#life is strange 4 spoilers

[werewolf-cuddles]

Please check on your local Pricefield fan. They're not doing good right now.

[yuraimi-lee-bunny]

If I had a nickel for every time a character with the power to control time has a conversation with their "other self" from another timeline in a restaurant I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice

And you know what's been blowing my mind?

Apparently, Five's name could be MAX! So basically, Their not only have the same power and a moment with their other self in a restaurant, but also the same name!

Guess who wants to draw Max and Five driking coffee together now? Yep, Me!

[strawberry-soil]

I got Max CC from here

I got Chloe CC from here

I might've just gotten the sims themselves from there I don't even remember HSHS. Ik I forgot Chloe's tattoo tho..

[deadguydeathmatch]

Dead Guy Death Match Round 4 Poll: 1

[tonycries]

FIVE! - C.K.

Synopsis. Five hours - it’s all it takes for Choso’s baby fever to take over. After all, you’d look so pretty with his kid - five of them, in fact.

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader 

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, unprotected, bréeding, Choso with rings + a tongue piercing, creampíe, mentioned kids, cúmplay, he goes feraI, oraI (fem receiving), Itadori family shenanigans (mild spoilers for unc-kuna), overstím, fíngering, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Will I ever write a Choso fic without the Itadori family? No absolutely not.

4:37PM.

“Ooo, Cho can we check that place out?”

And, listen, just because Choso would give you the moon right along with his heart doesn’t exactly mean he’s jumping with joy when he follows your gaze to that gaudy little shop tucked away in a corner of the mall. Flashing a loud, glittering sign reading, “FORTUNES: FIND YOUR FUTURE!”

Traitorous memories flash through his mind with each step you drag him closer. Of all those fortune shops he’d frequented years ago, trying to figure out whether you’d say yes to a date - before even thinking of actually asking you. 

He won’t ask anything, Choso reassures, stepping through the heady, curtained doorway. Probably not anything, he’s musing, pulling out his wallet to pay for your session. Well, maybe some things, he concludes, eyeing the sprightly old woman that takes a seat opposite you two, peering down at her dramatically large glass ball on the table. 

But that doesn’t mean he’ll-

“Babies.”

“Huh?”

“Yes.” the woman gives a solemn nod. “Five of them.”

Both of you let out a squawk of surprise, much to the amusement of the fortune teller. And Choso can feel his palms getting sweaty against your own as he manages to croak out a low, disbelieving, “Five?”

All but toppling out of his seat in suspense as she takes a moment to scrutinize her orb once more. And, surely glass balls can glitch, right? Mix up fortunes or something? Because while he knows you’ll be by his side in this life and every other one after - kids were a whole other responsibility that neither of you had talked about, yet.

At least, that’s what Choso was trying to convince himself right before the woman lets out a thoughtful hum, “Well, you-” pointing a wisened, accusing finger right in his flushed face. “-want more - about eight - but, of course, your future wife says no.” Gesturing to your giggling figure, “Honestly, young man, learn to keep it in your pants, the poor dear!”

Shit, he was going to run away, do something to end up on the national news - and judging by the way you squeeze his hand, you could tell, too. 

Subconsciously, Choso’s eyes scan the wall for any hidden cameras, wondering what type of strange prank this was. It had happened once four years ago - and just-so-happened to be what made him give up and finally ask you out - but, hey, it made for a pretty great first date story, right?

Finding none, he sighs, barely opening his mouth to ask before she plows on, “And of course there’s only so many your uncle can piggyback at once, right? No matter how much that grump says he doesn’t like it.”

Right.

Of course.

Oh god, he thinks he could faint. 

Choso doesn’t dare say anything for the rest of the session, nor does he look directly in your eyes. Save for that one time to admire your delighted laugh when the fortune teller prattles on about how your kids will “fight his needy self for your attention.”

Not until the two of you are stepping back out into the too-bright mall, your fingers intertwined with his, voice sweet in his ear as you continue with your forgotten mission to find the good brownie mix for the family dinner tonight. 

“Eyes like yours and hair like mine.” You sigh, repeating what you’d heard mere minutes ago. Hooking a finger subtly into his belt loop, smirking, “Sooo, five, huh? You’re this worked up over that?”

