#connor got the dark curls

[im-not-a-l0ser]

"You with the dark curls, you with the watercolour eyes."

KleinphyKleinphyKleinphy

[amiableness]

Dad!James Potter x Bsf!Reader ☼ 1486 words

series masterlist ; main masterlist

You promised the girls just one blind date—nothing more, nothing less. At the time, it seemed like a harmless favor. But now, sitting across from your date in a dimly lit restaurant, the air thick with the aroma of their signature dish, the indistinguishable chatter of nearby diners, and the clatter of dinnerware, you’re starting to question that decision.

Connor shrugs, slicing into his steak with casual ease. “I didn’t do too much today. Babysat my nephew since my brother begged me,” he says, his tone indifferent. “But honestly, I hate babysitting his kid.”

“You don’t like kids?” You ask, doing your best to keep your voice neutral. You gingerly push your fork through another piece of pasta, trying to maintain an air of indifference.

He looks up at you, his dark curls nearly black and bouncing with the movement. “Hate ’em,” he says without hesitation.

You can’t help but notice how much he resembles an off-brand version of James, and it frustrates you. His familiar features keep pulling your thoughts back to your best friend instead of your date. At least, that’s the excuse you’ve been clinging to for the past hour.

“Oh.” You say softly, placing the food on your tongue and chewing slowly as you stare down at your plate.

“Do you have a kid or something?” You look up, a pause in your chewing as you find Conner holding his glass and watching you closely like he’s hoping you’ll say no.

Your first instinct is to say yes, and you nearly cringe when you realize your mistake.

You finish chewing and swallow hard. “Uh, no,” you say, shaking your head as you reach for your wine to wash down your feelings. “But my best friend does. Single parent.” You’re not sure why you felt the need to add that last part.

Connor leans back in his chair, nodding slowly. “Well, good for her,” he says. He isn’t sure why you’re telling him this, and frankly, he doesn’t care.

You sit up straighter. “Him,” you correct. Connor raises an eyebrow and not much later, he calls for the check.

James is surprised when he sees your call. He knows you’re supposed to be on a date—Lily mentioned it—and he’s been stress-cleaning his house ever since. Halfway through he gave up and turned a movie on instead.

“Darling?” He answers, “Is everything alright?”

“It could be better,” you say with a laugh that falls short of genuine humor. “I’m not too far from your place. Could I come over? I’m just at the Windmere.”

“Yeah. Let me—” There’s shuffling on the line as James grabs his jacket. “—I’ll meet you.”

You huff, “No. You’ve got Henry asleep upstairs.”

“It’s five minutes.” James protests, heading to the kitchen to grab the baby monitor off the counter.

“Exactly, Jamie. I’ll be there soon. I love you.” You hang up before he can respond, leaving him thoroughly disappointed. He appreciates every chance to tell you he loves you, even if it’s just as friends.

It takes you less than five minutes to get to his house, and James flings open the door before you can even knock, making you giggle.

“You worry so much about me, Potter.” You say with a teasing smile as you push past him and kick off your heels, the click of the shoes hitting the floor echoing in the entryway.

James stands by the door, his gaze following you with a mixture of concern and affection. “Of course I do. How could I not?” He replies, his voice earnest and warm.

You shrug off your jacket, and James’s gaze quickly settles on your tight black dress. The silky fabric clings to your figure and moves fluidly as you shift. James feels like he’s going to pass out from the sight—you look incredible, and he’s painfully aware that you’ve dressed up for another man.

He swallows hard, attempting to keep his voice steady. “So, how was the date?” He finally asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what you might say next.

You feel a warmth rise to your cheeks, the slight embarrassment making you smile softly. “What gave it away—the dress or the girls?” you ask, your fingers lightly brushing the fabric of your dress as if to acknowledge it.

“The girls,” he admits, a small chuckle escaping him as he glances over at the baby monitor to check on his son. “But the dress would’ve been a dead giveaway if they hadn’t.”

You laugh, the sound light and teasing as you catch his gaze. “They’re awful at keeping secrets, aren’t they?”

“Was your date supposed to be a secret from me?” He asks, making his way to the couch with a curious look. The cushions sink slightly as he sits down, and you follow suit, settling in beside him.

“No, it wasn’t,” you say, surprised, turning to face James with wide, sincere eyes. “But I wasn’t exactly excited about it, either.”

He leans back, eyebrows furrowed, “Why not?”

You take a deep breath, your fingers nervously tracing the hem of your skirt. “I don’t know,” you admit, voice softening as you look away. “I’ve never been on a blind date before, so I didn’t want to get my hopes up. And I guess... I’m glad I didn’t, in the end.”

James watches you closely, his eyes filled with curiosity. He’s trying not to appear too eager to learn about this date of yours. “Why’s that? Didn’t go well?”

Tears well up in your eyes, and you quickly blink them away, hoping James doesn’t notice. But he does. “I just... I don’t know how to find someone,” you admit, your voice shaking slightly. “And it’s so discouraging that my friends set me up with a guy who’s completely wrong for me—well, except for his looks.”

James opens his mouth to ask what the guy looked like but holds back, sensing that this isn’t the moment.

“What does that say about my dating life?” You continue, a tear slipping down your cheek. “If my best friends don’t even know what I like in a guy?” You sniffle, your fingers brushing absentmindedly over your lips as you stare down at Henry’s toys scattered across the floor.. “I think I need to put myself out there more. Go on as many dates as possible. I need to meet someone.”

James feels like he’s going to be sick. He’s floundering for a way to tell you that, no, you absolutely shouldn’t. But how can he say that?

He hesitates, searching for the right words. “Is there a rush? To find someone, I mean.”

You shrug, your gaze still fixed on the floor. “I know we’re both young, but I feel like if I don’t find someone now, it’ll only get harder down the line.”

“Oh.” He responds softly, the weight of your words hanging in the air.

A heavy silence settles between you, both lost in your thoughts, until you break it with a shaky voice. “Is there something wrong with me?”

James snaps his head up, startled. “What? No! Why would you even think that?” He asks, incredulous, his tone laced with concern.

“I’ve been asked out three times in my life,” you say quietly, your voice trembling. “And two of those were back in school. Is there something wrong with me?” Finally, you turn to look at him, your eyes glistening with unshed tears clinging to your lashes.

“Darling, no,” James insists, his voice filled with genuine concern as he scoots closer to you on the couch. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace. “You’re perfect.”

You sniffle, managing a small, sad smile. “Don’t lie to me, Jamie,” you say, trying to keep it light, but he can hear the trace of hurt beneath your words.

“I would never,” he murmurs, placing a tender kiss on your head as you settle back into his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothes you. “You’re everything anyone could ever want—an absolute dream girl.”

“Stop it.” You whisper half-heartedly, though a part of you wants to believe him.

“I’m serious,” he insists, his voice firm yet gentle. “Whoever you end up with will be incredibly lucky.”

A comfortable silence falls between you, the room filled only with the soft sounds of your breathing.

“I’ll help you look for dates, if you want.” He offers suddenly, the words slipping out before he can stop them. Regret washes over him immediately; he wishes he could take them back. The mere thought of you on a date with another guy twists his stomach into knots, but actually helping you choose someone else? Brutal.

You tilt your head to press a kiss gently to his jaw. Your voice is a soft whisper, filled with gratitude, “Thank you, Jamie.”

He doesn’t know how much longer he can do this.

[perlelune]

Tag, You’re It | Ethan Landry

Happy, carefree college days meet their abrupt end when every guy who approaches you mysteriously turns up dead.

Warnings: NON-CON, Stalking, Bimbo!Reader, Clueless Reader, Loss of Virginity, Incel Ethan, Cheerleader Reader, Skin Carving (w/knife), Canon Typical Slashing, Voyeurism, Kidnapping

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Tapping your pencil against your notebook, you curb the yawn threatening to spill from your mouth. 

Half an ear is leant to Professor Atkins as he drones on about asset allocation and private equity.

Econ classes aren’t usually the peak of excitement, but even less so when you’re sleepy from texting your crush from the late hours of the night until the early morning. 

It’s probably unwise. Your GPA’s been slipping a little. But you can’t help it.

Each time you get a message from Connor, butterflies swarm in your belly. The sweetness of his messages from last night hasn’t fully sunk in. You get heady just thinking about it.

Anika bumps your shoulder to nudge you awake. You gasp and bat your lashes in surprise, eliciting a round of hearty laughs from the students around you. 

You shrink beneath your professor’s disapproving scowl and mouth 'sorry', your face warming as you dip your head.

Your attention returns to your book, the words printed on the page collapsing into each other a befuddling heap. You’ve still got no idea how you’ll pass this class. You were told it’s important so you took it. 

Humongous mistake.

It’s becoming tougher for you to keep up with more elaborate concepts. And Professor Atkins speaks so fast. 

Your mind spins at the amount of information after each class, your own notes making little sense to you.

As your thoughts clamor, the back of your neck tingles with a peculiar sensation. 

You whirl from your seat.

When your eyes drift to the back of the lecture hall, they grow saucer-wide. 

Some guy with a head of thick, inky curls and a boyish face lowers his head the second his gaze crosses yours.

Your mouth parts in surprise. 

He doesn’t look back up as you study him from your seat next to Anika and Mindy, fumbling with his pen as his throat bobs.

You turn away, pouting your lips in confusion. 

You don’t know him, but his face bears vague familiarity.

Then you begin to wonder…was he looking at you before? 

It sure seemed like it. But how odd. Is there something on your face? How would he even notice at this distance?

Returning your scarce attention to the class, you discard the ephemeral weirdness.

You slump in your chair and wait for your professor to be done, stealing glimpses at your phone as you hope for more texts from Connor. 

When he turns off the projector and dismisses everyone, you practically leap from your chair. 

Anika and Mindy trade light jokes about your obsession with your phone as you stroll down the hallways. 

Your back prickles and you turn, your gaze landing near the water fountain where that guy from before is chatting with Chad. 

Realization dawns over you. You’ve seen him hang around Chad a few times…but the two of you have never spoken. 

"Who’s that?" you ask Mindy, slanting your head sideways in the most inconspicuous way you can manage. 

She shakes her head in response. 

"Just that nerdy kid who’s rooming with my brother. He’s kind of made him his pet project. Why?"

So he’s Chad’s roommate. The familiarity makes sense now. Strangely though, you don’t think he’s uttered a word to you since the year began. 

"Ah, nothing," you dismiss. 

But Mindy doesn’t relent, letting go of her girlfriend’s hand to grab your shoulder. 

"He wasn’t weird to you, was he?" she says, glowering at Ethan from a distance.

A sigh leaves your lips. Mindy’s uniquely mistrustful of anyone new in the friend group. In fact, she even investigated Anika when they started dating. It speaks to the power of love that those two are still together despite Mindy’s suspicious nature. 

Though you surmise that considering everything she, her twin brother and Tara went through…it makes sense for new people to set her on edge.  She showed you her stabbing scar once, memorabilia of that awful night. She told you of the nightmares afterwards. 

Mindy’s the toughest, most badass girl you’ve ever met.

The fact that a glint of fear lingers in her brown orbs whenever she mentions it speaks volumes.

You shrug. 

"No, I think he was just looking at me. I’m just not sure why though."

Arching a brow, she chortles. 

"Oh, don’t worry about it." She leans over you to whisper. "Ethan’s probably never seen a girl up close before…if you catch my drift."

You soak in that information with a nod, heat rising in your cheeks at her implication. You’re not that experienced yourself, even if you try to carry yourself with confidence most of the time. 

Discreetly, you swipe another peek at him. He’s laughing at one of Chad’s jokes it appears. 

So curly-haired guy’s name is Ethan.

You make a mental note of it. He’s cute, in a puppy dog kind of way. Not your type though. You prefer your men a bit more…seasoned. 

Ethan’s got more than a few seasons to go before you look at him that way. 

Still, he seems nice and way more organized than you are, like he actually understood the gibberish pouring out of Professor Atkins’ mouth…words that might as well be a foreign language to you. 

A nerd, Mindy jested, as in a guy who’s probably way smarter than you. 

Potential life raft amidst the sea of confusing Econ concepts currently drowning you. 

Anika’s airy tone tugs you away from your inner ramblings. 

"You’re still coming to the OKB party, right?" 

A proud smile drags your lips skyward. "Yeah, I even bought a sexy nurse costume."

Anika cocks her head and squeezes your shoulder. 

"Babe, you have to walk away from the male gaze eventually, free yourself of the shackles of patriarchy."

You confine a laugh at the dramatic hand she spreads over her chest and Mindy’s approving nod. 

You chew on your bottom lip apologetically. "Yes but…Chad said Connor will be there and my boobs look great in that costume."

"Unbelievable," Anika huffs in surrender. 

Mindy beams at you, "As your friends…we support however slutty you want to dress."

"Thanks," you chuckle. 

More banter ensues and you smile at their antics. An idea surges in your head and you decide to let them know you’ll catch up with them later. 

You wave your friends goodbye and focus on your new mission.

When you pivot, your eyes dart about the hallway.

After gulping a deep breath, you take firm strides to the water fountain. 

"Hey," you chime once you’re in front of him.

It’s straight up comical the way his brown eyes bulge in astonishment, his thick brows grazing his hairline. You find yourself endeared as he steals glances around himself, as if uncertain you’re actually addressing him and not someone else. 

He points at his chest. "Y-You’re talking…to me?"

A sweet laugh unleashes from your lips. "Who else, silly?" You tilt your head, scrutinizing him. You note that he’s taller than you thought up close and that a few freckles spatter his face. You have to crane your head up a bit to look him in the eye. "Ethan, right?"

He searches your face before replying, that same disbelief painted on his features. "You know my name?"

"Yes. Mindy told me," you say honestly. 

You see no reason to pretend. He’s Chad’s roommate. You’re friends with Mindy and Anika. While you never got around to chatting with him before, he’s not a complete stranger. You’re part of the same friend group, after all.

"Mindy told you…about me?" A blend of awe and skepticism color his inflection. 

As he gapes at you, you elect to jump straight to your purpose. 

"Ethan…" When you step forward, your chest almost brushing his, Ethan’s Adam apple moves up and down. Pink dusts his cheeks. His eyes bounce as if he’s trying to not stare below your chin. You nibble on your bottom lip and hold his gaze. "I really don’t know how to ask this but, do you think I could borrow your notes? I really struggle w-"

"Yes. Of course. Yes."

His eager, instant reply broadens your smile. "Cool."

He scratches the back of his neck, hesitation coating the air before he blurts out, "I could even tutor you…" When your mouth parts in surprise, he rushes to add, "I mean, only if you want." Ethan’s eyes find the floor before meeting yours again, his face even more flushed than before. "I’m sure you’re so busy, with cheerleading and everything."

Your wide-eyed gaze rests upon him. 

"You know I cheer?"

