#i NEEDED to get it out on the first day of pride

[ubeb0nes]

Sevika's Acts of Service…

𖢅 ------ 𖢅

𖢅 ------ 𖢅

Visibly offended whenever you try and lift anything heavier than five pounds and don't immediately ask her to do it

Let her do it

Please

Actually, you don't even get a choice she's already taking it out of your hands and walking away

If you wear glasses and the lenses are getting all gross, she notices like immediately. Will mutter something like, "The hell's the point of you even wearing them?" As she plucks them off your face to wipe them with the cloth thingy hanging off her waistline.

She puts on a whole show of being annoyed with having to do this, but you know from the first time she does it how much she adores this little act of service

Could, would, has killed someone for you. Deep down, she knows even Silco isn't safe if you will it so. She doesn't like this part of her.

Doesn't fuss when you're sick, but absolutely fusses when you're injured.

She dips into your home in the middle of her work day just to change your bandages/make sure you've eaten

"If you move from this bed today, I'll kick your ass." "What, like the guy who put me here?" "I- that is not funny-" "You started it!"

After nights where she wins pretty well at cards (which is most nights she plays cards), she always stops to get you something to eat from one of the better food spots in Zaun

She always asks "What can I do" before "Are you okay". If she can do something to help, then she can guarantee you'll be okay, in her mind.

If you ever say, "Baby, I need you to do something," in a sweet voice, she is on her feet and at attention, yes ma'am.

No but really, she'll drop whatever she's doing and be very visibly fighting against the urge to whip around and ask you what you need. She'll give you a soft "Hm?" as she meets your eyes as a compromise

She likes bringing you coffee in bed. She's always up before you to have her morning smoke anyway, don't make a big deal out of it, and stop making those dopey eyes-

She actually really likes serving you food/drinks in general. It makes her feel like she can provide something for you, take care of you. Always mutters a prideful little, "here, sweetheart," as she does.

If she says she's going to do something, then she will. No if's or but's. This doesn't even just apply to you, it's just how she lives her life

This does not, however, apply to any introspective ventures you may ask of her… those are a lot scarier than any physical task you could ask her to do

It will probably take a near-break up, if not a whole break, for her to realize that it's worth it for you.

You're the last good thing she has. She'll fight for you like she's fought for everything else in her life. The embodiment of "For you, I will". You sit right next to a freed Zaun in her heart.

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

◦⭐︎・love lost

Ekko x reader

Summary: once a Firelight and Ekko's partner, you are now a mercenary, dragging yourself through jobs to make enough money to pay for food. After one too many drinks, you take a job you can't handle, and get hurt. It's no shocker who comes to your rescue.

Set at undefined time, no use of Y/N, gender neutral reader

Warnings: gore (not too bad but be mindful), swearing, mentions of death/welcoming death. 3.2 K words (oops), not proofread as always

A/N: icl guys this is one of the longer fics I've written, and definitely the angstiest one. Again, for my best friend, @sahxrii (go check out her recs, they're SO good) who I do everything for, lets be honest.

You have always prided yourself for knowing your limits; stopping when you need to stop, being reasonable about your own abilities. This has kept you out of quite a lot of trouble- avoiding fights you could not have won, not provoking people who were clearly able to whoop your ass. 

This, however, is very different, and not a common occurrence. 

First of all, you might be a little drunk- you’ve just had to numb the sting of your day with a drink, just a small one, in a tiny grimy bar run by a tall man with bright orange skin. Second of all, you’re running on two hours of sleep and painkillers (the painkillers are slowly wearing off, to make matters worse). 

And lastly, you’re in a really bad fucking mood. 

So, when your handler slides you a note with a name and address written in ugly red letters, you think fuck it, and take the job. You should’ve known this was stupid- you should’ve done what the sober, not exhausted version of yourself would have done. But instead, you accept with a bleary nod, because, to be frank, all you want at that moment is to break something. 

So you take the note, drain your drink, and leave the bar, shrugging on your worn coat. Adrenaline is already starting to buzz beneath your skin, your knuckles tingling softly in anticipation. You had never been this excited about violence when you were younger- in fact, people might have described you as gentle, even. But now, with all the things you have witnessed, all the people you’ve lost, hitting people brought a kind of release you could find nowhere else. 

Besides, there’s no one who remembers you as that gentle person left, anyway, so who are you disappointing? Yourself? You chuckle drily into the cold air, thick with gas. 

You stop in front of the building, your hands tucked into your pockets. It is big, red, and ugly (like the ink the name had been written in, you thought), bright colourful light shining from the broken windows. A Zaunite haunt, typical for a wannabe drug lord- the kind of man you were often hired to beat up or kill. You kick into the dirt at your feet, take a deep breath. You have hardly sobered up on the walk here, so your vision is still somewhat blurry, everything swimming around you like you’re underwater. 

Broken memories of swimming in an underground lake with him flitter through your mind, and you dismiss them, muttering a curse between your teeth. You roll your shoulders and make your way inside, striding in like you own the goddamn place. 

“You can’t be here,” a goon dressed all in black calls from the top of badly painted stairs. You look at him, an ugly grin splitting your face. 

“Kick me out, then,” you say, your heart already beginning to beat a little faster. 

Before you know, goons are coming at you from the sides, cracking their knuckles. The twat at the top of the stairs sneers down at you, his teeth oily and black. 

“You don’t wanna do this,” a woman on your left growls. She’s twice as big as you, her arms covered in bright red, winding tattoos. 

“I think I do,” you answer, raising your hands, which are already curled into fists. 

She lunges first, and you catch her with a right hook in the jaw. She hardly falters, but you drive your knee into her stomach. Now, she stumbles, and you leap up, narrowly avoiding an attack from another goon. You grab goon number one- the woman- and smash your forehead into her face. Her nose explodes, red and white flying all over you as she falls backwards. You spin and grab the nearest object- a stool- and bring it smack into the second goon’s middle. He collapses, and you walk over to him, drop the stool on his head. He stops moving. 

You turn to the giant of a woman, who is standing and looking at you with pure, unadulterated hatred. Her face is broken into bits, blood and spit dribbling down her chin. “Come on, then,” you say, cracking your already sore knuckles. 

She throws herself at you, twice as angry as before. You dodge, but she catches you in the shoulder. Excruciating pain shoots through you, and you realise too late that she has wicked little claw-like contraptions on her fingers. She comes at you again, slashing wildly. You jump out of the way, once again catching a claw in the face. It slices open your left cheek; pain explodes all through the area, but you grin. A challenge- you’ve always liked that. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind, a child’s voice screams at you to stop, to leave, to give up. The goon from the top of the stairs is gone. You falter when you notice this- he must be warning his boss, who is your target. You double your efforts, lunging at the woman. You manage to punch her in the stomach, but your second hit, aimed at her throat, is knocked out of the way as she drives her claws into your wrist. You scream, not really in pain but in sheer shock at the sharp metal slivers protruding from your skin. 

“Should’ve left,��� she sneers into your face. You spit into the bloody mess that was her nose and wrench your arm back, kicking her, hard, in the sternum. She stumbled backwards and you pull your weapon- a machete, sheathed against your back- out, spinning it around. She assesses you for a moment, with what you realise now are robotic eyes. 

Oh. 

Oh, fuck. 

You are not fighting a person, you’re fighting a robot. Or something that’s half half- the blood spilling from her face gives you the idea that she might be made of flesh and bones, but those eyes- you’ve seen them before. She’s assessing your fight patterns, and she’s going to win. 

You duck out of the way of another attack, but she manages to graze your neck with her claws. You slash wildly with your machete, to no avail- she avoids each blow easily, and the ones that do hit, she ignores happily. 

Finally, one of your attacks hits- you aim the blow upwards, and the machete carves straight through her face. Blood, huge quantities of the stuff, gushes all over you, bone shattering under the power of your blow. You yank the machete out, momentarily stunned as she stumbles to her knees, eyes fizzing out. 

“Fuck,” you pant, stumbling backwards, “fuck you.” 

Your victory is short lived. More goons are coming down the stairs, armed to the teeth. You raise your weapon, ready to fight them all if it kills you, when you feel something strange. Your shirt has been sliced open- cold hair breezes around your stomach. You look down, and are somewhat horrified to find blood; your own blood. 

All at once, you feel nausea hit. You stumble to your knees, gasping for air. She got you- you feel the pain shooting through now. She managed to sink her dirty claws into your stomach as if you were made of mist and gas. 

Everything flickers in front of you as the last few days finally hit. You’re in so much pain, it’s almost incredible- had you been an author, you would have liked to write about this one day. It’s like your insides have been ripped out (they kind of have, you suppose) and set on fire, stomped on, pissed on- you almost laugh at the thought as your head hits the ground. 

You can’t remember when you fell. 

Your vision goes dark, flickering in and out. You see the goons approach you, pick you up unceremoniously. You are outside your body, floating somewhere beyond, watching through your eyes as they drag you outside. It is raining- you wish you could feel the raindrops on your face, one last time. 

You laughed, holding out a hand. It had been a while since you had experienced rain- in the Firelights hideout, you are protected by the huge leaves of the tree; and the Firelights hideout has everything (and everyone) you could wish for, so why would you ever go outside? 

But, after hearing you sigh softly and murmur something about the only thing you miss about your old home being the rain, Ekko made it his mission to bring it back. As soon as it rained again, he took you by the arm, promising a wonderful surprise. He offered to blindfold you, but you kindly refused when you saw that he intended to take you up the tree. You had climbed together, him guiding you gently upwards; and as you’d ascended, you had heard a beautiful, soft patter; a sound that made your heart beat speed up and your throat close. Finally, you had reached the top, and he had lifted the leaves to reveal a little area above the canopy, partly shielded from the rain with a makeshift structure made of leaves and cloth. 

Now, you sat in this structure, your side flush against his, a hand held out to the pouring rain.  

“Do you like it?” He asked softly, looking at you. 

“Do I like it?” You cried, almost incredulous. “Yes, Ekko, I love it!” You turned to him, grinning so widely it almost hurt. “Thank you,” you added after a moment. “Thank you so much, Ekko.” He smiled too, and you took his face in your hands and kissed him, and Gods knew you’d never been happier. 

You’re lying in an alleyway. It’s like you can physically feel the blood leaking from you, your life draining from the gash in your stomach and the holes in your arm. The goons have left, convinced you are dead- why didn’t they check your pulse, stupid bastards? 

It has stopped raining, but you’re soaked to the bone, lying there in the dark. Someone has stolen your jacket and your machete. 

You groaned as you lifted the jacket up to the light. A bright fabric, the colour of the sunset, now stained with dark greenish grey goo. You should have known that wearing your favourite jacket down into the mines was a stupid idea, but you’d done it anyway. 

“Stupid,” you mumbled to yourself, dropping the jacket into a heap on the floor. You wondered briefly if it was salvageable, but deep down knew it wasn’t. You’d have to find a new one, which would be nowhere near as nice. 

Someone knocked on your door, and a soft voice spoke your name. 

“Come in,” you called, still staring sadly at your jacket. 

Ekko stepped inside, his presence like warm sunlight. Despite the grief caused by the ruined jacket, you smile, turning to him instantly relaxing as he wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“I hear your jacket got ruined,” he said softly. 

“Yeah,” you muttered in response. “Upsetting.” He laughed. “I have something for you.” You pulled away, moving your hands to his biceps and looking at him. “What, Ekko?” You already knew what he was going to show you, but it warmed your heart all the same. 

“It’s not exactly the same colour,” he said apologetically, “but-“ 

You put a hand over his mouth, beaming. “I don’t care,” you said. 

He smiled back at you, releasing you to pull something out of his bag. It was neatly folded, but he held it out to you. You shook it out, and found a jacket, almost identical to the one that you had just ruined; it was a slightly lighter shade of orange, and the pattern on the back was a tree instead of the flowers you’d had on your last one. 

