#i always wanted to have a room covered in things i love and then i was like. wait. i can make this a reality

[lookingforuravity]

THE ONLY EXCEPTION

♫ now playing - the only exception by paramore

bakugou x reader

word count: 1,827 words

IN WHICH each time your friends caught bakugou only being nice to you.

a/n: still 'fool for you' just changed the title (≧ω≦)

“i've never seen him so.. calm.”

“right? he's always so uptight.”

the two friends were peering over the couch as they watched bakugou and y/n sleep soundlessly. there was a serene look drawn on his face while he held y/n closely to him, her hand resting softly on his chest as their chests rose up and down simultaneously.

“how come he's so much nicer to her than any of us?” kirishima complained with a pout stitched on his lips. he'd been friends with bakugou way before (two months) him and y/n got together. where was his special treatment?

“they're dating duh. why wouldn't he be nice to her?” mina replied as gazed at the couple with a soft gaze in her eyes. their young, teenage love was truly admirable.

even if bakugou seemed to have a stick up his ass 24/7.

the couple twitched softly in their sleep. it had been a long and stressful day of endless amounts of training, and lord knew that they both needed a break. a thin blanket was all that covered their bodies, but anybody could make out the way bakugou held her waist and the way y/n laid her hand on his chest underneath the sheet.

the usually quiet library turned into a circus as it filled up with bakugou's grumbling, denki's whines, and y/n's giggling. the sight of bakugou repeatedly smacking denki on the head with rolled up paper was an entertaining sight to distract her from her note-taking.

“are you seriously this stupid?” bakugou growled as he peered over the blonde's notebook, erasing and scribbling over any mistakes he made. denki pouted while rubbing his head on the spot that bakugou smacked. “c'mon.. it's really not that easy!” denki whined.

bakugou's vermillion eyes narrowed at denki. “it's basic algebra! how did you even get this far if you can't do simple math?!” he snapped.

denki continued to pout as he grumbled under his breath, something about bakugou lacking basic respect.

“uh.. katsuki?” y/n called out hesitantly.

though he still kept the glare on his face, the way his body language softened was visible, and how his tone contrasted from denki to her was plain obvious. “what?”

she turned over her notebook towards him so he can see her work. “i think i did it wrong.. can you check it?”

bakugou grabbed her notebook and skimmed over her work. “yeah.. here, let me explain.” he leaned over closer to her, close enough to where she can smell caramel on his skin.

denki's mouth fell agape as he watched how the guy went from raising hell on him to looking like he was practically skipping in a field of flowers inside his head. “that is SO not fair! how come you're so much nicer to her than me?!”

“cause she's not an idiot! keep working!”

it was far past midnight, and it was already one thing that izuku couldn't sleep, but on an empty stomach? it made it far much worse. he tried everything in the book from counting sheep to counting his breaths, but nothing could beat his racing mind and the sound of his stomach growling.

izuku didn't want to disturb anyone, but would it really hurt if he just tip-toed to the common room? he sighed as he ran his hand through his curly green hair, quietly making his way to the kitchen to not wake anyone.

but as he walked through the common room, a taller figure appeared in front of him.

“GAH!” he yelped, hastily smacking a hand over his mouth as he realized how loud he'd screamed. “shoto!” he half-whispered. “what are you doing?!”

todoroki stood still, his expression unwavering. “i couldn't sleep.” his direction turned towards the kitchen. “i wanted to get a snack, but i think someone is in there.” he said.

that's odd. it was almost one in the morning, and the only people that izuku thought could be awake fell asleep ages ago. he asked todoroki who it was but he only shrugged, showing he only heard the person but never checked who it was.

he never thought he'd be met with the sight of bakugou resting his chin on y/n's shoulder as she made them snacks.

“at 12:47 in the morning? that's way past bakugou's bedtime…” todoroki muttered under his breath.

bakugou's tone was softer, softer than anyone had ever heard besides y/n herself. “you better not burn it.” he huffed.

y/n giggled, slightly turning her head to face his side profile. “i'm not going to burn our snacks,” she assured. “i'm an expert.”

“expert my ass.”

“hey!”

izuku and todoroki looked like a deer in headlights looking at the scene before them. they wanted to walk away, believe them, they really did. but the sight of bakugou being so domestic was such a rare and amusing sight to see.

“do we… leave?” izuku suggested.

“i don't know…” todoroki answered. “this is really weird.”

bakugou’s head shot up from her shoulder and turned to look at the two voices faster than the speed of light. his ruby eyes were narrowed as he glared them down as his lips curled. “the hell are you guys doing?”

izuku's hands flapped around in a panic. “w-we were just about to leave! i swear-”

“you're very affectionate, bakugou” todoroki said, as blunt as ever.

“shut up!” he yelled, his face turning as a red as a tomato and his hair puffed up. y/n giggled once again at the dramatic scene that laid in front of her. “do you guys want snacks too?” she offered.

“why are you giving our food to extras?” “suki!”

brutal wasn't even the word to describe today's training session. everyone was curled up on the ground, hands over their stomach as it even hurt to breathe. the sounds that filled the room were heavy breathing and complaints. and y/n— was nowhere to be found.

mina, jirou, and ochaco all wandered the hallways, a worried look etched on their face as they searched for their friend. “i'm really worried about her y'know.” mina was the first one to break the silence.

both girls nodded in agreement.

“so am i,” ochaco said. “she just disappeared right after training ended.”

the trio kept wandering the halls, looking in every corner and every turn where y/n could be hiding.

suddenly, through the glass window, they see their little y/c haired friend sitting on the bench, with her fingers intertwined on her lap and her head hung low.

“there she is!” jirou yelled, quickly running to the nearest door to go outside and get y/n while the other two girls trailed closely behind her.

but something made them stop dead in their tracks. the closer they got to the window, the more they were able to see someone elses silhouette sat next to her.

“is that bakugou?”

bakugou's arm was wrapped securely around y/n's shoulders, intently listening to her rambling about whatever she needed to get off her chest.

“i did really bad today.” she mumbled, her voice filled with sadness and frustration.

“and that’s okay.” bakugou comforted her. “one bad doesn't mean you suck. everyone has bad days.” he reassured her, rubbing light circles on her shoulders.

y/n shrugged, playing and picking at her fingers as they rested on her lap. “i just think i’m weak, y���know?” she mumbled once again.

“you're not- hey. look at me.” bakugou squished her cheeks and turned her head to face his. “stop. you think i'd be talking to you like this if you're so weak? hm?”

“no?” she muffled due to how much bakugou was squishing her face.

“exactly. you're strong, so stop putting yourself down because of one off day and keep training.”

“you're hurting my cheeks.”

bakugou let go of her face, lightly patting her cheeks as an apology. “my point is, one bad day doesn't mean you're weak. think about every other time you've kicked ass.”

y/n laughed softly, her face changing from what looked like a kicked puppy to her usual grin. “thank you suki.” she said.

“this is the cutest thing I've ever seen.” mina whispered while clenching her shirt where her heart is tightly.

“who knew the pomeranian could be such a romantic?” jirou teased as ochaco and mina giggled along side of her.

bakugou lightly ruffled the top of y/n's hair, lightly blushing from the way she looked at him with such a lovestruck glance. “you're strong. don't start with that ‘i'm weak’ shit cause i won't hear it.”

“you're so sweet when you want to be.”

“now you're pushing it.”

“why are you only nice to me?” the question caught katsuki off guard.

the couple had been in y/n's dorm room simply sitting in silence, with their legs entangled together and the light noise of the TV playing in the background.

he turned his head slightly to face her, their eyes meeting instantly as she was already looking at him so softly. “why wouldn't i be?” katsuki questioned as his fingers lightly played with her hair.

y/n shrugged, not having a response to his question. it just seemed out-of-character for him. he was the type of person to not let anyone change him, good or bad.

but the crude boy would come to be a puddle of sap when it came to her. even if it wasn't obvious verbally, the ways his eyes softened when they laid upon her was enough said.

“i asked you a question first.” she retorted.

katsuki exhaled sharply, his gaze turning from her to the ceiling as his heart rate sped up a bit. “you're just.. different.”

y/n's eyebrows raised slightly as a smirk stitched itself onto her face. she scooted closer to katsuki's side, leaning her head on his bicep as she stared lovingly at his side profile. “i'm.. different? there's more to that, isn't there?”

“of course there is. you just don't get to know that stuff right now.”

y/n knew that katsuki wasn't one to talk about his feelings. she wasn't looking to change that. but the simple thought of him just looking at her differently from the rest, like shes the only person in every room, made her heart flutter.

“don't think i'm getting soft though.” katsuki grumbled, an arm slipping around her waist as he pulled her impossibly closer.

“you're just… the only exception.”

©LOOKINGFORURAVITY 2024 | please do not copy, translate, or repost my work onto other

TAGLIST: @kaerotica @sweetlike-sugarplum @misfortvne @iridescencefae @awesomesauce-oo @kalulakunundrum

[w2hoonki]

obsession | p.s

MDNI !

warnings : unprotected sex, dry humping

my eyes wandered around the room as they make their way to sunghoon, i couldn't help but blush at the way he looked. everything about him looked so pretty, the way his hair sat on his forehead, his lashes that fluttered as he ate, the way his wiped his mouth with a napkin. i can't deny that i was obsessed with him, but who wouldn't be?

he was just peacefully sitting with his friends, listening to them like the kind person he is. i looked away before anyone could notice my habits. my friends talked about our weekend plans we had, with all the boys they have a crush on. my friend group and another one were pairing up and going to the beach. i was the only person in the group who wasn't open about my crush, i normally shrugged it off like i didn't have one, but i only ever had my eyes on sunghoon.

as lunch finished up, i gathered my things and walked to my next class. sunghoon was in english next, not with me. i always followed behind him, but he never noticed me.

getting ready for the trip was easy, there was no one there to impress. i packed all my comfy and summer clothes and jumped onto the train. as i enter the train i make eye contact with sunghoon, he stands there doing basically nothing, and he has me on my knees with that gaze.

even though i hadn't packed any nice clothes i was going to find a way for him. all of his friends were loud but he kept his gaze on me the entire time. i couldn't help but notice every time our eyes met, leaving my neck red and hot. time traveling through memories, but something was missing, sunghoon. your heart started to race as you held eye contact. He wasn’t the type of guy to look for long but when your eyes met he couldn’t stop looking at you. It was almost like he wanted you the way you wanted him. he stared at you with lust and desire almost in need of you.

you couldn't help but adjust your skirt to cover your legs. sunghoon sat next to you and put his arm around you. "looks like we're the only non couple huh?" he told you with a grin. your face heated with embarrassment as the boy you loved had his arm around you and he was talking to you.

"yeah you're right, and maybe we could share a bed or something." you said with a grin. you tried to push it off quickly as if you hadn't said one of your nasty thoughts out to the boy you loved but he nodded.

as you entered the room you sat on the bed and sunghoon got onto it with you. he laid down and rested his head on the pillow. he was always a flirt with other girls so you had felt not what you had wanted him to think of you but you couldn't help it. you laid next to him and cuddled into your pillow.

"you could cuddle into me you know" he said with a smirk, the smirk that had you giggling like a middle school girl. you shook your head, playing hard to get, not because you wanted it but you weren't quite ready. he just chuckled at your words.

"maybe we could watch a movie" you said with a smile. he shrugged as if he didn't really care but you turned on a random movie and watched it. he wrapped his arms around his pillow and placed it on top of his lap, covering something. he watched you with a smirk and a bit to his bottom lip. his hips shifted under the pillow and a groan had lodged into his throat. his head leaned back onto the headboard and he mumbled under his breath. your core was starting to beg for him as he was starting to go crazy for you.

"you have no idea what you're doing to me" he groaned out. he put his hand out asking for permission and you gave it to him with a nod. his hands gripped your hips as he pulled you onto his lap. "i always see you, why do you think i flirt with all those girls, i thought one day you would come and stop me but you never did. you think you're the obsessed one?" he asked with groaning as he grinded up into you. you whimpered at his words wondering all the time his feelings for you had gone over your head.

"you're so attractive sunghoon" you said while gasping out as he was grinding into your soaked core. he was trying his hardest to go slow but he wanted to run one hundred ad fifty miles with you. neither of you could wait for the other as the lust filled the room and the two people in the room.

"you're just as hot sweet girl" he chuckled out while smiling his bright smile. the room filled with sounds of your lips crashed together and his deep breaths. eventually you were both bare in the bed together, clothes covered the sides of the ground as you both stripped.

"you're so gorgeous baby" he groaned out as his hands wandered up to your breasts, his hands gripped hard, a whimper escaping your lips. he pulled you onto him so you were straddling him, your thighs tightened around his waist as he held you on his lap. his hands left your chest to grip your thighs and place you onto the bed.

"can i?" he asked while pressing his tip to the opening of you core. you nodded quickly as your core soaked the sheets under you. his tip slowly entered your hole, you gasped out in pleasure, cries and moans left your lips as he fully entered you. you clenched down had on his cock as he filled your core the way you've always wanted him to. his cock brushed against your g-spot causing you to clench even harder around him. his hands gripped harder and harder as his thrusts became sloppier and sloppier into your core.

"right there" you whimpered out into the room, his pace slowed down as he made sure you felt every inch of him deep inside of you. he groaned out as you gripped tightly onto his hair, his thrusts became heavier as he was getting closer to his high. he couldn't keep it inside of himself and as soon as you pulsated around his cock cumming, he was releasing deep inside of you.

after a bit he finally pulled out of you. the stretch was still there as he held you but you didn't worry about it.

"i love you" you mumble out to sunghoon. he only smiled at you before whispering "i love you too".

[bread-crum206]

A Game of Hearts

Chapter twenty-nine: Unspoken Promises

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

previous | 29 | next

Series Masterlist

The room was dark when you finally emerged from the bathroom, the only light coming from the moon filtering through the sheer curtains. The air felt thick, heavy with something unspoken, something lingering between the walls.

In-ho was already in bed, his back turned to you, his posture relaxed but unmistakably alert. Even in rest, he was always aware. Always calculating.

You hesitated by the doorway, the events of the night still clinging to you like a second skin. The Panther Mask was gone. Just… gone. No trace. No questions. No consequences—at least, none that anyone would dare voice.

You weren’t sure if that comforted you or unsettled you more.

With a slow breath, you crossed the room, the soft fabric of your robe brushing against your legs as you moved. The bed was massive, more than enough space for two people, but the distance between you and In-ho had always felt sharper than just physical space.

You slid beneath the covers, the cool sheets a contrast against the warmth of your skin. Sleep should have come easily after the night you had, but instead, your mind raced. The memory of his touch—his fingers brushing your jaw, the quiet promise of control in his voice—lingered.

“You’re thinking too loudly.”

His voice cut through the silence like a blade.

You stilled, your breath catching for just a moment. “I didn’t realize thoughts made noise.”

In-ho shifted slightly, though he didn’t turn to face you. “Yours do.”

A pause stretched between you. You weren’t sure what to say. Weren’t sure if you wanted to say anything.

Finally, you asked, “Do you regret it?”

It was a dangerous question.

His answer came without hesitation. “No.”

You turned onto your side, studying the shape of his back in the moonlight. “Because of what he did to me?”

Another pause. This time, longer.

Then—

“Yes.”

There was no hesitation in his voice, no doubt. Just the same cold certainty he always carried. But this felt different. More personal. More dangerous.

You swallowed. “What exactly did you do to him?”

He finally turned then, shifting so that he was facing you. His expression was unreadable, his gaze sharp even in the dim light. He studied you, as if deciding whether or not to tell you the truth.

“I made sure he understood,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. “And then I made sure he disappeared.”

A chill ran through you. Not from fear, but from the weight of his words.

You should have been horrified. Maybe even disgusted.

But instead, all you felt was… safe.

Because whatever had happened to the Panther Mask, it meant one thing for certain.

No one would ever touch you like that again.

Not while In-ho was around.

You exhaled softly, your body relaxing just slightly. You weren’t sure what that said about you. About him. About whatever this was between you.

But as sleep slowly crept in, you realized something else.

You didn’t mind.

The morning light filtered gently through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. You blinked awake, the remnants of sleep clinging to your consciousness. For a moment, the events of the previous night felt like a distant dream, but the reality settled in quickly.

Turning your head, you found In-ho already awake, sitting at the edge of the bed, his back to you. He was dressed, the crisp lines of his attire impeccable as always. The mask he often wore lay on the nightstand, a silent reminder of the roles he played.

“Good morning,” you murmured, your voice still heavy with sleep.

He glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “Morning.”

You pushed yourself up, the sheets pooling around your waist. “Did you sleep at all?”

“A little,” he replied, turning his gaze back to the window. “There’s always much to be done.”

You studied him, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tapped subtly against his thigh. It was rare to see him anything less than composed.

“In-ho,” you began, choosing your words carefully, “about last night…”

He stood abruptly, cutting you off. “It’s handled.”

You frowned, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “That’s not what I—”

“It’s handled,” he repeated, his tone final.

A heavy silence settled between you. You wanted to bridge the gap, to understand the man behind the mask, but he was a fortress, walls built high and impenetrable.

“Thank you,” you said softly, hoping to convey the depth of your gratitude.

He paused, his posture stiff. “There’s no need.”

But there was. You both knew it.

As he moved toward the door, you felt a pang of desperation. “In-ho, wait.”

He stopped but didn’t turn.

“Please,” you implored, “don’t shut me out.”

For a moment, you thought he might leave without another word. But then he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s better this way.”

And with that, he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.

You sat there, the weight of his absence pressing down on you. The room felt colder, emptier. The safety you had felt the night before was now overshadowed by a profound sense of loss.

You had seen a glimpse of the man behind the mask, but it seemed that was all you were allowed.

———————

Whoa two in one day! Felt like I owed it to you guys, maybe I’ll post ch 30 but we’ll see. Lemme know what you think!

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[defuckingthrone-dot-com]

A Dirty Wedding Affair 🌴🌅

Summary: Just a quick little blurb about having a One Night Stand with Noah 

Pairing: Noah x Reader

TW: Sex p in v, oral sex.

A/N: Ever since i saw this picture i thought of this scenario. I talked to @concretejunglefm about it she actually contributed to some of the ideas here. also, title by her! Any way enjoy! xx.

Divider by @bernardsbendystraws

I really don't know how I got involved in this situation, I was always careful with things like this. Actually when I think about it, it wasn't really my style to do this type of thing. But here I was hiding behind a damn palm tree decoration on a small reception of this Hotel. I was trying to not get noticed by the guy whose bed I left this morning before he actually woke up. The walk of shame back to my room felt a little too real, and I guess I wasn't hiding hard enough because from the corner of my eyes I saw him walk up with a big smirk on his face.