He clears his throat. "I went to support Chad. I saw you…in passing." He mutters under his breath. "You looked so pretty in your uniform." As he gets a glimpse of your dumbfounded expression, Ethan waves his hand in front of himself defensively. "I swear I’m not a pervert or anything."

Tilting your head sideways, you blink at him.

You wonder why he’s so flustered when he did nothing wrong.

Cheerleaders are there for…well bring cheer. The looks you get in your tiny skirt and short top bear heavily on your skin during matches, but you’ve grown used to it. 

Guys look at girls wearing cute outfits all the time. You have no reason to make him feel bad for watching when it’s the very point of the eye-catching getup and choreography. 

"It’s okay. I believe you." Ethan’s shoulders slump when you reassure him. You shoot him a bright grin. "Let’s exchange socials."

Embarrassment creeps on his boyish features. 

"I…don’t really use social media."

"Oh. Numbers then?"

You save his contact under 'cute nerd Ethan', chuckling to yourself at the moniker. As you pivot to leave, you halt in your tracks.

"Hey, Ethan?" you call softly.

He straightens his back and swallows. "Yeah?"

"Thanks," you say.

You give him your sunniest, most sincere smile. He goes statue-still at the sight, eyes bulging, but no other word leaves his gaping mouth. 

There’s a pep in your step as you stroll away, relief fluttering through you. It gladdens you that you were right about Ethan.

He’s just a sweet guy. A nice guy. 

And now, not only did you just gain a tutor but possibly even a new friend. 

[xoxochb]

hi it’s been awhile fr, but i still love you work and i’m very sorry about what’s going on rn

but could i request a connor stoll fic? anything your heart desires, i just need a little serotonin, if not that’s cool too, thank you !!

⋆·˚ ༘ * sweet fantasy

warnings: I based this off of this post from pinterest because it’s so connor coded pairing: connor stoll x daughter of aphrodite a/n: this is short as hell I’m sorry angel 😭

a pink hue is sprawled over connor’s cheeks and his lovesick gaze is nothing but completely obvious to you. your fingers entwine in his dark curls, twirling and un-twirling them in a repeated pattern. he speaks about his day— scratch that, he rambles. connor loves to ramble but miscellaneous subjects whether it consists of his recent prank, something he stole, his day, or overheard drama. you listen attentively every time though. the attention you give towards him makes his stomach erupt in butterflies. he recalls -before your relationship began- telling travis about his wonders of being in love with the gorgeous daughter of aphrodite which resulted in relentless teasing

connor didn’t care. he was completely, hopelessly, undeniably enamored with you and that’s all he really cared about. he stole for you, if someone insulted you in any way they woke you up drenched in black paint, if you cried he wouldn’t leave your side until you were calm, or if you were happy he would show just as much enthusiasm even if he didn’t care for whatever you were excited about. his words trial off as his mind can’t seem to settle on his day, instead on the very girl who’s lap he’s laying on. his cheeks turn red. you laugh and kiss his left cheek, then the right

“are you okay?” you ask

connor frowns as he thought he caused you trouble. “I’m sorry, I got distracted”

you brush a stray hair from his eyes, planting a kiss to his forehead. “don’t be sorry, angel. tell me what you’re thinking”

“you”

a smile appears on your mouth

“elaborate?”

he shrugs. “everything about you, I guess”

“I’m flattered”

he takes your free hand and places it over his heart. “I love you”

“I love you too” you place a kiss to his lips this time “sweet boy”

[kekaki-cupcakes]

hello!! Hope you’re doing well!!

could you please do a Leo x mortal reader cafe au like the Connor stoll one? And could the reader be a Greek mythology nerd also please have a little brother who she’ll randomly quiz about the Olympian gods?

have a nice day 😚😚

heyyy i didn't get your whole request in but i got the vibe dw and also kind of made a moodpboard for it cause I loved the whole aesthetic and no one requests mood boards <3 LISTEN TO EXPRESSO BY SABRINA!

Leo Valdez x Reader--- cafe au

»»————-　★　————-««

“Hello,” you said, looking up from your screen for a millisecond, “what can I get you today?”

When whoever it was ordering didn’t respond, you raised an eyebrow, hand hovering over the digital menu. The boy frowned at the screen above your head where it listed all the different drinks. He had the nicest brown curls, you noticed, and looked back down before he caught you staring. 

He tapped his fingers quickly on the counter. Sabrina Carpenter's new song was playing over the cafe speakers. It sounded like summer.

“How many espresso shots are you legally allowed to put in one drink?” The boy asked with a crackly voice. He had dark smudges under his eyes. And on his hands. Huh. You really needed a camera to look into at times like this, for comedic effect. Like the office.

“About six,” you said, dropping your customer service voice with a shrug, and opened up a new order on the tablet, your bracelets jingling. “What can I get you today?” 

You loved your bracelets. Some were from that second hand store down the street full of goths and grandmas where you’d bought yet another version of the Odyssey yesterday, and the rest were from your little brother. 

You never admitted it to anyone, but he’d made them based on all your favorite Greek gods. The ones you were wearing today had pomegranate seed charms and antler horn patterns.  

His eyes widened considerably. They were brown. And sparkly. “What happened to your voice?”

You squinted at him. Someone else came into the cafe with three little dogs stuffed into their giant handbag. 

“That was my customer service voice.” Your brain was finally receiving enrichment in messing with this cute greasy boy. You put it on again, paired with a fake smile. “What can I get for you today?” 

He chuckled, and hitched a giant canvas tote bag over his shoulder. There was a giant inked cat with butterfly wings on it, and a long metal pipe sticking out the back. You had a feeling this boy would steal your name if he got ahold of it, or trap you in a ring of flowers deep in a forest.

“Uh,” he trailed off, and then winked, scrunching up his entire face. “Surprise me.”

You blinked at him. How entirely helpful. You watched him pull an entire fucking old fashioned pocketwatch out of his pocket to check the time. 

Medium was the most commonly ordered size of drink, so you selected that, and then a caramel latte with whipped cream. You had that knack that every person in your generation seemed to have been born with. 

Selecting random objects and flavors to match someone’s vibe precisely. You just happened to be a barista. 

For instance, this talkative sleep deprived boy was rocky road slices with peanuts in them, and torn open sugar packets, and caramel. Your coworker, Lou Ellen, who was wiping down tables behind the handbag dog man, was those butterfly shaped ice-cubes and home brewed black coffee from a saucepan and dragon fruit juices.                            And that thick book on Greek mythology she’d bought you for your birthday last year [she’d nicked it from the library and peeled the sticker off]. 

“Four dollars and sixty cents,” you said patronizingly, in your customer service voice. He grinned like you had just invented the funniest inside joke ever, and handed over five dollars in fifty cents coins.

“Keep the change.”

You printed out the receipt and reached for a medium sized cup and the ballpoint pen from a uni campus open day, after pocketing the generous tip of forty cents and a paperclip. 

What a gentleman. “Name?” 

“Leo Valdez, super sized Mcshizzle, bad boy supreme,” Leo Valdez super sized Mcshizzle bad boy supreme said happily, as one of the handbag dogs escaped the bag and started chewing on his laces. 

You desperately needed that camera to look into now. You should be the star of a sitcom at this point, with you as the tired main character dealing with silly customers while desperately longing to go home and read your books, Lou Ellen as the hilarious trashy best friend, Will [your coworker who was currently taking out the trash] as the angry bisexual lumped with the night shift crew, and your little brother, who would pop in at random times in each episode to deliver the punchline.  

Instead of letting the credits roll, unfortunately, you scribbled out an unintelligible scrawl to represent the complete nonsense you were supposed to instead. Your smile was strained this time. “I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

Leo [you assumed that was his name] beamed. “Thanks!”

It was only as you frothed the milk and tried not to burn your fingertips on the spout did you realize that the song was still going. Lou must’ve looped it, as she did with every song ever until she got sick of it and hated it. 

You nodded your head and tipped the bubbling milk into the cup, reaching for the tube of caramel sauce. “Soft skin and I perfumed it for ya, I know I Mountain Dew it for ya.” 

“That morning coffee, brewed it for ya.” You rolled your eyes to no one and tipped the extra caramel sauce into it. It was ten o'clock at night, and your shift had just started. Morning coffees meant college students rushing in at two a.m. so they could finish their projects. 

You shook up the whipped cream. “One touch and I brand-newed it for ya.” 

One of the most satisfying parts of your job, apart from spinning around and introducing yourself as the manager [you are not the manager] when someone demands to see the manager [who comes in once a month, looks around, and leaves again], is the whipped cream. The sound of it and the little pattern it makes just itches a scratch. 

You smile as you finish the swirl, which sinks into the cup of espresso shots and caramel milk. You spin around, “now he’s thinkin’ ‘bout me every night, oh…”   

“Is it that sweet? I guess so,” you hum under your breath, and ducking the spray bottle Lou Ellen launches over your head, you stick a straw in the cup and walk to the bench, where Will’s serving the man with three purse dogs a jelly donut. 

Leo’s digging through his bag while you wait, not bothering to rush him and leave the 24/7 rip off starbucks diner empty. 

You pick up the pen and take the lid off with your teeth, doodling a little cat on the blank bit of the cup. The tail comes out all wrong, and one of the whiskers slides halfway around on the plastic with a scratchy sound. 

You add rushed fairy wings to its soft looking back, and hand the cup over as Sabrina Carpenter sings about being a singer. Her voice is so pretty. Like caramel. “There you go.”

Leo grinned at you, and while you watched in absolute horror, proceeded to pour an entire monster energy drink he’d pulled from his tote bag into the perfectly made coffee. 

“Excuse me?” you whisper shrieked. 

He blinked at you owlishly, and you tried not to notice how warm his eyes looked in the vintage yellow lights of the shop that made everything seem seventies. “What?”

“That’s enough caffeine and chemicals to give a water buffalo a heart attack,” you said, pointing at his awful concoction. It started to fizz. You wondered if the building had chemical reaction insurance.

“I’ve got a lot of work to do,” Leo shrugged, and picked up his cup happily. He looked down at it, and a grin split across his face. “I got a drawing!”

»»————-　★　————-««

It was only a few days later when the bell rattled quietly by the door and you looked up to see Leo and smiled despite yourself, fingers tapping on the cup in your hand, wear the ring you’d made from that paperclip sat, did you realize what role he would play in your heart shaped ice-cubes Sabrina Carpenter soundtracked paperback books late night set ballpoint pen sitcom.

The love interest. 

»»————-　★　————-««

[finelinevogue]

hiiiii!!! i was wondering if you could do something along the lines of kit connor x sick reader?? just something very sweet and fluffy. thank you so much, your writing is great!! <3

hiii! of course, my lovely 🤍🌟 thank you for your support!

>500

Did you always feel this bad?

You can’t remember a time when you’d felt good. That could be because of the brain fog, but it also had felt like weeks that you’d had this horrific flu.

And what’s worse is that you’d been suffering through it alone.

Your boyfriend, Kit, was half way across the world performing on Broadway- something that he’d dreamed of ever since he’d started acting. He was made for great things and you had no doubt they’d take him much further than Broadway.

So you couldn’t possibly ask for help.

Last night Kit had called you.

“You sound worse.” He said.

“Love you too.” You said through a scratchy cough.

“Y/N, love, this is getting ridiculous now. It’s been 3 days of this. Let someone take care of you.”

Only 3 days, you remembered thinking.

That phone call ended up with you hanging up because Kit insisted you needed someone.

You being particularly stubborn - which Kit said was your only flaw - knew you could get through this alone. More importantly, you didn’t want to contaminate anyone else with this illness.

24 hours later though you were starting to think Kit was right.

You sat on the cold tiled floor of the dark bathroom, crying because the coughing fit you’d just finished had hurt your chest and made you feel sick.

Resting your head back against the cabinet, you breathed in for four and out for four. Taking deep breaths only caused your breathing to catch in your throat, igniting another coughing fit.

Thinking it might be best to just sleep it off, you laid down on the cold floor, curled into a ball and closed your eyes.

•-•-•-•-•

When you came around you realised someone was stroking your hair and your head was now cushioned on something soft and padded, unlike the bathroom floor.

It was slightly concerning that you didn’t wake up startled to feel someone beside you, but you also sort of knew by the warm feel of the body behind you that you didn’t need to worry.

“Hmm?” You made a sound, sounding scratchy from all the coughing.

“Morning, sleepy.” You didn’t need to turn around to know who was comforting you.

Kit was sat against the cabinets, legs stretched out in front of him with your head in his lap. One of his hands was scratching circles into your scalp and the other was resting on your hip.

You turned over so you could be on your back rather than your side, Kit’s hand sliding over your hip to your stomach to rest there. Your hand immediately twisted with his and you played with the rings that he had there on his fingers.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

“Nursing my annoyingly stubborn girlfriend back to health.”

You smiled at that, not wanting to risk laughing in case it triggered a coughing fit.

“Hey, you’re not allowed to be mean to me. I’m sick.”

“Oh, so now you can admit it?” He teased you and you mentally jabbed him in his side for that remark - only because physically doing it would have been too much work.

“I’m glad you’re here.” You closed your eyes as Kit continued to scratch his fingers over your head.

“I’m glad I’m here too. No better way to spend my ‘off’ days from work.”

“Kit, I’m going to get fired. I haven’t been to work since last Thursday.”

“You’re not going to be fired, love. You’ve got sick leave and if they don’t allow it then they can piss off. My little love is sick and I’ll be writing a formal complaint if they don’t take that seriously.”

You opened your eyes to look back up at him lovingly.

He’s so pretty.

“You sound like a forty year old husband sometimes, you know?” You smiled, using a spare hand to bring up to his cheek and brush a thumb over his freckle-tainted skin.

Kit leaned into your hand with an admiring hum, “I like the sound of that.”

“What? Being forty?”

“No. Husband. At least it sounds good if you’re the matching wife.”

You looked at him straight in the eyes then, “Kit, I swear to God if this is your way of proposing —.”

Kit belly laughed then, your head jolting on his lap a little as he did so. You didn’t care that the movement was sparking a headache - not when you got to see him laugh so full like that.

“No, m’love. I’m not proposing to you when you’re only half alive in my lap like this. Need you fully alive for when I do propose.”

It was nice to think on to when Kit would eventually propose. Had he thought about it? You were so so young, but also it was clear that neither of you believed you were right for anyone what but each other, so why wait?

“You better nurse me back to health quick then.”

[ladylooch]

You, Me, and Mexico [Lucie x Connor] - Part 1

A/N: I mentioned this before, but want to re-iterate that this is basically a re-write of the beginning of Lucie and Connor's story. This happened because as I got to know the characters more, I didn't feel like what was written before accurately reflected their start. So here is a much hotter, achey, pining version of that story. ICYMI, you will want to check out this part first, which is mentioned in a few moments below.