“You’re insane,” you said, in awe. You put the jacket on- it was a little too big, but who gave a shit? It was your jacket, gifted to you by your boy. 

You blink back into consciousness, and almost screamed. The pain coursing through you is like nothing you’d ever imagined; like being electrocuted and burned and drowned all at the same time. Despite the gaping hole in you, you want to curl up, to shield yourself from the wet and cold and pain. 

“Please,” you whimper into the ground, “please, no.” 

It’s not that you don’t want to die. In fact, you welcome death- you see it as a release more than anything else, from the bullshit life you lead. But dying here, like this- 

You start to cry, and you gag and retch as tears spill mercilessly. 

You are about to give in- you have given in- when a bright light seems to fill your vision. It is green and orange and yellow and pink and warm and fills everything around you. For a moment you think you’ve died, and this is some kind deity welcoming you into the next life, whispering I forgive you don’t worry as it carries you away. But no, the truth is much harsher than that. 

A face hovers into your field of vision, and warm hands tug your shirt upwards. You want to protest, but your throat is dry from all the retching and sobbing you’ve been doing. A cloth presses down into the wound in your stomach and you howl, eyes rolling back in your head as the pain grabs you by the throat and fucking throttles you. 

“Stop,” you manage to whimper. “Why- why are you doing this?” Your voice is hoarse, you’re crying again as you try to shut out the pain. 

You hear shouting- words like help and home and quick- and black out again. 

When you come to, you are no longer lying wet and dying in an alleyway miles from home (where even is home anymore? It’s just you, and that orange jacket, which you don’t even have anymore). 

Your surroundings slowly swim into focus (swimming, your brain sings, swimming in an underwater cave, hands on your waist, kisses all over). You are lying down, mercifully dry and warm. Pain pumps through you in waves, mostly coming from your wrist and your stomach. You wonder, again, if this is some afterlife- if so, it is far less cruel than your parents described. 

But then, you turn your head, and pain sears through you. 

But that is not what makes you cry. 

He lifts his head instantly as he hears your quiet sobs, and he’s at your side, a hand carefully gripping yours (he’s avoiding the bloody bandage wrapped around your wrist, you realise), the other gently brushing soft fingers over your bruised face. “It’s okay,” he says, even though you think he doesn’t mean it. It’s not okay- you ran away, got yourself beat up, almost killed, and he’s had to rescue you. Of course it’s not okay.

“Ekko,” you whimper. 

“It’s okay,” he repeats, stroking your hair away from his face. Instinctively, you curl away, wanting to hide your injury from him. He shakes his head, his eyes brimming with tears (or maybe you’re delusional, because who would cry over you?) 

“I-“ Your words are lost in a pathetic sob, and you turn your face away from him. 

“Don’t,” he says. A pause. “How are you feeling?” 

You croak out what should’ve been fuck but instead comes out as a bad imitation . You would’ve laughed, in any other situation. 

“What happened?” His voice is so soft, so kind, it makes you want to rip your eyeballs out and stuff them into your ears. 

You shake your head. You don’t want him to know what you’ve been up to since you left the Firelights. 

He lets go of your hand, and for a moment you think he’s leaving you. It wouldn’t surprise you, to be honest. But no, he doesn’t leave you. Instead, he leans over, inspects the bandages wrapped around your midsection. Your mind instantly flashes to him prodding it, digging his fingers into your wound and calling you names. You wouldn’t blame him. 

“You’re an idiot,” he says finally, still glaring at your bandaged stomach. 

“Excuse me?” That is the first full statement you manage to force past your shredded throat. 

“You’re an idiot,” he repeats with just as much gusto. “I mean, how could you just go and do this?” He gestures at your injuries. 

“I didn’t-“ 

“What, think? Yeah, I can tell.” His face is partly obscured, so you can’t tell what face he’s making. 

“I-“ 

“You’re so stupid. I mean, did you really think you could survive taking on all of the goons in that building?” He snorts to himself. “At least tell me the pay was worth it.” 

You’re somewhat incredulous. All the time you’ve known Ekko, he’s never been this outright mean to you. 

“What-“ you sputter, unable to find the words. 

“Did you not think for a moment that you might get killed?” He puts extra emphasis on the word killed, and it’s like a punch in the gut. When he turns his gaze onto you, you think you’d prefer to have the goons rip you apart than see him look at you like this ever again. 

“I’m sorry,” you manage to say through a fresh tightening in your throat. Your eyes sting and you’re about to turn away when you see his expression. 

He’s smiling. 

“What?” You almost choke out. “What is it?” 

His smile is the softest thing you’ve ever seen. It’s the sunlight, shining through the leaves of the tree; it’s the rain gently pattering on the roof of your childhood home. It’s the smell of old books and wood. 

It’s so painfully home. 

Your eyes sting, and you turn your face away from him, swallowing the bile rising in your throat. He still smiles at you like that, after everything you’ve done. 

He takes your hand again, his other beginning to gently trace patterns on the bandage on your stomach. It’s such a soft, kind gesture. He used to do that, you remember with a pang, when you two would lie in bed together: draw little patterns on your back with his fingers, when he thought you were asleep. 

“It’s okay,” he says, and for the first time, you wholeheartedly believe him. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, because those are the only words your throat will allow out. “I am.” 

“I know,” he murmurs. He hesitates, then leans forwards, kissing your forehead gently. “Just…” he trails off, his gaze now focused back on your bruised face. “Don’t do that again.” 

You promise him. Not with words, but with the feeling in your chest, the loosening of your lungs and throat as you watch him watch you. You promise him with the way your knuckles have stopped aching for more skin to break, with the way your eyes water again. 

You promise him with all that you have, because that is the least you can do for him. 

“I love you,” you mumble, almost sheepishly. 

“I love you too,” he answers; there is no hesitation, no layered but only if… behind the words. He says it back with the same confidence he gives orders, the words more of a declaration than softly spoken pretty things. 

“I’m sorry,” you add, after a few moments of just watching him breathe. 

“I love you,” is his answer. 

You shut your eyes, and he squeezes your hand. 

[gallaghersgal]

DON'T BE SHY, carmen berzatto

TAGS & WARNINGS → first time, first orgasm, spitting, hand job, p in v, needy soft dom carmy, praise kink :))

A/N → two carmy fics in two days? i don't know what's gotten into me honestly. i'm enjoying my little break from the mkverse, hope y'all are too!

WC → 1.3k

The first thing you notice is that he’s thick. you’re not sure he’ll fit, mind dizzied with the thought of him inside you. “Can i… can i touch?” you ask quietly, cheeks flooding with heat. “Wanna touch, please?” it comes out a breathless whisper, one that does things to Carmen.

“Fuck, yeah. yeah, baby, go ahead.” He settles his body against the headboard, one arm hooking around your waist to settle you closer. You kneel beside him and reach out a tentative hand. One finger traces up the underside of his cock and you notice how warm he is, velvet skin soft under your touch. You hear carmen suck in a gasp through his teeth and quickly pull your hand back, worried you’ve done something wrong. You tilt your head, observing the way his eyes go wide at the loss of contact. “N-no, baby, tha’s good,” he stammers, one hand reaching out to cup your cheek.

You find your lips pulling into a shy smile while your chest swells with pride at his words. “Really?” you ask, and giggle when another callused palm lands on your face, holding you between his hands and bringing you in for a kiss.

“Go on, baby. Y’don’t gotta be shy, m’kay?”

With his words of encouragement you lean back on your heels, reaching down to take his length in your hand once more. Your fingers barely wrap around all the way, you swallow thickly at the thought. You let your thumb trace over the sensitive head, collecting the arousal that pools there and relishing in the groan that tumbles from his lips.

“F-fuuuck, jus’ like that,” Carmen praises, voice rough and eyes watching you with a dark gaze. He ducks his head to muffle a moan while you build up a rhythm, mouthing at your neck. The pain of his teeth scraping against your sensitive skin is a welcome one, his tongue soothing the sting moments later. You shudder at the thought of the mark that will soon be blossoming in his wake. Proof of his devotion, claiming you as his. You squeeze him slightly, twisting your wrist in smooth strokes and his cock throbs in your hand. 

The feeling has a whine spilling from deep in your throat. The rush is dizzying, eyes focused on the way he throws his head back, tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. “Fuck,” you whisper, getting lost in it—the rhythm, the heat, the feeling—as one hand tilts your chin up to meet his gaze.

“You gettin’ off on this?” he asks, and your cheeks heat with embarrassment at the fact he noticed. Noticed how your thighs squeezed together with every slow pull at him, noticed how you squirmed until one heel rested right against the soft cotton of your shorts. You shouldn’t feel so bashful with him, you know you shouldn’t, but everything is so new, you can’t help it. You nod, trying to duck your head to no avail as his grip on your jaw tightens. “Good. Good girl, gotta make sure you're nice an’ ready f’me.”

Carmen lands a peck on your lips, his hand leaving your face in favor of covering your own, leading you on in easy strokes. He guides you into a more steady rhythm, quick strokes that have him smirking, kissing at your cheek and murmuring, “atta girl. S’good, fuck, doin’ so good f’me.”

You whimper, babbling as you rest your head against his shoulder. “Carmy Carmy Carmy, need you, please,” you beg.

And how could carmen ever say no?

A kiss to your forehead has his golden saint anthony chain bumping against your chin, the metal cool to your heated skin. He’s flushed a deep red color, saccharine groans pooling from his parted lips while you stroke his cock in tandem. You steal one more kiss, then another, then two large hands frame your hips.

Carmen smiles at you, “want these off?”

“Please,” you breathe out, barely a whisper as you nod. You lift your hips to aid him before his strong arms cradle your body, laying you down beneath him. Carmen’s weight presses into you and you sigh happily, pulling him in for a deep kiss. Tongues tangle with desire, you feel his leaking tip prod at your entrance as he cages your body underneath him.

“Gonna go slow, okay baby? An’ it might hurt a li’l, but just squeeze my arm.” Carmen is smiling softly at you, handling you like you’re precious as he kisses your palm, then guides your hand to his bicep.

There’s one kiss, then two on your lips before he’s pressing the throbbing head inside you. “Oh—oh fuck, shiiiit—Carmy!” You tense up a bit, squeezing his arm and tossing your head back against the pillows.

“Shh, shh babygirl, I gotcha,” he hushes against your skin. The rough pad of his thumb slips down towards your clit as he spits, circling the sensitive nub to placate you. Your thighs are trembling already, but he needs to draw this out. One hand hooks under your thigh to bring it up over his shoulder. Needy lips hush your whines, whispering against you, “doin’ so good for me. Tight fuckin’ pussy, squeezin’ me s-so good.”

And he’s only halfway inside, your nails digging crescents into his skin as his girth just about splits you open. “Carmy! Carmy—please—oh fuck!” you sob out when he fills you to the hilt. Instead of his fingers it’s now the wiry hair at the base of his cock that’s rubbing deliciously against your clit.

One hand cups your cheek as Carmen kisses you soundly, “hey, ‘s okay baby. Shh, y’re doin’ so good.”

You preen under his praise, whining and hooking the leg that isn’t over his shoulder around his waist. You draw him in closer, filling you in a way that has whimpers spilling from your lips. Finally, he begins to move. Something begins to crest within you, and you find yourself barrelling towards a form of ecstasy you’ve never felt. “Carmy I’m—oh fuck—I can’t, I-I’ve… Carmy I’ve never…”

You can’t even think straight, not with his cock drilling into you at such a sweet but deep pace, hitting every sweet spot inside of you. Surely your legs will wobble in the morning, you’ll look like a baby deer as you stumble towards the bathroom with a happy ache in your cunt. Nothing has ever felt this good, no sweet dream or late night caress of your own fingers, the truth is you’ve never had an orgasm. And Carmen is about to bring you there.