“Are you really trying to hide behind that flimsy excuse of a palm tree?” he asked with a little bit of laughter in his tone.

“Who me? No, No why would i??” i said a bit too rushed

“Maybe because you sneaked out this morning” I wasn't expecting for him to call me out like that but he was right, i felt embarrassed and i didnt want him to see me. 

“yeah um i'm sorry?” i didn't know if apologizing would make the situation better but i tried anyway, 

His gaze lingered a little too long before he left a subtle laugh “Yeah it's good I ran into you, you forgot this Pixie..”i didn't have time to dwell on the fact he called me Pixie just like he moaned last nice with a few other choice of words because he was already pulling out the same lace pair of panties i was wearing  when i entered his room last night from his front pocket.. “Didn't want you to lose them so I kept them safe.” 

All the blood in me crept onto my cheeks and I can confidently say that I wasn't blushing anymore, I was bleeding red. I realized what was happening and in one quick move I snatched the panties from his hand. 

You're probably wondering how I got here? Well, I'll have to relieve the last 72 hrs for you to understand, so here i go!

It all started when I arrived here, this wasn't a vacation per say but I did plan on having the most fun I could before I had to go back to boring reality back home. My best friend from childhood was getting married this weekend. She had chosen to get married at the beach, which was great for me. I loved the tropical weather and I could enjoy a bit more tanning. 

The first time I saw him I was laid in a lounge chair by the pool. I was grabbing the the book i was reading in one hand and a glass of lemonade on the other, i saw walk in front of me and walk around the edge of said pool to reach the other side, he was with what assume to be his friends, i vaguely remember thinking how i did have Maid of Honor duties to fulfill but not until later that night so stayed a little too long in my spot.

I saw how his colorful tattoos shined under the water with the sun hitting them. he had a little bun of hair on the top of his, and he seem to be just about the tallest man i ever seen, The most gorgeous brown that have ever crossed paths with me, 

He seemed like a lot of fun, and started from my seat. I was wearing sunglasses and half of them covered my face. I thought I was being cautious and not obvious but when he turned to look my way an almost hazy took over me.

Luckily he wasn't looking at me, he was looking at one of his friends that was passing by me going towards him.

I didn't want to seem like a creep so I decided to just get up and go back into my room. I would be lying if I thought he was very attractive but way out of my league but I probably would never see him again so why even bother thinking such a thing. 

The second encounter was by the bar just down the street of the hotel. I probably shouldn't have drank anything before the wedding but I fear I was more nervous than the actual bride. I wanted to take a shot or two before I had to be back to get ready. i sat at one end of the bar when i saw him reaching the other end, he sat down and other his drink,

He was alone this time, i tried not look his way as the bartender put my vodka soda in front of me and maybe i was being paranoid but i could sense his eyes on me, I pulled out my cell phone from my phone and decided to scroll just so i could have something to do and not look dumb. After about of 10 minutes i decided it was time to go i paid for my drinks at headed, 

Once again this was the last time i would probably see him but was i so wrong, 

The wedding had started and everything was going to plan. The music started playing and as the maid of honor I made my way down the aisle to stand by the sidelines. As my best friend walked down the most beautiful princess and the emotions started to come afloat I saw him once again. He was sitting in the 3rd row of chairs. 

My eyes grew wide, I didn't know why I felt the tension, I haven't even crossed words with him once so it was a bit dumb for me to feel this way. I couldn't run so I was just still until the ceremony had ended, But i could tell even by the side of my eye that at that point he was looking at me with a small smile. 

After the beautiful ceremony and my sweat induced head we moved to where the location for the party would be.

I was having such a good time, I mingled amongst the guests, everything was going perfect and I couldn't be more happy for my best friend Bailey. I didn't want my social battery to run out and as the liquid in my glass, I made my way down to the bar. I ordered a vodka soda and as I reached for it and turned around I nearly fell on my ass, I bumped into someone and it almost made my drink spill on my dress. I didn't pay attention to who was standing in front of me as I was trying to clean with my hands the small droplets that did manage to land on my dress.

“If i didn't know any better i would think you are stalking me” i heard a  voice.

“what..? i don't even know who..” as i looked up to meet his eyes i saw who exactly it was “are…” my voice started to windle down.

“3 times in the span of 48 hours seems like a very unlikely crazy coincidence” 

“i don't know what you mean” i tried to stay confidently 

“3 times, darling, 1. by the pool, 2. at the bar down the street this morning and 3. this wedding” he must sense the sheer panic and embarrassment in my eyes “you know i'm just kidding right?” he let out a soft laugh. 

“...yeah, yeah of course!” I said with a shaky laugh.

“if were going to keep running into each other it's best i introduce my self, Im Noah”

“im y/n”

“pretty name for a pretty girl”

“Uh thanks” I didn't know where to look. I was a bit shocked to actually be talking to him.

“So Maid of honor huh?” he asked intrigues.

“Yeah me and the bride we go way back, weve been bestfriends for years” i said preparing to ask him a question, “and you? Who do you know from here?” 

“The groom, we have worked together a few times” he replied back.

“So you're in the music industry, do you like sound tech or something?” i asked 

He stared at me as if i was saying something so out of the box “Not exactly, i'm in a band, and the groom has helped me and band out a lot”

“Ah that makes sense”

We decided to move our conversation over to the table where the rest of his band mates were seated. it scared me a bit how natural the conversation flowed. I was having a really good time with him and the night was almost coming to an end.

By this time both the bride and groom had already left and retreated back to their room, the only people left were the waiter cleaning up the mess and Noah and I. 

“So do you maybe want to go back to my room and chill for a bit..i mean if you would like of course” he asked with a hopeful glint in his eyes,

I hesitated for a bit, but after a moment I thought nothing wrong could go bad. 

“yeah sure that sounds great” 

We walked down the long hallways of the hotel to catch the elevator, we both knew there was a sexual tension between us and as soon as the doors closed to start ascending the correct floor, his lips were on mine. A sweet slow passionate kiss, where his tongue andmine where dancing in unison

The elevator door couldn't open fast enough, and a brief second we were already outside his door. He struggled to get his key card out of his pocket and as soon as the door he led me over to his bed. He laid me down while he balanced his wight on top of mine 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked 

All i could do was nod, I was too far in and too intrigued on his bedroom skills to say no.

He took over my mouth once more, another kiss, this one more chaotic and wild then the last. He started to slowly pull down the straps of my dress while I in a frantic motion fought to get his pants unbuttoned. 

Clothes started to fly around the room, my dress flew on the floor while my lace panties and bra ended on the side table. His button down shirt somehow made its way on top of the lamp that was sitting on the table in front of the bed, his pants and belt landing with a loud thud on the floor.

And just like that we were both naked. lost in the heat of the moment, Once his lips left mine, he started to leave a trail of tiny kisses from my jawline, down my neck, through the valley of my breast. He made a little pit stop at my navel to situate himself between my legs. Once he did so he picked right up where he left off. 

He overlooked my core to also kiss the inner part of my thighs. I was already high due to his touch. He locked down at my core and looked like the most starved man on earth about to eat a full course meal. 

“Pretty pink pussy darling, and you're already so wet” he said as he licked his lips “may i?” 

Once again all I could do was nod. He dove in and once his tongue made contact with my click and a sweet little moan escaped from my mouth. He lapped a few more times at my pussy before he detached  and sent me into oblivion with his fingers. One finger in, slowly taking it in and out, two fingers in, he started to increase the pace of what he was doing. 

He reached just the right spot a few more times of thrusting in and out. 

“ Noah oh god i'm gonna…” I said in almost a whisper.

“No no no Pixie you're not gonna cum until I tell you to, understood?’ 

“yees”

In one swift motion he turned me around, I was now on all four and waiting for his next move. I heard the sound of a condom wrapper opening. and from what i could tell he rolled it on this cock with ease. 

“hold on tight darling” 

All I could grab was the pillow beside. He did not give me any sort of warning in a matter of seconds he was inside of me. Thrusting in full force. All I could think of unironically was the song Closer by Nine Inch Nails in my head; because what the song was describing was what Noag was doing to me. Fucking me like an animal.

Fast paced, hazy eyes and the smell of raw contact. He slowed down only to catch his breath.

“ah ah Noah..” the moans were escaping my mouth, unable to control them. “It feels so good.”

:”Pixie you're so tight.. So fitting… sooo” Once final thrust in and we were both seeing stars. 

He collapsed on top of me while we both tried to catch our breaths. It was the most exhilarating and mind blowing orgasm that i have had. 

We took a small 15 minute break to hydrate and decompose before we were at it again. By the 3rd round i was so exhausted in the best way possible that i knew come the morning it would hurt to move. The ache of my muscles started to set in and as we laid there naked and vulnerable, My eyes started to close slowly and I succumbed to sleep , no longer fighting it.

By the time I had woken up the sun had already risen, I took notice of my surroundings, slowly taking my gaze through the room until they landed on the spot on the bed next me. 

There he laid asleep covered with a simple white sheet from his waist down, His tattoos brighter than i've seen them the last 3 days. Panic set in my gut, when I looked at my own body, I was completely naked. I scrambled to get off the bed and look for my clothes. I found my dress and my bra but nowhere insight into where my panties would be. I didn't want to wait around for Noah to wait up and kick me out of his room, so I put on what I did find and took my heels in my hand and slowly and quietly made my way to my room. 

Now fast forward to this afternoon where I was face to face again with him. 

“thanks for keeping them… safe.. you know?” i sad blushing and putting them in my purse

“No problem darling, i have a feeling this won't be the last time we run into each other” he said walking away only to turn around in a moment and wink at me. 

I couldn't help but let out a little laugh because I too believed this wasn't going to be the last time we would cross paths..

[chilling-seavey]

The Traveling Pants (gr63)

↳ A/N So George and I were wearing the [nearly] exact same pants today and it sparked this lil idea!

↳ Pairings: George Russell x Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n)

↳ Warnings/FYI: This blurb would technically be considered tall!reader (sorry, being a little self serving here—). Forewarning just for the sake of this one-off idea! Take it or leave it at your discretion x

Thursdays mornings, George found, were always the hardest to get out of bed for. Perhaps most of his fellow drivers would agree; not wanting to wake up early to spend a whole day at the circuit on mainly media duties, interviews, and putting up with their social media teams' pleads for content. Besides, when he woke up in a luxury hotel bed with you naked in his arms, it made it incredibly more difficult to convince himself to get up to work.

The night before had been filled with its fair share of glasses of wine and plenty of delectable hors d'œuvres from room service which, ultimately, led to the two of you making use of that plush king size bed and expensive linen sheets. Now, an evening of bliss was countered by his blaring ringtone from his phone on the bedside table.

George let out a groan to the ceiling before heaving himself over to turn off the noise with a displeased tap of the 'snooze' button. When he flopped back down, you curled into his side, skin against skin, your arm around his middle, and your pressed a kiss to his jaw. With an easy smile, his arm draped over your shoulders to pull you closer, fingers dancing over your bare shoulder.

"Mm, morning." he greeted, his voice thick with sleep. A sound you'd never tire of.

"Morning," you echoed sweetly and nuzzled into his neck for an early morning cuddle.

The air of the hotel room felt icy from the air conditioning, in perfect contrast to the warm cocoon the two of you had made under the sheets with hot skin pressed against skin. George pulled the covers up higher around the both of you and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

He hummed tiredly, still drawing absentminded shapes over your bare shoulder with his fingertips, "I don't want to get up."

"I don't want you to get up," you agreed.

It wasn't easy for George to pry himself away from you—that had been the truth since the day you met—and so he succumbed to the wonderful pressure of staying with you in bed just a little longer. 'Snooze' was pressed four more times. On the sixth ring of his alarm, he knew he was really cutting it close for time and if he didn't get up and get his shit in gear, he would be late and, boy, would Toto have a lot to say about that.

George pried himself out of bed as fast as he could (which, spoiler, was still not very fast, ironically), with you chasing after his lips for more kisses that had him smiling against your lips. Once his feet were on the floor, he was still half leaning over the bed to keep kissing you, soft giggles shared between you at the ever-present joy of love.

With George now having to rush to dress to avoid being late and, you, who had a scheduled tour at one of the museums in the foreign city in under an hour, doing the same, there wasn't much time for chit chat. You both gathered your clothes from the night before that were strewn about the room, pulling on shoes and button-ups and, each, a pair of white dress slacks.

It had been a funny thing, the night before, noticing how similar your outfits had been. The only difference was that your collared shirt had been dark green and his was light blue, but your pants and brown boots were eerily alike. What's that they say about you turning into your partner over the duration of your relationship?

The two of your shared the elevator down to the hotel lobby, sharing a few more sneaky kisses in the momentary privacy, whispering 'see you later's and 'I love you's against smiling lips. When the doors slid open, he turned in the direction of the valet and you headed for the street, sharing one more hurried smile in your morning rushes.

You slipped your earbuds in once you were alone and out in the crisp morning air of another unfamiliar yet just as exciting city. Your music guided you through the walkable streets (with the help of Google Maps open on your phone) and you stopped in at a café for a quick breakfast to-go on the way to the museum.

Finally able to pause long enough to catch your breath while waiting for your order at the counter, you reached down to adjust the waistband of your slacks. You realized that they felt a little tight around your hips and sat a little funny around your waist; you could have sworn they were higher rise than this. You looked down at yourself, seeing the familiar straight leg cut of the white slacks that reached your feet...and seemed to bunch just a little more than usual around your ankles.

Meanwhile, George, stepping out of the car at the circuit, felt like he had equal parts gained and lost weight. The material of his slacks around his hips felt more spacious than normal and yet the waistband was sitting far too high up than he comfortably remembered them being the night before. He gave them a little adjustment before heading through the gates of the paddock to the flurry of photographers and their cameras.

As he walked, the sudden awareness of breeze on his ankles was apparent. Now, he was no stranger to cuffed pants, but he knew that his white slacks always rested right at the top of his loafers, never above. Unless he magically grew two centimeters overnight, something was seriously up.

With such a busy first hour getting breakfast and checking in with his team, he didn't think much of it. It wasn't until he was changing into his team kit later on in his driver's room that he decided to take a closer look at the pants in question. He checked the tag first, only to find the name of your favourite clothing store staring back at him.

Across the city, you were in the middle of the museum tour when your phone buzzed in your purse. Hidden amongst the crowd of your tour group, you slipped it out to read your text from George:

G: *1 image attached*

G: Looks like we had a bit of a fashion mix up this morning. Can't believe it took us two hours to realize!

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[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Wedding bells

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Toto one-shot, let me know what you think:) If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

The morning sun filtered softly through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the bridal suite. A sea of ivory tulle and delicate lace surrounded you as you sat before the mirror, heart pounding in your chest. It was your wedding day—the day you had dreamed of, planned for, obsessed over to the very last detail. Yet, instead of excitement, all you felt was an overwhelming sense of pressure.

The makeup artist dabbed at your lips with a final stroke of soft pink, stepping back to admire her work. "You look stunning," she said warmly, but her words barely registered. Your mind was spinning with thoughts of the seating arrangements, the flowers, the music. What if something went wrong? What if the guests didn’t enjoy themselves? What if the cake toppled over before you even got a chance to cut it?

A gentle knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts, and your bridesmaid, Anna, rushed to open it. She gasped, spinning toward you. "It's Toto!"

Your eyes widened in panic. "He can't be here! We're not supposed to see each other before the ceremony!"

But before Anna could protest, the tall, commanding figure of your fiancé stepped into the room, his dark eyes locked onto yours. Toto Wolff, ever the composed and confident man, stood in his perfectly tailored suit, his expression unreadable for a moment—until it softened into something achingly tender.

"Toto!" you hissed, scrambling to cover yourself with the sheer robe draped over your wedding gown. "You’re breaking the rules!"

He ignored your protests, closing the door behind him and striding toward you. Anna wisely excused herself, leaving you alone with the man who, in a matter of hours, would be your husband.

Toto reached out, taking your hands in his, his touch grounding you instantly. "Liebling," he murmured, his Austrian accent wrapping around the endearment like silk. "I had to see you."

Your breath hitched as he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. "You look breathtaking."

Your earlier worries melted, if only for a moment. "Toto, you’re not supposed to see me before the ceremony. It's bad luck."

His lips quirked into that knowing smile of his. "We make our own luck, schatz. And right now, you look like you need to breathe."

A lump formed in your throat, the weight of the day pressing down on you again. "I just... I want everything to be perfect."

Toto sighed, shaking his head before pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. "Perfect?" he echoed. "Liebe, the only thing that matters today is that we love each other. Everything else is just noise. If the flowers aren’t right, if the music is off-key, if the entire world falls apart—none of it changes the fact that by the end of today, you’ll be my wife. That’s all that matters."

His words settled over you like a balm, soothing the storm in your mind. "But what if something goes wrong?"

He chuckled, his hands slipping down to your waist as he pulled you closer. "Then we laugh, and we dance, and we celebrate anyway. Because today is about us, not perfection."

Tears pricked your eyes, and you let out a shaky breath. "How do you always know exactly what to say?"

His lips brushed over yours, a whisper of a kiss that sent shivers down your spine. "Because I know you. And I know that you have the biggest heart, the most beautiful soul. And you are mine."

A tear slipped free, but Toto caught it with his thumb, his smile never faltering. "No more worrying, ja? Just enjoy today."

You nodded, your heart swelling with love. "Ja."

His eyes sparkled at your response, and he kissed you again, longer this time, as if he wanted to steal this moment for just the two of you before the world swept you away in the whirlwind of the wedding.

A knock at the door interrupted the intimate bubble you had created. "We need the bride! It’s time!"

Toto sighed, resting his forehead against yours for one last moment. "I’ll be waiting for you at the altar, schatz."

You let out a soft laugh, the nerves that had gripped you earlier now nothing but a distant memory. "I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else."

With one final kiss to your forehead, he stepped back, his eyes lingering on you as he made his way to the door. He hesitated, giving you one last smile before disappearing down the hallway.

You exhaled, a newfound sense of calm settling over you. Because Toto was right. At the end of the day, none of the small details mattered. The only thing that truly mattered was the love you shared, and the future you were about to begin together.

And that was more perfect than anything you could have planned.

@justaf1girl

[julietvstheworld]

( yandere nsfw hcs ) bloody painter

nsfw - afab reader x bloody painter headcanons

╰┈➤ slight voyeurism, possessive relationship, overstimulation, obsession, eating you out (romantically <333), mirror sex

reuploadbc the last one was broken :/

Helen believes love is always ideal and fanciful, straight out of a fairytale. All of the cliches you see in Disney movies are a reality to him: Love at first sight, soulmates, first kiss, first time, and all the way till death do us part. He keeps his romanticized ideas of love everywhere he goes, especially in bed.