Word Count: 5.1k

(Lucie)

The last time Lucie Hischer set foot in Mexico, she was ten years old. After that, family vacations revolved more around the Spanish and Italian areas of Europe. There was so much to explore within a short flight of their permanent home in Switzerland. 

Everything about this trip is going to be different. 

Starting with the sleeping hockey player on her left. 

Since Lucie and Connor separated on New Years, she hasn’t seen much of him or Lio. The Devils skid continued the next few weeks, but a long, West coast road trip helped them turn everything around. Her desperate arms had clawed Connor into a hug at the airport this morning when she met Lio and him at the security line for their Allstar retreat. Lucie has tons of assignments and school work she should be focusing on this week. Instead, she’s throwing it all out the window for some fun in the sun. Hopefully. 

Lucie glances to the left again, away from her book to Connor who sleeps with his big headphones covering his ears. His arms are crossed over his chest where he wears a dark grey sweatshirt. A well-worn Patriot’s hat sits on his head. His face is turned towards her so she can examine his features as the sunlight tries to collect on his lips from her window. His jaw flexes and he breathes heavily, almost like he might be dreaming. He looks so beautiful right now. Not even hot or sexy, just damn beautiful with his gorgeous and chiseled features. She’s almost disappointed that his closed lids hide those water, blue eyes from her.

Behind her, Lio taps her seat.

“Do you have chapstick?” He asks her, one eye peeking through the from her armrest.

“Yeah.” Lucie nods, rummaging round in her bag for it. She holds it behind her head for him to grab. A minute later, he is placing it back in her palm.

“Thanks. Hey, are you good to go to the beach tonight? Supposed to be a big party there. Lots to do. We are going to meet some of the other boys there.” A few other players Lio and Connor know from around the league are meeting up with them.

“Yeah. Sounds fun.” Lucie nods.

“Cool.” Lio leans back, leaving Lucie to go back to her book. 

However, she quickly  falls asleep, curled up in her seat, feet off the floor so her knees are basically a pillow. Her book falls down from her hand, collecting on Connor’s thigh.

“Luc.” She hears, then feels Connor’s hand slide around her ankle. He rubs his thumb across it, catching both her skin and her sock. He increases his pressure when she doesn’t respond. “Lucie, wake up.” His hand works it’s way up to hold her calf. His thumb presses into her muscle harder. Lucie slowly opens her eyes, looking at him with bleary brown orbs. “Hi.” He smiles sweetly at her. He moves his hand up to cup her cheek for a moment, then lets his hand fall. Lucie’s stomach does flip flops in her body. “We are landing soon.” He tells her. 

“Okay.” She mumbles, letting her legs fall back to the floor. Connor hands over her book, already placing the bookmark in it so she doesn’t lose her spot. She puts her shoes back on, then works her dilapidated hair out of it’s scrunchie. She works the long brown strands back into a fresher, more contained style. The entire time she can feel Connor’s eyes on her. “What?” She asks, then shrugs when he shakes his head, finally looking away.

Lucie frowns. She can’t help but feel frustrated that her and Connor had this big moment and distance has iced out whatever had been building between them. It’s like yes, he kissed her, multiple times, but it’s not like he has been texting her or interacting with her when he was on the road. Maybe what she thought was happening wasn’t. 

After a short and quiet cab ride, they reach their resort on the coast. They are greeted with sparkling water and limes, then check into their three separate rooms. Despite Lucie’s insistence on paying her own way, Lio paid for her entire trip, thus their rooms are right next to each other. Connor is on the same floor, but in the opposite direction.

“Let’s meet up in an hour?” Lio asks them both. Connor nods, then heads off to his room. 

Lucie disappears behind the door to her room after a wave to Lio, then immediately runs into her room to jump on the bed. She sighs happily, curling into the cloud like bed and it’s soft embrace of her. She doesn’t stay there long. She knows if she does, she will fall asleep again. So, she focuses on getting ready for the evening. She washes her face, then re-does her makeup into a night out shades and coverage. Her eyes are smokey and her lips are subtle. Her hair has started to wave up in the costal humidity, so she uses her Dyson to encourage the waves more.

From there, Lucie unpacks her suitcase. She dresses herself in forest green linen shorts and with a pale pink bralette and a white shirt. She spritz on two more pumps of her perfume and rubs her wrists together before dabbing them behind her ears. She knows how good she looks. If Connor isn’t going to look then she is sure others will be. 

After grabbing her crossbody purse and putting her sandals on, Lucie heads down to the lobby while sending a quick text to her parents that they made it to the resort. She sees Lio and Connor sipping margaritas in plastic cups with a few other men who must be hockey players. They’re all wearing different colors and patterns of tropical themes shirts. They should look dorky and unassuming, instead they draw attention from patrons all across the resort. She walks up to Lio’s left, avoiding Connor on his right. 

“Hey! This is Lucie, my cousin and entirely off limits.” Lio introduces her to the group. Lucie rolls her eyes. 

“Wow, what an introduction.” She purrs, extending her hand to the man on her left. “Hi, I’m Lucie, Lio’s very available cousin.”

“Nice to meet you.” He grins. He is entirely too blonde and skinny for her. The rest of them are all similar with various colors of hair and eyes. None of them are as big and filled out as Connor Wood. 

“Want something to drink?” The one who introduced himself as Brandt asks.

“I got it.” Connor insists. Lucie looks over at him, seeing his hard set jaw and lowered eyebrows. He doesn’t look thrilled. 

“I’ll go with you.” She offers. He extends a hand out to encouraging her to walk towards the bar in front of him.

“You shouldn’t of done that.” He says quietly from behind her.

“What?” She asks as they reach the outer loop of the bar.

“Told a group of hockey players that you’re open for business.” 

“Why?” She laughs as she scans her eyes over the menu. She is pretty sure she wants a margarita but it’s always good to look.

“Because they’re going to spend this entire trip trying to get a taste of you.”

“That bother you?”

“You know it does.” He rolls his eyes. “You and your little games. Always playing some angle.” He scoffs quietly, putting his forearms on the bar, eyes zeroing in on the bartender. Lucie snorts quietly, then licks her lips with frustration.

“Says the guy who kisses me once and thinks he owns me.”

“Nobody owns you, Lucie. No one ever will.” Annoyed fire dashes through Lucie’s chest.

“Are you going to keep pretending like our kiss never happened?” She demands, frustrated that it’s been brought up and he is flinging it away like a fly. He looks over at her, blue eyes smoldering her in place. 

“No. That’s the last thing I want to do. But we’re here with Lio. And a group of guys who are going to be falling all over themselves for a chance with you and your smart mouth.”

“Hey…. My mouth is more than just smart.” She smirks. She leans in, whispering in his ear. “You would die at the things it could do to you.” Her lips brush against the sleeve of his blue, tropical shirt. She puckers them, kissing his bicep gently as the bartender comes over.

“What can I get you?”

“A margarita. On the rocks. Make it extra salty on the rim.” She murmurs, not taking her eyes off Connor. 

“On my tab.” Connor says. “Room 561.”

“Yes sir.” The bartender responds, then heads off to mix up Lucie’s drink.

“You can’t say stuff like that to me, Luc.” Connor says to her, finally breaking their stare down.

“I can do whatever I want.” Connor inhales heavily, then drops his shoulders as he exhales. 

“Nothing has changed about Lio.” He reminds her.

“Sure, but everything has changed between us. And you did that. Don’t chicken out on me now, Woody.” 

“I’m not chickening out.”

“Then what are we doing?” He stares at her, eyes tracing over her face in a warm caress.

“We’re in Mexico, Lucie. That’s what we are doing.” 

The bartender sets Lucie’s drink on the bar top by her elbow, but it goes unacknowledged by her and Connor. Anxiousness and disappointment swirls in Lucie’s body. She was so hopeful that her and Connor would find themselves tangled up in each other. But his reserved look tells her that this week she really is going to be Lio’s unavailable cousin. Hurt bubbles up in her throat, so she stands up tall, shaking her hair over her shoulder.

“Well then. Have a fun trip.” She snaps at him, grabbing her margarita off the bar and heading back to the group. On the way, she sucks in two big, deep breaths to stop the stinging of her eyes.

She settles into her spot on Lio’s right while Connor slowly rejoins the group on Lio’s left. He is quiet, hands in his pockets, not laughing along with the rest of the boys as they razz on Sean. 

“Ready for the beach?” Lio eventually asks the group.

“Yeah, it should be about that time for the wet t-shirt contest.” Brandt says.

“What?” Lio’s eyebrows knock up excitedly. 

“Yeah. Hopefully the blonde from the pool is participating.” The boys all grin excitedly, except Connor.

Lucie walks perfectly in line with Lio to avoid any more discussion with Connor. Her chest feels bruised with anger and disappointment. Her brain swirls and she feels like clawing the skin off her lips so she doesn’t have a part of her that has touched him anymore. Why did he kiss her? Why did he open this door only to shut it in her face the next time he saw her? She thought he was good, nice, a gentleman. No, he’s like the rest of them- lying about what he can actually deliver.

Lucie slams the rest of her margarita, scanning the crowded beach. A DJ plays to the left on a big stage that has a bunch of people with arms in the air by them. People stand in groups, clumping together around a few high top tables. Some people wade through the water up to their knees. The group hits the bar again immediately. This time Lucie grabs two margaritas. Then they wander by a few carts selling amazing smelling food as they troll through the party, looking for their next adventure.

The group finds themselves close to a few more people their age. The gregarious hockey players immediately hit it off with a group of women. Connor engages Lio in conversation, leaving Lucie on her own for a few moments. This gives her plenty of time to down both of the cups in her hands. On her walk back to the group from the trash can, the tequila washes over her in a welcome, distorting heat. 

A little more North, people cheer drawing Lucie’s sporadic attention.

“What’s over there?” She asks Lio, trying to see but not being able to even on her tip toes. A few of the hockey boys have disappeared in that direction.

“It’s the wet t-shirt contest.”

“We should go.” Lucie grins. 

“No.” Lio shakes his head immediately, taking a sip of his drink.

“Lio doesn’t want to go see boobs?” Lucie scoffs then leans forward to put her hand on his forehead. “Someone call your mama! He’s dying!!!” She shoves his head. Then starts to walk towards the cheering.

“Lucie.” Lio groans.

“I know! I’m the worst! Making you go see tits for free.” Lucie giggles, turning to stick her tongue out at him while walking backwards. She accidentally bumps into someone, offering a sincere, drunk girl apology before continuing on.

Lucie reaches the outer edge of the crowd, looking up on the stage to see a handful of women in white t-shirts waiting for the contest to start. Lucie can’t really understand what’s going on, but pushes further into the crowd, losing Connor and Lio in the process. She can hear Lio’s half-assed call for her to come back. No. She doesn’t want to be anywhere near those two right now. 

And she knows exactly how to get away from them. 

She skirts through the crowd relatively easily. Everyone is drunk and focused on the stage. They don’t care for the random girl pushing forward to try to get up there. When she reaches the front, she scans for anyone who looks important. She sees a guy with a clipboard and grins, moving towards him.

“Hey!” She yells. He looks at her. “Can I get in on that?” He scans Lucie, then shrugs, nodding. 

“What’s one more?” He tells her. Lucie smiles back pleasantly like the Hischier she was taught to be, then allows a security guard to help her over the small fencing. She smooths down her shirt as she climbs the stairs to the stage. The MC stops mid-sentence.

“Do we have another contestant!? Excellent. Come here, honey. Tell us about yourself.”

“I’m Lucie and I’m from Switzerland.” She drawls out. The lights of the stage are bright so she can’t see out, but can hear.

“Lucie from Switzerland, are you ready to show us your tits?” Lucie laughs. 

“Sure.” She flirts back. 

“I love girls with daddy issues.” He jokes. Lucie’s smile falters a bit. She doesn’t have daddy issues… She just has listening issues. “Get in line, sweetheart.” 

Lucie complies, then looks to the contestant on her right.

“Hey, you probably want to take your bra off.” Lucie looks down at her bralette. 

Oh yeah. 

She shimmies off the straps then tucks it into the pocket of her shorts. She looks down, seeing the distinct point of her nipples already. She looks out towards the stage again, imagining Connor out there, watching her do this. A shivery thrill rolls down her spine. She swallows hard, seeing a handful of guys with buckets come out in front of them. She can hear ice swirling around in the plastic. She watches as one of them comes to stand directly in front of her. He smiles at Lucie and she feels a little claw of ick pinch her through her drunken, tequila haze.

Maybe she shouldn’t be doing….

Any other words she could think are slapped from her by the ice cold water hitting her chest. It splashes onto her face and legs too. Lucie and the rest of the contestants stumble back slightly. 

“Oh my god.” The girl next to her snaps. “That’s not how they did it in Florida.” She wipes at her eyes, careful not to smear her mascara. Her hair got wet too, causing it to flatten out immediately.

“Jesus Christ.” Lucie hears muttered to her left. She blinks the water out of her eyes, then watches Connor’s approach. She instinctively reaches for him as a source of safety. Connor stands in front of her, chest heaving as if he was running or working hard to get here. “Are you okay?” He asks her. Lucie nods, then looks away, embarrassed as hell that she got herself into this moment. When she looks back, she can see Connor staring at her pink nipples showing through her shirt. He forcefully removes his gaze, turning back to her face. “I’ve got you, okay?”

“Dude, move we can’t see her!!!”’ Someone yells from the crowd. When Connor stays planted in place, the guy starts to boo. Others follow suit until the whole, drunk crowd is booing at them both. 

“We want to see her boobs!” Another man yells. Connor scoffs, glaring over his shoulder. He shrugs his shirt off his shoulders and a loud female crowd starts to scream. 

“Damn man, you should have entered.” The MC laughs. The crowd cheers louder. Lucie’s cheeks burn red as Connor wraps the shirt round her, ignoring everything else except for her. He puts his arm over her shoulder, then walks her to the edge of the stage. “Guess Lucie from Switzerland is out.” 

The crowd moves on quickly, enjoying the sights of 10 other women with perky tits on display in front of them. Lucie shakes in Connor’s embrace as the wind whips against her wet clothing. She is soaked from her chin down to her mid-thighs. Beads of cold water trail down her legs, dripping off her heels. The couple comes up on the group they came with. Lio is flaming pissed. Lucie can practically see the steam blowing the top of his head off. 

“I’ve got her, Lee.” Connor says as he pushes past, not even bringing them further into their group. 

“Lucie, go to bed and sober up. I better not see you on this beach again tonight!” Lio snaps. She can hear the disgust in his voice, but when she looks at him, he has his arm around two women. 

“You’re one to talk, asshole.” She calls back to him, rolling her eyes. He can fuck off with his misogynistic treatment of women. He’s going to rail two girls tonight but she can’t participate in a wet t-shirt contest? Or fuck any of the boys they came here with? Seems fair. 

