#i will defend the right to have fun with my life

[bonnie-the-butcher]

Rip Tide | Chapter IV

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 7.914 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

I was feeling angsty when I wrote this y'all, so please forgive me for what you’re about to read. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

You stumble, back hitting the door with a thud. You can’t move. You can’t breathe. You can’t look away. The door handle digs into your hip as JJ cages you in. – What’s your problem, JJ?! Let go of me already!

His grip tightens, pulling you even closer, and you can hear the venom in his voice when he spits out his reply. – No! I’m not! I’m not gonna let go of you! You know why?!

– I’m on the edge of my seat, here!

He scoffs at your mocking, that bitter laugh falling from his lips like poison, his nails digging into your flesh. – I’ve been sitting here all night waiting for you to get back. I tried to be patient with you. I tried to give you space, but you don’t respond to me being nice, do you?! You don’t even acknowledge me! I bet you’re getting a real kick out of this, aren’t you?!

– Oh, yeah. Loving it. This is exactly how I wanted to spend my night. Getting shoved against a door while you channel your anger.

– DON’T— He stops himself short, watching his tone. – Don’t fucking play around with me right now, okay?! Don’t do this.

– What, then?! What the fuck do you want me to do?! You don’t want me walking away, you don’t want me talking, what do you want from me?!

– I want you to listen!

– To what?! To your little lecture on why I should’ve been nicer to my brother after the way he treated me?! After he called me pathetic?! After he took my own phone from my hand?!

– He was trying to protect you!

– Protect me?! From going out?! From having fun with my best friend?! I’ve known Barry since I was a kid! I can handle him.

JJ shoots backwards, dragging his hands through his hair as if he was going insane. – HE’S TRYING TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF YOU!

– Advantage of what, JJ?! My overwhelming wealth?! My deep connections in high society?! I don’t even buy his drugs—unlike you!

– Don’t! – He raises his finger, stepping forward again. It’s like having a whirlwind moving through your room, he can’t just leave things how they are.

– Don’t what? Don’t point out the truth? You and John B can buy drugs, get arrested, blow all your money on some half-baked Pogue adventure, but I can’t even hang out with the guy that’s been my best friend since I was twelve?!

– No! No, you can’t, not when Rafe Cameron is involved!

– Oh, so Rafe is the problem, huh? If Barry had showed up here alone, you and John would’ve just given me a cheerful send-off? Maybe packed me a lunch for the road?

– Don’t do this right now.

– OH MY GOD, JJ! What can I fucking do?! I can’t do anything! Am I supposed to sit here in silence like some nun while you accuse me of every stupid shit that goes through your mind?! Listening to you lie your fucking face off?! And I can’t even defend myself?! What’s your fucking problem?!

– You are my problem! You are! – It’s infuriating, having to whisper to one another when you’re so angry, because JJ couldn’t wait thirty minutes for the nerves to die down. But he makes it up to you by grabbing at you, the tips of his fingers pressed so tight against your skin that you can feel the bruises forming. – I’ve thought about you all day! You’re gonna listen to me now!

You stare at him, heart hammering, pulse like static in your ears. It’s not the words that get you—it’s the way he says them, voice fraying at the edges like he’s barely holding himself together. Like he’s already lost, and he knows it.

You wrench against his hold, nails biting into his forearms, but it only makes him squeeze tighter. His eyes are burning—wild, desperate.

– You’re gonna listen to me now, – He repeats, voice low but shaking with barely contained rage. – I don’t give a shit what you think you can handle. I don’t care if Barry was your best fucking friend since birth—he’s bad news. And you know it.

– Right. Because you’re such a great judge of character!

JJ scoffs, shaking his head like he can’t believe you. Like you’re the one being unreasonable. – At least I know better than to run off with people who are just looking to use me.

You let out a groan.

This is exhausting, draining. Your head pounds and your chest feels heavy. You don’t even know where this conversation is going. – News flash, JJ, I’m not a fucking asset! There’s NOTHING to use me for!

His jaw clenches, and his hands are trembling now, even as he holds you in place. – You don’t get it, do you?! – His voice is quieter this time, rougher. – It’s not about what you have! It’s about what he can take. About what he can do to you!

Something in his face stops you—just for a second.

It’s not just anger. It’s something else. Something raw, something afraid.

You swallow hard, pushing past the sting in your throat. – And what, you think you get to decide that for me? You think you can just hold me here and—what? Teach me a lesson? Are you gonna bend me over your knee or some shit?!

JJ exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face before gripping your jaw, tilting your chin up just enough to force your eyes on his. – I don’t want to teach you shit, I just want you to stop acting like this is a fucking game!

– I’m not—

– You are! – He growls. – You’re acting like this is just some little rebellion. Like it’s just about proving a point to your brother. And I get it, okay?! I do! I don’t like the way John B treats you either, but this vendetta, this shit you’re trying to do, isn’t okay! It’s not, alright? It’s not. You don’t know how Rafe is! You don’t see the way Barry looks at you!

His words sink into you like a stone.

– And how does he look at me, JJ? Huh?! The way you look at me, or the way you look at Kie?!

His breath catches, just for a second, but it’s enough. Enough to make something in your chest twist painfully. Because you already know the answer.

You want to hit yourself.

You want to dig your nails into your palms until you bleed.

His grip falters. His fingers twitch against your skin. And for a moment—just a moment—you think he’s going to let go. Maybe it isn’t so bad after all.

You think maybe he’ll understand.

But then he exhales, and his hand tightens again, his forehead nearly brushing yours as he leans in, voice hoarse.

And he laughs.

He laughs in your face like this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. – So this is what this is about.

– What?! – The question comes out before you can stop it. You want to sew your mouth shut. You want to tear your skin off your flesh. you should have learned by now that speaking your mind never gets you anywhere. Especially when you speak about your feelings. – What, JJ?! What is this about?!

– You’re jealous. You’re jealous of me and Kie, that’s why you went with them. Are you kidding me?! – Your skin crawls at the sound of his laughter. But disgusting as it is, you’re not angry at him. You’re angry at yourself for having said it. – You’re pathetic. – The word cuts into you. But it isn’t sharp. The opposite, actually. It feels like he’s stabbing at you with something blunt. Bruising your skin and breaking your bones before he can sink into your flesh. – This isn’t about your brother. This is about me! This is about you being completely fucking twisted!

You hate yourself more than anything as tears start brimming your eyes. – Don’t talk to me like this. – You try to move, try to turn your face away, but JJ just grips you harder.

– Like what?! You don’t want me to say the truth? You want me to lie? I can do that, babe. But you’re not gonna like it.

– Get off of me.

– I don’t think I will. – His laughter is manic, loud. At first you hated that he cared so much about John not hearing anything that he didn’t speak his mind, but now you just want him to stop it. – I’m not gonna get off of you. Because I clearly can’t fucking trust you not to do anything stupid when I’m not there to wrangle you in.

– Stop it, JJ. Just get off!

You’re crying now, and you hate it.

You hate crying.

And you hate yourself.

– I can’t fucking believe you! I can’t fucking believe you were so jealous that you had to jump on Rafe fucking Cameron to make you feel better about yourself! Because that’s what you did, wasn’t it?! You slept with him!

The sudden vitriol in his laughter sends you into a spiral. – What are you even talking about?

– Don’t! Don’t fucking lie to me. – He grabs you by the jaw again. – Tell me the fucking truth, just say it! YOU SLEPT WITH RAFE!

– I did not! I didn’t sleep with Rafe, I just met him!

– I CAN SMELL HIM ON YOU! – You can barely breathe within his grip in a second, and he jerks backward in the next, as if the words had knocked the wind out of him. He stands there for a minute, back turned to you, hands pressing against his head, and you don’t know what to do. You just stand there, against the door. – I know you did! I KNOW! I know it! You slept with him, you— You didn’t even see him grab anything, but whatever it was that he took went flying and it shattered against the wall into a million pieces.

The noise was deafening.

You didn’t even realize you had covered your ears until you heard the stark silence jar you in the aftermath.

Your gaze remained on the floor for a second, trying to grasp at what just happened, when a sudden sound startles you out of shock: John’s door was the loudest in the house. No matter what you did, how you oiled it, whether you fixed the hinges or not, the sound still tore through the house like a scream.

You could hear him, his steps, running.

Your hands flew to the deadbolt just in time to see the handle turn.

The door remained in place as he struggled, then called for you, banging against the door in a panic. – What happened?! What was that?! Are you okay?!

You were leaning on the door now. Your strength gone, the fight in you having vanished. – Get out, John. – The voice felt foreign. Cold. Dead. As if it’d come from an outer ego.

You could hear your brother’s stutter. His hands still moving against the handle. Then something else, a twinge of something painful in his voice, something just as foreign. Guilt.

He calls out your name, almost begging. – Open the door, please. Please. Just let me see you.

You can’t think straight.

– I’m fine. Get out.

Your head is spinning.

– Please. Just— Just talk to me. Lets–

– GET OFF JOHN! JUST FUCK OFF! Go back to your room and leave me alone!

You don’t know where the rage came from, how it’d surged on you so fast, how it disappeared just as suddenly. But the scream lingered in between you like a live wire. The door seems to stretch, pushing him away, away from you, farther than you can hear.

John whispers your name one more time, almost thoughtlessly. Like he’s calling for someone he knows is gone.

Silence.

He stands there, wordless, for a minute. Shifting back and forth before your door.

All you hear is his breath before he mumbled: – I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? – You barely recognize his voice. It’s like you're hearing him underwater. – You should go to sleep. – He whispers.

You don’t answer.

But you lean your head against the door, breathing deeper, and tears roll down your chin.

You don't know how long you stood there.

But you heard the hesitation in his steps as he walked away. You heard the floorboards creaking. You heard his door squeaking loudly, slowly, until it finally snapped shut.

And you remained there, absorbed in the silence, for a long while before you turned around again:

JJ is sitting on your bed, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking softly. You don’t know when he started crying. You’re not very sure why he is.

But you trudge forward, almost in a trance.

It takes two steps for you to be right in front of him, the ends of his blonde hair brushing against you. Whispering against the fabric of your skirt.

You've been here before.

In this weird deja-vu.

The way he reaches for you, it's almost like slow motion.

His eyes are steel blue, like the edge of a knife. His lips are red, swollen. There are tear streaks running down his face when he looks up at you. Under the dim light, he almost seems like an angel. His knuckles are pale, but you see the rapid pulse beneath the skin of his wrists as his hands reach forward, arms wrapping around you, pulling you in.

You once heard moths weren't smart enough to struggle against flytraps if they closed in on them fast enough.

JJ's arms lock around you before you can react. He holds you like his life depends on it. Tears soaking through your top as he buries his face in your stomach, hiding from something unidentified. Himself, maybe. Perhaps guilt.

Though nothing about the way he acts seems guilty.

Your arms were at your sides before. You don’t know when they came to rest around his shoulders. You don’t know why your hands are tangled in his hair. But you feel his teary lips flutter against your skin as you stroke through the soft strands within your fingers.

He isn’t shaking anymore, but he shudders.

He's still crying, but when he lifts his face to look at you, he almost seems at peace. – You drive me crazy. – He whimpers, bare knuckles cracking against your hips as he squeezes you closer, like he’s feeding off of your warmth. – I feel like I’m going insane… I don't know how you do this to me.

You don't know what to say.

Even if you did, your mouth wouldn't open.

You've never felt this numb.

His breathing steadies against you. Slow and deep, like a wave pulling back into the ocean. The warmth of his breath seeps through your clothes, the heat of his skin pressed against your stomach, the damp trail his tears left behind cooling under the soft stroke of your fingers through his hair. He exhales sharply when your nails scrape lightly against his scalp, the sound somewhere between relief and something else, something deeper.

His arms are still locked around your waist. The grip loosens, just enough for his hands to move, sliding slowly over the curve of your thighs, fingertips dragging across the fabric. Not a caress. Something closer to an anchor, as if grounding himself in the presence of you, in your softness, in the fact that you’re still here, still touching him, still letting him take and take and take. His hands flex, curling into the back of your legs before going still again. You don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it.

You feel the shift before you see it—the slow tilt of his head, the subtle shudder in his ribs as he exhales against you, his lips parting just enough for his breath to warm your skin. He’s watching you now. His lashes are wet, his eyes still rimmed red, but the way he looks at you is something close to reverence. The way your fingers move through his hair, the way your thumb ghosts along the damp trails on his cheekbone���he drinks in every motion, every second, as if memorizing it. As if memorizing you.

– I don’t like fighting with you. – It’s a whisper, barely there, but the words settle between you, heavy and delicate all at once.

You don’t answer.

You just keep running your fingers through his hair, and his eyes flutter shut, his body softening against yours like an animal melting into its keeper’s touch. His forehead presses into your stomach again, his arms slipping around the backs of your legs, pulling you closer. The tension in his muscles fades as he exhales another slow, steady breath. He’s calm now.

The fragments of whatever he threw at your wall litter your bedroom floor, making a glittering constellation out of the floorboards. But he’s calm now.

– John B’s right, – He murmurs after a long moment, voice muffled against you. – It’s been a long day. – You feel his lips shift into the barest hint of a smile, like a child reassured after a nightmare. – We should go to sleep.

You don’t react when his hands shift again, when he tugs lightly at your shirt, when he tilts his head just enough for his lips to brush over the fabric. You don’t react when his grip on you tightens, when he starts to rise to his feet, hands still firm at your waist, guiding you toward the bed.

But when he tries to pull you down with him, you stop him.

His brows furrow, the haze in his expression flickering into something uncertain. He waits for you to move first, to change your mind, to follow the unspoken rhythm between you. But you don’t. You just stand there, looking at him, the weight of exhaustion pressing into your skin.

– You should go home, JJ.

JJ blinks. Confusion first. Then something else. Something vulnerable. His hands flex at your waist like he’s making sure you’re still there.

You shake your head, and his grip tightens.

– We shouldn’t go to sleep mad, – he says, voice smaller now, unsteady in a way that makes something deep in your stomach twist. – We can fix this.

– I’m not mad at you. – His lips part, like he wants to believe you. Like he needs to. But something in your voice, in your face, keeps him from speaking. – But I don’t want to be with you, right now.

The words land between you like a stone.

His breathing stutters. His fingers twitch at your waist, hesitating, before slipping away.

You don’t look away.

– Baby…

– I don’t want to sleep next to you. – Silence. – I really don’t want to see you right now, JJ.

For the first time since he pulled you into him, JJ doesn’t move. He doesn’t reach for you. He just stares. – I know you’re mad, but—

– I’m not mad. – Truthfully, you weren’t sure. But when it came to feelings, exhaustion always outranked them all. – I’m not. But I want you to leave, JJ. I can’t do this right now.

His face shifts as his arms fall back to his sides.

Contempt.

Maybe ridicule.

You don’t know. You can’t bring himself to care.

But he scoffs before he steps away, shoulder bumping yours, almost by accident.

Almost.

And the door knocks closed at last, the sound absorbing every last bit of tension from the room like a sponge.

The sun streams through your lace curtains as soon as it comes up, 6:30 on the dot on a sunday, but you can't toss around and fall back asleep.

You barely slept.

Whenever, by some miracle, your conscience drifted away from you, it always came back, headlights burning your eyes open to hit you like a truck.

You feel disgusting.

The sweltering heat pushes down against you like a layer of wet concrete: heavy, overwhelming and inescapable.

You’re still wearing the same clothes.

The lower half your body hangs off the mattress, and having kicked off your shoes just before collapsing into the bed, your naked feet brush against the shards JJ's outburst left behind, stinging.

All you can glimpse of the cuts as you move your head to look down are the crimson streaks of blood now running dry.

You struggle to sit up, your head sways when you finally do so. The pounding in your skull is unbearable. You squeeze your eyes shut, but it doesn’t help. The world still spins when you pry them open again.

Glass glints like jagged stars across the floor, scattered in violent constellations.

You stare at the mess, at the thin, half-dried ribbons of red trailing through it, and realize there’s no way out of this without making things worse.

You’ll have to put your shoes on. Walk through it. Grind the shards deeper into the floorboards, deeper into your own skin.

Just the thought makes you shiver.

You reach for the beat-up sneakers, thrown half-hazardly amongst the chaos, and look at them for a moment. Your eyes drift from the shoes to your feet, the pulsing sting of each cut almost begging you not to do it.

You don’t have a choice.

The second the fabric scrapes against the cuts, you hiss through your teeth. Your fingers instinctively curl into a fist. You bite the inside of your cheek and try again, slower this time, forcing yourself through the sting. The laces come undone too easily, sticky with blood. You’ll have to wash them later.

The thought makes your stomach turn.

Once you manage to step out of the room, the pain accompanying you every step of the way, you wonder why you decided to do so in the first place.

Everything is too much.

The pain, the heat, the regret.

No one likes being talked down to, but you’ve always been the sort to dig your heels in when you feel challenged. The way your brother spoke to you before —Before you jumped into Rafe’s car, effectively sealing your fate— was not the sort of thing any sane person could take with a smile.

But it’s tricky, the way it trickles down.

You knew going with Barry was a bad choice, and you followed through for the sake of defiance.

You knew you shouldn’t have fed onto the fire when John first raised his voice, and you did so because you refused to let him walk all over you.

But was it worth it?

You sweep the floor over with a broom, the glass quickly mounting against the wall. Your feet are bleeding, your head is pounding from how much you cried, your back is sore from dragging Rafe everywhere, and you can feel the new bruises both John and JJ left you with already pulsing.

You lean your head against the broomstick, and close your eyes for a moment.

And then—Rafe.

The thought creeps in uninvited, sudden and suffocating. If you feel this bad, if your head is splitting open and your body is aching, how is he feeling? He wasn’t just drunk. He wasn’t just reckless. He was a breath away from dying.

You clutch the broom tighter, fingers aching with the pressure, but the grip on your chest doesn’t ease.

Is he even awake yet?

Is he okay?

You swallow hard, but the lump in your throat doesn’t go anywhere.

Maybe you should check.

But how would you check on him? You don't have his number. The person closest to him you can ask is Sarah, who you doubt Rafe would like to be aware of his drug mishap. And Barry, who does know, probably won’t be responding to anything from you for the next week or so.

You sit back down to take off your shoes and wonder.

It gnaws at you, the not knowing. You don’t care—at least, you tell yourself you don’t—but the weight of it settles in your chest anyway, coiling tighter the longer you sit still.

You should get up. Move. Do something other than dwell on the wreckage, both in your room and in your head.

So you try to force yourself into motion.

Your body protests as you pull yourself up, legs stiff, joints aching. You peel off last night’s clothes, wincing as the fabric sticks to your skin, a mix of dried sweat, salt, and blood. The shower is lukewarm at best, John still hasn’t fixed the heater like he promised, but it rinses the worst of it away. You brace your hands against the tile, letting the water drum over the back of your neck, waiting for it to wash the rest of this feeling down the drain.

But it doesn’t.

By the time you're dressed, tugging your damp hair into something passable, the weight in your chest hasn't budged.

You pull open your dresser and grab your uniform, the cheap fabric wrinkled from being shoved into a drawer.

You should be thinking about work—about the bus you have to get in 5 minutes, about the lunch rush, about the heat in the kitchen, about whether Kiara will be on shift today and if she’ll look at you like she doesn’t remember the talk you had three days ago.

But instead, you think about Rafe.

About how easily he could have died.

About how no one else knows.

