “Don’t panic,” you mutter.

“This… fraternization won't become an issue for all of us, will it?”

Everyone’s frozen near the doorway, staring at your intertwined hands. Luke clears his throat and turns toward Mr. D, “I’ll see to it that it doesn’t. Sir.”

You could almost hear a pin drop, and no one knows what to say next—not even Mr. D.

“Yeah, I’ll keep Castellan in line.”

That’s the confirmation everyone was waiting for; a mixture of groans and the clinking of drachma fill the air as Chris holds his hands out and takes his spoils of victory with a charming smirk on his face. Clarisse throws the coins at his head.

“I feel like I should take a bow or something,” Luke snickers into your ear, before placing a kiss against your temple.

You’re still in his arms and still look good in orange, but when he pulls back to look at you again, you’re both hovering above the ground near the dining pavilion. His knees are shaking when his winged Converse flap madly underneath you—a flurry of uncoordinated movement that makes you want to piss yourself.

“You’re lucky I have a strong core, babe,” he grins—and he’s thrilled at the fear on your face as you clutch onto him for dear life, one arm around his abdomen and the other around his neck, both legs latched around his waist.

“I swear to the fucking gods if you drop me, Castellan…”

His right foot jerks in a slightly different direction, making him laugh as you squeak.

“Castellan, huh? That scared, Trouble? Not gonna drop my baby.”

The wind around you whirls like a tornado as Luke tries to show off, getting higher and higher until, “LUKE!”

He catches you by the fingertips again and now there’s sand beneath your feet. You’re still spinning in his arms and his mom is singing along to a song playing on the radio you brought to Westport Beach. May claps lightly and you tug her up with a soft smile, “Come on Miss May! Take your son out for a spin.” Tugging at the damp white t-shirt you wear over your underwear, you take a seat on the picnic blanket and watch them with a smile you haven’t given Luke in years.

“Mother-son dance,” May whispers in his ear, humming a few notes of the wedding march.

He closes his eyes and soaks it all in, slightly swaying.

That thrumming is in his ears again, a steady beat against his chest and he feels it everywhere—a pounding rhythm that cannot be ignored. He opens his eyes and you’re snuggled against each other, tangled beneath the sheets. You’re still asleep and Luke just…watches you before the morning starts (whenever this is) and it all has to end. You’re breathing against his neck, lips slightly agape as warm air brushes his pulse. He moves hair out of your face and you pull him in unconsciously, skin to skin with no atom of space left between you.

Luke blinks.

You’re in your college apartment.

He blinks again.

His childhood bedroom.

Again, please.

In Cabin 12.

Please, just one last time.

You’re drooling against his neck in his tiny bunk in Cabin 11 and the noise is getting louder now—a static sound that morphs into the sound of your voice throbbing like a heartbeat, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

It’s the last thing he can hear before he has to go.

“I wanna see your eyes / Is it a crime to say I still need you?” - Adrienne Lenker

#made by ma1dita ♥︎#luke castellan x reader #trouble!verse #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan angst #pjo x reader #luke castellan x dionysus!reader

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p1astr81 · 1 month ago

Text

you’re the one that I want - op81

synopsis: when Oscar joined the spring musical, you swore you hated him for it. Because you did. Didn’t you?

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

warnings: misogynistic comments, idk if there’s any more

wc: 5k

an: the grease scenes described are based on the movie, not the Broadway musical!!. not proofread

This wasn’t Oscar’s field.

This wasn’t him.

He didn’t belong here.

You knew it, everyone in the regular rotation of cast knew it. It was like an insult to you all, using the spring musical as a form of punishment. He was only here because he lost a bet.

He didn’t actually care about any of it. It was highly infuriating.

This year, the director chose to put on Grease. Getting the role of Sandy would be the highlight of your entire high school career. You wouldn’t know what you would do if you didn’t get it.

You were freaking out backstage, your friend trying to calm you down. Oscar walked by you, being called on stage for his audition.

And when he sung, it temporarily shocked you out of your nerves.

Because he was good.

The guy who missed half the year for some races, could sing. Like, really sing.

So it didn’t really come as a surprise that when the cast list was posted, his name was imprinted across from Danny Zuko.

Right under yours, across from Sandy Olsson.

He was your counterpart.

The first rehearsal was hell. Oscar didn’t know a single theater term and it was causing confusion all across the stage. And he was terrible at acting. Even worse, he was shit at dancing.

“It’s like dancing with a mannequin.” You confessed to your friend after that first rehearsal. “There’s no emotion to it, and he’s fully awkward the whole time.” You huffed, shaking your head and shrugging on your jacket.

Your friend shrugged. “Maybe he just needs to get used to it? I mean, it’s his first show.”

Hating to give him the befit of the doubt, you rolled your eyes. “For my sake, I hope that’s the case.”

It wasn’t the case. Two weeks later and he was still hopeless on his feet. He needed help, and lost of it, because he was starting to make you look bad.

Your director pulled the both of you aside before rehearsal. “Your stage chemistry is out the window. No one is believing you two are in love, let alone even like each other.” She sighed. “I’m not asking you to be best friends. I’m just asking you to pretend. For just two hours.”

You spoke before Oscar. “Okay, we’ll fix it.”

“Thank you.” She exhaled a heavy breath.

During rehearsal, you’d ran through the entire prom scene and recorded it. The video sat in front of you now, in a cafe, paused so you could critique it. “You have to make this look natural. Look, you’re making me look like a dead body.” You complained. “You’ve gotta lean into it.” You continued, trying to demonstrate what you mean with your own body.

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Sorry I’m not broadway trained.” A fake apology, which only annoyed you more.

“Don’t get all defensive. I’m trying to help!” You huffed. “You just need to try to act, and it doesn’t even look like you’re doing that.” You looked him over in judgement.

Oscar stiffened, his jaw clenched. “I didn’t even ask for your help.”

Trying to compose yourself, you stared at the ceiling, a deep inhale through your nose. You slammed the laptop shut. “You’re making the both of us look bad. I’m trying to put on a perfect show and you’re making that impossible.” You huffed, standing with your laptop in hand. “Why didn’t you just fail your audition on purpose? Then you wouldn’t be here.”

Oscar ignored your question. “Your Australian accent is shit, by the way.”

You scoffed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” You replied, generous amounts of sarcasm. Your frustration had reached boiling point and it carried your steps out to your car at a rapid pace. Once the door was shut, you let out a silent scream.

Can’t damage those vocal cords.

Frustration was packed full in the air. You attempted to keep it inside, but when Oscar kept stepping on your toes and handling you like a sack of potatoes, you just broke.

“Are you trying to make me look bad?” You whisper shouted. It was only you two in the hallway, having taken him out during your 5 minute break.

Oscar got defensive again. “No! Why must everything be about you?”

“Because you couldn’t give less of a fuck about this!” Your hand shot out, giving his shoulder a rough shove. He flinched back, a look that silently questioned your audacity. “It’s just a pastime for you.” You eyed him over in pure disgust and resentment.

A harsh reply sat on the tip of Oscar’s tongue. He wouldn’t let it slip past his lips, for it was too personal an attack.

“Why don’t you just quit?” You asked.

“Oh, I bet you’d love that, JJ taking my role.” Oops. Guess it slipped.

Your jaw clenched, and then your body went rigid when a voice came from behind you. “Ah, what’s going on here?” Smooth, low, teasing.

JJ. Your ex boyfriend. He cheated on you four times. One of which being with your former best friend. How you missed it that many times, you didn’t know, but it humiliated you to no end.

Oscar caught every micro-expression of yours. The way your eye twitched. The slight deepening of your brows. The heavy swallow that rippled your throat as it went down right before you turned around.

“Nothing. We’ll be back in a moment.” Your voice was cold, filled with more resentment than you’d shown Oscar.

JJ grinned. “Okay,” and then he winked. “Lookin good in that dress. Yellow’s your color.”

It made you sick to your stomach, and Oscar could see it when you turned back to him in the way your face twisted.

“‘M sorry. For the… what I said. It wasn’t right.” He apologized, earning a very shocked expression from you.

You shook your head, smoothing your hands over your yellow costume dress. “It’s fine.” It was inhumane, how fast you could compose yourself. “I guess our five minutes is up.” You muttered, slipping back into the auditorium.

“I don’t know what to do. He’s so… I don’t know.” You sighed, slumping farther in your seat. “It’s been a month of rehearsals and he still looks so unnatural when dancing.” You sighed. “His acting has gotten better, at least.”

Your friend twisted in her chair, sliding her completed worksheet over to you so you could copy it. You were hopeless at physics. “Why don’t you help him then?” She raised a brow.

“What do you mean?” You questioned, your eyes finding the back of his head across the classroom.

She sighed. “We don’t have rehearsal today so just ask him to come over and then you can help him. One on one.”

You bit your cheek and huffed. “Can’t you do it?”

“No. I don’t know his scenes. And you’re his dancing partner. And! You’re the one complaining.”

You threw your head back in annoyance.

“I don’t know why you hate him so much. He’s a nice guy.” She insisted.

A bitter laugh. “Maybe to you.” You shook your head. He apologized for what he said about JJ, but it doesn’t mean it wasn’t still a low blow. “But he doesn’t care about this. It’s all a joke to him.” You repeated the words you’ve said plenty of times lately. The repetition didn’t make it any less true.

“Maybe, but you’ve also been staring at him for the past two minutes.”

You hadn’t even realized, but once she pointed it out, you straitened up. Eyes now trained on your shoes. “Fine. I’ll ask him.”

She didn’t expect you to get up right then, and cross the room to occupy the empty seat beside Oscar.

He turned to you, unimpressed but slightly raised his brows in a silent question.

“Okay so look,” you started. Oscar turned his body towards you. “I’ve been shitting on you for your dancing lately, but I haven’t tried to help. So, do you want to come over after school so I could help?”

“Uh…” he thought it over. He was meant to go to the track after school. His bunny teeth peeked by his lips. “Yeah I’ll just need your address.” He smiled. He supposed he could go to the track another day.

Your hand hit the desk. “Great.”

You expected to lose your patience with him quickly, but an hour in and you still weren’t miserable. An even bigger shock, you were enjoying yourself.

Maybe telling him to loosen up wasn’t the best idea. You tried to run through the prom scene again. When he was meant to flip you upside down in his arms, his grip wasn’t firm enough and you went tumbling down.

You stayed on the floor, holding onto your stomach as you tumbled through a fit of laughter. You pointed a finger up at him. “I did not mean that loose!”

Holding up his hands, Oscar chuckled. “Hey, you said loose so i delivered loose.” He held a hand to you. Your hand slipped into his palm and he hoisted you to your feet.

And then he took you by surprise, spinning you on your feet and dipping you in his arms. He handled you like you were as light as a sheet of paper.

You were stunned into silence, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“Figured I’d finish the dance.”

You swallowed, gaze analyzing the details of his hazel eyes. “Uhuh.” You nodded absentmindedly. And then, “you’re leaning.” You pointed out, voice soft and hesitant.

“Yeah.” Equally soft. Equally hesitant.

Something lingered in the air, a shift from how it felt during rehearsals prior. Still heavy, but a different kind of heavy. Like the feeling of being watched rather than like having ten pounds resting on your shoulders.