“You never cum b’fore, baby?” he asks, voice strained. He’s close too, your cunt squeezing him so fucking tight, like a vice. He’s been spacing out, keeping watch on your sweet face so he doesn’t bust right then and there.

A series of whines and little “ah, ah, ah,” noises tumble from your lips, his thumb reaching up to trace your lips. You taste your own arousal on him, it’s excruciatingly hot, knowing what he was just doing to you. You suck the digit into your mouth, tongue circling it sweetly before releasing with a pop. You shake your head shyly, as his lips come down to your chest. His tongue flicks over your nipple, sucking on your supple flesh just enough for a light bruise. 

“Come on honey,” Carmen murmurs against your chest, both arms wrapping you up in a bear hug as his drills into you. “Wanna feel’ya, please baby girl, cum f’me?”

You warble out a cry as he picks up his pace, face buried in your chest. “Carmy, yes! Right there baby, right—oh!” You startle as his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing slow and gentle circles in stark contrast to the quick, mind numbing snaps of his hips.

He’s pleading against your skin now, “c’mon baby, need t’feel– need to feel y’u cum on my dick, baby please.”

That’s the push you need. Well, that and Carmen rising from his sopt buried in your tits to spit on your pussy, speeding up his thumb until you’re thrashing with pleasure. You cry, years streaming down your cheeks and a smile on your pretty lips as you come undone, pulsing around him. 

Carmen brings his hands to your hips, nuzzling at your sternum as he whimpers, “gonna cum baby, can’t—o-oh fuck—can’t fucking h-hold it.” You cradle his head, fingers tangling in his soft curls as a wrecked whine falls from you. Carmen lays a kiss over your heart, his dick twitching as his hips still, his load shooting deep within you.

Carmen lifts his head to look at you, one hand cupping your cheek befre whispering, “look so fuckin’ pretty, all wrecked f’me.” Your cbeeks flood with heat as he kisses you soundly, tongue slipping past your lips to tangle with your own. He tastes like arousal and something sweeter, and you whine as his tip grinds deeper inside you. Carmen’s thighs shake, but he refuses to pull out. “C’mere baby,” he murmurs, cradling you in his arms.

You find yourself situated in his lap, softening cock still snug inside you. “But ‘m all sticky,” you say with a petulant huff. Then, “Carmy, come on! I was serious,” when he chuckles at you.

“Just a few more minutes then we’ll shower, m’kay?” he asks quietly, kissing your cheeks. You nod in agreeance, snuggling your face into his shoulder. He tired you out, that was for certain. Your thighs ached, core tight and lungs heaving. Feeling content and sated, you collapse onto Carmen with a soft sigh.

© gallaghersgal, 2024. div. © cafekitsune, saradika

THX 4 READING → once again dedicated to @carmenberzattosgf cause she's been waiting for this one!

[bumblesimagines]

Imagine:

Parting with Prince Jacaerys

Request: Yes or No

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Bastardphobia (is that an actual thing), classism, soft angst