He tries his best to be soft when making love, he really does. He always starts off slow; giving you loving kisses on your palm, moving to your lips, your neck, your chest, your thighs, and finally your throbbing heat. He makes as much eye contact as he can when eating you out, absolutely relishing in your half-lidded look of lust. Using his tongue to explore your pussy walls and thumb to make small circles on your clit. Even while his mouth is working wonders on you, he’ll constantly ask if you’re feeling good. “Is this good?” “Do you want me to go harder?” “Tell me how you’re feeling?”. He knows that you can barely respond to him through your moans, but it never hurts to ask. He always prefers giving over receiving, his desire thrives on his partner's pleasure. He tries having this wholesome sex at least once a week, he normally doesn't have a high libido if nothing happens, but hey, sex is healthy! It always starts out with you guys just cuddling, watching a movie, after he's done with a mission, etc, etc. That’s all nice and good, but as I said before, Helen is heavily invested in soulmates. You are his only and he is yours only. This gives him major jealousy issues. Whenever he sees another guy giving you any form of slight romantic attraction, he sees that as someone trying to take his soulmate. He’ll want to go home immediately, if you can’t, he will pull you to the nearest closet or bathroom.

If you guys make it to his room? He has the freedom to do whatever he wants to you. He absolutely adores tying you up to the bed. Blindfolds, gags, and vibrators are coming out. Before he even thinks about taking out his cock, he wants you to know that before you see the person who flirted with you ever again, he wants to cover your entire body with love bites. He’ll always press the vibrator to your clit as he leaves small marks all over your body. You can feel him smirk against your skin once you get louder as he presses against your sweet spot. He will not take the toy away from your heat until your mascara is streaming down your cheeks and your body is shaking from orgasming over and over. Then will he take off your binds and move you in front of a mirror to raw-dog you with a leash tightly fastened around your pretty throat. He loves seeing you pant and drool as he’s fucking your brains out. He needs you to know that you’re his.

If you guys can’t make it home? He’ll still rail you to his heart's content in the bathroom. He isn’t the biggest fan of quickies but understands that it’s kinda rude to take up the only bathroom at a party. That being said, he still won’t have any mercy on your poor pussy. He’s the type of guy to bend you over the sink and fuck you like a horny virgin. Since you guys can’t use his specially made ropes, you use the second-best thing, his belt. While he’s pounding you, he’ll slap your ass until it’s raw and red. He’ll make you say thank you after every single spanking. Even though he knows the door isn’t soundproof, he prefers you to be as loud as you can. It turns him on when he knows that other guys can hear you moaning his name, especially other guys that caused his jealousy in the first place. You’re his princess, after all, he’s okay with that being known to the world by any means possible.

Aftercare with Helen is the absolute best. He practically worships the ground you walk on so he’s at your every beck and call. Want him to massage your ankles and wrists after being bound? He’s already done it. Wanna just stay and bed and cuddle while he whispers sweet nothings to you? Easy peasy, he already does it every night. Do you want to take a hot bubble bath together? The water’s already running and he’s lighting floral scented candles to set the mood.

Despite being a yandere absolutely enamored and obsessed with your every breath, he doesn’t murder most of the people who try to woo you. He thinks it’s annoying that they think that they’re good enough to even be in the same room as you, but they back off once they hear his name being screamed by you behind closed doors. The only time when he has a major issue with your admirers is when they get too touchy. His normally calm and sophisticated public demeanor becomes quickly enraged and unstable once he sees you becoming highly uncomfortable due to the persistent advances from a creep. Seeing Helen come home drenched in crimson blood with a rare mischievous smirk is a sign that he got rid of your nuisance. No matter how late in the night it is, once you see that grin on his face, you know he’s going to make your pussy sore for the next couple of days in one night.

Helen is totally into praising you. He is obsessed with everything about you and believes you truly are the perfect person in his eyes and wants to remind you at every chance he gets. Every second in bed he’ll shower you with compliments like, “God, you’re so fucking pretty with my cock stuffed in you.”, “Your pussy tastes so good.”, and “Louder, I love hearing you moan.”. His favorite thing to call you is ‘angel’ and ‘darling’

He finds it so hot when you’re wearing makeup. Not because he thinks you’re ugly, but he finds it so sexy when he sees your mascara running down your face and your lipstick is smudged all over your mouth. It’s a huge turn-on for him and he secretly has a picture of it as his wallpaper.

Helen doesn’t jack off that much, maybe once a week. He mostly doesn’t see the point in it because there’s nothing stopping him from just calling you whenever he’s horny.

When you guys had sex for the first time, both of you guys were virgins. Despite this, it wasn’t awkward because he just somehow knew everything that pushed your buttons. In reality, Helen paid BEN 10 bucks to hack into your search history to see what type of porn you were into.

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

Buried Secrets Chapter 1: Demons of Deception

Buried Secrets Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Summary: After the harrowing events in South America, Frankie and the guys have returned home and opened their own private security business. They're eventually approached by an archeologist, named Mya, who is requesting their specialized services for an archeological expedition in the Amazonian jungle of southeastern Peru, hours away from where they stashed Lorea's money just over the border in the mountains of northern Chile.

Frankie is hesitant to accept the job, but with Pope's insistence this could be their cover to go back for the money, he relents. However, Frankie soon learns their new job assignment only further puts them and his new love interest in danger in an unexpected way as they set out to find the lost Incan city of Paititi.

Word Count: 6.2k

👉 Warnings: smut (MDNI), angst, mentions of mental health struggles and past drug use (it's Frankie), there are bad guys with weapons (gun violence, physical violence, death). Frankie Morales comes with his own warnings.

👉 Chapter Warnings: Badass OFC, there are bad guys with weapons (gun violence, physical violence, blood), a surprise appearance or two, brooding Frankie

Chapter Quote: “Why don’t you come a little closer so you can experience the adventure for yourself.”

Mya’s POV

I had been in a lot of tight spots in the past, but nothing could compare to this. The most infuriating thing about it all, it wasn’t because of something I did. I was left to take the fall by someone that I thought loved me.

When I came to, I found myself suspended from the ceiling by my shackled hands. My toes barely touched the floor, just enough to help take some of the weight off my aching shoulders and wrist that stretched above my head. The room was empty and dark, only small hints of sunlight sneaking in through the thick tattered curtains.

Looking around, I saw no way out of this. There was nothing I could use to my advantage and my restraints seemed secure. They had done their due diligence in making sure I couldn’t escape. That was the downside to being taken hostage by people who were familiar with your unusual skill sets.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed before the door creaked open, but it felt like hours. A very pissed off looking Miguel Collazo and one of his enforcers strode into the room, pausing several feet in front of me. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach because I could sense he was beyond reason.

He gave me a menacing glare as he spoke with his thick Spanish accent, “I never thought I would find myself in this kind of situation with you, Mya. You are one of my best collectors, so I am torn on what to do with you.”

I was seething, “How about you unlock these cuffs and let me go. I had nothing to do with this, and you know it.”

He tutted, “I do not believe you. You and Damien have always been inseparable, so I know you know where he is. I want my artifacts and money back.”

Collazo was a pudgy little man with a crooked nose and curly villain mustache that rivaled Dustin Hoffman in Hook. He had a perpetually smug expression that I really wanted to bitch slap off his face as he smirked up at me.

“I don’t know where he is. What would he have to gain from leaving me behind?”

He shrugged as he began to pace back and forth in front of me, “I do not know, to keep me off his trail? It does not make sense to me that he would not tell you his plan.”

I scoffed, “Well I haven’t done that now have I? I have no fucking idea where he is. He was gone when I got home…his phone has been disconnected. I have no way of reaching him.”

The door swung open with a little more force this time. Comandante Veracruz entered, moving to stand next to Collazo. I could see his scruffy angled jaw ticking as his dark eyes looked me over from head to toe. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, I could only hope he would take pity on me and talk Collazo off the ledge.

Veracruz was head of security for Collazo. Damien and I had gotten to know him well since we worked closely on several heists in the past. He had made his affections for me obvious but would never have acted on them because of Damien. Now that Damien was long gone, I hoped I could use his affections to my advantage.

“What are you thinking?” He asked Collazo in his Spanish accent.

Collazo smiled, “Still undecided…I am going to let Diego work his magic and see what happens. If she knows, she will break.”

Veracruz shifted his gaze to me. He looked conflicted, but didn’t say anything further. Collazo looked to Diego, nodding in my direction as he rasped out, “Comenzar.” (Begin.)

Diego stalked forward, then backhanded me across the cheek. I let out a threatening chuckle as I shook it off. “This isn’t gonna change my answer. I don’t know anything. All you’re doing is pissing me off.”

Collazo laughed, “Good thing we have you chained up then… Continuar, Diego.” (Continue, Diego.)

Diego gave me an empty stare before punching me in the gut, knocking the air out of my lungs. He went on like this for several minutes, punching and slapping. The taste of iron filled my mouth as I pushed through the pain. I refused to let them see how bad I was hurting, even as I felt my left eye swelling and blood running down the sides of my face. All the while Collazo continued to question me.

“Perhaps you could also fill me in on what happened at Lorea’s? Was Damien involved with that too? How much of my money does he actually have?”

I shook my head, “I don’t know anything about that. Maybe he was. If he’s capable of this, then why not? But I don’t know anything. He didn’t tell me.”

Collazo inched forward, causing Diego to momentarily pause his blows and face him as he awaited further instructions.

“Are you sure you do not have anything you wish to tell me, Mya?” Collazo asked.

Clearly, this was going nowhere. It didn’t matter what I said. He didn’t believe me. I spit out the blood that was pooling in my mouth toward his expensive looking white leather shoes, “Yeah, fuck you.”

He didn’t seem impressed, “Still not breaking…I’m shocked. You are stronger than I would have guessed. Hora de tu especialidad, Diego.” (Time for your specialty, Diego.)

My breath caught in my throat as I watched Diego reach for the knife at his belt. A sadistic smile curling on his lips as he nodded in affirmation to his boss. However, he had made a mistake, standing too closely to me with his back turned. I reacted before he even realized what was happening, kicking the knife from his hand and using the chain as leverage to lift myself so I could wrap my legs around his neck. The adrenaline pumping through my veins allowed me to push through the debilitating pain, but I wasn’t sure how long I could hold him. Every muscle and joint in my body was protesting, but I still managed to clamp down tightly around his throat as he clawed at my jean-clad legs. He fought it for a time but eventually passed out from lack of oxygen.

Veracruz stood in shock as he watched Diego fall to his knees. Collazo let out a boisterous laugh and clapped his hands in amusement, “It’s always an adventure with you, Mya.”

I loosened my hold on Diego, allowing him to drop the rest of the way to the ground. I gave Collazo the best sarcastic smile I could muster in my current state, “Yeah? Why don’t you come a little closer so you can experience the adventure for yourself then.”

Collazo chuckled, “I am going to miss your feistiness.”

Veracruz finally interjected, “Perhaps she is telling the truth. It does not make sense that he would leave her if she knew something. Maybe he is planning to return for her?”

Collazo weighed Veracruz’s words, his eyes eventually narrowing in suspicion. “Then he will find that she is missing and that you wait in her place…Acaba con ella, Comandante.” (Finish her, Comandante.)

Fuck. How do I get out of this one?

Veracruz gave a curt nod, taking a deep breath as he drew his pistol and walked toward me. He made sure to stay far enough away that he was out of my reach, but I could still see the nervous sweat forming on his brow and conflict burning in his eyes as he aimed at my face. He held the weapon there, his nostrils flaring and jaw flexing as he clearly struggled with his instructions. I held his gaze, my eyes silently pleading with him in hopes it might sway him to help me in some way. If he didn’t, I was fucked.

“What are you waiting for, Comandante? Finish her,” Collazo ordered again.

I sighed. I didn’t want to do this, but it was the only card I had left to play if Veracruz wasn’t going to help me. I knew it would stop Collazo in his tracks, but I hated myself for it before the words even left my mouth. The Comandante’s finger slowly moved to the trigger, but he was still hesitating.

I flinched away from the barrel of the gun. “WAIT! Wait…” I finally called out.

Collazo sneered as he twisted his stupid mustache with his fingertips, “Better make it good, Mya. This is your last chance.”

I could feel the fight leaving my body as I finally shared the news that I hoped would save my life - at least until I could come up with another way out. “I know the location of Paititi.”

Veracruz lowered his weapon, then turned to give Collazo a questioning look. Collazo’s brows pinched together in doubt, “You lie.”

I shook my head, “I would never…not about this.”

He scoffed, “How do I know you are not just saying this so I do not kill you?”

I huffed out a nervous laugh, “Well, that’s exactly why I’m saying it…but it doesn't make it any less true. I’ve seen the Vatican documents. I know where to look.”

Collazo smiled contemptuously, “That’s impossible. They are inaccessible...How?”

This was the tricky part that was probably going to get me shot, “I-I can’t tell you how…but just know, if you shoot me, the knowledge dies with me. No one else knows about this, not even Damien.”

Veracruz smirked in my direction, “Well…it seems the secrets run deep between both of you then.”

I let out a sardonic laugh, “Damien never believed in Paititi…he said it was a wasted effort…a myth. I kept a lot from him...”

Collazo came closer but made sure to keep Veracruz positioned between us. “What are you proposing, Mya? How can I trust you after this?”

“Let me prove my loyalty. Let me lead an expedition to find the lost city for you. All I ask is that you let me do it the right way, the legal way. I just need funding…”

He didn’t seem convinced, but I was still breathing, so it wasn’t a no. I changed tactics, now playing the role of a hurt and scorned lover, “I swear, I had no knowledge of what Damien was doing. IF he comes back for me, I’ll kill him myself. He betrayed me too. I’m here because of what he did. I can’t forgive him for that.”

Collazo sighed, “If you want to do this the legal way, you know you cannot have any known ties to me…”

I had him. Death would not be taking me today, but I had to think quickly so I could talk myself out of this mess.

“I’ll figure out the logistics…Maybe I set up a donation fund through the gallery…you can donate anonymously to fund the project. I’ll give you access to whatever I find first before I report the discovery.”

This was far from how I wanted to do things, especially since I was hellbent on getting out of my life of crime, but I saw no other way forward at the moment.

Veracruz turned to Collazo, “If you’re willing to chance it, I can keep an eye on her…”

Collazo met my gaze, “Fine. One wrong move though…and you are done. You understand?”

I nodded, “Yes, I understand.”

My eyes shifted to Veracruz, who visibly relaxed, realizing the threat had passed. Collazo turned to leave and tossed him the key, “Cuida sus heridas.” (Take care of her wounds.)

He watched Collazo exit and close the door before he turned to me, leaning in close to my ear as he worked to unlock the cuffs, “I really thought I was about to have to shoot up the place to get you out of here. That was clever…how long can you keep this ruse going?”

The cuffs loosened, I groaned at the ache in my joints as I lowered my arms and leaned into him for support, “It’s not a ruse…I was telling the truth…”

My words trailed off as I sucked in a sharp breath.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

I shook my head, my breath now shaky as the pain began to overtake me, “Fuck n-no. I-I think he cracked some ribs.”

He sighed, “I’m sorry. I should have done something more…”

I winced as we began to walk, “No, I get it. It probably just would have gotten us both killed. You did what you could in the moment.”

Veracruz did have a soft spot for me, but I wasn’t a fool. He would never sacrifice himself for me. He wasn’t that selfless. He would only help so long as it didn’t put him in the crosshairs. He was an unreliable ally in the best of circumstances, and I knew that. At least he cared enough to see that I was taken care of while I recovered.

I knew I would have to watch out for myself as I plotted and planned because there were demons of deception around every corner. I could put my trust in no one, not even the one person I thought was safe. I was quickly learning they would all betray me in the end, which is why I wanted out of this life. I wanted to walk the straight and narrow again. The money was not worth death. It was getting too dangerous to continue living this way.

Six Months Later…

Frankie’s POV

I awoke with a groan, squinting toward the window to find the sun was just beginning to rise. The reason for my sudden waking, my cell phone incessantly pinging from incoming text messages on the nightstand. I didn’t even need to look to know that it was Pope. I huffed, reaching for the device to see what the hell he wanted this early in the morning.

Pope: We still on for the range today? I know we had a late night, but I’m still going.

Pope: Will and Benny are out. Apparently, Benny is feeling last night’s fight. He 100% got his ass kicked.

Pope: Which means Will is being his bitch today.

Pope: So, that leaves us. You better not stand me up, pendejo.

I rolled my eyes. Why can’t he just put all of that in one fucking message? He texts like a teenage girl.

Frankie: Chill the fuck out, pendejo. I’ll be there.

Pope: 9AM. Don’t be late.

Frankie: 🖕

Pope: 🖕🖕

I dropped the phone beside me on the bed and sighed. Without Benny and Will there, I knew Pope would start badgering me about going back for Lorea’s money. He was becoming almost obsessive over the idea. Not that I could blame him, having a little extra cash on hand would be a huge help right now. Supporting two households wasn’t easy, even if the new private security business was doing well.

I palmed at my sleepy face, trying to wake up. My eyes finally blinked open and surveyed my near empty bedroom. The bareness of the place was a constant reminder of how I had fucked everything up and ended up alone. Starting over was never fun, but this was torture knowing that my now ex-fiancé, Maria, had given me every chance and I squandered them. Now she was moving on, my young daughter now spending time with a new man in their life and calling him Papi while I fought for unsupervised visitation.

I had no one to blame but myself. I was the one who fell off the wagon and started a slow coke spiral after we got back from South America. What we had gone through, losing Tom, it was too much and we did it for nothing. We left with nothing to show for it but the body of our Captain. We got messy. I got messy. And it broke me. I should have put my foot down about how much weight that bird could carry. If I had, we might be living completely different lives right now. Tom might still be here.

I puffed air out of my cheeks before slinging the blanket off so I could go make some coffee. After padding down the short hallway of my very modest two-bedroom fixer-upper, I loaded up the coffee machine. I stood, leaning against the counter, scanning the space while the sputtering drips began to fall into the pot. I really needed to do something to make the place look less like military barracks and more like a home. Especially if I was eventually going to have my kid here. The mere thought of all the work that needed to be done made my chest feel tight. I had to shake my head to push the never-ending checklist out of my mind and focus on something else before it put me in an even worse mood.

Once my coffee was ready, I decided to sit out on the front porch swing to enjoy the calm of the morning. After getting comfortable, I let my mind run through several things that needed to be taken care of at the office. I was thinking through some budget requests while watching two squirrels chase each other around the base of an old Oak tree when movement on the street caught my attention. A blacked-out SUV crept down the road, eventually speeding up and disappearing around the corner. It put me on edge. It was too nice of a vehicle to be driving through this neighborhood.