About how, if he had, you would’ve been the last person to see him alive.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, itching for a cigarette, a distraction, anything to pull your mind somewhere else.

You’ve given in to the nicotine cravings as you run about the empty living room, looking for your keys. You have your father to thank for your smoking habit, he smoked maniacally ever since you could remember, but the reason poverty hasn’t forced you to go cold turkey a long time ago is JJ. —Your house might be empty of food, and maybe you’re behind on the light bill and the city shuts down your power again, but if there are two things JJ and John keep in stock around the place, those things are cheap beer and marlboro lights.— You fish a cigarette from a half-smoked package on the counter, struggling with the lighter for a while before you finally give up and use the stove.

You think you’d be a little more relieved when the chemicals finally start sinking in, but your eyes catch the door just as you inhale. JJ’s shoes are still sitting beside it.

He hasn’t left.

You look around for a moment, mind slowly drifting back to the blonde. But you don’t let yourself linger there. Instead, you grab your keys and slip out the door before you can bump into him.

Public transport in the Outer Banks is less than stellar. Everyday you commute with at least 70 other people, just as broke and anxious as you are, in that crammed bus: the single line that goes from anywhere near your house to about a 20 minute walk away from The Wreck.

It’s a miracle anyone ever found a place to sit, and of course, no divine intervention permitted that miracle ever happen to you. So you spend the half an hour ride standing on your cut up feet, to prepare yourself for the next eight hours of running around in that stuffy kitchen, listening to Anthony, the head Chef, and his inexorable screaming, and Mr. Carrera’s endless scolding of the kitchen’s staff’s time.

The air inside The Wreck’s kitchen is thick with the scent of seared meat and butter, the hum of the ventilation system barely cutting through the clatter of knives against cutting boards and the sharp hiss of oil meeting raw protein. The moment you step through the swinging doors, the heat slams into you, clinging to your skin like a second layer.

Willis is already at his station, sleeves rolled up, hands working quickly over a slab of beef. He doesn’t look up as he calls out. – Took your sweet time getting here, didn’t you Routledge?

You sling your bag into your locker, ignoring the jab. – Morning to you too, hon.

He snorts, finally glancing up. – Barely. – There’s a glint in his eyes, you’ve seen it a thousand times before. The look he gets when he wants to gossip.

– Go ahead, Will. Spill it.

It’s early enough that the kitchen is still in its controlled chaos phase —everyone moving, prepping, getting ready for the inevitable hellstorm of the lunch rush. You grab your apron, tying it tight around your waist, and wash your hands before heading to your station. The prep list is long, but that’s nothing new.

– There’s nothing to spill. – He hums. – Unless you know something. – Willis mutters as you start working, his knife gliding through a rib rack with practiced efficiency, you raise an eyebrow at him, waiting for the bomb to drop. – Boss is in a mood. Apparently his daughter didn’t come home last night.

– Kie? – He hums in agreement. You wonder why.

– I heard the two of them arguing in the back this morning. He was talking about a boy driving her here. It’s not your brother, is it? Aren’t they friends?

– John has a girlfriend.

Willis laughs knowingly. – That never stopped anyone. – You force yourself to smile back at him, though it's the last thing you want to do. – Anyway. Don’t get in his way today. You know he’s already iffy on you.

– Well, there go my plans for the morning! – You mutter, and he chuckles, passing his cut over to you. The conversation’s over. But his words still echo in your mind.

You're thankful for the work, for once. The familiar motions take over—seasoning, basting, trimming fat, getting everything ready to be fired later. The methodical nature of it helps, the repetition keeping your mind from wandering where it shouldn’t.

The doors swing open, and Kiara walks in with an empty tray balanced on her hip.

The noise of the kitchen swallows whatever she says to another server, but you feel her gaze before you see it. When you glance up, your eyes meet for just a second—hers unreadable, yours careful— before you turn back to your work. There’s nothing to say, nothing worth dredging up in the middle of prep.

Hours slip by in a steady churn of orders, the quiet build of the morning shifting into the controlled chaos of the rush. By noon, the kitchen is swamped, the air thick with steam and stress. Anthony's voice cuts through the din, barking orders as plates fly from station to station. Your hands move on autopilot, flipping steaks, checking temperatures, slicing roasts. Willis works beside you, muttering curses under his breath every time an order gets sent back for modifications.

Then, the ticket comes in.

You don’t read it at first, just reach for the next cut of meat, eyes scanning the details like second nature. Roast dish, standard sides. Peanut-glazed roast chicken.

You hesitate for a fraction of a second, the words sticking out. It’s been a while since you saw that dish being ordered, you were almost sure they took it out of the menu. The request is simple enough, nothing unusual. But something about it needles at the back of your mind.

You push the thought aside, refocusing. Just another plate in the middle of the rush. Another ticket among dozens.

Nothing to worry about.

You get to work on the glaze. The sauce pan is already waiting on the stove, a thin layer of oil shimmering in the heat. You move fast, scooping a generous spoonful of peanut butter into the pan, letting it loosen and melt as you stir.

A splash of soy sauce, a drizzle of honey. The scent blooms instantly—sweet, nutty, rich. You reach for the rice vinegar next, just a touch to cut through the heaviness. Then, garlic, grated fine, barely a whisper of sharpness underneath the smooth layers of flavor. The heat coaxes everything together, the sauce thickening, darkening, turning glossy as you work.

A final stir, a taste.

It’s perfect.

The timer dings. You pull the chicken from the oven, the skin crisped and golden, the juices pooling at the edges of the pan. With a practiced hand, you brush the glaze over the surface, the deep amber sheen soaking into the heat, clinging to the curves of the roast. Another minute under the broiler—just long enough for the sugars to caramelize, for the edges to darken into something tempting.

The moment it’s done, you move fast. A quick slice, checking for doneness. Then plating: the chicken settled onto a warmed plate, nestled against a bed of seasoned rice. A handful of crushed peanuts sprinkled over top, a sprig of fresh cilantro for contrast. Every detail placed with intention.

One last look.

Then the plate is up, Kie already reaching for it, her eyes drifting through you one last time. You watch over your shoulder as she carries it out, disappearing beyond the swinging doors.

It’s out of your hands now. But the feeling lingers. That quiet, nagging thought.

Something about this order doesn’t sit right.

You throw yourself into the rhythm of the kitchen, trying to drown out that nagging feeling with movement. There’s too much to do, too much heat, too much noise—no room for doubt. The oil hisses as you slide a seared steak onto a plate, the scent of garlic and thyme curling up with the steam. You reach for a handful of fries, tossing them onto the side, then move on, wiping down the station before plating the next order.

Your hands are steady, but your mind isn’t.

It’s stupid. It’s just a dish. But something about it lingers, sticks to you like the grease on your skin.

– Hey, – Willis speaks up from beside you, not looking up from the salmon he’s searing. – You got that worried look on your face again, what's going on?

You scoff, grabbing a garnish. – What, my thinking face? I know it's hard to believe, what with me being so pretty and all, but sometimes I do actually think.

He finally glances up, raising a brow. – Spill.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you reach for another plate. – I’m fine. Just wondering if we’ll make it through lunch rush without Anthony popping a vein.

Willis snorts. – Fat chance.

You flash him a smirk, hoping it looks convincing. It doesn’t matter, because before he can push any further the kitchen doors burst open.

The air shifts.

A new kind of heat floods the room—thick, charged, the kind that makes people tense without thinking.

Mr. Carrera stands in the doorway, eyes scanning the kitchen like a predator. – Who made the peanut-glazed chicken?

The words slice through the chaos like a knife through flesh.

You freeze for half a second—just half. But Willis notices. His gaze flicks to you, sharp, before you even turn to face Mr. Carrera.

Your throat is suddenly dry. – I did.

Mr. Carrera moves. Storms down the kitchen like a bull with a target, weaving through stations without breaking stride. The space around you tightens, the air sucked out of the room.

Willis takes a step back. He’s not going to get in the way of this.

No one is.

And then—he’s there.

Standing in front of you, looming.

And you know, whatever this is, whatever you missed, it’s bad. – You could’ve killed someone, Routledge. You know that?!

Your mind rushes.

You think of every step and every second you spent on that dish. Every spoonful of each spice, every condiment, every sauce. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

If anything, you paid more attention to it than to any of the other dishes you were making. – I don't understand, sir.

The kitchen remains a vortex, the noise of plates, the roar of fire, the shouts from the servers, they still echo again and again through the thick walls of the room, but none of the cooks make a sound.

They don't scream.

They don't curse.

They don’t ask.

They're all quiet, eyes drifting between you and their work.

– The customer you made that for. He has a nut allergy. You could’ve killed him, Routledge! Do you have any idea how long I spent trying to convince him not to sue?!

You freeze.

For a moment, you want to laugh. You feel it coming up your throat, inching into your face in the way your cheek twitches. But you bite your tongue the last second.

– Did he eat it?

– We ought to be glad he didn't! Do you have any idea what could have happened if he had a reaction here?! How much money we would’ve lost?!

– He asked for a peanut-glazed roast chicken, sir. There was nothing else in the ticket. Just that. – Kie is standing by the door, looking over at the two of you. A couple servers look at her weird as they push through her. You can't read her face. —Concern, doubt, curiosity— Whatever emotion dances in her face remains shrouded in her attempt to keep it blank. – Kie was the one who rang it in. Right, Kie? The ticket said peanut-glazed roast chicken.

She doesn't even make a move to speak.

But her father is already shouting at you again: – You want to tell me that a man who is allergic to nuts would've asked for a peanut-glazed dish?!

You don't want to insult him.

You can't afford to lose this job.

But this conversation is getting more idiotic by the second. – It wouldn’t be the first time it happened, sir.

You’re not lying.

Your breaks are populated by the endless recollection of people who knowingly or not ask for dishes they're allergic to, then come back to make a scandal.

All the other restaurants you’ve worked at were the same.

But Mr. Carrera looks at you as if you had just spat on him. – What did you just say to me?!

– It wouldn’t be the first time it happened.

Anthony comes in, pushing his sleeves further up his forearms like he does whenever he wants to seem tough. – What’s happening?

You open your mouth, but the owner cuts in before you can utter a word. – Your cook just made a peanut dish for someone who is deathly allergic!

–You did what?! – It's a scolding, but he shouts it at you like a bark. You try not to shrink into yourself. – What the fuck is your problem, Routledge?!

– The customer asked for a peanut-glazed roast chicken, Chef! I just did what was written on the ticket!

You don't like the way your voice rises. The way it trembles slightly. But you can't help it. You feel your pulse starting to roar in your ears, the adrenaline that was already there making you shake.

– The customer did?! The customer that's allergic to fucking peanuts?!

Anthony's favorite past-time is wishing people choke to death on whatever they're allergic to. He says it at least once every shift. Yet he’s acting like it’s the most absurd thing he ever heard. Treating you like an idiot.

– You know better than anyone it’s not the first time this happened, Chef. – You shouldn’t have to explain yourself. You don’t know why they're going so hard on you. – Joey, – You’re calling for the pastry chef before you can help yourself. – Joey! Didn’t you just have to re-do the caramelized pineapple tarte because the customer was allergic to pineapple?

The freckled boy looks up from a dessert plating, and nods, but before his mouth opens, Mr. Carrera interrupts you again: – Don’t try to shift the blame here Routledge!

– I'm not shifting any blame! This isn’t anyone's fault! The ticket said Peanut-glazed roast chicken, so I got on my station and made a Peanut-glazed roast chicken! I can’t read the customer's mind!

– Don't start getting smart with me now, girl! You got the dish wrong and you don't want to admit it!

– I did what was on the ticket! That’s all I did!

You turn around, already looking over the tickets on the dashboard, but as soon as the paper is in your hand, someone yanks you back. – Don't turn your back on me!

– Look, Look here— This is the ticket!

– Don't talk back at me!

– I'm not! I'm just trying to show you—

– Take off that apron! – Your face falls. You look back at Anthony, his eyes widening for a split second under his thick black brows, but he remains there, naked arms crossed over his Chef's whites, not moving a muscle. – Take that apron off right now, Routledge!

– Mr. Carrera—You're stuttering. Head spinning. You don’t know where to look. – Please—

– Take it off!

– I need this job, sir, please. Please. I'm sorry—

– Take it the fuck off before I have security drag you out of here, Routledge! Take it off!

Willis places his hand on your shoulder, pulling you back softly. You're shaking. His eyes shift as he looks at you as well, and only then you realize you were crying. How long has it been? Months, Maybe a year since you cried. And now you've done it three times within the span of 12 hours. – With all due respect, sir—

– I don’t need your due respect, Redfield. Get back to your work!

– Mr. Carrera… – He tries again.

– GET BACK TO WORK!

Willis retreats as soon as he's come forward.

– Please, please. I can’t lose this job. – You look at Anthony, then back at Mr. Carrera before the pity starts forming on the chef's face.

– Should've thought about that before you disrespected me!

– Michael, – Anthony's voice is level, the closest to pleading he'll ever come. Even he seems a little confused. – I can’t finish the day with a single Roast chef, half the orders go to them.

– Chef? This girl isn't a chef, Anthony! She's just a cook! A cook that clearly has no idea of what she's doing!

– Chef, please… – You're begging. You don't know what else to do.

– I won’t tell you another time, Routledge! Take that fucking apron off!

Anthony looks away from you as the screams echo around the kitchen. He shifts on his feet for a moment, almost as if he didn’t know where to go.

You reach for your back, undoing the double knotted bow you became so used to doing with shaky hands.

Mr. Carrera still looks at you expectantly after you lay the apron in his hands. – The uniform, Routledge.

You want to disappear. – I'm not wear—

– TAKE IT OFF!

You feel a dozen pairs of eyes on you.

The tears that fall from your eyes feel like acid as they run down your face, more and more constant as humiliation sears you from the inside out.

Your fingers reach for the black buttons of your chef's white. You had stolen a couple buttons from your dad's old suit to fix this uniform, when they tore at the beginning of this year, before he’d disappeared.

It's fitting that, even if spirit, he's here to watch you be scrutinised.

You can just hear him now:

“What’d you think would happen?”

The cheap fabric scrapes against the bruises on your arms. The fainter bruises around your neck, where JJ had grabbed you, in full display.

“You should've known better” He would say.

You can't say you're glad for the less revealing sports bra you're wearing. Because you feel as if you're standing, naked, in front of these men when you finally pull the coat off.

“Can't say I'm surprised”

– Get out of my kitchen, Routledge. – Kie's father's voice is a blade. You can’t look him in the eye. You don’t want to see him look at you. – I better not see you when you come to get your things.

You barely muster the strength to whisper a “yes sir” before he pushes past his daughter, out into the salon again.

Anthony holds your coat. His pity burning holes into your skin. – Routledge—

You don't let him finish it.

You just raise your hand, holding down a sob, and say – I'm sorry, chef.

The door doesn't hit you on the way out, but it feels like the world has crumbled around you as you sit down on the concrete and sink your head in your hands.

You sink onto the curb, your knees knocking together as you fold in on yourself, arms wrapping tight around your middle like you can hold yourself together by force. But it’s useless. You feel hollowed out, like a pit has been scooped from your chest, leaving only raw, open air where something solid used to be.

The sounds of the restaurant leak out onto the street—laughter, clinking plates, the rhythm of a dinner rush you are no longer a part of. The life you've had for three years, ripped away like it had never belonged to you in the first place.

JJ's words are the ones that echo in your mind now: "They always win, don’t they? They always win and we're left to scrap by."

You stare down at your hands, your fingers stiff, still curled like you’re gripping something, though there’s nothing there. Nothing left. The buttons, stolen from your father’s suit, glint dully in your palm. You try to close your fist around them, but they press into your skin, sharp, biting. A cruel joke. Even the things you steal for yourself are taken back in the end.

The back of your throat burns, tight and aching. Your breath stutters, and for a second, you think you might stop crying—but you don’t. You can’t. Instead, the grief settles, thick and choking, pressing against your ribs, your skull, crushing you from the inside out.

You tilt your head back, staring up at the sky, searching for something—anything—to ground you, but the sky is smudged, blurred, swallowed by the glow of a city that’s barely there. There’s nothing up there. Just empty space stretching forever, indifferent to the small, insignificant thing you have become.

Have always been.

And then—your father’s voice again. Not real, but real enough.

“Is this what you thought would happen? Did you really think you could keep up?”

Your nails dig into your palms. You know you should move. Get up, go home, figure out what comes next. But you stay where you are, stuck in this moment, in this feeling. Stripped down, exposed, like a wound left open to the air.

A car rumbles past, the headlights flashing over you. And for one terrible, fleeting second, you think about standing up—stepping forward—just enough.

But then it's gone. The thought, the headlights, the car.

You exhale shakily. Pull your knees closer. And keep sitting there.

A sound cuts through the noise—sharp, distant. Your name.

You don’t move at first. The world around you is muffled, drowned beneath the weight pressing against your ears, the thick, suffocating quiet that only grief can bring. The restaurant’s noise hums at the edges of your senses, blurred and detached, as if you are hearing it from underwater.

You don’t know how long you’ve been here. Time has unraveled, slipped through your fingers like the buttons in your palm.

Your name again, firmer this time. A presence at the edge of your vision.

Slowly, you lift your head.

Rafe stands a few feet away, his Range Rover parked in the shadowed corner of the lot. The keys dangle from his hand, catching the light. He’s smiling—like he always does, like this is nothing, like you’re just two people crossing paths on an ordinary night.

But then he sees you.

Sees your face.

And his smile vanishes, something darker flashing through his face.

[podcastingpineapple]

Happy Secret Samol to reid!

I made/hacked a solo journaling game about Phrygian in the vein of Grampa's Farm, Alone Among the Stars, Thousand Year Old Vampire and so on and so on. And I do not have time nor the patience to figure out how to transfer my PDF into some sort of a cloud - so the Whole Damn Game will be one long ass tumblr post.

Enjoy "Life of the Party"!

You are a scientist from a different world. You have many forms, your body is part of your self-expression. When you are not a solo apartment, your body is made from wires and cables, snapping and bending into a convincing face. You are far away from home, fighting in a war that is not the war you were supposed to fight in, defending a planet that is not yours from the Principality.

But you are not alone, and the war is not forever. Between battles and missions, scuffles and sitreps, there are occasions of leisure and fun, of bar nights and mournful wakes. Occasions that are built out of moments and people who you share those moments with.

You can be the party, the tv, the people dancing to the music.

And you will not be alone.

How to play

To play, you need a standard 52-card deck WITH JOKERS and a six-sided die (d6). You also need a way of writing down your experiences, be it pen and paper or a notes app on your mobile device.

Play as long or as short of a game as you want to. Shuffle the deck and take out your dice, fire up your writing device.

First roll for the occasion on the occasion table or decide it yourself. Narrate shortly what sort of gathering you are going to. Mark down the general details of the event: what are you looking forward to? Who do you hope to meet? What bothers you about this event?

Draw 3-9 cards, place them in front of you. These are memorable moments that occur in the event. The suit and the value of the card tells you what kind of moments they are and with whom.

Draw the same number of cards into your hand. Your goal is to matcheither the moment’s SUIT or VALUE with the cards in your hand.

Ask yourself, am I the party or am I in the party. Narrate your memory of the moment: who did you share it with and what went right. Did you match the themes, or did you share a connection with the person? You can use the suits and values as inspiration or narrate freely.