“N-no.” Choso replies hastily, but the heavy gulp he takes is a dead giveaway he can’t stop thinking about tiny combinations of the two of you running around. Face too-hot, hands jittery, brows furrowed as he decides for the second time in his life that, yeah he’s never stepping foot inside a fortune shop again. 

You notice - of course, you do. 

Especially when he pulls you into the nearest changing stall, knuckle-deep inside your drenched panties, rings cool against your cunt, lips kissing at your throat. Ignoring your teasing complaints about “getting late”, despite how you’re letting him have his way. 

He feels the vibration of your voice under his hot tongue, laughing - even when he gives your pretty clit a little pinch. “Five.”

And through it all, he can’t help but think - hypothetically, of course, that he hopes they all have your laugh.

---

7:16PM.

Honestly, the one thing that made the Itadori residence more of a home to Choso was having you there. Even when you’re standing with him outside the front door, letting out a sigh as you glare at your sad excuse for brownies.

“Ugh, Cho, we totally burnt them.” you grumble up at your boyfriend. “Your dad is gonna hate it and Sukuna’s gonna make fun of me and-”

“Sukuna can try.” Choso hits the doorbell once more, sure that the ruckus inside was too loud to even think over. “And he probably will.” Before turning back to your adorable pout, and ah he can’t stop himself from cupping your face, smoothing over that furrow in your brow. He leans in to give your lips a chaste peck, “But, he’s still gonna steal some. N’ dad’ll love it, and you already know gramps is gonna sneak in some even though his doctor told him not to.” He’s getting out through kisses, pulling your giggling face closer to his. “And we’ll be lucky to get any before Itadori inhales them.”

He ends his little speech with a slow, lingering kiss. Sliding his soft lips across your now much happier ones. Dancing a hand down to pull your hips closer, murmuring throatily, “N’ most of all, I’m gonna love ‘em, baby.”

You gasp at the feeling of his long fingers pressing just at the hem of your panties through your dress, “You’re- you’re too much.” You hiss, but it comes out more breathless than you intended. “But, the brownies really are-”

Slam!

“Yeah yeah, Jin, the brats are finally here, jus’ fucking on the porch!” 

If there’s anything Choso’s learned from all the times you’ve had dinner with his family, it’s that 1. Yes, the brownies - as burnt and questionable as they were - will always turn out to be a hit in the Itadori household. 2. You were really, really too perfect for your own good, even amidst the chaos. 

“Oh no, let me.” you flash Jin a beaming smile, taking over the well cleared-out plates to the kitchen. Only to be followed by an enthusiastic Yuji almost tripping over his own feet to help you out. 

“You got a good one there.” Choso snaps out of his soft stare to whirl around at where his grandpa was seated next to him. He tips his head over to where you were chattering animatedly with the younger boy taking your load of dishes. “Real lovely. Though, the desert I’m assuming you helped out with.”

Jin pipes up, “Bah! I thought that liquorice was great.”

“They were…brownies.” Face burning, he stammers, knowing full well that you were the one that forgot them in the oven. “And uh y-yeah, you got me…”

And, of course, because it’s a family dinner, Sukuna has to lean over to rile him up. Interjecting teasingly, “Then you best wife that cute lil’ thing up before those baking skills of yours make ‘em run off n’ find someone that can bake.” He smirks devilishly, eyes flitting to the view of the kitchen, “And…”

“And?”

“-is fuckin’ great with kids, too.”

Several things happen at once - the words are barely out of Sukuna’s mouth before he’s being swatted over the head. Hard. After all, being the nicer of the two doesn’t make Jin Itadori forget his roots as the older brother.

And Choso’s jaw is dropping into a soft oh! Not at the unusual display of strength, no, instead it was at the heavenly scene before him.

He swears, the lights grow just a bit brighter and the world becomes a little rosier at the sight of you teaching an eager Yuji the correct way to scrub strainers. Gently guiding the boy until that confused furrow between his brow disappears. “Yeah, just a bit more on the side and you’re done!”

He gives you a very soapy high-five, “You’re literally a lifesaver, Kugisaki was just making fun of me for this the other day.” Moving onto the rest of the workload, “‘Can’t do shit’ gonna show her, seriously. Thank you mom- uh-”

Yuji freezes. You freeze. And it seems that everyone in the world might’ve frozen, except for Sukuna who was still rubbing that bump on his head. 