Someone get this twink away from me I've written too much for him

~~~

There was nothing Jace despised more than being reminded of his blood, of the parent whose looks he favored, and how starkly different he looked from his family.

At the time, he thought it'd been a bright idea to search for dragonseeds, for nobles who held even a speck of Targaryen blood in their veins from a close or distant ancestor and bring them forth to claim a dragon. His mother had even entertained it, the spark in her eyes when she realized his idea could work had filled him with an indescribable pride and rush of euphoria.

He supposed, though, he hadn't considered how picky dragons could be when it came to their riders, but the sacrifices would be worth it in the name of winning a war..

Until his mother and her new... advisor took his idea to the smallfolk. 

Truthfully, he knew blaming Addam of Hull was silly. He'd taken no part in willingly seeking out Seasmoke, although it stung that the dragon of the man who raised him had been the reason his mother felt confident enough in seeking out dragonseeds in the lowest of places.

The pungent, crime-riddled streets of King's Landing city had spread the news of their desire to find Dragonriders, and in strolled their very own army of bastards.. bastards who looked more Targaryen than him with their silver hair and violet eyes. 

He hated it. He hadn't known whether to shatter something or curl up into a sobbing ball when he first saw them walking down the path leading into the castle with their filthy clothes yet blatant royal blood.

Their existence, their looks, the confirmation there were bastards more Targaryen than him... not even any of Baela's coos and words of comfort could cease the turmoil turning endlessly in his chest, threatening to consume him if he didn't get a leash on it. And Gods had he tried to appease his mother by sitting down at dinner and pretending as if the loathing threatening to choke him wasn't there.. until he watched, with betrayal heavy in his chest, as his mother chose Addam over him, a bastard over her own son.

Jace knew sleep would evade him that night so he bid Baela goodnight and set off to visit Dragonstone's kennels, although they served more for breeding over hunting considering his mother cared little for the royal hunts.

He held a lantern in one hand as he headed to the lower levels where the kennels were, eager to spill everything on his mind and then promptly forget about it with the one servant he cared for deeply. 

"(Y/N)?" Jace called out softly into the kennels, the lantern and torches along the wall providing enough light for him to spot the young man doing one last round of checking on the hounds. He smiled immediately and lowered the lantern down, carefully setting it on the nearby table and releasing a heavy exhale. He lingered by the door, waiting for him to finish. 

(Y/N) glanced at him, peeking into the last kennel before he turned toward him and dipped his head. "Prince Jacaerys." He greeted, voice lacking its usual teasing warmth. 

"No need for formalities." Jace gave a breathless chuckle and stepped further into the room, watching him adjust and tidy some things in the room. He hardly considered the duties of kennelmasters to be as lengthy or as important as other jobs around the castle, but he loved how seriously (Y/N) took it. He dealt with the stink of dog for him, just as (Y/N) dealt with the stink of dragon that so often clung to the prince. "I wasn't followed, I made sure of it." 

Jace's brows twitched downward when (Y/N) simply hummed, his steps quickening into long strides until he reached him and stepped in front of him. He waited for (Y/N) to properly greet him, to brush back his brown curls as he so often did, and place a delicate kiss on the tip of his nose before asking how his day was as Jace melted in his arms. But (Y/N) simply stepped around him and picked up his coat from the chair, folding it over his arm and peering back at him. 

"The dogs must rest, Prince." 

"Are you alright?" Jace blinked, picking up the lantern and following like a helpless child when (Y/N) walked away, their combined steps echoing up the staircase. His mind flickered back to the last time they'd spoken, recalling it'd been a day or two since the last time they'd spent the night together, but surely it wouldn't warrant such cold treatment. Jace quickened his pace, reaching out to grasp at his arm when they stepped out into a hallway. "(Y/N)-"

"The hour grows late, Prince Jacaerys," (Y/N) spoke, voice sharp enough to make alarm rise in Jace, his head jerking back and eyes blinking wildly at him. Not even his mother spoke to him in such a harsh tone. "Whatever it is you require can wait til morrow."

Jace swallowed. "Are you mad at me?" He asked softly, and his question was answered when (Y/N) scoffed and peeled his arm away to depart to the servant quarters assigned to him. Shit.

Jace despised feeling small, feeling out of control but it felt entirely different when it came to (Y/N). Never in all the years they'd known each other had (Y/N) ever grown annoyed with him enough to ignore him, not even as boys when Jace would join Aegon in occasionally taunting the hunting hounds.

His heart raced, not with the usual feelings of adoration or anticipation he enjoyed but with pure panic and desperation. His feet followed him, throwing caution to the wind if it meant righting whatever wrong he'd unintentionally committed and ramming his shoulder into the door before it could be closed in his face. 

"Talk to me." He practically pleaded, setting the lantern blindly aside and closing the door behind him, fingers growing clammy at his sides. "What's happened? Why are you mad at me? Whatever it is I did, you have my apologies, I swear." 

(Y/N) tossed his coat aside and began peeling his boots off his feet, letting them drop to the floor with soft thumps. His silence was the worst thing imaginable, Jace decided. He preferred the teasing, the laughter, the grunts and heaves, anything other than silence. Jace hardly knew what to do with himself.

He'd seen Daemon grovel begrudgingly plenty of times throughout the years of his marriage to his mother, whether from a slip of the tongue or some kind of action taken she disliked, but Daemon had experience; Jace only knew what (Y/N) taught him. The bed creaked when he sat on it and he looked at him, expression unreadable and only fueling Jace's nerves.

"I heard you." He finally said, so quiet Jace almost hadn't caught it. "I heard what you said... about the smallfolk who came here, about the ones who live in Flea Bottom. Mongrels... is that what you see me as? What you saw my father as? Filthy animals with no morals, with- with no brains? Jus' some drunk imbeciles who steal and do as they please?"

"No," Jace breathed out and shook his head rapidly, a clawing feeling digging into his throat. "Of course not. You- You are not like them, (Y/N). You should have seen them. They came from- from the grimiest places of Flea Bottom. You are not like Ulf or Hugh or even Addam. You're... different."

"My parents were from Flea Bottom, Jace. I'm part of the smallfolk. I'm not some fancy noble or lordling."

"Yes, your parents are from Flea Bottom, but it's different. I-" Jace halted, breath catching in his throat for a moment. He'd said the words before, uttered them over and over like a prayer into his ear during the hour of the owl with his arms and legs thrown around him. His lips pressed tightly together, wishing for the feeling of distraught forming in his chest to disappear. "I love you, you know that very well. I did not mean to bring insult to you or the memory of your parents."

"You look down on them, Jace. You..." (Y/N)'s teeth dug into his lip, a frustrated hand rubbing into the nape of his neck. He tore his eyes away from the prince, lowering them down to study the stone floor beneath them. "Hearing you utter those words, those insults.. it allowed me to truly think for the first time in years about.. this. What we have is-"

"Special." Jace exhaled, his steps slow and short whilst he observed his lover with pleading eyes. 

"Temporary, Jace. It is.. temporary." 

"It's not-"

"It is." (Y/N) gave a dry, almost bitter chuckle, and stood up from the bed. "We're vastly different, Jace. You are engaged to another, to a lady. A beautiful and kind lady who does not deserve to- to be lied to." 

Brown curls bounced against his temples when he shook his head, his heart feeling as if it were curling into itself and threatening burst simotanously. "Baela will understand-" 

"Jacaerys." (Y/N) stared at him, his fixed brows softening when he fully took in the status of his lover. He exhaled through his nose, lips pressing into a tight line. "You are a prince. I have no noble blood. This was going to end one day or another." 

"It doesn't have to." Jace protested softly, his teeth digging into his lip to contain the quivering. "Baela will understand. It is not as if.. as if I will be making my mother's mistake." 

(Y/N) frowned. "I deserve more than being kept a secret, than being a paramour, and she deserves a faithful lord-husband. It is the least she deserves after everything she and her family have gone through." 

"Do not do this." Jace pleaded, his voice trembling with emotion he desperately tried keeping contained. "You cannot do this. Not- Not to me.. not us. (Y/N), please. I lov-" 

"I'm sorry, Prince Jacaerys, but this is how our story was always meant to end." 

[b-lossm]

•+*Charm*+•

Vi x fem!reader [modern]

synopsis: She'd really hate to admit it, but she put her pride on the line

based on After the first kiss hc :)

"Coming!!" you shout as you finish putting your accessories on "just calm down.. the only thing you gotta do is be yourself!! and not be a loser sapphic oh god--" you mumble as you flatten out your shirt, looking yourself in the mirror and then opening the door for your girlfriend "There she is" she smiles cheeseily and hands you a bouquet of peonies and lilies "I um.. I remember you mentioning they're your favorite so--" you can see her rubbing the back of her neck while fidgeting with her carabiner, her cheeks betraying her and flushing a soft shade of red "They're amazing Vi, thank you!" she then pulls out a.. vase..? "I- um.. I thought you'd need one but like that sounds stupid now.." her face flushes red and you cheekily kiss her cheek while putting the flowers in the vase "s' perfect.." her head is filled with your giggles 'FAWWWKK' she thinks, quickly snapping out of the trance you put her in and opening the door for you "To m' truck?" you take her hand in yours "Too your truck"

--

When you eventually arrive at the record store you are just esthatic, its the kind of store that you see in movies,, and dreams, a place that you couldn't begin to describe even if you wanted to “Vi this is amazing..” you admire the atmosphere after she comes back from talking to some random worker "soo music girl... where too first?" she says while sneaking her hand into yours. You gladly lead her to the Indie section and grab Atlanta Millionaires club and Underdressed at the Symphony "you know Faye Webster..right?" you hear her nervous chuckles "umm yeah.. 'the day that I meant you I started dreaming' right..?" you smile as she sings a little part of her song "mhmmmm that's um.. on this album" you smile nervously and lead her to the pop section to get Charm and Immunity "you know Clairo?" “uhh.. yeah! who doesn't? she’s the one that made Bags right?” 'i forgot she liked this kind of stuff-- what if she thinks i'm stupid-' vi panics in her mind "hey um.. i know this cute little corner thing in this place, lets go"

Vi then takes your sweaty hand in her sweatier one and leads you to his cute little private room with a record player "ta daaa" her nervous chuckles fill your mind as you admire the atmosphere "ooh!" you giggle and excitedly sit in a bean bag next to the record player "What album first Vi?" "hmm how about...um... Charm?" you smile and play it "I really like it here,,thank you" she looks away and wipes a giddy smile off of her face "falling for me already hm sweet thing?" "sweet thing? i could get used to that.." you mumble softly as the song Terrapin plays, her sweet, raspy laugh fills your ears "you know you do shy away from others a lot" aw fuck she got me you think as you look away, finding a retort and looking back just to see her face inches from yours "jus' shut up" you blush "oh really?" she challenges, moving in while her eyes dart between your eyes and lips "mhmmm" you lean into her while closing your eyes slightly "is this okay?" she whispers, not wanting to ruin the moment but also not wanting to cross a line "yeah.." you whisper back as she space between you closes.

'she sounds so pretty' the pink haired girl in front of you thinks as you both hum harmoniously into the kiss. Eventually,,, you guys pull apart, breathlessly "soo umm......Juna" you smile awkwardly "this reminds me of you" you lean into her shoulder "i make you all feminine?" Vi whispers and fiddles with your hand "mhmm"

after your little interaction, and her buying you the same record you had your first kiss too, Vi drives you home, her sister making fun of her in her messages the whole way there.

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

Hai guyz :P i mighttt finish my stuff idk finals is coming up and i got 2 study

sorry if its bad i forced myself to write this

[minuino]

fluff ꕀ husband kirishima! x fem!reader ⸝⸝ established relationship

husband kirishima! who is always determined to make your mornings special. no matter how tired he is from patrol, he always wakes up extra early to cook you something nice before you head off to work. although he’s not the best cook, it’s the effort that counts—at least that’s what he always tells himself. he’s all about the little things: leaving sticky notes with doodles or loving messages on top of your lunchbox,, which is always paired with your favorite drink. “Don’t worry about the burnt toast, it adds a bit of crunch to it! Good luck at work today, I love ya!” you giggle as you read the cute note, slipping the lunchbox into your bag before heading out for the day.

husband kirishima! who is determined to become a great cook, even if his enthusiasm often leads to chaos in the kitchen. one time he nearly set the oven on fire trying to bake you a birthday cake—the kitchen filled with smoke, the fire alarm blaring, and him flailing with an oven mitt to save what was left of the cake. it ended up completely charred and inedible. now every year, he’s determined to get it right, spending days watching tutorials and hyping himself up. but somehow, something always goes wrong—whether it’s mixing up salt for sugar or forgetting to grease the pan. still, when he presents the lopsided, crispy-edged cake, his face lights up with pride. “Happy birthday, babe! I worked extra hard on this one!” and every year, you smile and reassure him it’s perfect, slicing into it with over-the-top excitement just to see him smile.

husband kirishima! who loves to give you random gifts. he always comes home with little things that remind him of you—sometimes it’s a keychain shaped like your favorite animal, other times it’s a flower he picked during his walk back from patrol. occasionally, it’s a snack that caught his attention while shopping during his break, though it’s often already opened because he couldn’t resist the temptation to try it first. no matter what it is, he always manages to pick things you absolutely adore.  “I saw this and thought of you.” he says with a sheepish smile, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

husband kirishima! who always insists on helping with anything around the house. need help tidying up the living room? done. cleaning out the garage? he’s in there before you can even ask, sleeves rolled up and a determined grin plastered across his face. what about the laundry piling up? he’ll fold it while humming one of his favorite songs. the dishes in the sink? he’s already halfway through scrubbing them, insisting, “You’ve had a long day, babe. Let me take care of this.” even if it’s something he’s never done before—like fixing that squeaky cabinet door or assembling the new furniture—he doesn’t care. whatever it is you need help with, he’s always the first one on the job.