If you can match neither the suit nor value, the moment is not harmonious and may cause complications. Narrate honestly what you think happens, either getting inspiration from the different values or suits. Maybe you weren’t not ready to have a heart to heart with your captain and talked to them about the war effort instead.

JOKERS are always treated as moments and should be placed on the table when drawn. Jokers represent strangers, other Branched beings. People like you. Where did they come from and what form do they take? How does their presence change the occasion? How do you try to connect with them, or do you not try to? Once you have gone through all moments, you can draw new ones or decide to conclude the occasion. Narrate your overall feelings towards people you met and experiences you had and end the game.

The Occasion (D6)

Funereal. Revolutionaries often gather in to remember those who they have lost. Large or small, wakes bring people together, close. Amongst grief and remembering, there might be joy.

A Night Out. A local bar, a small burger joint, a shady night market. Smoke and drink and karaoke and puke. Arcade-games and cotton candy, sticky floors and waiting in lines to try the anti-gravity carousel or a game of basketball.

Movie Night. It is a stretch to call mandatory “group activities” a party, but a gathering is a gathering. Popcorn and a small couch, large video catalogue, board games and pool.

Birthday. Time can be weird next to the Mirage but it moves regardless. A ritual, perhaps a shared piece of a pastry. Gifts and singing, barbeque.

A Dance. Music and drinks, a beat that makes your body move in a rhythm with others. A fancy ball or a shady disco with flashing lights – bodies near bodies and a melody that runs through all of them.

Pirate Bounty. From time to time, pirates and your crew end up in the same location – and it is always a party. A shared meal and drink, shared treasures. Firelight and hacked screens.

Moments

The suit of the card tells you the nature of the moment:

♣ CLUBS are moments of physicality. Physical connection: An accidental hug, a hoarse voice, a pulled muscle. Physical things: Cables tangled, a cracked screen, a popcorn machine, a cigarette.

♦ DIAMONDS are moments of intellect and wit. Argumentation, science, discussing the themes of a movie. A game of skills and chance, looking cool or sick as shit.

♥ HEARTS are emotional moments. A heart to heart, a connection and understanding. A heartache, a shared laughter or a shared cry.

♠ SPADES are moments related to The Cause. Sometimes while having fun your work, ideals, The Actual War you are fighting in, seeps in. Millenium Break zines and heavy topics, guns, clocks ticking.

The value of the card tells you the people related to the moment:

2-6 are moments with your crew, Blue Channel, as a whole. Some moments are shared with the whole team.

7-9 are moments with the locals, people of the planet. People made from glass, people shaved from shards of divinity itself, people who operate the local tavern or bar… people of Palisade.

10 are moments with other members of the Cause: be it priests or warlords, revolutionaries or high ranking members of the Millenium Break.

JACKS are moments with the child of the Mirage, Coriolis. As sheltered and “new” she might be, she is part of the team and eager to connect with you, a person from so far away.

QUEENS are moments shared with The Figure. They are shattered and hurt, and they have bad connections – yet they are as dedicated to the cause as ever.

KINGS are moments with antique agricultural robot with growing personality, Thisbe. You have tried reaching out to her previously, but her way of being with others is… unique.

ACES are moments with your captain. Kalvin Brnine might be emotionally reserved, but you are like their second in command and they value your council.

JOKERS are someone like you. A Branched. A being whose form bends to their will – someone far from home. Maybe they fight in the same war as you, maybe they are on the opposing side. But they are here. How do you approach them?

[horoscope1078]

:)

Oscar prided himself on being calm, collected, and unshakable on the racetrack. He wasn’t the type to scream in frustration, throw controllers, or engage in unnecessary drama. Until he played F1 23 with his girlfriend, you.

"Ok, are you ready to lose?" you teased, wiggling your eyebrows as you selected your car.

Oscar scoffed. "Lose? Me? Babe, I do this for a living."

You smirked. "Yea yea, whatever. I’ve seen you spin out in real life before. Who’s to say you won’t do it here too?"

Oscar narrowed his eyes. "Alright. No more Mr. Nice Piastri."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Please, you’ll go easy on me because you love me."

Oscar simply smirked. You were in for a rude awakening.

The race started, and Oscar was immediately in full race mode. His entire posture shifted, he leaned forward, jaw clenched, eyes laser-focused on the screen.

You, on the other hand, was laughing as you attempted to steer properly. "Wait, how do I turn again- OH MY GOD, THE WALL!"

Oscar barely spared you a glance. "Rookie mistake."

"ROOKIE?" you shrieked. "Oscar, I barely know how to use the brakes!"

"Not my problem." he replied coolly, overtaking you effortlessly.

You narrowed your eyes. "Oh, it’s on, Piastri."

At first, you tried to play fair. But after seeing Oscar effortlessly pull a two-second gap, you resorted to alternative methods.

"Oops..." you said sweetly as you accidentally nudged his car.

Oscar’s eyes widened. "Did you just- DID YOU JUST TOUCH ME?"

You giggled. "Oopsie-daisy!"

Oscar gasped like you had personally insulted his entire McLaren team. "That was dirty driving!"

You shrugged. "Oh, I’m sorry, I thought we were having fun."

Oscar’s jaw clenched. "Alright. No mercy."

You, having miraculously figured out the controls, was somehow keeping up with Oscar.

You cackled. "I’m right behind you!"

Oscar glanced at the screen and saw your car dangerously close. His grip on the controller tightened. "Stay back."

"Nope."

"Stay back."

You floored it, attempting to overtake. Oscar saw red. He aggressively defended his position, blocking your every move.

"ARE YOU ACTUALLY DEFENDING AGAINST ME?" you shrieked.

"YES!" Oscar yelled back.

You burst out laughing. "OSCAR, YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO LOVE ME!"

"I do! But I also love winning!"

Your fingers mashed the buttons wildly as you somehow found yourself side-by-side with Oscar.

"This is it." you whispered. "The greatest moment of my life."

Oscar’s eye twitched. "Not happening."

In his desperation, he took the turn too aggressively and... spin. Oscar gasped in horror as his car suddenly lost control and spun out.

You, completely fine, zoomed past him.

There was a brief silence. Then "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA."

Oscar sat there, gripping his controller so hard it might snap. "I… I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS."

You wiped away a fake tear. "Oh my god, I wish I had a camera to capture this moment."

Oscar’s face was completely blank. "You did this."

You smirked. "Maybe I manifested it."

Oscar exhaled sharply. "You just signed your death sentence."

Oscar was now in full attack mode. He overtook aggressively, braked late, and blocked every possible move you tried.

But somehow, you held yourself.

"This is ridiculous." Oscar muttered. "How are you still ahead?"

You giggled. "Maybe I’m just naturally talented."

Oscar scoffed. "You literally crashed into a wall five laps ago!"

"Growth, Oscar. It’s called growth."

He rolled his eyes, focusing as you reached the final straight. This was it. Victory or eternal humiliation.

Oscar floored it, barely inching ahead. And then... his controller suddenly disconnected.

Oscar’s eyes went wide. "NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!"

But it was too late. You flew past him and crossed the finish line first. There was a beat of silence. Then, you screamed in victory.

"I WON! I ACTUALLY WON!"

Oscar slowly turned to you, his face blank. "My controller disconnected."

You shrugged. "Sounds like a skill issue."

Oscar gasped so dramatically that you nearly fell off the couch laughing. "DID YOU JUST-"

"Skill issue." you repeated smugly.

Oscar groaned, flopping back against the couch. "This is the worst day of my life."

You leaned over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I think it’s the best day of mine."

Oscar let out a deep sigh before narrowing his eyes. "Alright, best two out of three."

You burst out laughing. "Oscar, we’ve been playing for two hours!"

"And we’ll play until justice is served." Oscar declared dramatically.

You rolled your eyes but smiled. "You’re so competitive, it’s adorable."

Oscar grumbled but didn’t deny it. He glanced at you, his features softening. "You know I love you, right?"

You grinned. "Yea. But you still lost."

Oscar groaned. "Why do I even like you?"

You giggled. "Because I keep you humble."

Oscar sighed, staring at the screen. "You do realise I’m going to train you until you race like an actual F1 driver, right?"

You smirked. "Bring it on, Piastri."

And with that, the most intense rematch of all time began.

[saintsenara]

Another ask, this time just for fun. What are your thoughts on original characters in fanfic? Furthermore, what about fanfics that center around original characters?

thank you very for the ask, @hauntingpercival

and the answer is that i am a great defender of original characters in fanfiction because fanfiction is a hobby we do for fun - which means we are entitled to do whatever the fuck we want when writing.

i think that it's incredibly unchic behaviour when people decide they're suddenly professional editors exclusively to complain about their presence in stories - and i don't think there's anyone in fandom who can cast a stone against others when it comes to being a little self-indulgent in their writing...

because - of course - it's basically impossible to write a story set in the harry potter universe [even with the lightning generation] which doesn't use original characters at some point.

even if your protagonist is the most canon-accurate version of the character ever to walk around canon-accurately, co-workers and fellow students and parents and siblings and love interests and friends and shop assistants and random passers-by all need to be pulled from the ether to add colour to the story - and this is especially the case if an author wants to delve into themes or eras which are overlooked in the canon narrative.

as someone who writes a lot about voldemort's life, i have needed to come up with plenty of original characters to serve as his teachers, schoolmates, fellow orphans and so on - and i think it's worth saying that while some of these, like abraxas malfoy, are mentioned in canon, the fact we know nothing canonical about them beyond their names means that they function as original characters too.

and i find it tremendous fun.

[and i've spoken elsewhere about my favourite oc - romulus lestrange - father of the erstwhile rodolphus and rabastan.]

and i do think that it's worth offering a defence of that fun element - i see a lot the suggestion that it's a bit cringe [or, perhaps, a bit arrogant] to take original characters seriously, but i actively enjoy thinking up character details and writing characterisation notes and so on for people who exist exclusively in my head. and - yes - i think the process of fleshing out oc's has broader benefits to me as a writer, but that's really a secondary point next to the fact that it's fun.

i also love naming oc's - and i want to offer here a defence not only of fun but of whimsy.

it has been my great pleasure while writing one year in every ten - which is a murder mystery formed of three different poirot novels in a trenchcoat - to cram in as many characters named after crime writers or stars of classic detective novels as possible.

[when i'm taking things a bit more seriously, i like thinking about the class vibes of the series when making sure any pureblood original characters have anglo-norman names...]

and so - while we're taking a stance in favour of fun and whimsy - i think it's important to also back stories centred around original characters. and to do this even when these oc's are transparently author self-inserts.

all too often the conversation around oc's focuses on how to make them "good" - how to make them unclockable as a self-insert, how to avoid writing a mary-sue, and so...

but i think that's the wrong way to look at it.

people write mary-sues because they want to - because fanfiction is escapism and because sometimes it's nice to imagine yourself as flawless and beloved. people write self-insert because they want to - because it's fun to imagine yourself as part of a fictional world which means a lot to you.

i'm not sure i'd personally find writing an original character self-insert fun [largely because i'm a mess and nobody would want to read about me] - and, to telegraph my own hypocrisy, i really don't like it when characters who have a lot of canon material behind them turn into unrecognisable author surrogates [hence my enmity with fanon!hermione], which i do think it can be argued is a meaningfully different phenomenon...

but people who do enjoy it? well, i love that for them. not everything has to appeal to me, after all.

and - even when oc's aren't mary-sues or intentional author inserts - sometimes it's nice to give the responsibility of telling the story you want to tell to a character of your own, instead of asking a character who has to be dragged from canon to do it for you.

and i know that i do find writing a story centred around these sort of oc's fun because i'm... doing it.

metallurgy - the upcoming sequel to bookbinding - hinges entirely on its original characters: the seven children [since seven is the most powerful magical number] of tom riddle and myrtle warren. these lot are causing carnage in the wizarding world of the 1970s, and i am very much enjoying the ride...

[bigfatbreak]

Birds of a Feather previous / next

[bumblingbabooshka]

and then he quit Starfleet for over 50 years

[totally-not-an-awkward-okapi]

Look man I just think it’s a shame that Lon Chaney Jr’s horror film debut usually gets cut from the roster.

[brawlqueen]

PSA. / 2024 goals !

the reason i haven't been writing a lot is i've mostly been on my OC trying to play catch up on her lore and worldbuilding. you can find her in the pinned post . also i've been planning what i want to do for mizuki for 2024, and my interest very normal love for best girl only gets better each year. i just hope to do justice by her in my own way as i figure out what i'm doing post AI1.

as i'm canon divergent and i have a few things to talk about that i'll be hoping to capture or discuss hopefully some of this year that are parts of my mizuki's canon ! so i'll try doing it in uh, the most organized way because one goal i have at least for 2024 is better blog organization . it's too late to make a sideblog for musings / etc . THINGS I'LL BE DOING THIS YEAR . - focusing on catch up. unless a thread is requested to be dropped, please message me if so, i'll be continuing it. some i will drop for my own sanity, not because i don't want to write with you again! - seasonal / holidays asks will just be holiday asks with no specific content save for people i owe, ex: bubblez' kizuna or thane's trunks, etc. why? i think mizuki deserves to celebrate the holidays or anything remotely happy because while aiba is arguably as of now her best support system, let's be real, i genuinely want to find and work on any of her relationships because she's severely lacking in support. even from 2023. i'll try to stay more on the ball for again, my own sanity this year when i reblog them. - i will be writing my version of post-canon mizuki and child mizuki, that goes from her time before adoption from date, aka with shoko and renju which will be tagged appropriately because honestly mizuki doesn't know many reliable adult figures in her life, and it makes me very sad that she's arguably more mature than...most people save say, boss or pewter or hitomi etc. she deserves better! just because AI2 certainly isn't everyone's cup of tea, and it isn't mine in a LOT of ways, i still took stuff from it, and i don't think it's fair to halt mizuki at 12 forever just because we fairly have critique of NI / AINI and not let her grow up and experience a hopeful future and more bonds to fill the huge hole in her heart. let her be happy is the goal !

now i'm working on mizuki's post canon verse, as i've restarted aitsf 1 to move to aitsf 2, where i'll take a few things that i won't likely budge on unless you meet me halfway !

the verse title for anything post-canon and generally for 18 year old mizuki / teen mizuki or post explosion mizuki will be this verse tag!

__ 𝐕; 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍*ೃ༄ not compromising with just this; i'm taking back all the happiness i lost.

__

now onto her post canon details i do have figured out.

mizuki and aiba are partners. one thing that's consistent is through her time with date, that can still be a thing because they ARE a family, albeit i feel estranged granted the resolution route is canon, so mizuki never really got to bond with him, get her aphonia cured, vice versa, is aiba's care through time in his eye socket appreciating the girl's strength and endurance and intelligence in both games. you can have more than one partner, and until / if we have another game and mizuki possibly gets another partner and i debate the chemistry, aiba is mizuki's partner and aiba is generally mostly with mizuki, but that doesn't mean she isn't with date too. she can love more than one person. and both dates are equally dear to her.

mizuki was still experimented on until 3 years old at horadori institute, albeit she has blurry memories at best, and i debate if she should fully remember! one factor of her godlike superhuman strength. but she also is trained in most japanese martial arts she can get her hands on! she is NOT a clone of bibi, bibi doesn't exist whatsoever despite me enjoying her personality, even if i felt it was made to mimic mizuki herself, if others who have muses with canon bonds to bibi, please talk to me so we can plot it out if you keep her as part of your canon ! as long as we meet halfway i'm more than happy to work with you !

mizuki is still a rookie detective and psyncer at ABIS. in my canon, she actually looks to ryuki, also new, but older for advice and i like to think as dual protagonists that they should have been, they get to do some cases together! only if a ryuki is willing of course.

for now, she's working on small to medium cases with aiba. the explosion still happened that took her vision clean out. she does this because of the gruesome history she has, not wanting others to suffer the same kind of unimaginable trauma she has with both biological parents murdered in various means and i'm still debating whether tearer even exists. he likely will, and if people also have the other culprit's actions in their canon, please talk to me too and i'll work together with you on that !

mizuki still runs lemniscate and sunfish pocket. she doesn't have the heart yet to really let go of her neglectful biological father's companies, even if he didn't care for her in a way she needed. in time, i'll see how she feels about this, as i do plan for mizuki to continue her education, as the girl is extremely intelligent.

mizuki is still best friends with iris, but my mizuki also considers amame and kizuna two of her really close friends, but they aren't a sister to her like iris is. they're certainly caring of her, and she'd protect them with her life, but she isn't as close to them as iris, and all of them do hang out together from what i've seen.

my mizuki is a lot more skeptical for the kizunas out there, of lien. she isn't comfortable with his advances towards one of her best friends and generally is a lot more protective. that said, it's all according to people who write kizzy. naturally she's fiercely protective of iris, who now is someone who works for her too as the president of an entertainment company.

my mizuki comes from the MIZUKI ROUTE in terms of character development but NOT THE PLOT EVENTS . iris is not inhabited by so sejima. date and mizuki DO bond like a father and daughter. date unless a date talks to me, DOES cure her aphonia or it's hitomi herself like canon because hitomi is the mom she deserves imho. but i tend to take away the development of her character and their relationship otherwise i feel the date family bond is....pretty estranged or mizuki is MUCH more doubtful of date caring for her at all granted the routes and how she tends to get overlooked a lot.

basically i want to as one of i'm sure other mizuki-mun's, give her my best in my own way, at my own pace !

and those are my goals as i replay the games (again!) . i hope to keep developing mizuki and thank you for being so patient with me as always, everyone ! also kinda sorry for the long post but it was all necessary !

[lepetitfruit]

Every time I have a knee-jerk reaction to clarify "oh I think this is cool but I'm not ~one of them~" I have to stop and think for a moment about why. What about being perceived as part of that group bothers me? Why does it bother me? What would clarification acheive, other than alienating a group I'm trying to say is interesting? It's very informative

[deus-ex-mona]

tmw you give someone concise instructions but they ✨just do not get it✨

[norrisainz33]

bubble || LN4

☆ summary: internet sleuths find out that lando norris has been flirting with and potentially dating a relatively unknown singer

☆ pairing: lando norris x singer!reader

☆ fc & warnings: zinadelphia & slightly suggestive. you are responsible for the content you consume

☆ requested: nope!