The moments stretched, gazes locked on each other’s while he held you in that dip.

Until you cleared your throat and stood up. “Uh, how about we—uhm—dinner. Check on dinner? I think my mom is making pasta.” You stumbled, failing to ignore how your heart collided with your rib cage, over and over again. It was the dancing, you told yourself, the dancing is making my heart race not him.

“Yeah. Yeah.” You failed to notice the dark crimson color of Oscar’s cheeks.

The following day in physics, Oscar caught your eye as he filed into the room. He smiled, reserved. You returned the smile, equally as reserved.

“What the hell was that?” Your friend demanded.

“What?” You asked, eyes wide.

Her eyes darted from you to Oscar. “That- you just smiled at each other.” You struggled to find an excuse, and your friend filled your silence. “What the hell happened last night?” Her tone demanded an answer.

“Nothing! Well,” you sighed, she urged you with an impatient expression. “I don’t know. I actually enjoyed myself last night. Like, we weren’t arguing. We were laughing, even.” You shook your head.

“Aw you’ve found your Danny.” She teased, poking you in the arm.

You slapped her hand away. “Did not! He just wasn’t totally insufferable yesterday.” You muttered, leaning your head on your head.

She wasn’t so convinced.

And rehearsal didn’t help to convince her either. Every scene you ran together, it was clear you were enjoying yourself—unlike the previous weeks of rehearsal.

She kept an ear out for your conversations, too.

“You picked that up fast. You’re dancing like a pro now.” You told Oscar between sips of water.

He shrugged. “Guess I’ve got a pretty good teacher.”

She watched as you rolled your eyes while you failed to hold back a smile. The back of your hand hit his chest in response before walking off in her direction.

Interesting.

“So is he not totally insufferable today either?” She teased, a brow raised in suspicion. “Or are you method acting?”

You shook your head. “Shove another twinkie in it, Jan.”

“From the beginning! Let’s run it!” Your director clapped her hands.

Oscar reluctantly placed his hands on your waist.

“I’m going back to Australia, I might never see you again.” You recited.

Oscar shook his head. “Don’t- don’t talk that way, San.” His hands momentarily tightened their grip on your hips. His eyes flicked repeatedly between your eyes and your lips, like he didn’t know which to focus on.

Oh. You hadn’t practiced that. But maybe he was taking your advice. Maybe he was trying to improve his writing.

You continued anyway, taking a step closer to him. “But it’s true! I’ve just had the best summer of my life and now I have to go away.” You sighed, bowing your head. “It isn’t fair.”

Just as in the movie, Oscar slipped a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. You both paused, very aware of the next move.

“We don’t have all day!” Your director impatiently commented, earning chuckles from the rest of the cast.

Oscar hesitated a second more before leaning forward. His lips on yours were soft, still reluctant as he led the kiss.

Your lips tingled, along with the tips of your fingers. And your brain felt light. It was strange. No stage kiss had ever done this to you before.

“Okay! Okay, stop!” Your director huffed. You took a big step back from Oscar, refusing to meet his eyes. “Oscar! This is supposed to be passionate! I want more fire! More desperation! Like you’re trying to devour her face! Like she’s the air you need to breathe and you’d just been drowning for a whole minute!”

You took a glance at Oscar, and couldn’t help but chuckle at his stunned expression and rosy cheeks. “I can do that.” He muttered.

“Great! Start from ‘it isn’t fair’.”

You turned back to Oscar, offering him a small, encouraging smile before getting serious. “It isn’t fair,” you repeated.

Once more, he brought his finger to your chin, inclining your head to face him. You caught the slight shake in his exhaled breath before he dove down.

And wow did he take the devouring part very serious.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close while he stole the air out of your lungs. It was a full make-out.

As scripted, you pulled away. “Danny don’t spoil it,” you were breathless, naturally, without even trying.

“I’m not spoiling it Sandy, it’s only making it better.” He held onto your arms, your hands planted on his shoulders. His eyes searched yours.

“Danny, is this the end?” You cocked your head to the side the slightest bit.

Oscar shook his head and laughed, an uncharacteristically cocky laugh for him. “Of course not.” He grinned. “It’s only the beginning.”

A beat. And then. “Brilliant!” Your director clapped her hands. You and Oscar stepped apart. “Wow! Just, wow! The chemistry!” She slot herself between you two, a hand on each of your shoulders. “God I was really convinced you were actually Sandy and Danny.” She looked between you two. “Amazing, truly amazing.” She shook her head in disbelief.

Then she turned to the collective. “I think that’s a good note to leave off on! Good night to you all.”

When she was no longer within earshot, you turned to oscar. “Not bad for a rookie.” You shrugged.

“Not bad? Cmon you’re not giving me enough credit.” He said, a level of flirtation unlike him.

“Are you trying method acting now?”

Oscar cocked his head to the side in question.

“You’re being flirty.” You pointed out. Oscar was stunned, brows shot up. The pink flush of his cheeks darkened.

He laughed nervously. “With you? I would never.”

You hummed. “Still flirting.” You sung, walking off. A broken argument followed you, though it didn’t make much sense.

“You have him all flustered.” Your friend muttered. You shook your head. “I wasn’t trying, but it was quite easy.” You shrugged, glancing back at him over your shoulder. He was still sporting a soft, pink glow on his cheeks.

Your friend missed school today, conveniently a lab day in physics.

“You can work with Piastri.” Your teacher dismissed, waving in his general direction. You contemplated protesting, but knowing it would be of no use, you didn’t.

Oscars hair flopped as he whipped around to look at you. “Well don’t look so annoyed.” He laughed.

You gave a sarcastic smile. “I’m dreadful at physics, fair warning.” You sighed, occupying the seat next to him. Your knees were nearly touching.

“It’s alright. It’s my best subject.” He shrugged.

You propped your head up on your hand, settling in for an hour of boredom. “What are we doing again? I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Oscar chuckled. “And you wonder why you aren’t good a physics.”

You scoffed, feigning offense.

“We’re building a car out of candy.”

You raised your brows. “Ah good! This is your area of expertise!” The back of your hand made contact with his bicep.

His eyes glanced from his arm, to your hand, to your face, before his gaze dropped to the table. “Uh, yeah.” He muttered, fidgeting with a piece of paper.

“Okay so, how are we building this then?”

Oscar perked up, searching the materials table with his eyes. “Could you grab a rice crispy, a few pretzel sticks, and a few… chocolate striped cookies?”

You raised a brow. “Am I your maid now?”

Blinking, Oscar’s brain stuttered for a reply. “Well, I’m the one doing this car aren’t I?”

Humming, you stood, silently collecting his requested items. “You made a good point.” You shrugged.

He cocked his head, brows shot up in surprise. “Is that a compliment?”

A hand of yours waved through the air. “Yeah, don’t let it go to your head.”

“Ooh, that’s a difficult request.”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling.

A soft smile, Oscar started working. You stood by, eyeing the way he expertly manipulated the candy in a way that he saw fit to make the quickest car.

It took him all of 20 minutes to construct it, leaving the both of you with an extra 20 minutes to do whatever.

Conscious mind absent, you started to hum you’re the one that I want, while drawing on the table with chalk markers. Not loud enough to disturb everyone around you, but certainly loud enough that Oscar could hear. To mess with you, he started to hum along.

Only when you heard him was when you recognized you were singing yourself.

Routinely, out of instinct, you started dancing in your seat. Oscar followed your lead.

“Okay, okay. Save it for drama practice.” Your teacher shook his head at the both of you.

You and Oscar paused before simultaneously chuckling. Even though you tried to hide it, it was quite obvious, as you both folded in half in the other’s direction.

As the class neared it’s end, you tested the cars. Yours and Oscar’s won by a large margin. “Your nerdy-ness came in handy.” You shoved his shoulder while you walked out of class together.

“Oh I’m nerdy? How long have you been doing theatre again?”

You pursed your lips. He got you there. “Alright, I’ll see you tonight.” You broke off from him with another shove to his shoulder.

The first night of tech week, you organized a get together at a restaurant after rehearsal. Of course, the cast and crew thought they were comedians. They left two open seats, right in the middle of the table. One for you. One for Oscar.

When you walked in, you took a pause before taking your seat beside your friend. “You did this, didn’t you?” You asked her. She shrugged innocently.

When Oscar arrived, he did the same. Pausing before taking his seat. “Just had to leave a seat open for me, did you?” He teased.

You sarcastically laughed. “No. They all did this.” You replied, gesturing to the cast and crew sitting around you both.

“Mmm, meddling pricks.” He muttered. Only you caught it, responding with a hidden chuckle.

The waitress came, taking your drinks and food orders.

“So how are you feeling about your first show?” You asked Oscar, grinning.

The corner of his mouth quirked up for just a second in deep thought. “Bit nervy, honestly.”

Your attention remained on him. “Better or worse than before a race?” It was a teasing question, but also sort of… genuine.

“You care about my nerdy hobbies now?” He teased right back.

A scoff. “Fine, I won’t ask you about your favorite thing on this planet.” A dramatic rebuttal, all things considering.

He stayed silent for a moment, before answering, “definitely worse. A trillion times worse.”

You tilted your head, an expression that communicated shock. “Really?”

“It’s just not what I know, you know? It’s all new to me, it’s not like I can just think on my feet like on the track. If I mess up, well I don’t think I can save it.” He shrugged.

The frown that pulled on your lips wasn’t purposeful. “Aw, that was very vulnerable.”

He shook his head. “I’m never speaking to you again.”

You chuckled, laying a hand on his arm as you leaned into him. “No but seriously, if you mess up, don’t worry. I’ll improv and make it look purposeful.” You leaned back in your chair. “It’s honestly the least I can do after you just saved my physics grade.”

It was Oscar’s turn to laugh now.

Two weeks ago, he would’ve avoided saying a single word to you. But now, he was rambling about his racing, just to keep you talking to him. Perhaps it was the fact that you were the only person he was familiar with. Or—more likely—something deeper.

And you entertained him. Laughing at the appropriate times, adding input when you saw fit. He talked so passionately about racing. You’d never admit it, but it was sort of… endearing.

Jesus, what was happening to you? You should be disgusted at the prospect of sitting near him. Should’ve demanded your friend swap seats with you. You definitely should not have been so engaged in the conversation, clinging on to every word he spoke.

And then Oscar called your name, dragging you from your own thoughts. “Hm?” You hummed, sitting up straighter.

And then a plate was placed in front of Oscar, and he slid it over to you. Your food. “Oh, thanks.” You muttered.

And then he leaned into you, swaying your body while saying, “you know, if I was boring you, you could have said something.”

Instead of replying, you stole a fry from his plate.

“Hey! You have your own food!” He pointed to your plate of pretzel bites.

You acted as if that was new information. “Oh, my bad! Would you like it back? I can-“

Predicting the direction of the conversation, he put a hand up to stop you, a grimace on his face. “No. No. You can keep it.”

For good measure, you stole another. In response, he stole a pretzel bite. And you carried on the rest of dinner like that, sharing your food without a formal agreement to.

Just before opening night, the whole cast turned up at your house. It was a Grease watch party.

The large group crowded into the theater room in your basement.

