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beiasluv · 1 year ago

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forbidden fruit | Charles Leclerc

a/n: new to the f1 communityy 😬 apologies for any term or idea i got wrong. female!reader. no proofread! enjoyy 🤍

summary: the princess of mercedes and the prince of ferrari, what could possibly go wrong?

“y/n! y/n! she’s in her last turn! leclerc’s trailing behind! can he do an over take?”

splashing champagnes and listening to the dutch national anthem were never your favorite of winning a podium, but who cares?

you were on P3 and charles leclerc was not.

perhaps retelling the story of your rivalry with the monégasque driver would take a whole frustrating, aggravating, and lengthy year for us to get through; and perhaps it was for the best to leave it where it is, never to be touched, but to reminisce with a needle of cringeness poking through your heart.

although an honorable mention to verstappen, for taking the lead role of leclerc’s personal favorite rival.

it was all an inchident, of course.

smirking back to the driver in a flashing, scuderia ferrari, red fire suit, you could only feel your ego bubbling to the top of your throat. charles leclerc was staring. and staring hard. what a shame you couldn’t even take out your phone and take a snippet of his raging glance. what a fun sight for the whole news headlines to see.

‘charles leclerc, envy and jealousy…’

of course, he couldn’t lash it out. how could he? would the handsome, young, and talented ferrari driver want to ruin his reputation in the media? obviously, not.

of course, you knew it all too well. every day you wake up with the tip of a knife, aiming at your throat, ready to nick you anytime you take a wrong step on the luxurious path of an f1 driver. being the only female driver on the grid makes your life a thousand times more challenging.

but who were you to be a nitpick?

the media loves drama. we all do. perhaps it was a little bit more entertaining to see what you are wearing when the races had gone wrong. what hairstyle were you wearing for the big race? or, maybe, just which driver you were dating on the grid this season?

never once you could escape the dating questions or all the bullshit misogynistic attitudes from the journalists, press, media, and, well, …you name it.

perhaps you have to give it to leclerc for never going easy on you just because you are of a different gender.

“congratulations on P3, y/n,” max turned towards you and gave you a pat on the shoulder; simultaneously, bringing you back to reality.

“t- thanks.”

—

“you win this one, l/n.”

he took off his helmet, and clutched it loosely to his side. the cheeky smirk plastered on his face. the eyes searched for the depth of yours.

only you knew how much pain it was for him to force his lips to create such a soft and fake smile for the thousand camera lenses, waiting to catch the two rivals lacking. bumping into leclerc after the race, fresh and full of adrenaline, alone in the hallway of the track was never an enjoyable experience to endure.

“good race, leclerc,” you muttered out as many PR and drivers walked past you two.

“same to you.”

what a shame your PR manager ushered you out for the media room before you two could give a shot of throwing hands - elegantly, of course.

—

“good work on the qualifying round, l/n. return to the garage. over.”

“copy that,” you tapped your headset, notifying the engineer of the prestigious mercedes team.

driving for mercedes in f1 could count as your biggest dream since the karting days. and the race won against ferrari was a - personal - success.

slowing your baby down, and pressing the brake mechanism of the car, you came to a halt as the friction overpowered the tires. one or two seconds later, you could hear the mercedes team rushing and scurrying over to your parked position to collect you back to the mothership.

“take her back, guys!”

the screaming of your fans nearby erupted as you ascended out from the cramped space of your f1 seat. taking your helmet off, and waving to them; you gracefully jumped down from the car and headed towards the mercedes headquarters.

a long walk, but who are you to make a fuss?

an f1 driver should have no problem walking a couple of miles. oh but how annoyingly a group of fans quickly crowded over you and blocked your ways…red flags, horses, and charles leclerc faces. clearly, you knew whose fans they were.

fussing, grabbing, and pulling, you were harassed, unfortunately. autographs, hats, pictures, postcards, and questionable stuff were pushed into your face.

“y/n! please! sign my shirt!” “get the hell away from charles!”

“charles deserved p3 today!” “l/n!! l/n! say hi to my dad! he loves you!”

trying to fulfill all of their requirements, you realized you had found yourself in the sea of scuderia ferrari fans. it is an unspoken fact that you were the rival of charles leclerc; you could say some fans were more enthralled by that fact than others.

“y/n! what do you think about charles? are you guys dating?”

sometimes you hate technology. the cameras pointing at you reminded me of the knife you carry mentally with you every day. it could gain you thousands of thousands of likes in a few tiktoks or perhaps get ready to say goodbye to your f1 position.

“…we’re not talking. in any complicate way,” smiling through the pain you signed the cap that was shoved into your face. gosh, mercedes. where was your security?

your patience could only last so much until one fan decided it was worth it to grab your hand and pull you down for an instagram-worthy photo. and he possibly thought the best way to execute it was to, firstly, seize your waist. how thoughtful of him.

“fuc- please don’t-”

“y/n! i love you!”

man-child was not having it. sweaty and clammy hands could send chills down your spine if you didn’t know.

“please-”

smile through the pain. smile through the pain. it was all part of the job, at the end of the day. the fans still won and you were just a doll for f1. breathe in, breathe out.

he pulled his iphone 7 out of his pocket, painfully slow; slower than the ferrari’s pitstops. his side was squished to yours. the cologne, the smell, the sensory, everything-

“hey, hands off.”

you could say it was the first time you were glad to see charles leclerc from your entire life; wearing his race suit sluttily around his waist. leclerc - being leclerc - stunned his fans, leaving a big hole in the crowd around you.

he was reaching out for your waist; surprisingly, in a way you were pleased, and pulled you out of the red crowd. and just like magic, the security came rushing in and ushered the mob of fans away from the scene.

wearing that stunned face of yours, you regained consciousness and your rival emotions. clearing your already cleared throat, charles took it as a signal to let go of your waist. how suddenly you realized it was all happening over the armor of your fire suit.

thank god.

“..thanks”

“no need to thank me,” the competitive tone made its way through his annoying lips again. scoffing, he looked at you with his hand clutching his helmet by his side, “i don’t understand why they need to adore you this much.”

how rude.

“for the record, they are your fans, leclerc,” you scoffed offendedly, and your hand found its natural place on your chest; clutching for dramatic effect.

“what did i do to deserve such loyal fans, l/n…” not even looking at you he smirked under his nose. “they shouldn’t be acting this way, no?”

he looked over at you, seeing you in your distressed state and a chuckle left his lips. the cameras settled on the stands far away in the distance and stared at you two, they were definitely on.

shit.

this is going to end up in the headlines.

—

“check out your new title…” your manager cleared his throat as you nervously waited.

“you can’t just leave me hanging here!”

placing your phone in your lap your hands returned to the comfort of the steering wheel. twisting and turning, you maneuvered your mercedes inside the driver's garage.

“calm the fuck down! i’m pulling out the source for accuracy,” you swore you could see your manager rolling his eyes. “wait for it…‘charles to the rescue. mercedes and ferrari, love or rivalry?’”

“shut up.”

“i can send you the links.”

“please don’t,” you sighed as you looked over your shoulder to slide into the parking lot like a distinguished f1 driver. “…the devil works hard, but the media works harder, or what?”

“we could use a little PR for mercedes, y’know?” the crackled chuckle left your phone.

please.

“the signal is shit in the parking lot, i’ll see you at the paddock. bye.”

“alright, be quick.”

gathering your bag and phone, you checked your face one last time in the rearview mirror and opened the car door. unfortunately, the infamous ferrari entered the parking lot with its signature roars, as you stepped out of your car.

the devil had worked hard once again. walking to your trunk, you kicked it open and snatched some of your essential stuff for the race. and who would’ve thought charles leclerc could park his car in under 20 seconds?

not to mention, it wasn’t straight. (oops)

getting out of his car, he checked his hair and fixed his shirt. obviously, aware of the paparazzi lurking around the track’s garage for the big day, and hoping to sell a couple of pics for something a little more than a couple of bucks. perhaps an even better price for them if they caught you and your rival having a ‘friendly’ chat.

don’t get close to him. don’t get close to him.

“what a coincidence,” leclerc approached your mercedes as he locked his ferrari with its infamous beeping.

“how so?”

smirking back at him, you slammed your trunk closed and shut off; locking your car in the same manner. catching the glimpse of his eyes you made it your personal goal to escape him as fast as you could possibly can.

flicking your head away and taking off, the path inside the track was as empty as you hoped it could be.

“slow down, i just wanna talk.”

“leclerc.”

“you walk too fast,” you swore if you looked back and he is grinning. “you trying to escape from me?”

fuck.

“got a problem with that, leclerc?”

his dark green eyes met yours after you decided the risk was below the ‘manageable’ level to turn around.

“no,” he grinned at you. how you wish you could smack it off of his face. “i jus’ want some company while walking to the track, no?”

company, my ass.

clearing his throat, he looked at you, “you’re a pretty good rival though.”

gaining a nod and a smirk from you leclerc was cut short of his run time as his PR manager came to collect him to the ferrari garage. how sad. his messy hair, the confidential wave, and two eyes met yours one last time before you decided to head to the mothership of your mercedes headquarters.

big trouble, y/n. big trouble.

—

“y/n, we neeed to talk.”

the paddock was usually quiet upstairs, all the mechanics and engineers spent their time in garage down below. only toto, george, lewis, your manager, and their managers, and - obviously - you would spend time up here. also. is every private manager in the world annoyingly scary and friendly at the same time or what?

sitting down next to you on the black sofa of the mercedes headquarters by the pitch, you were face-to-face with your lovely manager.

clearing your nonexistent anxiety, “…yes?”

“look…the media is starting to notice your relationship with charles…”

“and..?”

“and,” he crossed his arms, “we need to work on keeping this situation private…it could affect your reputation. maybe after the soft launch phase is over, you can publicize it…if you want to, obviously.”

the fuck?

“…what are your thoughts?”

he looked into your face, not a single thought behind it. somehow the racetrack outside the notoriously big, shiny window of the mercedes paddock suddenly gained your attention, and he restored to snapping his fingers in front of your face.

“what-? oh right- for fuck’s sake! we’re not in a relationship!”

“and what about those paparazzis’ pictures? I thought we agreed on sharing every ‘public’ detail about your life with me?”

“first of all, privacy. second of all. you believe that?! anthony! you’re my manager, i would’ve told you if i was dating a ferrari driver!” grabbing a quick breath,

“do you think i want to date the reddest of all flags on the grid?!”

“yeah? but that’s not the impression the media got,” he said. “even max! max verstappen thought-”

“who cares what max thinks!” you thrown your head back on the sofa.

“PR could be good, but we don’t know if it’s going to blacklash-”

george russell. he walked up to you two arguing on the black sofa and smirked at you; clearly, he heard your talks about ‘the reddest of all flags on the grid.’

“shut your mouth, russell,” sighing sarcastically as you could and you turned to your manager, who was having the time of his life.

“I’m not saying anything,” he raised his hands defensively, grinning the shit out of the corners of his mouth.

“I’m a driver, not a play doll you could match-make for the team’s reputation. hell. doesn’t charles have a girlfriend?”

anthony pulled out his phone and scrolled through ‘something,’ “yes…charles…has a girlfriend, PR relationship?”

“what do you mean?”

putting his phone away, “doesn’t matter. but what the media care about is to get a story out of nothing.”

“…and?”

“you have a reputation of being a private figure, and you're an expert in keeping it that way. we just need to do that until the end of the season.”

george chuckled sarcastically, "she seems angry at us, guys.”

“i am. and i’m not dating anyone for mercedes. done,” you stood up from the sofa and beelined towards the door. “also. i’m telling toto.”

and someone finally heard you this time. the whole room’s atmosphere seemed to tense up as someone entered the door.

toto wolff.

“is there a problem, y/n?” toto asked as george smirked at the unfolding situation.

you swung your head towards the origin of the sound and cleared your throat, “your employee, mr. wolff, is trying to matchmake me with a ferrari driver.”

toto chuckled.

toto chuckled?

“so there is something between you and charles?” he raised his eyebrow at you. expectedly, george was holding his laughter in for his dear life.

“why does everyone thinks that we’re dating?! even toto?!”

“so you’re not dating leclerc?”

“no!”

congratulations. you have successfully crashed onto the sofa once again, groaning your pain out.

“she’s lying,” george chimed in.

“I. am. not.”

how surprising that george’s back kissed the sofa as you tackled him jokingly down. a moment of silence for toto to watch many of his best drivers tackle each other like it’s a normal day in kindergarten.

“are you sure you are not dating, leclerc?”

last straw. you clutched your bag and left george dysfunctional on the couch. walking past the room, you glanced back one last time and said with the best sarcasm, “i’m not. and I’m not dating him for mercedes. done! I’m a driver, not a doll!”

slamming the door shut, you headed for your private driver’s room.

"she's angry at us…” george chuckles nervously; obviously, with a hint of joy.

“no shit sherlock”

—

edit: part 2

part 2?? reblog, like, whatever the heck you want would be appreciated 😘

today’s a great day to take care of yourself, lots of luv 🤍

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mediumgayitalian · 8 months ago

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“Hide me hide me hide me hide me hide me.”

Nico blinks, watching blankly as Will ducks under his arm, situating himself behind the door and peeking around it. When Nico doesn’t move, he cranes his neck to look at him, face urgent, and says, “Close it, dude, hurry up!

“Solace!”

“Fuck,” Will curses.

Nico blinks again. He squints across the common, trying to suss out what Will’s staring at. It doesn’t take long. She’s hard to miss, especially in full armour.

“Are you…hiding from Clarisse?”

“Am I hiding from —” He scoffs. “No, I’m just behind this door for fun. Fucking obviously I’m hiding from Clarisse, Nico, now get with the program and close the damn —”

“Solace!”

Both of them jump. When Nico looks, Clarisse is already way closer than she should be. Before he can process enough to slam the door, and heedless of Will’s increasingly-harried oh my gods oh my gods oh my gods fuck fuck fuck fuck, Clarisse is closer, and closer, and then suddenly she’s barging inside, pushing Nico aside like it’s not his damn cabin.

Will groans. “Aw, come on, Clarisse!”

She doesn’t bother to humour him with words, choosing instead to grab him by the collar and drag him bodily out. Will does not make it easy, going completely limp and getting his clothes grass-stained beyond belief, because Clarisse tugs him along like a sled behind her, bouncing over every stone. Nico follows, on the grounds that it’s not being nosy if Will dragged him into it technically.

“You have siblings! You have a boyfriend!”

“And yet I’m choosing you,” Clarisse says easily. “I’ve already told Chiron. It’s a done deal, weatherboy. You’re chariot racing with me.”

Will groans, trying in vain to squirm out of Clarisse’s grip. “There is no reason for me to be your partner in the stupid chariot race, I am a healer, I am at camp to heal —”

She shakes him a little to shut him up. “All the more reason. You focus too much on one thing, brat. All you do is heal and study like a big nerd. You need to get out of your comfort zone.”

“Um, no way. I’m very comfortable in it. That’s why it’s called a comfort zone.”

“You could use some training,” Nico pipes up, and the betrayed look Will gives him would be more effective at making him feel bad if it wasn’t so funny. “Last time I tried to teach you how to use a sword you almost sliced off your own face, so.”

Clarisse looks at him with appraisal. “Maybe you do have some sense in you, di Angelo.”

Nico chooses to take that as the compliment it is.

“Ugh,” Will says dramatically, and finally manages to wrench out of Clarisse’s grip in order to embed the appropriate level of drama in his face-down flop to the floor.

Clarisse kicks him. “You’re pathetic.”

“Ugh.”

Notably, he stops protesting. She kicks him again, affectionately this time, and stomps away.

———

“If I work myself into another coma, I don’t have to chariot race,” Will says gleefully, shoving the bottles of nectar Nico hands him onto a shelf. He’s been buzzing around the infirmary all day, healing things he is meant to be healing with a band-aid and a stop being a clumsy dumbass, dumbass with hymns and salves. “I’m gonna try to cure cancer again.”

Kayla, walking by, reaches out and smacks him. “Try it and I’m crack your country CDs in half.”

Will turns to her, opening his mouth —

“Every single one of them,” she stresses, green eyes narrowed.

— and closes it again, huffing.

“I’ll find a way,” he says glumly.

Nico pats him delicately on the back. “There, there.” A pause. “I mean, personally, I can’t wait to watch you fall out of a chariot.”

The look Will shoots him is nothing short of wounded. “You think I’m so uncoordinated I’m gonna fall out of the chariot?”

“Gracefully!” assures Austin from across the infirmary, smiling supportively. He grins brightly when they turn to look, nose scrunching with the force of his smile. “I’m sure!”

Will’s scowl twitches in the face of his brother’s blind enthusiasm. (It is impossible not to be endeared by Austin. He is genuinely the sweetest kid in the entire universe. Nico even gets, to his horror, the occasional urge to squish him. Gently.) He sighs.

“Thanks, Austin.”

“Of course! Love you Will!”

The twitching scowl melts into a full smile. “Love you too, kiddo.”

———

Watching chariot race practices, very quickly, becomes Nico’s favourite pastime.

He sees, now, why Achilles would bring them up, unprompted, wistful look in his eye, every time Nico visited. There’s a beauty in the rawness of it; the whipping winds, wild horses. Squealing wheels and bending axels, open-backed and inches from death at all time. Dangerous, exhilarating. Humanity, at it’s most thrilling and old — some of the first tools, the first domestic animals, the first machines, all at once. It’s pure, raw excitement.

Also, Will falls out of the chariot, like, eight whole times. And there’s nothing funnier than watching him lose his shit at a splintered pile of wood that was once a carriage, helmet thrown to the ground in a fit of rage, accent so thick he’s literally incomprehensible. Nico never gets to see him like this. His stomach actually hurts from laughter on several occasions.

Slowly, though, he starts to get the hang of it. He’s smart — incredibly so — and when he stops spending half his time complaining, and the other half pouting, he actually gets pretty decent. He’s fast, after all, and quick to observe, to respond; the other teams struggle to land hits on him, in practice runs, and sabotage is difficult when your opponent seems to have an almost prophetic gift to see things coming.

He can’t, however, steel himself to hit back.

And therein lies the trouble.

“For fuck’s sake, Will, I’m not asking you to kill anybody,” Clarrise snaps. “You need to get your head in the game!”

Will’s shoulders curl defensively. “I know! I’m trying! It’s just —” He kicks at their broken wheel, in two clean pieces on the ground. “Do no harm.”

“Do some harm. Or I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Will brightens. “And then ask somebody else to be your partner?”

“No, and then make you my partner forever.”

“Oh.”

Will’s sullen face is hard to look at. He’s got those big, puppy dog eyes, round and sad and pouty. Not even Clarisse is immune. (And certainly not Nico, who finds himself halfway off the spectator’s stands and jogging to the tracks before he wonders what exactly, the fresh fuck, he is doing, and sprints right back.)

“Shit, Solace, don’t look like I killed your goddamn mother.” She cuffs him on the shoulder, sending him sprawling with a muffled oof. “We’ll figure it out. Let’s go again.”

Accepting the spare chariot someone wheels towards her, she pulls herself up, making space for Will to do the same. He doesn’t get on immediately, still looking miserable, but concedes eventually.

His forearms look kind of nice when he grips onto the rails for dear life, Nico notices. From a totally objective perspective.