I was probably just being paranoid, but the fear of one of Lorea’s business partner’s finding out who stole some of their money and then torched the rest was a very real concern - for me at least. The rest of the guys seemed to think we were in the clear. I wasn’t completely convinced, and it constantly had me on alert.

I sat for a while, my eyes scanning the quaint neighborhood I had chosen to settle down in, looking for anything that seemed out of place. Finding nothing, I eventually scoffed at myself, thinking that perhaps I was being ridiculous about this whole thing as I stood to go get ready to meet Pope.

A short time later, I found myself pulling into the gun range parking lot. This had become sort of a weekend routine for us. It served as an escape, allowing me to have a taste of the military life that I was so accustomed to before retiring. It was the only time I found that my mind was completely empty. There was something freeing about it, helping me to relax - most days. Today, however, was another story. I could tell from the look on Pope’s face as soon as he stepped out of his vehicle that he was cooking up some kind of plan.

He smiled as I approached, clapping me on the back in greeting, “Hey, hermano. You get enough sleep?”

I gave him a tight smile, “Could have gotten a little more if you weren’t texting me at the asscrack of dawn.”

Pope grimaced, “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to the time.”

I rolled my eyes at him, “Of course not... What did you book for us today?”

He turned to grab his duffel out of the backseat, “I got us two one-hundred-yard lanes. They only had one three-hundred open.”

I shook my head, “Figures. Alright, let’s go.”

The range was busy, for which I was thankful. It made it harder for Pope to get a word in. There was an eventual lull in the shooting, and he wasted no time in taking advantage of it. He leaned in closer, pulling one side of his earmuffs away as we worked to reload. I did the same so I could hear what he had to say.

“I think I can get us into Columbia, off the radar. I’ve got a contact…”

I held up my hand, “Stop. I don’t wanna hear it.”

I could see the frustration on his face as his jaw tensed, “Come on Fish, this could work. I’ll cover the cost again…get the documents…everything. No one knows where that money is except for us. We shouldn’t run into any problems. There wouldn’t be any contact with the cartel. It’s a quick in and out.”

After inserting a fresh magazine into the rifle and replacing my earmuff, my lips set into a tight line. I gave him a tense look before stepping to the firing line to discharge at the target. My non-answer seemed to end the conversation, for now.

I took the time to get lost in the target, giving it all my focus as I peppered it with bullet holes in and around the center. My mind was finally quiet, and I reveled in it, wishing it would stay that way for the rest of the day. I knew that was wishful thinking though. It never did.

Once that magazine was empty, I returned to the table that separated my lane from Pope’s so I could reload. He joined me, staring off in the distance, seemingly distracted by something before finally turning his attention to me and removing his right muff. I did the same as I gave him a warning with my eyes.

“How’s it going with Maria? Any headway?”

I shook my head, “Nope. If she has it her way, I’ll get zero visitation. She’s done with me…won’t listen to anything I have to say. She doesn’t believe I’ve cleaned up my act.”

Pope sighed as he gave me a sympathetic look, “Sorry, hermano. I hoped she would come around. Don’t let it get you down though. We’ve got your back. Whatever you need…”

I nodded, “Yeah, I appreciate it. I might need you guys as character witnesses if it gets to that point.”

He gave me a soft reassuring smile, “Consider it done.”

His eyes drifted again as a larger caliber rifle began to sound off from the far lane. He seemed intrigued as I raised a questioning eyebrow at him. He glanced over at me, jerking his chin upward indicating I should have a look. It didn’t take me long to figure out what had his attention, or who rather. There was a woman in the farthest three-hundred-yard lane, lying on her stomach, shooting the high caliber rifle that had ended our conversation. She was wearing army green fatigues that definitely did not fit like military issue pants as they hugged her curvy hips and ass just right. She was also wearing a black ribbed tank top, black military style boots, and a black SWAT hat pulled down low over her aviators. Her dark hair was tied back in a messy knot at the nape of her neck. I could see why she had his attention. Aside from her attractive form, this wasn’t a sight we saw here very often.

As she stood, she turned toward us. Her eyes hidden behind the dark glasses with her lips set into a tight line, giving nothing away. I glanced at Pope, who seemed smitten already. I rolled my eyes at him as I stepped back up to the firing line. Hot women were always his weakness. He would disagree, but we all knew it.

When I returned to the table, it was clear Pope was still distracted as he continued to glance her way. His eyes finally met mine. “You been out with anyone since you and Maria split?” he asked.

I gave him an admonishing look as I shook my head. I didn’t feel like that was the best idea right now. I had too much going on.

It was his turn to roll his eyes, “Not saying you need to step into anything serious, but you do need to lighten up. A one-nighter might do you some good and help with that.”

I glared at him, “I’m not doing that. It always turns into trouble.”

He snorted, “Well…maybe you should be worse at it, so they don’t come back for more.”

I could feel my cheeks warming from his words as I flashed my middle finger at him, “Fuck off.”

He jerked his chin toward the last lane as the woman got into position again, hitting the three-hundred-yard target dead center when she finally shot off a round.

“You should go ask her out.”

I scoffed, “No. I’m not…”

Pope jutted his hip out, putting his weight on one foot, “Come on… Maria’s moving on. It’s time you did too.”

I could feel my jaw flexing at the mention of that, “No. Just let it go.”

Pope chuckled, “Yeah, I don’t blame you. That looks like too much woman for you to handle anyway. She’d probably kick your ass…I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

I shook my head, giving him an exasperated look, “What the hell does that even mean?”

He gave me a mischievous smile as he shrugged, then turned toward the firing line to begin shooting again.

Fucker. I was half tempted to talk to her just to prove a point.

I suddenly felt like eyes were on me as I glanced back over at the woman. I couldn’t tell because of her glasses, but it appeared that she was looking directly at me with a small smirk on her full lips. One eyebrow raised slightly as she picked up another clip, returning to the rifle to reload it. Now I was intrigued.

By the time Pope and I finished off our last magazine, she was gone. As we walked to the parking lot, Pope was quietly berating himself for letting the opportunity pass before he asked if I thought she might be back again. I shrugged, somewhat amused over his new infatuation because I knew he would be distracted by someone else as soon as he stepped foot into the bar later this evening.

After our goodbyes, I made my way to the local auto parts store to pick up a couple of specialty tools that I needed for a restoration I was currently working on in my spare time. I had inherited my dad’s dark red 1970 Chevelle SS 454 when he passed away several years ago. We always said we would work together to fix it up, but it never happened. Instead, it sat idle in his garage for years. It did the same after I took over ownership of it, not having the time or the energy for it. Now that I was alone, I found myself with plenty of opportunities and the need to keep myself occupied. It was another one of those things that helped keep my mind distracted when I needed it most. I was actually thankful for it even though it was turning into an expensive project.

With the new tools in tow, I returned home. After making myself a quick sandwich and scarfing it down, I sequestered myself away in the dilapidated shack beside the house that was meant to serve as a garage. It quickly became my refuge, and I had zero complaints about it - even if it did have a leaky roof and shitty lighting. It got the job done and that was all that mattered.

I spent all afternoon working, attempting to keep my mind from drifting to thoughts of the large bags full of money hidden in the Andes mountains of Chile. After the cluster fuck we got into last time we were in South America, I was having a hard time reconciling the idea of going back. Pope was right, we had no reason to interact with the cartels this time. We could easily sneak in and collect the cash without anyone knowing, assuming it was still where we left it.

What we should do about the money was a constant internal battle for me. I didn’t know if I should accept Pope’s reasoning over mine. However, the fear of losing another team member acted as a grey cloud that hung over my head and kept me from going back. I couldn’t go through that again. It affected every decision I had made since we got back. I couldn’t shake it no matter how hard I tried. The risk was too high without guarantee of a reward.

While I respected Pope’s attempts, I still had to consider outside forces that we had no control over. He had all of the trust in the world for his ‘contacts,’ but I didn’t. It would only take one of them to tip off the cartel if they got wind of what we were doing. It wasn’t a risk I was willing to take. I had spent hours going through every angle, all the possible problems we could run into. All of his plans seemed too dangerous, leaving too many unknowns. He just needed to accept that as my final decision and stop trying to rope us into another one of his crazy plans.

That was my final thought on it - for today anyway.

Mya’s POV

I had been planning the expedition for six months, meticulously researching every detail. That’s how I ended up at the local gun range for the last three Saturdays, doing a little recon on the owner of the security firm I was looking to hire. Collazo offered to provide security, but I needed this to be as far removed from him as possible to protect the reputation of my Gallery and the Archaeology Preservation Foundation that I had set up to fund the dig. Veracruz would still be on site to keep an eye on things, but all other aspects of the project were up to me and that included keeping my team safe.

Delta 5 Security Solutions had been recommended to me by a number of high-profile locals. It was owned by a military veteran named Francisco Morales, who worked to keep other veterans employed. Because of this, Delta 5 Security Solutions seemed much more equipped to handle the dangers of the Peruvian jungle than other firms. Word on the street was that they even offered specialized air transport services, on occasion. I needed a couple of pilots, so they seemed to check all the boxes. It would save me from having to set up multiple contracts at least.

The more time I spent watching Francisco, the more I questioned if he was the right choice. He definitely didn’t have the brightest of personalities, often seeming frustrated and stressed when he arrived at the range - like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. I could, however, see his focus and determination as he fired at the targets. He was a good shot and exuded authority and control with his weapon. Sure, he came across as a little disheveled and scruffy, but there was something under the surface that intrigued me just enough to see where things went.

Like most Saturdays, Francisco wasn’t alone for his latest outing. He was accompanied by one of his employees, Santiago Garcia. Santiago seemed a lot more easy going and appeared to enjoy pushing Francisco’s buttons based on the serious side eye that was being thrown his way. From the intel I had gathered, these two, along with the Miller brothers, all served in the same military unit and seemed to be close friends in addition to running the security firm together. I had been watching all of them over the last several weeks to get a feel for their dynamic. I could see that they were loyal to each other and worked well together. It was almost for those reasons alone that I felt they would be a good fit. At least they understood loyalty and it left me wondering how loyal they could be to me if things took a turn.

However, I knew this all hinged on Francisco accepting the job. I had been warned that he wasn’t big on risks and wasn’t afraid to turn jobs down for that reason. He really was an enigma that I couldn’t figure out. Aside from his gruff demeanor, he seemed quiet and introspective - a reluctant leader, but the guy in charge, nonetheless. He also seemed to be having some life struggles but appeared to be on the upswing from those. I was concerned that it could serve as a distraction for him, but I still found myself wanting him and his team. I wouldn’t settle for anything less. My gut told me there was more to him than meets the eye and I wanted the opportunity to peel back those layers so I could find out who he really was as a person.

As I positioned myself on the ground to shoot the high caliber rifle that I had rented from the range, I could feel eyes on me. It probably wasn't the best choice since I hadn’t intended to draw attention to myself. There weren't a lot of women at the range, let alone any shooting a weapon like this at three-hundred yards. After hitting the target with multiple rounds, I stood, adjusting my aviators as I glanced toward the two men I was here to watch, realizing that I definitely had Santiago’s attention. Francisco gave me a brief glance before stepping up to shoot his own rifle. I had to give it to him; he didn’t allow for distractions. Santiago on the other hand, seemed to have at least one weakness. Women. I couldn’t help rolling my eyes over that realization as I packed up to leave.

After running home to shower and change into more professional attire, I headed toward my antiquities gallery to open for the day. Soon after opening, a well-dressed gentleman with dark hair and a beard entered, immediately asking to speak with the owner. The first thing I noticed were his kind eyes and submissive nature. He definitely had the tall, dark, and handsome thing going for him. Once I introduced myself, he got down to business with a polite smile.

“I apologize for showing up without an appointment, but I got a lead on this painting and wanted to follow up on it right away. I’m looking to purchase and pay cash if you have it…or can point me in the right direction.”

I returned his polite smile with one of my own, “If you can provide me with the details, I’d be happy to check our inventory for you.”

He pulled out his phone, tapping away to pull up a picture, “It's the Cazador (The Hunter), by Luis Magin…a 20th century Maya oil painting.”

I could feel my blood run cold as my body tensed. This was a missing painting listed in the National Stolen Art File. I was taken aback that this man would be asking for stolen artwork. He didn’t seem the type.

I laughed nervously, “Sir, I’m sorry…but we don’t sell stolen art. I’m not sure why you were sent here…”

He reached to pull a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and held it up, revealing Damien’s name scribbled on it. I could feel my breathing pick up as I fought to stay calm. Something felt wrong about this.

“I was told you could put me in contact with Damien Ravenwood…”

He seemed a little pushier now, like that name was supposed to magically solve the problem.

I shook my head, “I no longer associate with Damien Ravenwood…for obvious reasons. I don’t allow black market antiquities in my gallery.”

The man narrowed his eyes slightly, “My apologies. It must be a misunderstanding…”

His words trailed off as he reached inside the breast pocket of his suit jacket to pull out a business card, handing it over as he continued, “If he happens to show up…for any reason at all, please give me a call. I’d love to lock him down for a few minutes of his time.”

I glanced at the name on the card, Vincent Delacroix. It was obviously fake - a mashup of two famous painter’s names. There was nothing else on the card but a phone number. I gave him a tight-lipped smile as I waved the card in the air, “Yeah, sure. Mr. Delacroix, I’ll be sure to send him your way.”

There was something seriously off with this guy. I wasn’t sure if he was a black-market buyer or working undercover. Either way, I did not want to be in the middle of it. ‘Mr. Delacroix’ nodded and smiled before moving toward the exit. He paused halfway to the door, turning back in my direction, “I’m assuming you no longer have contact with Miguel Collazo either then? Or Persephone, by chance?

I could feel my jaw clench at the mention of Collazo and my black-market alias. I shook my head, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve had any dealings with those individuals.”

He gave me a charming smile in return, “Yeah, I thought that might be the case. Never hurts to ask...Thank you for your time, Miss Carnahan.”

He hesitated briefly, still smiling as he turned to leave. Once he finally exited the building, I let out the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding.

I was startled from my thoughts when my archivist, Emily, appeared at my side. “Who was that?” she asked.

“Honestly, I have no idea…if he shows back up, come get me. No one else talks to him. Understood?”

She nodded in agreement.

The day was certainly taking a turn that I hadn’t expected. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about as it was, it felt like something else had just been added to the list.

Chapter 2: The Divine Source

✨If you would like to be added to the tag list, feel free to shoot me a DM or leave a comment.

A/N: SURPRISE! I know I said I wouldn’t start posting until Closed Position was complete, but it’s taking me for fucking ever to finish that one and I think I’ve made you wait long enough. Since I’ve got a decent start with this lovey adventure, I’ll go ahead and start posting. 😘

Now that we’ve gotten the first chapter out of the way, what are your thoughts? How are we feeling about Mya and Frankie? We definitely started with a bang (no pun intended).

I know I teased that Veracruz would be making an appearance. It turns out…he may have a slightly bigger role than I originally planned. We need a little extra tension with Frankie and I think Veracruz will serve as an excellent plot device for that. How do we feel about him so far? 🤭

We had another special appearance too. Anyone want to take a guess on who Mya’s surprise visitor is?

In the next chapter: Mya will drop in to visit the boys, Frankie has a decision to make, Mya accidentally gets a little nerdy on Frankie, and Frankie and Veracruz cross paths. Please do share your predictions. 😏

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[storiesfromafan]

Foolish (18+) - Benny x Plus!Size Reader

A/N: first off, this didn't turn out as I hoped. But I'm alright with it. Secondly I mildly mention things ma,ing this a plus size reader, so yeah.

Dont ask where this came from, just my warped mind doing its thing, apparently...

Warning/s: cheating - reader is married, 18+, p in v, possible grammer/spelling mistakes.

It was foolish to come to the bar tonight, or any time really, just to stare at Benny longingly. How stupid you must look. A married woman, to a good man with a good office job, with a house and anything you wanted. Turning into a silly school girl mooning over the bad boy. No doubt being laughed at by the Vandals and the women around them. And yet, even with such a good husband and home, you weren’t happy.

You crossed the room quickly, bag clutched in your hands tightly, sundress fluttering at your pace. You were doing your best to hold yourself together, feeling like every sudden laugh was directed at you. Every look was condescending. Breaking through the door, the fresh air hitting your lungs, but with the current rain it had this clean scent to it. Quickly you opened your bag and looked for your keys, while taking advantage of the small cover over the doors and light from the neon lights. Once finding them, you closed your bag and darted out into the rainy night to your car.

Not even ten steps into the rainy street, did the door you’d exited from open. You could hear whoever it was curse under their breath before hearing their heavy steps following you. Of course this made you panic, moving faster down the street to the small parking lot you’d left your car in. You’d just made it to the lot when a large, rough hand grabbed your upper arm, causing you to jump.

“It’s alright, it’s only me" came Benny’s familiar voice.

You turned around, halting at the surprise and fear coursing through you. There you both stood. Hardly any light and rain coming down. But having Benny’s attention, and grip, had you standing there like a deer in headlights. Why was he here? With you and not in the bar...

“What’s the hurry?” He asked concerned. “Ya never leave so fast".

That brought you back to reality. Remembering the bar, the rowdy people, and watching Benny. Enjoying him play pool, studying his gorgeous face as he concentrated on his shot while leaning over the table. His arms holding the cue and himself in that position, which lead you to fantasising of having Benny over you. His hands grabbing or skimming over your body. How good it would feel to have those hands grabbing your thick thighs, or meaty hips. Feeling his rings against your skin from how firm a hold he would have on you.

But then the pretty little blonde swayed her hips over to him after his shot, new beer in hand which she offered to Benny. He had taken the beer with a small smile and a nod of his head. From there blondie hung around him, inserting herself into the conversation of Benny and Cal, along with touching his arms and chest. It was the moment she grasped his vest and pulled him towards her face, that you had gotten up and made your escape. Reality of how you didn’t stand a chance, or really how you shouldn’t, being married and all.

But you had longed to break free. Free from the mundane life, and free from a marriage of convince, and not entirely for love. You had settled when it came to your husband. He’s the best you can do, your mother had said, solidifying how the woman thought and felt about you. You, her curvy and thick daughter, who always did everything to win her over, but silently suffering for what you wanted. How you spent your teens dieting and exercising to be thin like all the other girls, the girls your mother wanted you to be. Breaking yourself to be who she wanted you to be, but never meeting her standards.

Then one unusual day, you met Kathy at the laundromat and a friendship formed. A real woman with sass and a functioning brain, as opposed to the married women you have had to be friends with for the sake of your husband and social status. It was at Kathy’s when you first saw Benny, he had showed up after being gone on a ride for some weeks. Their close friendship had you thinking they were a couple, but Kathy cleared that up quick smart.