Like the the restaurant, you and Oscar ended up next to each other. Unlike at the restaurant, it was fully your choice.

He would make comments in your ear throughout. Just stupid comments to make you laugh. And you did laugh, like a total fool.

During ‘Sandy’, he turned to you to make another comment, only to see you sleeping on his shoulder. He didn’t even notice the weight of your head until he saw it with his eyes.

He became stiff out of fear that moving would wake you.

And right before ‘you’re the one that I want’, someone in the back of the room called the both of your names. “Cmon get up there! Give us a live performance!” They joked. The rest of the cast joined in on trying to urge the both of you.

You shifted in your sleep and fear spiked up Oscar’s spine. “Guys, she’s asleep.” He dismissed in a hushed yell.

“Aw!” Someone cooed, and then a flash went off. “I’m so saving that as blackmail.” It was your friend, giggling at the scene.

And then a water bottle was tossed at your head. A hand of yours slowly made its way to your head. You sat up with a groan. “Now she’s not!” JJ laughed.

Oscar twisted around, glaring holes into the very man who threw the bottle at you. “What the hell is your problem?”

Hushed whispers fell upon the room. No one had ever seen Oscar speak to someone like that.

JJ laughed. “Ah, cmon, it’s just a bit of fun.”

“Not when it’s your head being bashed in.” You grumbled, still trying to soothe the spot with your hand.

Oscar only noticed just then that his arm was around your waist. When it got there, he wasn’t sure.

JJ smirked. “Y’know Piastri, if you wanna get her to bed, all you have to do is ask nicely.” His chuckle was evil.

And it made Oscar’s stomach churn. You beat him to a reply. “Get out of my house. Right now.”

“Come on! I’m just joking!” JJ threw his arms out, looking around for at least one person on his side. There wasn’t a single one.

You stood, Oscar’s hand sliding from your waist. “Get out!” Your voice was irregularly shrill, your jaw clenched.

When he didn’t move, you took a fist full of his shirt, shoving him towards the door. “Out!” You ordered once more.

The rest of the cast watched the scene unfold, horrified. The movie was still playing in the back, providing an ironic soundtrack.

Oscar followed you up the stairs despite the protests from your friend.

“Tell me, what do you see in him, baby?” JJ asked.

“You have no right to call me that.” You seethed.

He ignored you. “Cmon, baby, just tell me. Is it his lame hobby of racing?”

“I don’t see anything in him beyond a friend!”

JJ laughed. “Oh he definitely wants a little bit more than friends, just not a commitment, though.”

“You don’t know what he wants! Not everyone is like you!”

JJ made eye contact with Oscar, who stood a distance behind you. He laughed bitterly. “Call me when you get bored of him, sweetheart.” He reached out to touch your face and you flinched away. He left at that, being sure to slam your front door.

“Oh my god!” Your voice broke in frustration. You took a deep breath before turning around. Eyes landing on Oscar, you jumped. “Oh, hi.” You muttered, trying to move past him.

He caught your arm. And then you noticed the movement of his feet. Jazz square stepping. And then the music from downstairs reached your ears. You’re the one that I want. And then he started singing, too.

“You’re an idiot.” You shook your head, chuckling. But joined him. Now you were secluded in the foyer of your house, singing and dancing together out of your own will, not because you had to.

Even when the song stopped, Oscar continued to hold you close. His eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips. It didn’t go unnoticed by you. “Can I ask you something?” He asked, out of breath. You gulped before nodding. “Is this all for show?”

You blinked. “What do you mean?” You asked in a whisper.

His eyes lingered on your lips, his mouth agape while he tried to conjure the words in a way that conveyed him emotions. “I don’t feel like I’m playing a part anymore.” He confessed. “I don’t… it doesn’t feel like I’m faking this anymore.”

You stuttered, searching his eyes.

“If it’s not the same for you just don’t say anything. Spare me some dignity.” He tried to laugh. It just came out as a shaky breath.

You hesitated only a moment before your fingers threaded through the strands of his hair and you pulled him down. His lips met yours, and god was the feeling electrifying.

Months of buildup to this moment sparked between you, released by the acknowledgment of your long suppressed feelings. He deepened the kiss, drawing your body closer to his. His hands mirrored yours, slipping between the strands of your hair to keep you in place. It quickly evolved into a heated make-out.

You signed into it, and he laughed into your mouth. “I hate you.” You muttered, and he swallowed the sentiment. “Mh, evidently.”

“Wow. Looks like you really hate each other.” Your friend deadpanned.

You jumped apart. The entire cast was now standing in your foyer. You could die of embarrassment.

“Movie’s over.” She informed.

“Yeah, thanks. Gathered that.” You mumbled, your face now red hot. It couldn’t have been worse than the deep shade of red that colored Oscar’s entire face.

“At least their chemistry will be good now.” Someone quipped.

You hid your face in your hands. “Oh, god. Everyone get out.” Your words were muffled in your hands, but they got the point. Each one shuffled out the door, but not without sharing more one-off, witty comments.

Opening night had just finished, and Oscar didn’t make a single mistake. You were out in the cafeteria, receiving praise left and right when a woman came up to you. A large, pretty bouquet occupied her hands.

“This is for you, honey.” She said, handing it over.

“Oh! Thank you.” You we’re confused. You’d never seen this woman in your life. But you accepted the flowers.

And then Oscar came up to you, not noticing you at first. “Mum, can we get ice cream on the way home?”

You felt your body go cold. “Mum?” You glanced between the two of them. That’s when Oscar finally noticed your presence, and his eyes went wide.

You hadn’t even been dating for a day and you’re already meeting his parents!

“Oh, how rude of me! I’m Nicole, Oscar’s mother.” You shook her outstretched hand. “He hasn’t stopped talking about you for months! I knew you were going to be excellent!”

Her words eased your worries, now focusing on a shiny new piece of blackmail. “Months, you say?” You asked her, but your eyes were on Oscar, who was now hidden behind his hand.

#f1 x reader #f1 #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 blurb #f1 fluff #op81 #f1 x you #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri au #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #f1 angst #f1 rpf

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kevjeanyves · 4 months ago

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i just got here (and by that i mean i binged the whole show while studying for finals between november and december), but buddie can’t NOT go canon. not at this point. not with everything they’ve set up

bucks canonically bisexual. that’s a massive key component. the queerBAIT is now lying entirely on eddie’s shoulders. and in terms of bucks storyline, the horrible guy he dated was given a barebones personality…that resembles eddie (military, likes sports, had a serious relationship with a woman). almost every trait they gave That Guy resembles eddie (except eddie isn’t racist). they did that on purpose. buck, bothered, bewildered, bisexual or whatever it’s called was so centred on bucks relationship with eddie

plus the whole confessions “i’m not your last” moment, only for the LAST shot of that episode to be buck and eddie sitting side by side. confessions as a whole is such insane proof of impending buddie canon too…the whole focus on eddie finding joy, on eddie’s catholic guilt and guilt in general, on eddie not wanting to See himself both figuratively and literally because he’s scared of what he’ll find…josh’s speech applying to eddie but making no sense regarding that Other Guy (the glee thing made no sense regardless)

and THAT focus is so obviously pointing towards eddie being gay. eddie’s entire everything has always pointed towards him being gay, i can’t lie, but it’s getting so much more obvious. they’ve reached a point where nothing about eddie’s personal arc or journey makes any fucking sense UNLESS he’s gay, and every storyline is making it more obvious that they’ve realized it

his catholic guilt being brought up. not wanting to be intimate with a woman who represents god in his mind. sex, god, and shame all coming together in that episode, AND bobby bringing up that eddie does this thing in relationships where he makes excuses instead of examining how he really feels towards them…now im sure bobby doesn’t know eddie’s gay, but it invites the audience and eddie to examine his past behaviour towards female romantic partners. and every single thing about that priest/juice scene in confessions. catholicism guilt tied into sexuality again (“uh…n-no offence…i-im straight” to a priest like cmon)

and speaking of past relationships, eddie’s grief is at the forefront of his storyline too now. his main most pressing storyline being chris’s running away. eddie’s grief and complicated emotions towards shannon have always been something he struggles with, and in s7 we learn that chris has complicated feelings around his mom too. and at the end of s7…well. what a stupid fucking storyline, but grief is the driving force of the chasm between eddie and chris. this addresses the most important romantic relationship eddie had with a woman (obviously shannon), and hopefully the relationship he has with his son, and both of those people are excuses eddie might be making in his own head to justify not even questioning his sexuality. eddie and shannon had chris when they were teenagers, eddie’s been a dad literally his entire adult life. does he know he can be gay if he’s been married? if he has a kid? does he know he’s allowed to even question his own sexuality? it’s probably what michael felt, but more complicated

AND michael stayed with athena thinking she could “fix” him. eddie said in s7 that he thinks he’s broken and can’t be fixed, to a woman he’d been unadvisedly pursuing, a woman who looked just like his own wife…

then, the “you think being a cheerleader makes your son weak?” storyline. cheerleading is seen as feminine and there are a lot of stereotypes about male cheerleaders and feminine men. both cheerleading and being gay are seen as feminine. the cheerleader called eddie “dad” and hen pointed out to chim that it his emergency is difficult for eddie because he misses his own kid AND the conversation with the cheerleaders dad where he relates it to his own current situation, which connects the storyline to eddie and chris. but the “you think [stereotypically feminine thing] makes your son weak?” brings eddie and ramon to mind. because eddie was raised to be hypermasculine and Not Weak, never weak. what would ramon think if eddie comes out as gay?

and, finally, the focus on eddie finding joy. on eddie doing any introspection at all. on eddie Seeing himself and understanding himself and being kinder to himself. on eddie realizing he deserves to be happy. on eddie realizing he doesn’t have to hide behind his (ridiculously adorable) moustache, that he doesn’t have to hide who he is

s7 was for bi buck. s8 is for gay eddie AND likely for buddie. eddie’s currently trying to see Himself and make amends with his past (and because that went badly, making amends with chris…the child he sorta partially legally gave to buck, in a way…). buck’s trying to not lose hope over the future, wondering who’ll be the last to love him (or wondering if he’s loveable at all). eddie’s true self AND bucks endgame are called into question at the same time…now maybe i just got here But

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aakeysmash · 3 months ago

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not really a sukuna person but omg....farmer! Sukuna ... how do you think the reader would tell him she's pregnant ... would she take the test with him right there or would she actually bake a bun in the oven and ask him to get it

slowly turning you all into sukuna girles one au at a time…

ohhhh reader… she freaks out when she first finds out and he’s not home, and she doesn’t know if he’ll be excited or not. They had the baby talk, sure, and she knows he wants kids, but is it too early? Too fast? Is it going to be a burden for him? What about the property? Will he be a present father?

And she definitely bakes that bun! Sukuna comes home tired and exhausted from putting up new fences in the backyard for the tomatoes she asked him to plant. He’s hungry, so when she sheepishly tells him they “have a bun in the oven” he shrugs, kissing the side of her face, thanking her for cooking dinner. However, he doesn’t get the innuendo, so she bursts out crying (call them, if you want, pregnancy hormones), thinking he’s not happy with the news.

“So you don’t want them?” You sob, rubbing your eyes harshly.