The four practicing teams guide their horses to the starting line, running a few last minute checks. To avoid spilling any secrets or strategies, everyone uses the same practice-issue wooden chariot and wears the same armour, but it’s still obvious who’s who.

The Hephaestus team’s chariot, despite being standard issue, gleams like it’s brand-new. The wood is polished and looks to be altered, barely; a carved groove here, a sharper wing there. Nothing that could really be considered an upgrade, but definitely making the whole thing look smoother. The spears they hold promise a plethora of untold ability hidden within.

The Hermes chariot looks deceptively beat up. There’s a chunk missing from the top of the left side, and one of the wheels appears to be just slightly out of alignment. Upon careful inspection, though, Nico can see clear, hollow tubing attached along the rails and open to the back — definitely a quick rig of some sort. Base (not acid, Cecil had happily lectured him on the benefits of using a base rather than an acid when dissolving anything from steel to human flesh), if Nico has to guess, or maybe Greek fire.

The Aphrodite-Iris chariot doesn’t have to do much to look great. The whole thing seems to coast gracefully to the beginner line, and neither charioteer looks particularly bothered or preoccupied with the competition — if Nico recalls correctly, and he does, their goal is to win through “gay audacity”, which Nico does not understand but supports wholeheartedly.

Will and Clarisse’s chariot, by comparison, is pretty run-of-the-mill. They haven’t done much training with the Ares horses or the Apollo flying chariot, because Clarisse is primarily concerned with training Will — she knows the equipment is fine.

Lacy, standing at the edge of the track, puts a sparkly pink whistle to her lips and blows loudly. It’s not nearly as loud as one of Will’s sonic whistles, but it does the trick, and the teams are off in a blur of movement; Will and Clarisse in the lead, Hephaestus behind them, Aphrodite-Iris in third, and Hermes lagging slightly behind.

As they turn their first corner, positions largely unchanging, Nico hears footsteps from his left — Lou Ellen smiles at him as she climbs the stand, settling into the space he makes next to him.

“What’d I miss?” she asks, brushing dust off her hands.

He shrugs. “Not much. They were in the lead the last practice round, too, but on the last lap Hermes caught up.” He gestures to the heap that was once their practice chariot. “Julia had her sword at their wheels. They were on the inner ring, nowhere to move; the only way to get rid of them would have been to knock her arm, probably dislocate her shoulder. Will couldn’t do it.”

Lou Ellen winces. “Ah.”

There’s a ripping sound, followed by cackling — the Hermes chariot has finally made use of their hasty rigging, setting off an explosion behind them that rockets them forward. It has the added bonus of shaking the ground, slightly, unsettling the other drivers for just barely long enough for them to pull into third place. Far ahead, still in first, Nico can see Clarisse yelling instructions at Will, although he can’t hear what they are. His grip on the rail has tightened.

“Why,” starts Nico carefully, and based on Lou Ellen’s pinched face she knows exactly where he’s going, “does she make him — well, you know.”

Lou Ellen is silent for a good long while, watching the practice chariot race with eyes that aren’t paying attention. Hermes is gaining, but Hephaestus is gaining faster.

“Clarisse has always liked Will,” she says eventually. She meets Nico’s incredulous expression, snorting. “Well, as much as Clarisse can like people. I got here way after he did, so I don’t have any more details there than you do, but he’s never been afraid of her, and she likes that. He’s never been mean to her, either. I mean, I know she can be a bully, but people aren’t exactly light on her, to be fair.”

The Aphrodite-Iris chariot turns out to have some tricks up its sleeve — it starts to glow; barely at first, but quickly blinding. At its crux, everyone has to look away, allowing them to pull into first.

Well, except that Will doesn’t seem nearly as staggered as everyone else. In fact, he doesn’t look bothered at all — for the first time that Nico has seen, there’s something like competition pulling a crooked smile on his face. He stares straight at the still-too-bright chariot, reigns wrapped around his arms as he yanks them forward.

“Is that why she drags him away sometimes?” Nico asks. “To train?”

“Something like that. Most of his training was with —” she falters. “Well, you know who. Medicine and some archery.”

They’re both quiet for a while. Neither of them ever knew Lee or Michael well, if at all, but over time Nico has found himself almost clamming up at the mere thought of them, the way one might tiptoe around an authority figure when they have something to hide. Forbidden subjects, where before Nico simply didn’t think of them often.

“You can’t just not train, though,” Lou Ellen murmurs, eyes trained on the chariots. Hephaestus throws one of their spears, lodging it in the spokes of the Aphrodite-Iris chariot. They come to a very abrupt and very screechy halt, knocking them out of the race in any real capacity. “Not at Camp Half-Blood. She taught him hand-to-hand because she was the only one strong enough to physically drag him to the arena. Everyone else gave up after the first few tantrums — I think she was kind of amused by the challenge. Or something.”

“Or something,” Nico agrees. Privately, he thinks that there is something about Will Solace that makes you want to protect him. Not frailty — he is not by any means incapable — but something about his smile, his genuineness. The stubborn belief that people are good and kind and worthy of everything he has to give. A naivety, except someone who’s been through what he has (what they all have) cannot be naive — his hope in the world is hard-earned and well-won. It makes people want to protect his hold on it, by any means necessary.

Even, Nico reasons, ornery old fuckers like Clarisse LaRue.

The three remaining chariots start the last leg of the race — Apollo-Ares, barely squeezing out in front; then Hephaestus, quickly gaining; and finally Hermes, lagging slightly but not to be discarded. As they round the bend, Nico watches as Clarisse cuffs Will briefly on the arm, clearly proud. This is the farthest they’ve made in first so far, after two weeks of training. Will, reigns safely transferred back to Clarisse, beams at her — bright enough that Nico can see it from dozens of yards away.

With sudden, calculated speed, the Hephaestus chariot surges forward.

As if coordinated, Nico and Lou Ellen inhale sharply, leaning forward. He sees the scattered few other campers so the same in his peripherals, watching with single minded focus as the chariot levels exactly with Will and Clarisse. Nico eyes the spear nervously — of all weapons, they’re the easiest for Will to dodge, to fight off. More impersonal.

But the sons of the smartest god around would know that.

For at least a hundred feet, nothing happens. Ares-Apollo and Hephaestus stay neck in neck, every urge forward matched, every pesky road-blocking stone avoided. The finish line is dangerously close, but no one pulls ahead, nothing changes. Four shoulders remain tense, four helmets stare resolutely forward.

Then, in a quick movement, the taller Hephaestus charioteer hands the spear off to the shorter, swiftly taking the reigns, and the shorter lunges — aiming right for Will’s shoulder. Will’s quick, though, and has his own spear poised to parry in an instant. There’s a barely perceptible nudge from Clarisse, and then Will’s eyes harden, and he lifts his spear to jab right back, needle-thin tip gleaming in the late afternoon sun, right for the chink in the charioteer’s armour and then —

The charioteer rips their helmet off, dropping it at their feet.

It’s Harley.

Hephaestus’ darling; hell, the camp’s darling. One of their youngest and brightest, with big, mischievous brown eyes, contagious smiles, endless enthusiasm. Cute, clumsy Harley, the only one of Hephaestus’ children Will doesn’t have to nag to get treated, who walks dutifully over the infirmary every time he gets so much as a second-degree burn and treats each one of Will’s overcautious instructions with utmost seriousness. Who Will sends away each time with an affectionate kiss on the forehead and a prized purple sucker — who Will, frankly, favours. Who Will would never, in a million years, even consider hurting.

A dirty trick by the Hephaestus cabin.

But an effective one.

Immediately, Will flinches back, spear dropping from his hand and splintering under thundering hooves and spinning wheels. Without a second of hesitation, Harley launches his spear in the same move as before — sticking it in the wheel’s spokes, inertia sending the charioteer’s sprawling, knocking them out of the race.

Except, maybe it’s different when the chariots are so close. Or maybe the chariot was faulty to begin with. Because as soon as the spear gets wedged, the fragile floor of the chariot seems to implode — sending Will and Clarisse under the still-moving machine, instead of flying over. The horses, disoriented from the sudden change, rip free of their harness, adding more force to the already precarious tumble.

There’s a sharp, sickening crack, so loud Nico can hear it as if it’s next to him. In the brief nanosecond immediately afterwords, he closes his eyes, sending a prayer to his father: please be the axle. Please be the axle. Please be the axle.

As the Hephaestus and Hermes chariots rocket past the finish line, Clarisse lets out a shrill, blood-curdling scream.

———

Nico’s off the bench and halfway towards the crashed chariot before he can blink. He’s not the only one — he processes, barely, everyone else’s quick convergence, including the remaining charioteers — but he’s there first, diving into the wreckage seconds before anyone else is close enough.

There’s not a lot of actual debris, chariots being as small as they are, but the dust cloud from the track is so huge and the pieces of wood are so splintered that it feels like there is. As the dust settles, and he kicks some debris out of the way, he starts to see the shape of Will, kneeling, in front of a prone Clarisse and an ever-growing pool of blood.

There’s a bone sticking straight out of her thigh.

As the rest of the campers converge upon them, Will looks up and meets Nico’s eyes. His own blue eyes are dark, steely — determined, but afraid.

“I don’t have time,” is the only thing out of his mouth before he braces both hands on Clarisse’s leg, immediately starting to sing urgent hymns.

Nico understands.

“Lou, Julia, Chiara,” he barks, taking charge in absence of Will’s voice. The three girls snap forward to him immediately. “Sprint the the infirmary and tell them what happened. Austin’s on duty — make sure he doesn’t come with you, we need him to prep a surgical suite. Send everyone else and send them fast. Bring a stretcher.”

He turns to the Hephaestus kids. “Jake, Harley, start clearing the debris to make space. Damien, join them; move the big stuff first, small stuff is secondary. We need a space for Will to work and a space to lay the stretcher. Jen, Butch, Lacy —”

He barks off a list of orders, doing his best to channel the commands he’s watched Will give dozens and dozens of times. In minutes, he has the track cleared, Will’s medical bag dragged over from the stands, and everyone who is not helping stabilize out to the infirmary to help as needed.

As soon as there’s an opening, he rushes over to Will and Clarisse, kneeling by her head.

“Help is coming,” he promises, watching the glow dim and flicker in time with the rhythm of Will’s chanting. The bleeding has slowed, marginally, but he can tell from the volume of blood alone that this was an arterial hit. It’s going to take more than Will’s raw healing power, although there is a lot of it, to keep Clarisse alive and keep her leg functioning in recovery. He needs tools, he needs nectar and ambrosia; he needs the surgery suite. He needs time.

“Is it helpful for me to knock her out?”

Clarisse, of course, is still conscious. Barely — and in so much pain Nico will be surprised if she’s processing anything at all — but enough that every few seconds she lets out an agonised shout of pain, writhing and flinching so hard Will has to focus on steadying her as much as healing her.

Without breaking his song, eyes still trained on the injury, Will nods. Nico breathes, squaring his shoulders, then shuffled forward to rest Clarisse’s head gently in his lap, fingers pressed to her temples. He presses, hard enough to feel the beat of her heart — weak — through his fingertips, and squeezes his eyes shut.

He’s no son of Hypnos, but dreams are the Underworld’s domain. Are his domain, as heir and prince of the Underworld, in every way that matters, that can be counted.

He lets himself sink into careful limbo; body in physical space, mind and soul elsewhere. Not too much — he’s no use if he falls unconscious — but enough to slip into Clarisse’s mindscape, step into her subconscious.

The whole place bleeds white, hot anguish.

Nico stumbles when he first walks in, nauseous despite being nothing but his own mind. It’s been a while since he’s experienced this kind of pain, his own or not, and he has to consciously beat back memories of brimstone and rot; liquid fire, endless red, red, red.

“Clarisse?” he calls, softly as he dares.

She doesn’t respond. He’s not sure she knows how to respond, even if she could. Cautious of the memory and emotion swirling around him, he steps forward. If he focuses, her anguish is pointed — is central. She will be at the centre of it.

He has volunteered, but he’s not sure he wants to follow.

Steeling himself, he shoulders through swirling masses of pain, of hurt, of fear. It’s blisteringly hot, and feels not unlike the sandstorm he was once stranded within, in the middle of the New Mexico desert four years ago. His face prickles; he’s blinded.

He trudges forward.

“Clarisse? Clarisse! Can you hear me? It’s Nico!”

Desperately and uselessly, he wishes he had more practice. Will has offered, the few times he’s needed to anaesthetize someone, but for the most time Nico has foolishly declined. Why on Earth he would pass up a much easier mindscape to navigate through in preparation for something like this is a mystery to him. Fuck.

“Clarisse! Try to — focus on me, can you hear me?”

He forces himself forward, a few more — well, there’s no distance in a mindscape, nothing measurable, anyway. He forces himself to look up, braving the assault to his face, and try to scan his surroundings. The swirling mass is more centralized, now, almost hurricane-like and conal. He’s closer than he was before, but if he can only find…

He looks up, and almost cries in relief: weak against the roaring storm, but still present, is a flickering, golden light. A very familiar light. Nico squeezes his eyes shut, thrusting out his own energy in an uncoordinated mass — boy, is that going to be uncomfortable to extract later — and flails wildly until he finally feels the warmth of Will’s energy entangling with his own, grounding him. He opens his eyes, and suddenly everything is clearer.

Clarisse kneels in the centre of her mindscape, hands pressed tightly to her ears, eyes screwed shut, mouth open in a silent scream.

“Hey,” Nico murmurs, kneeling in front of her. It takes a few seconds, and a few moments of gentle coaxing, before she looks up.

“It hurts,” she croaks.

She’s more vulnerable than he’s ever seen her — eyes brown and big and wet, pained, face twisted and chin trembling and achingly, unbelievably young. She is nineteen years old, but in that moment she appears almost childlike. The years of warrior’s hardness has abandoned her; she is armourless.

Nico swallows the lump in his throat. “I know.”

“Help me. Please.”

“Come here, Clarisse.” He reaches out and wraps a gentle hand around hers, tugging her close. The knee jerk discomfort at close contact is barely a flicker — he is so entwined in her right now that her fear has started to bleed into his; her rawness. He needs this comfort almost as much as she does. Right now she is a person, in agony, and so is he, and it is unbearable.

He holds her until the pain slowly stops.

———

Will is in the surgical suite for seven straight hours.

“Bed,” Nico says softly, rising up to meet him as he exits. It says something about how exhausted he is that he doesn’t even protest, letting Nico place a hand on the small of his back and guide him past the on-call room, past the patient cots, past the Big House living room couches, past Cabin 7. He leads him across the common and right into Cabin 13, with its double beds and blackout curtains, with its insulated, soundproof walls. With Nico.

He helps him out of his bloodstained scrubs, peeling them off his skin and tossing them directly into a trash can. He’d guide him to the shower, usually, but there’s a — glassiness, to his eyes, that there usually isn’t after surgery. Nico chooses instead to skip it, guiding him into the sweatpants he left behind the last time he was here and an oversized The Doors t-shirt of Nico’s, and then to the spare bed he always uses, across from Nico’s. He peels the covers back for him like he’s a child, tucking him in, brushing the hair out of his eyes. He’s asleep in minutes, curled tightly around a pillow, furrowed crease not leaving the space between his eyebrows, even in sleep. Nico smooths it away with his thumb.

“Goodnight, Will,” he murmurs, brushing the backs of his knuckles across his forehead.

He watches him sleep far past what is normal, and then slips back out of the cabin.

———

“On the bright side,” Will says, squeezing the hand that has left to leave Clarisse’s arm, “you’re free from your chariot race obligation! As am I!”

Predictably, she only glowers.

“Not a chance, Solace,” she rasps.

Will helpfully gets her a glass of water, fussing over her blankets while she drinks until she bats him away. Chris watches the whole thing with great amusement, shoulders brushing Nico’s.

“He’s a mother hen, isn’t he,” he comments, tilting his head in Will’s direction, who narrowly avoids having his fingers bitten off trying to feed her a square of ambrosia.

Nico snorts. “Yeah.” He watches the fussing for a few more seconds, making note of Will’s shaking hands, his shakier smile. “He’s guilty.”

“He didn’t do anything. She doesn’t blame him.”

Nico meets his dark look, mouth twisted in understanding. They both know this logic is futile.

“Yeah, well, someone tell him that.”

“Will — stop it.” In a startlingly quick move for someone on as much morphine as she is, Clarisse darts out and clutches Will’s fluttering hands. He hesitates, wondering if it’s worth it to pull out of her hold and possibly jostle her leg. “I’m fine. And you’re still charioting.”

“You’re not fine,” Will frowns, conveniently ignoring the part of the sentence he doesn’t want to deal with. “Your femur snapped in half and tore through your femoral artery on its way out of your leg. You’re going to be on bedrest for a week at least, and it’ll be tender for a good long while besides. That’s what we in the medical business call a Big Fucking Deal.”

She tightens her hold, staring at him until he finally meets her eyes.

“Will.” She narrows her eyes. “You are still participating in the chariot race. I’m not asking.”

“It’ll have to wait until you’re better,” he says lightly. “Besides, we’re focusing on you right now.”

Nico can see in her face when she decides to switch strategies.

“Okay,” she says, stubborn glean in her eye, “then I’m asking you, as a personal request, to stay in the race. Or else I’ll drag myself onto a goddamn horse myself, killing myself in the process, and that will be on your head.”

The tactic works.

Will scowls. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Clarisse doesn’t bother repeating herself, letting go of his wrists and readjusting her blankets.

“I am done talking now. I believe it’s time for morphine-induced unconsciousness. Please remember that I took down a drakon with my own bare hands; it is well within my abilities to drag myself out of heroin-haze and onto a chariot with no legs, let alone one. Good talk.”

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she leans back on her pillows and passes out. Genuinely, actually passes out — not closes her eyes, not behind to fall asleep; she is unconscious. Snores ring through the air.

“Well,” Chris says carefully, unfolding his arms. “It might be time to let Clarisse rest for a while.”

Will, healer that he is, cannot exactly argue with that. Will, drama queen that he is, decides to make his fury known by stomping out of the room, a feat in flip-flips possible by him alone.

“She is so infuriating!” he shouts the second they’re in the main room, startling several people. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “I put effort in! I failed! She can’t even — it’s not even about spending time together, obviously, since I still have to do it! What does she want from me?!”

Chris, like Nico, has wisely decided to let the hypothetical questions remain hypothetical and stay silent, lest his fury be turned onto them. Ten minutes into Will’s rant, Chris excuses himself to go sit by Clarisse. Nico waves him off.

“Will,” Nico suggests the next time he takes a breath, “let’s maybe go for a walk.” He glances at the group of wide-eyed patients. “I think you’re scaring people.”

Deflating, Will nods, following Nico out the door. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go for a walk.”

The fresh air probably doesn’t fix things, per se, but as they lap around the cabins, Will seems to droop further and further, curling in on himself. The anger recedes from his features.

“I feel really shitty,” he admits softly. “Just, like, generally.”

Nico softens like a goddamn slab of ice cream on hot pavement. For the second time in three days, he opens his arms in offering, although this time it’s significantly less difficult.

“Come here.”

Without even a beat of hesitation, Will collapses into him, arms around his waist, head tucked under his chin. Nico fights the urge to wince — Will, usually, takes quite a bit of pride in his height. He likes to be the one to wrap around people, not the other way around. Nico has been indoctrinated into Will-affection, in the time since the Giant War, and if Will is the one curling into him, seeking comfort, than he is struggling.