From there you got to know Benny, who ended up at Kathy’s more. Then you began to go to Grand and Division, slowly getting to know the other women Kathy is close too, and their partners. But it was because of Benny you went. You enjoyed watching and talking with him. And maybe being delusional, fantasising of a world were you weren’t married and free to be with Benny.

And – again being delusional – a part of you thought Benny might want you too. From the way he would look at you from the pool table, and smile at you. Or how he would sit with you and the girls. But it was how he would grab the bottom of your chair, pull it close to him and he would talk to you, his whole focus on you. Foolish to believe, but you longed for a man like Benny Cross.

“Well?” Benny's question brought you back to the situation at hand.

“Ah...” you began, brain working frantically to come up with an answer. “I-I had to go...”

Benny loosened his hold, surprised by your answer. “Ya had to go?”

You nodded your head, feeling completely dumb right now. “Y-yeah...”

“...it wasn’t the blonde?” Benny asked softly, very unlike the uncaring and aloof man.

Stiffly you shook your head, no, though that was a lie. It had been the blonde, along with the reminder of being taken, the cool metal of your wedding ring seeming to stand out in this moment.

He sighed, removing the hand on your arm and running it through his damp locks. “Ya sure?”

You took a step back, nodding your head this time, yes. You couldn’t speak, not without outing yourself. While Benny seemed to be processing your answers, you took that as your opportunity to continue on to your car. But of course he was right behind you still.

You had just put your hand on the handle when Benny’s larger hand covered yours, stopping you, taking it in his and spinning you around to face him again. This time he was closer, almost chests touching. He kept a hold of your hand, though not tightly. The way he looked at you, his eyes a flurry of emotions, which told you the man had many thoughts running through his head.

“There’s nothin’ gonin' on between her and I" Benny stated slowly.

You shrugged. “T-that's none of m-my business, Benny...” your voice was low and shaky.

He nodded. “Yeah, but I wanted ya to know...”

You nodded. “A-alright...” there was a silence between you both, that was filled with the rain. “I-I shouldn’t have came to the bar, I-I shouldn’t come back...”

His hand tightened around yours. “Yeah, you should”.

“N-no Benny, I shouldn’t. I’m a married woman...w-who should be home waiting for or with her husband...”

He growled. “No. You should be at the bar, sweetheart...with me".

“B-Benny...” you said weakly, with a touch of warning. “D-don’t...don’t get my hopes up. I’m already foolish, but d-don't call me that...”

“What? Sweetheart?” – you nodded looking into his eyes, pleading him – “well too bad. Because that’s what I’m gonna call ya...”

Something crossed Benny’s mind, an idea, as his grip on your hand tightened before he pulled you closer. Your chests met, the cool damp fabrics meeting. And yet you could still feel his warmth radiating off him. His other hand come up, grasping the side of your neck, keeping you in place. Leaning in, Benny's noise brushed against yours, as his eyes never left yours.

“Or should I call you...baby?” He questioned, voice low and deep. It scared you, yet excited you too. “Or...mine?”

With that said, Benny crashed his lips on yours. Finally you knew what it felt like. Those full lips, though a little chapped, pressed against yours in a way that had your knees buckling. But Benny stepped forward, pressing you against your car. No where to escape, no where to run. This dance between you both coming to an end.

Pulling back Benny rest his forehead against yours, his eyes looking deeply into your own. He was looking for any sign for him to stop, but there was none. You wanted to resist, to say no and push him back. But this was what you had wanted – longed for. Lifting your hands, one gripping his t-shirt while the other moved to the back of his head. You pulled him in, while moving to capture his lips. There was no going back now. You wanted sin, you wanted Benny.

You don’t know when or how, but Benny had gotten your keys. He unlocked the doors, before ushering you into the back seat. Only seconds after you did he get in beside you, door closing behind him. You looked at each other, silent, as the rain hit your car. Benny reach out his left hand, taking your right one in his. Tenderly he run his thumb over the back of your hand. A way to sooth you, as you must look a fright.

He was then tugging it, pulling your joined hands to him. A silent way to tell you to come closer, and you did. You leant over him, lips meeting his yet again. It was a hard kiss, a little rushed, as Benny opened his mouth, with you following. His tongue darted in, finding yours and caressing it with confidence and urgency. You of course did your best to return his kiss. Your free hand moving to his chest, stabilising yourself.

But Benny had other ideas. Without breaking the kiss, he freed his hand, and both moved to your hips. Sliding down your thighs, only to gather the skirt of your dress. The moment his warm hands touched the skin of your thighs you sighed. Taking that as a good sign, Benny moved one of your legs up and over to rest on the seat next to his thigh. Now you were straddling him, while his hands resting against the skin of your thighs.

“Fuck” he groaned pulling back from the kiss. “I’ve been dreamin' about somethin' like this since the first time I saw ya...”

Benny’s grip tightened on your thighs, only cementing the words he had just said. As well as going on to tell you more. How he wanted to keep his distance when hearing you were married, how he really tried too. But there was something about you that he couldn’t stay away from. How he had thought about you in such dirty and sinful ways. How he wanted to take you away from it all, both of you taking to the open road.

“What do ya say, baby?” He asked with baited breath. “Run away with me?”

You looked at Benny, into his eyes. Only seeing the question he just asked you, and the want, and adoration you have always wanted. The man before you, wanted you, all of you. Knowing words would fail you, you crashed your lips onto Benny’s once more. Putting all your wanting of him and a life with him into the kiss. And your answer yes.

His hands moved to your hips, with a tight hold, Benny pulled your covered sex down onto him. The friction feeling so good, that you did again, pushing yourself down on him as the kiss between you deepened in sloppy lips and tongues. Over and over you rubbed yourself down on him, his manhood hardening and becoming obvious as you rubbed once more. That was when Benny held you down, pressing you both together. The once rushed kiss slowing down till it was just tongues moving together, feeling the other. What was once hard and rushed, turned slow and tender. Not something you imagined Benny to do.

As you both pulled apart, the need for air, Benny brought a hand up to cup your cheek. Those stormy blues of yours looking deeply into your (colour) eyes. Searching for any doubt or uncertainty. Because what was to happen next was crossing a greater line then kissing and dry humping. It meant fully cheating on your husband. An act you couldn’t come back from.

“Do you want this, baby?” Benny asked lowly, making his voice even more delicious to your ears.

You nodded your head.

“I gotta hear ya say it...” he almost pleaded. Itching to pull you back in for another kiss, while letting his hands feel you some more.

You took a deep breath, in an attempt to calm your pounding heart. “I-I want this...I want you. I-I want to feel wanted...and needed...”

That was it. That was all he needed to hear. Benny pulled you back in for another searing kiss. Putting everything into this kiss. His want and need for you. The devotion he would gladly give you. It had his everything in it. While his hand left your face, back to joining its partner under the skirt of your dress and on your hips. The way his hands held on firmly to your meaty hips. As if you’d slip away if he held you any lighter. You began to rock against his hardness, which desperately wanted to be free from his jeans.

Feeling bold, you moved a hand down between you both and popped the button on Benny’s jeans. That seemed to wake him up from the daze of your kiss. For Benny moved a hand down to the fly of his jeans, and pulled down the zipped. He sighed against your lips from the small relief opening his jeans got him. With a fumble of hands, and rearranging yourself and your clothes, Benny finally freed himself. While you moved your panties to the side and adjusting so the head of his cock slid between your folds.

The moment he brushed against your bundle of nerves, a soft moan left your lips, hands moving to Benny’s shoulders. The man below you held his length and continued to slid the head up and down, between your folds. Gathering your slick before focusing on nudging your clit. Laying your forehead on Benny’s shoulder, you continued to make small noises of approval, everything he was doing felt too good to be true.

Finally Benny lined himself at your entrance, which you then began to lower yourself on to him. Inch by inch entered you, the feeling different as Benny was larger then your husband. The moment he was completely in, you took a moment to adjust to his size. You moved to look at Benny, who leant in and captured your lips in another kiss. Slowly you started to rock back and forth, enjoying the friction as well as kissing the man before you.

The moment he pulled back with a soft groan, Benny’s hands holding on for dear life, as he made to lift you did you get the message. He wanted you to move. With a little uncertainty you lifted yourself till just the tip was inside, and then lowered yourself. You continued to do this, unsure but moving around till finding the best position. From there you gained confidence, along with the soft sounds coming from Benny spurring you on. You could tick sex in the backseat of a car off your list now.

The way Benny’s cock felt as you moved along him, his hands helping to guide you at times, but most holding on to ground himself. It was intense and heated. Gradually you picked up the pace, head resting on Benny’s shoulder every now and then while you moaned. Benny of course muttered fuck every so often. The feel of you, and how well you were taking him was driving him crazy. He just wanted to move you around so he could take you harder and faster, but having you ride him like this – in a mix of emotion and urgency – was just so good.

But after a moment were you clenched around him, a sweet sputtered moan coming from your lips, something in Benny snapped. Holding onto you he thursted up, as you were coming down on him. Over and over he did this, needing more of you, needing you to feel so good. It got to the point where Benny was doing more work, thrusting up while you held onto him. A moaning mess from just how deeper he was going.

“B-Benny" you moaned in his ear. Which he replied with a groan.

You feel yourself getting closer to your release. The coil in your lower stomach tightening that you found yourself moaning more. With a few more deep thrusts, and Benny’s words telling you to come for him, the coil snapped. Your walls clenched around his cock, face buried in his shoulder as you came moaning Benny’s name. With a few more long, sloppy thrusts Benny finally reached his own release. Pulling you down onto him hard, and holding you there as he came inside you.

There you both rested, you clutching his shoulders and resting your head there too. Benny leaning his head back against the seat. The only noise was your laboured breathes and the rain outside hitting the car. A moment of pure peace and satisfaction. If only it could have lasted, that bubble in your car. But like a pin hitting the fragile surface, reality came back with a pop. And with it the realisation of the situation you were in, or rather sitting on.

You moved back, holding onto Benny’s shoulders as you lifted yourself off him. His softening cock slipping from inside you. Ungracefully you moved back to the spot you had been on when getting into the car, while adjusting your panties back to cover yourself and pulling your dress down. Almost like nothing had happened, but the feeling of Benny’s seed slowly running out of you was a solid reminder. Benny had been disappointed that you had removed him, and moved away from him. But he took the opportunity to put himself away, and fasten up his jeans.

Looking to each other, still staying silent. Benny could see a change in you, like your mind was running wild with thoughts. Reaching his hand over, he grasped your hand tightly, hoping to bring you back to him. And it did, the gesture grounding you and your mind. The breath you had been holding slipped from your lips.

“Ya alright, baby?” Benny asked breaking the silence, but kept his voice airy.

Slowly you nodded. “Yeah...”

“Ya sure?” the familiar words coming from the man before you, making it feel like a life time ago before getting into the backseat.

Again you nodded. “I-I think so...”

He frowned. “Ya don’t sound so sure".

And you weren’t. How could you tell this beautiful man that you felt a little guilty. Not that you regretted this moment, but that you might not be able to continue from here on out? You were married. Benny wasn’t, if he ever would. Could you really leave a secure life for one that wasn’t guaranteed? Then you felt Benny’s thumb soothingly caressing the back of your hand. And when you looked at him again, you could see in those stormy blues concern and worry.

“Talk to me...” he said softly, scared to be too loud.

You sighed, feeling tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “I-I...I don’t know, I’m not sure, I can do this...”

Every word felt like sand in your mouth. Throat dry and rough. This sinking feeling within you. Admitting them out loud felt wrong, but you had to say it. Benny looked to you with no anger, just a pleading look, like a puppy.

“I-is this the right thing...” you looked down at your joined hands. “W-will this last...”

Benny used your joined hands to pull you to him, taking you into his arms. The smell and warmth of his body comforting and like home. You buried your face in his chest. Benny ran a hand up and down your back to sooth you.

“It’s a risk ya have to take...” he paused for a moment, choosing his next words wisely. “If ya choose me, I will do anythin' to make ya happy...happier then you are now".

You believed his words. Even if you know there would be times, you’d have to take the backseat, but Benny would care for you like no other. Pulling back you looked up at him. Benny looked down at you with hopeful eyes. Hopeful you’d choose him. You leant up and placed a soft kiss to his kiss swollen lips.

“I choose you...” you said softly, scared to break the peace surrounding you, yet you were confident.

The warmest, brightest smile crossed Benny’s lips, and reached his beautiful eyes. And that was almost enough to risk all the hate you are going to get. But with Benny by your side, you could survive anything...

[ma1dita]

asking for trouble

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

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

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

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

Almost lights out.

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

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

“Are you really not coming with us tomorrow?”

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

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

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

You know that too.

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

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

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

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

“Who’s to say? Getting old and aging out of here is harder than you think, you know… College, rent, taxes…” you list off with every squeeze of the piping bag, spelling out Percy’s name with white frosting. Clarisse bites her lip, resting her chin against the palm of her hand as she watches you. When she closes her eyes at night, she often dreams of being home in Arizona, dry heat prickling at her cheeks and dust swirling at her ankles. That’s what her future will look like, she thinks—-and she’ll let herself be selfish if it means she gets what she wants. What do you dream of? Do you think about a future for yourself if you’re so worried about saving everyone else’s?

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

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

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

She’ll never tell you this, but you’re the strongest person she knows. You’ve shown her that strength doesn’t always mean brain or brawn. Sometimes strength is loving someone without expecting anything in return, and the gnawing feeling in her stomach eats at her in an unsatisfying way—like Tantalus reaching for the grapevine, fingertips grazing the leaves for eternity. Instead, Clarisse wipes down the counter with a Clorox wipe as you make your way towards the door, cake in hand. Tonight, she and her siblings will sleep with the knowledge that they’ll get to see another day. Call her selfish, sure—but that’s how she loves them. Alive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tomorrow, they’ll wake up soldiers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It all boils down to him or Luke.

“Wipe your face, Seaweed Brain!”

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

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

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

“We’re getting old, man.”

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

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

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

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

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

Worst of all, he’s utterly devoted to you. At least every part of you that you were willing to give him, even if it wasn’t allof you per se. Plus, you saw the ring in his desk drawer last week. It was too…good to be true. You recognize that this was your way out like Clarisse said, your escape from the turbulence that was your life as a demigod. But it was hard to believe that you were deserving of it. He’d never know of the ichor that runs through your veins, and the life you’d have to leave behind to truly be with him. You suppose every love you’ve ever had was sacrificial. You just wonder if because of that, easy makes it hard to feel real.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For good luck, you think. 

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

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

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

Oh, he wonders.

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

“Maybe. Good night, honey.”

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

Normal might be quite nice.

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

“I do. Me too. Good night.”

It’s the truth. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Better late than never.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“HEY 12! You coming, or what?”

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

“And if you’re not? Then what?”

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

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

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

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

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

Why is it that you can only be proud of someone if there’s something to prove it? You think about all 40 of your campers fighting for their lives in the greatest city in the world. The sound of hellfire, roaring monsters, and screams that could only come from your kids. Fatigue wears you down with each swipe of magic towards enemy forces, monsters writhing in pain at your feet, demigods reduced to insanity and blood-curdling screams. It disgusts you even more so that no one can witness the weapon you've been forced to become. After all, no one knows any of you were there. Life continues on outside of the bubble containing the Battle of Manhattan. And only the ones fighting will be able to remember this. Only you will remember the blood you spilled to wrestle for your destiny.

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

[august 18th; empire state building, manhattan, new york mount olympus, in the sky above new york??? — 5:22 pm]

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

“Ugh!”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not gonna…leave you…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[august 18th; the hall of gods, mount olympus, the sky above new york— 6:48 pm]

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

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

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

Fuck, what do you even say? 

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

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

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

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

Loving you was the only thing that never changed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This part is just about letting him go.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re my whole life, Trouble.”

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

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

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

It was always yours, anyway. 

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

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

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

You’ve never seen him so still before. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he remembers.  

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

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

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

“Good. You’re still breathing. Wasn’t sure for a sec.” A voice yells out your name and you make a run for it, barefoot and giggling and looking back at him every few steps—his breath catches in his throat again like how it did on the first day you both met.

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

“I dare you.”

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

“What’s one last hurrah?”

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

“I double-dog dare you, Castellan.”

He jumps in.

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

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

“Hey wait up!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I’ll keep Castellan in line.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luke blinks. 

You’re in your college apartment.

He blinks again.

His childhood bedroom.

Again, please.

In Cabin 12.

Please, just one last time.

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

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

_ 

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

[pwblant]

24. the end

it’s the next day. yesterday, you were terrified to open your phone, dreading the harsh reality you expected from the fans. the whole time, you couldn’t shake off the terrible thoughts about the future of the café, but you tried to keep your cool. you spent the night at wonbin’s place, and he kept you company, constantly reassuring you that everything would be okay. but if things went wrong, then what? what happens next?

while eating breakfast, you glance at wonbin, who’s sitting next to you, and finally ask the question that’s been weighing on your mind. “bin, your company would force us to break up if they don’t approve of me, right?”

he barely hesitates. “y/n,” he says firmly, looking at you. “we’ve already talked about this before. stop thinking about it because it’s not going to happen.” then, as if to emphasize his point, he pulls the hair tie off his wrist and gathers your messy hair into a ponytail.

“whatever happens, we. are. not. breaking. up. i wont let it happen.” his voice is steady, full of determination.

the room goes silent for a few seconds until you reach over to pick up your phone on the counter.