“What the fu- babe, what? Why are you crying?” He answers, confused, while he tries to reach you. You’re not usually one to cry at all, so he’s kinda worried. You swerve, not letting him touch you.

“Don’t come near me! You don’t like me or our bun in the oven,” you wail, pointing down toward your belly. You open your eyes after a particularly hard rub, and see him frown. Then, slowly, he widens his eyes and his jaw goes slack. A thousand different emotions pass on his face.

“You’re pregnant?!”

“Yes, you idiot!”

#user thotwiththoughts #farmer au #for the second child it’s a whole different story lmao

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moody-alcoholic · 3 months ago

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Cross My Heart

Part 12 - War Crimes

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic. CW: +18 content MDNI, Sex, PiV sex. AN: Believe it or not this is still a poly fic, I promise.

Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

Farah and Alex stick in the woodline, they’re looking out over the building. You’re not really sure you’re going to need them but at least you have backup if you do. This time Soap showed you how to use the radio.

“So what did Price say?” You ask as you walk down the farm.

“They made it across the border, on their way to Volgograd. They’ll be keeping in touch via Laswell.”

“Who’s that?”

“CIA contact.”

“CIA? I thought you were British? What are you doing with the Americans?”

“We go where we’re needed.” He says with a sigh. You shrug as you make it down to the perimeter wall. Soap swings his weapon over his back and pulls himself up to the top of the wall.

“C’mon.” He whispers, leaning back down to offer you his hand. You smile and take it, letting him pull you up to the top of the wall. When you’re on the other side you’re behind one of the garages.

“They store everything in the barn. There’s a loose panel round the back.” You say pointing through the gap between buildings at the massive industrial metal barn. Soap nods, you let him lead skirting round the perimeter of the farm. You use the shadows for cover only moving when you know it’s safe. It doesn’t take you long to reach the barn.

This is too easy, the place has less staff then you’ve seen before. There are still 2 guards on the front doors of the barn.

“Farah, how are we looking?” Soap asks into the radio.

“You’re clear, no movement.” Her voice comes back. Soap looks at you smiling and you push forward hugging the wall as you make it round to the back of the building. Just as you remember there is a loose perplex panel hanging off. Its loud as you move it but you assume the barn is empty on the inside. You’ve been watching it for a few hours before making your move and no one has been going in or out.

When you duck under the gap you come out into the massive barn. Anything that would have made you think this was a cattle barn has been removed. The place is now full of vehicles, ammo and weapons crates, different types of machinery and missiles.

You wait for Soap to come through before follow him over to them. They look new, not like the old soviet ones you’re used to seeing. Some of them even have the American flag printed on them, although most of them have been scraped off or painted over. As you walk round the smaller ones you make it to some bigger ones.

These ones look older, you’re not sure how old though. They’re different then the stuff you’ve ever seen. Soap looks back at you frowning as you follow him over. You walk over to a table with tools on it, there's papers strewn around.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Soap says as his hand runs over one of the missile heads. You look down at the papers, the only thing that sticks out is the yellow and black radiation sign. You swallow hard looking back at the huge missile in front of you.

“Soap. These-” You’re too shocked to speak. You pick up a piece of paper off the table. “These belong to Makarov.”

“Farah, the missions off. We’re leaving, there’s nothing we can do here.” Soap says, you can’t tell if he sounds more angry or sad.

“Why, what's happened? Is the place empty?” She asks. He turns to look at you holding down the button on his radio.

“No, it’s worse. Makarov has nukes.”

“Say again?” Alex asks.

“There’s nuclear warheads here. We can’t do anything without setting them off.” Soap says. You fold the paper up and put it in your pocket.

“Your exit is still clear. Get out of there.” It's almost like she had no emotions about the whole thing.

“Wait.” You say grabbing Soap’s arm. “There has to be a computer here, we can find out what Al Qatala were shipping over the border if it wasn’t missiles.”

“It’s too risky.” He says.

“What if Makarov has nukes in Russia?” You say.

“We’d know if he had nukes in Russia” He says, you let go of his arm and he moves to the exit.

“You didn’t know there were nukes here.” You say.

“It’s not worth the risk, c’mon!” He snaps, reaching out to grab your arm and pull you to the exit. As you let him drag you, you see into a control room.

“Look.” You say digging your heels into the ground to stop him. “There’s a computer, let me check it.” He huffs looking round quickly.

“Quick.” he says, letting go of your arm. You smile and rush in, there’s no login option. You look for anything, something like a spreadsheet or order forms anything you think you could recognise. Finally after what feels like a few minutes you find what looks like an order request. They’ve tried to encrypt it but it must have failed for some reason.

“A few days ago. There was a shipment of warheads and stabilisers.” You say you're trying to translate, you have no idea what stabilisers mean, it’s not really the best translation and you’re being rushed.

“Nukes?” He asks, you look over at him standing guard on the door.

“It doesn’t say.” There’s requests for a bunch of different types of chemicals, names of things you don’t even recognise.

“He’s playing around with chemicals. I don’t know what any of this means.” You say, you see Soap hesitate, looking around before coming over to see. He scans the document for a second before pointing at something.

“Its elements, chlorine, phosphorus, hydrogen.”

“He’s making chemical bombs.” You say as a matter of fact.

“Soap you better be out there you’ve got incoming.” Farah says. Before you even have time to react you hear a door open. You both duck and you hear Arabic voices echo in the massive barn. You start taking your radio off handing it to Soap.

“I’ll distract them, then you can leave.” You whisper.

“Are you crazy, they’ll kill you.” He puts his hand out to stop you.

“I’ve talked myself out of worse situations. I’ve been here before, if they catch you they’ll kill you.” He sighs, taking it in his hands.

“Your weapon too.” He points. You shake your head.

“Might need to shoot my way out if they don’t believe me.” Before Soap can stop you you stand up. “Stay here, I'll get them out.”

“Good luck.” He calls as you make it to the door. You smile at him and walk round the corner where you can hear the voices.

“Finally. Do you know how long I have been looking for someone in this place?” You say walking towards them. Confidence is key, you can do this.

“Stay where you are!” One of them calls, they hold their weapons on you.

“Don’t shoot unless you plan on shipping my body back to Makarov.” You say, they look between themselves for a minute.

“You work for Makarov?” One of them asks.

“He sent me to find out why the next shipment is delayed.” You say putting your hands down and stepping closer to them.

“We’re working on it.” One of them says as they lower their weapons.

“We have half the staff we used to have. Most people have been sent to fight the ULF.” The other one says.

“Do you think I care about your staffing issues? That shipment was needed yesterday.” You say pointing at a random missile. “Who do I need to talk to to get some answers here?”

“We’ll take you.” They say turning. You nod following them out the barn. You don’t want to end up speaking to whoever is in charge, they will definitely be able to sniff you out. You hang back, the people escorting you are two wrapped up in their own conversation to notice you lagging behind.

As soon as they turn a corner you take your chance sneaking through the space between the 2 garages and round the back of the main building. You sneak through a gap in the wall. You hope Soap got out, you head towards the meeting point anyway.

It’s not long before you see Soap step out from behind the trees.

“Thanks.” He says handing you back your radio. You smile at him, putting it back on your hip. A few seconds later Farah and Alex step through the foliage too.

“Is it true they have nukes?” Farah asks, her composure is completely different now.

“Chemical weapons too. They’ve been shipping them into Russia.” Soap says.

“Are you sure?” Alex asks, frowning. “We haven't seen anything.”

“I saw a shipping order.” You reach into your pocket and hand Farah the piece of paper you picked up. She looks at it Alex leans over to look too. Before she has a chance to say anything alarms ring out from the farm. You look over at Soap pressing your lips together.

“Let's get out of here.” Alex calls. You nod and follow them deeper into the woods.

…

You’re not sure why the phone call with Price and Laswell is the most stressful part.

“You did what?” Price snaps.

“It was my idea.” You say, flicking your eyes up to Soap who’s been standing back from the table with his arms crossed, his body language has completely changed. Not the laid back Soap you’re used to saying.

“I don’t bloody care whose idea it was you’re supposed to be resting, recovering before you come out here.” Price lets out a sigh.

“I think we have other things to worry about.” Alex says.

“Alex’s is right. If the US finds out Al Qatala are shipping nukes over the border to Makarov and Konni we’re in trouble.” Laswell says.

“What’s the US’s response going to be to this?” Price asks.

“I don’t know but I would assume they do not want private militias or terrorist organisations having access to such weapons.” Laswell says.

“We don’t need the Americans invading here too.” Farah says.

“They don’t even know yet, but we need to tell them right. We can’t keep this to ourselves?” Alex says.

“No, we don't tell anyone! Not the Americans, not the British. We will deal with this problem ourselves.” Farah says.

“The ULF is not in a position to disarm nuclear warheads.” Laswell says her voice is more stern.

“Won’t make a difference if they’re all being shipped to Russia.” You say.

“We can’t let anymore come through. Whatever Makarov is planning we need to put a stop to it before the next shipment. When is it?” Price asks.

“3 days, although with the security breach it could be moved up.” You say. There’s silence.

“Laswell, any changes in Makarov’s movements?” Price asks after what feels like forever.

“No, as far as I can tell he’s still in Volgograd.” She replies.

“Okay, I’m sending Nikoli to pick you up. He’ll fly you out to Volgograd.” Price says, you look round at everyone. There’s a new person now, Nikoli.

“Copy.” Soap says. It’s the first time you’ve heard him speak since he finished explaining everything to Price.

“In the meantime stay put. I can’t be worrying about you getting yourselves killed.” Price says. “Send Laswell everything you know, we’ll speak soon.” There's a click on the line.

“The data you got from the base on the border arrived yesterday. I can go through it, I'll have what you asked for by tomorrow.” Laswell says.

“Thank you.” Farah says, before ending the call. You look over at Soap, he seems disappointed about something.

“You should get some rest.” Farah says her eyes flicking to Soap. You move over to him resting your hand on his arm.

“Let’s go. We should get something to eat at least.” You say looking up at him. His eyes land on you but they seem dark, distant. You don’t know if it's about the nukes or the response from Price but you’ve not seen him like this before. He nods and turns to leave.

He’s quiet while you get something to eat. Pushing food around his tray while you inhale whatever mush they’re serving. You talk, if not just to fill the dead air, you’re sure he’s heard some of the stuff before but he doesn’t even complain.

“I’m going to take a shower.” He says suddenly before getting up and moving away before you have a chance to say anything. You look down at the uneaten food on his tray.

…

You’re laid in the shared dorm room staring at the ceiling trying to think what he’s sad about. Or maybe he is just mad, maybe when he gets mad he goes silent. You feel like you don’t know him enough to judge him, or analyse him. A door opens and some people walk in, stripping their coats off and kicking off boots.

You turn over in bed trying to ignore the noise and turning on of lights. You’re not going to be comfortable here, you’re not going to be able to sleep. Not with everything going on in your head, and now all you can think about is Johnny.

You swing yourself out the cot pulling your boots back on and heading out the room with your coat tucked under your arm.

Johnny got his own room, maybe it’s because of his status, maybe it’s because Farah likes them. Whatever the reason, you would rather be with him then where you are right now.