Nico hates it when Will struggles. He always feels out of his depth.

“There, there,” he hedges, feeling a good bit like an NPC. “It’ll be okay.”

Will makes a small, wounded noise. “You don’t know that.”

“Um, yes I do, I know everything forever. I’ve never been wrong even one time in my life.”

His awkward attempt at lightening the mood is rewarded by Will’s laugh. It’s slight, and nowhere near the brightness it usually is, but it’s there and it’s genuine and that’s all Nico wanted, really.

“You good?” Nico asks softly, squeezing his arms.

Will nods. “Yes.” He hesitates. “Can I stay here a little longer?”

Nico wraps his arms impossibly tighter, aching at the quiet vulnerability in his voice.

“As long as you need.”

———

The last practice before the chariot race is nowhere near as fun to watch as the others. In fact, it’s not fun at all.

Clarisse, casted and upright, appoints her brother Sherman to race in her place, much to both his and Will’s very vocal complaints. Will’s, because he still doesn’t want to race at all and especially not now that Clarisse is out of the running, and Sherman’s because, well, when isn’t Sherman complaining about having to breathe the same air as someone or whatever.

Clarisse silences both of them with a glare. “Do it,” she orders.

They comply, stomping over to their practice chariot.

The practice race is awful. Nico is surprised, frankly, that they managed to finish at all, as badly behind as they managed. He could practically hear their squabbling all the way from the stands. For as much as Will is generally easy to get along with, he’s impossible when he’s stubborn, and worse when he’s petulant. He takes every command from Sherman like it’s a personal offence, and Sherman, being who he is, does too. Every shout to veer right or deflect an attack somehow sounds like a jab at Will’s speed, or a remark about his general intelligence. When they stomp off the track, helmets thrown in a heap with the rickety chariot, Nico is almost relieved.

“We’re going to lose, tomorrow, and I can’t wait,” hisses Will darkly, fists curled at his sides.

Nico watches him warily. “You’re not even going to try?”

“What, so he can remind me that even when I’m trying I’m a useless idiot? Not a chance.”

Nico has to almost jog to keep up with him, striding as powerfully as he is. He’s not even sure where he’s going — he seems to be, mostly, going away from the track and from Sherman, wherever that may be.

“You’re not a useless idiot,” Nico offers, when some of the stormcloud has lessened its hold on Will’s usually sunny face. “Nobody thinks you’re a useless idiot.”

Will closes his eyes, sighing. “I know.”

“And Sherman is just a generally grouchy person.”

“I know.”

“It feels very, very weird to be the optimistic and comforting one, right now.”

Will snorts, finally meeting his eyes. “I know.” He flops onto the ground, cheek resting in his knees, and pats the space next to him. Nico sits much more delicately. “I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole lately.”

“You’ve been stressed,” Nico points out. “A little assholery is warranted.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Nico knocks their shoulders together. “I forgive you, then.”

Will smiles. “Thank you.”

For a while they sit in comfortable silence, watching the hustle and bustle of camp. Will’s presence is a comforting one, even though Nico can feel the turmoil leeching off of him. Strangely because of that, actually — sometimes Nico feels like he’s the only one who struggles out of the two of them. Will spends so much of his time smiling and joking and lecturing, hands on his hips, that Nico had almost forgotten that he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, either. He’s just good at faking it.

“I’ll be watching, tomorrow.” He bites his lip. “And I won’t, like, bring pom-poms, or anything, but I’ll be cheering you on.”

Will grins tiredly. “Silently and in your head?”

“Uh-huh.”

His smile softens considerably, melting into something almost shy, before he turns back to face forward.

“Well, then, damn. I guess I’ll have to try.”

———

On the morning of the chariot race, Will acts like Nico is escorting him to his goddamn execution.

“It is a race that will last a maximum of twenty minutes,” Nico says with no small amount of exasperation, “including prep time.”

Will looks no less grim. “A twenty minutes that will never be returned to me.”

Nico rolls his eyes and decides to stop humouring him.

He drops him off at his chariot with a quick pat on the shoulder, jogging back to the stands. They’re full, today, as expected, with every camper and countless others cramped into the minimal space. Nico looks at the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, and is about to consider breaking his promise and fleeing back to his cabin before he sees a doodled-on hand stick in the air, waving wildly. He exhales in relief and heads over to sit in the spot Kayla and Austin have cleared between them.

“How miserable is he?” Kayla asks brightly, tapping her purple shoes. “He left before we woke up this morning. Assumedly to sprint around camp a few times like a feral cat.”

“Pretty miserable,” Nico answers. He reaches over to pat Austin’s head when he rests on his shoulder, knowing he’s nervous even if he tries not to show it. “A lot of it is self-induced, though. Like, yeah, Sherman is going to be a dick and it’s going to be stressful, but I feel like, in the grand scheme of things, this is among the least stressful things he’s ever been forced to deal with.”

“There was that one time he had to remove a brain tumour in the middle of the forest,” Austin muses. “I think that was probably pretty stressful for him.”

Nico opens his mouth. He closes it again.

“Demigod life is a nightmare,” he settles on eventually.

“Hear, hear,” both siblings mutter.

They lapse into silence as they turn back to the racetrack, evaluating the turnout.

Competition will be hefty.

Sherman has finally arrived, Ares horses in tow. The garish things look almost wrong next to the brightness off the flying Apollo chariot, but that may just be the tension between the team’s charioteers that’s so potent it seems to warp the air around them. Nico is vaguely surprised that they’re managing to stand so civilly next to each other, even if they could not be more visibly uncomfortable. Will, at least, tries for a smile, which drops immediately when Sherman mutters something too quiet to be picked up this far.

Nico sighs. This is going to be hard to watch.

There are about twenty other chariots lines up. Hermes, Hephaestus, and Aphrodite-Iris, like at practice, but Athena is competing too, as well as Nike, as per usual, and Tyche. In fact Nico, and by extension Hades, is one of the few cabins not participating — everyone else seems primed and ready for a chance of laurels and extra dessert. And, of course, settling personal rivalries via bloodshed, et cetera, et cetera.

The biggest competition, if Nico had to quantify it, will be Hephaestus, tricky as they were during practice; Athena, for obvious reasons; and Will and Sherman themselves will be their own worst enemy. He can’t tell if it would be better for them to fail out early to avoid racketing tension up further, or last close to the end to keep things at a healthy simmer.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. The second warning whistle goes off, and the chariots rush to the starting line — Will and Sherman at third position, Demeter to their left, Dionysus-Hypnos to their right. The stands go silent, the charioteers get in position, and with a sharp, shrill whistle, they’re off.

The first few seconds, as always, are chaotic.

In the ground with the settling dust are three separate chariots, including, surprisingly, Hermes, whose rigging backfired and sent their entire chariot up in smoke. They are luckily unharmed due to their unusually well-prepared fireproof armour, but neither Julia nor Connor seem too pleased about being out so soon.

The rest of the race continues on without them. Athena has a decent stretch of first place, but Nike is following fast. Behind them, barely a hair’s breadth of distance, is Will and Sherman, rocketing forward smoothly. Unlike Clarisse, Sherman does not care for giving Will any learning opportunities — despite the horses being Ares’, Will is on the reigns. Sherman is armed with his sword and his spear, slashing and jabbing at anyone who gets too close. Neither Ares or Apollo is big on tricks, not like some of the craftier cabins, but together they’re fast and strong and make a formidable opponent.

Or, well, they would. If they were working together, rather than two people simply being in the same chariot.

They cross into the second lap, Will guiding them across the innermost ring to move them up past Nike. They’re gaining on Athena, now, but that won’t be an easy task — challenging the camp’s wisest never is.

Kayla hisses through her teeth. “Shit.” She purses her lip at the trailing Nike chariot — they’re gaining, and they’re seething. Damien — at least Nico thinks it’s Damien, it’s hard to tell with the helmets — has an arsenal of throwing knives poised in his left hand, and as his teammate steers them steady, he takes aim. Nico has to resist the urge to shout a warning.

As the short knife sails towards the reigns wrapped around Will’s hands, though, aim ringing true, Will’s spine goes ramrod straight. Almost as if he can feel it. With an eighth of a second to spare, he shifts and jerks his hands out of the way, avoiding the knife and managing, somehow, to stay on track.

With a skill and ferocity that has Nico’s jaw brushing his toes, Will dodges all eight of the knives lobbed in his direction. In one memorable manoeuvre, he rips his left hand from the reigns, holding them in his teeth, and uses it to shove Sherman down behind the wall of the chariot right before a knife would have lodged itself in his uncovered cheek. Out of weapons, he steers their chariot right next to Nike, allowing Sherman to sever their reigns and send them rolling to a sad, victory-less stop.

Without pausing to look behind them, they race on.

Athena’s chariot has a lead, but their chariot is built for stability, not speed. They’ve accounted for every possible sabotage and built accordingly. They have not accounted for, however, stubbornness and sheer force of Will. The Ares-Apollo chariot gains on them, helmets glinting, skeletal horses gaining faster, faster, faster. Both Sherman and Malcom, Nico believes, have their spears drawn, ready, as the space between them gets smaller and smaller, to fight barbarically for first — for honour.

Nico doubts even Rachel, powers of prophecy fully restored, could predict what happens next.

Either too furious to accept a loss or simply deciding to throw the game, one of the Nike charioteers crawls out from their carriage, darting onto the live track. They scan the ground, looking for something. When they stand in the dead centre of the track, body perfectly tense, gripping something glinting in their hand, Nico gets it.

Austin gasps, nails digging into Nico’s arm. “Oh, no.”

Before anyone can say anything, they take aim. They measure once, twice, and then let the knife loose with deadly precision, knife cutting through the air with ease and hurdling with impossible power towards to two finalists chariots.

If the knife hits the Athena chariot, it will slice clean through the axle. Architectural wonder it may be, the chariot cannot withstand Celestial bronze at terminal velocity, and it will give, and the chariot will crumple. In an effort to lesson the chariot’s load, the Athena charioteers have largely forgone armour. Their fall will be painful and disastrous; as deadly as Clarisse’s, if not moreso. A hit to the Ares-Apollo chariot will be similarly as race-ending, but both Will and Sherman are in full armour. It will be bruising, but not deadly. They will lose, but they will survive.

All they need to do to win is shift, just slightly, so that the knife hits the Athena chariot.

Will, like with all the others before it, seems to feel this knife coming. Unlike the others, he glances backwards, looking at the knife, looking back at the Athena chariot. Sherman follows his gaze, and seems to realize what Will has calculated a split second after he does. He shouts something — presumably an order to move, to shift, to sabotage.

Will hesitates.

The knife hits the Ares-Apollo chariot, slicing through the left wheel.

It careens around, unbalanced, dragged into a heap by untethered horses.

The Athena chariot pulls forward to victory, the remaining functioning chariots quickly following.

The Ares-Apollo canon is left broken and humiliated only a few feet from victory, the almost-first-place.

———

As soon as they come off the track, things get messy. Both Will and Sherman are covered in dirt and grime, striped with grease from the broken wheels, bleeding sluggishly from various scraps. Sherman has his non-flailing hand clamped to an oozing wound on the side of his neck, and Will is limping.

“—and I cannot fucking believe you, Solace! All I asked for was effort!”

“Oh, forgive me,” Will says sarcastically, finally close enough to hear. “In the hustle and bustle of being shot at, I made a couple errors.”

“That gonna be your attitude in battle? ‘Oh, sorry, there was a monster chasing me so I lost all focus —’”

“Battles are not usually fought on a chariot going a hundred fucking miles per hour!”

“That’s no excuse! You need to be —”

“What, Sherman, fucking what? What indisputable flaw do I have, oh great one, that needs to be so desperately remedied?”

It’s startling when Will’s composure cracks. When he goes from bitey and sarcastic, eye-rolling from his usual distance, to right in Sherman’s face. It’s eerie to see him at his full height, no slouching, reminding anyone watching that yeah, actually, their laidback medic is six-two, strong, capable, in more ways than what they’re used to.

Sherman, in usual Ares kid fashion, doesn’t even flinch.

“Your reflexes, for starters,” he says coolly. “No matter what you do, Solace, you’re always one second too fucking late.”

A collective gasp ricochets through the gathered campers. The tension rackets up so rapidly that Nico coughs, lungs suddenly constricted. Will rears back so violently Nico is half-convinced Sherman actual punched him.

Sherman, for his part, seems to realise he’s crossed some kind of line. The cold look on his face twists into a scowl, uncomfortable and apologetic at once. “Look, Will, I just mean —”

“You don’t get to say that to me.”

Will’s quiet voice seems to echo through the entirety of the valley, cutting through laboured breathing of charioteers, pegasus neighing, even the crashing of the waves in the distant shore — everything goes silent.

Nico likes to think he knows Will pretty well. He knows what he sounds like when he’s giggly, watching his siblings argue about nothing; when he’s excitable, rambling about his newest obsession; when he can’t choose between amused and stern at whatever dumb thing Nico has gotten himself into. He knows what he sounds like when he’s exhausted, too, overworked and done with everything; when he’s annoyed, when he’s hurt and sad.

But he’s never heard Will sound so dangerous.

“Of all people.” His words are articulated, deliberate. The usual warmth of his eyes is gone. He’s completely still in a way he never is outside of surgery — no shaking in his perpetually trembling hands, no bounce to his curls, none of the constant energy that seems to constantly exude off him. Still, cold. Icy. “You do not get to talk to me about being one second too late.”

Sherman looks stricken. Guilt is written across each of his features, and for a second he steps back — as if afraid.

“Will, I —”

The son of Apollo turns without another word, striding over to the distant tree line and disappearing into the woods. No one chases after him.

No one even moves.

———

Predictably, the silence does not last long.

“You fucking idiot!” Clarisse explodes, the second Will is out of eyesight. She bats Chris’s hand away from her, and he, surprisingly, lets her go easily — his usually understanding face has hardened. She hobbles towards her brother, remarkably quick with her clunky cast, and starts truly tearing into him. “I asked you to do one fucking thing! One!”

Sherman quickly gets defensive under the scrutiny. “Well, you didn’t make it fucking easy! Just because he’s your protege doesn’t mean he’s my fucking problem —”

Nico doesn’t stick around to listen to their argument. He searches around the gathered crowd until he meets Kayla’s eyes, flicking his head towards the woods. She nods frantically. Knowing he’ll make sure they have privacy, he takes off, aiming for the same place Will went, barely slowing down once he enters the forest.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Will?” he calls, well aware he’s not going to get an answer. “Where are you?”

While there’s definitely no response from Will, he damn near jumps out of his skin when a dryad melts from her tree, shuffling towards him.

“Blond boy?” she asks, leaning close so he can hear her whisper. “Tall? Crying?”

Nico swallows. Fuck. “Yeah.”

“Headed down southeast, ways past Zeus’ fist.“

“Thank you,” he says, hoping she understands how much he means it.

She nods, then disappears back into her tree.

Following her directions, Nico jogs down beaten paths, heading in the direction that he is vaguely sure is southeast and mostly praying that he’ll find Will eventually. He shouldn’t have that much of a head start, since Nico left maybe five minutes after he did, but who knows. Will’s fast, and sometimes this forest seems bigger than it really is. It’s easy to get lost.

He searches for what feels like hours, and might actually be hours; sky darkening as the sun disappears into the lake. The temperature drops significantly. Nico is hoping that he won’t be spending the night sleeping in the dirt when he hears sniffling.

Heart pounding, he freezes, focusing on the sound. It’s muffled, sobs choked-off and sound hidden behind cupped hands. The echo sounds strange, too; it’s close, that much is obvious, but Nico almost can’t tell if it’s coming from the left or the right. Truthfully, it doesn’t sound like either.

On impulse, he looks up. Almost invisible in the branches of a large oak tree is Will, stained clothes blending in with the scratchy bark, leaves covering the rest of him.

Except, perhaps fittingly, his bright, golden hair.

Worried that calling out to him might startle him right off the tree, Nico begins to climb. He’s not great at climbing — he doesn’t have a natural sense of what is and isn’t a good foothold — but oak trees are easy. Every half-step has a branch, and this tree is old enough that the branches are thick, sturdy. He’s twenty feet up before he even realizes, barely breaking a sweat.

He pauses a few feet shy of his target, straightening until he’s standing on an almost flat branch, arm looped tightly around the trunk.

“Will.”

Will startles. He looks around frantically, struggling in the dark, until his bloodshot eyes finally land on Nico. He bursts into more tears, shoulders shaking as he sobs.

Alarmed, Nico crawls all the way up.

“Woah, Will, breathe, vita, breathe —”

He’s not sure what tree-sobbing etiquette is, but regular sobbing etiquette often involves some kind of comforting physical touch, so he goes with that. And Will, he knows, likes to be crowded, likes to be almost suffocated with the sights and touch and smells of other people, to remind him he’s not alone, even if he feels it. So Nico scoots as closely as he dares, legs wrapped around the branch, and slides one arm around Will’s back, one against his chest, and tugs him closely.

Will comes easily.

With a bit of manoeuvring, he’s tucked under Nico’s chin, shoulders hunched and shaking, enveloped entirely in Nico’s arms. He can feel a wet spot growing on his left sleeve, and honestly he should be at least a little bit disgusted, but he barely even notices. He’s too busy fighting the lump in his own throat, blinking back his own tears.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Will’s curls. “Let it out, Will. You’re allowed.”

Will wails, a deep, choking, broken sound, and Nico loses the battle with his own tears. He’s never heard Will like this. He’s never heard anyone like this, except himself, in the echo of this same forest, years ago. It hurts like biting ice.

“It hurts, they’re gone, they’re gone, and I hate them, I hate them so much —” he heaves, dragging in breath like it cost him to say it, like part of his soul was dragged out of his vocal chords — “and I hate myself for hating them, I hate, they’re gone, I’m never —”

He dissolves into sobs, again, words breaking into nothing understandable, crying around the same repetitions over and over again. Nico hides his crumpling face in Will’s hair, wincing at every broken cry, every hitched breath, every moaned word. His heart feels like it’s breaking into a million fractals. He’s never felt so out of depth in his life.

“Let it out,” he whispers again, for a lack of anything else to say. “Let it out, sweetheart, let it out.”

For a long time, Nico had no one to hold him.

When he lost Bianca, he was by himself. And when he thought he had someone to guide him, someone to fix him, he was wrong — he was vulnerable and easy to manipulate. He had no one to hold him until he was too bitter and too closed off to let himself fall apart, anyway, and losing Bianca stayed somewhere rotten inside him, a bruise that never, ever stopped aching.

Until Will.

Last December he had cracked like an egg. He hadn’t meant to — it wasn’t even in the back of his mind — but he’d opened the door to Will’s smiling face on the morning, cold and sad as it was, and just started bawling. Some part of him, some deep, buried part, stomped it’s way from the prison Nico had kept it in and took the hell over, yanking open the floodgates, forcing him to expel every last drop of shadowy, strangling pain that had stayed inside him so long. He thought he was going to die. His entire body shook and jerked like a rowboat in a deep ocean storm, and it had been Will’s lighthouse, his endless, light eyes, his warm hands, his firm hold that had held him steady until he’d dragged himself out to the other side. It was and is the most painful thing he’d ever done in his life. And the most important.

He doesn’t think Will has had anyone to hold him, before, either. Not ‘til right this moment. Not Chiron, not his mother, and certainly not an older sibling. Will has been running on empty for as long as Nico has known him. Longer.