husband kirishima! who is an absolute sweetheart when it comes to helping you through your period cramps. the moment he notices you curling up in discomfort, he’s already grabbing his keys and heading to the store. he comes back with your favorite snacks along with a heating pad, some pain relief pills, and even a plush blanket because, "Comfy vibes help, right?" he’s also a pro at massages—whether it’s your back or your feet, he gets right to work without a single complaint. if you tease him about going overboard, he’ll just grin and says, “Hey, I want you to feel your best. You’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you?” even when you’re cranky or tired, he’s patient and understanding, he always makes sure you feel as loved and cared for as possible.

husband kirishima! who after a long day, loves nothing more than collapsing onto the couch with you. he wraps you in his strong arms and pulls you close, whispering, "This is the best part of my day." sometimes, he falls asleep mid-cuddle, snoring softly into your hair, his grip on you never loosening. other times, he’ll quietly ask about your day, his voice low and soothing as he listens intently. he traces lazy patterns on your back, murmuring how much he missed you while you were apart. if you’re scrolling on your phone or watching a show, he’ll sneak little kisses on your forehead or temple, chuckling softly when you pretend to be annoyed. and when the exhaustion finally catches up to him, and he starts drifting off, he’ll mumble something sweet like, “I love you so much.” his breathing slows, and soon enough, he’s snoring softly.

a.n —  i had to repost my first fanfic since my main blog has been terminated for unknown reasons (つω`｡). but i thank you for reading my first ever post. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed creating it (๑>ᴗ<๑) ! im still pretty new to sharing my work so, im honestly kinda freaking out a little LOLOL !  but it means so much to me that you took the time to check it out. until next time, thank you again for reading XOXO 💕

[zarnzarn]

Random odypenath thought that I had today and needed to share.

Imagine this: Athena and Ody showing Penelope how they used to spar when training Odysseus, they spar a few times and times and Athena wins all of them, because duh, she's a goddess.

And Athena despite denying a lot is quite prideful, so she gloats a little saying that in over their 30 years of sparing Odysseus never once managed to beat her.

But we all know Ody is a little shit a heart, so he asks for another spar with her, to which she agrees without questions. Everything is going normally and Athena has him immobilized, she's ready to say that she won again, but then Odysseus suddenly kisses her.

It's nothing more than a quick peck, but this surprises Athena so much that she lets down her weapon and ends up letting Ody destabilize her making her fall down, giving Odysseus his first win against his teacher.

Athena's first instinct after falling is to look for Penelope, but to her surprise the woman isn't upset by the fact that her husband just kissed another person, she actually looks quite happy hiding her smile behind her hands.

"I won my love!" Odysseus says with the joyfulness of a child, practically jumping in the arms of his wife.

and Athena gets up and her mind still isn't quite sure if she's supposed to be flustered or annoyed.

And Odysseus just replies with his voice dripping with smugness that Athena herself had taught him that there wasn't such a thing as dirty tricks in a fight and that every tactic is valid if it helps you win a battle.

And Athena tries to argue against that, but she ends up lost for words because sadly she taught her little warrior of the mind too well and his argument was very solid. She ends up just huffing and saying that that was enough training for the day and she turns around to go back inside the palace. Odysseus and Penelope laugh themselves silly at their goddess's embarrassment, but nonetheless, they follow her inside.

Many hours later back at her palace on Olympus Athena freak out realizing that that was her first kiss and that oh my gods Odysseus had just taken her first kiss.

Anyway that was a lot of rambling that I probably won't manage to write into an actual fanfiction but I wanted the CEO of the odypenath fanbase to know

HI HELLO DANTSEM THANK YOU SO MUCH THIS WONDERFUL IDEA HAS BEEN ROLLING AROUND IN MY HEAD FOR AGESSS!!!!! sorry it took so long to answer my friend, I was tumbling it like a stone in my mind until it was perfect and shiny.

THIS IS SO. SO TRUE. OH MY GOD. even just odysseus and Athena sparring would be so cool after some 30 years of dirty tricks and training and fighting; all fancy footwork and fast attacks and smirks that have Penelope crossing her legs.

and of COURSE Athena cackles when he goes down- he learnt his trashtalk from somewhere after all- teasing him about how not even one win after all these years must SO grating, that it was kind of sad he hadn't even bested her ONCE.

penelope, because she is a rat, immediately goes oooooh while odysseus' mouth drops slowly open in offended shock, but still curled into a half-smile almost against his will. their eyes crinkle with their mirth even as Athena raises an eyebrow in challenge, because this is as known to them as breathing; not once had she ever mocked him without him springing to his feet and retaliating immediately.

(i imagine this is the first time they're acting this comfy again after the return; they were still tiptoeing around each other a bit emotionally till then but blood pumping + familiar ground of fighting means they're both open)

and he snaps up and swings out at her and athena parries with an amused, lazy smirk, that Penelope's husband matches with a wild blaze of teeth-

she's having the time of her life btw. Spartan culture still has its grip on her and seeing them fight, she is just. dying of lust on the side. dying, truly. between her husband keeping up with a goddess and the war goddess fighting on mortal soil at full power... poor woman's about to pass out from the heat.

they both get a good fight, spears knocked away and both of them reduced to a mad wrestle on the ground- but eventually, he grabs the wrong arm and she manages to pin him down, hands crossed and pulled in opposite directions, knee in the stomach.

she barely has time to grin in victory, ready to gloat, before his eyes flash with that spark of mischief she knows well and he's leaned up to press their mouths together.

she's so shocked that she barely registers movement until there's a foot in her abdomen and the world is upside down for a few odd seconds, eating dirt and then landing hard on her back, making her grunt.

"HA!" Odysseus shouts, eyes shining with victory and grinning wider than she'd ever seen him, pressing down his knees on her shoulders for three seconds before letting go with a whoop and running off so fast athena's left gawping at the empty sky, breath knocked out of her, cheeks burning. Her mouth is open in affront, at the blasphemy, at the fucking audacity- "Penelope, holy fuck, did you see that?"

Athena jerks at the queen's name and rolls up on one elbow, a mixed bag of furious on Penelope's behalf, a need for a commiserative do you fucking see this shit, and an odd need to start apologizing frantically, even though she did nothing.

But Penelope has her hands on her knees for support and is laughing behind one hand, face lined with mirth as her husband dances around her, hooting and hollering like he would have if he'd beaten her when he was twelve-

Athena's brain finally resumes its motions and she pushes herself off the ground with a scoff of disbelief, mouth still open. Her chest burns with a confusing cluster of emotions, now that the initial response to look for Penelope's reaction seems to be... unnecessary. Doesn't know whether to start shouting or lie back down and let Gaia take her out of embarrassment.

"I cannot believe you," She says finally. "I should set Diomedes on you."

Odysseus laughs and looks at her, eyes clear as he hangs off his wife. "Your top student, Athena, lover of clever strategies. No such thing as a dirty tactic, remember? I beat you, fair and square."

"Hah, please," She says automatically, waving him off, even as her chest pangs with something she's never felt before. "Not a person alive would call that a win."

She has never had a student best her. Not once. She has to swallow against a lump in her throat, eyes burning oddly even as she pastes on a teasing smile.

"-in fact, I have it written down, the merits of a good distraction, because you insisted-"

Athena makes the mistake of turning to glance to the side as she brushes herself off. Her heart skips a beat when she catches Penelope's gaze staring right back at her, no longer with the placidly uncaring look of earlier- eyes dark and expression calculating.

And then- Penelope smirks, small and dangerous, and raises an eyebrow. You liked it, didn't you?

"Training is over for today," She says, walking away quickly to the sound of laughter, and is subsequently heckled all the way back to the palace, the both of them cackling behind her all the way.

-

Later, she sits on her bed, getting all the way to taking off her armour and lying down, when the memory slams into her with full force, lips burning.

Her eye twitches. Her stupid fucking champion's idiot face swirls into mind, grinning like a maniac for finally having bested her and she snarls. She has no idea how to feel. Pride It was a good fucking tactic, too, which just makes her more annoyed.

Athena takes a deep breath in and out. Reaches for the nearest pillow.

The entire pantheon still wakes up when she screams.

-

"Why the fuck did I do that?" Odysseus says for the thousandth time, staring up at the ceiling with haunted eyes.

Penelope grunts unhelpfully next to him, almost asleep.

"She's going to get her bearings tomorrow and kill me," He says fatalistically. "Pallas Athena is going to beat me to death in a rage, because I am the stupidest creature alive, and- Penelope. Penelope. I kissed her."

"I know. Sleep."

"I'm not a dog!" Odysseus protests. "And aren't you listening? I kissed Athena."

"She won't do anything," Penelope rasps, moving closer and draping one arm across his chest. "Also I know. I was there. You have not shut up about it since she left."

Odysseus groans and pushes his palms into his eyes. "Why didn't you stop me?"

"Honestly, I wanted to see if you had the guts," Penelope says, hiding a smile in his shoulder as he looks over to glare at her. "And I say this with love, sweetheart, but everyone has been waiting for this for ages. In fact, I have bets to collect tomorrow, do remind me."

Odysseus sputters. "Who 'everyone'?" He demands.

"Telemachus, for one," Penelope yawns. "And probably every being with a trickle of divinity in them and a couple thousand without-"

"TELEMACHUS?" Odysseus sits up, so incredibly offended that she chokes on her yawn and wakes up a bit more to laugh at it. "MY SON? HER STUDENT? MY OWN FLESH AND BLOOD-"

"He actually thought you two already were, I think," Penelope muses, tucking her hands behind her head. "He already knew how she stood in as my husband when times got... tough, during Troy. And the champions frequented our halls often at the start, and had many irritated anecdotes of how Pallas Athena absolutely doted on you, whispering wisdom and cheating in your fights so that you won."

"Doted?" Odysseus gawps at her. His cheeks are red. "As if, half the time she was yelling at me-"

"-And how she was cold and distant with her stewards, but always had time for her favourite-"

"I wasn't her favourite!" Odysseus protests, even as his voice cracks a bit in the middle, some small part of him still stuck in the moment where she had tossed him aside over that first slight against her will, that had grown roots believing all those years after that she had never looked back, and gone on to other students, other champions.

"Are you embarrassed?" Penelope laughs, pushing herself up. "Odysseus, come on, there is absolutely no way you do not know! I've heard all the stories of Troy and how much she did for you- Do you think interfering this much is the norm for gods? Would any patron stand up to Zeus in their favour? Would anyone know their champion's preferred fruit? That goddess is gone for you, take it from me and all her other incredibly jealous followers. Anyone with eyes can see it."

Odysseus frowns, feeling uneasy about the picture she paints, how any other woman would take it. "Penelope, I'm sorry if- you- there's nothing-"

"Ah, yes, how woeful that I don't the troubles of a normal wife with a husband blessed by a god," Penelope snarks. "Would have to deal with the incredibly cruel fate of watching my incredibly attractive husband fuck my incredibly attractive patron goddess, but no, I had to get stuck with the only two idiots who don't enjoy a good coupling and couldn't express an emotion if your lives depended on it-"

"Penelope! We're just friends!" Odysseus says loudly. "And more importantly, she's my goddess- the virgin goddess, if you've somehow forgotten- I would never-"

"Friends don't cuddle on the grass after spars and murmur to each other like that!" Penelope says louder, throwing her hands out. "And it's one thing for you to not know, you're married and dumb as a rock about it- what's her excuse for not knowing you're in love with her?"

Odysseus wheezes ungracefully, feeling somewhat like he's taken a fall off a tall flight of steps. "I'm not-"

"Oh, don't even try," Penelope rolls her eyes, sounding for all the world like they're having an argument about the curtains. All the women of the country would hate having to fight for their beloved's attention in the face of godliness, and here Odysseus has to deal with this woman sulking that he wasn't gone over- fuck, he can't even make himself think it. "You haven't heard yourself pray. Or talk to her. Or just talk about Athena in general."

"And, what," Odysseus demands, pushing himself up on his elbows, staring at her in disbelief. "You're fine with this?"

"Fine?" Penelope looks at him like he's the crazy one here. "I've been waiting for weeks for something to happen! Oh gods- do you seriously not know?"

"There's nothing to know!" Odysseus shouts. "I'm not- she's not-"

"Unbelievable," Penelope says, putting her face in her hands.

"What is wrong with you?" Odysseus bursts out as the craziness of the situation finally bursts upon him. "Are you mental?"

"How am I mental?" Penelope throws her hands up. "It's true!"

"It's-" Odysseus' denial dies on his tongue as his mind forces him to consider it without his consent, and. Well.

"You're mad," He says quickly, and flops back down face-first into the pillow. Penelope hollers in victorious, mocking laughter overhead and he reaches out to tickle her to get her to stop. She squeals and a smile catches on his lips- he's too weak to her laughter to not follow up.

"Is this- ah, stop!- the thanks I get?" Penelope demands a few minutes of struggling later, giggling still. "Just you wait- Athena! Oh goddess of the iron and loom, the spear and thread- AH!"

"Have you lost your mind?" Odysseus demands, shaking her by the hand over her mouth, half-laughing himself.

"Trust me!" Penelope drawls, eyes sparking with cunning. His smile falters in the face of it, beautiful though it makes her look, as the rest of the night comes rushing back and with it, the possibilities of absolute disaster that his wife was clearly heading towards in her delusions.

"Penelope, listen-" Odysseus sighs, but before he can say anything more, she's reached out and snapped off one of the branches from their tree.

"ATHENA!" She yells, loud enough that Odysseus rocks back from the force of it, then rocks back forward from the sharp familiar crack from the back of the room.

"I am not a dog!" Athena snaps, hands thrown out and curled into claws the way it only gets when she's really annoyed. Odysseus has one brief moment of considering wildly every direction he can fling himself towards to hide in the mere seconds he has before her gaze falls upon him, but it's already too late.

"YOU!" Athena snarls, still in her white robes, eyes blazing with anger. Odysseus yelps and scrambles backwards, pointing at Penelope with one hand and raises the other in mute surrender.