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

f1gossip has made a post

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, user5, user6, yourbff and 18,345 others

f1gossip: it’s been brought to our attention by an anonymous user that our lando norris has been caught seemingly flirting in the comment sections (for at least the past 24 weeks based off the time stamps) with a small american artist, y/n y/l/n. he’s the only driver that follows her and has been consistently in her comment section hyping her up and calling her things like “gorgeous”, “talented” and “pretty.” what do you all make of this?

view all 653 comments

user1: oh my god lando????

user14: i’ve never once heard of this girl?

user2: how did we not know about this for the past 24 weeks guys wtf

user4: no like seriously…. seems like something we should have known already

user3: wait her music is really good tho 🥹

user7: her song mirrorball??? the girl has some vocals wow

user4: just looked her up and she’s beautiful… i see what he’s seeing

yourbff: screaming my head off at this

user1: and who are you??? do you know y/n??

f1gossip: check your dms yourbff

user5: she’s using him for fame!

user4: considering we all just found out about her…. imma go ahead and say no she’s not

user6: now how do i make this about me 🙂‍↔️

ynuser has added to their story

view all story the replies

user1: ooooo orange or papaya ???

yourbff: girl you fueling the flames with this post 😂💀

ynuser: HAHA i know… i got 24k new followers in the past 2 days since you sent me that post by f1gossip and figured id have some fun with it since there’s no hiding now

yourbff: who knew meeting that guy randomly in europe 6 months ago was going to turn out like this

ynuser: certainly not me girl. remember when i thought he was some weirdo who was just trying to hit on me in the bar??

yourbff: bc he had no rizz but max and p really swooped in and saved him and now look at you 🥹

ynuser: my perfect little no rizz baby boy 🥹 love of my life 🤭

landonorris: it’s papaya baby

ynuser: i couldn’t be too obvious now could i?

landonorris: nah go on then be obvious

ynuser: oh you want me to post you?

landonorris: yeah specifically that one pic you took of us in the mirror last night

ynuser: LANDO that is for OUR eyes only

landonorris: right yes

landonorris: i still think you should post me

ynuser: i don’t know if i want to burst our little bubble yet

landonorris: fair enough baby. you just tell me when! i’ve got paddock passes, pictures, plane tickets — everything lined up for when you’re ready

ynuser: 🥹😭 vegas? we go on our little vacation after im done my tour and you’re done in brazil and then pop the bubble?

landonorris: sounds great to me gorgeous but seriously no pressure

user2: my delusions are working over time

maxfewtrell: i’m trying so hard to defend your privacy and this is what you post

ynuser: what’s wrong with the color orange?

maxfewtrell: y/n

user3: ain’t ever seen you and lando in the same room but i somehow know yall doing it

user4: you’re so pretty and your outfits eat so hard wtf 😭

user9: praying this is a new song lyric idk who these new fans are talking about lando this lando that …. i need a new song

ynuser has made a post

liked by youbff, yourfriend2, yoursibling, landonorris, maxfewtrell, ynupdates, and 54,235 others

ynuser: baby’s first headlining tour was a success! thank you to everyone who came out and sang along with me every night. i love you all dearly 🤍 and for all the newbies here, welcome 🫶🏻

view all 324 comments

user1: oh she’s so cute

user2: starting a y/n fan club rn yall

yourbff: you are making those dreams come true bb girl

ynuser: trying to 🥹

yoursibling: cutie patootie i love you

ynuser: i love you more

user23: the peoples most beautiful princess 🤍

user9: who are all you new people here

user2: lando norris fans. who are you?

user9: a y/n y/l/n fan. who is lando norris?

user2: a formula 1 driver!

user9: race cars?? i did not expect that…

user8: taking note of lando and max in the likes

user4: also taking note of their lack of a comment…. lando has commented on every single one of her posts before the f1gossip post dropped

user16: i was there last night!!! best show ever!!! love you y/n

user19: i’m obsessed with those cherry earrings

landonorris has made a post

liked by maxfewtrell, quadrant, mclarenf1, oscarpiastri, ynuser, alex_albon23, and 823,104 others

landonorris: a much needed break. vegas here we come baby

view all 743 comments

user1: i don’t know where to look ,, at the wh*re in the first pic or the soft launch in the second my god 😮‍💨😍😭😔💀

user9: ok user2… i get it now. also i’ve seen those white shoes in y/n’s posts before it’s def her

user2: omg you’re an icon for this

ynuser: dmn y’all really can identify me by my shoes?

user9: YN WHAT ARE YOU SOING HERE IM SORRY

user2: y/nlando confirmed

maxfewtrell: interesting choice of photos mate

landonorris: thanks! picked them myself

maxfewtrell: yeah clearly

pietra.pilao: 🤍

landonorris: 🧡

user2: i’m speechless

user55: hey lando idk if u heard but there’s a lookalike contest happening in my room tonight. $59 cash prize

oscarpiastri: those aren’t max’s legs 👀

landonorris: you’d be correct

user12: this is monumental

user18: my favorite sinister, evil and orange little gremlin

user14: you’re gonna cook in vegas king

ynuser had posted to her story

view all story replies

yourbff: this dress is eating in a way i didn’t think it would. i’m sorry for doubting you

ynuser: never doubt me 😤

lilyzneimer: had so much fun meeting you at dinner this evening!!! looking forward to spending the weekend with you at mclaren 🫶🏻

ynuser: omg it was so fun getting dinner with you and oscar!! i’m so so so glad to have you as a buddy in the paddock. i was super nervous about it all

lilyzneimer: it can be very overwhelming at times but we’ve got you y/n!!

ynuser: that means so much to me 🥹

user9: mother is mothering … in vegas?????

user12: are you in vegas per chance?! for the formula 1 grand prix?! for lando norris?!

user2: i fr need style tips and grwm’s from you y/n. every time you post an outfit it moves me

landonorris: in my hotel room 😈

ynuser: you got it ☝🏻 now hurry up and get back here

landonorris: trust me im hurrying

user8: i need someone to get you on a magazine cover stat

f1gossip has made a post

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, user5, user6, yourbff and 19,231 others

f1gossip: confirmed! y/n y/l/n, singer songwriter, is in las vegas with lando norris for the las vegas gp. this seems to be their first official weekend out together

view all 327 comments

user2: as someone who has been deeply invested since the beginning (3 weeks ago).. this is everything

user9: my girl 🥹

user10: i truly wonder how in the world they even met… they’re such an interesting pair

user18: mclaren admin please ask him this weekend

user13: that should be me 😭

user24: ok wait guys im at the gp and y/n was walking through the paddock with lily and we waved her down because we had made some lando merch and she was honestly so sweet and stopped and took photos with us and chatted for way longer than she needed to. i truly hope she never changes she’s an angel

user21: this is so wholesome

user23: i fear she’s on track to become the people’s paddock princess in record time

user18: i have no one to send this to who will get it

mclaren has made a post

liked by landonorris, ynuser, maxfewtrell, oscarpiastri, yourbff, and 432,444 others

mclaren: this weekends most requested interview just dropped! make sure to check out the full thing over on the mclaren app 🟠

view all 329 comments

user18: mclaren admin is a y/nlando girly confirmed

maxfewtrell: he’s leaving out the bit where i had to save him from completely bombing

landonorris: 😔 you’re not gonna let me live that down huh

ynuser: idk what would have happened if max didn’t come over and stop you from explaining why you hate fish so passionately

landonorris: babe please not on the public instagram

user2: lando norizz strikes again

landonorris: love when i get asked good questions like this!

user4: king said if one more person asks me abt wdc im gonna lose it. ask me abt y/n instead

user9: this is making it incredibly hard to gatekeep y/n

ynuser: that’s my man 🙂‍↔️

landonorris: damn right it is

user13: the mutual do you know who i am is lowkey so funny

landonorris has made a post

liked by mclaren, ynuser, yourbff, oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell, pierregasly, and 843,238

landonorris: thanks for being nice to me this time vegas!! oh and thanks for coming y/n 😈🏆

view all 854 comments

user12: i’m so proud of you lando

user9: wahooooo first race i watched and you won. i think me and y/n are good luck for you

mclaren: incredible drive lando! that’s our winner!!

ynuser: something about seeing you on that podium 😮‍💨

landonorris: oh you like that?

ynuser: yes 🤭

landonorris: alright podium finishes only from now on 😏

user19: oh you two are freaks i just know it

ln4: LFGGGGG

user13: congrats on the win and the hot gf 😭

carlossainz55: congrats lando!! and hi y/n!

ynuser: hi carlos 🤍

maxfewtrell: much better post mate

landonorris: why thank you. i worked hard on this one

user2: a win and a hard launch = double win for me

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thanks for reading!! likes and reblogs appreciated 🫶🏻

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

ASL brothers HAIKYUU!! AU!!!!!

Day one of Self Indulgent month for me! I love these three, i love haikyuu, i love killer whales!

(The Naval Academy is this au’s version of marines)

For those who dont know, in Haikyuu (and prob in real life too but in my experience its not as important as they make it in the anime) The "Ace" of the team is the person who primarily scores points via spiking. Theyre the Hard Hitter, basically.

Design talk👇

Originally, i was gonna make their school mascot just "The Pirates" but i couldnt figure out a clever pun with the school name so i scrapped it in favor of an animal mascot. I figured I would have a wider range of puns that way.

I landed on Orcas as the mascot because I think they really embody a pirate way of life. Theyre strong, hang out in groups of a mix of found family and their actual family, hate the rich, and theyre fun loving! And also im a bit biased because theyre my favorite animal, but hey, i said its self indulgent month, didnt I?

Their school name is a play on the word for Killer Whale (Shachi シャチ) and the word for 'knowledge' (Chishiki 知識), i just smashed the two words together. I'm very proud of myself for coming up with that given i dont speak japanese at all.

Anyway, with their designs, I was taking inspiration from orcas to match the design themes of haikyuu. Ace's hair is bleached on the underside to look like the underside of an orca's body, I made ace and sabo's eyes look more whale-like, the clip in sabo's hair is meant to resemble to spots behind orca's eyes, and I tried to make luffy's hair look more like it's round and spiking down more than i usually do.

Ace is wearing a ''way of the ace" shirt in the first picture, Luffy is wearing a shirt that just says "VOLLEY BALL" because i think it would be funny if he wore a bunch of those Zero-context-poorly-translated-random-english-words shirts that theres a bunch of in Asia. Sabo dyes his hair like delinquents do, but it doesnt much look delinquent~y because of how soft it looks. He means to do it to make him look like a delinquent though. Sabo still has his scars in this au, but he uses his hair, arm braces, and leg braces to cover them up. LUFFY AND ACE HAVE FUNKY SOCKS BECAUSE NO ONE CAN TELL THEM (or me) THEY CANT. Sabo wears athletic socks though because he's a debbie downer. He defends himself saying “It’s practical” and Ace and luffy call him “practically a Debbie Downer.”

Luffy is very good at receiving from growing up with Sabo and Ace practicing setting and spiking with eachother and assigning Luffy as Ball Boy. So he got the libero position from that cuz sabo and ace put in a good word for him. Nepotism.

I didn't feel like coming up with designs for them, but Zoro and Bepo are also on their team (theyre in the fifth image sitting on the right of the line of students). Koala and nami are student managers, Robin is the teacher manager, and Franky is the coach. all other straw hats/luffy friends, rev army comrades, and whitebeard brethren are in the stands. Im trying to keep the ages consistent with how they are in canon.

I didnt do a very in depth research, but i couldnt find what Japanese schools have as mascot costumes. and given no one wears any costumes in haikyuu for their team, i can kind of assume they dont use them over there. But unfortunately for them, I'm American. And part of the backbone of our schooling system, is Vaguely Unsettling Mascot Costumes. My sister says my design for it looks like its from Club Penguin, and i find that delightful. [moment of silence for my billions of fallen Puffles, taken from me in The Shutdown] Anyway.

I thought I was clever coming up with the equivalent of the Marines in this au being a Naval Academy. And their mascot being Seals, famously the animal that gets the absolute Worst Of It from orcas. Get shit onnnnn

I believe thats about it, thanks for coming to my ted talk :)

[lotus-acid-trip]

hi! I hope you don’t mind me asking but may I request a Telemachus x fem reader where when ody returns and is being made fun of by the suitors while still in this begger disguise yn starts fighting off the suitors and yelling at them for being rude and maybe later joins ody while he is hunting them down and Telemachus has a love sick look while watching yn just like ody did for Penelope back when they were younger before he married her and after seeing how cool and awesome of a warrior yn is later ody turns to his son and says “I aprove of this one 😏” and poor Telemachus is just like 😳 all flustered and adorable what can I say Telemachus is a sweetie 🥰

feel free to ignore if you want to hope you have a good rest of your day thank you ☺️

“I approve of this one.”

Telemachus x Reader

[Epic The Musical]

oneshot

fluff

This is my first proper romantic reader insert fic, so I hope you enjoy!

Odysseus sat at the entrance of the courtyard under the shade of a large olive tree as he silently observed the numerous suitors scattered across the courtyard in idle chatter. Is this really what had become of his home while he was gone? It was baffling just how ungrateful and disrespectful all these guests were. He worried for the state of his palace after being infested with all these unwelcome guests for so many years. It must have been so difficult on Penelope and Telemachus to deal with all of them, having to feed and house them along with dealing with their pitiful attempts at courting his wife. It was a wonder why the suitors still haven’t been driven out by Telemachus yet.

His hand fiddled with the small wooden bowl in his hands. Odysseus was disguised as an old beggar, but as much as he wanted to reveal himself right then and there he needed to be patient and play it smart. He didn’t have anything other than an old knife hidden in his clothes to defend himself with and he was probably lacking a lot of proper nutrients and sustenance after being out at sea for so long with food of limited quality and quantity. If he were to fight all these suitors right now, he was sure to fail. Not only do they have an advantage in numbers, it was obvious they were well fed, and all the used training equipment seen around the palace was all he needed to know the suitors could fight. If Odysseus wanted to win, he needed to stick to the plan, which meant playing his part as an old beggar.

A suitor passed by him devouring a chicken leg and he held out his bowl to him. It would be a good opportunity to not only learn more about the state of his palace and family, but to also know just what his family has been up to in the past years. “Would you care to spare a bit of food for this old man?” The suitor tilted his head to look down at Odysseus for a moment before raising a brow. “And what exactly is this homeless old man doing in a palace like this? Surely your life hasn’t fallen so far into poverty that you’d go scrounging for scraps in the homes of royalty.” He leaned back against the tree, hands crossing over his legs. “Well, that wasn’t exactly my plan. I was just walking by but with the heat of the sun and with a body as frail and weak as mine, I just had to take a break under the shade of this mighty tree. I was always curious of what happened in the lives of royalty anyway.” He said as he looked up at the leaves and branches. He remembers planting it so many years ago to see how to take care of an olive tree as preparation for making his and Penelope’s marital bed. It's grown so much since then, and he wonders just how much Telemachus has as well. “Well, since you have so much spare time to just wander around doing nothing, why don’t you bring us all a meal or two, all the way from inside the palace’s pantry. You want some food? Work for it, old man.”

Odysseus raised a hand waving off the offer. “Ah, but there might be one small problem. I am just an old beggar, remember? I don’t know anything of the layout of the palace. I’m sorry, but I must decline. Can’t you just ask a servant to help you instead?” The suitor seemed to get irritated at his reply. “Ha! Yeah right, those servants can barely do anything right. They never bring the food on time and always seem to be short on stock. Not even their pathetic prince seems to know what he’s doing.” He stared at the suitor judgmentally. “ ‘Pathetic prince’ you say? Bold words for someone who’s staying in his palace.” The suitor looked at him as if he had just said something audacious instead of common sense. “Listen old man, we’re the guests here, not them. Do you not understand basic hospitality?” Odysseus narrowed his eyes at the suitor. He knew his palace, his servants and the workforce in it. They aren’t lazy or incompetent, if they were they wouldn’t be serving his family. Not to mention, if there wasn’t enough livestock there were plenty of skilled hunters and hunting dogs to accompany them. His memories of old hunts with Argos and others were more than enough proof of that.

“Of course I do. Perhaps instead of trying to defend your impudence against the prince, you could put away your prideful hurbis for a moment and just lend me even an inch of the food you already have on you. For someone relying on the shared hospitality of someone else for their own comfort, you sure don’t seem to be able to do the same.” The suitor’s bored annoyance quickly morphed into thinly veiled anger. “Listen you old derelict, need I remind you that this is not your courtyard you are resting in? This is not your abode and I do not tolerate your insults. For someone who seems to preach so strongly for returning hospitality, you don’t seem too keen on basic respect.” Odysseus hid his amusement at the irony with indifference. “Although that may be true, last I checked this isn’t your home either.” That statement alone seemed to be enough to push him over the edge into full blown rage. Odysseus jumped away from the suitor’s flying fist as it hit the trunk of the tree where his head used to be. “You know, for someone so insistent on how they have difficulty doing physical activities you’re awfully quick to move.” The suitor began to walk towards him, his larger form towering over him and casting a shadow that engulfed Odysseus’s entire form. “Listen here old man. If you think you can just run off after that impudence, your mind must be as deteriorated as your age.” Odysseus continued to back up, hand immediately searching for the knife he hid. A chill crept up his spine when his back hit something. Turning around, it was another suitor, the others beginning to close in on him. Fuck, he messed up. The suitor he first talked to grabbed the front of his shirt and lifted him up to his face so Odysseus could face him. “Now, I think it's time that you finally learned a long needed lesson on hospitality and what happens when you don’t respect your host-“

“Hey! What the hell is all this racket?” Odysseus never turned his head away from the suitor, but averted his gaze towards the newcomer. A woman emerged from inside the palace and stared at the scene before her in a moment of silence before her once confused gaze immediately morphed into an infuriated wrath that could rival the suitor’s own rage. “Antinous, what do you think you’re doing! Gods above and below, has no one ever taught you to respect your elders?” She marched on towards the both of them, unshaken by any visible fear at the obvious violent intent of the suitors. She gripped the suitor’s, now known as Antinous, wrist and forcefully yanked it away from him, letting Odysseus fall to the ground. Antinous opened his mouth, ready to yell at her but the woman cut him off as she glared coldly at him. “The queen is watching us.” She said as she stared into the suitors eyes as if daring him to try anything. The mention of Penelope is all he needed to whip his head towards the balcony he knows she always loved to use to watch the courtyard. And there she was, elegant and poised, watching with a composed face as she always does. He could see how she’s changed from when he last saw her, the small streaks of white in her hair that weren’t there before, the wrinkles and tired eyes. But he didn’t care, for it was his Penelope, and Odysseus felt like he was falling in love all over again.

Penelope observed them silently, looking at each person one by one before her eyes eventually met his. For a moment, it felt like time froze and they did nothing but stare at each other. It was like the world itself was holding its breath. It was the smallest difference in her eyes that made his chest swell with warmth. Those indifferent calculated eyes that always seemed to be studying every little detail softened for a moment, her composed face faltering for a split millisecond to look at him with the same eyes that looked at him with so much affection and appreciation when he told her how he’d tackle the challenge she gave him. The tension in the air was so thick, yet only he could feel it… and maybe she did as well. Logically, Odysseus knew that they had only been looking at each other for a mere few seconds, but it felt like he was staring for an eternity at something so close yet so far. And Penelope did nothing else but silently stare back. She shifted her position, pulling away from the scene and returning back inside. Odysseus let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. It felt like time suddenly began moving once more when it had always been flowing, falling through his fingers like flowing water with no hope of holding on to it.

“Antinous, if you do not explain to me what exactly you were doing I can and will tell Penelope.” The woman said as she walked in front Odysseus, who’s gaze still lingered on the balcony for another moment before returning to look at the suitors and the new woman. Antinous sneered. “And why should I? Your family may be up there in terms of status, but you’re nowhere near close to me.” He sneered. “And? Do you think I care? You already showed just how petty you get because someone bruised your fragile ego. I still haven’t forgiven you for the fight with Telemachus.” The woman took a step forward towards the suitor, but he didn’t move. “And? The boy started it.” Another step forward and another rise in tension. “Who exactly called his mother a tramp? That’s right, you.” Another step forward until she was right in front of him. At this point even more suitors began to crowd around them to see what was happening, and Odysseus dreaded a physical fight would break out.