All Lucie can think about as Connor maneuvers her towards her room is that she wishes she was anywhere but here.

- - -

(Connor)

When Connor saw Lucie on that stage, he blacked out. He didn’t think about anything else but the fact that he has had a hard on for this beautiful woman for months, and now a hundred other strangers were going to see her perky breasts before he does. He didn’t think about how he was going to get her down, or how he was going to shield her and bring her to a safe place. It just happened.

But that’s what Lucie Hischier does to him. Everything just happens. Whether he wants it to or not. Now she is curled into his side, clutching the waistband of his shorts as she shivers slightly in the cool, beach breeze. 

Since that cold water hit her body, Connor has been alternating between being angry and turned on. Why doesn’t she listen? Why does she always insist on pushing the limits between them and with everyone in her life who cares about her? What is she running from? What is she doing by throwing caution to the wind like that? Doesn’t she understand that people only want to protect her? No. Because she’s too busy chasing the thrill.

He has a thrill she can chase. It’s hard and thick and will shut her damn mouth up if she ever wants it. Connor shakes his head, leading Lucie into the elevator. Fuck, he needs to stop thinking like that or his dick is never going to soften tonight. But really, Connor knows it won’t until he gets back to his room and strokes one out. He has no chance of a cold shower helping this. Not with the eyeful of her nipples he got on that stage. He about fell to his knees to kiss them there, in front of Lio and the boys too. 

“Do you have your key?”

“Yeah.” Lucie fumbles around in her pocket, handing over the thin card to him. He knows what room she is in, guiding her there after they step off the elevator. “Connor, I’m sorry. I…” She trails off, looking up at him with sad brown eyes.

“It’s okay.” He shakes his head. “Lio’s being an asshole. You’re allowed to…” He widens his eyes, shaking his head again. “Have fun.” He ends with a smirk. Lucie stands in place, looking at him for a moment as he holds her door open for her to go inside. 

“You should go in and make sure my room is safe…” She suggests. Connor can tell nothing about that request is innocent. But still, his feet enter her room. He makes a big show of looking around, even behind the glass shower door and in the small wardrobe. All he finds are her clothes.

“All clear.” He murmurs, turning back to her. She stands there with her bottom lip tucked in her mouth, brown eyes doey and seductive. And he knows he is so fucked.

“You can look here too.” Lucie huskily whispers, letting his shirt fall away from her breasts so he can see her still soaked through t-shirt. Connor’s jaw clenches as his eyes stay on her face. Slowly, she peels his shirt off her body that’s now wet from being connected to hers. It drops in a pool at her feet. Lucie’s arms drop to her sides, allowing him to see her fully.  “What do you think, Connor?”

“I think you’re drunk, Luc.” His hands ball into fists beside his thighs trying not to reach for her.

“Is that why I’m wondering what they would feel like in big hands.” She drawls at him.

The change in the tone of her voice has Connor’s eyes slipping. When he takes his peek, he almost falls to his knees at how beautiful she is. Connor inhales heavily, cock twitching in his shorts as he traces the pink circles. He can see the texture of them through the wet fabric. His tongue gets heavy in his mouth, wanting to trace them for textural memory too. His lips part, blue eyes staying there as if he is painting them for his long-term memory. He steps forward, then trolls his eyes back up to her face. Desire swallows her brown eyes, reaching out to make his skin burn like wildfire everywhere they touch. He licks his lips, stopping in front of her.

“You still look cold, sweetheart. You need someone to warm those up?” Connor leans down, hovering over her face, lips mere inches away.

“I don’t need someone. I need you.” 

Liquid lust rushes through Connor’s body. He doesn’t have a shot in hell of holding himself back. He wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close so he can lift her into his arms. Lucie gasps in surprise, then brings her lips over his.

“Kiss me.” She demands. Connor smiles. This girl always knows exactly what she wants.

“I’ll kiss you when I’m ready. First, I wanna look at you.” He murmurs.

He sits down on the bed with her in his arms. They work together to get Lucie straddling his lap. Her wet breasts are directly below his chin, but his eyes stay on hers. Lucie rolls her hips into his lap, letting out a breathy, needy sigh as she feels his stiffness connect with her clothed core. 

“Please Connor.”

That will get him. His big hand comes to the back of her neck, tugging her lips to his. Fireworks explode inside of him, and maybe outside, he can’t tell, but she tastes and feels like the best thing he’s ever had in his life. Connor groans against her mouth. His hands wrap around her higher now, covering her ribs on either side of her abdomen, thumbs brushing almost where they both needs him.

Lucie gasping against his mouth when his thumbs stroke around her tight peaks once, ignoring their center. His cock jolts, oozing into his boxer briefs. Fuck, he has barely touched her and he could cum right now. She circles her hips into him. Connor feels the plumpness of the underside of her breasts on his lazy trail down to her hips. He squeezes her tighter to hold her down on him firmly.

“Please, Connor. Please fuck me.”

He pulls back to look at her. She is wild under his hands. He has never, ever needed someone as bad as he needs Lucie Hischier right now. She watches him come closer. He drops his mouth down to the thin, still wet cotton and sucks her nipple into his mouth. Lucie’s hand crawls into his hair. She moans his name. Connor closes his eyes in ecstasy trying not to combust in his pants with her building friction rubbing her clothed pussy along his cock in sync with his suckles. Fuck, she is so needy. She would be like putty in his hands tonight, twisting and turning her every which way. Once wouldn’t be enough. He’d need her at least three times to get this painful twist out of his balls. 

He pulls away again, shoving the fabric out of the way to get her bare flesh into his mouth. She squirms under his hands. He wants to lick her up and lay her flat on her back on this bed. Fuck her well into the morning and do all the things he’s been imagining with her. He can feel the heat from her seeping through her damp shorts. His fingers itch to move down, feel how wet he is making her compared to the water from the contest. He sets his fingers on the waistband of her shorts, then something makes him pause.

This isn’t a hook up. Or some random girl he met on the beach. This is Lucie. Lio’s cousin, Connor’s best friend, and he came up here to make sure she made it safely. Not take advantage of a drunk, Swiss hockey princess. When he takes her, and he knows he will, it isn’t going to be here, in the room next to her cousin where he is trying to get two women back to his bed.

Connor falls back with a pop of his lips as her breast falls out of his mouth. He looks at her blown pupils, swollen lips from his kiss, and as bad as his balls ache to release he knows they are done for the night. Gently, he cups her face.

“Not like this, Luc.”

Connor watches the excitement drain from Lucie’s eyes. They dull instantly. He sighs, rubbing his thumb into her hip. She begins to clam up in his arms, muscles going from loose and languid to ridging in seconds.  She moves to get off him and he can see what’s happening. 

“Luc.”

“Let me go please.” He does immediately, watching as she turns back towards the front of the room heading to where the bathroom is.

“I want to so much. More than I can even say.” He calls to her. Fuck, why is she so upset with him? He’s only trying to respect her and their relationships with Lio.

“Yep. Sure. It’s all good. Have a good night.” She calls as she goes into her bathroom. The door shuts with a definitive click. Connor collapses inward on himself. He looks towards the ceiling, closing his eyes. Why does he have to be a good guy? Why can’t he be more like Lio and just fuck her for his own personal pleasure and not care about anything else?

Connor runs a hand through his hair, sighing. He hears the water turn on in the shower. Knowing Lucie is naked in the next room, water dripping down her beautiful body, does nothing for the hard lump under his zipper. He adjusts himself, trying to focus on other things like Herbies or being yelled at by his dad. 

Maybe he should have left once she got in the shower, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stays on her bed until she comes out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. It’s clear she thought he left. But there he is, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together in front of him as he leans forward, ready to clear the air that staled when they pulled apart.

“I want to fuck you so bad right now.” He says immediately.“Want to peel off that towel. Kiss all over your sexy body. Want to mark you in places I can see tomorrow in your little bikini that I know you’ll be messing with in front of me on purpose. I want to grab handfuls of your ass while you ride me. You like to ride cock don’t you, baby? You’d love mine. Big and thick. Would split you open the way you’re begging for tonight.”

Lucie clutches the towel tighter over her chest, mouth dropping slightly open and she begins to breathe heavily.

“But the first time I have you is not going to be in some Mexican resort with your cousin banging two random chicks next door while you’re drunk off tequila and the high of disobeying. You deserve better. What we are going to be deserves better.” He stands up, reaching out for her, not wanting to cross a line if she is going to tell him to go to hell.

“Now come here and properly kiss me goodnight.”

Lucie’s bare feet shuffle quietly over the carpet. Then she collapses into his chest. He cradles her there, inhaling her freshly shampooed scalp. He rubs her bare back above the towel, then kisses the top of her head. She tilts her face up, letting him kiss her. It’s a soft kiss. Nothing like the ones they had been sharing before this. It aches with tenderness and a deep appreciation of each other.

“Thank you for saving me. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Probably not.” He agrees. “We’re okay?” Lucie drops her gaze to his bare chest.

“Yeah. Thank you for staying… to tell me that. It helps. Um, I don’t want anything bad to happen between us. But tonight, I just…. Forgot.”

“Trust me, I did too.” He nods. “You make me wanna forget it all.” 

“But that’s not who you are.” Lucie nods. His heart warms at the way she sees that in him.

Connor leans down to give her one more kiss, then threads their fingers together so they can walk to her door. Lucie kisses his tricep as they come to stop by the door.

“Goodnight.” He says to her. 

“Goodnight.” She responds quietly. “Dream of me?” She asks him innocently. 

“Only you.” He murmurs, then kisses her quickly before heading down towards his room. 

Read more Lucie and Connor here.

[wambsgansshoelaces]

Turmoil; Chapter 9

Roman Roy x Reader

Word Count: 3.518k

You walk slowly back and forth on the cool marble flooring of Shiv’s apartment, trying not to slip on your socks. You're gesturing vaguely at your laptop as you pace, which Roman had gotten to project on her living room TV. You have the spreadsheet of Connor’s financial ruin pulled up, letting everyone mull it over.

“We have many options right now, and all of them are good,” you tell your miniature peanut gallery of the siblings- minus Connor -, plus Gerri and Greg. “We serve Connor. All this does is get him off of our asses, gets us some spending money. Doesn’t eliminate the massive fucking problem that is Logan Roy, doesn’t deal with anything involving Waystar. Purely a ‘fuck you’ to Connor and he goes to jail for five minutes before Daddy bails him out.” You glance around the room, remembering your audience. “Uh, no offence.”

You get a collective grunt from the three siblings, all of them in a similar state of focus. Roman’s sat on the sofa, eyes trained solely on you rather than the presentation. When you catch his gaze, he gives you a nervous smile. You smile back.

“What I think we should do is start building a case against Logan. But we bait him with this fraud to get a stronger case,” you say. “We’re pulling things together. I can see us having an airtight case before the years up.” You pause. “We just, uh, need to finalize the entire… CEO thing.”

The more time you’d spent with the Roys, the more they got along less. With Logan thrown out of the company, ownership, control of the company was up for grabs. Each of the three of them though that they were the right choice. What you saw in Norway, what you saw when you first met Roman, was slowly self destructing.

You’re worried it won’t go back to the way it was before.

The siblings’ banter, their underlying love for one another. You’re not going to hear it again for a while.

The general consensus is that you are to start building a criminal case against Logan Roy. You have to tell yourself that if you fail, on the off chance that this case crumbles under pressure in court, that the rest of your life will with it. Losing to Logan Roy, at anything, has grace consequences. And in this instance? Your career will suffer the most.

Roman’s trying to figure out how to completely disconnect your laptop from the television when Gerri approaches you. You both offer each other soft smiles. You were similar, after all, and although lawyers didn’t get along most of the time, you got the feeling that you’d both give each other grace.

“It’s nice to meet you informally,” she tells you, offering her hand for you to shake. Her grip is firm, it doesn’t falter. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it out to Norway.”

“You didn’t miss much. It was a lot of peacocking, if I’m honest.”

Her voice drops so that only you can hear, even though everyone else is involved in their own business, nowhere near. “There’s a power struggle here. Neither of us are stupid.”

You gather your composure. Maybe this wasn’t the wholesome interaction you’d hoped it’d be. Oh, how you wish strategy would leave you alone. “Mm.”

“And I think, with our lack of familial ties, lack of allegiance, we’re in quite the position to just… make things go our way.”

Your eyes flit about the space around the two of you. Still, nobody’s within earshot. “And what’s our way?”

“The one where we benefit most.” Her gaze shifts from you to Roman, still sat on the couch, your laptop finally disconnected from the TV. As if he can feel your eyes boring into him, he looks up, catching you and Gerri staring. “The one where we have the most control.”

“Since when are you and Gerri all buddy buddy?” he asks the minute you step out of Shiv’s apartment. The bone-chilling January air smacks you in the face, blowing back your hair as you glance at him in the dark.

“We’re not. I met her today.” You simultaneously reach for each other’s hands, curling your fingers together.

“What’d she say?” he asks, voice just barely cracking. He brings his free hand to your intertwined ones, rubbing over the back of your hand in an attempt to warm it.

You don’t answer until you’re both in the car a few moments later, you sitting behind the wheel. “She made an interesting proposition about the entire… succession thing.”

He buckles his seat belt, not taking his eyes off you. “Yeah?”

“That her and I back you so that we have the power when you’re CEO.”

You tear your gaze from his, backing out of the apartment complex’s parking lot and pulling out onto the street. He says nothing for a bit, turning things over in his head.

“I mean, I wouldn’t really be against that,” he says carefully, failing to sound convincing. “I wouldn’t like it, but I mean, CEO, and the two smartest people I know pulling the strings so I don’t fuck up…”

“You’d be fine with that? You wouldn’t want, I don’t know, free will?”

“Well, it’s you and Gerri. Sure, you’ve both had your cold and calculating bullshit, but neither of you are capable of rendering me completely useless.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, glancing at him when you stop at a red light.

He shrugs. “Just that you’re physically incapable of slighting me, because, you know”- he gestures at himself, taking your hand that wasn’t on the steering wheel and planting a kiss on the back of it -“and Gerri doesn’t even have it in her.”

You roll your eyes. “I mean, I could, but I won’t,” you say, teasing. He keeps your hand in his as you drive, night time New York lights blurring by.

“Would you do it, though?” he asks quietly. “Do you think I could do it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Am I… am I capable?” You can tell he’s still looking at you, but your eyes are in the road.

“Of course you’re capable,” you say immediately. “But it sounds like you don’t really… want it.”

“I mean, I want it. I want more for myself. I just… don’t really want Waystar. I want more than just fucking around in my stupid fucking office and having… having no substance.” The car’s in the parking garage of your own apartment now, but neither of you make a move to get out. He’s looking straight ahead of him, eyes slightly glazed over. It’s an expression you’ve never seen on him before. He looks troubled, like he’s actually at war with something in his head. “I mean, I feel like a week ago I would’ve strangled you for it. Now, I think about it, and it’s so… so boring.”