“this is killing me,” you let out a shaky breath. “i’m going to check twitter.”

wonbin exhales deeply. “alright, but remember y/n, i’m always going to be here by your side no matter what the result is. i’m really just hoping for the best at this point.”

with a lump in your throat, you open the app, expecting to see nothing but harsh words. except… they aren’t there. instead, you’re met with an overwhelming amount of kindness.

your hand flies up to cover your mouth. “oh.”

wonbin immediately tenses. “what? what’s happening? is it bad?” his voice laced with concern.

shaking your head, you stand up, barely able to contain your excitement. before you know it, you’re throwing your arms around him. “i’m so happy, i’m so happy.” your words come out muffled against his shoulder.

he lets out a breath of relief, hugging you tighter. “so i’m guessing it’s good?”

you pull back just enough to look at him, eyes shining. “there’s still a few bad ones, but i saw so many positive responses. does this mean….”

he studies your face, smiling as he wipes away the stray tears that escaped your shiny eyes. then, as if he can’t help himself, he leans in, closing the space between you. his lips brush softly against yours—gentle, but full of relief and love. warmth spreads through your chest, and you smile into the kiss, your heart melting.

this is it. no more hiding. no more fear. it’s just the two of you, together, just as you should be.

when you pull away, he rests his forehead against yours, a breathy chuckle escaping him. “yes. yes it does mean what you think it does. i’m so excited,” he murmurs, his thumb grazing your cheek.

his eyes soften as he cups your face. “we don’t have to hide anymore. i can hold your hand in public, take you on dates, and post you without worrying about what people will say.” he pauses, his lips curling into a small grin. “rrr y/n. i’m glad you’re stuck with me now. i’m never letting you go.”

you roll your eyes, but your heart flutters all the same. “i wouldn’t want to be stuck with any other black cat anyway.” with a smirk, you pinch his cheek in return.

masterlist | previous

TAGLIST : CLOSED

@binoyu @sqh3e @antosaurius @yoursyuno @jvngw0nlvr @dorritoni @dudekiss3r @tadadw @choc0br3ad @kukkurookkoo @haobubbles @aruzhananas @holyhaech

a/n : aaaand this marks the end of Can’t Get You! thank you to everyone who came to support this fic and i’m looking forward to create even more things for you guys to read in the future. it’s kind of sad that it finally came to an end, but i hope that everyone enjoyed it like how i enjoyed making it🫧 boynextdoor fics next?? jkjk, unless…. 👀

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (25)

Aemond, Arianwyn, and Queen Alicent race to find Brynna.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)

Warnings: descriptions of traumatic injuries

Author's Note: There's an alternate version of the header at the end. I love it, but it's far too unserious to actually use.

Series Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Arianwyn had never craved violence. When she tackled Rhaena all those years ago, all she wanted was to save Aemond. When she stabbed Daemon only the night before, it had been in a desperate attempt to save her own life. But now, as she frantically ran through the halls of the Red Keep in an ill-fitting dress borrowed from the Queen, with a fur stole covering her neck, she wanted nothing more than to feel her father’s blood running through her fingers.

If he had done anything to hurt Brynna, she… she did not know what she would do. Claw at his face, perhaps. Or rip every hair from his head. Gouge out his eyes. Take his sword and cut him in two, as he had done to Vaemond Velaryon. Command Emrys, the dragon he had once tried to keep from her, to burn him alive.

Or maybe she would simply unleash Aemond upon him.

From the murderous glint in her husband’s eye and the hard set of his jaw, she knew that was the cruelest thing she could do. He would make him suffer for what he had done to her. By the time Daemon finally breathed his last, perhaps some tiny modicum of justice would have been served.

Arianwyn was torn from her fantasy of revenge when she rounded a corner and nearly slammed into Aemond’s back. She could not see why he had stopped, only that his hand was on the hilt of his sword, ready to defend his new wife.

The four Bronze Guard that had followed them from their chambers drew their blades, two moving forward to flank Aemond.

“Stand down. All of you,” Alicent commanded, laying a soothing hand on Aemond’s shoulder as she stepped around him.

Though Aemond did not release his weapon, he did step aside, allowing Arianwyn to see Larys Strong standing before them.

Leaning heavily on his cane, the clubfooted Lord of Harrenhal looked over the harried group with a grimace. Though his face was set in pity and sadness, it did not reach his eyes. “I am afraid your presence is urgently required in the Great Hall, Your Grace. Prince Daemon claims he has been attacked and is demanding a trial immediately.”

“A trial?” Arianwyn asked, trapped somewhere between fear and hope. A trial meant that his attacker was alive, for a corpse could not face judgment.

Larys’ dull eyes locked onto her face. “He has brought the accused – your long-serving maid, Brynna Taler – before the Hand and the Small Council. The guards are presently attempting to disperse the crowd his… theatrics have attracted.”

“Has he hurt her?” she asked, unable to keep her voice from breaking with terror.

Flicking his eyes to Aemond and the sword on the prince’s hip, Larys replied with careful diction, “Not fatally, my Lady.”

But the words offered no comfort. That Daemon had laid even a finger upon her was enough to set her tears flowing and a sob ripping from her wounded throat.

That single cry was more than enough for Aemond. He growled, drawing his blade as he pushed past the Lord Confessor. Alicent followed him, shouting futilely for him to remain calm, with Aria not far behind.

Aemond could hardly see the path in front of him for the bloodlust surging through his veins. The fearful stares of courtiers and servants alike as he stalked through the halls of the keep were as inconsequential to him as rats in the gutter.

However, the words they whispered as they approached the Throne Room echoed through his mind.

“Do you think he did it?”

“Of course not! He has only done what we have always expected.”

“It’s only that she’s been on Dragonstone that it hasn’t happened sooner.”

“That is precisely what I mean! He’s been stewing in anger for all these years.”

“Perhaps since he could not have Prince Lucerys’ eye, he took her instead.”

“She may have loved him once, but that was when they were young, and he had no scar.”

“Would you want that sharing your bed?”

“Gods, just look at him. Not even Maegor looked such a villain.”

“He did it. Of that, I have no doubt.”

Aemond would not react. He would not give them that satisfaction.

He knew what he looked like. They had been so rushed to find Brynna that he’d only thrown on his trousers and loose tunic from the day before, leaving his hair untied and his eye – his scar – bared for all to see. He was disheveled, to say the least. And with his scar on display and his sword drawn…

Several ladies looked away in horror, and Aemond knew why – he appeared every bit the monster they all thought him to be.

A flash of Aria’s soft smile when she looked upon his marred face for the first time crossed his vision. You are gorgeous, Aemond. So painfully gorgeous that I cannot stand it.

Yet he could not help but grip his sword tighter, until the skin of his knuckles ached with the effort. He could not stop his scar from burning or the skin surrounding it from twitching. Nor could he stop his stomach from roiling, for despite Aria’s ardent insistence in his continued beauty, he knew that the whispers were true.

To all but his wife, he was hideous – nothing more than a villain and monster.

His despair only deepened when he approached the Great Hall and heard Daemon’s voice carrying beyond the heavily guarded doors and throughout the corridors for all those gathered nearby pretending not to be eavesdropping to hear.

“Arianwyn was distraught,” he boomed, voice wavering with fabricated despair. “It is no wonder why. From the moment we arrived, Prince Aemond never once relented in trying to molest her before our very eyes – ”

Whatever he said next was drowned out by the startled murmurings of the crowd as the One-Eyed Prince, the aspiring molester himself, stormed through their ranks to the still-closed doors, Daemon’s ‘distraught’ daughter close behind. With the steel of his drawn blade flashing in the morning light, they parted for him like stalks of wheat to a raging bull.

Aemond did not wait for the stewards or guards to open the doors, pulling them open himself without a care for their monstrous weight nor their thunderous sound as they again shut behind his wife, mother, and the two Bronze Guard that had followed them in.

The Hand stood before the Iron Throne, the other members of the Small Council and Septon Eustace just below the steps. Rhaenyra and her firstborn bastard stood to the right of the Throne, haughty and presumptuous as ever. A smattering of men from the Kingsguard and various household guards were scattered throughout the hall, eyes darting between each member of the royal family.

Curiously, Helaena was also present. Not truly paying attention, simply standing beneath the column bearing the likeness of Aegon the Conqueror. She gazed out the Eastern windows and watched the rising sun, nothing in her serene face to indicate that she was at all listening to what happened around her.

And Daemon.

Cruel Daemon. Hateful Daemon. Villainous Daemon.

Daemon, who had abandoned Aria before she was even born. Who ignored her for a decade while she had to wonder why she was unworthy of his attention and love. Who had broken her heart the very first time she met him by laughing at her at that damned funeral and saying whatever it was he’d said to her afterward to make her grow up in the span of only a few hours.

Daemon, who had torn them apart when Aemond needed her most. Who had confined her to that horrible island and locked her in that tower. Who had threatened to kill her simply for reuniting with Aemond. Who had nearly followed through on that threat only hours ago, when his hands had left bruises on Aria’s neck.

Daemon, whom Aemond swore he would kill, stood halfway between the dais and the doors, no doubt so his raised voice would carry to the gossipmongers.

Before he could continue his tale, however, the bastard Jacaerys burst from his place by his mother’s side, drawing his own sword and pointing it toward Aemond’s chest.

“Release my sister!” he demanded, despite the fact that Aemond was plainly not holding her hostage.

“I am not your sister!” Aria yelled back.

Aemond said nothing. However, he allowed himself a proud smirk as he raised his own blade in reply.

How dare Jacaerys call her ‘sister?’ What little blood they shared was thin and tainted by his bastard birth. Perhaps if he had been more than Aegon’s boorish toady in their youth or been kinder to Aria on Dragonstone, Aemond would not now be so eager for this fight.

Tilting his head in a silent dare for Jacaerys to make the first move, Aemond could not help but wonder whether the Curse of the Kinslayer applied to bastard nephews.

“Brynna!”

Arianwyn abandoned all her fears and good senses the moment she saw her beloved maid kneeling at the dais steps, pushing past the queen and Aemond. He had reached his offhand out to stop her, but she brushed it aside.

“Take my hand, Arianwyn,” Jace whispered as she passed him.

She did not give him the courtesy of a reply or even a glance at his pleading face.

Daemon glared as she approached, but she did not face him either.

At the base of the Iron Throne, she tripped over the too-long skirts of Alicent’s dress, falling to her knees. She cried without cease as she took in the woman’s wretched state. “Brynna, I’m so sorry.”

A large purple bruise covered most of her face, from her split brow to her bleeding lip. Her nose was broken, still marked with a dried river of blood.

But the worst of it was her hands. Her lithe, nimble hands that had crafted some of the finest dresses in the history of the Seven Kingdoms – including the dress that had become Arianwyn’s wedding gown.

Shattered.

Each finger bent and twisted like the gnarled roots of an ancient tree. The skin was so red and bruised that Arianwyn could hardly see the countless cuts marking where she had been struck over and over and over again.

Arianwyn knew that while it was not by her own hand, she had done this. By angering her father, by stabbing him. The moment she married Aemond, she made everyone she loved a target for Daemon’s wrath, and he wasted no time claiming his first victim.

“Oh, gods!” She cried, dropping her head to Brynna’s lap as she had not done in years. But she did not care that she was too old to cling to her maid. She just needed her close. As close as possible. “This is all my fault! I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…”

Brynna shushed her, but her sobs soon joined Arianwyn’s. She attempted to wrap her arms around her young charge, only getting so far as to rest her forearms on her shoulders.

“It is not your fault,” Brynna whispered, voice hoarse and broken.

Arianwyn did not believe her.

She would beg and beg for forgiveness until her voice gave out. Until her knees bled from kneeling, and her eyes were dry of tears. She would beg until the Mother herself appeared to offer her mercy or until the Stranger took her away – though to the heavens or the hells, she did not know.

Aemond looked from his wife to Daemon and raised his sword level with the villain’s heart as he strode past Jacaerys. The bastard moved to stop him but was pulled back by his mother.

It was Daemon who had done this. He had hurt his wife’s greatest friend. He had made Aria cry. And he would pay for it.

But Daemon paid him no attention. Rather, he sighed and, with an expression of relief to rival the worst mummers in King’s Landing, took a single step toward his daughter. “Aria!” he cried, “How relieved I am to see you unharmed!”

Aria lifted her head from Brynna’s lap to stare at her father, her mouth dropping open as her brows scrunched. Another tear fell down her flushed cheek, and Aemond’s rage burst into a wildfire within him, lashes of hot pain licking at his scar.

She had been harmed, and he was the one who had done it.

“Stay away from my wife,” Aemond growled, circling his new father-by-law until he stood protectively between him and Aria. He could feel his anger hot on his breath and could swear he heard Vhagar roaring in the distance.

“Was it not enough for you to steal my dear Laena’s dragon?” Daemon asked, brow crumpled with false heartache and a voice loud enough to carry beyond the doors. “Now, you must take my firstborn, as well?”

“I have stolen nothing,” Aemond hissed, angling the point of his sword to Daemon’s neck. All it would take was one motion, one cut, and the Rogue Prince would never harm Aria again. “Can you say the same, uncle?”

“Put down your swords!” Otto bellowed from the throne. “There will be no more blood spilled in this hall!”

‘Swords?’ Who – ah. A quick glance revealed that Ser Warren and a man in bronze Aemond had never met stood behind him, scowling while sheathing their swords. But Aemond did not move, save for a twitch of the muscle in his jaw.

Gods, his scar was blazing. It had not hurt like this since the night it was given to him.

“Despite that pin on your breast, Otto, you have no right to rule in this. It is a family matter,” Daemon spat, dropping his besieged father act.

Otto did not yield an inch, speaking with all the authority of the Iron Throne. “Indeed. Concerning my grandson and his new wife. And seeing as how, in his absence, I speak with the voice of the King – your brother and Prince Aemond’s father –I have every right to rule on this family matter. Don’t you agree, Lord Wylde?”

The Master of Laws startled when his name was called, but he quickly collected himself and answered, “Yes, my Lord Hand.”

The only hint of Otto’s smugness was the nearly imperceptible twitch of a smile on his lips. “With that matter settled, we can begin. Prince Aemond, I will not repeat myself again. Put. Down. Your. Sword.”

Against all instinct and every nerve in his body, Aemond obeyed. Though he did not sheath the blade nor move away from his wife.

Arianwyn’s tears began anew when Brynna nudged her shoulders, pushing away from her. Was she angry for causing Daemon to hurt her? Or had she inadvertently agitated the wounds he gave her?

Brynna shushed her before she could give voice to either question, her hands coming to cup Arianwyn’s cheeks before she pulled away. “Oh, my Aria. You mustn’t cry. Not now. Not for me.”

“But it’s my fault,” Arianwyn whined.

“No!” Again, she moved to cradle her lady’s head, and again, she pulled back. “It is Daemon’s fault and his alone.”

“But–”

“Hush!” She glanced at the two Bronze Guard who flanked Aemond as they sheathed their swords, then over Arianwyn’s shoulder. “You must be strong now. Can you do that? For me?”

Arianwyn ducked her chin and shook her head, and Brynna finally took hold of her, forcing her eyes to meet hers. Against the purple of her bruises, her brown eyes appeared nearly black. “Start with standing, eh? Come, we’ll both do it. We can help each other.”

Careful to mind the wounds on Brynna’s hands, Arianwyn grasped her elbows as she fought her shaking legs to steady and rise.

She stumbled, and Brynna caught her.

Then Brynna stumbled, and Arianwyn caught her.

They at last found their footing just as Aemond lowered, but did not sheathe, his sword.

The Hand sighed, gesturing to Brynna. “Grand Maester, for the love of the gods, will you please tend to this poor woman?”

Daemon seethed. “That ‘poor woman’ has attacked a Prince of the Realm!”

“I have not!” Brynna shouted.

“She did not!” Arianwyn yelled with such a cold fury that she was sure she bore icy claws. Emrys’ howling echoed through her mind as she pulled away from her maid, only enough to allow Orwyle the access he needed to assess her wounds.

Orwyle examined Brynna quickly, then looked back to Arianwyn and gave a slight, reassuring smile. The same he had given her when he declared that Aemond would survive the loss of his eye.But her heart was hollow, and she could not return the gesture.

Brynna would not recover if she were soon executed.

Once satisfied that Brynna’s wounds were being tended to, Otto lowered himself upon the Iron Throne. “Prince Daemon,” he said, “If you are quite finished with your performance, the Crown will now hear your accusation.”

Daemon bit the inside of his cheek, scowling before he once again painted his face with fatherly concern. “After our family meal last night, I went to check in on Aria. She had been so upset when she left, after seeing her dear brother attacked by none other than the man who had treated her with such vulgarity all evening.”

Arianwyn looked to Aemond, begging with wet eyes for him to speak in his defense. But he only glared at Daemon, hatred painted on every inch of his face. Hatred so bright that, for a moment, it seemed a flame danced within his sapphire.

Unchallenged, Daemon continued. “When I reached her rooms, this woman,” he pointed at Brynna as he spoke, drawing attention to her, “was at the door. She would not allow me entry to my own daughter’s chambers.

“First, she told me that Aria was unwell. Then, that she was asleep. When she had run out of excuses, I demanded she stand aside to let me through. But she would not. So, I went to push past her. That is when she took her shears and did this.” He tossed the bloodstained iron shears to the floor and tore off the linen wrapping around his right hand before raising it above his head for all to see.

The comforting thought of spilling his uncle’s blood was the only thing distracting Aemond from the pain searing through his very skull. Until he revealed his wound, and then his heart flooded with dark pride.

A large gash was visible in the space between his thumb and forefinger. As Daemon turned to present his hand to those behind him, Aemond was gratified to see the wound was wide enough for sunlight to shine through the hole. When this was over, he would have to congratulate his wife on a job well done.

“I, of course, was able to subdue her even with the wound, and she quickly revealed the sinister scheme.” Daemon grinned at Aemond as he went on, “The prince here paid her quite handsomely to sneak him into our guest quarters, that he might steal her away for his own. He forced Septon Eustace to wed them. And then, I imagine, he raped her so the marriage could not be dissolved on account of a failed consummation.”

“Lies,” Aemond hissed. But Daemon’s eyes were not on him but on his grandsire.

“An interesting story, my prince,” Otto said, not a hint of emotion in his voice. “Though I am afraid I find myself with several questions regarding its details.”

Daemon scowled, unable to hide his disdain for the man. “And what, pray tell, are your questions?”

“I think we should start at the beginning, don’t you? With Prince Aemond’s behavior at dinner.” Otto raised an eyebrow, the only hint of his confidence. “You see, my prince, I was seated closer to him and Arianwyn than you were, and yet I saw no such evidence of molestation, attempted or otherwise.”

When Daemon opened his mouth to counter him, the Hand continued, “Though I may be mistaken. Perhaps we should ask the Princess Helaena, who was herself seated at Arianwyn’s side, what she saw?”

Daemon scowled but did not object.

“My sweet girl,” Alicent said from where she now stood with her daughter. “can you tell us what you saw between Aemond and Arianwyn at dinner last night?”

Helaena, emerging from her haze, glanced between her brother and his wife. “I saw love, gentle and true. As it has always been.” The princess smiled proudly for a moment, but it faded as a shadow passed over her eyes. “Shattered glass,” she murmured, “Silver shards sharper than a broken blade.”

Not even Daemon had a clever answer for the seemingly meaningless words.

In the silence that followed Helaena’s declaration, Arianwyn looked closely at her cousin as the fog cleared from her lilac eyes. At the dinner, she had said something about a cloak – a white cloak – in the moonlight. Had she somehow known?

Otto gave a soft thanks to his granddaughter, who then turned and simply left the Throne Room, before turning back to his rival. “But these are the small details of your tale, Prince Daemon. Indeed, they may be crucial to its veracity, but whether or not a lady was molested can be quite easily mistaken by even the most perceptive among us.”