“Well then, since you seem so keen on berating me for teaching the little wolf a lesson, why don’t I give you an opportunity to even out the scales?” Antinous’s fist met the woman’s face, sending her stumbling back. She regained her balance before gently touching her face, a bruise forming on her right cheek. Whispers and murmurs emanated from the crows as it grew larger, more suitors joining the audience and a few servants discreetly watching from the sidelines. She looked at her own blood smeared against her fingers before turning her attention towards Antinous. “I gladly accept.” She ran forward, fist aimed at Antinous’s face. The suitor held his forearm up to block it, only for her to twist her foot, turning around to kick him from behind without her fist ever making contact with him. Antinous was pushed forward a step from the force of the kick, but quickly recovered, turning around to grab her by the leg she used to kick him. The crowd around them began cheering as he pulled her forward into another punch, which was blocked by her own forearms, now also bruised. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into a headbutt, unable to dodge or move away because of their position.

The sound of a wooden bowl hitting Antinous’s head caused all sound to cease, the silence deafening as everyone’s heads turned to look at the source of the bowl. Antinous glared at Odysseus, who was hiding his grip on his knife in his oversized clothes. Antinous let go of the woman who fell on the floor, wincing at her bruises. Odysseus’s grip on his knife tightened as he took a step forward towards him. He opened his mouth to say something before he was cut off by a young voice. “Stop! What’s going on he- [NAME]!” A young boy shoved his way through the crowd and into the clearing that formed around the olive tree, rushing towards the side of the young woman. He kneeled beside her as he assessed her wounds. Antinous crossed his arms in annoyance as the young boy began to ceaselessly fuss over her. Odysseus stared at the boy, he could recognize those eyes from anywhere. “[name], are you okay? What happened?”

���Tele, I’m fine. It's just a few bruises, I’m not an old frail man.” She said as she sharply turned to look at Antinous. “Unlike the person a certain someone was harassing.” Odysseus stared at the young man- no, his son. No wonder he looked so familiar. He had his mother’s eyes and the same fair skin as her, but the face and hair of his own. His head was reeling, it had been so long since he’d seen his young boy. He was all grown up now, grown through all those special moments in his life Odysseus would never be able to experience. Gods, he missed his first hunt, his first training session, he missed being able to teach his son all the things he promised he’d pass on from his mentorship under Athena. But now Telemachus was right there, but he still couldn’t teach him all the things he wasn’t able to.

Antinous looked at all three of them one by one, from Odysseus to Telemachus in increasing disgust. “I’ve had enough of this, the way both of you act around each other is nauseating.” He said as he left the courtyard and into the building. Telemachus helped [name] up and she turned to look at Odysseus. “I am so sorry for all this. My intent was only to help you get that pig off your back,” She said as she looked at the direction Antinous left in with so much disgust it almost gave Odysseus whiplash from her original apologetic tone. “but it seems my impulsiveness got the better of me. Usually I try not to cause fights but I’m not exactly the best at not doing that.” She said shamefully. “Oh please, it's quite alright. I understand what it’s like. Sometimes, when you’re in the heat of the moment, your emotions cloud your judgement and you’re so focused on doing what you think’s right that… you don’t realize the consequences that might follow.” He said with a wistful smile. “I really have no idea what happened, but I apologize either way. Please, have this for your troubles.” Telemachus said as he handed him money, before cutting through the crowd to probably lead [name] to get healed. Odysseus stared at the coins placed in his hand, it was enough to buy him a whole house.

……………………………………………………

……………………………………………………

The metallic stench of blood filled your nose as you walked across the wet floor, the red liquid staining your sandals. The faint light of the torches could barely illuminate the dark room, the moon’s light nowhere to be seen through the windows. What little the light did show was nothing but puddles of blood and the faint outline of bodies. Right there, at the end of the room were twelve axes that were originally supposed to be used for the challenge queen Penelope made for her suitors. It didn’t take long for you to hear about what went wrong, and it took even shorter for you to make your way here. You grabbed one of the axes, testing its weight as you gave it a few experimental swings. The silence of the challenge room was so quiet you could hear your own wet footsteps echo as you tested the axe. You internally facepalmed as you looked down at your weapon, realizing just how little you thought this through. You had no plan in mind, you just heard that Telemachus was also fighting and just had to join. The idea of fighting alongside him was exhilarating, and meeting his father, king Odysseus and master tactician that won the war? You didn’t really think too hard on your decision to join. As much as you hated to admit it, Telemachus and your father were right. You really needed to think things through more. 

Your body tensed when you heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the room, your grip on your axe tightening. Well, if you were good at one thing, it was brazenly charging into battle. You readied your stance, prepared for a fight. Since you weren’t able to kill Antinous, you’ll have to settle for killing the suitor first. The moment the bright light of a torch rounded the corner of the entryway, you charged forward, swinging your axe towards their head. Being on the other side of the room, they had plenty of time to jump out of your way. Now, you were at the entrance and they were trapped inside the room. Their torch illuminated their face and you took a moment to look at them. Eurymachus, the cowardly one. “Hey, [name], let us talk about this! I never once went out of my way to hurt you nor Telemachus, I always payed my due respects to her majesty. It was Antinous that-“

“Lead you and your fellow scum in the plan to execute my betrothed in secret.” You said with a sneer, throwing the axe at his head. It flew past the torch, the push of wind blowing it out as the man in front of you fell to the floor. He met the floor with a loud thump, his remains now nothing but another body in the landscape of corpses in the room. You moved to pull the axe out of his head with more aggression than needed before leaving. His words irritated you to no end, the man was nothing but an idle fool who made the choice of inaction. Never once did he try to stop his fellow suitors from tormenting Telemachus, never once has he tried to lessen all the resources they waste, never once did he leave when Telemachus ordered them. None of them did.

You let out a sigh as you walked through the hallways. Where exactly was Telemachus? And where was Odysseus? They most likely passed through this area already, if the bodies everywhere said anything. The father son duo was probably closer to the courtyards of the palace outside where the suitors must have fled towards. Either that or the pack of meatheads ran towards their weapon supply. You guessed it was the latter and promptly made your way through the familiar halls, passing by familiar faces on the floor that will never be missed. Surprisingly enough you couldn’t find any signs of struggle during battle. Nothing but the light of torches fallen on the floor could light up the scene, the moon and stars never daring to gaze upon the massacre. Bodies upon bodies were piled up in a gruesome display of vengeance with a vile stench that made your nose wrinkle in disgust, and yet each and every one of them only had an arrow to the head or chest to blame for their demise. No bruising nor cuts of a blade, only a lone arrow on each suitor. It was only after a long time of walking did the bodies slowly lessen in numbers, but still remained ever present. A silent reminder of the ruthless monster that lurked in these dark halls.

Your head turned towards the sound of metal blade against metal blade just to your right. Carefully peeking over the edge, your eyes widened at the sight of Telemachus fighting a suitor on his own. The light of a fallen torch reflected the glint of a knife in the darkness. Your grip on your axe tightened and you swung at the knife wielder without hesitation. The suitor’s screams were drowned by his own blood pouring out of his mouth, your axe lodged into his throat. Looking behind you, a surprised suitor was stabbed from behind, his blood coating the rest of the blade that pierced through him. The sword was pulled out and the suitor fell to the floor, revealing Telemachus behind him. “[name]? What are you doing here?” He asked as he looked around as if worried anyone might be eavesdropping. “Did you really think word of your suitor hunt wouldn’t get out? Tele, the entire palace could hear the screams of terror.” You replied as you rested your axe on your shoulder. “Of course I didn’t think we’d be able to hide a mass genocide! What I’m asking is why you came here after learning about a giant fight-“ He paused mid sentence, and you didn’t need to see his face to know he was staring at you with the most unimpressed expression you’ll ever see. You barely tried to hide your amused snickering as he rolled his eyes at you. “You know what? I retract my statement. The fight was all the reason you needed to come here, wasn’t it.” It was less of a question and more of a statement.

“Actually, not really. At least, it wasn’t the only reason.” You said you stared directly into his eyes that reflected the ever dancing light of the torch. The flame flickered, going from bright to dark and back within seconds. You could barely see Telemachus, but you poured every bit of attention you had into listening to Telemachus go from unamused to curious. “Really? Then what was it?” He asked as you smiled. “I’m looking right at it.” Telemachus looked around once more, but this time to find what you were staring directly at rather than look for hidden dangers. “Wha? But the only thing you’re looking at is… Oh.” You didn’t even try to hide your amusement this time, bursting out into a fit of howling laughter at his flushed face. “Really? Do you have to tease me even in the middle of battle?” You shoved your face right in front of his, mere inches away. “Yeah, cause you haven’t told me to stop yet.”

“Euryalus, he locked the rest of our weapons in one of the rooms! These are the only ones we have, none of us could open it up-“ Telemachus looked towards the group of new suitors, who immediately drew their weapons at the sight of the both of you. “Shit.” You cursed under your breath, you were kinda having a moment here. With much annoyance your stance changed from relaxed and playful with your axe on your shoulder, to a defensive battle stance with your weapon at the ready. Even with Telemachus, you could only handle so many suitors. “Hey Tele, remember what I told you about hunting wild hogs?” You asked as he looked at you incredulously. “Aim for the area around the shoulder or the head? [name], what does this have to do with anything-“ You cut him off with a mischievous grin barely lit by the torch. “Exactly. I suggest you aim for the chest since you’re too short for their heads.” You could practically see the gears turning in his head before he opened his mouth in a baffled offense.

You charged forwards to the four suitors, stepping on the torch and putting it out as you ran. You moved to the side of the group and swung your axe at the outermost member. He blocked your axe, and at the same time you heard the clash of metal from the other side of the group. You could barely see anything, but you recognized the silhouette of Telemachus fighting off the other two suitors. Another suitor came up from behind the one in front of you to aim his sword at your side. You pushed the sword blocking your axe downwards to block the other suitor’s sword, before pushing both of them off. Spinning around, you hit the head of the first suitor you attacked with your axe, killing them. The sight of another sword in the corner of your eye made your breath hitch, it was far too close for you to move away and turn around to block. You still tried to pull up your axe to block it, and a spray of blood passed by your view. By the time you were fully turned around to face your attacker, they were clutching their hand in pain. Or more like their lack of one. In front of you stood Telemachus, sword in hand as he charged forward, stabbing the suitor in their chest while they were writhing in pain. “[name], what did I say about minding your surroundings!” Telemachus said concerned as the suitor died and joined the rest of them on the floor. “Hey, it turned out okay in the end. He’s dead and I’m alive, I’ll be fine-“

A large thud behind you made you jump, and you slowly turned around with your axe held up. “You know, my son is right. If neither of us were here, you’d be another body on the floor.” You blinked and stared at the man before you. “Father!” Telemachus gasped from behind you. Oh. OH. “Odysseus?” You asked bewildered. He was a lot shorter than you expected. Now you know why Telemachus was shorter than all the men his age and you while his mother still towered over everyone in the room. He nodded with a gentle smile. “And you’re the [name] my son has so fondly told me about.” He said as he drew back his bow. You looked back at Telemachus and you both made eye contact, before you looked at Odysseus. “Wait, what? He talks about me? Wait, what did he say? Tele, you better not have told your father about the sand incident.” You heard him stifle a small chuckle, and you whipped around to gasp at him with all the exasperation you could manage. “You did not!”

“I did.” He said unapologetically. You stared at him in betrayal, jaw dropped before turning back to Odysseus. “Hey, your majesty, did you know that before I got with your son he trained Argos to run at me so he could pretend like he accidentally let him loose to make an opportunity to talk with mMMFFF!” Telemachus slapped his hand onto your mouth as you struggled against his arm. “I did not do that, she’s lying.” He said indignantly as Odysseus stared at the two of you amused. You shoved at Telemachus’s wrist while you both physically struggled against each other. You saw him eyeing your hand on his wrist and you looked at him sternly. “Don’t you even dare- OW!” The madlad bit your hand and you pulled away from him, your bodies detaching from one another. “You menace.” You said as he shoved his face into yours, mere inches away like you were mere moments ago. For a moment, he just stared at you and you stared back at him. It was like all the emotional intensity that was interrupted before was returning full force, a shameless rush of affection like a raging river. You’ve always been told by Penelope that there were moments between her and Odysseus that felt like time stopped, when they looked into their eyes and saw love for eternity in each other. But right now, you felt nothing close to that. It was like time was rushing past you with no end, quick and intense. Every small detail blurred together into Telemachus, and in his eyes you saw the life you have right now.

“Telemachus, I know little to nothing about you, and even less about [name], but I see the same love I have for your mother in you, and I see the same love Penelope has for me in [name].” You both stared at him, hands that had intertwined subconsciously squeezing tightly. Telemachus looked over to you, and once again you saw not just your life in his eyes, but yours and his. “I approve of this one.” Your lover blinked in sync with you. “Besides, weren’t you the one who said how much you loved it when she stood up for you before you got the courage to fight Antinous?” Telemachus stared at his father and after a beat of silence, screeched with embarrassment. “FATHER, DON’T-“ You looked at Odysseus with a devious grin, and began to explain every single Argos incident while Telemachus hid his face in your neck.

[wileys-russo]

the good partner test II l.williamson

the good partner test II l.williamson

"but how do i know if they're worth the hassle? dating sucks!" steph groaned impatiently, swearing as her head thumped against the wall where she'd thrown it back.

"oo someone get steffy a helmet!" kyra mocked, sprinting out of the change rooms at the evil look sent to her by your fellow matildas teammate.

"well first of all you make sure they're not like kyra." beth chimed in with a snicker as she laced up her boots. "hey i think someone with energy could be good for her." lia defended as steph simply sighed, rubbing the back of her head with a wince.

"she needs a boyfriend not a man child!" "and who said energy means a man child?" "have you met kyra?" "she is not dating kyra!" "she needs someone calm, someone reliable." "you can be reliable and fun! she needs someone fun."

"i think she needs the two of you to stop talking about her and her love life like she isn't right here listening." you chimed in over the top of them, both girls falling silent as steph chuckled and squeezed your knee in appreciation.

"how many dates have you been on with this new guy now?" you asked curiously as steph paused to think. "mm three? but theres also bakery man and finance bro." steph retorted, the way she'd nicknamed her current escapades making you grin.

"can't forget tesco twat." beth added on as steph grimaced. "he is not on the roster, we called him that for a reason." the older girl rolled her eyes as you laughed again. "the roster? god you need to stop hanging out with kyra." you shook your head as the brunette shoved you playfully.

"it can't be considered hanging out if she invites herself over to see calvin and eat my food!" "stephanie i told you to change your locks, she had a key made for mine and leahs place too, the little freeloader."

"but, if you're not sure which of these guys to pursue seriously, and if thats something you're ready for. theres always the good partner test!" you shrugged as all three girls gave you a perplexed look.

"what? none of you have ever heard of that?" "no?"

"how do you think i have this?" you grinned holding up your hand, the rock of an engagement ring shining prettily on your finger, quickly lowering your hand with a wince at the glare sent your way by lia.

"sorry stephy." you apologized sheepishly, having been there for her the very day she'd handed back her own engagement ring to her now ex fiancé. "its fine! its been a few months now, and i know i'm better off." the brunette nodded to herself as the three of you quickly agreed.

"so, good partner tests?" "yes! they're just simple little things you can use on someone to see if they're a good fit for you or not. you know like ask them to peel an orange for you, see if they hold a door open for you? or you can present them with a problem where you know what the solution should be, and see if they come to that conclusion on their own." you explained.

"is that like an australian thing? because i have never heard of it." beth frowned as lia nodded along in agreeance making your eyes roll. "no! but it does work. i tested leah after we'd been on a few dates, she passed with flying colours and look at us now!" you held up your ring again as lia winced on your behalf at the gesture.

"you've been doing it for that long?" steph asked in disbelief as you nodded seriously. "since like, high school? dodged a few bullets here and there with it, trust me." you promised, the others looking on skeptically.

"you remember blake?" you questioned steph who shook her head as you sighed. "rat teeth?" you tried again quietly as immediately she perked up. "oh her! from when you played at victory? yeah yeah." the girl waved you to continue.

"well she failed the partner test, guess where she is now?" "with more teeth missing?" "ha ha. no, she's serving 5-10 for stealing money from her boss! bullet? dodged."

"i distinctly remember tell you to break up with her anyway?" "besides the point! if she hadn't failed, i could still be with her." you shrugged, all three girls still clearly unsure of your method.

"you don't believe me? fine! how about i test leah again and you'll see how it works. then you can try it on some of your roster?" you offered up, sarcasm dripping in the last word as steph pinched you.

"so which test is first?"

"lee!" you called across the change rooms, your fiancé lost in her own world as she glanced off into the distance clearly disassociating. "leah!" you tried again, frida glancing up and shaking her lightly as you shot her a smile and the defender raised an eyebrow in your direction.

"i forgot my socks, can i borrow your spares please?" you questioned, a lie of course but you had a point to prove. "my spares are my spares, what if i need them?" the girl retorted back and you were a little caught off guard by the unexpected response.

"but, you don't need them?" "well not yet, but if i did and i'd given them to you, i wouldn't have them. would i?" "so i can't use them?" you scoffed, the taller girl standing with a shrug and rolling out a kink in her neck.

"should pack your own spares babe, like i've been telling you to." and with a teasing honk of your nose she was striding off across the room and leaving you with your mouth wide open in shock.

"well, do we call that strike one?" beth snickered as you looked up at her with a glare, reaching out to smack her as she darted out of the way.

"here." you looked up at a tap on your shoulder, a kind smile and a pair of socks held out your way. "thanks less." you accepted them gratefully despite not needing them, not wanting to explain leahs failure to another person.

"theres more tests! you'll see they work." you huffed grumpily at the amused looks on steph and lias faces, hurrying to get ready as to not make yourself late.

~

"right. watch this!" you tugged on stephs training bib to get her attention, a break called mid session as everyone headed over to get a drink and stretch.

arriving beside your fiancé you held your hand out expectantly for the water bottle in hers, leah giving you an odd look. "what?" the blonde questioned bluntly once she'd swallowed the water in her mouth. "i'm thirsty." you reached for her bottle as she quickly took a step back.

"so get some water? its right there." her foot pointed toward the other bottles as you frowned. "babe just give me a drink." you tried for her bottle again as she held it out of reach.

"no! get your own, muppet." her spare hand pushed at your forehead as she turned away from you to talk to stina, once more leaving you stunned at the unexpected reaction as steph whistled with a pitiful smile.

huffing you tapped on the blondes shoulder who turned around, raising an eyebrow. "yes?" "can you get me a water please?" you asked with a hopeful smile, your fiancé staring at you silently for a moment. "love are you concussed?" she questioned with furrowed eyebrows, a hand pressed against your head as you pushed it off.

"no! i'm thirsty." you again tried for her bottle as she stepped back and moved it. "well as i said, theres water right there. so drink some!" leah gulped another mouthful before tossing her bottle down on the used pile and jogging off back to the pitch.

"that was painful." beths arm slung over your shoulder with a whistle and a shake of her head. "get off! theres more tests, its just...an accident." you tried to excuse your fiances thus far horrible scores as beth held her hands up defensively.

once more you felt a tap on your shoulder, turning as yet again alessia stood there with a new bottle of water offered to you. "thanks less." you sighed with a smile, accepting it gratefully and falling into conversation with the striker until the whistle blew for training to recommence.

~

"look! this is an easy one." you interrupted steph mid sentence as the pair of you filed back toward the doors, most of the team already inside and very hungrily headed to the cafeteria for lunch.

hurrying ahead a little you waited by the now closed door, leah trudging toward you deep in conversation with one of the physios, sure enough pulling it open but you quickly ran right back into it as she pulled it closed after her.