“Let it out,” Nico whispers again, and holds him tighter.

———

By the time either of them move again, it’s pale, early morning, and they’re damp from the dew and Will’s tears. Nico is as stiff as the tree he’s sitting on, but doesn’t dare say a word about it.

“I don’t want to go back,” Will croaks, the first either of them have spoken in hours.

Nico tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, resting a gentle hand on his cheek. “Okay.”

“We can’t stay here forever.”

“We can stay a while.” Nico pulls away slightly, just enough so that he can cradle Will’s face in both hands, tilting his chin up to meet his gaze. “I mean it, Will. As long as you need.”

“What if I’ll never have enough time?”

“Then I’ll stay with you until time runs out.” He presses a tentative, careful kiss to the centre of his freckled forehead; staying when Will shudders, leaning into it. Against his skin, he murmurs, “But you’ll have enough time, vita. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“I don’t want to be strong.”

“So don’t, I gotcha.” He presses another kiss slightly above the first, and another, resting again at the crown of his head. “But you can be.”

They stay like that until Nico’s face starts to go numb, and even then he doesn’t go far, shifting so his cheek lays on the top of Will’s skull. He ignores the slight tickle of his curls against his nose, focusing instead on the brand of his hands on his waist, the shakey but constant inhales, holds, exhales, again, again, again.

“Clarisse is my friend,” Will starts. “She was as important to me as — as Cass, before the war.”

Nico hums. “But she betrayed you.”

“All of us.”

“And you resent her for it, a little.”

Will nods. “It’s disgusting.”

“It’s human, Will, Christ.” He moves them around so they’re both sitting facing each other, Nico’s eyes firmly meeting Will’s. “I will never fully forgive Percy for letting Bianca die. Never. It’s not fair to him, and I love him anyway, and I am choosing to move past it. But I will carry that burden. Am I disgusting for that?”

Will glances away. “No.”

“Will, you — look at me.”

He does.

“Clarisse actively chose her pride over her people. So did the rest of her cabin. She’s not fully responsible for that choice, and the blame, as always, lands on Kronos’ shoulders, but —” Nico laughs, a bitter, defeated sound. “Out of all of us, you lost the most. No one lost as many as Apollo. No one burned as many shrouds. You’re allowed to be hurt, allowed to be angry.”

“I forgave them,” Will admits. “I did it publicly and called off the stupid rivalry right after the war. It was the first thing I did as head counsellor.”

“Trying to do what Michael would have done?”

“Are you kidding me, he —” Will scoffs, swiping at the tears trickling down the corners of his eyes. “If Michael were alive, and he found out I forgave them after what happened to Lee, too Diana — he would have been furious. He would stop speaking to me. If I was trying to be like Michael, I might’ve refused them treatment.”

Nico tries to imagine that for a second — Will refusing anyone treatment. It makes something sour uncurl in his stomach, something unsettling.

“You would never refuse someone treatment. I didn’t even — I didn’t think you guys were allowed.”

Will shrugs. “There are no rules to our practice. I just never made refusal an option, and the kids are too young to know any different.”

‘The kids’ — as if Kayla and Austin aren’t as old or older than Will was when he was in charge, when he held the bashed pieces of his brother’s brain as it oozed out of his skull. As he sat, exhausted, hands shaking, next to Nico, and embroidered twelve shrouds. As if Yan and Gracie are his, rather than Apollo’s.

“You forgave them so your siblings wouldn’t grow up bitter,” Nico realises. “Oh, gods, Will.”

He shrugs again, picking at his nails. “For me too. Grudges aren’t healthy.” He tries for a teasing smile. “You’d know.”

“I would.” Nico tries to smile back. It’s easier than he thought it would be, although it fades back into something serious quickly. He reaches out, linking his hands with Will’s to stop him picking before he bleeds. “You can be selfish sometimes, you know.”

“Not in front of anyone.”

“You’re admitting it in front of me,” Nico points out.

Will hesitates. “That’s — different.”

“How?”

“You get it.” He looks down, voice quiet. “You get me. I can —” He meets Nico’s eyes again, a kind of helpless smile on his face. “I dunno. You’re safe. You’re okay with me, even when I’m ugly.”

“Even then,” Nico echoes quietly. He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind Will’s ear again, even though none were loose. His fingertips linger, and the skin under his touch warms. “Especially then.”

“You can, too, you know, I lo —”

“I know.”

Will exhales in relief. “Good.”

He slumps forward until his forehead rests on the swell of Nico’s shoulder, breaths warming the air between them. Nico tries to match his rhythm — in, out, in, out. Hold. Out, in.

“Can we — hide here, for a little bit? Just a little longer.”

“Of course,” Nico murmurs, squeezing his wrists. “I’ll hide you as long as you need.”

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simp-ly-writes · 11 days ago

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The Silent Duke

─────── · · A Smosh Bridgerton/Historical AU

Pairing: Duke!Spencer Agnew x F!Reader (no use of sher/her pronouns)

─ · · SUMMARY: Your parents say you must marry by the end of the season (much to your horror) but what happens when a mysterious gentleman appears, what difference will that make of your marriage outlook when sparks fly and yet you are being paired with another- the mystery-mans best friend out of all people!

─ · · TAGS: bridgerton alternative universe, historical au, old-fashioned society, talks of marriage, hopeless-romantic reader, jealous!Spencer, fluff, angst, drama

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 3,091

─ · · A/N: I am so unbelievably hyped for the next season of Bridgerton and for those who don't know what the show is, this is basically a historical AU.

─────── · ·

It was the start of the social season and you your parents had agreed you had wasted enough time having your head in books and your fingers stained by paints and inks that you should find a spouse (much to your horror).

You were scared. Scared to lose your independence of doing what you want, when you wanted to. Scared that you would have to stress about providing for others all the time and to worry over someone. You were scared that you would fall in love, whatever love felt like, with someone only for your heart to get broken when they go to court another; someone who looks better than you, has more polished shoes or sharper brains.

What if they could sing? Dance better? Would they have a laugh that sounds like rainfall and bells? These thoughts swirled around your head as your older brother and their wife sat across from you, you sitting in between your mother and father. You were surrounded by couples who deeply loved one another and you wanted nothing more but to find something rare like that.

But it was exactly that, rare, that stopped you from looking and getting your heartbroken in the first place. You dreamed in the novels you read of knights whisking away servants and queens falling for peasants but that was it, just fiction or for the lucky. And you always lacked luck being the second born in all.

Sighing to yourself, your clothes feeling too tight all the sudden as you adjusted your collar and gloves, shifting in your seat as your mother reprimands, "Stop moving, you mustn't wrinkle your clothes now, dear, we have appearances to maintain." You shift one last time with a nod. Your hands now forming fists placed atop your knees to stop yourself from moving about.

You swear to be hearing the string quartet already as grand grounds and an equally grand home come into view from the cobbled streets. Surrounded by a brick wall fence and iron gates that glide gracefully on the hinges, the whole property is well-maintained as a fountain with various fish spout water. You hold in a laugh while observing the bulging eyes on all of them, the owner must have a good sense of humour.

"Mama, I have not seen this estate before, is it a first for the host?" You question in a whispering tone, unknowing to how well the carriage blocks your conversation as you pull up to the staff awaiting on the front steps.

"Yes, it is the Duke's first time hosting an event, though Lady Danbury has been... politely reminding the Duke that he does need to host events with his title. You nod your head, curiosity ever-growing as you imagine a thousand men who would hold a title and not wish to flaunt it all around the ton.

You wonder if they have a spouse, children to fill these walls that you are about to enter. Are they young or old? Bright or simple-minded? What hobbies do they have? Why keep themselves hidden... what secrets do they hide?

In a world of your own you descend for the carriage, your father taking your mothers arm as they stroll ahead of you. You can hear your brothers wife giggling from behind and you do not dare to turn around. Instead following absent-mindedly behind your parents like a little ducking.

The halls are painted a wonderful forest green, gold accents appear tasteful but are not gaudy. The floors are a wonderful oak that warms the interior, it truly feels like a home despite the scale. As you continue further into the home, you pick out the simple paneling against the walls, the surplus of plants and trinkets rather than the beheaded animals or weapons you would think a rich man like this to hold against their walls. But none of it but gorgeous paintings and by reading the tags, all gifted.

For a man who does not socialize with the ton, they seem to be in well standings with many artists for them to gift such beautiful works. Soon you find yourself distanced from your family, so enveloped by the various landscapes and bizarrely, portraits of animals and the dukes friends. All of which you had never seen before.

Keeping your hands behind your back, to stop yourself from touching everything with your curiosity. You take to a side table, running long with the hallway. A book sits open with various encouraging messages and doodles in the corners of the pages that has you smiling before a light cough has you standing upright and at attention.

A presence now stands politely behind you yet just to your side. You can see their shadow casting over the book as you turn your head to be met with blue eyes framed by a thin pair of silver glasses. Curly brown hair draping elegantly over his forehead. His beard is clearly cut and self decorated in a simple black suit and white shirt.

Your cheeks warm, embarrassed to be caught snooping by this member of the ton as you take a step back and bow your head in greeting. "Good evening, It appears I have lost my way to the events hall," you voice, doing your best to keep your tone even and your eyes looking above his eyes, not being able to maintain eye contact in your embarrassment.

"Good evening," the man greets you back, extending their hand towards your own that you hesitantly take, unable to hide the surprise when they take your hand, gracing the back of it with a delicate kiss, that has your skin tickling underneath your gloves, "allow me to take you back."

You nod in reply, not trusting your voice as your hand is moved to their arm as they lead you back up to the hall. "I see that the decor has caught your attention, anything of note?" They make light conversation and you are partially thankful for them trying to ease you but at the same time, you didn't wish to speak, keeping your answers short and wanting to find your brother to hide behind like old times.

"I... I found it curious, the decor in how there are no portraits of the Duke yet so many of his friends and animals. I have not seen anything like it in the other manors I have been invited into." The man hums out, agreeing with your answer as you catch the corner of their smile. "Yes, very interesting how the Duke has no images of himself despite it being his main estate. Many appear to look past it but you observed it, Do you think it tasteless?"

You catch the hint of a tease but genuine curiosity matching your own, "I do not think it to be tasteless. I find it uplifting to see a nobleman not bragging their possessions, a trait hard to come by these days."

"Hard to come by yes but not if you don't look in the right places for it. It appears we have arrived, I wish you a good evening," the man places his hand on top of your own, gently removing it from his arm before turning back down the hall.

"Are you not joining in the festivities, sir?" you ask, hands clasped to your front with a tilt to your head watching as he stops and turns his head over his shoulder. "I have yet to think about that, but your presence will definitely make me consider." And with that he disappears behind another door as if a mere fragment of your imagination.

─────── · ·

The ballroom is a whirlwind of champagne, delicacies and delights as lace and linen twirl around the floor in various bright shades of nature to celebrate the early spring. You stand to the back, observing as the couples dance around the floor, skirts twirling and suit tails chasing after. You do your best to hide your dancing card in between your hands, the pursuit of finding a spouse still looming over your head, and that dread comes crashing down like a tidal wave as your mother bring forth a potential suitor.

"Child of mine, may I present to you Mister Tran, he comes from a family of businessman and traders, how wonderful is that dear? He is a polygot and even a world adventurer." Your mom brings your hands together as you bow down in greeting and he does the same, ending with a kiss to the back of your glove that has you not feeling the same sparks as you did with the man earlier in the hallway.

Mr. Tran appears tall and lean, he has long hair tied back into a bun. His eyes sparkle with mischief as he signs your dance card and adjusts his glasses, that similar slim silver that has your heart racing for some reason. "Pleasure to meet you," Mr. Tran speaks in a light even tone, "I hear you had a passion for literature, have you ever read in another language?"

"No, I have not had the pleasure of yet but I do wish to in the future," you reply, eyes casting over his black suit that hows small stripes of another material. His pocket square is nothing like you've seen before, "What design do you have in your suit-pocket there" you ask.

"Ah, this is from my dear friend Spencer. We both traveled to France in our early twenties, quite the adventure not meant for the proper ears here but we commissioned this work in memory of it." Mr. Tran leans down closer for you to observe the small french-styled buildings and floral prints embroidered.

"It is quite lovely," you finish with as Mr. Tran stands back upright. "I mustn't hold your gorgeous attention any longer. I'm sure many more suitors are wishing to introduce themselves but I do look forward to our dance later tonight," he parts with one last kiss to your hand as you stand there still, your mother put her hands up in a silent cheer towards you that you try and force a smile to your face as the next gentleman coves up and the next, and next... until your card became full.

Your heart dropped seeing not an empty slot left, that man from earlier still at the forefront of your thoughts as you got whisked off to the dance floor where you would spend the rest of your night filled with conversations of men ranting about their mistresses or trying to smell your hair with little that you could do.

Their conversations bored you, they hardly asked you a question on your likes or the things you studied, some even had the delight of saying you shouldn't have studies in the first place that put you in a great mood to say the least.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Mr. Tran asks, you freeze in his arms, blinking confused to getting recognition and that your partner changed. Your shoulders finally drop as he smiles down at you, pulling away for a twirl before coming back together. You think quickly for an excuse, "Just wondering where the Duke is, I have yet to see him tonight."

Mr. Tran hums in agreement but by the look in his eyes, you don't believe him to be truthful as you press forwards, "Have you seen the Duke, Mr. Tran?" you ask the only man you could consider to be in high standing with you tonight from his basic ability to hold conversation as a two-way affair alongside actually interesting hobbies.

"I have but I am surprised to know you are looking for the Duke, am I not to your liking?" Mr. Tran teases light heartedly, already knowing your answer after conversing with his friend earlier.

"Well, it is their event afterall, do you not find it curious that they do not appear to it?" you cut him off with a sorry smile.

"Well, from being in close standings to the Duke, I cannot say that this is not a common experience. He likes to keep in close company not these large social events not to his tastes," Mr. Tran explains as you both sway together, you catch a look from your parents and brother who all are encouraging you to smile more as you roll your eyes in their direction.

"I gathered that from his decor from earlier, though I do wonder where a man went from earlier. Say have you seen a shorter gentleman, glasses similar to your own with curly hair?" Mr. Tran does not do well to hide his smile or chuckle, a light coming to his eyes as he puts all the pieces together about his friend and you.

"Very interesting and very insightful of you to observe, I do know the gentleman you know to be describing, he is to be my best mate, Spencer."

"Spencer?" you test the name against your tongue as Mr. Tran's arms tighten around you, "Correct but I wouldn't say that name so outspokenly, you might receive more than a few looks for it"

"Oh! I do apologize, did they do something disgraceful- wait. That was wrong of me to consider, I do apologize, again," you ramble.

"No, he certainly is not disgraceful, I mean you both did converse did you not? He is a perfect gentleman except when it comes to his competitive attitude in sport, then he is not," you both chuckle at this, the music slowing as your eyes cast over his shoulder in the final moments of dance.

Mr. Tran holds you still as you stumble over your shoes when catching a familiar blue. Spencer, you learned his name to be casts you a wink and raised champagne glass as he observes you with a small smile that has your heart pumping as you cast a similar one in his direction.

"It appears you both have found one another," Mr. Tran teases, you both bow one more to end the dance before you are stepping around the crowd to see where Spencer had disappeared off to once more only yo be stopped by your mother as you huff in annoyance and try to continue forward but are sadly stopped.

"Mother, please-I" you begin. "My, you and Mr. Tran have truly made a connection with one another, we must see him next week for another dance," and with sunken shoulders you are lead out another door and towards your carriage.

─────── · ·

Spencer awaited in the room for your presence, he had not yet had a moment where you both could converse freely again without a thousand eyes staring back at your interactions. He worried that his title would come in the way yet again.

So he turned around, ready to greet you with a smile as the door handle turned open. Only for him to sit back in his chair when Mr. Alex Tran, his best friend came into the room. "It appears that my presence is disappointing to many today, how wonderful for me." Alex sarcastically comments while sitting across from Spencer, placing his shoes against the coffee table as someone comes over to pour both men a glass of whiskey. Both men commenting their thanks to the staff before they exit the room.

"Hm, might just be with that face of yours~" Spencer teases, holding up his glass for a cheers as Alex scoffs but clinks his glass nonetheless. "You're one to be commenting on face values, you are leading that poor man/lady on."

"I have no idea what you are on about."

"Hmm, well if you have no idea then you mustn't be interested in learning how much they wanted to learn about you once knowing we were friends..." Alex slowly turns his head to Spencer, catching as his eyes light up much similarly to your own. He knows that you both formed a connection in that little meeting within the hallway and he would not want his best mate to miss out on another opportunity like this.

"Well, all knowledge is good knowledge, do let me know," Spencer says, feeling around in his jacket for a cigar as he lights it in wait. Alex shakes his head with a smile, "Brother I say you are infatuated, would I be wrong in saying so?"

"Infatuated?" Spencer thinks aloud, blowing out a cloud of smoke to the side while staring up at the coffered ceiling. "I would not say infatuated but intrigued."

"Their mother introduced me to them, saying they are to find a husband by the end of the season. I do understand that they looked similar to our age but I did find it odd that with such elegance, someone did not swoop them off their feet earlier. And they really are quite intelligent and well-spoken, holding a love for literature and an interest in my adventures. I had never spoken to a woman/man with such childlike curiosity mixed with a mature understanding of the world and its functions." Alex recalled your conversations to Spencer, catching as his eyes narrowed in recognition for the dance you both shared together.

"I would say you should put your foot in the door so-to-speak. I may be finding a spouse like the other gentlemen by the end of the season. The lady/sir appears to be in high demand, their card was full as soon as they noticed they were available," Alex concludes, taking a drag of Spencer cigar. "I mean, I wouldn't mind marrying them, they seem in tune with my lifestyle," Alex imagines only to be kicked in the shin with a wince.

"I think our friendship may have to be called into question if you take away the first person I have taken interest in in nearly a decade," Spencer quips, taking the cigar back before loosening his tie.

"Well then, friend. I think you will need to 'step up your game' as the youth say. I overheard that I was number one on their dating card," Alex presses more, loving the look brewing in Spencer eyes as they both lean back in their chairs. "Well that really won't do," Spencer comments, shaking his head, curls coming undone.

"Are you saying the Silent Duke is finally going to be socializing like the rest of us in the ton? Not frolicking with their fellow artist friends?" Alex presses for a clear answer, his love of adventure shining through for the possibilities this could entail.

"You would stand correct."

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: what did y'all think??? also sorry for the lack of updates, was on vacation.

─ · · SPENCER AGNEW TAGLIST: @lisiliely @missflufffanfics @little-stitious-studios @thejourneyneverendsx @sibsteria @lizzylynch1 @babble2 @delaneyburghardt @thevintagefangirl @uniquely-haunting @maricarorp

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tangyangie · 2 years ago

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karma general dating headcanons!

— first of all.. he definitely teases you. way more than anyone else. like, if him teasing the class was a 10 on the scale, you'd be a 26.

— he likes to poke you. there's no specific reason, you're just so.. pokeable. he likes to see your skin smush beneath his finger as you face slowly gets more annoyed. he will stop eventually, if you ask him to.

— he likes to buy you things. he will get you gifts that you've only mentioned once before, as a general thought. it's honestly baffling how closely he listens to what you say.