Lord Wylde failed to conceal his chuckle.

“Let us focus instead on the larger picture,” Otto said. “For that, it seems we are missing the most important testimony. Lady Arianwyn?” He tipped his chin to her, and she was surprised to find reassurance in the gesture. “Please tell us what happened – but speak only the truth.”

The words echoed those that she heard once before, long ago, and brought Arianwyn back to the Throne Room on Driftmark. She was kneeling at Aemond’s side, pressing kisses to his trembling hand only moments after his eye was taken. She could feel Rhaena’s nails scratching her skin, the heat of Aemond’s fresh blood flowing through her fingers, and her aching chest wheezing for breath. She was drowning in desperation as she begged the king to believe her tale.

How had it come to this again?

“Aemond has done nothing untoward,” she declared, though her voice wavered. “Nor has Brynna. But the prince and I are indeed wed, and our union has been consummated – willingly.” She took a moment to steady herself and stepped towards Aemond, lacing her fingers through his. He startled at the touch, for she had approached him from the left. But he relaxed only a heartbeat later, finally sheathing his sword.

“Septon Eustace can attest to the veracity of the marriage,” she said, looking only at her husband. “My household guard, Grand Maester Orwyle, and Ser Criston Cole all bore witness. Orwyle is welcome to inspect our bedchamber to confirm the consummation.”

When Daemon scoffed, Otto held up a hand to silence him. The prince looked for a moment as though he might argue, but he was pulled back by his wife taking his hand. Rhaenyra gave him a stern look, whispered something in his ear, and he stilled.

“My dear, why wed in such haste? And in near complete secrecy?” Otto asked.

Arianwyn considered her words carefully. She knew Otto wanted her to tell the court everything – but he could not possibly know what he was asking.

With Brynna hurt and her marriage so publicly questioned, she dared not invoke more of Daemon’s wrath. Someday, he would pay for his crimes. But today, all Arianwyn wanted was to free her maid and remain by her husband’s side.

Vengence could come later.

“Aemond and I have been in love these many long years, even when separated,” she said. The truth, even if she had only just learned it. “We did not want to wait any longer for our families to negotiate a marriage contract or allow them to promise us to anyone else.”

That was a lie. But judging by the faces of the Small Council, it was at least a good one.

“I apologize for any pain our impatience has caused,” Arianwyn continued, inclining her head toward Alicent. “We have deprived our family of seeing us wed and all the celebration that comes with it. We married out of love, my Lord Hand. There is no more to say than that.”

The Hand again smiled at her, “Thank you, Arianwyn.”

She began to curtsy, but Aemond held her still. “You are wife to a prince,” he murmured, “You need not bow to him anymore.”

“Eustace,” Otto said, facing the man, “You performed the marriage?”

The Septon nodded. “I did, my Lord Hand.”

“And did the Lady Arianwyn show any reticence during the ceremony? Did she appear nervous or afraid?”

“No, my Lord Hand,” Eustace replied. “She was as happy as any bride I have ever seen. Happier, perhaps.”

Arianwyn blushed, squeezing Aemond’s hand. He tensed, then returned the gesture.

“Grand Maester,” Otto now plainly smiled as he turned to Orwyle, “can you indeed confirm the consummation?”

“I can do so now, if you think it necessary, my Lord Hand.”

“Thank you, but there is no need for haste. Can anyone else attest to the veracity of the marriage? Were there witnesses?”

Arianwyn’s heart soared as Sers Warren, Rolan, and Criston answered.

“Yes, lord.”

“Me, my lord.

“I would swear my sword to it.”

“I thank you, Sers, but I wager that will not be necessary.” Otto finally smiled as he swept his eyes past Arianwyn to his grandson. “Prince Aemond, is there anything you should like to say to the court?”

Aemond finally tore his eye away from Daemon, gaze softening as he looked upon Aria’s beautiful, hopeful face.

There was much he wanted to say.

He wanted to tell the whole court – the whole world – of Daemon’s crimes. He wanted to see him arrested and face the Father’s justice. And when he was executed, he wanted to be the one to swing the sword.

But Aria saw it all on his face, every sinful thought he had. She pulled him towards her, wrapping her hand around his wrist, and shook her head.

“No,” Aemond sighed. “Only that everything my wife has said is the truth.”

The Hand turned back to Daemon, “Well, my prince. It seems that the matter is settled. But there is still the question of your wound. Would you care to offer another explanation as to how you were injured?”

The Rogue Prince was practically steaming with rage. The sight awoke sinister pleasure within Aemond’s heart. He was about to retort, to mock his failure, when Aria released his hand.

She said nothing but pulled slightly on the end of the fur stole she wore so it fell just enough to expose her bruises, now clearly in the shape of a hand, but only to Daemon, his wife, and her bastard son.

Jacaerys gaped, looking as if he might cry. Rhaenyra looked shocked for a moment, then hissed something in Daemon’s ear as his face went as red as their house's sigil. Another hiss and he visibly forced the appearance of composure.

“No,” he bit out. “Seems it was an accident.”

Aria laughed – a light, blithe chuckle – wholly out of place at such a solemn occasion. But to Aemond, there was no sound more beautiful.

His wife may have silver eyes, but she was undoubtedly a dragon.

On the Iron Throne, Otto grinned. “An accident? What sort of accident?”

Daemon only sneered before Rhaenyra stepped in front of him, cutting off whatever biting remark he surely had planned.

“I think we have heard more than enough,” she said, the same forced diplomacy in her voice as the night before. “I suggest, my Lord Hand, that we dismiss this matter entirely as the unfortunate result of a father’s desire to protect his daughter and an excess of wine at dinner.”

Otto nodded, content in his victory.

“Grand Maester Orwyle,” he commanded, “please take the lady Brynna to your tower and give her your greatest care. Dear lady, you have the sincere apology of the Crown, as well as my assurance that you will be compensated for your troubles.”

“Thank you, my Lord Hand.” With the aid of the Maester, Brynna stood and curtseyed. Then, as she was led out of the Throne Room, she flashed a quick grin at Aria, who slumped against Aemond in relief.

Wrapping an arm around her waist to support her, he used his free hand to fasten the stole once more. He let his fingers linger on her throat, focused on the feel of her pulse slowing, the pain in his face fading with each beat of her heart.

The moment the doors – those on the side of the hall, to avoid the crowd – closed behind Orwyle and Brynna, Rhaenyra stepped forward. “My Queen, my Lord Hand. I thank you for your hospitality. But I think it time we take our leave.”

“We hope to see you again soon, Princess,” Alicent replied.

Otto leaned forward. “If you would stay just a moment, we may announce the marriage to the court.” He gave a gesture to a guard to open the main doors once more. “After all, Lady Arianwyn is your firstborn.”

The crowd poured into the Throne Room before either Daemon or Rhaenyra could argue against it.

Aemond took a moment to savor the look of defeat on Daemon’s face and vowed that he would see it again.

On the day he killed him.

I came so close to using this bc Jace's face is just hilarious, but the Daemon pic is more fitting.

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[hrts4nagi]

best friends brother!

my best friend's brother is the one for me!

pairing :: itoshi sae x gn!reader (short implied)

synopsis :: third year of high school and graduation is right around the corner! you have so many great and upcoming things up ahead. some planned and some unplanned.

what definitely wasn’t planned was falling for itoshi sae, more commonly known as your best friend’s brother.

what a way to break the pact.

wc :: 2.3k

extra :: i love the victorious sound track!!!! p.s listen to best friend's brother for a better experience :>

the best friend pact - rules:

#1 - always be happy for each other

#2 what was number two again?

#3 - do not fall for your itoshi sae

SUCCESS FAILED

shit.

well, to be completely fair it’s not like you meant to fall for itoshi sae right? it’s not like you were always searching for him as soon as you entered the room. it’s not like you didn’t mean to get lost in his gorgeous teal eyes. or the way you’d get sneak a peek at his abs whenever he had to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

who am i kidding?

you’re completely, utterly, hopelessly in love with itoshi sae. did i mention he was your best friend’s brother?

who knew a pact made 12 years ago would be the sole cause of your distress?

the rules have gotten fuzzy over the years but the one clear rule rin emphasized every time was to not fall for sae. he claimed it was because they have the same eyes, eyelashes, and name. he thinks it would be the equivalent of you dating him.

and he does not like the sound of that.

-

“reo i’m so screwed!” you flop onto his king-sized mattress rolling around face covering your eyes.

“hey! at least change out of your uniform before rolling around in my bed.” he scolds.

you stuck out your tongue at him in response earning a scoff back. “i wish i could lay hear all day," you sigh contently.

“that’s what i’ve been saying,” you yelp not noticing the white-haired boy under the covers.

gasping, you clutch your chest in shock. “what the hell, nagi? have you been here this whole time?”

“yah, you woke me up the second you landed on me.”

he rubs his eyes before sitting up. “hey, y/n while you’re here can you make those buldak noodles you always make? i really want something spicy."

“yeah sure, reo do you still any packets left?”

he sighs before pulling some out of the cabinet. “only for you guys.”

you slide a bowl over to nagi and reo. you lean onto the counter awaiting their response, tapping your fingers in anticipation.

“so what's up with ya?”

“stop eating with your mouth full.”

“it's sae.” you frown taking a seat at the counter across from the two.

nagi perks up his head. “oh, so you finally confessed to him?"

you slam your head down onto the counter in frustration.

“i'm taking that as a no.”

you slightly raise your head up to make eye contact with the two. “what do i do? if i act on my feelings, rin will kill me! falling for his older brother is the ultimate betrayal.”

“i don't think you're betraying him, per se,” reo defends. “think of it more like bending the rules a bit!”

“i'm completely breaking the rules reo. the golden rule for that matter!” you argue.

“huh, well that's unfortunate.”

-

study sessions at rin’s was commonplace. having a terrible habit of bad time management and being a professional procrastinator, rin dragged you willingly forcefully to his house after school, to get all the studying done. but don't worry, it came with perks!

#1: free tutor

#2: free snacks

#3: getting an occasional glimpse of sae

"for english, there's a lot of words that have a silent-"

rin's words drown out as you begin daydreaming. losing complete track of rin's current lesson, you turn your head towards the backyard, where you see sae dribbling the ball outside. watching his figure run by every other second.

“you know if you’re gonna stare at my brother, can you at least do it when i’m not in the general vicinity?” rin deadpanned.

“i wasn’t oggling at sae,” raising up your arms in defense.

rin raised an eyebrow at your choice of words. “what was i talking about then?”

“uhm,” you ponder attempting to trace back your steps. crap. you were way too focused watching sae to even comprehend what rin was saying. the lesson is completely bleary in your mind.

“about our upcoming exam right!” rin lightly smacked your head with his notebook in response. you rub the area he hit before looking at him with a pout.

“wrong, i was talking about my upcoming game which you’re going to. right?” rin points his pencil at you accusingly.

“yup! wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

you nestle back into the couch trying to regain focus on the question in front of you. unfortunately, your mind began to wander elsewhere. every time you close your eyes to think of the solution of the equation, the image of sae would flash in your head.

first, you'd see his deep teal eyes, donned with his infamous bottom eyelashes. you swear you could get lost in them all day. next, the shaggy magenta hair that managed to look 100x better when styled down.

what were you doing? aren't you supposed to be studying?

you shut your textbook quickly, startling rin in the process.

“i’ll be back, i think i need a drink.” rin nods in response as you usher to the kitchen.

you sigh looking down at the glass of water, swishing it around. unaware, you turn without realizing there was someone in your pathway. colliding with a hard chest as the glass shatters to the kitchen floor.

you crossed your fingers hoping you didn't bump into last first person you wanted to see.

“woah careful.”

there stands itoshi sae. you notice his hair being slightly damp, presumably from the exercise drills he just completed. you snap out of it, realizing you were staring at him longer than necessary.

“shit, i’m sorry,” you bend down to pick up the broken glass, before you even get the chance to, sae gently swats your hand away.

“careful. don’t want you to hurt yourself,” your cheeks burn at the subtle contact.

he cranes his neck towards you, making eye contact. “it’s okay, i’ll clean it up myself.”

sae slips off his hoodie but not before you take a quick peek at his toned stomach.

you were definitely no better than a man the way you shamelessly watched him. he glances at you while raising an eyebrow before turning away to avoid eye contact once more.

“well, it was nice running into you! sorry about the glass, i have to go back to studying!” you hurry out of the kitchen before sae can even respond.

returning to the living room, rin is surprised to see you all flustered and sweaty. “what happened with you?”

“nothing!”

rin raises an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. unconcerned, he turns back to his notebook reviewing the material.

-

you swear itoshi sae is doing this on purpose.

every time you're over, you always find yourself in lucky terrible predicaments. last week, you wandered into a seemingly empty bathroom to be met with a shirtless sae. a single towel wrapped around his waist, leaving little to no imagination.

and what does he do?

he tilts his head at you and continues to brush his teeth, as if you were never there in the first place. when you return to rin’s room, even he's concerned that you might be coming down with a fever from how flushed you were.

just yesterday, you were aiming for a glass on the top shelf. before you knew it, sae was behind you pressing his chest onto your back. he was so close that you could feel the warmth emitting from him and the fresh, crisp scent of his cologne.

it was intoxicating.

nonchalantly, he reminded you to be careful next time as he handed you the glass and walked away. you were left blinking at the action.

itoshi sae was driving you crazy. scratch that, insane. you absolutely had no idea what to do about it.

you think it's absolutely infuriating how itoshi sae remains perfect and composed, sporting the same deadpanned look every time.

meanwhile, you're left a stuttering, blushing mess from each and every interaction. you swear you want to punch his face the next time. (you wouldn't dare to ruin his pretty face)

-

“hey, can you do me a huge favor?”

itoshi rin never asks for favors.

stunned, you continue to listen along, wondering what he has to say.

"you're not going to ask me to kill anyone are you? did isagi really piss you off that bad?"

rin flicks your forehead with irritation.

“sae’s down with a fever," he starts. "neither my mom or i are able to tend to his needs cause of our schedules. you don't have anything to do this afternoon right?”

you slowly nod.

“cool, all you have to do is serve him leftovers my mom left on the stove and make sure he takes his medicine. after that, you're free to go.”

-

you could not do this.

standing in front of the itoshi household suddenly felt foreign to you. a sense of dread washes over you at the thought of the current situation.

what's the worse that can happen being alone with sae?

you didn't want to give it a second thought.

after twenty minutes of back and forth, you managed to enter the kitchen to prepare sae's meal. it didn't take too long, it was a quick and simple task. though, you're unsure why you ended up missing the bowl once or twice, having to clean up the mess.

the tray settled on your hands became ten times heavier from the nerves coursing through your body. you make your way to second floor, your legs feel like jelly. you sure hope none of the sweat droplets from your forehead fell into the soup. mustering enough courage, you lift a hand to the door and softly knock.

“sae?”

there's a moment of silence.

“come in.”

you enter the older itoshi’s room. you watch as he slowly sits up. prominent bags under his eyes, a flushed face, and weak deameanor. not to mention, the complete lack of color from his face. this looked nothing like the sae you know.

"hey, how are you feeling?"

"like absolute shit." you chuckle from his remark.

"sorry that was a stupid question."

you make your way towards the side of his bed, tray still in hand. being extra careful to ensure the contents of the bowl don't spill.

"do you think you're able to eat?" you stretch out the tray as an offer.

"my throat is killing me but i'll just suck it up, i have to take medicine anyway."

you place the back of your hand to sae's forehead, eyes widening at the heat. his face was hot to the touch.

"yikes, you really are burning up."

all sae could do was nod weakly in response. a frown replaced your expression. seeing sae in such a state tugged at your heartstrings.

"i can feed you so you can save your energy?"

sae nods once again.

he hopes you mistake the flush of his face from being sick, not one of revealing his feelings.

carefully, you lightly blow onto the soup, gesturing sae to open his mouth. he complies, opening enough for you to slip the spoon in. soon enough, he finishes his meal. he takes his medicine shortly after.

"almost done! let me go get a new rag for your forehead and then i'll leave you to rest," you smile softly, turning to exist his room before he latches onto your wrist.

“wait, don't go.”

you whip your head back so fast you're sure you have whiplash. gently, sae pulls you towards him. all you can do is let him lead you closer and closer.

this was so unlike sae.

“stay with me? please.”

itoshi sae never pleads. who were you to deny such a request?

you pull up a chair from his desk and take place to the side of his bed once more. the two of you share a moment a silence, basking into the

“never knew you were the type to be so clingy,” you tease.

sae doesn't even have the energy to throw you one of his usual glares. instead, he grabs your hand once more bringing it up to his chest. shocked from the gesture, you attempt to bring your hand back towards you but to no avail. sae has other plans.

“what are you doing?”

“i'm showing you what you're doing to me.”

your eyes widen at the unexpected confession. you're sure your face is beet red. your heartbeat feels so loud you wouldn't be surprised if sae can hear the rhythm of your heart.

"wait, sae i can't! it's one of rin and i's rules."

he scoffs hearing the mention of the younger itoshi. he composes himself despite being sick to make his actions loud and clear.

“i don't care. rules were meant to be broken anyway.”

in a swift motion, sae drags you from previous seated position to under the covers with him. you gasp from the abrupt action. he buries his head into your neck, softly inhaling the scent of your perfume.

you comply as your hand makes it way to the top of his head. you scratch light shapes into his scalp earning a sigh of contentment from sae.

"if you get me sick, im going to kill you."

"yeah yeah."

guess his plan worked out after all.

-

bonus:

“huh? what pact?”

you gape at rin. surely, he didn't forget. right?

“the pact we made when we were 5? that pact? the best friend pact?”

all rin does is blink at you.

“doesn't ring a bell."

“you're joking right? please tell me you're joking.”

“i can assure you i'm not.”

you face palm before returning to meet rin’s eyes once more. “so, you really don't care that i'm dating sae?”

“oh that's great news actually, i was wondering when you'd finally make a move.” he shrugs.

“what? so you knew!”

“how could i not? you weren't exactly subtle about it.”

"so, you're not gonna kill me for dating sae?"

"no, i'm livid."

you can feel a sweat drop trickle down your forehead. rin releases a breath before speaking again.

"but, you seem happier with him. i guess. so, i don't really mind." rin ruffles the top of your head as you continue the way to your second home, the itoshi household.

☆.

a/n :: rin is a 10/10 best friend. i lowk hate the ending might revise at a later time </3

[haytan]

FROST MELODY | G.A

I really enjoyed writing this, it's something simple and cute. I listened to tiwfl on loop and some vintage classics while writing, like the cranberries, in case you want something that matches the vibe...