"shit are you alright?" steph asked with wide eyes as you clutched your throbbing nose, though it was your pride which felt most wounded as steph hurried to pull the door open for the two of you, assuring her you were fine as you both headed for lunch.

by the time you'd collected your tray of food your hands were full and so were most of the tables, you and steph headed for your usual spots where sure enough it seemed as though your fiancé had saved you one next to her.

steph took a seat beside lia who pulled her chair out for her given both of you were laden down with your trays, however when you arrived expecting leah to do the same, she was too busy talking vic's ear off across the other table to even notice you arrived.

you cleared your throat, just loud enough for her to hear though it did nothing to deter her as she glanced up to flash you a smile before turning right back to continue almost yelling across the room in conversation.

of course someone else helped you out, alessia leaning over to push your chair out best she could from the awkward angle as you sat down, cheeks flushed red with embarrassment at the look of glee on beths face and the obvious pity on steph and lias.

still you were determined to continue, but now much more so for your own research than stephs.

which is why a short while later when leah was finally present enough to kiss your cheek hello, you nudged her and engaged in the next test, something she'd done a hundred times over and surely couldn't fail.

"baby can you peel this for me please?" you held out an orange toward the defender who frowned. "you're nearly twenty seven years old and you can't peel your own orange?" leah snickered, the usually playful comment doing nothing to amuse you.

"i got my nails done yesterday lee, can you just do it for me? please?" you remained composed, pushing it a little more toward her. "wouldn't the nails help you peel it more effectively?" she questioned as you caught beths eye who mouthed 'strike three' and made an out gesture with her hands before lia shoved them back down.

"oh forget about it." you huffed, placing it back down on your tray as leah shrugged, picking up her final piece of toast and turning to talk to kim who was sat on her other side.

"give it here." alessia chuckled, snatching your orange and starting to peel it, ignoring your protests you could do it with a wave of her hand and within seconds it was placed back down, the younger girl even getting up to dispose of the peels as she took her empty tray and headed off.

the final nail in the coffin was when leah stood to take her tray back and you held up yours, this time out of instinct and not even intended as a test.

"what your arms broken?" the blonde snickered, taking off and leaving your tray in your hands as you watched on, speechless and now defeated to say the least.

"do they have a strike five in baseball? or six? maybe even seven?" beth pondered as you slumped down into your seat. "she failed. every. single. test." you stared blankly at the table, head swimming with a pool of insecurity.

"hey but they're not real tests! she loves you more than anything, you know that." steph quickly moved to sit beside you, arm draped supportively over your shoulder.

"yeah if those tests were real all they showed us was you should be dating lessi, not leah." beth snickered, whining as lia pinched her harshly and mumbled something about being supportive.

"oi cheer up! look at that rock on your finger, would you have that if leah wasn't a good partner? would you have put up with her all these years if she wasn't? through the dirty dishes, the unfolded laundry, the lack of any culinary skills whatsoever, the-" again both lia and steph winced as beth started strong but very quickly began to fly downhill.

"i think i have to break up with her." you decided with a nod, pushing your chair back and grabbing your tray. "i-you what!" steph scrambled to follow after you as you only nodded and repeated the words.

"you're joking right? tell me this is a joke?" steph questioned as you shrugged, head still ablaze with disbelief at how poorly your own fiancé had done.

as you made your way to the media room for the final part of the day to study this weekends opponents, it seemed even steph was determined to give leah some credit as the two of you took your seats.

despite having left before you the blonde arrived after you, chattering away to lotte as you were too lost in your own bleak world to even pay her any attention.

"leah! do you wanna sit here? with your fiancé? i can move!" steph intervened, standing and offering her chair to the english woman who gave her an odd look. "nah you're fine steph, i see enough of her home." and with a chuckle off she went, taking now stephs final hopes along with her.

"jesus mate maybe you should break up with her." the older girl whispered causing a smile to tug at your lips as you knocked your knee into hers, renée calling for everyone's attention as the last of the chatter faded out and the lights dimmed.

if leah clocked anything was wrong between the two of you on the stoically silent drive home, she made no move to show it as she simply turned the radio up louder and sang along, barely glancing at you despite the simmering anger which was starting to radiate off of you with each road closer to home.

"babe should we get takeout for din-" "i want a divorce leah."

with those words you unbuckled yourself, grabbing your bag from the back and storming off inside, leaving the girl in the car behind you with her mouth hung wide open and your voice echoing in her ears.

coming to her senses at the slam of the front door she scrambled after you, leaving her bag behind and not even locking the car as you heard her fly inside and frantic footsteps pound against the floor as she called out for you.

"what the fuck do you mean you want a divorce? we're not even married yet!" leah came hurtling into the bedroom a hundred mile an hour, finding you sat on the bed unlacing your trainers.

"right well i want to break off the engagement then. get out! dickhead." you hurled a shoe at her which she barely ducked, flopping down into bed and rolling over to show her your back.

"excuse me would you mind telling me whats happened between us having sex in that bed this morning to you now slumped over in it wanting a divorce or an annulment whatever the fuck its called!" leah spat, crossing her arms over her chest and you could feel her eyes bore into you.

"you happened! you failed every single test today and do you know how embarrassing that is? we were engaged leah!" you sat up to huff at her with an evil look before flopping down with your back to her again.

"um last time i checked prior to you losing your actual fucking mind we are engaged! not were, are!" you felt the bed dip as she leaned over you and grabbed your hand, hold it up beside hers so both of your rings were visible.

"fine!" you sat up again, pushing away from her and stalking toward the front door. "what are you doing?" leah groaned dragging her hands down her face. "i'm taking off your engagement ring and its going in the dirt!" you announced, tugging it off your finger and holding it up with a sarcastic smile.

"oh no you're not!" you yelped as hands grabbed at you, pulling you away from the bedroom door as leahs leg shot out to kick it closed and she dragged you back to the bed.

"what. is. wrong. with. you?" the blonde grunted as the two of you wrestled on the mattress, you trying to get away and her trying to wrap you in some sort of death grip so you couldn't.

"let me go!" "no!" "you're an asshole!" "and you're crazy!" "get off me leah! right now!" you ordered, trying to wriggle down the bed before she moved to sit her full bodyweight on top of you, effectively pinning your flailing limbs beneath her knees.

"not until you tell me what the hells going on and why you're acting like this!" the blonde demanded with a glare as suddenly everything building up hit its tipping point and you went limp beneath her.

"why wouldn't you peel an orange for me leah! or share your water! or your socks! or open a door for me! or take my tray! you're supposed to be my fiancé!" you shouted up at her, voice cracking as leah looked down in bewilderment and you went limp beneath her.

"thats what this is about?" leah questioned as you groaned loudly, tugging your hands free to cover your face. "yes leah!"

"tests i failed...those were all tests? to what? see if i'm marriage material?" the english woman moved off of you as you both sat up in bed, a deep sigh leaving you as shook your head.

"steph is dating a bunch of guys and wasn't sure how to tell if any of them are worth the effort. so i was telling her an easy way to find out is a good partner test. like asking someone to peel an orange, or seeing if they open a door for you, or share socks, or their stupid fucking water bottle!" you smacked your fiances arm several times before she caught your hands in hers.

"i tested you years ago and you were the most kind hearted, funny, chivalrous, thoughtful person i'd ever met. so of course when steph didn't believe me that the tests work, i said i'd test you again to show they did." you continued to explain as leahs face paled.

"only you failed them! because you're a stupid selfish dickhead!" you grunted trying to pull your hands free though knowing it was to no doubt smack her again leah held on tightly.

"baby. you can't seriously think a few tests can determine something like that?" leah asked in disbelief as you rolled your eyes. "well apparently not leah because if they did then today showed i should be dating less. not engaged to you!" you pulled your hands free and turned away from her with a scowl.

"leah if you laugh right now i will turn around and punch you in the mouth." you grumbled in warning, hearing an ever so slight chuckle from the blonde beside you.

"you know i think i fell in love with your australian charm, its just so...aggressive. its quite hot!" leah hummed as you felt her lay down, nudging you with her knee when you didn't respond.

"my love. the love of my life. the most beautiful girl i've ever met and the most wonderful woman i get to call my wife soon...hopefully?" leah started as you continued to face away from her glaring at the wall.

"i am very very very sorry for not sharing with you or peeling your oranges and temporarily forgetting how lucky i am to have you. whats mine is yours and clearly i had some sort of brain aneurism today to forget that." leah continued, warily wrapping an arm around your torso, shuffling herself closer when you didn't push her away.

"come on my girl. do you want me to beg? i'm not above begging for forgiveness." you felt her lips gently kiss at your neck as her hand rubbed up and down your side. "it would be a start." you muttered honestly, and within seconds she was knelt down on the floor in front of you.

"please please please please please. will you continue our engagement?" she held up your ring she snagged from the floor where it had fallen, having to resist the urge to smile at her theatrics.

"fine." you gave in with a sigh, offering your hand as leah grinned and slid the ring back onto your finger, quickly trailing kisses all the way up your arm as you couldn't help but laugh.

"get off! idiot." you yanked your arm back as the defender puckered her lips expectantly and you raised an eyebrow.

"i want chinese for dinner, and a back massage." "done!" "and that massage is so be proper, not half assed where you poke me a few times then demand its your turn." "done!" "you do all the laundry on monday." "done!"

"and no watching the golf or the darts for a week." "alright now you're pushing it woman." your fiancé warned as you grinned.

"no golf or darts for three days and you go and make me a cup of tea while i order dinner?" "done. earl grey or english breakfast?" you looked up at her with a slack jaw before she smirked.

"only joking! english breakfast." she flicked your ear and took off out of the bedroom as you sat bolt upright.

"its earl grey leah!"

[simpjaes]

FIRST DATE ETIQUETTE (p.sh)

Park Sunghoon is not dull, nor is he the clean cut neighbor your mother thinks he is. Oh, the horrors of if she found out that the man she set you up on this date with immediately took you home and rendered you unable to walk...he'd never be able to defend himself without a swift slap to the head.

៸៸៸ minors do not interact! 

៸៸៸ PARING:  park sunghoon x afab reader

៸៸៸WC: 9.3k

៸៸៸ TAGS: mentions of food (meat), strangers to fucking immediately to the possibility of dating later, brat taming, mocking and making fun of each other, sneaky sex, flirting and bullying in the same instance, cocky sunghoon, um…they’re kind of competitive in bed

៸៸៸ A/N: what’s that? you’ve read this before? that’s bc i wrote it! I’ve revised the original now to fit sunghoon because I am insatiable in my lust for him. (original title: the bore next door)

smut tags under cut::​​​

SMUT TAGS: dom sunghoon, bratty/sub reader, huge cock agenda (again), he gets the best head he’s ever had, he calls you messy a lot (he likes it messy),  face fucking, pussy eating, nipple biting, finger fucking, squirting,  dirty talk, wow i can’t believe I actually wrote a condom being used this time!!!!, sunghoon tries to make you moan because his horny brain wants your parents to know, dirty talk, praise, hair pulling.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

23rd street. The restaurant is on 23rd street, and you can honestly say you’ve managed to hit every street but this one. From 13th to 35th, does the street in question even truly exist? Were you set up by your parents?

In short, you have been single since high school. Maybe a few flings here or there throughout college but you never truly settled on one man or woman in a relationship. You’re almost shocked that your parents are pushing so hard for you to find love. They want you to somehow feel the love from the movies, something like they had felt when they met. In this century, unfortunately, love isn’t quite as predictable.

 You can’t just pick a person who has a good job and a decent face and assume love will settle in someday. 

Not only is it not predictable but it isn’t a priority in your life. You have no interest in meeting the standard a man could hold for you, nor a woman, or family member. You’re here to exist in your own way, work your way up through the corporate food chain, and live in a home with over thirteen cats before dying a peaceful death in your late eighties. Why do you need a man to do any of this? Why do you need to settle for one cock, one set of hands, and one personality?

Right, because mom wants you to at least try to experience what love is. Surely, it’s just because she desperately wants a grandchild from her one and only daughter. Sorry to disappoint, but that will not happen any time soon. Children were never a thought in your mind, nor was marriage, a honeymoon, or a burial plot next to another person. Your mother knows this, but the least you can do is show some effort to please her, right? To prove that relationships just aren’t your thing, and you’d much rather have the funds to live a comfortable life all on your own.

23rd street is the small thumb tack on a map where there is a restaurant that holds a very, very, annoying arrangement. 

Your mother had really sold the idea to you. She says the nice neighbor boy next to her seems to be around your age, he brings her the mail sometimes. He seems to have a job, his own car, his own home that sits in a plot next to theirs. His lawn stays mowed, the siding on his house stays clean, and apparently he seems quite lonely considering your mother appears to have watched him enough to know he doesn’t bring any girls home.

At least that she’s aware of.

She doesn’t mention what he looks like and of course, when you’d asked because, in all honesty, that’s the most important thing to you if you’re going to get anything out of this, she simply states that he dresses well, is handsome, and has dark hair.

For all you know, she just set you up on a date with Antonio Banderas. 

What you weren’t expecting though, is to find this restaurant almost an hour late and walk in to find an already half-eaten meal in front of a man who looked at you as if you were any stranger on the street.

 A stranger you were, and so was he, but honestly, he is attractive. That alone made you feel a bit guilty for not having found this place sooner. The idea that the man in front of you did not wait for you shows that he also has priorities that aren’t you. This is probably a huge inconvenience for him too, if anything. 

Imagine your nice neighbor lady telling you to go to a restaurant to meet her daughter? God. The first words out of your mouth are an apology. Not for being late, and not for not even wanting to be here, but for your mother for even trying.

“Sorry about my mom,” you mutter, plopping down into the booth with a sigh. You eye over his food, already knowing that the check will likely be split. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Why the rush?” The man immediately says, pushing an untouched glass of water your way. “I don’t mind that you were late, I was just really hungry.”

You hum at him, waiting for the waitress to come over so you can place the most obnoxious order in the world because you’re really not in the mood to even look at the menu or the prices. Chicken strips and fries, obviously.

“So, what did you order?” You state, eyeing his plate. 

“Steak?” He says it like a question, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world and it definitely is. Clearly there is a half-eaten steak that probably costs over twenty dollars on his plate. Still, you were just trying to make small talk.

The man says nothing after this, offering nothing but an awkward atmosphere. It doesn’t take long at all for you to stop caring about the entire arrangement, as if you cared in the first place.

“Look—” You try to offer, and the handsome man in front of you doesn’t even quirk a brow as he sips his own drink. “I don’t even remember your name, and I know my mom is trying to set us up but—”

“You’re not interested, and you have better places to be?” The man finishes for you as he sits his drink down with a gulp that makes much less sound than your own. “That’s fair. My name is Sunghoon, by the way.”

You nod at him, already deciding that you’ll get chicken strips somewhere else on your own so that you can eat them in the comfort of your own home, alone, without a stupidly handsome man in front of you that has, probably, less interest than you do.

“Well, I’m interested, and I don’t have anywhere better to be,” Sunghoon says, shooting his eyes up at you. “And to be quite honest with you, your mother was right. You are pretty.” 

Taken aback, you’re somehow comforted by his forwardness towards you. He acts just as uninterested as you do but counters that demeanor with his words. You can’t imagine that this is how the man picks up women, there’s honestly no way he would win that way. No wonder he is single.  Then again, you kind of do the same thing. You see an attractive person and you act much the same as Sunghoon right now. Uninterested in anything long-term but clearly interested in something. 

“I’m pretty, huh?” You laugh, sipping the water and internally giving this man an extra three minutes to fully sell the idea of this date to you. “Imagine my surprise to walk in and find that I was set up on a date with someone that is actually attractive.”

“Oh?” Sunghoon quirks a brow. “Is this how you return a compliment?” 

You shrug. 

“Is this how a date normally goes for you—you know, where you’ve already eaten your food and would probably rather pay and leave before she even gets a chance to order?”

“No,” he responds pointedly. “Would you rather me throw a tantrum that you were late?”

“You’d be a lot less dull if you did.” You throw back, eyeing a waitress as she heads over. 

Sunghoon watches as you place your order and watches a bit harder at the way you smirk at yourself through nearly everything you say. You must think you’re clever, you must think he’s willing to chase you or something.

“I’m dull?” He questions, staring you down with narrowed eyes when the waitress walks away. “You just ordered chicken strips at one of the most expensive restaurants in town.”

You’re taken aback a bit, shaking off his little insults and sitting straight up. Interesting date, truly.

“Okay then, Sunghoon—” You say his name as if it’s a joke or something, but you don’t really let him react to it. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a systems software developer,” he deadpans, swirling his very nonalcoholic water in his hand. “Not that you’d know what that is or anything. And you?”

In all honesty, you don’t really know what that means, but it isn’t hard to figure it out. Assuming he must make programs or something, assuming he probably flew through college in order to do it in the way he seems proud of what he does. In all honesty, it still sounds like such a bore. He must talk in code or something in his free time. 

“I’m—uh—I’m a teacher.” You try to laugh, realizing that you’re kind of putting him down when he very clearly must make more money than you do. 

Only now does it set in that your mother stated he has his own home. One that sits directly beside theirs in a neighborhood that you grew up in. One that you tried to find your own home in but ended up in a shitty apartment in the city because it is all you could afford. Sunghoon must make good money. 

“Oh yeah? What do you teach?” He perks up in interest, no longer acting as if he is trying to insult you and instead offering conversation to you with such ease that you almost forget you’re supposed to be getting through the date in discomfort. 

“I teach everything, I guess. It’s just first grade. I swear, I teach them how to pull up their pants properly more than how to spell words.” You smile to yourself thinking of the loud and obnoxious children you teach five days a week. 

Your job is why you don’t want children though. Your job is why you’d rather stay single. All you hear about is how the third-grade english teacher is fucking the fifth-grade science teacher even though he has a wife who is pregnant with their second child. Sometimes you hear gossip about the students themselves. Who in their right mind as an adult would gossip about elementary school kids? It’s no wonder you’re not a favored teacher. You’re sure they’ve said something about you for not having a significant other or a child on the way too. 

Sunghoon smiles through your endearment towards your class, eyes perking up at the plate of chicken strips on their way to you. He doesn’t say much when you thank the waitress and doesn’t really pay attention to the way you devour the first strip in nearly one bite. 

“Seems like a lively job. I just sit around all day staring at a computer screen…” He begins to drone on about his own job, sounding more like background noise in your head if you’re being honest. You can barely hear him over the crunching of your chicken and you’re a bit thankful for that.

“And I think that it was really worth the—” You interrupt his long string of sentences with a call of his name. “Sunghoon, do you have any other interests?” You ask, sipping your water.

He deadpans at your rudeness of interrupting him. Sunghoon doesn’t often go out on dates, nor does he often get asked about these types of things so, he goes quiet, flicking his eyes down to his hands and then back up to you.

“I like to go hiking, I guess? Watching movies? Sometimes I like to cook—”

Ah. He’s one of those guys. 

“Those are like, the most common interests a person can have. You don’t have any special hobbies or weird quirky things you like to do?” You question, trying to see something in him past the fact that he’s nice to look at and has a decent paycheck. 

“I don’t really have the time to put into other things. When I’m not working, I’m busy cleaning my house or doing yard work since I’m usually too tired during the week to do it.”