When you make it to his door you hesitate, he told you where he was staying before you left. You let out a sigh and knock. You wait a few seconds before it opens, he’s standing there topless with a raised eyebrow.

“You okay?” You ask, swallowing the nerves.

“Are you?” He asks. You nod, he steps to the side inviting you in. As soon as you’re through the threshold his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you against him.

“You’ve been quiet. Are you upset about something?” You ask, throwing your jacket over the chair. He lets out a long sigh burying his head in your neck. He doesn’t say anything, his hands running up your side, his touch is soft against your skin.

“Was it what Price said?” You ask, he spins you in his arms. You press up against him, his cheeks are flushed. He reaches down and kisses you. His hands run up your shirt to your breasts. You put your arms up in the air breaking from the kiss so he can pull your shirt over your head.

His kisses get deeper, more needy, his tongue running over your neck, across your collar bones. You moan out for him, his hands slipping past your waist band gently pulling your trousers down. His mouth locks round one of your nipples. He hums, nibbling and flicking your nipple. You push one of your hands through his hair.

“Christ love, fuckin’ sweet as sugar.” He breathes, dropping to his knees and looking up at you. Looking up at you with those deep blue eyes. His lips wet and shining as he pulls your trousers down. You spread your legs for him, as much as you can. He kisses your stomach, his hands grip your ass digging his fingers into the soft flesh.

His mouth continues to move down, his tongue hot, pressing against your skin, he moans and you continue to run your fingers through his hair.

“Johnny, bed.” You say. He looks up at you, one of your hands drops to stroke his cheek. He slowly stands back up until he’s towering above you. Your hands drop down to the front of his pants fiddling with his belt buckle.

He slowly starts to move you over to the bed, as soon as you reach it you gently push him down. He bounces on the cot, his mouth tipping open. You take a step back kicking your boots off and stepping out your trousers.

“Lay down.” You say. He follows swinging his legs into the bed and laying flat with his head on the pillows. “Think we’ll get interrupted this time?”

“Did you lock the door?” he asks, nodding towards it. You turn, going over and securing the latch. When you look back round he’s shimmed his bottoms off laying naked in the bed. You watch as his hand strokes up and down his cock exposing the red tip. You walk over to him, you swing your legs over him kneeling on his thighs. You replace his hands with yours, his head tips back as you slowly shuffle closer to his hips.

You don’t know if you’re helping, but this is the most vocal he’s been since you got back. You kneel up and he opens his eyes watching as you hover above him stroking up and down his cock. You smile at him before you ease yourself down on him.

He lets out a groan, his hands coming to rest on your thighs. They run up and down as you slowly begin to ride him. It doesn’t take you long to get into a steady rhythm, he watches you, his hands gripping you tighter and tighter with each thrust.

His gentle moans turning into grunts and pants. Before long you’re panting along with him, your heart starts beating faster in your chest. He feels good, the last person you had sex with was Ivan and that was nothing like this. It was just a transaction, this is different, he’s reacting to you, his touch is soft as is his gaze, his moans.

It makes you work harder, leaning over to run your hands over his chest, he has scars, a particularly nasty looking on his shoulder. Probably a bullet, you run your fingers over one on his chest.

“Make a habit out of getting shot?” You ask him between pants.

“Not really, just end up in sticky situations.” He says. You reach down and kiss him, rocking your hips on him. He breaks from the kiss, tipping his head back.

“Christ, perfect love.” He says, letting out a long breath. He’s bucking his hips in time with you. You’re getting close, the new angle pressing against the spongy spot inside you. You close your eyes arching your back trying not to dig your nails into him.

He grips you tighter, he’s getting closer, so are you. You sit back up straight bracing your hands on his chest. You moan with him, letting him control the speed with his hands gripping your thighs.

“Jesus.” He arches his back as he cums. You feel him throb inside you, he stops moving as you ride him through the orgasm, it only feels like a few seconds later when you cum to the feeling of him filling you up pushes you over the edge.

You fall against him, laying on his chest. He wraps his arms around you and turns you in the bed, when he slips out of you, you feel empty. He kisses your forehead then you turn over on your back.

He does the same letting out a long breath. He reaches down and pulls the blanket over you both, you turn to lean up against his chest wrapping your arm round his stomach.

“It wasn’t what Price said. He’s not really angry. He doesn't get angry anymore, at least not with us.” He says after a few seconds, his hand runs down your back.

“Leaving you at the farm. Not knowing if you would get out or not.” You look up at him. “You could have died.”

“So could you.” You say, you don’t know if that will help or not but it’s all you can think to say, you're surprised he even cared. “Besides I would have got out.”

“You’re too cocky, it’ll get you killed.” He says.

“You’re a soldier, you literally put your life on the line every day.” You scoff back.

“We’re trained.”

“Me too, in another world maybe I would have been like you.” You say running your hand across his chest.

“You served?”

“Military service is mandatory in Urzikstan.” You shrug.

“Not really your thing?” He asks.

“I’m not good at following orders. Used to being alone. I learned a long time ago that people you love can hurt you the most.” You sigh resting your head against his chest. He chuckles.

“What?” You ask.

“I know someone who said something similar to me once.” He says he tightens his arm around you.

“Yeah?” You ask, sleepy.

“Yeah, I think you’d like him.”

“Maybe one day I’ll meet.” You say relaxing against him. He kisses the top of your head.

“Yeah, maybe one day you will.”

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seungkw1 · 1 year ago

Text

sketchbook — xmh

♡ pairing: xu minghao x gn!reader ♡ theme: best friends to lovers, college au, fluff ♡ wc: 3.1k ♡ warnings: none

“why did i sign up for this stupid class?”

you mumbled it under your breath, but your best friend still heard it from across the room. he looks up from the book he’s reading, a concerned frown on his face.

“what’s wrong with the class?” he closes his book, his eyes resting on yours.

“the class is fine it’s just… i’m just bad at it.”

“i highly doubt that.” he gets up, joining you at your kitchen table currently cluttered with textbooks, homework, and various drawing materials. he reaches for your sketchpad. “let me see.”

“nuh-uh,” you say, closing the book. he grabs it from you anyway.

“minghao! come on,” you shout at him. he ignores you, flipping through the pages.

“most of those are shitty reject drawings that i started and gave up on, nobody needs to see those.”

he continues perusing through the book quickly, but pauses at a particular page. you take the chance and reach for the sketchpad again, grabbing hold of it.

“wait! i like this one.”

you glance at the drawing he’s looking at. it’s the side profile of a classmate, drawn as a warm-up exercise.

“what? that was just a warm-up sketch, and it’s not even good. it looks nothing like the girl i was drawing.”

minghao looks up at you. “that doesn’t mean it’s bad. art isn’t necessarily about drawing things exactly the way they look, it’s about your interpretation of the subject. that’s like the whole point.”

“i wasn’t interpreting anything here, i was literally just trying to draw her face.”

“but look,” he says, turning the book so you can see it. “look at the way she’s looking into the distance. she looks sad, but in a nostalgic way.”

you stare at the sketch. “i don’t see it.”

“but that’s part of it too - art isn’t always about knowing the exact meaning of the piece, it’s also open to interpretation on the viewer’s perspective. and i like the way you portrayed her emotion.”

you narrow your eyes at him. “you’re just making that up to make me feel better.”

“i’m not! i promise. i really like your art style, y/n.”

you want to roll your eyes at him, but he looks too sincere. “okay but how can i have an art style if i literally started drawing two weeks ago at the start of the semester? i don’t even know what i’m doing.”

“look at all your drawings though,” he flips the pages one at a time. “you press really hard when you draw, so it gives everything a very bold, sharp look. and combined with the way you shade, it gives it a dramatic edge.”

you look at your sketches again. they’re still unsightly in your eyes, but you do kind of see what he means.

“well, that’s good to know i guess. but it’s still hard,” you mope. “i thought this would be an easy elective to get an A in but now i’m worried.”

“it’s an intro class - i’m sure the professor isn’t expecting you to be picasso on day one. just keep practicing and you’ll be perfectly fine.”

one of the many things you love about minghao: he always knows how to make you feel reassured.

“you’re probably right,” you reply. “i don’t know what i should draw for practice, though.”

“well, what do you want to improve the most?”

you think for a second. “our next project is a life drawing, but drawing people is so hard. so maybe that but what am i supposed to do, just draw random people?”

“sure, why not?”

“because that’s weird!”

“okay, well it doesn’t have to be a random person. here, try drawing me.”

“you?? right now?”

“yeah.”

you open your mouth to protest, but you pause, realizing it might not be a bad idea.

you shrug as you reach for your pencils. “okay, i guess. you can't get mad when it turns out terrible though.”

minghao smiles softly. he situates himself in the chair, focusing his gaze off in the distance. you pick up your sketchbook, holding it at a comfortable angle as you hold your pencil above the page. you think for a minute - you never know where to start when you have to draw a face. you glance back up at minghao, skimming across his features - naturally, you land on his eyes. you always forget how pretty they are: dark brown, soft, calm - giving him a permanent aura of being deep in thought.

you look back down at the blank page, it's emptiness seemingly taunting you. with a sigh you touch the dulled lead tip to the paper, making your first stroke - the curvature of minghao’s eyelid appearing on the page. you peep back up at your subject. to your surprise, your shape isn't too far off from reality. you continue, sketching his lower eyelid, his iris, his long dark eyelashes. you erase your marks a few times when they don't look quite right, but before long the image of an eye that looks mostly like minghao’s has formed.

you move to his nose, drawing the line of its sharp bridge, sketching a circle to render its round, button-shaped end - bringing the shape of his face to life. you peer up at his face, your pencil continuing its strokes, but you pause as you arrive at his lips. they are soft, plump, perfectly formed, highly kissable. you sketch the delicate curves, emphasizing their pillowy nature. you find yourself absentmindedly in a trance when you realize you’ve been staring at him for too long - you’ve already finished drawing his mouth. you feel your cheeks turn warm, praying he can’t see you getting flustered out of the corner of his eye.

you move on, sketching his soft but strong jawline, his ears - adorned with his usual jewelry, adding quick wispy lines to form the shape of his long hair. before long the essence of minghao has materialized in your notebook.

as you finish, you hold your sketchpad up to compare your drawing to your subject. you don’t love it, and it’s nowhere near perfect. but it is decidedly good enough.

“okay, i’m done, i guess.” you set the notebook down, hesitantly sliding it across the table toward minghao. he picks it up, turning it to face him as he looks at it for the first time. the edges of his mouth twitch upward into a subtle smile, but he doesn’t say anything.

“you hate it.”

minghao looks up at you. “what? no, i love it.” he looks back at the paper with a pleased grin. “i’m telling you, you’re really good at portraying emotion.”

“and what emotion exactly did i portray?”

he shows you your drawing. “i look wistful - like i’m caught in a daydream of unrequieted love.”

you feel your stomach do a flip, but you play it cool, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes at him. “well, i didn’t do that on purpose. but i’m glad you like it.” you extend your hand to take back the notebook, but he turns it toward him again, taking another look.

“can i keep it?” he looks up at you, his striking brown eyes making contact with yours. you stifle a gulp as you reply.