Your hands are still wrapped around each other, so you begin stroking small circles into his skin with your thumb. “Boring?”

“Unfulfilling. Dull. Like, what, I make billions of dollars every year for the rest of my life, doing absolutely nothing to earn it, and then I just die? What kind of life is that?”

You turn so that you can face him. “I didn’t know that was on your mind.”

Roman gives a mirthless laugh, bringing your hand to his shoulder. Vaguely aware of what he wants, you rub absently. “I didn’t, either. I don’t know.” His fingers trace over the back of your hand, still staring out the windshield rather than holding your gaze. “You make me feel all of these new things. I’m thinking about so much more, now that I’m taking you seriously.”

“You weren’t taking me serious before?” you ask playfully, trying to lighten the mood. You lean over the center console, using your hand on his shoulder to keep you steady, pressing a hot kiss to his jaw. “In the end, don’t do anything you don’t want to. Life’s not worth it if you’re not happy.”

You step out of the car, and Roman’s not far behind you. “You know,” he begins once you’re both safely inside the apartment, “I have no idea what we’re supposed to do.”

His coat gets tossed into the hallway closet, yours not far behind after he coaxes it off of you. “We’ll just do what we can.”

“You’re not very reassuring,” he mutters, shutting the closet door and pushing past you into the kitchen. You follow, reaching for his shoulders from behind him once he stops at the kitchen counter. He drops his face into his hands, somehow both tensing and relaxing at your touch.

“Roman.” Your thumbs glide over his shoulder blades, and he doesn’t respond. “What’s the actual problem here? We can talk. I’m here for you.”

“He’s my dad, Y/N. In the end he’s still my dad.” You gently knead his shoulders in an attempt to soothe him. He still doesn’t turn to face you. “Which is why it hurts so fuckin’ bad.”

“Tell me what hurts, Roman. We’ll fix it, I’ll fix it.”

“I want… I want him to love me like I love him. But I know-” he chokes on his words, and you realize he’s crying. You falter for barely a moment when he abruptly turns and buries his face into the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around your back. You feel his tears trickling onto your collarbone, and you feel a twisting in your chest. You cradle the back of his head with one of your hands, the other going to the small of his back. “But I know it’ll never happen.” His grip tightens on you before he continues. “Yeah, that shit with you, and Gerri, and CEO… it sounds so fucking good, but Y/N, when I fucking dreamed of it, the only reason it ever mattered was that it was him. He wanted me there, he thought I was the best. But it was all just a dream, anyway. It doesn’t fucking matter if that’s not how it goes.”

He sobs into your shoulder, and you don’t move. You keep holding him. You’ll hold him until he lets go. You hope he doesn’t.

“We’ll figure something else out, then. It’s okay, Roman, it’s okay.” You press a tentative kiss to the side of his head. “You’re getting yourself worked up. We can talk about this later, yeah?” He pulls away to look at you, waterline still glistening. You cup his face with your hands, thumbing away the stray tears on his cheeks and under his eyes. “Wanna watch that show I was talking about the other day? Make you feel better, take your mind off things?”

He takes a deep, controlling breath, calming himself. “I know a better way we can get me to feel good,” he murmurs, not wasting any more time, taking you by the jaw and pulling your mouth to his. If your first few kisses were careful, arguably sweet, this one was reckless. Roman kisses you without abandon, mushing your lips against his. For the first time, he’s needy, he’s greedy, he’s fucking desperate. Messily, he’d turned the two of you so that your back was to the counter. “Up,” he utters, mouth barely leaving yours. He reaches behind you, barely gesturing at the counter top.

Vaguely, you register, and you brace your hands on his chest and jump, managing to land where he wants you. The counter isn’t that high up- it wasn’t a struggle. Immediately, he’s pressed up against you, hands sliding down your legs to loop them around the part of his torso they are dangling by. While your hands go to cup his face, his slide back up your clothing to settle on your hips.

You kiss him again, and again, and again. The only thing you can hear is the blood rushing through your ears and the soft noises of your lips on his. You pepper kisses onto his lips, and he makes quiet, contented noises. He’s completely relaxed. He’s letting you do whatever the fuck you want.

“Feeling better?” you ask into his mouth before kissing him again, long and deep, fingers digging deeper into his skin.

He groans in response, the vibration against your lips spine-tingling. “So much fucking better.” He pulls his mouth from yours, to your disappointment, and the both of you are panting, vying for air. He doesn’t pull away entirely, instead leaning back in to dot kisses to the corners of your mouth, then down your chin, down your neck. “You look fucking gorgeous from this angle. A fucking goddess among men.”

☾𖤓

When the morning arrives, the two of you are tangled together, your head nestled into his chest, his head atop yours. His arms are wound tightly around you, keeping you flush against him in a refusal to let go. When you wake up, all you can smell is the faint scent of his aftershave from the night before. You never want this to end.

You don’t open your eyes, trying to get even closer to him. You barely rub your cheek against his chest in an attempt to burrow into him. Roman murmurs softly in his sleep, shifting, bringing you with him and pressing his nose into your neck.

His breath fans over your skin, deliciously warm, sweetly soothing. You bring your hand to his cheek, gently stroking, admiring his peace-laden face.

You spend the next half hour like this, just looking at him, reflecting.

Your fiancé. Your Roman.

You’d never expect, in a million years, that this would be how you ended up. You let your fingers trace calming patterns into the crook of his jaw, and he’s practically purring. You savor these fleeting moments, this peace.

It’s like a dream. Everything is in slow motion, and you can feel everything before it happens. You know you’re going to fall for him. You’re going to fall so fucking hard. You’ll scrape your face on the pavement, skid your knees, bleed for him.

Also like a dream is the looming sense of doom. The feeling that you’re grasping at straws, waiting for everything to suddenly slip away. Because you know it will. You know, whatever path you take, it intersects with Logan Roy’s, and there’s quite the conflict in the distance.

Roman grunts from under you, shifting so that you’re laying on the bed rather than him. “Fuckin’ tryna kill me,” he mumbles into your neck. Despite his words, you can feel him smiling into your skin.

“I want all that money of yours,” you tease back, letting him drape an arm over your torso, readjusting so that his face is buried in your chest.

“Mm, don’t act like you don’t already own everything that I do,” he says, sleep still playing with his voice. “God, you could tell me you wanted to live in the White House and I’d blow all my money renting it out for you.”

You laugh airily, and before you know it, you’re both up and about, getting ready for work.

“I forgot to tell you,” he calls from across the apartment, him in the kitchen, you digging around in your closet. “The shareholder thing. Looks like Dad’s trying to rally the troops. He has all the old-timers questioning everything Ken does.”

“Anything from Marcia?” you shout back, finding the outfit you were hunting for.

“She agreed to meet at the firm. Also, I heard from that pompous piece of googly-eyed garbage that Connor’s already had a lawsuit processed. He goes to court in a month or something.”

You stroll out into the living room, watching Roman muck about the kitchen, making breakfast. It smells good, at least, and you can tell he’s melting cheese over eggs while he scrambles them. “Are you talking about Pierce, or Greg?”

“Pierce. I don’t think Greg is that bad…”

You snort, rounding the counter to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Whatever you say.” He turns to briefly smack a kiss onto your cheek in return before getting back to his eggs. "Hopefully your daddy makes a scene.”

“Never refer to him like that again.”

At the firm, you decide that you’re going to pretend to keep working on Connor’s case. You’re itching for shit to hit the fan, to see Logan step in. As far as you know, everything is in place, and you’re getting closer to catching him red handed.

On your office phone’s intercom, your assistant buzzes to get your attention. “Siobhan is here.”

“Send her in, Cherry, thank you!”

When Shiv’s sat across from you, dressed in a power suit, she’s distracted. “I didn’t know you employed solely pretty people.” She gestures at you, then looks back at Cherry’s desk.

You laugh. “I do my best.” You absentmindedly click a pen, turning some thoughts over in your head. “So how are we going to play this?”

Shiv relaxes a bit in her seat, regarding you carefully. “I say we go for the jugular. There’s no reason to go easy.”

You lift a shoulder in a half shrug. “It’s your call.”

Another buzz. “She’s here.”

“Put her in Conference Room C. Love you lots, Cherry.”

Shiv flushes slightly. “Her name is Cherry?”

You shoo her out of her office before she can continue the conversation, and the two of you make your way down the hall. You see her through the glass before you get to the conference room. Marcia sits, hands folded primly in her lap, lips pressed into a thin line. You sit yourself in the chair directly across from her, Shiv following, settling in beside you. She wears a steely expression, her face devoid of emotion.

“Is it really so bad, just telling Dad you don’t want him anymore?” she asks Marcia, leaning back into her chair.

“That is not the topic of today’s conversation,” Marcia manages back, tone icy.

“Before we get to that,” you tell her, “you’re going to have to swear a few oaths. You’re Catholic, aren’t you, Mrs. Roy?”

She nods, hesitant. You reach under the conference table, where a small storage container is attached, and pull out a Bible. You stand, round the table, and make her set her hand on the holy book.

You swear her in, and you’re back in your seat next to Shiv. You fiddle with your pen, as does Shiv with hers. Your notepads are set before you both, at the ready to take notes.

“Just so you remember,” Shiv drawls, “if we find out anything you say here is untrue, you’re in deep shit.”

“Let’s start out easy, light.” You cross your ankles over each other, keeping your eyes on Marcia. “How long have you and your… new friend been seeing each other?”

She sighs, lips pursed. “A little over a year now.”

Shiv’s lips press together, keeping whatever comment she had lined up to herself. Instead, she asks, “What are you aware of, if anything, that my father has done that isn’t… to your taste?”

Marcia takes a moment to respond. “Bribes. Threats. What’s new?”

“You’re going to need to be a bit more specific,” Shiv replies quickly, pen poised over paper.

“Well,” Marcia says, drawing the word out, “he’s had private meetings. With investors, with accountants, with employees. He always has something to hold over them. There is always some hidden record, some bastard child, to bring them to him.”

“And if we were to ask you to remember who some of these people were, would you be able to come up with names?” you ask carefully, glancing down at your empty notepad then back up at Marcia.

“Yes, I’m sure I could.”

You and Shiv both jot things down.

Shiv opens her mouth to continue, but Marcia beats her to it. “There is something important you should know.”

“By all means,” you say, trying to be encouraging.

“I have come to know your first case quite well,” she tells you, averting her gaze. “It is a shame, what happened to you.” You and Shiv exchange a glance. “But despite all of the theatrics my husband enjoys, what he’s presented to you still is not the full truth.” She takes a moment, formulating her next sentences. “It was not Connor committing the fraud. It was Logan. He manufactured evidence, he framed his son, and I… I’m fairly sure the poor boy thinks he committed the crime.”

The room is dead silent for what seems like ages. You don’t know where to look. Your eyes flit from Marcia, who seems to be contemplating something in her head, to Shiv, who looks just as confused, just as off put as you do.

Marcia seems to decide something, then continues speaking. “I have had enough of the drama. I will testify in court against my husband if you help me turn our relationship into a thing of the past.”

You throw Shiv a triumphant look before turning back to Marcia.

“That sounds like quite the respectable deal.”

[moondrop-writes]

Okay okay I know you JUST wrote something for me but I also JUST got an idea! What about either Connor Stoll or Percy dating a daughter of Dionysus!? He doesn’t know initially but when he noticed them spending more time together he gets suspicious and then when he walks into her cabin without word one day and catches her kissing him he realizes that his precious daughter is dating the guy…which he’s not pleased about. So he threatens his daughter’s boyfriend and is all “if you so much as look at her the wrong way I WILL hunt you down and you’ll regret it for the rest of your life” but ultimately approves because he sees how happy that he makes the reader? And so he goes back to reader and tries to make the threat not seem as bad and they just have a cute little picnic or something together.

If you choose to ignore that’s fine cause you did JUST write something for me, but I think it might be interesting.

hi hi! and no worries about the amount of requests ill take em all! because i just wrote something with percy, i'll go with connor + i love the stoll brothers so...thank you for the request!

edit: i just realized i completely forgot the picnic part...im so sorry :(

You sat on a bench on the porch of your cabin, bending grapevines and leaves amongst twigs to fold it into a crown. Connor, amused, sat at your feet, chin hooked on top of your knee.

"Just wait," you murmured, tongue poking out from your lips as you tie the twigs with a few stray pieces of string, "it looks better when it's on your head."

Connor hummed, raising an eyebrow. You've pricked your fingers about five times, and it'd been an hour of you carefully crafting the crown, but he'd stayed there at your feet for every second of it.

"Aha!" you grinned and leaned down to place it in his curls. Immediately, his dark curls seemed to swallow it up. He winces, as pulls on one curl that had been tugged on uncomfortably when it was placed in his head.

You'd been right, it did look better on his head. The leaves stood out in his dark hair, and the wood of the twigs was a lighter shade than his hair.

You smiled, cradling his cheeks in your hands. "See? Perfect."

He giggled, "me or the crown?"

"Both."

You leaned in to kiss him, when your name was sharply called.

"Y/N!" Your head shot up to find your father, Dionysus, making his way towards you. Connor's eyebrows furrowed, showing his distaste at the intrusion, but stood up and shuffled away a bit. Not even he would dare face your father.

"Papa," you greeted, standing up. He glanced at Connor, but looked over it and waved you forward. Nervously, you hopped down the steps to greet him. Even if he was your dad, and you were around him frequently, he was still a god and could very much turn you into a shellfish if he pleased.

"Yes?" You asked, hands folded behind your back. Your father rubbed his temple, can of coca-cola in hand.

"I need you to overlook the new campers in the archery range. I would ask somebody else, but they all made up excuses and I don't have the energy to do it," he looked genuinely sympathetic for you, knowing very well how much of a pain some new campers could be. It wasn't new to you, for him to treat you so kindly, but Connor made a noise of surprise in the back of his throat.

"Yes, papa. I'll be there in a moment, let me grab my bow," you ran back into the cabin, and exited just in time to hear your dad dismiss your boyfriend.

You gave Connor a brief wave, which he grinned and returned, but stopped and ran when your father stared at him.

"God, I hate Hermes' kids," he said before taking a sip of his drink.

You chuckled weakly, shouldering your bow. "Yeah..."

He walked off, and you blew out a puff of air.

Guess telling you dad about the status of you and Connor's relationship was once again put off.

--

Dionysus knew there was a problem with his eldest child, he just couldn't figure out what.

Castor and Pollux were easy, both boys barely into their teenage years. You were a different story. You showed a whole new set of emotions and talents that Dionysus couldn't figure out. It's why he and your mother hadn't worked out very long (other than the fact he was already married). You and your mother were very similar, but you were both very stubborn.