— he learns as much as possible about your tastes. you like a certain music artist? he's memorized the discography in one day. if he sees you browsing a site on how to make a certain dish? he learns how to cook it on the way to the grocery store to get the ingredients.

— he gives you massages. he notices how tense you may get, and wants to relieve this pressure. but, if you make any noise at all, he'll tease the shit out of you. be prepared.

— he does your schoolwork for you. if you forgot to do an assignment right before class, he'll write down the answers as fast as he possibly can. although korosensei probably wouldn't get too angry, you'd rather not deal with the speech.

— he loves to kiss you. a lot. he will completely engulf your face with his lips, all leading up to a final kiss on the lips and a tap on your nose. he constantly amuses you with this predictable pattern. -- one time, you decided to dodge the final kiss, and he acted so offended. he got back at you, though. you didn't escape him that time.

— he's a very light sleeper. if you move at all, he's waking up. just getting up to get a glass of water will make him jerk awake like the earth is destroying itself underneath his feet. you apologize every time, but no amount of sleeping aids helps.

— he initiates a lot of pillow fights. you say something with a little too much of a teasing smile, and he'll get you back by smothering you with a fluffy pillow. you laugh from underneath, but he'll only grab more to destroy you (with love) until you surrender.

— he makes fun of the characters in movies. you watch a horror movie, and he'll be yelling at the screen for the character not to go back to the door, how stupid they're being, and how he'd totally be able to survive whatever the phenomenon is.

— he's the least clumsy person you'll ever meet. he could probably carry ten gallons of water in paint buckets all stacked over each other on his head for 3 miles, and there would be absolutely no drop spilled.

— he likes to take you on fun dates. you'll both find an old park with a tire swing, and you'll hang out there every day eating oranges while hanging upside down on the monkey bars.

— he's a drama queen. he'll fall backwards theatrically with the back of his hand on his forehead and gracefully land on the grass. all of this because you refused to skip class with him.

— he's extremely protective. i don't think i need to mention this, but if he hears that anyone even laid a finger on you, he'll go pay them a friendly visit. they won't be coming to school for at least a week.

— he steals blankets. although it's mostly when he sleeps, he does it when he's awake, too. you're freezing your ass off? not his problem. (part of him wants you to cuddle up to him and beg him to wrap his arm around you.)

notes: this was so much fun to make!! i need to make more headcanons of random people who i'm thinking of atm..

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its-avalon-08 · 7 months ago

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hearts intertwined (hamilton x sister! driver!rosberg) pt2

chapter two: look what you made me do

warnings - none at all

series so far - pt1

The tension in the drivers' briefing room was thicker than the stale coffee being served. The initial shock of Y/N's arrival had subsided, replaced by an awkward curiosity. The drivers, used to the same faces, were eager to understand the new dynamic.

Sebastian Vettel, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat. "So, Y/N, what brings you to Red Bull? Surely you had some other offers?"

Y/N's smile held a hint of steel. "Let's just say I like a challenge. And besides," she glanced at Max, a playful glint in her eyes, "Max here promised to teach me how to properly drift a Red Bull."

Max snorted, a mock look of horror on his face. "Oh god, help me. You'll have Christian pulling his hair out in a week." Laughter erupted, the tension easing slightly.

"Seriously though," Charles chimed in, "who influenced you to get into F1? Any racing heroes?"

Y/N's smile softened. "Actually, my biggest inspiration has always been my brother."

A hush fell over the room. All eyes darted towards Lewis, who sat rigidly in his chair, his jaw clenched.

"Nico gave me incredible advice, pushed me to my limits, and always believed in me. No major racing company looked at me as a child considering I was a girl. Nico gave me all the confidence I have today and I owe it all to him," Y/N continued, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension.

Lewis scoffed, a barely audible sound, but enough for everyone to hear. "Cheating motherfucker," Lewis muttered soft enough to not be audible but loud enough to know that he said something

Y/N's smile vanished, replaced by a glacial stare. "Something you want to share, Lewis?" she drawled, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. "Perhaps some… helpful pointers on how to lose gracefully?"

The room erupted in gasps. Lewis' face turned a deep shade of crimson. He opened his mouth to retort, but Sebastian intervened before a full-blown argument could erupt.

"Alright, alright, let's keep things civil, shall we?" he chuckled nervously.

The media pounced on the exchange like vultures on carrion. Headlines screamed of a brewing 'Rosberg Revenge', with Y/N's comment dissected and twisted into a declaration of war.

Back in the Red Bull garage, Y/N rolled her eyes at the news articles Max shoved in her face. "Honestly, these people wouldn't know drama if it bit them in the ass"

Max grinned. "Schat just focus on the race, Y/N. Don't let Lewis get to you."

Y/N snorted. "Don't worry, Max. The only thing Lewis will be getting this season is a taste of defeat."

The competitive fire in her eyes burned bright, fueled by a mix of raw talent and a burning desire to not just win, but to prove Lewis wrong. The stage was set for a season unlike any other, a season where sibling rivalry would take center stage, and the battle lines were already drawn.

credits for gif - @lewishamiltongifs

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yurious-george · 1 year ago

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For those of you who don’t know anything about Hollow Knight or its upcoming sequel, Silksong, there is some drama of astronomical potential that is going to be hilarious to see how it shakes out.

Three things. First, as you may already know, Hollow Knight is one of those hardcore games that attracts a certain type of cishet “gamer guy”: I’m sure you know the type. They can be more or less overtly bigoted, but either way, they’re all kind of That Guy. Second, Princess Hornet is one of the major characters in Hollow Knight, and the player character in Silksong. Third, every character in the Hollow Knight world is a bug, and aren’t depicted as having sexually dysmorphic traits that humans have: there are no insects with tits in this game, despite being bipedal and anthropomorphic. (Despite that, Hornet is frequently drawn with tits anyway, because the aforementioned demographic is outrageously horny for her. This is important later.)

In Silksong, Hornet is strongly implied to have a rival/deuteragonist, Lace! Not much is known about Lace, except she’s described as sadistic and set up as Hornet’s rival. And gamer dudebros hate her.

Maybe not full on hate, but they don’t like her. “Too mean and dislikable,” if memory serves. If I had to guess, they’re subconsciously picking up on the subtext and being homophobic about it: Hornet is the waifu of many a gamer bro, and between the subtext and Lace’s implied importance in the narrative/sadism/independence/backhandedness, Lace does not have a lot of love in that half of the community.

(As for the other half of the community, the player character of Hollow Knight is canonically agender. There are two canon gay couples within the game, and while not required, completing their side quests is essential to 100%ing the game. Despite being a couple of Cishet Male Gamers themselves, the Hollow Knight team is gracefully supportive of the LGBT+ community, and much of the fan base is LGBTQ+!)

But back to Lace: Lace and her subtext. Lace has insane amounts of wedding and romantic subtext despite only having 2 trailers and a demo’s worth of content. Off the top of my head:

association with white & gold, particularly white roses

Lots of church imagery, especially an emphasis on ringing bells

Lace’s and Hornet’s VAs are both Japanese, and Lace is straight up wearing a Japanese wedding garment while dressed head to toe in white

Visual design and presentation wise, Lace is framed as an equal and opposite to Hornet. Lace is likely to play the rival-won-over role that Hornet had in Hollow Knight, to the point of leaving the arena the same way as Hornet when her first fight ends

Calls Hornet delicious when first introduced. Then says she likes her when Hornet tells her to fuck off

Strongly implied to have saved Hornet in the opening trailer

And, last but certainly not least: the original Silksong announcement, with Lace’s introduction, came out on February 14th.

And that’s just off the top of my head!

I don’t want to get my hopes up, much less expect anything and get disappointed, but in my heart I am hoping gamer bros take the BIGGEST L when Silksong comes out. I hope Lace is complex and engaging and still sadistic. I hope Lace is the Vriska of Silksong. I hope Lace and Hornet have so much subtext it’s practically text. I hope the good end is locked behind a lesbian wedding.

I don’t hope for that last one specifically, but just imagine. Go on, pair off the one character that cishet male fans go “hhhurngh… female character” and draw with massive balloon tits to the character they hate the most. Do it. I believe in you

But seriously: The main character of the most wishlisted game on Steam confirmed in a wlw relationship, effectively alienating half or more than half of the fan base. Hollow Knight: Silksong has the potential to be the funniest lesbian W in the universe and I cannot wait to see how it all goes down.

#hollow knight #silksong #hollow knight silksong #hk silksong #this is Cassandra #hashtag lacenet sweep #long post #lacenet #like korrasami “’we popping the BIGGEST bottles when makorra happens tomorrow”’ w #the 100 crowd

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blues824 · 11 months ago

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🌸💗 I am bacccc! I come to ask more the mistletoe prompt! With Jack and Sebek, I was hoping their gn!darling could be a Fae of the nightmares/ or what my roommate calls a sleep paralysis demon! 🥺😊

You requested: Mistletoe

Whenever I see Sebek’s name, I go feral

Jack Howl

You had met when he was strolling about in the forest behind the school. You tended to hang about in dark places, but you needed to be alone at the moment. He thought you were ethereal in a rather dark way. You were carrying a candle, walking gracefully and slowly, taking in the mystery of the woods.

Jack was trying to clear his mind as well. Ace and Deuce were horrible during class, and he had a headache that wouldn’t go away. However, it seemed to disappear the second he saw you. You were in your Diasomnia uniform, and you didn’t notice that he was there. Unfortunately for him, he stepped on a twig, and in seconds you were right next to him, asking who he was.

Anyway, you had joined the First Year group of unlikely friends, and you even entered a courtship with the wolf. Everyone, including him, was surprised that you accepted his confession, but he was happy that you did. It was right in time for the holidays as well, because you both got busy with getting ready for the dormitory Christmas parties.

However, the First Years headed to Ramshackle shortly after the celebrations ended, despite being exhausted. You were as graceful as the day he met you in the forest, despite fatigue being apparent on your face. Now, what you both didn’t know (you did know, as you had seen it in everyone’s dreams, but you weren’t going to stop it), was that they placed mistletoe in various locations so that you were bound to walk under it.

It didn’t take long, and Ace shouted and pointed to it. Jack’s ears fell, face glowing red as he looked at you. You grabbed the lapels of his leather jacket and pulled him into a rather passionate kiss, and you could hear his tail hitting Deuce from how hard it was wagging. Grim shouted a loud GET A ROOM, and it made Jack break away in embarrassment.

Sebek Zigvolt

You had visited his dream the first night you were in Diasomnia, and he did not appreciate how you took control of it just to introduce yourself. However, it was strange. You interrupted everything and just strolled in gracefully. Sebek found himself paralyzed, and not because of your appearance… You made it so that he actually could not move.

When he saw you in the dormitory the next morning, walking out of the gate, he had the sudden urge to talk to you. He could sense that you were a fae, and that already got his respect. You, however, had a bit of trouble concealing your smile as you denied his accusations of entering his dream with your magic. Your efforts were in vain, as you let out a giggle, blowing your cover.

Again, everyone was surprised when they found out that Sebek was courting you. Yuu was very supportive and even very excited, but everyone else thought it was a fake relationship. However, they created a plan that was sure to reveal the nature of your association with him. They were living for drama, but little did they know, they would not be getting it.

As you headed to Ramshackle, arm in arm, you were joined by your friends and the smell of more food in the dilapidated dormitory. However, it was different. You were surrounded by people who have helped defeat overblot after overblot. You noticed that your friends were whispering amongst each other, snickering as they looked at you both.

The mistletoe was hanging over the front door, and since you both entered together, you stood under it. Ace and Epel pointed it out, and you both looked up to confirm it. Sebek was so flustered and embarrassed, shouting at the two for pressuring someone as great as you to do something like this before marriage. But, he was further flustered when you pulled him in by the lapels of his jacket into a kiss.

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jbaileyfansite · 3 months ago

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Interview on Today (2024)

Jonathan Bailey and Matt Bomer tell a decades-spanning love story, set against a dark time in American history, in the miniseries "Fellow Travelers."

"It's a once or twice in a career experience to get to tell characters' stories for three plus decades," Bomer tells TODAY.com.

It also seems to be a "once or twice in a career" friendship between the two stars.

As we sit down to chat after their appearance on TODAY, I tell Bailey this interview will be audio-only, not on camera.

"So you'll get to hear Matt's Elphaba riff," Bailey jokes, before Bomer belts out a near-perfect tenor rendition of the closing notes of "Defying Gravity."

In addition to "Fellow Travelers," which premiered on Showtime in October 2023 and led to both stars receiving Emmy nominations, Bailey is also gearing up for the release of the film adaptation of "Wicked."

"I wore my emerald shirt to support," Bomer says later.

Throughout the interview, they share effusive praise for each other. Bomer was a "huge fan" of Bailey's work before they met, he says, and the "Bridgerton" actor then "exceeded all expectations." Bailey credits Bomer, who served as an executive producer on the show, with making "the whole thing happen."

"He's been a hero for a long time," Bailey says of his co-star.

Their friendship may be the happily ever after that, on its surface, is absent from their show.

"Fellow Travelers" chronicles the love story between political consultants Hawkins "Hawk" Fuller (Bomer) and Tim Laughlin (Bailey) over the course of four decades. Their relationship starts against the backdrop of the Lavender Scare in 1950s Washington D.C. and runs all the way up to San Francisco in the '80s, at the start of the AIDS epidemic.

The show is romantic, sexy, moving and devastating, right up until the last line.

An 'instantaneous' friendship

Bomer says their friendship was "instantaneous."

"I feel like we went from coworkers to friends the first time we read together," he says. "It was so great to have someone I could completely trust as my scene partner and lean on and who made me better every day as an actor an a person at times."

He adds, "It was never really an effort."

Because their characters maintain an off-and-on again relationship over the years, Bailey and Bomer saw their characters through different ages and life phases.

That “nature of the love story” means they “grew with every scene," Bailey says.

"One of the most bonding experiences was seeing each other turning up through the different decades — see how we were aging, sometimes gracefully, sometimes not, and then sometimes gracefully again,” he says. "We're bonded, I'd say, for life."

‘Fellow Travelers,’ ‘Bridgerton’ and ‘Wicked’ — oh my!

The intensity of the show's emotions was matched by the intensity of filming.

Bailey, known for his breakout role as romantic hero Anthony in "Bridgerton" Season 2, filmed Season 3 of "Bridgerton" and his upcoming film "Wicked" at the same time as the Showtime drama.

When asked on TODAY Aug. 16 how he kept all the roles in his head, he simply answered, "I don't know."

But he did recall a time when his roles as Tim in "Fellow Travelers" and Fiyero in "Wicked" overlapped.

"There was one afternoon where we had a two-way trailer," Bailey said. "And the trailer was sort of rocking."

"I was like, 'What's going on in Johnny's trailer?'" Bomer recalled.

"I came out really sweaty," Bailey continued. "My Tim glasses were on, and I had on Adidas from the waist down, and I had been practicing my 'Wicked' choreography."

At its busiest, "Fellow Travelers" filmed for entire days — literally.

"Some of the days were like 20 hours," Bailey recalls to TODAY.com.

They filmed Episode 6, "Beyond Measure," largely set in the ‘60s —years since Tim and Hawk last spoke — in about three days, Bailey says.

"We had to wrap the show. You had places you had to be, and the schedule was so tight, we were just doing 18-hour days, 20-hour days," Bomer adds.

This happened after theactors had filmed the final scenes of the show.

"So we'd done the real heavy moment —," Bailey says, as Bomer adds, "We had this great release for the whole experience. But then we had to go back."

And about that ending...

"Fellow Travelers" turns out to be a frame narrative. The show both opens and ends in the '80s during Tim and Hawk's last reunion, before Tim dies of complications from AIDS.

Tim's death is not shown on screen. Instead, it's revealed through the final scene, which sees Hawk and his daughter looking at Tim's name on the AIDS Memorial Quilt in 1987. For the first time, Hawk tells her about his relationship with Tim.

The last lines of the show are Bomer's.

"He wasn't my friend. He was the man I loved," Hawk says.

Both actors confirm that the last time Tim and Hawk saw each other was in 1986 at the political gala shown in Episode 8. After Tim tries and fails to get an audience with the California governor to advocate for a crucial AIDS bill, he interrupts the event with a protest. But before taking the stage, Hawk kisses Tim, who then tells his longtime love to go home.

"I have to fight this fight. That means letting go of everything else. And if you're around, I will not be able to let go," Tim says.

Bomer calls their ending "brilliant."

"To see Tim in this moment of absolute triumph, where he is his most authentic self, pumping his fist in the air with a passion and a cause — everything that he had tried to hard to be in the '50s, he is celebrating out loud in the '80s," Bomer says. "I just thought it was such a beautiful, heartbreaking way to go out."

Tim’s arc “ends with his strongest moment, even though his body is dying," Bailey adds.

Hawk meanwhile, "hits the 'f-it' button," Bomer says.

"To kiss Tim openly is such a huge, revolutionary act (for Hawk)," he adds. "So he's definitely made the choice that he's going to take a complete new path for his life."

Bailey says the gala was the last time Tim and Hawk saw each other “in this world.”

"From the last scene, you can tell that he will live on as Hawk's great love of his life," Bomer adds. "Forever."

Source

#jonathan bailey #matt bomer #fellow travelers #wicked #today interview #interviews #interviews:2024 #NEW!

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lilousmustaches · 21 days ago

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Always keep fighting

Warnings: Depressive and insecurity thoughts.

Notes: I was always afraid of naming one of my stories "Always keep fighting" because i used to think that it had to be perfect. I think this one earned it gracefully. You have my heart in it. Rewatching Supernatural 10 years after and all of it just making the same sense to me as when i was just a kid... gave me the confirmation that i'm always going to have where to come back to. Thank you.

Summary: A very meaningful intimate conversation with the one who helped you overcome your depression many years ago. Jared Padalecki.

Platonic!Jared Padalecki x Reader / Jensen Ackles x Reader

You breathed out tired, closing your eyes feeling the sun and a slight breeze hit your face. Billie Eilish’s voice was playing max in your AirPods isolating you from the noises around like that would give you some peace of mind.

You were in the middle of filming a season of Supernatural and honestly your life was great. Expect it wasn’t. Well… it was really, nothing really bad was happening, you had an incredible job, amazing friends, amazing fans, there was no drama. But the stress was winning you over and you could feel yourself slowly drifting away into a dark place again, just like when you were younger and what looked like a innocent wave of sadness, turned into 3 years of anti depressives. You heard once that when you have depression one time, it never go away. Not completely. You live your life “sober”, but if you don’t watch it out, any trigger can throw you into the pit once more.

But it was adult life right? How could you escape the stress of having to do a house moving, working really hard for too many hours, being rejected for a job that you really wanted, sleeping with a coworker who you were in love with and he disappearing after… Normal adult things. There wasn’t no time to cry about it while listening to Billie Eilish.

You opened your eyes when felt a presence besides you, and you took of your AirPods when saw Jared installing himself near you, in the bench below a tree that was located in a quiet spot in the supernatural set. He wasn’t looking at you, he was looking straight ahead like everything was normal.

“Hi Jar.” You said still a little confused but waiting to see what this was about.

“Hi (Y/N)” He said simply still looking ahead. “What were you listening to?”

“New Billie’s album.” You said with a little smile and Jared finally looking at you with an excited face, he was wearing his grey beanie and a white hoodie.

“It’s so good right?” He said making you chuckle.