“um… sure, i guess so. if you really want it.”

he gives you a soft smile, pleased at your response. “i really do.” he carefully tears the page along the perforation, separating it from its spiral binding. he closes the sketchbook and hands it back to you. you return it to its place in your backpack.

“well, thanks for letting me practice on you, i appreciate it.”

“of course. if you need any more practice let me know - since i see you most days anyway.”

“you’re the best.”

“i know,” he replies smugly. you pick up your eraser and lob it at him. he manages to catch it with one hand, giving you a sly look as you jump out of your chair, running from him before he can throw it back. he follows you, chasing you around your apartment - you shout at him, feigning anger, but your laughter gives you away.

another thing you love about minghao: being with him is always so easy.

—

you didn’t mean to make drawing minghao a regular occurrence. but on one particularly crisp fall day, you find yourself absentmindedly sketching his features as you eat lunch together in the park. he’s reading for his literature class, and you’re supposed to be studying for your sociology course, but you keep zoning out. it’s not your fault that the text is dull, and that the cherub-like rosiness coloring his cheeks makes him look more ethereal than usual. renaissance paintings of angels have nothing on how beautiful he looks right now, you think to yourself.

you also definitely didn’t mean to start falling for your best friend, but here you are.

delicate pencil strokes paint the wisps of his bangs falling over his eyes as he is studiously engrossed in his book, his long eyelashes peeking through the curtain of hair. you focus on perfecting the shape of his face - glancing up to compare your rendering to your subject - when you notice him looking back at you.

“what are you doing?” he asks, genuinely curious.

you’re about to shut your notebook in a panic, when you realize that would only look more suspicious.

“nothing, just…”

he reaches for your notebook, his fingers brushing over the top of the page as he tilts it down so he can see. he lets out a soft chuckle.

“practicing again, i see,” he says, casually, but clearly teasing you a little. “i thought you were supposed to be studying for your sociology exam.”

“i am,” you insist. he raises his eyebrow at you. “i was just taking a break,” you add. the look on his face tells you he’s not convinced, but he doesn’t press you further.

“it looks good, i can tell you’re getting better at drawing from a reference.”

“i guess it is getting a little easier,” you admit.

minghao smiles. “good,” he affirms, before going back to his text without another word.

you find yourself gazing dreamily at the man before you, lost in aimless thoughts, imagining the feel of his hair tangled around your fingers, his skin softly pressed against your cheeks, his lips brushing against yours. eventually he notices, peeking up at you through his bangs. you swiftly return to your drawing, only to realize you've already finished. his portrait looks slightly cartoonish, and nowhere nearly as beautiful as the real thing, but you decide it's not half bad.

you half-heartedly resume your studies, sneaking glances at minghao here and there. every glimpse makes your heart flutter - you feel like an idiot, you're in college for christ's sake, and here you are having an entire crush on your closest friend.

just tell him how you feel, part of your mind tries to convince you.

but what if it ruins our friendship? another part of you worries.

you realize you're staring at him again when he looks up from his book, his gaze meeting yours.

“hmm? what is it?” he asks you calmly.

“i…”

you hesitate. his eyes rest on your face attentively.

you let out a small sigh. “i’m getting cold. can we go inside?”

he smiles softly, marking his page as he closes his book. “of course.”

minghao walks you to your next class, which is conveniently located in the building next to his next class.

“well, see ya later,” you tell him as you turn to enter the building.

“y/n…”

you freeze as he grabs your arm. you turn back around, looking at him expectantly. he lifts his hand up to your head, tenderly reaching for your hair. you realize you're holding your breath. you exhale as his fingers graze your scalp softly, plucking something off of your head.

he holds a small yellow piece up to you. “you had a leaf in your hair.”

your panicking ceases, leaving you a bit disappointed, but you can't help but smile at him.

“thanks, minghao. what would i do without you?”

“walk around with leaves in your hair all day, probably.”

you playfully give him a light shove. he reaches for the door, opening it for you as you head off to class.

“i'm coming over tonight, if that's alright,” he says as you step through the doorway.

“of course,” you say, turning over your shoulder to face him. “though, i should probably start charging you rent as much as you're at my place.”

he smiles back at you. “see you later, y/n.”

he disappears as the door shuts quickly. you spend the rest of the afternoon in a daydream, impatiently counting the hours until you see him again.

—

“how’s the studying going?” minghao asks from the other end of the couch. he sets his book down, pausing so he can take his hoodie off. his plain black t-shirt rises up as he does, revealing his entire midriff. you try not to gawk too hard. he stares at you as he tosses the hoodie aside - you realize he is awaiting your response.

you look down at your notebook, where you’ve once again been sketching his face. “um… pretty good,” you lie. “are you hungry?” you ask, changing the subject.

“starving, actually,” he admits.

“well, i can offer you ramen, or… actually, that’s about it.”

he grins at you. “ramen sounds great. want me to make some-”

“nope,” you respond as you flip your notebook over, setting it face down on the seat next to you. “i got it.” you rise and head to the kitchen.

you cook the noodles, serving them into two bowls and carrying them back to the living room. you set the bowls on the coffee table, reaching over to set one in front of minghao - but you feel your leg bump against something. you look down to see your notebook fall to the floor - landing right side up. before you can grab it, minghao has already picked it up for you. he goes to hand it back to you, but pauses as he sees your sketches. you go to swipe it out of his hands, but miss as he pulls back, looking at his own face doodled on your pages.

“you were drawing me again.” it wasn’t a question.

you try to quickly think of some excuse, anything, to get you out of this one, but your mind comes up blank. you decide to try and play it off.

“yes,” you reply with feigned confidence as you sit down next to him. he looks up at you, then back down to the paper. you stare at him, waiting for him to say something else, but he says nothing.

“i like to practice whenever i can,” you add with a shrug.

he flips through your notebook. “whenever you can, or whenever you’re with me?”

“um… i-”

“because these all sure look like me, y/n.”

“so?” you ask him. you meant for your tone to be casual, but it came out a bit more defensive than intended.

his eyes meet yours again. he looks at you warmly, but you can’t tell what he’s thinking. your heart beats rapidly in your chest.

“so,” he answers as he sets the notebook aside. “i'm wondering, if…” he scoots closer to you, lifting his hand to your face, gently brushing your cheek with his thumb. your skin feels like it's on fire. his fingers tucked under your chin delicately, he draws your face in toward his. you gasp softly.

“if you feel the same way about me, as i feel about you.”

your heart is racing. you feel dizzy. he's so close to you, a few more inches and your noses would touch. his plump lips wait enticingly.

“and how do you feel about me?” you manage to ask, your voice barely more than a whisper. his deep brown eyes stare longingly into yours. you’re pretty sure you know the answer, you hope you know the answer, but you need him to confirm it.

suddenly, he kisses you.

he kisses you, setting alight fireworks inside you. his soft lips touch against yours ever so gently, his nose pressing against your cheek, his hand holding your face tenderly in his palm, then sliding to the back of your neck, drawing you closer still into him. your chest presses against his, his other arm wrapping around your waist, his large hand settling upon the small of your back. you kiss him back, your lips locked onto his like your life depends on it. you've thought of this, dreamt of this, so many times before, all the years you've known minghao - yet you never could have imagined how thrilling, exhilarating, freeing it would be to finally be here, in his arms, world stopped, nothing matters except you and him, so lovingly embraced - together.

electricity pulsates through your skin, every nerve in your body dancing. slowly, minghao’s lips part from yours. you lock eyes with him - in all the time you've known him, he's always been a sentimental person, but you've never seen such love and adoration beaming from him like you see now.

and it's all for you.

a giggle escapes you. minghao looks at you, a wide grin spreading across his face. you run your hands through his hair, a sensation you've waited so long to experience - it's every bit as delightful as you imagined.

“hao…” you start.

he plants another kiss on your lips. “hmm?” he asks, still glowing at you.

“how long have you felt this way?” you ask softly.

“i've had feelings for you since the day we met, and i've loved you more every day since.”

you boop your nose against his, giving him a fake stern look.

“and why didn't you tell me?”

he feigns a pouty face back at you. “why didn't you tell me?”

you blow a tiny raspberry at him. he smiles, pulling you into him, wrapping his arms around you tightly as he kisses your cheek repeatedly. you laugh, held in his warm embrace, overflowing with emotions.

finally, you can admit it: you're in love with your best friend - and he just so happens to love you back.

596 notes · View notes

melliemell · 7 months ago

Text

Pairing: Dazai x f!reader

Contents: mostly SFW, first date with Dazai, making out at uncomfortable places yet again, CW for Dazai-typical discussions of suicide, nothing too graphic; fluff and cheekiness in full. Approx 2k.

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

There it was again. The stare.

You moved about the food on your plate, feigning ignorance to Dazai’s gaze from the other side of the table. He’s been doing this more often in the past hour than your entire date. It got you wondering what on earth you did to get that switch up. He struck you as the airheaded type, at least at first.

First dates as a general rule were rather awkward, as common sense points out. Even more so when said guy was a complete stranger you happened to bump into on the street. Dazai did have that effortless charm about him though, and you found yourself saying yes before you registered you’d just agreed to taking him out on a date.

You. You taking him.

He had a way with words, that you couldn’t deny.

And now, a second iced tea in and genuinely enjoying yourself, it was easy to see how that happened. From the constant flow of conversation to the rather peculiar sense of humour– yeah, he might be a little weird.

A bit.

Okay, a lot.

But learning the effects of mushroom poisoning wasn’t all that boring. The contrary, actually. But it definitely had to do with Dazai’s ability to disarm any situation of its soberness. You found yourself relaxing into the evening with no worries over figuring out how to come up with escape plans.

You were sticking this one out. Even if you’d probably be the one paying for dinner.

A faint tapping caught your attention.

“Aw, you’re not paying attention to me,” Dazai said, pouting. He clung his fork against his plate again, looking rather dejected enough to make you feel sad for him. “My lady doesn’t see me worthy of her precious time. Gah, what pains!”

You raised a brow. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?” You wondered how quickly he could switch between emotions. The look from earlier was completely gone.

“So are lots of people around us.” He loomed in closer, eyes glinting with only trouble. “But I keep my attention on the really cute ones.”

Ah, a charmer indeed. Hmm. Let’s see then…

“Do you, now? In fact–” You looked around innocently, weighing your options before settling on a table to Dazai’s back. A smile crept on your lips and you pointed discreetly. “–I’ve always been more of an admirer of elegant appeal than ‘cuteness’, to be honest.”

“Oh?”

You sipped your tea patiently as Dazai threw a carefree glance over his shoulder to the woman sitting not far from him. Nothing stood out at first glance, but the way she carried the simple, yet classy dress was enough to give you a double take. It was a stark contrast to the rest of you here.

The restaurant you were in did not have any dress code; it was far from those high-end establishments that required such frivolity.

The low woah that left Dazai’s lips was pretty much on point. It was almost like seeing a poorly disguised celebrity on a random Wednesday.

Dazai hummed. “I see, I see.” He rested a cheek on his knuckles. “Sad to hear, though. You have a lot more fun with cuties! I have a coworker who’s very tidied up. He’s pretty fun to vex, but it’s almost impossible to free him from that stick up his ass. What a shame.”