You obeyed, most of the time, but there were certain things you just refused to bend to. It was what had intrigued him of your mother, but now, while he was attempting to raise you well, it was a struggle.

But even then, you'd become more closed off. You used to greet him daily, whether it was a wave or coming up to say, "good morning!" you always gave him some sort of hello. And sometimes, you'd even join him to play card games, which is more than what he could say for your brothers.

Now though? Each morning when you walked by the big house you were talking to either Connor or Travis, sometimes even both, and it'd been weeks since you bothered to come play games, or even hang around with him.

He didn't want to say he missed you, because it didn't bother him that much. But he was a literal manifestation of entertainment and got bored rather quickly. He loved his boys, but he'd always had a closer bond with you than them. You were a form of entertainment to him, but you were also his daughter and such a shift in behavior concerned him.

Hate to say it out loud or not, he loved you dearly. You were his only little girl.

And it wasn't just the fact you'd stopped talking to him, it was the fact you stopped talking to your brothers too. Castor had approached him on the verge of tears because he'd thought he'd done something to offend you. But, when he payed more attention, he found it was because you'd taken to following the Stoll brothers around.

But teenagers did that right? Leave their annoying little siblings in order to hang out with friends? Gods, he's watched too many romance movies with you.

The number of times he's stared at a TV screen and seen the whiny little sibling snitch on the older sibling after they'd snuck out to talk with their partner should be a crime.

His thoughts flit back to Castor, sniffling in front of him because his older sister was off with Connor Stoll somewhere.

You, with Connor Stoll, somewhere.

Oh, my gods.

He stood up abruptly, just narrowly avoiding knocking over the table as he stormed down the steps of the big house. You had some major explaining to do.

It was easy to see why'd you been dating someone. He cherished you for a reason, so it isn't hard to see why someone else wouldn't. But you were still his daughter.

Connor Stoll? Really? He didn't want you dating any of these brats but there were certainly better options than Connor Stoll. Like that one Apollo boy, but Dionysus is pretty sure he's gay.

He approaches the cabin quickly, and he watches the camper's part to let him walk through. It's easy to anger a god, but it's not easy to soothe that anger.

Dionysus swings the door open and pauses. He doesn't know why he was so shocked, but he supposes it was just the confirmation that stopped him.

There were only three beds in the rather large cabin, so he found yours with ease. There was you, lip locked, with Connor Stoll. He felt his veins light with rage as the two of you jumped apart.

Connor's hand was still on your thigh, and yours on his arm.

"Hands off," he grumbled, swatting at his arm. Connor pulled back as if he'd slapped him.

"Papa!" you cried, jumping up. He didn't touch you, but he held out his arm and you understood. Quietly, you took a step back, staring at the floorboards.

He turned back to Connor, staring at him with wide brown eyes. He raised a finger to jab in his chest.

"Listen, Stoll, because I'm not going to repeat myself," he leaned back, gesturing to the space between you and him. Connor nodded shakily.

"Yes, Mr. D," he stuttered out, glancing over to you.

"Ah, ah, ah. No, eyes on me," Connor's eyes flit to him.

"If you even look at her again, I will make sure you and your future kids regret it for the rest of your small mortal lives. Understood?"

"Yes," he repeated, struggling to make eye contact.

"Good," Dionysus said and then he points to the door, "now get out."

Connor does, only after pausing at the door. He doesn't look back though, and Dionysus turns to you.

He sighs when he sees your tears, and you sniffle softly. "Y/N," he calls gently, raising his hand to wipe at your tears. You turn your head, and his hand brushes your shoulder instead.

You wouldn't dare say anything, so that meant it was all up to him.

"You know I'm doing this for you. Connor...he's just, not the right fit--"

"I loved him though!" you shouted, hiding your face in your hands, "he made me really happy, Papa, and you ruined it!" You sobbed, loud and noisy, and it reminded him of when you were young and wailed over things such as scraped knees.

"You're still young," he tries to reason, "there will be others!"

"Not like Connor," you say, "and besides, I doubt you'd approve of them either."

He pauses at that, hand hovering midair. He never knew what to do to please you anymore. You'd moved away, grown more distant, since your childhood. You'd grown up. He hadn't changed, you had.

Maybe he had to change with you.

His hand grabbed your wrists and pulled them from your face. Then, he wiped at the tears on your cheeks and pulled you close. You fought at first, but melted into the touch once he rested his hand on the small of your back.

"I just want you safe, you know that, right?" he whispered, like it was a secret.

Slowly, you nodded.

"I mean it, Y/N. I love you, and your brothers a lot."

Still, you weren't satisfied.

"And," he said, taking in a deep breath, "if Connor makes you happy then...you can pursue him further."

You jumped back, a grin on your face. "Really?" you asked, a small hint of doubt in your tone.

He sighed, "yes, really."

You threw your arms around him. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Dionysus ran a hand through his hair. "Mhm, yeah, whatever.

You pull back again, your wide grin softening into a shy smile.

"Papa, I can handle myself. I mean it. Thank you."

Finally, a smile makes its way onto his features too.

"Yeah, you're welcome."

[encrucijada]

HAZE DOGS — a wip by ester cuervos

【 genre & categroy: horror, low fantasy, adult 】

【 pov: 2nd person retrospective 】

【 what if princess mononoke, the hunt from the magnus archives, and night in the woods had a baby. guy too scared for horror keeps writing it. great news for all the girls (gender neutral) who've ever wanted to go apeshit!! i'm technically catholic so i'm allowed to bastardise catholicism 】

【 cw: cults, blood and gore, religious blasphemy, cannibalism, harm to animals 】

【 tone & themes: feminine horror, corruption, bottled rage, divinity, unhinged, atmospheric, eerie, immortality/mortality 】

a b o u t : an isolated town is haunted by otherworldly canines incapable of dying. when connor hidalgo mejía comes back to life after being sacrificed by her old classmates, the town finds a temporary solution to their problem that will keep more people from dying: they offer connor and only connor to the animals. with her boyfriend's mother at the head, connor becomes the reluctant but not entirely unwilling idol of worship of a cult that begins to form around her. the people of her town really believe she can somehow free them of this haunting. but aurora vidal isn't the only one pulling the strings for power. everyone wants a piece of connor's divinity, a god is easy to manipulate when she's actually just a nineteen-year-old girl who up until last month only had two concerns: make it to tomorrow and get to know her estranged brother. the temporary solution starts to feel like a permanent one with connor soon not being able to find peace in life or in death.

another story about a girl in a white dress getting sacrificed... except she's wearing cool alternative clothes on top of that white dress. also the dark academia plot of "person we all hate died under mysterious circumstances" except this time the person keeps coming back to life, worse each time.

c h a r a c t e r s :

connor hidalgo mejía. she/they. embodies the energy of the "alt friend" from 00s teen movies. would have bitten you to win an argument even before things got freaky. what if jesus was a dog.

ángel quijada vidal. he/they. connor's boyfriend. dark academia protagonist who got lost and ended up in a horror movie. ignoring social cues on purpose because he thinks they're stupid.

delilah estévez herrera. she/her. connor's best friend. literally the prettiest person in the room at all times. not joining your cult bestie sick aesthetic tho. borrowing her from my buddy jude <3

acacia quijada vidal. she/her. connor's frenemy. would befriend you and then vaguepost about you online. ángel's sister. youngest sister syndrome. dead blue eyes.

aurora vidal ochoa. she/her. ángel's mum. gaslight gatekeep girlboss. woke up and decided to become a cult leader. marisa coulter energy (derogatory).

benjy hidalgo mejía. he/him. connor's brother, apparently. has the energy of the bum older brother with a shitty band and a warning sign of his door you'd find in a 90s movie.

zagreus. he/it. pubby :3 nothing weird going on here i prommy.

aesthetic: a foggy open field, coyote howls in the dead of night, wiping blood from your mouth, maximalist teen girl bedrooms, light reflecting off of animal eyes, an empty dilapidated church, bite marks on your shoulder, tall grass swaying in the breeze, an abandoned fountain filled with greenish water, broken statues, taxidermy animals, the rattle of a dog's chain, crackling television signal, cloudy weather and the smell of ozone before a storm, glitter makeup rolling down your cheeks, music so loud others hear it on your headphones, a lake with party trash floating on the surface, your fanciest clothes splattered with blood, the cold smoothness of fine jewellery, low quality camera footage, a trail of kisses down your spine, teeth that are too sharp, halos made with neon bracelets, cupping your cheeks with bloodied hands, curling up under the covers in bed when it's cold

snippet!!!

“Cool, right?” you asked your reflection, answered yourself with a smile that cut your purple mouth in two with white teeth.

You grabbed your keys.

Benjy was in the living room. He still occupied space like he was a guest instead of a resident, you looked at him and tried to find yourself on his face, on his shoulders, his hair, his hands. But other than the brown of your skin and his skin, you couldn’t, the only thing you shared that your mum had too were the freckles, but what did that prove? If that was proof of kin then Ángel would be your brother, Dafne a quarter of something with the smattered speckles on the bridge of their nose.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

He was your brother enough to talk like he’d known all nineteen years of your life.

You stopped in front of the television, a horror movie screaming behind you, blood and guts and bad sound effects of tearing skin, someone’s burbly wail from a cut throat.

“Vidal party.”

“What’s a Vidal? Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“They own like half the town, huge house, can’t miss it.”

“And they invited the likes of you?”

[prismatica-the-strange]

The End of the World as We Know It | Annie, Don't be Shy Here, Annie, Please Don't Cry Here

Warnings: 18+, show typical violence, child death, angst, small panic attack

Post Prison Daryl x Loveday fluff.

Annie by SafetySuit | Banner By @saradika-graphics | Dividers by @firefly-graphics

When the prison falls, she doesn't want to run, but her bus is full of much-needed supplies, and when she finds a group of kids separated from the rest of the group, she has no choice.

She lost Beth and Daryl a while ago, and she takes one last look before tearing out of there, four kids holding on for dear life in the back.

They find the other bus first, watching the living dead shuffle around inside as they drive slowly by.

She tries her best to keep them together, but when the engine overheats and she stops to try and fix it, the eldest, Jordan, wanders off on his own. She doesn't even notice he's gone until she hears him screaming in the woods.

Then the youngest, Marcus, knocks into a car that had been claimed by bees. There's nothing she can do to stop his death, it happens quickly and horrifically due to his allergy.

The bus gives up for good when they finally make it to Terminus, and the people there don't even try with niceties when she walks in, holding Connor and Miranda's hands protectively.

She fights viciously when they try to take them, but is overpowered and separated from them.

She's curled in the far corner of the train car when they hear gunfire outside. People are shouting, muffled by the metal, but everything sounds like it's underwater to her.

She's glad to see Glenn, Maggie, Bob and Sasha, but losing the kids breaks something in her.

She looks up when four more people file in, unsteady on her feet as she stands, stepping closer behind Glenn.

It takes him a moment to adjust to the darkness, but her name is the first thing out of Daryl's mouth when he sees her, "Loveday?"

"Daryl," She moves quicker than she thought she could, slamming into him with a hug.

His arms wrap around her head and shoulders, holding her close when she starts crying.

He'd been sure she died back there, that Kris or Harper had driven off in the bus, but here she is, beaten and a little bruised, but alive.

"Guess she had a hell of a time getting here," Sasha says at his confused look. He's never seen her cry like this before, "Lost two kids on the way and they took the others when they got here."

"Shit," He pulls her closer when she hiccups, nails digging into the back shoulders through his jacket. His hand tangles in her hair, not missing that she doesn't have her hat.

She clings to him like he's her last lifeline and he let's her, clinging right back.

It's late into the night when she finally speaks. She's sat next to him on the floor, her shoulder pressed against his.

"I couldn't find them," She whispers, "Kristy and Harper... There was so much going on I... I had to get the kids out."

He doesn't say anything, hanging on her every word and shuddering breath.

"Jordan and Marcus... there was nothing I could-" The words catch in her throat, "I tried. Then when we got here they took Connor and Miranda, I- I fought back but..."

She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying to stop the tears from coming.

"I left my best friends for dead, two kids died, two more're god knows where, and on top of all of it my bus fuckin' died! "

"You did your best."

"My best fucking sucks."

"The world fuckin' sucks," He frowns, "It was jus' you and four kids? The fact you got two of 'em here is pretty damn good."

"It was jus' me'n Beth an' I still couldn't get both of us this far," He goes on, letting her take his hand in hers, "She was there one minute then... then she was just fuckin' gone."

She squeezes his hand, but doesn't say anything. He tenses slightly when he feels her rest her head on his shoulder, her other hand wrapping around his bicep, keeping herself close.

He relaxes after a moment, free hand settling on hers on his arm.

"When was the last time y'slept?" He asks.

"I dunno," Her cheek squishes against his shoulder, "At least a couple days... I'd puke if there was anything in my stomach."

He hums and she sits up when he pulls his arm free, "Should try'n get a couple hours then."

He slips his arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his chest.

She's out in minutes between the way he pets her hair and the warm feeling she gets from being around him.

It's a few hours before dawn when he finally tries to wake her.

"Hey," He gently shakes her shoulder, "C'mon, time t'get up, princess."

Her nose scrunches and she curls closer to him.

"Don't," She mutters, "t's what my shitty ex used t'call me."

"Oh yeah?" He scowls at the thought, "'ll have'ta think'a somethin' better."

They start scraping together weapons out of whatever they have on them.

"Hey," He sees her hanging back, a nervous look on her face, "We're gonna make it out'a this, okay?"

She nods and he moves to hold the back of her head, "You stick near me, alright?"

"Yeah."

"That's ma'girl," He pulls her close to kiss the top of her head, "Yer gon' be fine."

She panics when they come to after the smoke grenade and he's not there.

She slides back against the wall and grips her legs, her breathing becoming fast and shallow. She doesn't want to die here, she doesn't want to lose anyone else she cares about, but no matter what she does it all keeps going to hell.

"Hey," Michonne kneels next to her, "Come on, you need to breathe."

"I can't-"

"You can and you will," She argues and Loveday just shakes her head.

"I can't keep doing this," She whimpers, "Losing people."

Her voice falls to a whisper, as though she's afraid to even admit it, "I can't lose him."

"You won't," She says. She doesn't know that, how could she? Daryl could already be dead for all she knows. But it's what Loveday needs to hear right now, "But right now you need to take a deep breath and get ready to fight your way out of here, you understand me?"

The gunfire around them gets louder and suddenly the door to the car is thrown open and Rick yells at them to fight their way to the fence.

Daryl tosses her a knife with the sliver of wood she's using snaps off in a walker's head, staying close to her just in case. He helps her over the fence and grabs her arm when he lands next to her, dragging her along with him into the woods.

"Daryl-" She gasps when they've gone a decent way, the two of them a bit ahead of the group, "Daryl, slow down. I can't-"

As if on cue, she trips over the terrain, pulling him to a stop.