Athena growls like a lion and stalks to the bed, fists clenched at her sides. Her hair is raised up like a bush, as if she was running her fingers through it, making her look more crazed than he's ever seen her.

"I. Fucking." Athena slams a hand and leg down on either side of him, glaring still, making the bed shake as she climbs over him. "Despise. You."

Odysseus' words falter on his lips as he looks up at her, feels the pieces fall into place as fast as falling marbles seeing his own emotions reflected in her eyes- longing and confusion and hesitation and hilariously, the same little bit of disgust- and he reaches up the same time she leans down and-

Athena makes a noise and abruptly pushes her face off to the side so his lips drag across her browbone. He stares up at the ceiling for a few moments with the crushing anxiety of what did I just do, before he feels Athena shiver against him and automatically wraps all limbs around her in an embrace borne of some animal instinct to keep a person warm.

She obligingly shrinks down to human proportions and clings back. Every last argument, every last stilted apology feels like it pales in face of this embrace, like it finally has settled in for both of them that it's over. He no longer has to be her warrior, just her friend. That they'll be alright.

He has a feeling they both might be crying a little.

"See!" Penelope chirps and they both nearly jump out of their skin. "Told you."

"Yes, yes," Odysseus gripes, Athena scowling up at her grumpily. Penelope smiles wider and he feels them both soften grudgingly, Athena sighing as Odysseus pulls Penelope down to kiss her. "You were right."

"Hm," Penelope preens, rolling closer to both of them and throwing an arm over Athena's lower back. The goddess looks at her narrowly, and she grins back.

Athena huffs in acceptance and closes her eyes, shifting minutely to allow Penelope to stroke up and down her back curiously, playing with the feathers at the nape of her neck. Penelope's going to try kissing her tomorrow, she wearily thinks.

"You didn't win that round, by the way," She says suddenly and Penelope snorts.

Odysseus makes a loud noise of offense. "Of course I did-"

[fear-less]

pls i need harry content 😭

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 he's like a poem I wish I wrote

pairing: harry potter x f!reader

➥ In which, harry finally confesses his feelings towards his closed off friend.

Warnings:black cat gf golden retriever bf, reader is a gryffindor, fluff, no smut but it gets 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂, they make out, idk what else 

a/n: I was trying not to write too much harry BUT HEY, if u guys like him sm I will no longer hold myself back🙏

2.4k words 

It was a crisp autumn day at Hogwarts, the kind where the air was cool but not biting, and the leaves scattered across the grounds in hues of amber and crimson. You were sitting by the Great Lake, a book in hand, when you heard the familiar crunch of footsteps behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Skipping lunch again?” Harry’s voice called out, warm and teasing.

You turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I just enjoy the quiet. Not everyone’s a bundle of energy like you, Potter.”

Harry grinned, undeterred by your sharp tone. “Or maybe you just enjoy pretending to be aloof. I brought you a pumpkin pasty, by the way.” He held it out, and despite your best efforts, a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

“Fine,” you said, taking the pasty. “Thanks.”

Harry plopped down beside you, his untidy black hair catching the sunlight. His green eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and warmth that could charm anyone—though you’d never admit it aloud. You’d always been the reserved one, the one who observed from the shadows, while Harry was the embodiment of sunshine, drawing people to him effortlessly.

“So, what are you reading this time?” he asked, leaning closer to peer at your book.

“It’s a Muggle mystery novel,” you replied, shifting slightly to keep the book out of his reach. “Not that you’d understand it.”

Harry laughed, the sound loud and unabashed. “Is that a challenge? You know I love a good mystery.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the fondness in your voice. “I think your idea of a mystery involves chasing after enchanted keys or dodging cursed objects. This is a bit more subtle.”

The two of you sat there for a while, the easy banter flowing between you. Despite your contrasting personalities, you’d always found comfort in Harry’s presence. His warmth balanced your cool demeanor, and his relentless optimism chipped away at your walls in a way that no one else could.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Over the weeks, your time together became more frequent. Whether it was studying in the library, sneaking out to the kitchens for a late-night snack, or simply wandering the castle grounds, Harry seemed to seek you out more and more. You didn’t mind—though you’d never admit how much you looked forward to his company.

One evening, you were curled up in an armchair in the common room, a book in hand, when Harry bounded over, his energy as infectious as ever.

“You’re always reading,” he teased, flopping into the seat across from you. “How do you ever have time for fun?”

“This is fun,” you replied without looking up. “Not everyone feels the need to be constantly moving, you know.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. “But wouldn’t it be more fun if you had company? Say, someone to annoy you until you finally agree to take a break?”

You shot him a pointed look but couldn’t hide the amusement in your eyes. “And I suppose you’re volunteering for that role?”

“Obviously,” he said with a grin. “Who else could do it as well as me?”

Despite your best efforts, you found yourself smiling. Harry’s golden retriever energy was hard to resist, and as much as you pride yourself on being unshakable, he always managed to find the cracks in your armor.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

It was during a Quidditch match that Harry first realized something had shifted. Gryffindor was playing Slytherin, and you were sitting in the stands, your usual reserved demeanor on display. But when Harry made a particularly daring move to dodge a Bludger, you’d leapt to your feet, your hands clenched tightly around the railing.

After the match, as the team celebrated in the common room, Harry’s eyes sought yours across the crowd. You were sitting in your usual corner, your expression carefully neutral, but when your gaze met his, a flicker of warmth passed between you. It left him wondering if there was something more beneath your guarded exterior.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

One snowy afternoon, the two of you ventured out to the courtyard. The air was crisp, and snow blanketed the grounds in a pristine white. You’d been reluctant to leave the warmth of the castle, but Harry’s enthusiasm was contagious.

“Come on,” he said, tossing a snowball at you. “Even you can’t resist a little fun in the snow.”

You glared at him, brushing the snow from your cloak. “You’re impossible, Potter.”

“And you’re predictable,” he shot back with a grin. “But I’ll take that as a challenge.”

Before you could respond, he launched another snowball at you. What started as a one-sided attack quickly turned into a full-blown snowball fight, laughter echoing through the courtyard as you darted behind pillars and trees for cover. Finally, Harry tackled you into a snowbank, both of you breathless and laughing.

“Truce?” he asked, his green eyes shining with mischief.

“Truce,” you agreed, your cheeks flushed from the cold and the exertion.

As you lay there, side by side in the snow, the playful atmosphere shifted. Harry’s laughter faded, and he turned to look at you, his expression softening.

“You know,” he began, his voice quieter now, “you’re not as tough as you pretend to be.”

You raised an eyebrow, but before you could retort, he continued.

“I mean, you act all aloof and mysterious, but you’re one of the kindest people I know. You just don’t let many people see it.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Harry’s gaze was steady, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something deeper, something more earnest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said finally, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

Harry smiled, reaching out to brush a snowflake from your hair. “Sure you don’t.”

The gesture was so simple, so natural, but it sent a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the cold. For the first time, you allowed yourself to meet his gaze fully, and in that moment, everything seemed to shift.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

The realization came slowly, like the first rays of sunlight after a long night. Neither of you said anything right away, but from that day on, the dynamic between you began to change. The teasing became softer, the moments of silence more comfortable. Harry’s golden retriever energy still clashed with your black cat personality, but instead of opposing forces, you began to feel like two halves of a whole.

One evening, as the two of you sat in the common room by the fire, Harry seemed uncharacteristically quiet. You glanced at him, noticing the way his hands fidgeted with the hem of his jumper.

“Alright, Potter. Out with it,” you said, setting your book aside. “What’s going on in that overly active brain of yours?”

He looked up at you, his green eyes meeting yours with a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before. “I... I’ve been thinking,” he began, his voice quieter than usual. “About us.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Us?”

Harry nodded, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I don’t think I’ve ever been very good at hiding how I feel. And when it comes to you... I just can’t pretend anymore.”

Your heart thudded in your chest as he shifted closer, his expression earnest and open. “I care about you. A lot more than just as a friend. You make everything feel... brighter. And I know we’re different, but I think that’s what makes it work. You make me want to be better, and I can’t imagine not having you by my side.”

For a moment, you were silent, the weight of his words sinking in. Harry’s gaze didn’t waver, even as a faint blush crept up his cheeks.

“I... I didn’t think you felt that way,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was just another friend to you.”

“You’ve never been just another friend,” Harry said firmly. “Not to me.”

Something inside you softened, the walls you’d carefully built around your heart crumbling under the warmth of his words. Tentatively, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his.

“I care about you too, Harry,” you said, a small, genuine smile breaking through your usual reserved demeanor. “More than I realized.”

Relief and joy lit up his face, and before either of you could second-guess, Harry leaned in. His lips met yours, soft and hesitant at first, as if afraid to break the moment. But as you kissed him back, the hesitance melted away, replaced by a warmth that felt like coming home.

When you finally pulled away, Harry rested his forehead against yours, a wide grin on his face. “Well, that’s one mystery solved.”

You laughed softly, your cheeks warm. “You’re impossible, Potter.”

“And you’re perfect,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with affection.

For the first time, you didn’t argue.

Summer had arrived at last, and with it, a welcome break from the hustle and bustle of Hogwarts. You and Harry had been inseparable since that snowy afternoon. The teasing, the gentle banter, the quiet moments of understanding—everything felt like it had fallen into place. But now, as the summer stretched out before you, things had shifted once again. You were no longer just two friends trying to figure things out; you were together, in every sense of the word.

You hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect when Harry came to visit your home for the first time, but here he was, standing on the doorstep of your family’s house, his usual grin brighter than ever. He'd gotten a bit bolder since you’d started dating—especially when it came to little touches, lingering glances, and teasing words that seemed to have a new weight behind them.

“I can't believe you actually live here,” Harry said, looking around at the cozy, quiet neighborhood, his eyes wide with curiosity.

You gave him a playful roll of your eyes as you led him inside. “It's not the Burrow, Potter, but it’s home.”

Your parents weren’t around for the day—out visiting relatives, leaving you with plenty of time to spend with Harry. It was still early, the sun hanging low in the sky, but there was a languid, warm energy in the air. You felt more at ease than you’d ever been before, Harry’s presence at your side a comfort.

Once inside, Harry took off his shoes, following you into the living room. The house was quieter than the bustling castle, the kind of peace you’d grown up with. You gestured to the couch. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ve got a few things to do, but you can, uh, hang out here.”

Harry was already plopping down onto the couch, kicking back with a sigh. “No complaints here. This place is nice.”

You nodded, disappearing for a moment to grab drinks from the kitchen, but when you came back, Harry was looking at you with an unreadable expression.

"Something on your mind?" you asked, arching an eyebrow.

He didn’t answer at first, instead leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping to a hushed, serious tone. "I’ve been thinking a lot about… us." His gaze met yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

You froze for a second, the air between you thickening. You weren't sure if he was being playful, or if he was genuinely serious, but the way he was looking at you sent a thrill running through your chest.

“What do you mean?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Harry smirked but didn’t look away. "Well, we’re not exactly... new to this anymore, are we?"

The playful glint in his eyes made your heartbeat a little faster, but before you could reply, Harry was standing up, crossing the room in a few quick steps. He stopped right in front of you, his eyes trailing over your face as if he was memorizing every inch of you.

He didn’t say anything more. He simply reached out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingertips grazing your skin in a way that made your pulse spike. His hand lingered there for a moment longer than necessary, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of something,” he whispered, his voice low and thick with meaning.

You didn’t say anything—couldn’t, really. All the thoughts in your head scrambled together as Harry’s lips met yours, soft and tentative at first, but with a hunger that made the world around you blur.

His kiss deepened as he pulled you closer, one hand sliding around your waist, the other moving to the back of your neck, drawing you in even tighter. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the way he seemed to melt into you. You responded in kind, your hands finding the edge of his shirt, fingers brushing against his skin, and the contact made the already suffocating atmosphere feel even more intense.

He pulled away just slightly, enough to breathe. His forehead rested against yours, and you both lingered there for a moment, catching your breath.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Harry murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands traced slow circles on your back.

“Then why wait?” you whispered back, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears.

Without another word, Harry kissed you again, this time more urgently, more desperately, as if he couldn’t hold back any longer. His hands roamed to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the shift in the energy between you, the building anticipation.

The kiss broke as you both gasped for air, but Harry’s hands found their way to your face again, his touch still as gentle as it was fierce. His eyes locked with yours. "Are you sure?"

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you closed the distance between you again, kissing him with all the emotion, all the longing you’d kept buried for so long.