“Yeah…” You answered frowning your eyebrows. “What are you doing here Jar? I thought you didn’t even had scenes today.”

“Had some audio problems I had to solve for that forest scene.” He explained and turned his attention straight ahead again. “And thought it would be a good opportunity to check on you.”

“Check on me?” You asked laughing a bit confused. “You see me practically everyday”

“Yeah, that’s exactly why I knew we had to talk.” He said turning more serious and your heart started to sunk in your chest. “I know you (Y/N). For real.”

You sighed giving up on trying to hide, Jared was one of your best friends and you two always understood each other very well. That included noticing each other’s mood swings and knowing all about the other’s personal life’s. You stayed quiet for a few seconds before breathing out.

“I didn’t get that part that I really wanted.” You admitted feeling almost ashamed of saying out loud, sensing a bitter taste in your mouth. It was the main role for an adaptation of a book that you loved, and you felt like you were the perfect person for it. Apparently not.

“I’m sorry (Y/N), I know how excited you were.” He said quietly putting his arm around your shoulder to give a squeeze. “Did they tell you why?”

“Nothing concrete.” You struggled. “Random excuses and pre written messages.”

“That sucks.” He agreed and made a long pause. “But it was just another project, other ones will appear and besides… it would mess up your schedule with Supernatural!”

You rolled your eyes and looked at him with a little smile.

“Jared we both know Supernatural is coming to an end. Everybody is moving on, thinking about what to do next. You’re already writing your project, hell, Jensen is in L.A right now signing contracts for The Boys.” You said and saw him struggling on what to say. He knew you were right. You entered the Supernatural cast many years ago and it was like a dream coming true. Your career got some much better, the working environment was everything you could ever ask for, you met your best friends and had incredible fans. Being a female character in the show, you didn’t think you would last that much. But you did and you were happy about it. But all the things in life get to a point when you start wanting more, and now, knowing that Supernatural has to end, you found yourself lost. Stagnated. Scared what would happen to your career after this. You were a few years younger than J2 and thought the industry would be open to welcome you, but wasn’t at all what was happening.

“(Y/N) we still have, at least, one year before we will be really done with Supernatural. That gives you more than enough time to figure it out.” He said like it was obvious.

“Jar, I know” You said with a sad smile looking at him. “All the rationalized things you were going to say to me, already crossed my mind. I know everything is technically ok. I’m just…” You stopped yourself sighing, gathering the courage to admit it. “I’m just sad.”

Jared looked at you with a suffered expression and you saw for a split second a look of surprise in his face.

“I don’t want to seem ungrateful to the universe, God, or whatever there is out there.” You continued making him open a small smile. “I know I have time, I just moved to a better apartment, I should be thankful. But I’m just so sad. I don’t even know how to explain it.”

“I understand it.” He said sincerely looking straight into your eyes, giving you all of his attention. “The guilt that comes with having everything great around you and feeling all of this. Believe me, I do.” Jared said and you knew what he was talking about. About his depressed phase that gave life to all of the campaigns. You two shared a lot of conversations in that period, specially because you had history as well. “I noticed you were not acting like yourself these past days, I was waiting for you to come talk to me, like you always had.”

You looked away again feeling a bit ashamed.

“I didn’t feel like talking.”

“(Y/N).” He said turning his body to face you, making you look at him again. “There’s nothing wrong with feeling like this. You were one of the people who helped the most when I was depressed. You remember what you would say? That it wasn’t my fault, it was just literally a chemical default in my brain. That’s what depression is. A sickness that affects our brains. You passed through a lot of stress these last weeks, it’s completely understandable the way you’re feeling.” Jared said serious squeezing your shoulder. You closed your eyes to stop yourself from crying.

“I just feel like I’m not enough.” You admitted and finally let one tear drop. Jared stayed in silence, making you open your eyes seeing him with a hard expression looking at you like he trying to read you.

“There is another reason why you’re feeling like this?” He asked and you looked down, wondering if you should tell him or not.

“Hmm I kinda got ghosted?” You said and saw him raise an eyebrow. “Well, no. I know the guy is super busy right now, I don’t blame him. But there’s a little voice in my head telling that it was the perfect timing to get out of the situation and not give me further explanation that he in fact.. don’t want me that way.”

“Are we talking about Jensen?” Jared asked in a funny way and laughed when saw your surprised face. “(Y/N), I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to know but he told me that you guys slept together after that night we were in his house…”

“Yeah, I should have figured this out.” You said allowing yourself to chuckle, running your hand over your face. “So yeah, this finally happened…”

“Finally!” He exclaimed happily trowing his hands in the air.

You and Jensen were always unfinished business. When you entered the series, you were young, single and adventurous and it didn’t take long to start crushing on Jensen. Hard. The kind of crush you weren’t even functioning right when he was around. Looking at it right now, maybe it was in that moment that your bond with Jared started to grow, he was always your confident. But none of it mattered, because Jensen… wasn’t single. And eventually you got over it, it was never going to happen so why was the point of growing expectations. Until Jensen wasn’t in a relationship anymore, there were flirts here and there, what of course didn’t last long because you were already meeting someone. And for years and years it was like that, you were simply never single at the same time. When all of that changed some months ago, when the two of you ended long last relationships. But it was really two weeks before that it all turned very real.

Flashback on

You had just shooted the mid season finale and man, you were tired. Everyone was going to get 1 week away from filming, but that didn’t mean vacation days. You were in the middle of an, very overwhelming, apartment moving in Vancouver and in the end of the week, you had a trip planned to Chicago to participate in the first day of a Supernatural Convention. The boys were going to get a second week off to attend to more appointments, but the directors wanted you, Misha and other secondary characters to advance the maximum of scenes possible.

To celebrate and just cool off for a while, Jensen invited you, Jared and Misha to eat some pizza and drink some beers in his place. In the next day, he and Misha were already going to travel to L.A and Jared to Austin, to see his family.

“So it’s already late and I need some sleep before catching that plane.” Misha said getting up of the chair he was in. “Have a safe fight you guys, and (Y/N) see you on Friday?” He asked and you nodded giving him a small smile. He was going to be your pair to the Chicago Convention, and the two of you would come back together to Vancouver, not even crossing paths with J2 because there was going to attend just the third day of #SpnChicago.

“Yeah, actually I’m going to enjoy the lead and get going as well.” Jared said sighing getting up, slapping hands with Jensen and then turning to you. “You comin’ also?”

You didn’t want to go actually. It has been ages since you last went out with them like that and it was the first time in days that you were able to get away from your problems. You looked at Jensen to see what the thought and caught he already looking at you, denying with his head.

“Nah (Y/N), we still have that wine you gave me for my birthday to drink.” Jensen said getting up from the couch you were in, to open the door for the boys. “Stay as long as you want.”

“I think I’m to stay.” You agreed. “Have a safe fight guys.”

With all of the goodbyes being said, Jensen closed the door of his apartment immediately disappearing into the kitchen. He came back with two glasses of red wine, extending one to you while he returned to his previous place, sitting with his whole body turned to you and you did the same.

“I can’t believe you still didn’t drink that.” You chuckled.

“Well, of course not! It was your gift, nothing more fair than drinking it with you.” He said like it was obvious, extending his glass. “Cheers”

Half bottle after, you both were already tipsy, laughing about everything and somehow, closer to each other than before. You spoke about the series, about the bittersweet feeling of it ending. About how excited he was for Soldier Boy and at the same time nervous. He listened to you speak about the role you were auditioning for and gave you his whole support. You even gossiped a little, about Misha’s divorce. After that, somehow the conversation got to the point of relationships and you both shared a lot of thoughts and insecurities about it.

Jensen smiled when the conversation got to a pause, letting his hand fall to rest in your arm that was leaning in the sofa. You hold your breath when felt his thumb slowly starting to caress you and your belly suddenly got cold when he started to stare at you.

“I just can’t believe that we’re finally single at the same time.” Jensen chuckled in a hoarse voice. You bite your lip, resting your glass into the center table and saw him doing the same thing.

“That makes a difference?” You challenged him seeing him grin.

“You know it does, sweetheart.” He said putting a strand of hair behind your ear and you wondered if he could hear the sound of your heart beating. “I always knew you had a crush on me.”

“I did not.” You said faking a false indignation and you both laughed. “I actually thought it was the other way around.”

“Guilty.” He admitted making you gulp. “All of those years… us trying to move on from each other. And look at us now… single at our thirties, at the same place we would be in since the start if we weren’t so damn stubborns.”

You stayed in silence for a few seconds, staring each other like you could see each other’s souls. His eyes were in a dark green filled with lust and when you saw his glance lowering to your lips, you knew you couldn’t take any more of that.

“Kiss me Jensen.”

“You have no idea on how many years I’ve waited for you to say that.”

And you didn’t had to ask twice.

XXxxXXXxxxXXXxxXX

You opened your eyes confused still in a dark room, and in a very comfortable bed. You glanced at your phone in the bedside table seeing it was already 12h. The memories from last night started to invade your mind, making you sit up in a rush and frown when you noticed that Jensen wasn’t there.

Oh right, he had a flight to catch.

Wearing one of his shirts and his flipflops you found next to his bed, you walked until the living room and saw in his dinning table, an order bag from your favorite bakery and a little post it.

“Morning sweetheart,

I’m sorry If I couldn’t wake up by your side today. My flight leaves 8:30 am and I didn’t want to bother you.

I ordered your favorites things from that French bakery you like, to compensate it.

Last night was amazing and I can’t wait to see you again.

Make yourself at home, stay as long as you want.

-Jensen.”

You suppressed a smile feeling like a damn teenager, with all of that butterflies in your belly. This really happened. You and Jensen.

You laughed adjusting yourself in one of the chairs, you had a delicious breakfast waiting for you after all.

Flashback Off

That day you woke up alone in Jensen’s house, you passed still a few hours there before going back to your reality. The keys weren’t really a problem cause he had an electronic lock. You send him a photo of you eating the breakfast, which he rapidity replied with an emoji of heart eyes.

But of course, your mind needed to start sabotaging you. You knew Jensen wasn’t the type of guy to text a lot, and you weren’t teenagers with no responsibilities, you were both busy as fuck. But you would be lying if you said if you didn’t expect a little more. Not even seeing his face for 2 weeks after you had sex, gave you so much spare time to question yourself.

Had he really liked? He was regretting it? He realized you were actually better as friends? Why he didn’t answer your meme? How your relationship would be when he got back from L.A?

“Look.” Jared started after you explained all of it to him. “Don’t beat yourself for feeling it, your feelings are valid and I can see where they are coming from.”

“It’s true that he could have been more present, but we both know how Jensen is when comes to answering messages.” Jared continued laughing humorless. “But c’mom (Y/N), it’s you and Jensen were talking about! The guy has been wanting you for years.”

“I don’t know Jar.” You sighed. “It’s like my mind knows the rationalized facts but still chose to give me the wrong answers.”

“Are you eating right?” He asked all of that sudden surprising you.

“Yeah…” You started and huffed when saw his accusatory face. “Ok, maybe I’m skipping breakfast.” You admitted and rolled your eyes when he didn’t back down. “No, I’m not eating right. Are you happy?”

“No!” He cried. “You’re under stress, you’re isolating yourself, a lot of things are happening in the same time, you’re not eating right, you’re not exercising. You’re going running with me tomorrow by the way.”

“Jared you know I hate running” You said indignant.

“I don’t care.” He cut you off. “What I’m trying to say is that you and me both… (Y/N) we have to look out for ourselves, you know that. I don’t think you’re depressed again but I think you’re in the edge of it.” Jared said making you shiver. You thought about it, damn you thought you already were. But hearing it from your best friend’s mouth, who always went to hell and back to help you, was rough. Really rough.

“I…” You started slowly afraid of the words that was going to come back out of your mouth. “I would never forgive myself if I let me go back to that dark hole I was 10 years ago.”

“Then don’t.” Jared struggled like it was the point of the whole conversation until now. “Can you imagine all the things you would have missed if you gave up by the first wave of depression? Young (Y/N) would have not believe she would sleep with Jensen Ackles.” He said mocking you to lighten up the mood a little bit and you allowed yourself to laugh even if was pretty hard listening to all of that.

“Call your therapist. I’m going to ask to the producers to give you one more week off.” He continued and you open your mouth ready to argue with that nonsense. “Don’t argue with me on that one. You already have tons of advanced scenes, you need time to rest. And… stop taking life so serious honey, you have time, you’re going to figure out ok? Let yourself be surprised by it.”

Jared said searching your eyes and saw you nodding slowly. He pulled you for a tight hug resting his head on top of yours. Your eyes were closed and for the first time in a week, you breathed out feeling calmer. Not even Billie Eilish accomplished this.

“What do we do?” He asked in a slash joking slash serious tone, speaking like you were a little child.

“We always keep fighting?” You said a little unsure and felt his chest vibrate when he started to laugh.

“That’s my girl.” Jared said tightening the hug before backing away. “I love you.”

“I love you too moose.” You said with a small smile feeling a lot better. “Thank you.”

“I’m always here.” He said getting up. “I need to go back now.”

You nodded and when you were in the point of putting back your AirPods, he stopped, some steps away from the bench you were.

“Oh… and (Y/N). Jensen already arrived from L.A” He smiled. “Let life surprise you.”

You denied with your head letting a small laugh escape from your lips, when you were reliving all of this conversation. One thing that Jared said was completely right, young (Y/N) would have been so proud and surprised by your accomplishments. You survived. This was an everyday motive to be proud already. Your thoughts were interrupted when the screen of your phone lighted up with a notification.

“Hey sweetheart… I’m finally back in Vancouver and dying to see you. There is so much I want to tell you. And so much I wanna do to you…

What do you say about going to that Italian restaurant at 20h? I will pick you up.

Always yours,

Jensen.”

Tagging: @esoltis280@smoothdogsgirl@helloangelicaaaaa@sleepylunarwolf @sympathyforluci @mirandaaustin93 @atc74 @spnbaby-67 @reginaphalange2403 @hi-my-name-is-riley @mychemicalimagines @multifandomlover121 @nyotamalfoy

#supernatural imagines #supernatural #supernatural oneshots #jensen ackles imagines #dean winchester imagines #jensen ackles x reader #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural cast #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen ackles fic #jensen and jared #jared padalecki one shot #jared padalecki fic #imagines #masterlist #my work #jensen ackles #always keep fighting

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devilevlls · 7 months ago

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Hi! Can I have a 9 with Barbatos and SFW?

Heey!

Firstly, thank you for the request! Here is a quick drabble with the prompt 💚 Hope you enjoy!

As usual, he was incredibly over-dramatic ࿔*:･

Even the well composed demon butler has something that makes him snap and turn into a drama queen. Even more if there was a certain someone involved...

In the castle of Devildom, amidst the nocturnal silence, the demon butler performed his impeccable routine in the kitchen with his sleeves rolled up, hair tied in a small ponytail, and an apron around his waist. He was at peace, working gracefully.

On this day, however, an unusual presence disturbed the usual tranquility when a certain someone entered the kitchen. Solomon, the powerful sorcerer. His robes brushing against the stone floor as he sauntered in as if he owned the place. An aura of mystery and magic surrounded him, but also an air of culinary incompetence.

While Barbatos prepared his aromatic teas and exquisite dishes, Solomon ventured among the pots and pans, his skilled hands inspecting the ingredients with a peculiar interest. His eyes sparkled with the promise of a different culinary experience, but his reputation preceded him.

With an exasperated sigh and a growl, the demon watched as he meddled with the pans, his magically agile fingers disrupting the meticulous order of the kitchen. But before any harm could be done, the demon butler intervened, his voice as cold as the ice of the deepest glacier, his gaze menacing.

"Leave my kitchen now, Solomon," ordered Barbatos, his patience nearly exhausted by the man's presence in his workplace.

Solomon looked at him with a mixture of surprise and intrigue. "But why? You know I have extraordinary culinary skills!"

Barbatos clenched his fists, his tail appearing and swaying threateningly from side to side, feeling the heat of anger simmering beneath his pale skin. His usual composure slipped away like sand between his fingers, replaced by a contained fury that threatened to overflow at any moment.

"You may have impressive magical abilities, Solomon," He replied with an icy voice, "but when it comes to cooking, you are a walking disaster. Your touch turns the sublime into repulsive. And I will not allow that to happen in my kitchen." His cold smirk revealed how angry he was getting.

The human raised an eyebrow, as if challenging the intensity of the demon butler. "You're underestimating me. Just let me try."

Barbatos' patience reached its limit. With a growl of frustration, he advanced towards the man, his dominating presence filling the space between them. "How dare you challenge my authority in my own kitchen? Leave before I'm forced to take drastic measures, do you want to be thrown in the underground tomb?"

Solomon hesitated for a moment, staring into his unwavering eyes. "Alright, no need for all this drama, I was just trying to help!" He retreated, suppressing his laughter, leaving the kitchen as silently as he entered, but not without casting a defiant glance over his shoulder.

With Solomon's departure, the tension in Barbatos' kitchen eased, and he returned happily to his duties. As usual, he was incredibly over-dramatic.

Drabble prompts you can use in your requests!

#obey me #omswd #obey me shall we date #obey me one master to rule them all #evllsposts #obey me barbatos #obey me drabble #evllsasks #obey me writing #obey me sfw #om barbatos #do not enter Barbatos kitchen without permission!!!#hope you guys enjoyed <3 #obey me solomon

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awkward-walking-potato · 2 months ago

Note

How about this; wade with a partner who works as a drag queen? his personality is like wade's, but to a lesser extent. despite the nature of everything he does, he can be a lot more stern at times. probably an odder request but I love drag culture and wanna work on becoming one myself eventually. and I love my boyfriend deadpool

Deadpool and the Drag Queen of Chaos

In the neon-lit underbelly of New York City, where the streets are alive with the buzz of late-night energy and flashing lights, there exists a club that stands out among the rest. "The Glitter Dagger" is more than just a hotspot; it’s the epicenter of fierce performances and flamboyant fashion. Behind its glittering facade, though, lies something even more extraordinary: Y/N, the drag queen with an attitude as sharp as their stilettos.

Y/N, whose drag persona "Foxy Fierce" was a local legend, had become the unlikely partner of Wade Wilson—better known as Deadpool. Their relationship was a blend of chaos and charm, with Wade’s unpredictable antics complementing Y/N’s more controlled, though no less vibrant, brand of extravagance.

Tonight, however, was far from ordinary. Deadpool had managed to crash the club’s VIP section, his red-and-black suit starkly contrasting with the glamorous surroundings. He was in a particularly irreverent mood, having just thwarted a minor criminal enterprise involving rogue circus performers.

Y/N, now out of drag and in a sleek, dark suit that radiated both class and authority, was eyeing Deadpool with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“Wade, darling,” Y/N said with a raised eyebrow, their tone a blend of mockery and genuine concern, “do you always have to make an entrance like a hurricane with a vendetta?”

Deadpool, unfazed, threw himself onto a plush sofa, tossing a small bag of confetti into the air. “Only on days that end in ‘Y’. Besides, I thought you’d appreciate a little chaos to match your dazzling performance tonight!”

Y/N took a seat beside him, leaning back with an air of practiced elegance. “And you’d be right, if you weren’t so prone to turning everything into a disaster zone. I do appreciate the sentiment, but must you always bring mayhem into my workplace?”