He helps her back to her feet, letting her use him for support as she catches her breath and the others catch up.

"You alright?"

"I will be," She says between heavy breaths.

She jumps when someone throws themself around her. She looks at them with wide eyes before hugging them back.

"Fucking hell, Kris!" She exclaims and Harper joins in. In the chaos, she didn't even realize they were there, "Harp, I- I thought you were dead!"

"You'll have to try harder to get rid of us," Kris laughs through tears.

"It's so good to see you," Harper squeezes them tight, "The thought of ever having to tell Woods we lost you was terrifying."

"What about Connor and Miranda?" She sniffs, looking around them.

"We never saw them," Kris says, reaching out for her when she she steps back, looking distraught, "We didn't even know they were there."

"No." Daryl catches her when her legs give out, pulling her back against his chest as a sob rips through her, "Fuck, no!"

"I've got'ya," He mutters into her hair, holding her tight as she cries, "Yer gon' be alright. Yer gon' make it through."

He knows she was close to the kids before all this and could usually be found teaching them new games to run around and play when she wasn't doing runs. Miranda especially, she'd said she reminded her of her cousin. Hell, she's like a big kid herself when she's with them.

"FUCK!"

He holds her tighter, his chest clenching.

She inhales sharply and stills, suddenly sounding less devastated, "I'm okay... I'm okay."

He's hesitant to let her go, half scared she'll do something stupid, "You sure?"

"No," She admits, smiling at him weakly, her cheeks blotchy red and tear-stained, "But I'll manage."

Once they regroup and gear up, he feels her hand find his. Despite the horror of everything that's happened in recent days, she's so happy to see him, to have him within reach.

They weren't exactly an item when shit hit the fan, but the fact he doesn't pull away now is enough to show her they were well on their way.

He watches her worry her bottom lip out of the corner of his eye, and squeezes her hand, a silent check in as they go, content when she squeezes back.

She sits next to him on the floor of the church, her feet resting across his lap.

There's something oddly intimate about the way she drapes herself over him. She smiles, the first he's seen from her in a while, it's nice.

"Oh, yeah," He shuffles to pull something from his back pocket, "Found somethin'a yours."

He holds out the gold chain, white porcelain heart dangling in the warm light.

"I thought-"

"Saw it on the bitch at the grill 'n made 'er hand it over."

She takes his face in her hands and kisses him.

"Thank you!" She kisses him again, this time on the cheek, "You have no idea what this..."

He looks at her softly when she pauses, her hand resting on his chest.

He opens the chain and hooks it around her neck and watches her smile and touch the painted flowers, "It was my Gramma's."

She scoots further into his lap and slots her head between his chin and chest, pleasantly surprised when he wraps his arms around her and rests his chin on the top of her head.

"You get it when she died?"

"No she's still-..." She shifts, and sighs, "She was still alive. Gave it t'me for my birthday. She used to let me wear it when I was little."

"I thought it was gone for good." She leans her head back to look at him, "Thought I lost you too for a while."

He hums, hand moving to hold her shin when he feels her lips on his jaw.

"Stop it," He shrugs her off and she chuckles before nuzzling into his neck.

"You love it."

"Yeah, whatever."

His feigned annoyance doesn't hide his smile when he leans his cheek against her head.

When it becomes evident he and Carol weren't taken by the Terminus group, her worry quells. She trusts them to be okay, they're fighters.

But as the day drags on she can feel her stomach start to twist and it doesn't take long for her to chew her fingernails down to nothing.

She's more relieved than she should be when he gets back and it takes everything she has not to throw herself at him as soon as she sees him.

She waits for a quieter moment in the night, once the group has been caught up on Beth, Carol, and Noah, to slip her arms around his waist and hide her face in his neck.

He buries his hand in her hair and they stay like that until morning.

He doesn't let her come when they go back to Atlanta despite her argument, that she's good in a fight, is a good one. He's got enough to worry about, trying to get Beth and Carol back, he'd feel better knowing she was with Michonne and the kids, keeping an eye on Gabriel and the church.

She's the first one he goes to after he lays Beth's body in the back of the fire engine. He hasn't been able to stop the tears and he just presses his forehead to her shoulder and lets her hold him.

He doesn't want to let her. Let her close, let her comfort him, let her know how much he cares about it. About all of it. But he does.

His shoulders shudder when she pulls him close, her hands trembling in his hair. She won't cry, not for a good while, even if she desperately wants to, but right now the group needs people to be strong, so she will be.

They hunker down in an office building for the night. She and Daryl sit next to each other against a wall when she finally speaks, "I wanna go get my bus."

He just looks at her.

"If we're going that far north, it's got supplies and we're gonna need another ride, cause we're not all gonna fit in that bright red eye sore," She goes on, "And... And I want my damn bus."

He nods, "Alright."

She wants her bus? He'll get her her damn bus.

[war-dawrgz]

clark connors x ftm!reader | what he don't know

minors dni [16+]

word count| 2,027

warnings| Bathroom Sex, Public Sex, Caught, Degradation, Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex

p.s| I was very very high when I wrote this and did not check it over

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You are chatting with Tito, Zack Sabre Jr, Kosei Fujita, and Shane Haste when Clark comes up to you, putting your drink on the table next to Tito, grabbing your hand and pulling you away from the group without saying a word. You can hear Zack chuckling about how your pup got needy as you are pulled away. You try to question him but he glares at you once and you immediately shut up. He pulls you through the crowd of the bar, leading you to god knows where. He pulls you into the men’s restroom, not even bothering to lock the door or pulling you into a stall. He pins you against the counter where the sinks and mirrors are, glaring dangerously at you.

“What was that?” His voice is low, you can tell that it is full of anger but you don’t know why.

“What was what?” You ask softly, trying not to feel turned on by the look that he is giving you. 

“You know what I’m talking about. Cozying up with Fooj… Fooj of all people.” You can’t help but chuckle softly causing Clark to grab your jaw and force you to look at him. “It’s not fucking funny.”

“It’s not like that, Clarkie. I was just chatting with them, haven’t seen them in a while. We were just catching up.” Clark lets out a low growl, “What? You know something that I don’t?” 

Clark doesn’t respond, instead he licks your neck, instantly shutting off your brain. He smirks before littering small hickeys on your neck. Your hands curl around his shirt, trying to pull him closer. He growls against your skin, 

“Gonna show that fucking kid that you’re mine.” You nod excitedly, not entirely sure what he means. He sucks a dark hickey right in the middle of your neck, right where everyone will see it. You try to warn Clark about leaving too many marks but it falls on deaf ears. He keeps sucking marks on your neck before biting right where your shoulder connects to your neck. You yelp at the pain, grabbing at Clark to pull him away but he stands his ground. 

“Cl-Clark.” You whine out, he pulls away from your neck, smirking as he looks at you.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He can’t help the cocky smile that plays on his lips, he knows that you are right where he wants you. 

“Need you.” His smile only grows, 

“You have me.” 

“Come on, Clark. Please, I need you.. Bad.” He pecks your lips, giving into you. He quickly pulls off your shirt, shoving it into his pocket so it stays clean. Next he pulls your pants and boxers, letting them pool at your feet. You drop your hands to the waistband of his pants and try to get them undone when he flips you over, bending you over the counter. You blush dark red, whining at how easy it is for him to manhandle you. You hear the familiar sound of Clark undoing his belt, you look in the mirror to see Clark staring at you. He moves to the side so you can see him smoothly pull his belt from his pants in one swift movement. You put your hands behind your back thinking he wants to tie your hands together with the belt but he just smirks at you. He puts his belt around your neck, pulling it so it resembles a collar and leash. You whine as you look at him through the mirror, his smirk only grows as he gets behind you. He pulls his pants and boxers down to below his knees, pulling on the belt harshly to pull your head back. 

You whine, hands flying to the edge of the sink to stabilize yourself. Clark chuckles as he rubs his cock along your sex. A high pitched whimper leaves your throat as he teases you. He pushes into you oh so slowly, smirking at you in the mirror. 

“Please Clark.”

“What do you need, angel?” You moan at the pet name, one of your hands flying to your face to guard your flushing cheeks. 

“Just hurry the fuck up.” Clark tugs on the belt hard, you whimper as it tightens around your throat.

“Language pup. Or is that another reminder I need to fuck into you.” You quickly shake your head, whispering out a soft apology. Clark kisses your shoulder, “Good boy.” 

He puts his other hand on your hip, rubbing it gently before thrusting into you. Your eyes widen, your mouth falling open with a loud moan as he bottoms out in you in one go. You claw at the sink, whining Clark’s name. He doesn’t give you a moment to think before starting to thrust into you, fast and hard. You try your best not to look Clark in the eye but every time that you look away he tugs on the belt. 

“There we go. Keep those pretty little eyes on me.” You can’t help but smile at the sound of his voice. You clench around his cock as you study him in the mirror, you think he looks fucking godly. His hair is half-up half-down, his eyes are darkened with lust, his lip is nestled between his teeth, and his arms. Fuck his arms. He has the belt wrapped around his hand once, pulling it taut, his biceps are flexed. 

“F-fucking shit.” You are pulled out of your staring session as he hits your g-spot. He smirks at you, repositioning his hips so he can hit that spot with every thrust. “Fuck yes, Clark.”

Neither of you care if you are loud, forgetting that you didn’t lock the door. You moan loudly as Clark smacks your ass hard. He smiles widely as he sees his red handprint on your otherwise flawless skin. He gently rubs your ass to soothe it, you whine softly at the gesture. You clench around his cock again, your moans getting higher in pitch, and much louder. A tell tale sign that you are close to coming but Clark doesn’t stop. In fact he wraps the belt around his hand one more time, putting his hand on the back of your neck and forcing you head onto the counter. He pounds into you with an inhumane amount of strength and speed. 

You are so caught up in how Clark is making you feel that you don’t notice Gabe slipping into the bathroom. Clark meets Gabe’s eyes through the mirror, smirking at the younger man. Clark leans down over you, pressing you further into the counter, growling loud enough for Gabe to hear.

“Look at that, soon enough everyone’s gonna know that you’re nothing more than my bitch.” You whine at his words, not understanding what he means cause you still haven’t noticed Gabe. So Clark lets go of the belt and grabs your hair, forcing you head to see Gabe. Your cheeks flush bright red and you try to turn away from his gaze but Clark smirks, pinning your head in place. “Unless you think Kidd can keep a secret.” 

“P-Please.” Is the only thing that you manage to get out. Both men think you are talking to Gabe so they nod at you to continue. You clench hard around Clark’s cock, whimpering loudly. “C-Clark, ple-please.” Clark smirks down at you as he realizes what you are asking for. He tightens his hand on the back of your neck, chuckling darkly.

“Here you are moments away from having your reputation destroyed and the only thing you can think about is coming?” Gabe chuckles with Clark. Clark leans down, a snarl painted on his face. “Pathetic.” He spits out.

You whine out, unable to control yourself. You tremble under Clark, clenching continuously around his cock as you come hard. Gabe can’t stop the small moan that slips from his lips as he watches you fall apart completely under the person that he thought you have been domming for 4 months. Clark doesn’t thrusting into you as he cackles at you,

“Stupid fucking mutt.” You moan loudly, nearly coming again just from that. Gabe can’t help but chuckle, all of this time he thought that you were fucking Clark, that you were overpowering him, dominating him. But this whole time you’ve been nothing but a bitch for Clark. You try to lift your head, the cold marble of the counter becoming uncomfortable. But Clark pushes your head down hard, growling.

“Stay fucking put, bitch.” You whimper and nod as best as you can. Even through the mirror you can tell that Gabe is rock hard in his jeans. Your eyes glaze over from the pleasure as you think about Gabe fucking you. Clark can tell that you are fucked out and in your own little world but he isn’t stopping until he cums in you. Your lips spread into a smile as you think about Clark and Gabe double teaming you. Before you can stop yourself, you moan out a soft,

“D-daddy!” Clark bites down on your shoulder hard to stop from moaning loudly as he cums deep inside of you. Gabe isn’t as lucky, he lets out an audible growl and steps towards you and Clark. You giggle as you relax under Clark, your body warm from the inside out. Clark notices Gabe moving closer and he snaps, growling at the younger man to back off. Gabe puts his hands up and stops moving. 

You gently wiggle your hips, Clark gets the message and pulls out of you. He doesn’t bother cleaning up himself before pulling his pants back up. He gently flips you around, taking the belt off from around your neck. You giggle as he kisses all of the marks that he left on your neck, his beard gently scratching you in a way that makes you feel loved. He grabs some toilet paper to clean you up, you thank him softly as he spreads your legs and cleans your sex. Clark throws the toilet paper out before coming back to you and helping you pull up your pants. Then he pulls out your shirt and helps you get that on as well. Once both of you look presentable you turn to Gabe, a sheepish look on your face.

“‘M really sorry that you saw that Gabe.” You take a step toward him and he blushes bright red, taking a small step back, hands guarding his erection. Clark comes to your side, putting his arm around your shoulder,

“Don’t think you have to apologize, darlin. Gabriel clearly enjoyed the show.” He smirks at the younger man before kissing your neck. “Now why don’t we give him a minute to sort himself out?” 

Gabe whimpers so softly that you think you imagined it. Clark leads you to the door, clapping Gabe on the shoulder before he rushes into a stall. You wait outside the bathroom, telling Clark that he can go back to the table if he wants. Clark kisses your cheeks and promises you to have a new cocktail waiting at the table. You surprisingly don’t have to wait too long for Gabe, he comes out of the bathroom, adjusting his pants. He doesn’t notice you until you are pinning him against the hallway wall. It takes him a minute to register what is happening and who is in front of him but when he does, he smirks down at you. Before you can think he has you flipped around so you are pinned against the wall, looking up at him.

“There we go, think this is much more suitable for you.” You whimper softly. Shaking your head gently to clear your not so pure thoughts. 

“G-Gabe.” You squeak out, he nods at you to continue. “Please don’t tell the others. I can’t let them know.” He leans down and for a minute you think he is going to kiss you but at the last minute he pulls away chuckling,

“Don’t worry sweetheart, your secret is safe with me.” He smirks as he turns and makes his way back to the main area of the bar, leaving you in shock next to the bathroom.

[a-french-coconut]

Part 3

He attacks every monster he crosses path with.

It's funny to surprise them, their eyes widening because they are not used to being the prey. Chasing them is exhilarating, feeling their fear when they understand they are the one in danger.

Each one trigger a little more of his memory.

He's a demigod, son of Apollo.

He's the son of a fucking god who can't be bothered in actually checking on him to see if he's okay.

Whatever, he did fine without the guy and does not need his help.

His name is still unknown but others are swirling in his mind.

Lee Fletcher, the blond guy who got killed by a giant.

Will Solace, the smaller blond guy who wanted him to teach him healing.

Kayla Knowles, they did archery together.