And in that moment, the world outside the house ceased to exist. It was just you and Harry, tangled together in the quiet intimacy of this new chapter in your relationship. The summer sun streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the room, but all you could focus on was the feel of his hands on your skin, the warmth of his breath, and the unspoken promise of more to come.

[naomijoestar]

Can you make one where it's La Squadra reacting to the reader having a freaky looking moving doll stand?

Masterlist here <3

HELLO omg I love this so much! I seriously enjoyed writing this sooo soso much I hope you enjoy, also you might find that this post differs a bit in writing style, but I got a bit carried away I guess and made it silly, I hope you enjoy nonetheless and if you’d like anything changed you can always message me!

La squadra reacts to reader having a creepy looking doll stand

Let’s say your Stand is a small, doll-like creature with jerky, unnatural movements—like something that crawled out of a cursed VHS tape. It has glassy, unblinking eyes and twitchy little limbs, like it’s about to start speaking in tongues. Oh, and it moves on its own. Not normal Stand movements. No, it skitters

Risotto Nero

At first, he doesn’t react—Risotto is, of course, a stoic wall of a man. But the second he sees your freaky little Stand shuffle into the room like chucky, his eyes narrow

“…Explain.”

It’s not fear—oh no. It’s suspicion. He immediately assumes you’ve been hiding this thing deliberately to mess with him. And when it starts crawling UP THE WALL, he just deadpans:

“Kill it.”

Risotto will try to put it out of its misery (or his own) if it gets within five feet of him

Prosciutto

Prosciutto prides himself on being cool, collected, and mature. But the minute your Stand skitters across the table like a spider in a cheap haunted house, he lets out the most undignified noise you’ve ever heard

“Che cazzo è quello?!”

Suddenly, Mr. Cool Guy has his legs tucked up onto the chair, scowling at your Stand like it insulted his family. He points an accusatory finger at you

“Why does it move like that? Fix it.”

When you explain that it’s supposed to move like that, he just mutters, “You need better taste in Stands.”

Pesci

Poor Pesci. Your Stand exists, and that’s already too much for him to handle. He sees it for half a second, shrieks like he’s in a slasher movie, and nearly falls backwards out of his chair

“Why is it looking at me?!”

You assure him it’s harmless. The Stand then proceeds to tilt its head unnaturally far to the left, and Pesci just bolts

You now have to chase him down to tell him it won’t eat him. Pesci will not recover from this for days

Melone

Melone is fascinated. Absolutely enamored. He gets way too close, watching it twitch and crawl with genuine delight

“Incredible. Its movement is so unnatural! What do its abilities do? Does it make people uncomfortable on purpose? That’s brilliant.”

He will follow you around for the rest of the day asking a million questions, mostly things like, “Does it talk? Can I touch it? What happens if I poke it in the eye?”

Please do not let Melone near it. He will absolutely try to run experiments

Ghiaccio

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!”

Ghiaccio’s reaction is instantaneous and LOUD. He jumps out of his seat and starts pacing around the room, ranting at 200 miles an hour

“It’s crawling on the goddamn ceiling! WHY IS IT CRAWLING ON THE CEILING?!”

You try to explain, but Ghiaccio is too busy actively losing his mind. He points aggressively at your Stand

“I don’t care if it’s yours—it’s freaky as hell, and if it comes near me, I’m icing it.”

(He spends the next hour side-eyeing it and muttering under his breath.)

Formaggio

Formaggio is laughing so hard he’s crying. He LOVES your creepy little Stand

“This is the best thing I’ve seen all week. Look at this guy!”

He starts trying to play with it like it’s a toy, sticking his finger out to see what it’ll do. When it grabs onto him (with its weird little twitchy doll hand), he screams

But then he laughs even harder. “Oh my god, it’s even freakier up close. I love this little guy.”

Formaggio now calls it “the homie” and tells everyone it’s his new best friend

Illuso

Illuso’s all smug and dismissive about it at first

“Tch. It’s just a Stand. Nothing impressive.”

And then it turns its glassy head to look directly at him

Illuso freezes. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have something snarky to say. He just stares at your Stand, and your Stand stares back

“Stop looking at me.”

It doesn’t stop

“STOP LOOKING AT ME.”

Illuso will insist he’s not freaked out, but he is visibly uncomfortable. He avoids eye contact with your Stand for the rest of eternity

Sorbet and Gelato

(This is the first time I write for them so I’m sorry if it’s not accurate)

Sorbet and Gelato are thrilled. They think your Stand is the funniest, most unsettling thing they’ve ever seen, and they are here for it

Gelato keeps trying to make it dance by waving his hands in front of it. Sorbet bets him 50 bucks that he can’t make it do the worm

They’re both crying-laughing when it skitters sideways like a crab

“This thing’s a menace. I love it.”

I hope you enjoyed this cause I definitely enjoyed writing it!

If you enjoyed this make sure to check out my other posts, and if you’d like anything specific written for a jjba character/squad you can request it if my requests are open!

[fleurywiththesave]

Starting feeling things about the game tonight, so

Matthew’s been trying so hard to pretend that nothing is wrong. To ignore that they've been talking less and less often in recent weeks, that it's stilted and uncomfortable when they do. That their conversation on his birthday barely lasted five minutes. That he can’t seem to say anything about hockey without pissing Leon off.

That he hasn’t heard from Leon at all in three days.

He tried to call him the night before they left for Edmonton, and he tried to call him right before getting on the plane, and he’s texted more times than he can count. He knows that Leon didn’t disappear off the face of the earth — he’s seen proof of life from the Oilers media. He just doesn’t want to talk to Matthew.

“He’s breaking up with me,” Matthew says glumly at the poker table.

“Or he’s just trying to keep his head in the game,” Benny suggests.

“He could keep his head in the game and still talk to me,” Matthew insists. “He’s breaking up with me and he’s being a wuss about it.”

“Then go talk to him yourself,” Benny says. “You know they’ll have morning skate tomorrow. Go to the rink.”

“That’s…not a terrible idea,” Matthew says slowly.

“I know. I’m brilliant.” And then he wins a hundred of Matthew’s hard-earned dollars. Jackass.

But he’s a jackass who’s right at least some of the time, so Matthew slips out of the hotel the next morning while the rest of the guys are still eating breakfast and calls an Uber to the arena.

It doesn’t occur to him until he gets there that they’re not just going to let him stroll right in, which means he has to swallow his pride and call Connor.

“Uh, hello?”

“I’m outside, come tell the security guard to let me in.”

“You’re outside,” Connor repeats disbelievingly.

“Leon won’t answer any of my messages and if he wants to dump me before this game then he needs to do it to my face, so come let me in.”

There’s a pause before Connor sighs.

“Give me ten minutes.”

He doesn't look too pleased when he shows up, but at least he tells security that Matthew is allowed in.

"I told him you're here," Connor says. "He's waiting for you in one of the trainer rooms." They don't talk at all while he walks Matthew over, which means there's ample opportunity for his anger to turn to fear. This is it. Holy shit, this is it and then he's going to be miserable for the rest of his life. Maybe he should just let Leon ghost him instead of having to look him in the eye and burst into tears while begging him to reconsider.

"Here," Connor says, stopping outside a room. "Don't be idiots, okay?"

Leon is sitting, but he stands up as soon as Matthew opens the door. They both hover where they are, a good six feet apart.

"Hi."

"Hi."

It's a long, painful moment of silence before they both start to speak at the same time.

"I'm sorry I—" "Please don't break up with me!"

"Wait, what?" Leon says.

"Don't break up with me," Matthew repeats, wincing at how pitiful his voice sounds. "Whatever it is I did, just let me fix it. Don't do this."

"I'm not—" Leon scrubs at his face and groans. "I'm not breaking up with you, Matty, good god."

"......You're not?"

"No. I—can we sit?"

Matthew thumps into the chair next to him. He suddenly feels very, very tired.

"I know I've been kind of an ass," Leon says. "There's just been so much attention on this game and I've been stressing about it and...I don't know."

"And you didn't want to talk to me about it," Matthew says.

Leon sighs. "No, I didn't. You're the enemy on the ice right now, Matthew. You told me yourself how pissed off you were the first time you played Vegas after losing to them. Don't you think I feel the same way? I just needed to focus on my play and my team."

Oh.

"I guess I didn't think about it like that," Matthew admits.

"Shocking," Leon says flatly, though there's a brightness in his eyes. "Look, I know I haven't handled it that well — believe me, Connor keeps telling me. I didn't mean to shut you out completely. I just didn't want to get into it. I'm sorry I was an idiot."

"I was an idiot too," Matthew says. "So I'm sorry too. And you—you're not breaking up with me?"

"Of course I am, Matthew. I could handle you winning the Cup against me, I could go to your Cup Day, but this regular game when we're not even halfway through the season is just a bridge too far. I'll send you a box of your stuff."

"Shut the fuck up." Matthew feels about a thousand pounds lighter than he did half an hour ago. Leon grins and leans in, stopping just before kissing him.

"But I'm going to kick your ass up and down the ice tonight."

Matthew smirks and closes the distance.

[osohchoso]

Blood and Chains

Chapter two- Fresh Air

Choso x F!Reader

Previous | Chapter Index | Chapter 3 coming soon

Content: fluff, some backstory, reader is an art student, obsessive thoughts, wrong place at the right time, forming crushes, multiple POV

One week has passed since the scary day you spent in Shibuya. Not a second goes by where you don't think about it. The claws of the memory threaten to bring you down, to suffocate you, and each time you think of the stranger asking you to breathe. The vision of him is the only thing keeping you calm.

You took a week off of work, lucky to have such a kind and understanding boss. That's what happens when you're the favorite employee at a local coffee shop. The kind man who runs the café saw pictures on the news after you explained the event and he didn't hesitate to give you a week to rest, both physically and mentally.

The café, Papa Coffee, opened shortly after you moved to Tokyo to attend your art college. You would frequently visit to study and drink one too many lattes in the process. You quickly became their first regular, and soon after, boss man himself asked if you would consider joining their team. 

You loved working at the café, there was something almost therapeutic about it. The warm smells, the quiet conversations, the cozy ambience. The owner also let you start displaying your prints to sell inside the shop, which you have been eternally grateful for the extra income that brings in. Recently, you have gotten really good at latte art which has helped bring in a whole new crowd of guests. You take pride in your art, whether that's on paper or in a coffee cup.

Getting a week off class was another story. You had to channel your inner email warrior to fight back and forth with your professor. Sending him links to news articles about what happened in Shibuya that day. Reluctantly, he agreed to let you stay home. Though you had to continue working on your sketchbook to not get too behind.

So you stayed home and focused on your art. Drawing the only thing you could think of, over and over. His face, his beautiful, tattooed face. His bouncy pigtails. His odd uniform. He was the only thing on your mind. You drew him over and over again as if you stopped, you might forget what he looked like forever. 

“This is feeling…obsessive” you blush to yourself as you look at your most recent drawings. You only met him once, and he barely said anything to you. You start to feel a little silly and embarrassed, even though you're alone in your room. You close the sketchbook. 

I need to get out of this cramped apartment. You think to yourself and decide to visit a quiet hiking trail on the outskirts of the city. You quickly change, zipping up a lightweight jacket and buttoning your cargo pants. Then grab your backpack, stuffing your sketchbook and a small lunch inside. Forcing yourself out the door and into the world once again.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

You exit the cab, thanking your driver, and take in the scenery unfolding infront of you. Lush trees frame a path leading up the slight mountain side. It's quiet, other than the occasional bird chirping. You used to visit this spot alot with your friends back in highschool. Suki and Emi never want to hike anymore, they would much rather go out on the town to a new club. You enjoy the clubs as much as them, but you need balance. Not everyday needs to be spent in the chaotic city, sometimes you need to take a breather under a tree or watch the clouds in the sky.

You start walking up the trail, feeling at peace. You are pretty far from civilization, other than that odd religious school everyone makes fun of. That school is not very far from the trail, but you've never seen it yourself. Thinking about it, you've never even met anyone who even attends that school. Maybe it's abandoned? Whatever. You push the thought from your head, focusing on your walk.

After some much-needed fresh air, you find a thick-trunked tree to lean against for a break. You sit down, back pressed against the bark. A small white rabbit sits across the trail, its nose twitching as it sniffs a flower. How cute! You slowly pull your sketchbook out, wanting to recreate this adorable scene on paper. 

For the first time in a week you feel…at peace. Not stressing about death or the attack in Shibuya. Not thinking of the stranger with odd fashion sense. Just enjoying the present moment you are in. The spring breeze blows your hair slightly, tickling your nose. The scent of the forest putting you mind at ease. You set down your pencil, still watching the rabbit in front of you, and reach in your bag to pull out your lunch.

You eat a few bites of the sandwich you packed, and begin to nibble on a baby carrot. The rabbit looks over at you, ears standing tall as it blinks. It's almost as if it's looking directly into your eyes. An idea pops in you head. You hold out a carrot. 

“Come on” you whisper, willing the rabbit to come close for a treat. It blinks again, sniffing the air. Then it hops, slowly. Each hop closer it pauses to check for its safety. Another hop, and another. Until it's directly infront of you, reaching its little nose out to sniff the offering. Take it, you whisper inside your head. It looks up into your eyes, wondering if it can really trust you and this delicious treat. Time slows as it lifts its pink mouth to reach for the carrot.

It's ears suddenly snap back, eyes widen in fear. It turns its head, looking around, it's almost as if it heard something your human ears couldn't pick up. It turns and runs away at top speed, fluffy legs carrying it far away from your sight. You sigh and throw the carrot into the woods, maybe it will find it later. 

What was it running from? Your mind instantly starts to panic, eyes frantically searching the forest for any looming danger. You sit still and shrink against the tree, trying to keep yourself hidden from any incoming threat. Your eyes scan the forest, but nothing. You look down the path, the direction where you came from, still nothing. Then you check the path in front of you, a slight incline leading up to parts of the trail you have not yet explored. A silhouette stands at the top of the incline, looking down at you, his distinct pigtails wave in the wind. It’s him again. 