And you, of course, promptly cutting off the flurry of apologies that looked like they were about to burst from Itadori’s lips. Smiling at the flustered boy softly, “Well…good job, Yuji.” you bump his hip. “And now onto the blender.”

“AW, MAN.”

Suddenly, everything was normal again. Except for Choso - definitely not Choso. 

Mom? 

So utterly, completely not Choso when everyone’s still talking downstairs, and he’s not. Making some cheap excuse about a ‘bathroom break’, which really didn’t explain why he covertly drags you behind him by the hand. All but shoving you into his childhood bedroom, shutting the door as quietly as he could without alerting anyone of your tryst. 

“Ch-Cho-” you squeal when he pushes you against the wall, dropping down to his knees with a fervor that makes you wince. But if it hurt, then Choso doesn’t show it - doesn’t show anything but pure need when he bunches your dress up at your waist. Soft tongue darting out to glide along your drenched slit, “What’s gotten- hngh- into you?”

The only response you get is a murmured growl of something you can’t bother deciphering. And he doesn’t give you any other, either - sluggishly nudging away your panties to admire your glistening cunt. 

So close. Just hovering over your puffy folds, smiling at the way they only get wetter at his hot breath, “Five.”

Too close. Glossy pink lips falling slack to wrap around your clit and-

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Though, it was more of a bang. And an even louder voice from outside, “OI, you brats better be decent, gramps found some dusty old albums n’ wants you two down.”

---

9:02PM.

“Awww, this is from his first fight with Yuji- yes, Choso so what if I took a picture?” Jin excitedly points to a photo on the page, “Yuji was the one with a bruise, but Choso was the one bawling.”

You titter at the glossy picture, a confused-looking Yuji as a toddler, being smothered by his older brother in a hug - big, fat tears running down his pouty cheeks. Adorable. And somehow that encounter with the fortune teller today rings in your mind - wonder if your kids would have those same eyes?

“As cute as ever, huh?” your gaze dances across all the gems of childhood on the page. 

“Disagreed.” Sukuna leans over, no matter how much he’d like to pretend he wasn’t interested in these albums. “Look how attached the lil’ anklebiter used to be.” A painted nail pokes at one of Choso on his uncle’s shoulders, tiny fists happily gripping onto pink hair - much to his disgruntlement. “And then I look over at him now and-” He glances over at the man in question, very much unamused. “Well. That’s disappointing.”

Choso rolls his eyes, “What’s disappointing is how you’re this old but still can’t find a-” 

“Ooo look this is from when he’d run away during bath time!”

That album is snatched so fast out of Jin’s hands that you wonder whether it might just be your imagination. But you look over at a red-faced Choso, seeing him hold it way above your heads. Muttering out a hasty, “I think that’s enough photo time.”

Amidst the collective groans of disappointment - even Sukuna lets out a low huff, you hadn’t gotten to those ugly matching Halloween costume pictures yet - only Yuji speaks up, “Do you think I’d be like that, too?”

Sukuna scoffs, “What? An emo bastard? Might just work out for ya, kid, the dumbass look isn’t doing you any favors.”

Yuji juts his chin in indignance, “No- we already have Fushiguro for that.” Tilting his head over to the album still tight in Choso’s clutches. “Do you think your kids would like me? Would I be that cool favorite family member?”

“No way, brat. It’ll be me.”

Choso’s grandpa also chimes in as well, “Huh? No, I’d be the favorite.”

“Gramps-”

“Says who?”

“DISRESPECT TO YOUR ELDERS!”

“Hey!” Everything turns to Choso, startled at his sudden outburst. Tension crackling as he pokes a thumb at his chest, “I’d be their favorite. For all five of them.”

And you knew a fist or two to be thrown, hell, you half-expected the album to be used as some type of weapon. Because before you knew it, Sukuna was on Yuji, and both Yuji and Choso were on Sukuna. Falling to the floor in a tangled pile while his grandpa sat on the sidelines, chanting an elated, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

Ah, it’s times like this that you wonder how Jin Itadori really had the patience. Because with all the grace that was lacking in the current scuffle on the living room floor, he claps his hands loudly. “Alright. Perhaps Choso’s right, that’s enough photo time for tonight.” He plucks the album out of a dazed Choso still gripping onto it, before moving to walk out. “And for the record-” Flashing you all a devious smile which suddenly had you remember that shit, him and Sukuna were twins, after all. “-I’d be the favorite.”