“So I should go for the fun ones?”

“I hear it’s good to mingle with like-minded people,” Dazai said, and winked.

“Eh, I wouldn’t say that. I’m rather ‘tidied’ too, And if it comes with being seen as classy– I don’t mind.” You didn’t feel embarrassed by this. Too much adventure tends to stress you out more often than not. It was a miracle you even went on this date to begin with. But the look on Dazai’s face made you pause.

“Whaat? Pshh,” he waved a hand dismissively. A small glint of mischief flashed in his eyes, making you narrow yours in distrust. “Your modesty is making my heart flutter, here–”

He reached forward, clasping your hand into his before resting it against his chest. His vest felt warm, the wool grazing at your fingertips gently.

You blinked, face blank. “You know I can’t feel anything through–”

“Oh my,” Dazai said, that cheeky smile reappearing. He leaned closer, tone low, “I will admit, this is a bit straightforward; I’m quite shy. But… when a beautiful woman hints at wishing to undress me, and publicly I might add, then–”

Your face heated up. “What? No– nono, you just–,” you hissed, your other hand flying to cover the already spreading flush on your cheeks, and Dazai laughed heartedly.

“See? Told you you were a cutie,” he said, cocking his head. He squeezed your hand, showing no signs of letting go anytime soon.

“And you’re too much,” you said, eyes peeking from spread fingers.

“Maybe I need the guiding hand of a good honest samaritan.”

“So long as you don’t lead them to a heart attack first,” you said, cheeks still red.

“Aw, man.” Dazai wrinkled his nose. “That doesn’t sound fun at all. Too uncomfortable for my tastes. Did you know some heart attacks could last for hours? Bleh.”

“Add a comfy bed there in the mix and I’d agree. Heart attacks suck,” you said, and immediately drew slightly back as Dazai all but bore his gaze into you, eyes wide. You weren’t expecting that level of attention… and that stare from earlier. The fleeting one; it was back.

This man was curious indeed.

There was a moment where no one spoke, Dazai not breaking eye contact with you as you blinked back at him. Then– the sound of wood scraping on floor reached your ears as Dazai scooped his chair closer, crouching close enough to you to feel his body heat. His thigh was flush against yours.

“Please,” Dazai began, “share with me what you meant by needing a bed. How would you like to leave this so dreadful world? Do you have opinions on carbon monoxide?”

You looked down at your seating. “Uhh.”

Your brain blanked. It was a sudden change, and you were sure you had struck an interesting chord. Dazai nodded his head, beckoning you to share, but your focus was slowly seeping away, replaced by the newfound knowledge that Dazai’s hair was actually probably dark auburn, not chestnut, and not as straight as you assumed. Or maybe it was the light. Might be.

It looked floppy too. The type that glides smoothly through your fingers.

You snapped back, sudden and quick. “Carbon what? Yes, no– I mean, I– like sleeping? Doesn’t sound bad to just drift off in the middle of it.”

Dazai nodded again. He was way too invested in this. “I see. a bit old-fashioned, but I respect that. Very Victorian of you.”

“Yeah, and you strike me as the obnoxious type. Quiet and peaceful doesn’t ring quite as accurately,” you said casually. You’ve had weirder discussions with your close friends. This wasn’t all too outside your calibre.

Dazai cradled his chin in his hand, striking a rather silly pose as he pondered this over. “I have said before I’d rather go out with a bang, hah. I am a man of my word, but if a beauty like you were to offer…”

You patted Dazai on the cheek. “Buckle up, clown man. We’re too young for that. Ask me again in, hmm, 60 years? No, make it 70, I’m an overachiever.”

A low whistle left Dazai’s lips, and he flopped back dramatically on the back of his chair. “Time is excruciating! Oh, to wait so long, my frail heart.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re such a baby.”

Dazai stuck out his tongue.

Insufferable. Yet endearing. Keeping back your smiles was becoming harder and harder. Dazai didn’t need a confidence boost like that. Not when he leaned closer every time he made a remark, or when he listened to you intently as you rattled on about your shitty day job last summer or how you missed living at home with your mom’s cooking and her daily gossips. He wasn’t as obnoxious as you thought.

Okay, maybe a little.

At some point his hand came to rest over your knee, index finger looping lazy circles on your thigh. You didn’t remember giving him permission to do that, but… somehow, losing that contact wasn’t something you wanted. You leaned into it, catching the quick grin that formed on Dazai’s lips.

It wasn’t long before he had you completely wrapped around his finger, the pair of you stumbling out into the late evening filled with too much giddiness and anticipation. There wasn’t a drop of alcohol in your system yet your mind felt light, barely registering the walk back to your car.

Dazai sprinted a bit ahead, bowing at the waist as he held the door open for you. “My lady, allow me.”

You snorted as you climbed into the driver’s seat. “Very smooth, but if this is your way of pleading for a ride… hmm, wasn’t the subway that way?”

“Aww, you’ll leave me stranded here, and all alone.”

Big brown eyes and a pout to kill for, Dazai was pulling the sympathy card like a champ. You weren’t gonna let him so easy, though. “Aren’t you a big boy? I’m sure you can manage.”

He bent down, resting on the lowered window. “I take it I didn’t win you over? Bummer. And I thought we were having a great time.”

“We were. But I learned something new about myself today.”

Dazai perked. “My my, and what is that?”

“You’re too fun to torment. I like that in a man.”

“Cruel,” Dazai said. “I’m way more fun to cuddle.”

You came closer, watching to see Dazai’s body language. He did not budge from his position, his attention fully drawn to you. He was needy for attention; it wasn’t hard to draw that conclusion, but giving in so fast wasn’t your style. Just a small pinch then, maybe…

“Hmm,” you said, twirling a loose strand of Dazai’s hair around your finger. He leaned in closer. “We’ll see.”

You had but a second to glance at his lips before Dazai captured yours. Your hands raised instinctively, cupping his face and you pulled him closer, earning a yelp as Dazai nearly lost his footing before he grabbed at the window frame. You paid that no mind, too busy.

You didn’t expect Dazai to be a shy kisser; after the sudden moment of quick passion– you found him slowly working your lips together. Chaste and sweet, before he coaxed your mouth open with his. You swallowed his quiet sigh of contentment as his tongue explored yours, felt him running a hand through your hair to settle back at your neck, beckoning you closer.

Not that you could. It was getting hard to breathe, or you just forgot how to. You weren’t sure.

“Stop, stop,” you whispered in between kisses. “We should really stop, Dazai.”

“2 more hours, please.”

You both laughed, and it was followed by a gentle nib at your lower lip before you lost yourself in him again.

The world blurred, forgotten, as heat settled between your legs. It always marveled you– how nothing seemed to be enough in those moments. the only thought was more, more, more.

You wanted more.

“Enough,” you said suddenly, hands pushing at Dazai’s shoulders. He had almost crawled inside your car, through the fucking window.

Dazai blinked at you, still a bit dazed. His pupils were blown wide, teeth grazing his lower lip as he tried to lean subconsciously in again. “You have really round cheeks, did you know that? Cute. Why is everything about you cute?”

“Yeah?” You set your key in place, starting the engine. “You can make me a list later. Come on.” You patted the seat beside you.

“Wait–” Dazai beamed at you “–does this mean I get to be your passenger princess?”

“Not if you don’t hurry.” The car moved slightly forward in warning, Dazai’s grin widening as he scurried to the other side.

This wasn’t how you planned your night to go but… as Dazai sat down beside you, belt secured and giving you a thumbs up with both hands, well, you could only shake your head with amusement.

He sure was something.

Might as well see where this goes…

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #bungou stray dogs dazai #bsd dazai #bsd smut #dazai smut #osamu x reader #osamu x you #osamu x y/n #bungo stray dogs smut

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copper-16 · 1 year ago

Text

I'm Sorry

Elena wakes up with a fever, and her need to wake her mothers up in the middle of the night brings up some worrying emotions.

(a/n: I was just speaking with a friend today about how her nieces loved to be cuddled when they were sick...and well one thing led to another and here we are! Hope you guys enjoy this :) I didn’t proofread it in the slightest…oh well!)

Elena was, historically, very very good about sleeping through the night.

She had been ever since she was a baby, both of the women honestly a little shocked by how lucky they had gotten.

“Are you sure she isn’t yours biologically?” Ingrid had joked when they were standing over her crib one morning, looking over at her wife with a teasing glint in her eyes. Mapi had rolled her eyes easily at that, scoffing slightly.

“I don’t know what you ever could mean,” Mapi fired back quickly, though she shrank just slightly when the Norwegian fixed her with a pointed glare.

“During our last away game, you slept through a fire alarm. An ENTIRE fire alarm,” Ingrid pointed out, and the Spaniard rolled her eyes, letting out a weak chuckle.

“Man, you sleep through a fire alarm ONE time!” Mapi muttered, but she knows damn well she’s lost the argument.

And it was true, because if there was one thing Mapi loved more than her family, it was her beauty sleep. A trait that she seemingly had passed to their daughter, who after a brief regression when she was one year old, generally slept well through the night. They kept a good bedtime routine that Elena was used to and was working well.

She had never really gotten nightmares, or come into bed with the Barcelona defenders. Ingrid had always been pretty strict on no co-sleeping, apart from the occasional allowance, Elena knew that it wasn’t something to ask for.

And normally, that wasn’t really a problem. Her mothers would put her to sleep, and then by the time she woke up when the sun was shining through her curtains, someone in the house would already be up. There was no deficit, no problem that needed solving for the little girl.

That was, until she woke up one morning long before the sun had begun to stream in through her curtains. In fact, her entire room was dark, save for the little night light that was kept on the far side of her room.

Elena shifted under the covers slightly, realizing just how poorly she felt. Her entire body felt icky, her skin clammy and pale as her baby hairs stuck to her face.

The little girl pulled the covers up over her body, despite the fact that she herself was radiating heat, trying to will her body back to sleep. She wasn’t really sure if she should get out of bed. She knew she wasn’t really supposed to get out of bed, but she also knew that her Mami told her if she needed anything, she could always come to her.

Elena knew it would make Mama upset though, so she tried to settle back in bed, burrowing under the covers and closing her eyes.

But it seemed to be to no avail. Sweat beads drip down her forehead onto the pillow under her, and she shimmies as she tries to get more comfortable. Her entire body is radiating with a dull ache, and she feels tears beginning to well up in her eyes.

Her resolution to be a good girl is overturned in favor of slipping out of bed, pushing her almost closed door open and making her way slowly toward her parents room. She leans against the wall slightly, suddenly feeling woozy for a moment before she regains her balance, continuing on her journey.

Luckily, Mapi and Ingrid’s door is slightly ajar, and so Elena can push it open easily, surveying the scene in front of her. Her Mama is closest to her, but she also knows that Mama is going to be upset that she is awake right now, so the toddler quickly chooses to make her way around the bed to her Mami’s side.

Mapi is turned toward the middle of the bed, her back to Elena, who reaches forward to very lightly tap on her Mami’s back. When Mapi doesn’t respond, Elena tries a little harder, but she’s rapidly feeling worse and worse, and her inability to wake her Mami up only adds to her stress.