Clarisse La Rue, the one he told to eat his quiver and something about a flying chariot.

Other people appear sometimes, two identical brothers, a dark haired guy swirling a pen in his hand often accompanied by a blonde girl. Those he can't put names on their faces but he knows they have been a part of his ancient life.

Everything is still foggy but sometimes it appears with painful clarity.

The water surface getting closer and closer because he fell off a bridge.

A lyre above his head and a centaur kneeling in front of him.

A dragon in the woods, arrows embedded in its skin.

So much memories, all in disorder, but it's a start.

He swiftly dodges the talons trying to tear him apart. This time he's the one who's got attacked by that weird donkey girl. He hadn't expected crossing a monster during his short stroll in the city, which in retrospective was a dumb thought, and she was fast.

A hit sends him flying against a wall, he groans when he feels his ribs are broken. Thanks to his dad, the only thing good about him, he heals faster than mortals. It's also the only reason they found him still alive two years ago. But it's not fast enough to restore his bones before the monster kill him.

He can't die again.

He's got a whole life to discover.

He can't die

But she's on him, claws suffocating him and teeth draining his blood.

"Get the fuck off me !"

He tries to kick her, scratch her, even bite her but the blood loss and the pain from the broken ribs are getting him.

Black spots cover his vision.

His attacks get weaker and weaker.

An arrow pierces the monster's neck, he's dropped on the ground.

He's against the street's wall.

A figure approaches him and he can dimly figure out the shape of a tall guy.

Tall guy kneels in front of him and lift his face.

They both freeze.

Golden curls and blue eyes. A bright smile on a small child, excited about learning.

"Michael ?", whispers Will Solace in incredulity.

Michael

His name opens the gates and he remembers everything.

The Battle of the Labyrinth, his brother's death.

Luke Castellan waging war on the gods, on him and his younger siblings.

Younger siblings he abandoned in the aftermath of war.

Did they even win ? He guesses so.

Will is still alive. What about Kayla and Austin ? Travis, Connor, Percy, Annabeth, Silena ?

Did they all make it out alive ?

"Will I'm-"

"Save your breath you're injured. I'm taking you back to Camp. Don't you dare die now Michael !"

Will scoops him up with embarrassing ease and he allows himself to pass out.

He is in goods hand after all, he trained them.

part 4 posted !

[crowrave]

It’s late at night and I just got the idea of drawing how the Cains sleep (if they ever do)

Crown just sleeps like a plank, doesn’t matter when or where he is, bro just collapses

Connors looks for high-up areas such as trees of cliffs since it’s more difficult to get ambushed or attacked when you’re hard to see

And Crest will just look for an enclosed, dark area and curl up for a nap

[hunterwritesstuff]

"Raindrops." Hunter Cruz and Thomas Connor comfort fic

Cw: Grieving, loss of parental figure.

(Divider by @bernardsbendystraws)

Thunder rumbled outside the studio, causing the lights to flicker a few times. Rain trickled down the glass panes of the windows of the building. “I bet this one will win, papa!” Hunter heard his younger self echo in his head.

“I dunno, kiddo! My racer looks just as capable!” His heart ached as he heard his father’s voice respond to his younger self. He just wanted to focus on work. He had to get this done as soon as possible, and the storm already delayed him getting to work by a couple minutes.

His pencil stayed on the scratch paper for minutes at a time, still as a statue. He hated this weather. But he loved it, too. It felt like the sky was crying with him. He didn’t feel…alone.

He sighed, getting up from his desk and walking to the break room. Coffee was always in the break room-it was like an omnipresent God of sorts-and he felt calmer in there.

Thinking about God got him frustrated. It made him think back to his Papa and how people kept telling him that it was “all part of God’s plan that he died out at sea!”. He didn’t buy it for one second.

There’s no God out at sea. It’s survival of the fittest. If you’re weak, you’ll get eaten alive out there. But then why did his Papa have to die out there? He wasn’t weak. He was one of the strongest people Hunter knew.

And yet…one of the kindest. He was strong, but he never failed to be kind or caring to those in need. He was always good with kids. Whenever there were storms like today, he would always be there in the blink of an eye to help Hunter stay calm. 

But he didn’t have his Papa anymore to help with that. His Papa was gone. Now whenever there was a particularly bad storm, he’d have to hide away until it was over. Just ride it out.

He held Manny tight to his chest. That was the last gift his Papa gave him. His most prized possession. He never washed it out of fear of losing his Papa’s smell. It was comforting to him. A small manatee plush, about the size of a small water bottle.

Then a loud crack was heard. Then the building went dark.

The power went out.

Hunter groaned, hiding in the first empty cupboard in the break room that he could find, squeezing Manny close to his chest. He hated this, hated being so afraid.

He just wanted his Papa, he wanted some angel to hear his prayers and bring his Papa to him to help him calm down, feel safe again.

Then he heard footsteps outside his cupboard. Familiar footsteps. Workboots that splashed ever-so-slightly with ink with each step, making a slight squishing noise as well. That wasn’t the only pair. A pair of flats. Dainty feet, small, light, fast. “-eard someone come in here. I think it was him.” One of the two said.

Hunter perked his head up slightly. Allison and Tom. “Alright, thank you. You can go back to the music department, okay? Make sure nothing crazy happens down there while the power’s out. I love you.”

“Love you too.” The delicate footsteps receded. 

A knock came on the cupboard door. Hard, rough, firm. Tom. Hunter merely squeaked in confirmation. “I’m opening up, okay, kid?”

“Mhm…” Hunter peeped softly. Tom opened the cupboard, finding Hunter curled up tightly in it, squeezing his manatee plush in a way that would’ve turned it into paste if it were real.

“Hey, kid…” Tom said softly. “You okay…?” Hunter shook his head no.

“Scary…don’t have Papa…he can’t help me calm down…” Hunter sniffled.

Tom thought for a moment, trying to think of a way to coax the young animator out of the cupboard. Eventually, he thought of a way to coax Hunter out. “May I…?” He asked, looking at Manny.

Hunter whined a moment before nodding. Tom gently grabbed the plush, handling it as though it was a newborn, putting on a funny voice. “Hey, Hunter, it’s me, Manny! I like the water! Don’t you?”

Hunter chuckled sadly. “I mean…I like surfing…”

“Oh wow! That’s soooo cool! Come on! It’s okay to come out! It’s safe! Nothing can hurt ya out here!” Tom said in the same, silly, goofy voice.

Hunter chuckled, rubbing tears out of his eyes, slowly climbing out. “Ohhh, I see. So the big guy who’s saved your life multiple times can’t coax ya out of a cupboard, but the manatee can?” Tom joked.

“Oh, hush…” Hunter smiled sadly.

“Are you seein’ this, Manny? Yeah! He’s got total favoritism! And by the way, you should give Tom AAAALL your barbeque chips! I agree, Manny. Wise words.” Tom teased, alternating voices.

Hunter laughed at the goofiness from the typically serious GENT worker. “You remind me of…” Hunter said as a somber look crossed his face.

“...hey, it’s okay, kiddo. I’m sure your pops is plenty proud of ya, needing a manatee plush to coax you out of a cupboard during a thunderstorm or not.” Tom smiled softly.

“...ya think so…?” Hunter asked sheepishly.

“I know so, champ!” Tom said in the Manny voice again, rubbing the plush against Hunter’s face. 

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Hunter laughed. Tom handed Manny back to Hunter, the young animator hugging the plush tight, Tom smiling warmly at the sight.

Then he held a hand over his heart, plopping into a chair. “T-Tom?!” Hunter asked worriedly.

“Ooh, ow, paternal ping, ow.” Tom grimaced jokingly. Hunter scoffed, elbowing him in the side.

“NOT funny!” Hunter chuckled despite himself.

“Oooooh, ow, paternal ping. Oof…” Tom continued.

Hunter rolled his eyes. “You’re fine.”

“Geez, and I thought I was supposed to be the spoilsport.” Tom scoffed teasingly.

Hunter sighed. “Geez…you’re really good at this…” He chuckled dryly.

“Y’kidding? One of the other guys at GENT-his name is Juno, sweet kid-is pretty much…just like you when it comes to storms. Now, it ain’t my job to ‘parent’ my coworkers, but Juno’s a runner, and if he’s down, productivity drops.” Tom explained. “The poor kid’s scared of his own dang shadow. He jumps at the slightest little sound and movement.”

“Huh…poor guy…” Hunter frowned.

“Yeah, we’re, uh…we’re workin’ on it.” Tom nodded. Looking over at Hunter, Tom pulled him into a one-armed hug. “...It’ll be okay, kiddo.”

Hunter squeaked in surprise at the sudden contact before melting into the hug. “...yeah…”

“Wanna head back out and do raindrop races until the lights come back on?” Tom asked.

“...I’d like that…” Hunter nodded.

“Go ahead, you can call me the name.” Tom smiled, rolling his eyes jokingly.

“...I’d like that…Papa…”

“Of course, son.”

[sichore]

@thatwritingho tumblr got me FUCKED UP not letting me edit drafts that has asks in them. fuck. anyway!! I answered 5. a casual kiss in the previous round, so let's do the next step!

6. write about an intense kiss between your ship

exclusive preview of a future scene in paint the sky

“You know you don't have to do this, right?”

“Yeah, but… we gotta, don't we?”

Among the blankets and pillows of her cozy corner, the candlelight catches the glimmer in Jimi's dark eyes as she straightens up a bit. We. Jimi is so fucking tired, he can see the exhaustion in those brown eyes. But she's still here, and Pickles has been seeing the same shit as her, so why not do this together?

“I trust ya, Jimi.” He drops his gaze to their knees, clearing his throat. “So, uh… how do we do this?”

“I guess we just kinda…” Jimi tentatively reaches out and he takes her hands. It just feels like the natural thing to do. Hers are soft, small where he can feel them through his callouses. “Um, close your eyes, and breathe. With me. Let your senses take over and it should just… happen.” Her eyes close first, and she already looks so bare without her glasses. Pickles watches Jimi, taking in all of her in this strange moment of vulnerability. The way her curls spill around her face, even when piled high on her head. Her shoulders gradually relaxing as she breathes, in, out, rising and falling. Her comfortable work clothes with old paint stains. Her gentle, nervous smile. He closes his eyes.

The glow of the candles behind his lids give way to nebulae. He hears the rush of his own breaths, then Jimi’s, then – the both of them, breathing as one. The rush of air becomes the distant roar of the Waves, growing louder. Louder. Louder. The last thing Pickles feels in the physical world is the warmth of Jimi’s hands as their fingers lace together and become indistinguishable, and then he sinks. The Ocean greets them with a dazzling school of stars that flash and swim around them. Everything here is expanded in a way Pickles can’t quite describe, ignoring how he is – was – a lyricist. He doesn’t even feel like Pickles, the drummer, when he’s here. He doesn’t feel like Connor, either, who was once that angry kid who left home with nothing but a bag and a dream. Here, he just is. And so is she. Jimi. Unfamiliar, yet always recognizable. Colors and comets swirl around them in the current but he is only consumed with thoughts of the resplendent one. Long and luminous, she winds around him in wide laps, and the slide of her shimmering scales sing to him a sonata. Consumed with the need to feel, he reaches out to her with arms that are many and crimson. He reaches across galaxies for her and when they finally meet, their serpentine touch causes a symphony to ring out across all creation.

It is an experience unlike any before. They are exquisite and perfect. He feels the slide of himself against her, as her. Scale against sinew against soul, they move among the Waves and into each other. He drinks of her into all that he is and, in turn, pours into her, ruby and rapturous and rippling. The song of their union spreads throughout the universe and all that lies beyond. Chaos and cosmos, combined and complete, to bring forth all that shall ever be. World-devourer, star-swallower, divine and devouring one another, entwined and eternal as they should be.

Between the serpents that coil and writhe everlong is a power, mewling and newborn. The drag of their bodies across it is an orphic orchestra that is unheard of, unpracticed, unobtainable. For now. Discordance reigns and the distortion shatters them and they scream in their separation. Through her thousand eyes he can glimpse his thousand arms that seek her. The great crimson beast once more, rising, raging, reaching for the rhapsodic splendor of his – Lover. Pickles breaks through the Waves and crashes back into reality with a shuddering gasp. The candles at the edge of his vision are as stars, fighting against the rippling shadows of the Ocean that bathe the room. None of it matters. Nothing else fucking matters. His body is burning and drenched with sweat, trembling, volcanic. He breathes in ash and embers and air and it’s not enough, it’s never enough not when they’re so close. It all ends and begins with their entwined hands that hold the power of a thousand suns and he thinks Jimi feels it, too. Curls stick to her sweat dampened face as she gasps for air. A mirror of his own state as she would be, because… because… Why wouldn’t she be? Fuck. Why were they here? Why were they ever apart? What the hell is he thinking? Jimi’s lips are so plush, parted and panting and he remembers how easily she tore into him and the agony of their separation. The fuck. He’s hungry. Starving. He swallows hard, his throat having gone dry. What was he forgetting? His eyes flit over the rapid rise and fall of Jimi’s chest and he remembers the way her heart choked his throat. When he drags his gaze back up to her eyes they are like onyx and starshine and their hands tremble where they hover, still entwined. He tries to speak and all that comes out is a dry, wordless sound. Jimi leans towards him. The separation of their hands is torture because they can’t ever part but it’s a sacrifice Pickles makes to grasp her face and pull her forward. Their mouths crush together in a clash of teeth and tongue that some time ago, far from now, knew only how to consume and now they lap and bite and feed. Pickles kisses Jimi like he’ll never have another drink in his goddamn life. What could compare to this, this fucking – ambrosia on his tongue? Jimi’s hands fist in his shirt to hold him close and her body heat makes stars explode behind his eyes. Sparks fly from her lips to ignite a flame in his belly and he just knows he’s going to fucking combust. He only breaks the kiss when the burning in his lungs becomes too much and he gets light-headed. Even so, he licks his lips, swallows as though to imbibe every little taste of Jimi that he can. “I… shit.” “Mmhm,” Jimi agrees, just as eloquent and breathless. There’s thunder in his ears, he easily finds the rhythm in the pulse. That’s all it was, wasn’t it? A beat he had to map out. A song he has to write. He’s been searching for the melody all this time and there it was. It’s in her, painter, precious, and all they gotta do is lay the track. Harmonize. He pulls her to him again, one hand burying in the curls at the back of her head to brace her for his kiss. The other hand claws at her back like if he can just get her close enough he can smash her into his pounding heart and make it stop. Just kill him already because he’s dying. 

The Waves dance around and through them and they chose to go under, they chose this, and emerged with this insatiable need to be inside of each other. He has no other word for this hunger, this feeling, this absolute loss of self as he became they and his senses burst beyond comprehension into… A sixth sense. The sixth way. Rise above the shell and partake of it anew. The Body.

[Soft OTP Prompts]