He makes his way down the trail, spotting you, walking straight for you. Your heart pounds against your rib cage as he draws near. Not sure if it's beating hard from fear, nervousness or excitement. You watch as he makes his way toward you, not daring to move. He wears that blue uniform once again, hands in his pockets, his black thick sole shoes crunching on the trail. Standing directly in front of you, reaching out his large hand. You look up at him.

“We have to stop meeting like this” he smirks slightly. You grab his hand, feeling the rough texture of it wrap around yours. Pulling you up on your feet. Both times you have run into this man, you have been sitting on your ass, staring up like an idiot. 

“Yeah…I guess you're right.” you flush slightly. You're standing so close to him, the man you have been obsessively thinking about for the past week. This time, you take a moment to notice more details about him. How tall he is, the faint scars visible on his face, the veins on his strong hands…hands that you are still holding. You quickly yank your hand away, feeling weird for allowing your touch to linger with his for so long. “S-sorry” you whisper shyly. 

“It's fine, I-” he begins to reassure you, then his face takes a serious turn, his eyes moving like he's tracking something. He turns his back to you as if taking a protective stance to shield you. “Wait here” he instructs sternly. He walks toward the forest, the shadows practically swallowing his figure whole. Holding your breath, confused and slightly scared, but you don't dare move away from your spot. 

The few minutes he was away felt like years. When he returns from the shadows of the forest you release the breath you were holding. He walks up to you, unharmed. 

“What the heck was that about?” You ask frantically, peering behind him. You will your heart to slow to a normal pace once again. 

“It was nothing…just thought I heard an injured cat. But I was wrong.” He speaks with such confidence, but the way he avoids your eyes makes you feel like he's lying. You think about pressing more, wanting to know the truth. Opening your mouth again to object.

“You shouldn't be out here, these woods have been…dangerous lately” he interrupts you before you have a chance to speak. His eyes meet yours, a serious scowl worn on his face. 

“...why?” you dare to ask. 

“You haven't seen the news reports? Hikers have been going missing in this area.”

“Well…why are you here then?” you question him, raising your eyebrow. If it's really unsafe as he says it is, then he's in danger too. Things aren't adding up.

“Me? I don't need protecting” he scoffs. “I can protect myself just fine” he crosses his arms, a confident smirk spreading across his face. 

“I guess I should get going then” you crouch down, stuffing your lunch back into your backpack. He crouches down too, grabbing your sketchbook. He looks over the unfinished drawing, the small rabbit sniffing an even smaller flower. 

“Cute…you like to draw?” he asks as he stands back up, his eyes taking in every detail. You stand up next to him and look at the drawing. 

“Yeah…I actually go to an art school in Tokyo.” you smile, happy to share a detail about yourself with this stranger. “I still need to finish this one but when I do I think I might sell it as a print.” His eyes continue to roam over drawing, something about the way he looks at it warms your heart. His thumb hovers over the pages. If he turns one page back…oh god if he turns the page! Realization strikes you as you know the previous page contains countless sketches of his own face. How will you explain that! You swiftly reach up and snatch the book out of his hands before he can dare to flip the page. Shoving it deep into the backpack, zipping it closed and swinging it over your shoulder. You look at him, his face frozen in a look of wide-eyed surprise. 

“Well…see ya” you wave and begin to power walk away, biting your lip at how weird you must seem to him. Heat creeping across your face once more.

“Hey…let me walk with you!” he calls after you and rushes forward, falling in step beside you as you make your way down the trail. “I gotta make sure you don't fall and hurt your knee again” he smirks. You sigh and slow your pace slightly, walking in silence for a few minutes. 

“How is your knee?” he asks softly.

“It's fine. I'm glad I iced it the night I got home or it would have hurt for much longer.” you admit. As the two of you continue to walk, questions unfold in your mind. There are so many things you want to ask him. What happened in Shibuya, what was his role there? Why is he here today? What is with that face tattoo? Who is he? You don’t even know his name and you really don't want to have to wait for a third chance encounter to ask. You stop walking, looking him in the eye. He stops too. You stare into the deep dark depths of his eyes.

“Hey…maybe next time we should meet on purpose?” You bravely ask, though he can hear the nervousness in your voice. He blinks, slightly taken aback by your bold question. You play with the edge of your jacket, needing to give your hands something to do while you await his answer. His face softens, hands reaching into his pants pocket and pulling out a smartphone.

“Sure. Just put your number in and I will text you next time I have a free day” he hesitates, looking at his phone. Then unlocking it and handing it over to you. You take his phone and stare at the home screen. His background is a picture of him and that pink-haired boy you saw a glimpse of in Shibuya. The two are giving each other bunny ears in the photo, wide toothy grins on both of their faces. You look up briefly and compare the picture of the pigtailed stranger to the real version of you in front of you, finding it hard to believe he could even smile that big.

“Oh…that's my little brother” he says warmly when he notices you staring. 

“You two look happy” you smile, looking back down at the picture.

“Um…did you put your number in?” he asks awkwardly.

“Where is your contacts app? This is just your home screen” you ask, scanning the phone.

“Oh…sorry. I'm not very good with technology” he laughs sheepishly. He moves to stand right beside you, his chest bumping into your arm slightly. He reaches a hand over and swipes through several screens, messy apps placed haphazardly. He finally finds it, opening it up.

You put your number in, type your name and put a little smiley face next to it. Then hand it back to him. He reads your name out loud, saying it like a question. Wanting reassurance that he pronounced it correctly. You nod.

“That suits you” he gives a small smile as the two of you continue walking down the trail. 

“Well…are you going to tell me your name?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. He gives a small laugh.

“Yeah…guess I should. My name is Choso.” 

“Choso…” You echo back to him, loving the feel of his name as it rolls off your tongue. 

You reach the end of the trail and find yourself at the street you started on. He waves for a cab to come this way. 

“I'll text you” he promises, looking away for a moment. “I think it would be good for me to get new friends. I really only have my brother and my coworkers.” he scratches the back of his head as he admits this. The cab pulls near, parking right in front of you. He opens the door for you.

“I look forward to your text then” you smile as you slide into the back seat. He closes the door behind you then speaks to the driver, handing him cash. He's paying for your ride home. You quickly roll down the window “No! You don't have to do that!” you object. 

“Too late…it's already done.” he backs up with his hands in the air. “Get home safe” he smiles at you. You watch him as the cab rolls away from him, his form shrinking as you move further and further from view. 

The rest of the day, you keep glancing at your phone to check if Choso has sent you any messages. Nothing so far. I should have gotten his number in return! You haven't even thought about that, and now you wait and hope he will send a text. The rest of the day goes by with nothing, maybe he's going to ghost you like the rest of the boys after all.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　Choso's POV　 . ✦　　 . ★⋆.

Choso comes home to his shared apartment with Yuji. He sets his keys on the counter and shouts out “I'm home!” There is no response, Yuji must be out on a mission still or hanging out with Megumi. 

Choso enters the kitchen and warms up a few slices of pizza from the other night. As he stands by the microwave, he can't seem to push her face out of his mind. This is twice he's run into her, twice he's had to save her life. This woman is trouble. He shakes his head with a small giggle to himself.

The first encounter, a week ago in Shibuya, she was seconds from being ended by a special grade cursed spirit. If him, Yuji and Megumi didn't arrive when they did then she would have joined those bodies on the sidewalk. 

Today too. He's not sure what compelled her to wander into the woods near Jujutsu Tech, but he didn't lie to her about the missing hikers. Though this is all due to a cursed spirit and not some kind of serial killer. He happened to be sent out to track it down today, leading him to her once again. If he wasn't there when he was, that first-grade curse would have ripped her to shreds.

Still, he thinks about her. Not just about how prone to danger she is, but the details that make her her. Those big, beautiful eyes. Her voice, smooth as silk. How her hands felt against his. The way her nose would scrunch up like that bunny she drew in her picture. She is unlike anyone he's ever imagined.

When she said she wanted to see him again, Choso's stomach did flips. He was excited to see her again. To actually get to know her, and hopefully worry less about her fragile human life. He was drawn to her, her smile, her kindness, the way she looked at him like he wasn't a broken monster. He craved all of it. 

After his dinner, Choso laid in his bed, looking at his phone. He looks at the contact screen with her name on it. Smiling to himself at the sight of the smiley face next to her name. He stares at the screen, trying to form a mental message of what to send. He steels his nerves, ready to send a simple hello when suddenly he stops. Wait…how do I send a text message again? He frowns at his phone, cursing his lack of technological ability. Guess his text will have to wait until his little brother is back home. 

A/N: Sorry if the first few chapters are a bit rough, I wrote these back when I first started writing. I may go back and edit...eventually. Things pick up more in the coming chapters :)

As always, thanks for the love! ❣️

[pureshoney]

that ghost of a smile lingered at her gentle ribbing. "pushover? tell that to my men." his thumb traced her hip absently. "but eden… yeah, she's got me wrapped. knows exactly how to work those big eyes when she wants something." something flickered across his features at her suggestion about skating - a mix of warmth and hesitation. "she'd love that," he admitted quietly. "talks about ice skating every time she sees it on tv." his grip tightened slightly on her waist. "but meeting you… that makes it real. no going back from that." he studied her face for a moment. "she'd probably have you teaching her jumps before the day was over. the kid's fearless. gets that from her father." pride crept into his voice despite himself. "and your mom really brings out those photos at christmas? brutal." his expression shifted at her words about cain and eden, something proud but tinged with loss flickering across his features. "the business is stronger than ever," he said quietly, fingers flexing against her waist. "but i still miss having him here. miss watching him with eden." a ghost of warmth touched his features. "she knows her father loves her. cain makes sure of every visit and every phone call. and until he's out…" his jaw set with determination. "i make sure she has everything she needs. that she's protected." the corners of his mouth lifted slightly at her teasing about the ice cream. "yeah, well. you try saying no to those eyes. she's got manipulation down to an art form already." his thumb traced her hip, appreciating how easily she accepted the complexities of his family. "sarah's ex-military. she could make a trash bag look intimidating." his thumb traced her hip at her passionate defense of black. "though with your enthusiasm about the kevlar, maybe you should be more worried about her training style than her looks." something in him eased at her willing acceptance, even as she teased about it being 'unflattering.' his hands drew her closer as she nuzzled against him. "you're impossible, you know that?" but there was warmth in his voice now. "making jokes about my weapons while you're pressed against me like this." his laugh was low and rich at her innuendo, a rare sound. "that's not the kind of handling i meant, and you know it." but he didn't pull away from where she'd relaxed against him. "though i haven't forgotten." her ability to shift between accepting the profound reality of what she was signing up for and maintaining her playful spirit was precisely why she'd gotten under his skin in the first place.

"seems like uncle abel is kind of a pushover", femme remarked with a teasing grin, it was sweet, how he talked about his niece and the obvious way she had him utterly devoted to her. "but i do agree about the tutu's sparkling differently, i have like four purple figure skating dresses that do just that and zero regrets about them", a thought occurred to her at the mention of her skating history, "maybe sometime we could take her on the ice? i mean she'd have a little penguin support the entire time and all the safety gear to keep her safe but . . . it might be fun?" she didn't want to push him, force abel to introduce the pair if he didn't feel ready, but ainsley wanted to get familiar with the important things in his life, his niece being the main one. redhead snorted at the ice-cream fiasco, shaking her head in amusement, "and you still did it so more fool you, baby." her own hair cutting session had not ended nearly as sweetly as that, unfortunately. "oh of course she does! she gets the album out every christmas when people come over and loves to share the story, so cruel." it was always a talking point, a way for guests to relax and share memories of their own --- although ainsley did wish they'd move on eventually. cain. up until now she hadn't even known his brother's name, never mind anything else. "baby . . . " she can't help but feel her heart thud in sympathy for what he's been through, the family he's lost. "from what i can see you're doing a good job though, the business is clearly doing well and i hope eden grows up knowing that her dad would be with her if he could. she has you in the meantime, the best uncle she could ever wish for." his brother may have done bad things, illegal things, but ainsley was accepting of the fact that life wasn't black and white. abel was a caring man, he was closed off to most people but he loved his family, so while he did make a business out of drugs and guns ainsley knew he was so much more than that. "i think black is a solid choice mister", chided him with a playful tightening of her fingers against his throat, "and sarah would look amazing in gucci, or anything . . . she's so pretty, ugh if she wasn't so nice i might hate her for it." besides ainsley couldn't even afford a gucci card holder never mind a damn outfit, but a girl could dream. "yeah and you deserve a whole fucking lot, abel. but if me wearing unflattering kevlar is what does it for you then i'll begrudgingly do it", femme joked, nuzzling her nose lightly and playfully against his own. "and i can handle your weapon very nicely, incase you've forgotten that little fact", coy smile travelled across her lips, relaxing against his body and simply enjoying being near him --- physically and emotionally.

[ocelotlesbian]

happy pride month. shout out to uhhhhh. gay people

here's the original meme and a version without text

[daily-hanamura]

[lesharl-eclair]

just two old men in glaringly bright team colours reminiscing on a past they could have had

[kingofanemptyworld]

fuck me now my brain’s playing the idea of a pokemon wind breaker au on a loop