The arguments that followed were ones you had to record on your phone to giggle at later. And, yet, through it all, the only thing you could truly focus on were Choso’s words - all five of them.

Fuck. You were truly, irrevocably so fucked, and one sideglance at the pretty pink blush burning at the tips of Choso’s ears told you he wasn’t faring any better. 

You jolt when his hand wraps around your waist - nothing out of the ordinary - but what was was the way he strayed past their usual perch at your hip, trailing slightly above to just caress your stomach. Something so electric in those eyes when they catch yours briefly. 

All five of them, huh?

---

9:37PM. 

SLAM!

“Cho, why’d you-”

“Shut up.”

You don’t know what’s hitting you first - his lips crashing against yours, or the realization that this was Choso. Dark eyes half-lidded, skin burning, breaths heaving with the fervor he was drinking you in with. 

“What-” you yelp when he pulls away lazily to suck on your lower lip. “What got-” Only to come clashing back down again, drawing out all the air in your lungs as he blindly shoves the two of you against the nearest wall. “What got into you this- mmpf-” And again it’s like Choso didn’t want you to talk - could bare another word in your sweet voice for fear of poking some deep, visceral part of himself awake. 

This time, not even daring to break the kiss, he pants into your open mouth, “Shut up.” So bruisingly sloppy, “Please.”

And oh he was so very determined to have it that way, because all you can do is let out breathless gasps when his hands dance down your body. Handling you so rough with the way he snaps the neckline of your cute lil’ dress, kneading your breasts, your hips. Everywhere and anywhere he could reach until he makes his way down to cup your already-damp cunt through your panties. “-because tonight m’gonna have her talking.”

Choso pushes his hips against yours with a strained grunt. Lips curling into a sinful leer when all you can do is gasp at the outline of his thick erection through his pants. Grinding down onto his palm subconsciously, dragging your sloppy pussy. 

“Shit.” Choso immediately brings his hand up to admire - now all glistening with a sheen of your syrupy slick. Looking you right in your glassy eyes as he pops a wet finger into his mouth. His own rolling to the back of his head, “Oh shit.”

Oh, he was going to enjoy this. So very, very much.

“Turns out…” he trails off, cutting himself off by dropping to his knees. Hard. Large hands groping your ass closer to his greedy mouth, “-she says we got some unfinished business.”

You whine when Choso hooks an index underneath the mound of your drenched panties sliding it along your puffy folds. All the way up until he was nudging at your pretty clit, then down, down, down until you were just coating his fingers. 

“Ngh- Cho-” your knees weaken, when his hot breath hits your pussy. And he notices - of course he does. Circling his muscled arms around your legs to hold you up, “Oh my god s’too much.”

Too much? He’s barely even getting started. And he tells you that - slurs it between his sharp canines biting down on the thin fabric of your panties. He tugs with his teeth, “M’gonna- fuck you smell so heavenly- m’gonna ruin you.” 

You whimper in disbelief. Knowing he was too entranced with your cunt to tease you again, you mewl, “Wh-what’s got you this- fuck- worked up, Cho?”

The only response you get is a throaty growl - like the mere idea of the answer to that has Choso losing his sanity. 

And, honestly he feels like he’s lost it already. Instead, taking his time to watch the way your slick beads through the see-through fabric with each passing second. Breaths coming out in little puffs as he pulls your panties back every-so-slightly and-

“Fuck!”

And then he’s pulling - ripping your poor panties to shreds. Cock twitching wildly at the strings of slick connecting your pussy to the fabric. Mouthwatering. 

Your panties lay in tatters on the floor. The cold air hitting you right along with his steady stream of saliva. Once. Twice. Smearing it across your folds with his thumbs as Choso repeats a single, jagged whisper, “Five.”

But you barely even have the time to register his response before he’s diving nose-deep into your dripping cunt. You don’t even know if he took the time to breathe - hell, he was kissing your puffy folds like he didn’t need to breathe. 

“Shouldn’t have taken me to ngh- that fortune shop.” his lips mesh sloppily with yours. “Shouldn’t have gone to dinner, too.” Licking down your folds, the cold metal of his piercing making your head spin. “Fuckkk we shouldn’t have. Ohhh we shouldn’t have- ”

He can’t help but let out a guttural, fucked-out little grunt at the sight. Looking right up into your glassy eyes as the tip of his nose bumps against your throbbing clit. On purpose. 