Tears are dripping down her cheeks now, and she’s caught both with the intensity of how poorly she feels and the fear of realizing that she needs to wake her Mama up. She once heard her Mama speak about how hard it was to wake Mami up when she was sleeping, and now seemed to be no different.

It’s with a nervous air to her movements that the little girl walks back around to the other side of the bed, coming to stand by Ingrid’s side. Unlike her wife, the dark haired woman is lying facing the edge of the bed, so Elena can see her face.

The little girl reaches up hesitantly, tapping Ingrid’s hand, which is placed out in front of her. Tears are still trickling down her cheeks, and her head pounds painfully.

“Mama?” Elena tries instead, tapping slightly more furiously. “Mama!” The little girl says more sharply, and it’s this which wakes Ingrid, who is up in two seconds flat at the sound of her daughter finally penetrating her through her sleep.

“Elena?” Ingrid asks, still confused and sleep ridden, noting quickly that it’s nearly four in the morning. When she looks back at her daughter as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she finally notices the tears and distress of her daughter, and she’s hardly even thinking before she’s scooping the little girl up.

“Mama I’m so sorry,” Elena wails quietly, and Ingrid’s heart plummets when she feels how warm her daughter is. “I-I didn’t mean to wake you up, I’m sorry!” The curly haired girl insists, and Ingrid is quick to shush her gently, pulling Elena into her easily.

“No, no, my little love there is nothing to be sorry about, you can always come get me if you need me,” Ingrid promised, her heart cracking at the fact that her daughter was apologizing for needing her. She kicks herself for not making it clearer to the little girl, but resolves to focus on the situation at hand for right now, and do better in the future.

“I don’t feel good,” Elena admits quietly, pressing further into Ingrid and relishing in the way her Mama’s arms tightened around her. She still didn’t feel good, but she felt better here, with her mother.

“I–I tried to wake Mami up, but she didn’t move,” the little girl continued, and Ingrid barely managed to repress the annoyed noise that bubbled up in her throat.

“María!” Ingrid hissed, lashing out with her foot and kicking her wife in a vague attempt to wake her up without letting go of their daughter.

Luckily, the center back jerked awake at the feeling, looking around wildly.

“What! What is it?” Mapi sputtered, her hair tousled by sleep. She clocks the fact that Elena is in Ingrid’s arms with the swiftness only a mother could have, and her eyebrows are furrowing instantly.

“She’s sick, I think she has a fever. Can you get the thermometer and some medicine?” Ingrid asked gently, keeping her voice low for Elena. The Norwegian feels a little more grounded knowing that her wife is awake, the Spaniard quickly slipping out of bed as Ingrid rocked Elena back and forth.

She begins to hum softly, rubbing over Elena’s back soothingly as their daughters eyes flutter closed, and she let out a small huff of air. There’s a crease in her forehead, and she’s clearly still in pain, but she’s no longer squirming in Ingrid’s arms which is good.

“‘M sorry Mama,” Elena tries again quietly, and Ingrid pauses her movements to lean her daughter back, running her hands over Elena’s forehead gently.

“Jenta mi, you can always come get me if you need me, you do not have to say sorry, ever. Mama always wants you to come get her if something is wrong, okay?” Ingrid implored, her voice just a hair desperate. She had never felt worse about her parenting in her entire life, she was pretty sure.

But Elena’s face seemed to soften at her words, and she nodded very gently.

“Love you Mama,” she rasped, coughing gently. Ingrid pulled the little girl back into her, cradling her in her arms before she leaned down to press gentle kisses to her daughter's forehead.

“I love you so much Elena,” Ingrid insisted as she pressed another kiss to her daughter's forehead. She couldn’t help but cringe at how warm she was, and it was clear even without the thermometer that the toddler had a fever.

But luckily, it was as she was finishing her sentence that Mapi came back into the room, a whole host of things balanced in her arms. She leaves Ingrid with the medicine, taking the washcloth she got into the bathroom to run it under some cool water.

The Norwegian turned on the bedside table lamp so that she can get the correct dosage of medication, before sitting Elena up to take it. The little girl throws a face at the taste, and Mapi swoops in with a little bit of juice she had brought with her from the kitchen, having expected that reaction. The brunette pressed the cool wash cloth against Elena’s forehead, letting out a small breath of relief at the way her daughter seemed to lean into the feeling, her body releasing some of the tension that it was holding.

“Please don’t–don’t wanna go back to–please,” Elena whined with no real annunciation, and Mapi’s brows furrowed with confusion while Ingrid was quick to quiet her daughter, rushing to assuage her fears.

“Don’t worry, you aren’t going back to your bed. You will stay here with me and Mami in our bed, okay?” Ingrid promised fervently, and Mapi watched as Elena’s entire body relaxed, melting into Ingrids as she nodded, whining softly.

Mapi removed the washcloth that had grown warm, settling back in bed as she offered to Ingrid that she could take their daughter, if the Norwegian needed her to. But Ingrid shook her head very tightly, clutching Elena as though Mapi was going to take her away from her.

The Spaniard backed off immediately, instead helping Ingrid lay back down with the little girl curled into her, the defender turning on her side, using her arm to keep Elena pulled into her body. The toddler cuddled into her mother easily, shifting uncomfortably every few minutes.

It took several minutes of Ingrid rubbing her hand up and down Elena’s back soothingly for the little girl to drift back off to sleep, her breath coming in hot puffs against Ingrid’s collarbone.

Mapi’s brow was knitted in concern, her voice low as she spoke.

“What happened?” She inquired, hoping to be filled in on what was going on. Ingrid shook her head very gently, making sure not to jostle their daughter.

“She came in a few minutes ago. She tried to wake you up but you didn’t wake up, so she woke me up instead,” Ingrid explained, and Mapi blanched, a guilty look blooming on her face.

“Shit, I really need to work on that,” Mapi scolded herself, but Ingrid once again shook her head.

“María, you can’t control how heavy of a sleeper you are,” the dark haired woman reasoned, and the center back relents slightly despite the fact that she still hated this part of herself.

“What happened then?” She asked instead, knowing that there was more to the story. Ingrid’s face fell just slightly, confirming the brunette’s suspicions.

The dark haired woman holds their daughter tighter to herself, leaning down to kiss the top of her head lightly. When she speaks, there is clear emotion in her words.

“She felt bad about waking me up. She thought I was going to be mad at her, and kept apologizing. I didn’t realize I made her feel like she couldn’t come to me,” the defender admitted with a small voice, and Mapi softens in sympathy as she reaches forward to place her hand on Ingrid’s chin, tilting her head up so that the Norwegian is looking at her.

“Hey, she still came to you when she needed you, because she knows that at the end of the day you love her more than you could ever be mad at her,” Mapi murmured soothingly, and Ingrid nodded as she tried to take in her wifes words. “It was never your intention to make her feel this way, and now that you know you can work to change it moving forward. We’re all just doing the best we can with this parenting thing, and clearly she still adores you regardless,” the center back emphasized, gesturing to the way their daughter was currently clinging to her wife. Ingrid’s face relaxes at that sentiment as she cuddles into Elena. She’s struggling to keep her eyes open any longer, sleep beginning to pull at her once more, even as she fights it.

“Sleep, mi amor,” Mapi urged, and Ingrid nodded gently as allows her body to relax, pulled back into sleep as her daughter rested against her.

—

When Ingrid woke up the next morning, the bed was entirely empty, devoid of both her wife and daughter.

The Norwegian had never been out of bed so quickly, half walking and half running toward the kitchen. She entirely speeds past where Elena and Mapi are on the couch, until she hears a little, slightly subdued giggle from behind her.

She turns back to see Elena laying on top of Mapi, the two of them laid out on the couch together.

“Mama, why are you running?” Mapi teased in an overly conspiratory voice, and their daughter’s laughter at her words turned into coughing before she managed to recover, despite the anxious look of her two parents.

“Yeah Mama!” She tries to say, but it’s slightly breathless and wheezy. Ingrid walks over to the two of them, crouching down and feeling Elena’s forehead. Warmer than it should be but not as bad as it had been last night.

“She just had more medicine about thirty minutes ago when she woke up,” Mapi explained, and Elena perks up slightly.

“Mami woke up when I did!” Elena says softly, and Ingrid looks up to find that her wife is looking overly proud of herself, if the large smile spread across her face is any indication.

Ingrid fights the urge to laugh at the sight, choosing instead to lean forward and kiss Elena’s cheek softly.

“Maybe a warm bath would help?” The defender postulates, and Mapi nods before passing their daughter over to her wife. Elena is like a ragdoll in Ingrid’s arms, laying against her mothers shoulder as she’s led back into the bathroom.

The bath is short, but the warm water does seem to bring some relief to the little girl, who remains quiet and reserved even as she’s pulled out of the tub, Ingrid beginning to dry her off.

“Mama?” Elena asks softly, her voice small.

“Yes my love?” Ingrid responds instantly, helping her daughter into some lightweight pajamas. When she’s finished dressing her, she notices the downcast expression her daughter is wearing, and her brows are instantly furrowing in ferocious concern.

“Is everything okay? What is it honey - you can tell Mama, I promise I won’t be mad,” Ingrid assures, her words gentle and soft. Elena looked up at her through her eyelashes, a slightly crinkle in her forehead.

“Can we cuddle more in your bed? I’m tired,” Elena admitted softly, and Ingrid is quick to swoop her daughter into her arms, carrying her right toward the bed.

“We absolutely can. We can do whatever you want to do today - anything!” Ingrid promised, her voice low but filled with truth. The little girl thinks for a moment before shaking her head, looking toward the bed.

“Just want to cuddle with you. Can Mami come too?” Elena asked hopefully, and the defender nodded quickly, reaching for her phone as she sat down in bed, shooting Mapi a quick text.

It still amazed her sometimes, what it felt like to love this little human being so much. To know that she could have anything, but all she wanted was Ingrid and Mapi when she didn’t feel well. It was a different kind of love, genuinely.

“Absolutely love. Mami is on her way, come on let's get you all snuggly,” Ingrid promised, laying down and bringing Elena to lay on top of her. The little girl laid her head sideways on Ingrid’s sternum, held in place securely by the Norwegian’s hands on her back holding her firmly in place.

Her whole world in that moment was her Mama, and she felt endlessly safe and protected. She still didn’t feel well, but nothing seemed quite as bad when Mama held her like this, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

“I heard we were having a cuddle puddle!” Mapi whispered rather loudly as she entered the room, Bagheera in her arms as she came around to the other side of the bed.

“Mami!” Elena breathed out, her voice tired but excited still, and she was reaching for Mapi instantly. The Spaniard set their cat at the end of the bed to curl up as she slid next to her wife and daughter, reaching out to engulf Elena’s little hand in her own.

Elena relaxed fully only once both of her mothers were pressed against one another, and she could open her eyes and see them both.

“We love you Elena,” Ingrid murmured softly, and the little girl smiled softly as she cuddled into her Mama, letting out a soft, content sigh.

“Sleep, mi sol,” Mapi urged, smiling gently up at her wife as their daughter finally relaxed fully into her, safe and asleep in her mothers arms.

#woso #ingrid engen #mapi leon #barcelona femeni #ingrid x mapi x daughter

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