“God, you are such a bore.” 

Sunghoon realizes now that maybe you’re not just throwing around banter. Sure, neither of you really wanted to come on this date but he could have used the time away from a computer screen to look at his neighbor’s daughter. If anything, it was an interesting offer, and those don’t come by him too often. He had seen photos of you. He knew you were pretty, and he also should have known you were a bit stubborn with the way your mother warned him before the date.

“If I was so boring, would I be sitting here on a date with a woman I don’t know?” He glares over at you. 

“I don’t know, probably. It isn’t the riskiest thing in the world. What? You don’t have tinder?”

Sunghoon looks down again, because no, he doesn’t have fucking tinder and he doesn’t understand why that matters.  “Why does that matter?” 

“Ah, so we are similar.” You smile to yourself in a small win, and you’re not even sure if it’s even an argument at this point. “No time for hobbies, so no time for dating either?” 

He nods slowly at you, completely confused by the way you go from picking his personality apart to finding some way to connect with him. 

“We can wrap this up then if you want?” You offer, still picking at the food on your plate. “I can pay for mine, so I release you from this arrangement.” 

He just sits there staring at you. What a peculiar woman. Do you really assume he isn’t somehow finding the fun in all of this? In all honesty, this date is going off without a hitch compared to many other dates he’s been on. He has never been on a date where he is criticized, nor has he ever criticized a date himself before.

 It’s almost kind of nice, like a breath of fresh air being able to meet someone who isn’t trying to show their best aspects. Someone who is sitting in front of him being as real as they possibly can be. Sure, you’re attractive, but your lack of interest in this date is somehow—flooring.

“What if I want to stay?” He makes eye contact with you. “What if I want to pay for your overcooked chicken?” 

“I’d be letting you win if you pay for me, but you’re free to stay.” You wave him off with your hand, realizing that the chicken is very dry and wasn’t hitting the spot like you’d been pretending. “So, what now then?” You add with a tilt of the head. 

“Admitting I’m interested in you?” He says it with so much confidence that you’re a little bit surprised, because this entire time you’ve been trying to act as uninterested as possible, despite finding some amount of attraction to Sunghoon.

“Poor you,” You coo, pushing your plate away from you and pulling your almost-empty water closer. “Okay, let’s try and make this worth something then.” 

Sunghoon prepares himself to listen, but honestly, he couldn’t have prepared for what you’re about to say to him.

“Neither of us are looking for anything serious right?” You ask, continuing after he nods. “So,” you pause briefly, thinking a bit too hard on how to word it. “Why don’t we just treat it like a tinder date?”

You’re definitely implying that the night could continue together, only to never speak of or see each other again after the sun rises. 

“Are you suggesting I bring you home with me?” He looks at you with a face you can’t really read. 

“Isn’t that what people do when they’re on a date, find each other attractive, but want nothing more?” You reiterate for him, because he seems to have trouble processing what you’re trying to get across to him. “Unless this isn’t your thing?”

Sunghoon pulls his hand up and pushes his hair out of his face for a moment. He’s thinking about it, barely even realizing that you’ve known each other for less than an hour.

“I didn’t take you for the type of fuck on the first date.” He cocks his head, looking at you in a lazy way.

It feels a little painful that the first curse word he says out loud is describing something that involves you and your offer. 

“I’m not, usually, but it has been a while for me and I can’t help but think we could have fun with it.”

He nods, eyeing you down. “Do you want to drive to my house then? Or do I need to bring you back to get your car?”

“Nah, I can drive. I know where you live, considering I grew up next door and all. I can just crash at my parent’s house once we are done.”

Sunghoon kind of shifts his eyes nervously, looking down at the table and then back at you with a lick against his bottom lip. “Speaking of, your parents—” He pauses, fiddling with his hands. “Look, they probably wouldn’t expect me to be the type to uh, get intimate with their daughter on the first date.”

“Only date,” you correct him, amused. “What, you thought we would meet again after this?”

Sunghoon waves you off dismissively. “That’s not the point. I don’t want my neighbors thinking I’m some fuckboy, and I’d rather them not find out because I’m sure your mom would slap the shit out of me the next time I bring her the mail.”

“Sunghoon—” You snort in a mocking tone. “My mom set you up on a date with me, you’re gonna take me home and show me a good time within an hour of meeting me. Imagine if she found out you’re not as sweet and innocent as she thinks–”

His face goes warm, but his eyes darken a bit as he looks at you. “Listen, I don’t usually do this.” 

“Well yeah, you seem too boring to actually have some fun.” 

Offense taken. 

And when he says nothing else to that, you speak up again, this time a bit more gentle. 

“Don’t feel like you have to. I can go home and we can pretend this never happened.”

“No, no,” Sunghoon assures, making eye contact with the waitress as if to silently ask for the check. “I could use the distraction.” 

He was slim when he stood up, obnoxiously attractive getting into his stupidly expensive car, and even the way he drove in front of you pissed you off. He drove the speed limit all the way to the familiar street of your childhood. What a boring, boring man.

When he pulls into his driveway, you aren’t sure if you should park at his house or your own. You realize if you park at either your parents will wonder why you’re parking in their driveway but not in their living room, or wonder why you’re parked in the clean-cut Sunghoon’s driveway because he would never fuck their daughter on the first date. 

You opt to park a block away, walking to Sunghoon’s house and feeling a bit silly for hiding. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Fitting,” you say as you step into his living room and scan the way he is entirely boring.

“What?” He asks from behind you, watching you judge his space.

“Very monotonous, very you.”

Sunghoon sighs at your constant critiques of him, but he’s smiling through it because you’re still here, and you’re the one who suggested coming home with him.

“I’ve gotta say, I’ve never brought a woman home just to have her insult me,” he laughs, stepping around you and placing his jacket on the end of the couch. “I can imagine that your place hasn’t been cleaned since you moved in.”

You glare at him, slipping your own jacket off and throwing it on his floor out of spite.

“I am a comfortable mess, Sunghoon, and you–” you scan the room once more, “are very clearly uncomfortable.”

He shifts his eyes for a second because, yeah. It’s not that he wouldn’t enjoy having colorful photos on the walls or a couple of knick-knacks lying around. Arguing about it isn’t your purpose for being here though, and he’d much rather skip the banter at this point.

“I can admit that your jacket looks good on my floor,” he takes a step forward, attempting to be as bold as he typically would be with a woman who knows how he is in bed. He’s never had to play off of his own cleanliness though. “I’m willing to make a mess of this house if you take more off.”

Oh, okay.

“Oh, so you can be interesting?” You mock him once again, reaching for the hem of your dress (yes, dress.) and looking at him. “You want to see my clothes on your floor?”

Sunghoon watches you intently, seeing your thighs being exposed more and more as the dress raises. His body is already reacting, becoming more attracted to your witty sense of displeasure toward his entire personality and lifestyle. After all, he’s a computer whizz and you deal with screaming children all day. He wonders why he expected anything less. Little do you know though, he fully intends to have you praising him before the night is up.

“I’d like to see you on my floor,” he answers, reaching for your dress and pulling it up further and above your head. “If I’m being honest, anyway.”

You were trying to go slow with the removal of your dress, mostly to see how he reacts to seeing a woman nearly naked in front of him but damn. You weren’t quite expecting how forward he’s being about it. Here you were expecting to be fucked missionary without any foreplay in a bed with all white sheets, right next to a washer and dryer, socks on, lights off. 

“Oh,” you gasp, slightly out of character in his opinion but his body reacts even more to that. He’s already allowing himself to get aroused so, naturally, his confidence is also bubbling up through each thought and word he decides to say to you. 

“What, you’re shocked?” He laughs, dropping your dress to the floor and scanning your body. “I can admit that I’m a little shocked too.” 

You look at him in confusion, moving your arms over your chest and wondering what the fuck he’s talking about. 

“You wore a matching set for a first date? With a complete stranger?” He mocks you this time, stepping even closer and running his fingers along the hem of your bra. You can feel the warmth from his thumb gently rubbing the skin as he does it and instantly your body tells on you in the form of goosebumps. 

“I’ll have you know,” you’re the one stepping closer this time, “I always wear matching sets, because I like to feel sexy.” 

You’re a liar. You definitely wore them just in case.

He hums, mere inches from your face as he looks down at you. It feels like he’s fucking looming, it feels like he must have his heat set too high or something.

 It gets even worse when his eyes don’t leave yours, but you feel his hand drop from your chest only to hear the familiar sound of a belt being unbuckled. He stares at you while he does it, his hair falling in his face at the movement of what he’s doing waist down. For some reason, that does it for you, and you’re already rubbing your legs together as you stare right back at him. 

“I think that’s bullshit,” he smirks, slipping his belt from the loops of his pants and tossing that to the floor as well, and then he brings his face another inch closer, “and don’t think I can’t tell that you’re turned on.” 

You don’t back down, nor do you admit that he’s absolutely right. You just look at him, watching a strand of his hair fall in front of his eyes that are beginning to darken by the second. 

“I’m not turned on, believe me, it’ll take a lot more than–” You’re cut off by him planting his hand directly between your legs, two fingers pressing your panties slightly into you. 

“Hm?” He encourages you to say that again, but you’ve got your breath caught in your throat at his extreme change in demeanor.

Still, he’s looking directly at your face, watching the way you try to think of a lie. 

“You wanna keep pretending that I’m boring?” He asks, sliding his fingers up and pressing against your clit. 

You shake your head, finally dropping the act and blinking at him with empty thoughts. 

“That’s what I thought,” He ticks his tongue at you, now pulling his fingers away and showing you that even through your panties, his fingers are already soaked. “Now take the rest off.”

You do as he says, watching him step away with his shirt untucked and his pants undone. You note that he grabs a condom, which for some reason reminds you that you’re definitely about to get railed into the next dimension if that bulge behind those pants implies anything. 

Standing there with all of your clothes thrown around his living room, you watch him harder than you already had been. He’s slow when he sets the condom down on the table, and even slower when he walks up to you and places a hand on the top of your head before guiding you to sink down.

“Wha–right here?” You ask, feeling the clean carpet offer relief for your knees rather than the hard wood floors of the room over. 

“I said I wanted to see you on my floor, didn’t I?” He smiles, already admiring how shameful you’d appear to be if your parents saw you naked and on your knees for him. 

You nod, looking up at him. When you reach forward to actually lower his pants though, he steps back and continues to create distance between the two of you as he backs himself up to the wall and lounges against it. 

“Crawl to me,” he instructs, wondering if it’s too much for you but letting out a pleased sound of relief when you instantly do it.

Would you normally let a man tell you to do that? No. Would you ever actually listen to a man who speaks to you like this? Fuck no. You can’t defend your actions when you do it and you also can’t lie that you’re absolutely fucking dripping over it. Like, honestly, he’s going to have to deep clean this fucking carpet by the time you leave this house. 

When you reach him, you can feel the heat in your cheeks at the very idea of him from this angle. You sit on your knees, lifting your hands to his pants and lowering them before he can try to draw the process out even longer. You can hear him let out a short chuckle at the way you try to be quick with it, and you already know he’s about to say some shit.

“I didn’t expect you to be this eager.” He talks down to you with a deep and raspy voice, one that sounds entirely sensual. In terms of what he says though, honestly, you shouldn’t expect much more considering how the two of you practically roasted each other before this very instant. 

You ignore his words, letting his pants drop to the floor and now reaching to pull his briefs down. You were incredibly unprepared for his size as you watched it stand stiff and raging in front of your face. Not a single hint of precum is seen, and it makes you feel kind of pathetic for how wet you’ve already gotten. It almost feels like a challenge now, to make him feel just as desperate as you do now. 

Thankfully, your throat is fairly trained for sucking men until they’re trembling. Hopefully, all those dudes you’ve fucked around with before come in handy and don’t let you down this time around. 

Sunghoon watches you from above, smiling over the way you stare at his length before finally touching it. He keeps his cool though, wondering how just over an hour ago you were ordering the worst food a restaurant has to offer, scoffing at his job, his hobbies, and now look at you. What a sight. 

“Go on,” he encourages you, pressing his hips forward so that the head of his cock hits your cheek, “let me see how messy you are.”

You roll your eyes at him, gripping the base before closing your eyes and breathing in through your nose. The very second you wrap your lips around him, he has both hands on your head, not moving it, not pushing you down or anything, just resting there. You’d think it was sweet if it weren’t for the fact that he pushes his hips forward after four whole seconds.

So, he’s not going to guide your mouth, he’s going to hold it there? Okay, you guess. Thankfully, he’s not being super rough with it like you anticipated. If anything, he’s sliding himself into your mouth much as you’d do on your own. 

He hums out at the feeling of your inner cheeks hugging against his length, pressing in more and more with each thrust of his hips until he finally gets the majority of his length past your lips. He can see you breathe through your nose, but he doesn’t feel resistance at all so he presses his hips in even more, essentially until he’s blocking your airways and your throat is restricted around him in a gag. 

Instead of pulling your head back though, he feels your fingers grip the back of his legs, you’re trying. He holds your head there in place, feeling your throat massage his cock in probably one of the best ways he’s ever felt. 

“Shit,” he seethes out between a bite of his lip, “you’ve done this before?” 

The very thought of you letting your throat be used is enough for him to want to keep doing it, but hearing your response as a half-moaned gag vibrating around his length is a whole other story. 

He releases his hands from behind your head just to see if what he thinks you’re implying with those vibrations of sounds is right, and god is he thrown for a loop. You stay there, and even when he pulls his hips back before fucking into your throat once more, you still stay there.

He’s going to lose his goddamn mind because never has a woman been able to withstand this amount in their throat for this long for him. Enough to actually have him a little worried that you’re essentially suffocating on him. 

Sunghoon snaps his hips back, pulling out of your mouth and leaning down just a bit to grab your chin and guide your eyes up to him. 

“Breathe,” he says, watching the way you smirk at him as if you’ve won some sort of award. He narrows his eyes at you, “You can choke all you want babe, but you’re gonna have to not be this cock drunk if you want to pretend that you’ve got the upper hand.”

That motherfucker. You’re trying to make him show just a hint of desperation for you and he completely flips the tables on you? 

Before you can even argue again, he’s guiding your lips back on him. You decide that it’s not over yet, he can talk down to you all he wants, but you’re going to be the one laughing at him by the end of the night. 

You allow him to place his hands back on your head, and you kind of like the weight of his cock on your tongue if you’re being honest, but god damn does he have a harsh rhythm. His hips snap languidly but he buries himself deep.  Even when you try to look up at him as your nose presses against his pubic bone, he’s looking down at you so casually. Like he feels okay. Just okay. 

This time, when he pulls his hips back, he doesn’t have to hold your head steady. You chase his length even as it tries to slide from your mouth, and you start to move your head back and forth in time with his hips. You finally receive a moan from him when you reach a hand up and cup his balls, massaging them in one hand as your saliva bubbles out from around your lips.

“So fucking messy–” he chokes out in a surprised moan, praising you for somehow making this feel even better than it already did. 

You hum around him again, feeling the weight of his cock pulse against your tongue and you start to taste more of his precum. Shamefully, you’re starting to want this more and more. You want him to call you messy, you want him to bruise your throat. You don’t mind, now that you’ve seen a snippet of what he’s like when he shows his pleasure.

Just a moment goes by when you feel his hands grip your hair, pulling slightly and following the rhythm of your movements, just putting a bit more force behind them until he finally presses you one last time against his pelvic bone, swirling his hips and stretching out your throat impossibly more around him. 

“Just like that, yeah,” his moans echo throughout his empty walls and it causes your eyes to flutter as you try to breathe in through your nose. When you gag, he moans again. “Fuck, you know exactly what you’re doing.”

Then, he releases you and watches with a smirk at the way you pull back in a deep breath before wiping your mouth. 

You’re not sure why, but the way he’s looking at you makes you feel proud. Maybe it’s because he’s managed to pull out this weird, needy side of you, or maybe it’s because he looks incredibly good looking at you like this after the two of you spit insults at each other all night. 

“Do you want me to return the favor?” He asks, finally unbuttoning and removing his shirt.

Seeing him now, you stare at his chest and toned arms, wanting to grab onto them and feel him do whatever it is he wants to do to you. He, on the other hand, can’t tell if you’re nodding to his question or looking him up and down slowly. 

“You were so talkative earlier, what happened?” He smiles, stepping forward and falling to his knees himself, nudging your legs open in one go as he presses you back against his floor. “Do you want to fuck my tongue, or no?”

He continues to smile at your silence, eyes trained between your legs as he spreads them and then looks up at your face. “No?” 

You shake your head, leaning back on your elbows to watch him and take a breath in.

“It’s hard to talk when you’re like,” you motions towards him, “that.”

He chuckles, taking it as a compliment before snatching a pillow off of his couch and tapping your thigh to get you to lift up. You do so, allowing him to place the pillow under your ass before he settles himself there.

His eyes stay locked on yours as his fingers start to trail to your core, slipping through your folds with such ease that your embarrassment shows plainly on your face. 

“Messy,” he compliments, lightly tapping against your clit before lowering his head and blowing softly against the glistening heat you offer to him. “Keep your legs spread for me, darling.”

You still watch him, his eyes glaring up from between your spread thighs as he lets his tongue fall from his mouth and lick one long and languid stripe up your slit, stopping just before your clit and pulling back as if he’s tasting. You’re not sure what it is about him but goddamn, he must know he looks good when he’s pleasuring a woman. 

Despite him asking you to keep your legs spread for him, it appears that he doesn’t trust you to do it because he’s still got one hand prying one of your legs apart and his head moving in all sorts of ways as he allows his tongue to lap every part of you besides your clit. Even his other hand, exploring and gently placing pressure against your entrance– the way he’s doing this makes you want to press forward, it makes you want to do exactly as he asked. 

You roll your hips forward, and he instantly attaches his lips to your clit. You stop, and he trails back down and flicks his tongue against your folds in a teasing way. You grind forward, he’s right back on your clit, flicking his muscle the same way and eliciting a whine from you. 

This time though, when you roll your hips back, he takes both hands and presses your legs open as far as he can get them, spreading your pussy out across his lips for him to take full control of. He nips at your clit before licking down, pressing the pointed muscle into you and only then does he release your legs. Now, he’s sliding both hands under your ass and rocking you against his face, angling his head so that he can lick inside to taste your plush and wet walls.

God, you’re gonna lose it. Even if you didn’t want to, you’d think the way he’s moving his mouth is enough to get anyone to take advantage of it. You moan, pressing forward and back against his mouth as your own fingers fall to your clit. You rub when you press forward, feeling his warm and wet saliva drip from your slit and down to your ass, and you rub harder when you pull back, watching his eyes flutter open and still somehow manage to glare at you.

And just as soon as it started, you blink and his face is right there. You would have let out a shocked sound, because jumpscare much? But you moan instead, because he hovers over you with a smirk and an arm between the two of you, his fingers instantly sliding into you as he attaches his lips to yours with little more than a moan of his own. 

“Have you ever tasted yourself?” He asks, licking against your lips and scissoring his fingers open inside of you.

You have, but for some reason it tasted better this time when he prods his tongue against yours. Perhaps it’s because it’s from him, or maybe it’s because you are a little obsessed with the way he navigates sex. 

When he pulls back from your mouth, now losing himself a little bit in the heat of the faces you make when you feel good, he can’t help but give you a moan along with your own. You sound so fucking good when you’re not talking your shit, and god he knew that mouth could do more than be annoying. 