Wade grinned, clearly enjoying the playful banter. “Oh, come on, Foxy! Where’s your sense of adventure? Besides, I’m just trying to protect your stage from nefarious villainy. It’s practically a public service.”

Y/N shook their head with a smile that was half exasperated, half affectionate. “Your idea of ‘public service’ involves a lot of exploding fireworks and questionable judgment. But I suppose I’ll let it slide this time. Just try to keep the damage to a minimum. We’re already dealing with a night of high heels and higher drama.”

As the night progressed, the two fell into their usual rhythm. Y/N managed to gracefully handle the club’s increasingly rowdy patrons while Deadpool offered his unique brand of chaotic support. Between Y/N’s sharp remarks and Wade’s over-the-top antics, they formed a balance that seemed to defy logic but worked in its own quirky way.

Later, as they stood outside the club, the cool night air contrasting sharply with the heat of the evening, Y/N leaned against the wall, their stern demeanor giving way to a softer, more contemplative expression.

“You know, Wade,” Y/N said, looking out at the city lights, “I wouldn’t trade these crazy nights for anything. You might be a walking disaster sometimes, but you’ve got a heart in there somewhere. And, as much as it pains me to admit, you make this life a lot more interesting.”

Wade, leaning casually against the wall beside them, nodded. “And you, my fabulous friend, make sure that life doesn’t get too boring. Even if you do insist on occasionally looking like a glamazon straight out of a disco ball.”

Y/N laughed, shaking their head. “Just don’t make me regret this. And remember, if you blow up my stage one more time, I will personally make sure that the next costume you get is made out of sequins and feathers.”

Deadpool’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And with that, they headed off into the night, a dynamic duo of mayhem and glamour, ready to face whatever adventure awaited them next.

#marvel imagine #x men imagine #deadpool imagine #deadpool x reader #deadpool oneshot #deadpool #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson imagine #wade x logan

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jedijesi · 1 year ago

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Caught in the Cat's Web Chapter 8

Miguel O'Hara x Felicia Hardy! Reader

Previous Chapter 🕸️ Series Masterlist

Warnings: SMUTTY, Fluff, she/her pronouns

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Miguel and Felicia become busy with mission and trying to keep their affair a secret.

Co-Author: @stclairesplace

Life had undeniably gotten busy for Miguel as he, LYLA, and Jessica investigated the Vault break-in. This meant he had only been able to see Felicia a few times in passing. Days were long and nights were restless for Miguel. He missed exploring Felicia's body with his lips and hands, missed the way she teased him, the way she'd get so passionate when upset.

Felicia also couldn't help but miss bickering with Miguel until his eyes turned that sexy shade of red or watching him strut around the Spider Society with such intensity. A month ago, Felicia would have been over the moon to find out she didn't have to see Miguel for a whole 12 days, but now, she dreads it. The only good thing to come out of this was that Felicia was finally able to go back home now that she had her new suit and watch.

New York, Earth-192

The window creaked as Felicia opened it, gracefully slipping inside. Once she found herself in the comforting embrace of her bedroom, she casually tossed her mask onto the bed. A quick touch to the spider emblem on her chest initiated the process of removing her sleek black suit. Now in her underwear, she sauntered over to the kitchen, hunger gnawing at her after the mission's exertion.

Felicia yanked open the refrigerator door, her curious eyes scanning the contents. The fridge held nothing more than a motley collection of condiments and a carton of oat milk that might have seen better days.

She leaned against the cool kitchen counter, a sigh escaping her lips. Eventually, she decided it was time to return to Nueva York after her week-long absence. Swiftly, she changed into her lacy black underwear, harboring a glimmer of hope that she might get lucky with Miguel.

Nueva York, Earth-928

"Felicia!" Margo and Julia cheer at their table in the cafeteria, waving her over. "Come here! It's been forever!"

"Hey," Felicia said with a sheepish smile as she slid into the seat next to Julia. "Sorry, I haven't been around recently." She casually reached over and swiped a forkful of side salad from Julia's tray, earning an amused scolding from her friend.

"Did Miguel scare you out of Nueva York too?" Margo says with a giggle.

"Something like that..." Felicia mumbles as she shoves in a bite.

Margo raises an eyebrow curiously, sensing that there might be more to Felicia's story. "Oh? Do tell! Did you two get into a nasty fight again?" she prompts, genuinely interested in their drama.

"A lady never tells," she says with a smirk. "Imma head out, I'll catch you two later," Felicia says as she slips out of the booth seat.

As Felicia wandered the halls of the penthouse wing, a hand suddenly reached out to grab her arm. Startled, she swiftly turned back, only to be met with the sight of none other than Peter Parker. Without hesitation, she yanked her arm out of his grasp and, with her free hand, delivered a swift punch to his jaw.

"Ouch! Fuck! Again?" He curses as he cradles his throbbing jaw.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Heat enveloped her body as anger coursed through her.

"I work here, remember?" Peter snaps. "I'm the one who got you in here, don't forget that!"

"What do you want, Peter?" She spits out.

"You've been ignoring my calls."

Felicia scoffs in his face, "I blocked you months ago."

"Yeah, but that never stopped you before." He shrugs. "You stopped meeting at our spot."

"I told you, it's over! No more booty calls, no more late-night chats, nothing! I don't want anything to do with you," Felicia declared as she turned around, her voice firm and resolute. She was about to storm off when Peter couldn't hold back any longer.

"Oh, I see how it is!" Peter's tone was laced with a seething anger, his words simmering with resentment. "You used me to infiltrate the Spider Society!"

Typically, Felicia would dismiss such a claim, but this time it struck a nerve with her, causing her to come to an abrupt halt. "Excuse me?"

She gives Peter the opportunity to backtrack, instead, he puffs his chest to speak wholeheartedly. "You used me like the manipulative bitch you are!"

"You, have no fucking right to accuse me! You wanted me to join all this in the first place. You're the one that wanted me to change! Don't you think for one god damned second that I used you just to 'infiltrate' the Spider Society! I have finally found people here who actually like me for who I am and my skills. I'm not just a late-night fuck to make themselves feel like a better man. So you can just crawl back into your pathetic little hole, that you like to call your girlfriend, and drop dead!" She stormed off, leaving Peter to stand alone, his face scoffed in anger, and his eyes full of rage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Felicia approaches the door of Miguel's penthouse, she skillfully employs the EMPs embedded in her claws to disrupt the door's security, causing it to hiss open effortlessly for her. Inside, she heads directly to Miguel's well-stocked pantry and fridge, rummaging for a quick snack to appease her growling stomach.

After satisfying her hunger, Felicia decides it's time to wash the day's grime away. She heads to the bathroom, turning on the water for a long, hot shower. The soothing cascades of water wash away the sweat and dirt, leaving her feeling refreshed, revitalized, and smelling like Miguel.

Dressed in nothing but a towel wrapped around her, Felicia proceeds to rummage through Miguel's closet for a suitable change of clothing and to be her nosey self. She selects an old sweater, paired with her lacy black underwear, before doing a twirl in the mirror.

Meanwhile, Miguel made his way back to the penthouse, completely exhausted from today's work. He felt like every Spider-Person known to man had needed him for something today, on top of all the paperwork, supervising, and three different missions that he was needed for today. The man was purely exhausted. The door to the penthouse slid open, and Miguel made his way to his couch. He let his body drop onto the couch, running his fingers through his hair and over his face in pure exhaustion.

"Hey there, stranger," Felicia emerged from his room, slowly sauntering down the stairs toward Miguel on the couch. Miguel looked over at the sound of her voice and watched as she made her way over to him, now standing directly in front of him. It took him little time to notice that all she wore was nothing but an older shirt of his, practically cascading down her body like an oversized dress. The tip of her hip barely showed above the pair of black lacy underwear she was wearing. Miguel sat back to fully take in the view.

"Do I even want to know how you managed to get into my apartment?" he asked with a knowing smile. She pretended to ponder her answer for a moment, looking up as if the answer were written across the ceiling. She looked back down at him, a wide smile spreading across her face, as she shook her head 'no'.

Felicia took notice of how tired he actually looked and decided to take a seat by straddling Miguel's lap. Her fingers started to rub smoothing scratches along his scalp, sending his head lolling back onto the couch.

"What's troubling my Spider today?" The possessive nickname causes Miguel's cock to jump with excitement.

"Just a... long day today." He frowns.

Felicia nods in understanding before her famous crocodile smile makes its way across her lips. "If there was only some kind of way to help my Big Spider feel better, I would do it in a heartbeat... that is if he asked nicely." She teases, grinding onto his lap just enough to make his hands grip tightly onto her waist.

Miguel leans up from the couch, arms now fully wrapped around her body, and says nothing, but sweetly and desperately kisses her. Felicia smiles from the sweet sentiment, before sliding herself off his waist, grabbing his hands in an assist to pull him off the couch. He follows her movements, gradually standing up and following her as she walks him back into the bedroom, his eyes never once leaving her eyes as they walk. She enters the room first, the backs of her knees hitting the edge of the bed as she looks up at him seductively. He lets go of their hands and instead places them onto the edges of her shirt, slowly lifting the material, and exposing her breasts. His warm palm presses against them softly, as his thumb rubs soft circles against the feel of her soft skin.

Felicia sighs longingly at the feeling of his hand touching her body, before suddenly climbing backwards onto his bed. She leans back laying her head on the plush pillows, her legs spread out in order to make room for the large man to enter, or rather her large man.

Miguel follows her lead, placing a knee right in between her thighs, slowly placing his elbows on either side of her head. He leans down to her, his lips only inches away from touching hers. He softly kisses her on the tip of her nose, before finally connecting his lips to hers in a long-awaited kiss.

"You look so perfect under me, Hermosa." Miguel groans as he leans down for another kiss.

Felicia slowly brings her hands up from the bed, making her way over his suit as he slowly kisses her more and more with each passing second. She starts at his hips tracing up to his belly button, before placing a flat palm against his stomach, reveling in the feel of his abs with how they stretch and move with each breath he takes.

Miguel's cock twitches at the feeling of Felicia's fingers wandering his body. The slow, sensual kissing, quickly heats up at a faster pace. Felicia can't seem to get enough of him, and Miguel can't seem to get enough of her. She starts to feel the all too familiar heat between her legs, now needing more of the friction he was giving her before. She starts to slowly grind herself onto his knee, still resting in between her legs, her toes curling in anticipation and want, even more with need.

"You're so wet for me, baby." Miguel moans into her lips.

Miguel pulls away suddenly, causing the woman beneath him to let out a groan of protest. She quickly stops as she watches his suit retract, revealing his chiseled body. Quickly Miguel returns to Felicia's lips, only for a short few kisses before reaching down to pull her shirt above her head as well. Their bodies are both hot to the touch the more they grind on one another, their kissing turns more feverish as they can now touch and feel each other's heated skin.

Miguels suddenly moves his kisses down her body. He kisses her chin, making his way down to her neck softly sucking onto the skin there. He smiles into it when he feels Felicia start to stretch her neck for him for better access. He leaves her neck, moving down to hover over the black lacy bra she wears, pushing her breasts together as if perfectly made for his eyes only. He kisses the tops of each of her breasts, then traces his lips along her stomach in feathery light kisses, before finally reaching his destination of the matching cotton panties she wore. He kisses his way around her panties and travels along the inside of her thighs with his lips. Felicia now sits up slightly in anticipation, her breaths shallow, Miguel taking pride in how her breasts move up and down with each impatient breath she takes.

"I need you." Miguel moans as he tosses her panties across the room, and returns to grind his cock into her pussy. "Fuck." He pants, throwing Felicia's bra across the room.

"Miguel, I need it," Felicia whines, the feeling of his lips on her neck, making her even more wet.

Felicia gasps, causing Miguel to turn around, finding LYLA floating next to them. He panics, throwing the duvet over their naked bodies. "LYLA!" He growls. "What are you doing!"

LYLA stands there unfazed. "Is this sex?"

"It was about to be." Felicia rolls her eyes playfully.

Meanwhile, Miguel doesn't take the interruption as well as Felicia. "LYLA it better be an emergency or I'm powering you down!"

"Not an emergency, per se, Margo Kess and a few other spider-people in the lab had a bit of a malfunction when testing some Vault security systems. I handled the disaster!" LYLA quickly added, knowing grumpy Miguel wouldn't take it well. "They'd like your input and it could help with the investigation."

Miguel groans before commanding his suit to pixilate over his naked form. "I'm sorry, Felicia, rain check?"

"Of course." She says with a seductive wink, watching Miguel stand from the bed.

"So... are you two... together?" A grin begins to appear on LYLA's face.

Felicia looks to Miguel to respond. "Taking it slow." The blue and red mask looks to Felicia for reassurance. "So... Yes. We are. Just keep it under wraps or I will delete your code." He threatens.

LYLA chuckles to herself, knowing full well how big of a hypocrite Miguel is. "Yeah, Yeah, it's a secret. I won't lecture you on why this is wrong."

Miguel heads for the bedroom door to leave before stopping and running back to Felicia. His mask disappears as he pulls Felicia in for one last passionate kiss. "I'll be back to finish what we started, gatita." He whispers against her lips.

Holding the duvet up to her chest to help keep some modesty, Felicia smiles softly as she watches Miguel rush out of the bedroom, engaged in a heated exchange with LYLA.

"Have you two had sex before? Wait- do you do it a lot? Oh my god- How long have you two been having sex for?" Felicia chucks as LYLA interrogates Miguel through the penthouse.

"ENOUGH LYLA!"

Chapter 9

A/N: LMK what u think! I love reading your comments they make my day!

Taglist: @leahnicole1219 @oscarissac2099

#jedi jesi #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel o’hara x reader #stclairesplace #miguel ohara x female reader #miguel x reader #felicia hardy #miguel o’hara x felicia hardy #miguel o’hara x felicia hardy reader #spider-man x black cat #spider man x reader #spider man x felicia hardy #peter parker x reader #miguel o’hara smut

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blossom-works · 2 years ago

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Warm Castle Walls

If you like this, check out my Hades Series!

---

“You do know Zeus will stop pestering us if you allow him to see his niece.”

“True, but if Hera comes, she and Zeus may disturb the peace within our home. I won’t have them argue and disturb her.”

You smile at your husband’s protectiveness over your daughter, but the more you think about it, you understand. It is no secret that Zeus is not a faithful husband, and that Hera’s wrath should not be taken in vain. One time, Hera’s anger shook the Heavens so much that it felt like a mini earthquake in Helheim. That and she called you to complain and curse Zeus out.

When you married into the Greek family, you unknowingly signed up to be Hera’s vent buddy. Anytime Zeus let his desires get the best of him she would call you. It does get on your nerves when you are busy, but you understand her. If Hades were to ever cheat on you (Tartarus forbid), you would also need a person to vent to. Hades once asked you if you gave your sister-in-law advice on her marriage and you responded with no.

Sure, there are some things Hera can do, but it takes two people, or Gods in this case, to balance out a marriage. There is no way that your brother-in-law will change his promiscuous ways. Giving advice to Hera would be fruitless. Whenever Hera calls, you just listen and comfort her. Sometimes you would even set up a date with Hera to lift her mood.

Now that you think about it even more, it is probably best to postpone any visits from the Greek family. It will save yours and Hades’ sanity and most importantly, keep your daughter from having an early introduction to Godly drama.

Deciding not to think about it more, you decide to focus on what is in front of you. It has been three months since you birthed your daughter and she is growing as any other baby would. Some would think that babies born from Gods would grow faster, but that is not true. Babies born in Heaven to Gods - grow and develop just like human babies. They stop growing when they hit what is considered their young-adulthood phase.

Right now your daughter loves to suck on her fist and grabbing onto anything she can. She is also vocal as well. In the mornings she will babble to herself and if she is in a bad mood or really needs something, she will scream for attention. She also loves to be left alone. The only exception is with you and Hades. Your daughter loves to be held as long as she can by her parents. Everyone else like her caretakers, have a limited time before she starts to squirm and cry.

Hades’ bird is on his finger while his daughter is on his lap. Her cute laughs come after every trick the cockatoo does. Whenever she tries to grab the bird, Hades will hold his hand out further to protect his pet. All parents know how strong a baby’s grip is. Sitting down next to Hades you pick up your daughter and place her in your lap.

“Now, now. How many times does your father have to tell you to be gentle with his bird? Here, let me show you how to pet him.”

Standing her up and securing her with one arm, you raise your daughter’s hand and ask Hades to bring the cockatoo close. Your daughter bounces in excitement and if it was not for your arm, you are sure she would have fallen onto the ground. After calming her down, you bring her soft, cubby hands to caress the bird. Making sure she does not grab onto the bird or one of his feathers. Feeling the soft feathers against her knuckles, your daughter screams in joy. She tries to use her free hand to grab the bird but luckily your husband is there to stop her.

“Only one hand, sweetheart.”

Hades exchanges your daughter for the bird. Standing up, he throws her in the air, gracefully catching her with every throw. Your daughter is quite a daredevil. She loves to be high in the air. Sometimes when she if fussy, the only way to calm her down is to throw her in the air. You are quite sure she got this from your husband’s side of the family. Coddling her in his arms, your daughter takes off his eyepatch and starts munching on it. Before you can scold her, Hades laughs.

“What do you say about giving our child her own eyepatch?”

“I would say you’re trying to erase whatever genes she got from me and make her your carbon copy.” You tease.

With a free hand he pulls you up and off the couch to smush you into a family hug. The cockatoo flies away to his perch, probably for safety reasons. Hades plants a kiss to your head, laughing at your joke.

“That’s impossible. She may have my hair and eyes, but she holds your beauty as well.”

You have been with Hades long enough to get used to his compliments and flirts, but they somehow always make you blush and feel warm inside. There is this thing about your husband. He never says anything he does not mean. It is one of the many traits he has that makes him reliable.

Seeing you, your daughter throws the slobbered eyepatch somewhere across the room. She holds her arms out and makes “grabby” motions, telling you that she wants you to hold her. Now in your arms, she nuzzles into your shoulder. In the safety of her mother’s arms and knowing that her father is there to protect them, she falls asleep.

Extra:

After finishing today’s work, Hades heads into his shared chambers. When he changed into his robes and is about to go to sleep, he hears his daughter talking to herself. Lifting himself off of the bed he goes to her bassinet and sure enough, there is his princess, blowing raspberries. Picking her up, Hades tries to rock her back to sleep. He sways his body, hoping that it will help. Within a couple of minutes her eyes start to get droopy. Hades places her back in her bassinet and gets a fluffy blanket to cover the already wrapped baby.

With his index finger he caresses her chubby cheek. “Before you or your mother came things in Helheim were boring, and even lonely. But since I married your mother and since you’ve been born, the castle feels warmer. I no longer miss my brothers - your uncles, that much anymore because I have you two.”

Hades feather-kisses the baby’s forehead. “Thank you for warming up these castle walls.”

#hades x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie #record of ragnarok #snv hades x reader #ror hades x reader #fanfiction #x reader

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junglemax · 3 months ago

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@aerodaltonimperial put tags on this photo set that made me think of this idea. enjoy the stupidity!

family reunions aren’t always lame and boring.

[drabble]

“Well, well, well,” Darby sighs, walking up next to Swerve and taking a piece of food off of his plate. “Look who decided to show up.”

“It’s funny that you say that like I’m the one who misses half of these things,” Swerve says, unimpressed. “I’m surprised you haven’t done anything drastic to piss off dad yet.”