𓍼 WORD COUNT: 2626

𓍼 SUMMARY: you and gracie spending time in the studio producing cedar

𓍼 WARNINGS: fluff

the sky is partly cloudy as you walk through crowded streets of new york. the ground is covered in dry leaves thanks to autumn, and you might even hear them crunching underfoot if it weren’t for the blaring car horns around you.

your destination is the a train line, which connects harlem to your neighborhood. you walk slowly, watching people come and go, soaking in the calm of a saturday afternoon. along the way, a few men in suits talk rapidly on their phones, looking rushed as they pass by— a typical east side sight.

the station isn’t far, and the distant sound of the subway blends with the city’s constant noise. you reach the entrance to the platform, glancing at the tracks that will soon fill up, but you don’t go in. the plan is simple: pick up your girlfriend and head back to the studio.

after the huge success of your last album, you managed to save up enough money to buy a space to produce your music somewhere other than your bedroom.

and to make things even better, recently, both you and gracie received an offer to compose music for screen projects. so, although the studio was mostly an excuse to spend more intimate time with gracie, today would be different.

you're pulled from your thoughts when you see a long-haired woman climbing the stairs, looking around in confusion.

"hey," you say as she approaches, not even noticing you there.

"you scared me," gracie says with a shy smile. "i didn’t even see you."

"i noticed," you smile softly, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips. the taste of cherry lipstick mixed with her own never fails to be perfect.

"we need to talk about you walking around new york like this—it’s dangerous," you tease as you pull away, and she intertwines her fingers with yours.

"hm, no, we really don’t." her cheeks are slightly flushed, and you can’t tell if it’s from the cold or the kiss. the two of you start walking back the way you came—autumn leaves, car horns, hurried men. "i have you, i don’t need anything else."

your own cheeks warm slightly. even though your relationship isn’t new, gracie always manages to catch you off guard.

"a little too dependent, don’t you think?"

"i call it love."

a soft giggle escapes your lips, a melody only abrams gets to hear. "you’re impossible."

…

after almost eight minutes of walking, you arrive at the studio—or at least what you insist on calling a studio. in reality, it’s a small apartment on 59th street near central park, but it has everything you need: good equipment, a comfortable couch, and it's right next to the best donut shop on the east side.

gracie takes off her coat and hangs it on the rack by the door. she throws herself onto the large couch against the wall with a sigh of relief. the soft evening light filters through the window, casting a warm glow over the room. "so, i was thinking we could help each other," She says in her usual calm voice.

"hm?" you murmur, still focused on turning on the computer, adjusting the mixer, and setting the air conditioning.

"help each other," she crosses her legs on the couch, her expression light, almost playful

you slowly turn in your swivel chair, now paying attention to her. "i thought we were already going to do that."

"yeah, i mean, we are." she sits up, a little more serious now. "but i was thinking we could do more—like… you could do backing vocals for my song, and i could do the same for yours. if you want, of course."

your expression turns thoughtful for a moment, gaze softening as you weigh the idea. "I like it, but are you sure? That means a lot of paperwork, credits, and stuff."

gracie nods, her expression gentle and reassuring. she always has this way of calming you down with a simple gesture. "i'm ready to deal with that."

you smile, feeling lighter, and nod before turning back to the equipment. the space feels comfortable, like a secret garden, and her presence makes it even more welcoming.

later, daylight fades into shadows, making it necessary to turn on the led strip in the corner of the studio. gracie sits at the keyboard, playing the same notes repeatedly, experimenting with small variations.

she plays a progression, then hums softly, testing. her voice fills the space with a melancholic sweetness.

"it's impossible to acclimate every time we talk, we understate…”

a familiar shiver runs up your arms. it’s always like this when gracie sings—there’s something in her voice that cuts deep, like light rain on a cold day, mixed with the warmth of blankets.

she stops, frowning. "the chorus still doesn't fit. i want the melody to be different from the first one, something that builds up emotion for the second verse."

you lean back in your chair, reaching for the guitar beside you, letting your fingers glide over the strings slowly, repeating the intro melody. "how about this?" then, start a slightly faster rhythm, capturing the tension of the lyrics.

gracie watches you, then mirrors the melody on the keyboard, adjusting it to her tone. "this… this could work," she murmurs, focused. her eyes shine the way they always do when she finds something that musically makes sense. "can you do it again? but with the rest of the lyrics?"

a subtle smile forms on your lips, a quiet sense of pride settling in. "of course." you place her journal in front of the monitor, strumming the guitar again, this time accompanied by gracie on the keyboard.

"it's impossible to acclimate every time we talk, we understate how we know we both could die, we both could die but you told me that you felt the same when i told you how i needed space but i think it was a lie, it was a lie…”

as soon as you finish, you glance at her, feeling a little nervous about her reaction. You’ve spent countless nights on calls writing silly songs together, most of which end up discarded, but this is the first time you actually change something of hers.

"okay, that was good," she says, her smile widening.

you chuckle softly, tilting your head to the side out of habit. "i think we’ve got something."

"i love doing this with you." eyes warm, the kind that crinkle just slightly at the corners.

"me too, babe."

the next few hours pass in silence, filled with experiments, note adjustments, and timing tweaks. despite working together, both of you are used to creating alone—there’s no denying that.

when it’s no longer possible to stay inside your own head, the recording begins. gracie steps into the booth, separated from the production room by a large glass panel. from your side, among the equipment, you watch her position herself in front of the microphone.

gracie sings, you record. she sings again, you re-record. when she misses a note, she laughs, and you just throw your head back, laughing with her. adjustments are made—a section cut here, another repeated there. the cycle continues, unhurried, until you’re both satisfied.

"okay, just one more time," she says, snapping her fingers as if that might somehow improve her performance.

"love, i’m not saying this just because i’m your girlfriend, but you already sound incredible," you speak into the microphone, holding the button that activates it.

"y/n."

"you’re the boss."

when you can finally say the song is almost ready, you both pause. you stretch your arms above your head while gracie massages her face.

"want to come take a look?"

"definitely."

she steps out of the booth excited, and without hesitation sits on your lap. you wrap your arms around her and press a light kiss to her shoulder. when gracie hits play, the song named Cedar begins to play.

first the keyboard. something calm, classical. then, her voice emerges. the introduction is delicate, the chorus melancholic, and, as intended, the bridge brings tension and anxiety—an intense mix of instruments. her head moves subtly to the rhythm, and fingers mimicking the keys, as if the music is flowing through her.

"fuck," she whispers when the bridge falls perfectly into the third verse.

the song ends, leaving you both in silence. but it only lasts a few seconds before gracie lets out a long sigh.

"it’s good," she says, almost as if convincing herself.

"good?" you raise an eyebrow.

she shifts in your lap, still looking at the screen, analyzing every second of the song on the software’s timeline. "i don’t know… maybe the bridge needs something more. like, a soft choir in the background? something to build it up a bit?"

you press your lips together, thoughtful, and rewind a few seconds. the bridge plays again, and now you try to listen more carefully, searching for empty spaces.

"maybe some subtle vocals, just to add texture." she says, now looking at you, waiting for consent.

"that’s exactly what i was going to say."

gracie gives a satisfied smile and gets up from your lap, stretching her arms. "okay, last thing for the night, i promise."

"empty promises, abrams."

she giggles and heads back into the booth, adjusting her headphones. "i’ll do a few layers, and then you tell me which works best."

her voice fills the studio once again, now in soft fragments. melodic whispers, discreet harmonies layering until the sound gains more depth. you adjust the volumes, test combinations, and when you finally find the right balance, you look at gracie through the glass.

"now we got it," she says, satisfied.

you hit play once more. the bridge now has new depth, and the transition into the third verse feels more intense, almost cinematic.

gracie leans against the glass, resting her forehead on it, her eyes half-closed with exhaustion.

"now we got it," you repeat, this time with more conviction.

noticing how tired she is, you take off your headphones and stand up, crossing the room to where she is. "why don’t you sit on the couch for a bit? i’ll order something from that donut place, and we can listen a few more times to make sure it’s how we want it."

she sighs and moves away from the glass, but instead of heading straight for the couch, she walks toward you. gracie wraps her arms around you, burying her face in your neck. "i love you, you know?"

you chuckle softly, sliding your hands down her back. "i love you too, baby."

and that’s that. gracie throws herself onto the couch, resting her legs over your lap while you pick the flavors. in the end, you settle on a deal: two savory donuts, two sweet, matcha for her and black coffee for you.

when you return with the food, she’s listening to the song again—not a surprise. gracie always revisits everything a thousand times before considering it done.

"fresh food," you announce, balancing the bags in your hands.

she looks up intrigued, a small smile playing on her lips. "hmm, smells good." then, she gets comfortable on the couch, ready to eat.

you settle in together, gracie resting her head on your shoulder while you gaze out the window. from your building you can see the famous wollman rink among the trees of central park. however, it is not yet an ice rink, but rather a large space under assembly, covered in scaffolding and trolleys.

as you devour the donuts in silence, you remember something—a bit of news you’ve been meaning to share with your girlfriend. after all, whenever she had good gossip, you were always the first to know. "you know towa?"

"your guitarist friend? the one who looks like conan?"

you snicker, shaking your head. "yeah, her." your arm stretches to grab your coffee. "so, guess who she’s been involved with?"

gracie pauses, furrowing her brows in thought. "who?"

"reneé."

she pulls away from your shoulder, looking at you, confused. "reneé? our reneé?"

you nod, confirming, and take a sip of your coffee. "yep, reneé herself told me."

"you’re serious? them?"

"uh-huh."

abrams’ eyes widen as she stares at you for a few seconds, processing the information. "omg… they have been kinda glued together lately, huh?" she says with a mischievous little laugh.

"right? that’s what i said, but she just kept denying it."

"now that you mention it, it makes sense. they were always together, but i just thought it was a friend thing, you know?"

"like us?" you tease with a smirk.

gracie shoots you a glare and lightly smacks your thigh. "don’t be ridiculous."

"ouch, i was just kidding."

after the food break, gracie stays on the couch but gets even more comfortable. you drape a light blanket over her and turn up the heat a little to help her relax.

meanwhile, you stay at the computer, listening to the song over and over, adjusting parts, removing noise, fixing small mistakes… and when it’s already two in the morning, you glance back and find gracie sleeping like a baby.

seeing her so peaceful, you allow yourself to relax too, taking off your headphones and stretching. after saving everything, you kneel in front of her, your thumb brushing through her soft hair. "hey, baby," you whisper.

she doesn’t respond, as always, so you press a light kiss to her forehead, your hand trailing to the nape of her neck. gracie usually sleeps deeply, but luckily, you already know how to wake her up.

you’ve learned that whispering in her ear never works—it just startles her and sometimes even annoys her. so instead, you keep running your fingers gently through her hair, leaving soft kisses on her forehead, waiting for her to stir.

"hm…" she mumbles, eyes slowly fluttering open. "what time is it?"

"two twenty-seven."

gracie’s eyes widen in the most adorably startled way. "oh my god."

you chuckle. "i already packed everything and called a cab. we just need to head down."

she sighs, still groggy, but gets up. another session wrapped up.

…

back home, after a warm shower, you and gracie lay together under the blankets. her fingers draw circles on your bare chest, head resting on your arm. "thank you for today, for everything, really. you weren’t just a great friend and girlfriend, but also a producer."

one of your arms is under your neck, the other on her waist beneath her shirt. "you're welcome, my love. you know you can always count on me, for anything."

"i know," she murmurs, running her fingers up your neck, making makes you shiver. "but you put up with me being such a annoying coworker."

you let out a chuckle, then lean in to give her a small kiss on the nose. "i think being your girlfriend helped a lot."

"hey!" she scolds playfully, but you both giggle.

"i love you, like, really love you. love, love."

"hmm, seriously?" gracie moves closer, rubbing her nose against yours in an eskimo kiss. "i love you too, babe. like, love, love."

with a goofy smile, you close the distance between you, your lips meeting hers in a slow, warm kiss. the taste of mint and something citrusy blends with the soft touch, while gracie's fingers slide to your neck, gently tugging at your hair.

when you pull apart, you exchange a knowing look, and in a silent agreement to rest, she snuggles into your neck. your legs intertwine out of habit, and you plant a soft kiss on her forehead before closing your eyes to drift off to sleep.

definitely my favorite writing of all, loves that vibe of doing daily things together, showing affection with acts of service and stuff. I can write a part two recording y/n's song, so let me know if you're interested. I plan on posting more stuff this weekend so dw...

thanks for reading <3

back to nav

[earl-grey-teacake]

Your baby loscar stuff is THE CUTEST THING! I know I’ve expressed my love for it before but every time you add onto it, it makes my whole day!

Which one, if either, was a messy baby? And in what sense? ( just leaving toys strung out everywhere ( I can totally see little Logan just dropping stuff when he was done with it and not even noticing), messy eater, spilling stuff, sticky toddler hands, just played hard so they alway seem to be messy in general, the cute little kids with dirt all over the seat and knees of their pants from sitting and playing on the ground, etc.)

Who was harder to potty train?

Who colors outside the lines? Who drew on the walls and the table more than their paper?

Ahhh!!! Thank you!!!!

All babies are messy. They don't have a sense of organization and need to be taught and reminded of when things need to be put away. Logan has a habit of not putting his toys aways. He's easily distracted by the newest stimuli that enters the room and gravitates towards it. If he's playing cars and George or Alex enters the room, he will abandon his stuff and go to them. He isn't a messy eater but he gets dirt and grass stains all over himself. He loves the outside. He loves to fish and when Kyle takes him, his shoes are caked in mud and the hems of his jeans are wet.

Oscar just lives in a messy space. He prefers his toys everywhere. The floor of his room is covered in stuff because he wants it on the ground. He is more of a sticky toddler hand kind of kid. Not necessarily a messy eater but he likes to touch his food with his hands, will pry open the fridge to explore, eats oranges and gets the juice all over his hands. It's more of him not wanting to/forgetting to wash his hands.

In term of potty training, they were both pretty good. Logan was very good about it and was very encouraging to Oscar. Oscar saw that Logan could do it and wanted to do it to.

Both of them drew on the walls. Logan also drew on his family's white couch with a purple sharpie. Oscar also found a sharpie and dragged it across the walls in the house and his parents has too spend an hour scrubbing it off.

[bomber-grl]

Hiii how are you doing? Just want to say that i loved your work in headcanons with team seven, may I request some fluff with Sasukes? Could be anything you are feeling at the moment

Thank you 🫶

Thank you so much for the compliments! I only watched Naruto and some Shippuden so 😓 Hopefully this is satisfactory.

Word count: 954

He was tragically and terminally emo.

That was your first thought when you tried to have even the simplest conversation with him. Sasuke made it hard to find anything likable about him. To say he was ruthless was an understatement. The only thing he didn’t have to try hard for was looking... well, pretty—and yeah, that felt shallow, but let’s be honest, who could deny it?

Somehow, though, you’d been paired with him in your genin team. Sakura was paired with Naruto—albeit a bit more reluctantly—and you were all tasked with a simple C-rank mission: running errands for an elderly client. Nothing too difficult, just going through the shops in the village. But doing it with Sasuke? That was a different story.

At first, it seemed like there was no way you two would ever get along. Sasuke was as serious as they came—closed off, sharp-tongued, blunt. There wasn’t much room for anything else. But as you spent more time with him, you realized there was more to him than just being a complete jerk. He was complicated. Maybe a little messed up, but you could see that now. I mean, you knew he wasn’t just some brooding, emotionally distant teen for no reason.

As you both walked through the streets, Sasuke didn’t talk much, but he didn’t ignore you either. You’d gone through a few shops, picking up the items for the client. At first, there was a little bit of tension between you two, but then, you found yourself making a stupid joke—something about the medicinal herbs looking like a plant you’d tried to grow at home once, only for it to die after two days. It wasn’t that funny, but Sasuke actually chuckled at it—just a quick, quiet sound, but it was enough to catch you off guard.

You stared at him for a second, not sure what to make of it. Sasuke? Laughing? At something you said?

It was a weird realization—simple, but it hit you all at once. Sasuke was always so serious, that hard expression never leaving his face. But every now and then, he’d let something slip. He wasn’t this emotionless, perfect person. There were cracks in that tough exterior.

As the sweat on your brow started to bead, you both stopped in front of an ice cream shop. You hadn’t even asked for anything, but after walking around for a while in the heat, it seemed like the perfect way to break the monotony. You glanced at Sasuke, trying to gauge whether he’d be interested in it.

Without a word, Sasuke walked up to the stand and handed over a few coins for two ice creams. You blinked, surprised.

“Hey, I didn’t ask for anything,” you said, though you were already reaching for the cone. Sasuke didn’t respond, just handed it over with that same serious look on his face, but something about it made you feel... a little warmer. Maybe it was just the heat of the day, or maybe it was something else, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

“Thanks,” you said, glancing at him, but you weren’t sure what else to add. He just looked at you, his usual stoic expression on his face.

There was a brief moment of awkward silence before you saw it—his cheeks were a little pink. Just a little. And for once, Sasuke didn’t seem to care to cover it up. Instead, he turned his head and ignored it, his usual coldness taking over again.

Still, you noticed.

You didn’t say anything, not wanting to embarrass him further, but there was something endearing about the whole thing.

Before long, you both started making your way back to the agreed-upon meeting spot. It was much later than expected, and the sun was already starting to dip below the horizon. You had ice cream in hand, and as you approached, you could already see Naruto and Sakura standing by the edge of the marketplace, arms crossed and clearly irritated.

Naruto looked like he was ready to combust, his frustration bubbling up in the form of complaints as he glanced between you and Sasuke. His face was flushed, likely from waiting in the heat for too long.

Sasuke, as usual, was brooding, arms crossed tightly, and looking more annoyed than usual, though the frown on his face wasn’t as harsh as it could’ve been. There was a small shift in his posture, something subtle, but it was enough to tell you that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind the company as much as he let on.

Then there was Sakura, standing off to the side, her arms folded and although you and her were usually on good terms, she seemed agitated. “I would have expected this from Kakashi Sensei but you, y/n?”

Kakashi was leaning against a nearby post, looking completely unfazed by the situation. He didn’t even seem concerned that the two of you had arrived late. Instead, he just gave you a knowing, amused smile and hid that orange book he seemed to always be carrying around.

“Looks like you two had a good time,” Kakashi remarked, his voice light, and though you couldn’t be sure, you could’ve sworn he was trying not to laugh.

You stood there for a moment, feeling oddly lighter than you had before. It wasn’t that you’d completely bonded with Sasuke, but there was something different now. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but there was an understanding between you that hadn’t been there before.

You glanced over at Sasuke. You could almost say it wasn’t so bad being in a team with him. Maybe it wasn’t that terrible after all.

Maybe he wasn’t that terrible.