“Open up,” he whispers against your lips, licking your bottom lip as he thrusts his fingers deeper into you, “let me hear you.”

You can’t really help it. When you open your mouth, you’re practically panting for him. His arm is moving harshly as he fucks his fingers into you and causing you to nearly lose balance on your elbows, but he holds you there with his other arm wrapped around your waist, still licking against your lip and smirking when you still can’t say anything. 

“Louder,” He instructs, at least wanting you to moan louder for him if you’re going to act like this when he’s touching you. “Let your momma hear how good it feels, babe, go on.” 

Your eyes shoot open after that, and god, he is the fucking worst. Or maybe not, you can tell he does it on purpose. His fingers curling up inside of you and putting intense pressure against a spot that takes every man ages to find if they manage to even remember it.

“Sunghoon,” you groan, rolling your eyes back while rolling your hips forward, hand shooting to his and holding it there, “can’t you just fuck me already?”

He chuckles, dipping his head down to give a sharp bite against your nipple, his fingers still curling up into that spot. 

“Soak my fingers first.” He says, floored by how good your voice sounds when you want to get fucked. 

He continues to suck and bite against your nipple, and that sends shocks of pleasure straight down to where his fingers meet your g-spot. You could come right now if he’d just–

You roll your hips forward harder, grinding your clit against his wrist and essentially fucking yourself on his fingers now. He moans against your nipple at the movement, biting down harder as he hears you just above him holding your breath. It seems like you like not being able to breath, which is just fucking great for him. Your mom would be so heartbroken, honestly. 

“You think you can ride my cock like this?” He asks, popping your nipple out of his mouth and moving those bites up your neck and to your ear, “Think you can take it?”

You nod with heat rushing through your body, feeling his wrist stiffen up for your pleasure to grind against. 

Fuck, he can feel your cunt gripping his fingers as you work yourself up and it takes everything in him not to pull his fingers from you and absolutely bury himself into the tight heat you’re offering, but he holds back, pulling from your neck and watching the way your brows furrow and your mouth falls slack.

“Yeah, that’s it babe, ride it.” he encourages, hearing your wet slide against his fingers with each movement of your body.

You shake as it washes through you, feeling his fingers remain in their spot against your little bundle of pleasure inside of you. You feel like you can explode from this alone and he practically forces it out of you, pulling his fingers out and immediately rubbing circles on your clit. 

“Let it go for me,” he encourages in a pleasured sigh, watching your body tremble involuntarily as your face contorts to what anyone else would assume is pain. He moves further back and watches your body soak both him and his floor. “Fuck, yes, such a fucking mess.”

Well, that’s never happened before and the fact that you’re still orgasming is also new. You feel so sensitive, releasing in waves that offer little in terms of self control. Your hands shoot to his arm, gripping him so tightly as you try to hear his moans for you, but to be honest, you can’t hear a fucking thing through this wall of arousal in your head. 

Finally, you open your eyes and he’s just looking at you, smirking at the dripping against his legs and the wet spot on the floor. 

“Messy, messy girl.” He says with a chuckle. “Dirtying up my living room like this? Come on, get up.”

This is the first time Sunghoon has ever had a woman squirt for him, and honestly he’s been trying for ages to let someone experience this through him, goddamn was it sexy to see. You look absolutely fucking gone at this moment, and he might be fucking in love with the image. So badly does he want to see those shaking legs try to stand for him, so badly, does he want to see you fucking buckle.

“Come on,” he says again, not giving you enough time to even think about standing before he’s pulling you up on wobbling legs and pressing your toward the couch.

He watches how you wobble over, shuffling your feet with your knees turned inward with each step. He can’t help but lick his lips, seeing how your arousal drips down both of your legs in a shameless show of how much his fingers alone could do for you. 

“Sorry,” You rasp out as you make your way over, brain fogged from the orgasm and unable to feel much at all outside of the pulsing inside of you. “I’ve never–”

“Don’t worry, I like the mess.” He smiles, snatching up the condom and tearing the wrapper open with ease before rolling it down his length, staring at you.

Oh, right, he still hasn’t even fucked you yet. Fuck, he’s good.

He sits himself next to you, pulling an arm around your waist and guiding you on top of him. He doesn’t even think twice at your shaking legs, soothing them as you follow his hand and position yourself against his long neglected cock being held up with his other hand. 

“Gonna keep that promise?” he asks, still smoothing his hands over your legs and looking up at you. “Gonna take my cock better than you did my fingers?” 

You nod, feeling a pulse of electricity inside of you. Willing you to take more, wanting to be stretched further.

Besides, you know that once you’re seated with his length fucking impaling you, you’ll at least have his broad shoulders to hold onto if you need to stay steady.  

And when you sink down, you hear the sound you’ve been trying to pull from him all night. He lets out a soft moan, almost a whimper if you think hard enough about it, and it ignites a brand new fire in you as you take him in inch by inch. Feeling the searing stretch offer a bit of pain despite the sheer amount of wet you have collected between your legs. 

He can feel you clench around him in the attempt to adjust, and your legs shaking only offer even more in terms of pleasure as you envelope him entirely with your heat. He can’t help but moan, almost unable to keep up his dominant persona with a pussy so sweet wrapped around him. God, he loves blind dates, honestly. 

“Mhm,” he hums, rubbing both of his hands now against your thighs as you sit yourself flush against him and wait to adjust to his size, “I definitely like you.”

You fall forward with a small laugh, the irony of the situation a bit too much on top of your mind falling helplessly and embarrassingly fast at how lucky you are to have a mother to set you up with such a man. 

He’s a bit soft at this moment, wrapping both arms around your waist and listening to your breathless laughs against his neck. Loving the way each inhaled chuckle forces your body to squeeze his cock delightfully tight. 

God, You’re pretty, and so fucking annoying. Just his type. 

“I’m still going to fuck you senseless though.” he finally says, feeling your body still at his words as you lift a bit, just to slide back down on him.

“Is that a promise?” You ask weakly, pretending that he didn’t already manage to do it with his hands alone. 

He nods, the softness in his eyes disappearing instantly when he feels the drag of your cunt hug his length. He doesn’t hold back his moaning for you this time though, and he shows no shame in slapping your ass, and guiding you even closer to his chest. 

You stand on your knees a bit on top of him, watching his eyes zone in on your tits in his face. Hopefully, he’s going to keep that promise too.

His hips snap up harshly as his hands grope your ass and spread you apart. He snaps his hips again and again, nearly pulling his entire length out of you each time just to fill you up once again. Stretching you open and loosening you up, the pleasure of it hitting him right in the throat each time with small grunts against your nipple when you bounce at the movement. 

You whimper out, the sounds still echoing throughout his house along with the sounds of your thighs slapping against his. His grunts are deeper, and all of the sounds together sound like a desperate soundtrack of what you’ve always wished sex was like. He fucks you good, despite your legs still shaking, and despite the pain of his teeth biting against your skin now. 

You can’t help it when you fall forward again, hugging around his head as he starts to relentlessly fuck into you at a faster pace, the thrusts going from slow and deep to tight and pointed. His thick cock easily pressing against that same spot his fingers had been teasing earlier. You choke out at the feeling, legs jolting and causing you to sit again out of sensitivity.

He doesn’t falter at your failure to stay in position for him, and instead he gropes your ass harder, swirling your hips around him. You can feel how hard he is inside of you, splitting you open and pulsing at a near constant pace. 

“Ride it,” he instructs, much like he did with his fingers and you follow suit, lifting just slightly and sliding back down again. “Harder,” he demands, pulling his head from your grasp and looking up at you with a wild smirk. 

You look down at him, wondering how pitiful you must look up here. He appears to be loving it though, absolutely in love with the way you struggle to do what you swore you’d be able to. 

Trying again, you begin to bounce on him and he grants you his fingers on your clit for that, moaning at your own choice of rhythm and leaning forward yet again to pop his presumed favorite nipple back into his mouth.

The ministrations of his fingers paired with his mouth sends you spiraling once again into a world of pleasure. The shaking in your legs become more of a driving factor than anything as you ride him better than you’ve ever ridden anyone.

Finally, he’s the one moaning out and trying to string together choked words of praise.

“Your grip is so tight,” he mutters out, kissing up your chest and to your neck, “i can fucking feel you dripping down my legs.” He adds in a moan, losing himself in the way you move your hands through his hair and scratch at the nape of his neck. He wants to ruin you so badly, and he’s already drenched in you. He wants more. 

You knew you’d have him just as desperate as you by the end of the night. Now look at him, muttering out strings of curse words as you do nothing but ride and pet him. He’s melting under you, and you’ll be damned if he comes before you get that second orgasm. 

Shooting your hand to your clit to replace his lazy movements, you work yourself up to your second orgasm and he just watches you, taking in the image of you practically riding him into oblivion until you’re clenching even tighter around him, throwing your head back and shooting your hands to his shoulders as you harshly roll your hips into his. You’re working yourself through it when he starts pumping into you again, short and tight thrusts pushing you through your orgasm until he’s gripping you equally as hard, holding you down on him as he spills out and into the condom in more of a purr than a moan.

You watch him, dazed out of your fucking mind as he bites against his bottom lip and slowly blinks through his orgasm as you. Part of you wishes he just did it raw, wanting so badly for him to make a mess of you like you did to him.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You find yourself with him at your parent’s house just a week later, eating lunch in the chaotic mess of your mother’s kitchen. It’s funny, really, how he’s trying to be polite to her as if he’s not about to take you next door and probably fuck you against an open window just to blow his own cover.

“I told you he was a keeper,” your mother compliments him as she lays a plate of croissants on the table. “Just yesterday he offered to mow our lawn when we head off for vacation this weekend!”

She’s praising him much like you wouldn’t, and you kick him under the table for trying to suck up to her even more now that he’s fucked you several times already. 

“Did he now?” You ask, glaring over at him and then smiling sweetly at your mother. “Guess he is kind of a keeper, maybe.”

His eyes shoot to you and he smiles around his bite of croissant at you. 

“You were right though,” he counters you towards your mother, “she’s definitely a handful.”

Your mother crosses her arms as she leans against the counter, looking between the both of you. 

“How many dates have you been on without telling me?” She asks, looking at you.

“A few…” If she considers it a date to meet up and fuck every other day this week.

“We had lunch a few days ago.” he adds, backing you up. It’s just that the lunch wasn’t exactly like–you know, at a restaurant, and if she knew that cum was on the menu, perhaps you both would be slapped shitless. 

“So, are you guys going to be exclusive, or?”

Sunghoon looks at you curiously, and you look back at him. 

“I dunno, it’s only been a week, Mom.”

She nods, clapping once before pushing off of the counter and leaving the kitchen. 

It’s silent between you and Sunghoon for a few moments before he speaks up.

“I wouldn’t be against it.”

“Against what?” You ask, looking at him with a raised brow. 

“You know, like, dating. I can’t imagine anyone actually putting up with you besides me, anyway.”

You kick him again from under the table, causing him to wince out in pain before glaring at you. You smile in return though, giving him a shrug and now rubbing your foot against the bruise you probably just caused. 

“I find myself agreeing with that statement,” You laugh thinking hard about your next words. “But for some reason, agreeing with you pisses me off more.”

Sunghoon nods, smiling through the pain of the bruise forming on his shin. 

“Good thing I know how to fix that, huh?” He finishes the conversation, fully aware that he knows how to shut you up and make you love it. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

[surftrips]

ABOUT YOU | LUKE CASTELLAN

pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!reader

request: luke x reader fluff w like an aphrodite!reader? reader is all sunshine and flowers and makes luke all soft/campers teasing luke abt the way reader changed him 🤭

word count: 1.6k

a/n: this is probably my favorite luke fic that i've written so far thank u so much anon for sending this request in! writing aphrodite!reader is so much fun, i'm such a sucker for the opposites trope. hope you all enjoy 🤍

You were the human embodiment of sunshine, a real life angel. Gentle, kind, and lovely— in other words, the complete and total opposite of Luke Castellan. He was dark and broody, strong and rough, and not totally unfriendly, but definitely intimidating. 

But even if you weren’t the daughter of Aphrodite, Luke believed that you would still be just as beautiful. There was something in the way you carried yourself that had made his heart surrender the second he laid eyes on you. You became the one and only exception in his long list of grievances. 

So it came as no surprise to anyone at camp when the two of you started dating, just to the dismay of many of your admirers and a few of Luke’s as well. If there was one thing you had in common, it was your beauty. With his puppy dog eyes and curly brown hair, Luke was a sight for sore eyes, almost as much as you were. 

One day, you were walking hand in hand when one of the younger campers accidentally bumped into Luke. On any other occasion, Luke might have started an altercation, but today, he simply smiled and said, “Just be careful next time.” The camper stared at him, wide-eyed and shocked into place as you softly giggled.

“What?” he smiled, looking over at you as the kid took it as an opportunity to run away. 

“Nothing,” you mused. “Just that I think you’re getting soft, Luke Castellan.” You poked a finger at his chest playfully. 

“What?” he shook his head. “No, I’m not.” 

Though he attempts to keep a serious face, you could see the amusement in his eyes. He often looked at you like this, ready to go along with anything you said— no matter how silly or whimsical your remarks. 

“Okay, lover boy. Whatever you say,” you shrugged, offering him a kiss on his cheek that instantly causes color to rush into his face. Ignoring that he’s just proven your point, he attempts to hide his expression by seeking solace in the crook of your neck. He would never admit it to anyone, but he often thought his favorite place at camp was the spot in between your jaw and collarbone. 

Even though most of the campers were still a little frightened by the idea of approaching Luke, his closest friends were not afraid to speak their minds. 

“Dude, you’re like, totally whipped for her,” Percy remarked over lunch once. 

“And you’re like, totally fourteen years old,” Luke said.

“I think the fourteen year old’s right,” Chris jumped in.

“Dude! I thought you were supposed to have my back,” Luke throws up his arms in mock aggravation.

The two boys snickered, causing Luke to speak up again. “I am not whipped for Y/N.” 

“Oh, sure,” Chris began. “So the reason you’re practically skipping around camp and letting whatever team Aphrodite cabin is in win Capture the Flag is because…?” 

“Oh, and don’t forget the constant checking his phone to see if she texted back and sharing his blanket with her at the campfire!” Percy pointed out. “Meanwhile, I’m over here freezing…” 

“Maybe,” Luke scrambled to come up with an answer. “Maybe, I was just in a really good mood those days. It could have absolutely nothing to do with Y/N.” 

He barely believed the words himself, and Chris and Percy were certainly not convinced. Luke wasn’t even sure why he felt the need to defend himself. 

“Dude, it’s okay if you are, she’s literally your girlfriend,” Chris said.

“Hey! I have an idea, let’s ask Annabeth!” Percy declared.

“Annabeth? Why her?” Luke furrowed his brow. 

“Because, she’s a girl. And she’s known you the longest, she can give us a real answer,” Percy said matter-of-factly. 

Luke thought it over. The young boy was technically right, Annabeth was like a little sister to him. If anyone could tell if he had changed since dating you, it would be her. This came as both a good and bad realization to him, because what if he had changed? Gods, was it that obvious? 

Before he could agree to asking Annabeth, the young girl was already at their table. Percy must have called her over while Luke was thinking. 

“What’s up?” she asked, sitting down across from him with her plate of food. 

“Oh, nothing, just talking about how soft Luke has gotten since he started dating Y/N,” Chris explained with a grin on his face. 

“Oh?” Annabeth said, seemingly amused. 

“Yeah, we actually wanted to get your opinion,” Percy continued. “Would you say you agree or disagree, that you know, Luke is nicer now that he’s with Y/N?”

Annabeth seemed to think it over for a second. “Gods, you guys are such children,” she scoffed. 

“Thank you!” Luke cut in.

“I mean, all of you,” she looked at Luke pointedly. “Why do you care what a bunch of kids think about you anyway? And not that it matters, but you, Castellan, are most definitely whipped for Y/N.” 

That shut Luke up immediately, and caused cheers to erupt from Chris and Percy, who were clapping each other on their backs as if they had just won Capture the Flag. 

Annabeth smiled and shrugged her shoulders, as if to say “Sorry, Luke. It’s true.” 

Later that night, Luke snuck over to the Aphrodite Cabin to find you. You were surprised when Luke woke you up, it had been a while since he came seeking your comfort in the middle of the night. He used to have bad nightmares, but you noticed he had gotten better since you started dating. You’d like to think it was because of you, but perhaps that would be thinking too highly of yourself.  

In an effort to clear his mind, you suggested to go on a walk together. He agreed, and you climbed out of bed as quietly as you could.

You allowed him a few minutes of silence until his heavy breathing had slowed down and his grip on your hand had loosened. 

“What’s on your mind, hon?” you asked softly. 

Luke didn’t respond at first, distracting himself by tracing the lines on the palm of your hand. You were happy to give him as much time as he needed, placing your other hand on his back and gently drawing circles.

After a while, he did speak up. “Uhm, do you think that I’m, like, unapproachable?” 

Your heart sank and you stopped in your tracks. “What makes you say that?” 

“I don’t know, it’s just something that’s been on my mind recently.” 

“Luke, is this about what I said to you the other day? Because I didn’t mean it like that—” 

“No, baby,” he rushed. The last thing he wanted was for you to think you had done something wrong. He wasn’t sure that you could ever do wrong, not in his eyes. “I was just talking to Percy and Chris at lunch today and they were kind of teasing me.” 

You couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of your boyfriend, Mr. Tough Guy, being teased by a few kids younger than him. “I’m sorry, babe. Continue,” you placed a supportive hand on his chest as you regained your composure. 

“They said that I’ve changed since we started dating.” 

Though you were an expert in human emotion, there were still times you couldn’t read the expression on Luke’s face. You couldn’t tell if he thought of this as a bad thing, or if he was just curious to see what you thought. You decided on the latter. “Changed how so?” 

“They think I’m soft now because I’m always in a good mood and stuff…” he trailed off. Even now, in the dark of the night, you could tell he was blushing.

“Well,” you started, trying to find the right words. “You know, I was just teasing you the other day, babe. I think you’ve always been this way.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, I think you’ve always been a giant teddy bear,” you grinned, unable to contain yourself. “Luke, you’re not as bad as everyone thinks you are.” 

By now, both of you had stopped walking. Ever since Luke arrived at camp, he had been characterized as the tough, stony, and slightly antagonistic guy. All because of a scar he carried and the stories of what he had gone through with Annabeth and Thalia. Many people were still intimidated by him, despite his position as the counselor in Hermes and his job to welcome newcomers. It had been so long, he wasn’t sure if this was the way he was, or the way that he was made to be. 

As if reading his thoughts, you said, “You don’t have to be what they tell you to be. Do you know the words I use to describe you when someone asks me about you?” 

Unable to speak, Luke simply shook his head. 

“Gentle, kind, and lovely.” 

Luke wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but certainly nothing close to the words you had chosen. “You do not,” he objected. 

“I'm serious, baby,” you placed your hands on his cheeks and pulled him in until your foreheads were touching. “I think you’re the most wonderful and caring guy I’ve ever met. I think you always have been, you just don’t always show it.”

He stared at you intently before pulling a loose strand of hair out of your face. You kissed the top of his head, “I must be one lucky girl.” 

“Hey, if there’s one thing I’m sure about, it’s that I’m the lucky one,” he said, before pulling you in for a kiss.