“I’m working on it, actually. You think Toni would let me use some of her makeup to make myself look as awful as possible?”

“I think she would, but I am too tired to deal with the cleanup this time around, so I’m going to politely advise you to not do that.”

Darby scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Lame. Hey, Britt! Come here!”

Britt makes her way over. “Hey, Darbs, it’s nice to see you show back up. How are you?”

“Great and all that. I got a question: you think I should use Toni’s makeup to ruin the party?”

“That’s if she lets you. If so, go for it.”

“Britt, I thought you were supposed to be the golden child?” Swerve asks.

Britt shrugs. “Just cause I act like I’m happy to be here doesn’t mean I’m actually happy to be here. Don’t tell me you like these things.”

“I don’t,” Swerve insists, “but doesn’t it get tiring to hear everyone complaining afterwards at how shit everything turned out?”

“Nah,” Darby says. “Now where’s Toni…”

“Probably monologuing to some poor relative,” Britt mumbles into her cup. “Who would’ve thought that drama class would actually help her succeed in life?”

“She’s always been dramatic,” Swerve says. “Now, she gets a platform to do so.”

“There she is!” Darby grins and waves her down. “Toni! Get over here!”

Toni makes her way gracefully to the three. “Ah, yes, hello, siblings I’m technically related to,” she sighs. “What can I do for you?”

“I need your makeup.”

“Why?”

“To crash this party.”

“Ah, yes, I should have guessed.” She digs into her purse and pulls out some, handing it to Darby. “Don’t use it all, or my shoe is going up your rear end. Understand?”

“Yes ma’am.” Darby salutes.

Swerve rolls his eyes. “This is gonna end tragically, and because I’m calling it now, I get to pick the place we all eat at when we escape.”

Everyone groans. “You always pick some super expensive place!” Britt whines. “Not fair!”

“Too late, already called it way ahead.”

“Darby-“ Britt tries to take the makeup away from him.

“Too late, already in motion. He called it, he wins,” Darby says.

“Drat. Can I call the next one now, then?” Toni asks.

“Not how it works, sister.” Darby smears lipstick over his mouth. “How do I look?”

“Splendid!”

“Disgusting,” Swerve says, making a face.

“It’ll get the job done,” Britt shrugs. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Darby grins.

#my writing!!#swerve strickland #toni storm #britt baker #darby allin

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juicycoutureheaux · 1 year ago

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Fixer Upper: An AU Sheriff!Leon Kennedy x Reader Fic

Chapter1 Chapter2 Chapter3

Hey y’all!! I’m back again! I’d like to thank all those who left such nice things to say about the other chapters. This story is going to be a bit longer than anticipated, but that just means more details and drama (oooh!) lol. Again there are some TW, in this chapter. (Mention of suicide). I’d like to think @alewesker & @angelscoda for all their encouragement! You both are amazing and keep me motivated! If you haven’t checked out their blogs you totally should!

You learn that the sharp dressed, curt man that greeted you and Suzanne was none other than Buckley Richards, who worked as a private stylist to Jackie Bouvier Kennedy and Lily Pulitzer.

He was a force in the dressing room, ordering his assistants to grab different fabric swatches of all different colors and textures; comparing them to your skin to see what shade best suited you.

He didn’t hold back his facial expressions either, especially when something was less than flattering.

“No, No!” he would exclaim, commanding the whole studio’s attention. “She is not a winter, she is a summer! I do not want to see those colors again!”

You felt totally detached from your body, it felt like they were dressing up a doll and you despised it. You began to dread your future, because you knew it was going to be filled with nothing but superficial moments and people.

The studio assistants picked you apart, scrubbing your face, your fingernails, just about every bit of your body.

By the end of the 8 hour session, you had been taught how to apply your makeup in “the right way,” the correct way to style your long hair and how to dress for every occasion.

When you looked in the mirror, you were dressed in a prim, but stylish outfit; your hair was pinned behind your ears revealing your now “acceptable” face; your already long dark eyelashes were enhanced by mascara, cheeks now rosy with the help of some light rouge, and your nails were now shined.

It felt as if a stranger was looking back at you. You never saw a problem or cared about your looks before today. Mama and daddy always told you that you didn’t need makeup or a fancy haircut; but, according to Buckley and Miss Suzanne, they were dead wrong.

“Finally, underneath it all, a beautiful girl!” Buckley exclaimed, grabbing you by the arm and leading you to your future mother in law.

“Y/n, you look absolutely stunning!” Suzanne squealed. “You are going to be the perfect wife for my boy! The public will just love you when you make your debut at the party!”

You just smiled a polite, but forced smile. They didn’t seem to notice. The heaviness in your stomach started to creep its way up into your throat; it was starting to consume you.

You were following behind Buckley and Suzanne all the way back to the town car, where the chauffeur was putting away all the shopping in the spacious trunk.

You said your goodbyes to Buckley and thanked him for his hard work.

“Suzanne, you’ve always had the best taste, Y/N is quite the catch.” With that he hugged Suzanne one last time and returned to the boutique.

As he was leaving, Suzanne turned to you. “We’ve invested A LOT into you my dear, I hope that you keep that in mind when Patrick gets into his *way.” She said, pointedly annunciating the last words.

“Just know that it's a part of marriage that we all go through, but think of all the benefits of being married to a man like Patrick! You’ll never be bored ever again!”

“You’re right,” you thought to yourself, “I’ll never be bored because I'll be busy chasing my husband all over the city.”

You decided to keep that thought to yourself.

The chauffeur opened the door open for you and Miss Suzanne. Miss Suzanne got in effortlessly and gracefully. Your head felt like it weighed like 1,000 pounds, and it must have shown. As you made your way into the car the Chauffeur lifted your chin up by his two fingers.

“Chin up madam, you’re going to be the wife of a very important man.”

You looked up sadly and settled in the backseat of the car, praying for silence on the way home.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxx

You arrived home at just about dusk. The cicadas were buzzing as the oranges and reds of the sunset stretched out lazily over the horizon.

You thought what it must be like to be a part of the colors of the horizon. You knew the hues were caused by scattering the different light rays; but even then you wondered if there was something sentient behind those sunsets.

If there were, did they know how beautiful and admired they were by those on Earth, or did they look down upon your kind in envy like you looked up at them right now? You wanted to be free, emancipated from your situation, you wanted to be as vast and colorful as the rays in the sky.

Miss Suzanne insisted her chauffeur take your bags in for you as it wasn’t lady like for you to bring in your own shopping. She followed you in with a good sized gift bag; you immediately knew who it was for.

You could tell your mother was waiting excitedly by the door, by how quick she answered. She ushered you all into the foyer.

“Thank you for letting me borrow your daughter for the day, she is just the sweetest thing. I had to bring you something back for my appreciation.” Suzanne said to your mother holding up the large bag from the boutique.

You looked on miserably as your mother pulled out an expensive cocktail dress and an even more expensive looking pair of shoes.

“Suzanne, I don’t know what to say!” Your mother stuttered.

“You don’t have to say anything darling! This is my thank you for letting me have your daughter. I want you two to look your best at the engagement party.”

Your mother had her back turned to you when she and Suzanne shared a friendly embrace. Suzanne winked at you and you acknowledged it as a warning. She had your mama wrapped around her finger and you would be foolish to back out of your engagement to Patrick.

Your mother said her goodbyes and you received a peck on the cheek from Suzanne.

You watched the fancy town car roll away down the dirt road as your mother was showing off her new cocktail dress and shoes to the rest of the family.

“Suzanne is just the sweetest isn’t she, Y/N? You are so lucky you have such a generous woman as your mother in law.”

“Future mother in law.” You corrected her bitterly.

“Oh Y/N don’t be so sour. You have what other girls would kill for. You have to see your blessing!”

“I’m sorry Mama, you’re right.” you said obediently. You were getting used to resigning over your power, maybe it would be easier with time.

You ran up the stairs and into the restroom. You began to take off your makeup with the cold cream you knew your mama had in the cabinet. The mascara and lipstick now melted in a way that contorted your face so much that you looked like a ghoul. You scrubbed until your eyelashes felt soft and your skin was dry.

Your face may have been red and raw, but at least you looked like yourself, or your old self.

You stayed in your small room, hearing the bustling sounds of the house beneath you. Your mother was talking excitedly to Mary-Anne, as daddy and Hank were discussing sports. You wondered if Patrick and his family even interacted with each other at all.

What would they talk about? You came to the realization that you and Patrick had nothing in common at all. When you would go out together and ride in his car, all he talked about was himself. You were so enthralled with the fact that someone like him would even talk to you, that you ignored the fact he was so shallow.

You started to shake, you felt yourself detach from your body. You had to get out of the house, you had to leave. You didn’t know where to go, you had completely sold your life for the happiness of others. You couldn’t run away, they would find you and it would be an embarrassment, more shame.

The only way out you could think of was the unthinkable. If you passed away in an accident, sure your family would miss you, but they wouldn’t have to worry about you. They would just have to worry about putting fresh flowers on your grave or telling Hank & Mary-Anne’s baby about you and how you would almost* marry the most important man in town. To your niece or nephew you would live on as a princess in a fairytale; but fairytales weren’t real and you wouldn’t have a happy ending.

Patrick and his mother could find another, more qualified girl to fix his image, someone that grew up in the right family, who knew all the right etiquette and had all the right clothes.

You had convinced yourself, it was the perfect plan and maybe you would find yourself in the sunset looking back down on the earth, where you longed to be.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There was a fresh dew on the vegetation growing along the path, that brushed up against your bare legs as your bicycle made its way through the tall grass. You were riding as fast as you could, the crickets and frogs making their presence known by their various chirps.

You could see the lake just ahead, you wanted to take one last final obstructed look at the stars before you would join them. You had daddy’s sleeping pills he had been taking since he came home from the war and a bottle of whiskey that he thought no one else knew about. It was wrong taking them from him, but it was the only peaceful way you thought of going.

“It would be like falling asleep,” you had convinced yourself. “I’ll drink the whiskey till I’m drunk and throw the bottle into the water. They’ll just think I went for a swim and drowned.”

You parked your bicycle against the tree, and sat upon the soft grass at the embankment overlooking the deep blue void. As you sat closer to the shore, the wind had started picking you up, like it was a friend, drawing you closer.

The moon was the only source of light out in the wilderness and its brightness called to you, mockingly as if she longed for you to join her out in the vast nothingness, where you could be free.

You waited for an untraceable amount of time, the night was clear, the air was cool and you felt like you were finally where you needed to be. You had begun drinking, the bitter taste of the liquor was unfamiliar and stung your throat. You drink until you become unsteady and sleepy, the breeze feels like it is moving through you, like strings attached to a puppet.

You felt ready enough to unscrew the lid from the pill bottle and empty its contents into your mouth. You were fiddling with the lid for what felt like years when you were spooked by bright lights creeping up behind you. You froze in a stupor as you heard a car door open and shut, followed by heavy footsteps.

You made out the silhouette of a man in the darkness, he didn’t seem to notice you as he walked closer to the edge of the embankment. You saw him bring his fingers to push his hair back behind his face as he let out a sigh and lit a cigarette.

You were focusing on the orange ember of the end of the cigarette and didn’t realize the man had spotted you.

“Y/N?” The familiar voice spoke to you, softly.

You looked up through watery eyes and met the sharp blues of Leon’s.

You couldn’t find the words to speak as he moved closer to you. He found a place next to you and sat down.

“What are you doing out here?” His voice is gentle, just above a whisper.

You couldn’t speak, you just let the tears flow. Your body was still languid and you felt like all your energy was flowing out with your tears.

Leon wrapped an arm around you and you let him, you didn’t realize how cold you were until you felt the warmth from his body on yours.

He smelled of aftershave and tobacco, you leaned in closer to take in all of him.

You started to calm down after being in the embrace for a while, the liquid heat in your belly from the whiskey became soothing after a while.

Leon laid you down so your head was laid on his lap, your long hair was spread out over his legs; the moment was intimate and comforting. You had never felt this kind of comfort before. You were thinking of just drifting off to sleep in his embrace, but he began to speak.

“It's not worth it, Y/N.” he mumbled.

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting.

“What?”

“These pills, the alcohol, I know what you came to do.”

You shifted uncomfortably, and turned your head away from him. He began stroking your hair again.

“I had an older sister,” he said, softer.

You looked up and acknowledged that you were listening.

“She was caring, she was vibrant, she was smart,” he paused. “It’s a memory now.”

You raised yourself so your torsos were intertwined, making comfortable eye contact.

“What happened to her, Leon?”

“She married someone that didn’t respect her, someone that wanted to own her, treat her like property. It started off small like the altercation you had with your fiance.” Adding emphasis to the word “altercation.”

“He was just awful to her, would cheat on her, come home drunk. After a while, she finally made a plan to leave him because she had had enough. The night before she was to leave he found out and killed her.” Leon was stoic and she could see the tenseness in his jaw.

“He would have rather snuffed out her light than see her be happy, he took my only living family away. The pain was unbearable, I wanted him to suffer.”

You reached out to caress his face; he surprised you by holding your hand to his face. You wanted to kiss him, to take his pain away.

“I decided the best way to get revenge was to prevent what happened to her, to anyone else.”

“Leon, I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.”

He took his hand away from yours, and wiped the tears from his eyes.

“Patrick is trouble, Y/N. I know you know, otherwise you wouldn’t be out here doing something so stupid.” He raised his voice, he was angry, but it sounded like there was hurt in his voice.

Your cheeks turned red from embarrassment, his words stung.

“I didn’t know what else to do, Leon! I feel so trapped, you think I want this kind of life?” You were sobbing. You were full of despair and anguish; you had been holding it in for a long time.

“I know you don’t,” he lowered his voice again and began to rub your back gently. “I know you really don’t want to die either.”

“What am I going to do?” It was a rhetorical question.

“You’re not marrying that asshole.”

“Leon, I wish it were that easy! My mother, she’s over the moon! They’ve already spent so much money on me, I could never repay them in my wildest dreams.”

“They’re manipulating you into staying! Will your mother’s feelings matter when he’s beating the shit out of you? Or when he cheats every night and leaves you alone with your children? When he makes a complete fool out of you in public? Is that really what you want?”

You just began to cry, the sobs escaping from your mouth with so much force, they sounded like choking hiccups.

Leon pulled you closer and let you cry into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been so rough with you, Y/N.”

You gripped his shirt and looked up at him, face red and eyes bloodshot.

“I needed that reality check. It's true, I just don’t know if I'm brave enough to leave.”

“I’m going to help you.”

You looked at him surprised. “Leon, why would you help me?”

“Because, Y/n, you’re innocent in all this. You deserve better and you deserve to be happy,”

You smiled an effortless smile. You laid your hand down on top of his. Your heart was beating out of your chest; You no longer felt helpless, this new sensation, you couldn’t quite place it.

He cupped your head behind your ear, his fingers holding your hair out of your face.

“You’re beautiful when you smile.”

You blushed and tried to turn your face away; instead, Leon moved in closer,keeping you in place. You searched his baby blues, for a hint of what he was thinking. He didn’t keep you waiting long before he moved his face closer and enveloped you in an intoxicating kiss.

It was sweet, not like the wanton kiss Patrick had given you before; this was full of fervor. The feeling of his lips meeting yours was akin to actual sparks. The current of electricity reverberated through your body, as you wrapped your arms around his neck instinctively, closing the space between your bodies.

Leon, without breaking the two of you apart, gently laid you down again on the soft grass. He had moved from your lips to the nape of your neck, the feeling causing you to feel a fire in your belly as he caressed your sides.

You had never experienced pleasure like this before, never in your wildest dreams would you have thought a man like Leon would be attracted to you in that way.

You began to panic, you were kissing a man that wasn’t your fiancé, and you were scared. You enjoyed it too much, if Leon had wanted to take it further you would have let him. He was making you feel too good; your mother had always warned you that things that felt too good to be true, were.

“Leon, please, I can’t do this.”

His body went stiff and moved off you immediately.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me, I’m so sorry, I feel awful.”

“Leon, don’t.” You said gently cradling his face in your hands, your thumb stroking his cheek. “I want you so bad; but I've been promised to Patrick.” You could tell by the wounded look on his face your words pained him.

“It’s obvious you’re too good for him, even though he treats you cruelly.” You flinched at his words, he was right.

“What are we going to do?” You whispered, still holding on to him

He pushed the loose strands of hair behind your ear.

“I know for a fact the Armstrongs are doing shady business dealings, how do you think he got funding for his political campaign this year?”

You thought about it for a second. You knew they came from family money and they lived in a small town, but it really never occurred to you that their dealings could be illegal.

“So you want to blackmail Patrick? That’s your idea?” You said incredulously.

“You should know I didn’t come out here to just work as the Sheriff of a small town. I’m here because I AM investigating The Armstrongs and their associates.”

“Why are you telling me this? I’m engaged to one of the family members.” You were shaking now, was everyone just going to pull the rug from under you? You pulled away from him.

“I know, because you don’t want this. I know for a fact if you had any other choice, you would take it.”

You stare at him, annoyed, but he was right. No wonder he was sent down here.

“Are you using me to get information then? I’m not okay with that, Leon.”

“Of course not!” He looked like the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. “I figured you were an innocent bystander in all of this.”

Your shoulders relaxed, you realized you had accused him of something horrible.

“Leon, I’m sorry, I just didn’t know what to think, I’ve just pulled every which way and I just want to be told the truth.”

“Y/n, I promise, I wouldn’t lie to you to hurt you.”

“That’s all I ask.”

The two of you shared a chaste kiss, and he drove you back to the long driveway of the farm.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you up to the house?” Leon had his right hand over your headrest.

“The lights and noise from the car would probably wake up my family. I don’t think I’d ever be allowed out of the house again if they saw I snuck out and you drove me home.”

“Good point.”

You both said your goodbyes and you walked slowly up the dirt road to the house.

You stopped in your tracks when you saw your daddy sitting on the steps of the house and he had his eyes locked on you.

You swallowed hard and decided to face the music. You walked right up to him.

“There she is, prancing in like I wouldn’t notice she snuck out. Where the hell have you been?”

“I had to get out of the house daddy, I’m sorry it felt like I was suffocating, I’m scared.” You said and sat down next to him.

You loved your daddy, he was always there for you. It felt like recently with this Patrick mess your relationship was suffering.

Your daddy’s face softened up and he put his arm around you.

“My magnolia, I know you’re going through a lot, it’s killing me. I wish your mother wasn’t pushing you so hard.” He held you close. You felt like a little girl, safe in your father’s arms, he hadn’t called you Magnolia in a long time. It was his nickname for you since you were little.

You remembered when the boys first started to bully you at school and your daddy would hug you while you cried. He would comfort you and the next day when the boys would start again, he’d stand at the school bus stop with his shotgun and point at them.

They never messed with his “magnolia” again after that.

You wish daddy could make the Armstrongs go away. She just wanted to work her little job, maybe meet someone on her own. Leon, she wouldn’t mind dating him, he was everything an actual gentleman should be.

“Do you think you could talk to mama? I don’t think I want to marry Patrick, daddy.” You said weakly.

“I’ll try magnolia.” He said. “We should head in before Mama wakes up and yells at the both of us.”

You exchanged a hug and went back into the farmhouse feeling better off.

#leon kennedy x reader #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil #fanfiction #leon kennedy #resident evil infinite darkness #patrick infinite darkness #TW:suicide

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