You buck your hips deeper into his pretty face, mewling. “O-oh. Fuck- fuck fuck fuck-” Letting him lick so filthily all over your clit - your folds - just barely dipping into your hole like he couldn’t decide. And it finally sets in that just maybe you weren’t getting off easy this time. “Five?”

And fuck you can feel the way Choso grins against your pussy, wrapping his now-glossy lips around your clit to suck so harshly.

“Mhmmm.” he moans, cheeks hollowing as he tugs on your poor, ravaged clit. Rolling his tongue - the ball of his piercing - right across the sensitive bud in just the way he knew you liked. “Shouldn’t have put those thoughts in my head, baby.”

Oh.

Oh, shit. Five. 

You definitely weren’t making it out alive today.

The same sentiment seems to ring in Choso’s pussydrunk head as he pulls away with a lewd squelch to grin up at you. So fucking pretty with his eyes miles away, hair messily framing his smudged eyeliner. Lips all puffy and glistening, your slick covering the lower half of his face, his chin - some even on his jaw like Choso was trying to get messy on purpose. “Ya finally got it, baby? I could feel her gettin’ wetter.”

You did. How could you not?

You jump when Choso reattaches his lips, this time bullying his tongue past your folds, into that first, feeble ring of resistance. Stretching out your sopping entrance on his tongue in persistent, rough pushes. “Seems she hngh- really likes the idea, hm? Of me breeding this lil’ cunt?” he moans, muffled with the way he was thrusting his tongue deeper and deeper with each second. Roaming for those cute sensitive spots he knew so well, “N’ who am I to say no to the fuck- mother of my kids?”

“There! Oh my god there-” you cry when his piercing just hits at your g-spot. “I-I thought you ngh- didn’t want kids, Cho–”

As if to prove you wrong, Choso’s only curling his tongue deeper into your walls. Squeezing past your walls to fuck you exactly the way he wanted to with his aching cock right now. Hitting that magic spot again and again and-

“Oh yeah? Seems-” Like he was fucking addicted, Choso surges forward again. And again. And again and again so deep that you could feel the curve of his chin, each and every movement of his jaw. “Seems the last five hours were a bit- eye-opening. Fuck- you’re squeezin’ me s’fucking- mmf- tight”

And it was true - your walls were milking Choso’s tongue so hard you half-lucidly wondered whether it didn’t hurt. Whether his tongue wasn’t cramping up at this point, lips aching. 

But if they did, then Choso acted the exact opposite. Nails leaving neat little patterns on the plush of your hips as he makes you ride his face harder. 

“Cho!” you buck your hips wildly when that wasn’t enough for your needy boyfriend either. Big, fat tears of overstimulation rising up to your eyes when he swipes his thumb across your pulsing clit. Rings cold against your cunt when he starts to draw urgent, messy little circles in time with his tongue.“Oh fuck-” 

“Five.” he’s spitting into your cunt when your thighs start trembling beside his head. Jaw sagging open so lewdly as he gets faster - sloppier. Fuck any rhythm or reason. “Five.” he moans, sounding as strained as you felt - as taut as a tightrope right now with each drag of your sloppy cunt over Choso’s ravenous mouth. Greedier - letting your slick run all the way down his wrist now with how messy he was getting. “Five.” he whispers, when you finally cum. 

And shit, you’re such a vision when you do. Tears springing to your eyes, fingers tightening on Choso’s hair. Letting out such cute sobs of his name, hips moving out of control all over his mouth while he still pulls and pushes his tongue into your gummy walls. Fucking you so obscenely through your high. 

“Yeah? You all done with the first one, baby?” he rasps, giving your sensitive cunt one, last peck at your delirious nod - and another extra, just to watch you squirm. “Then-” Choso does the same up your body, pressing his lips to your stomach, “-you can-” the valley of your breasts. “-take responsibility.”

That’s all it takes for Choso to easily throw you onto his sculpted shoulders like some ragdoll. Taking long, urgent steps towards the nearest flat surface - that just so happened to be your couch. 

“Cho- slow-” you squeal when he throws you onto the cushions. “-down.”

And he does anything but. Barely paying attention to your zipper when he pulls off whatever’s left of your dress, throwing it god-knows-where behind him. “I’ll buy you a new one when we go pregnancy shopping.”

Choso lets out a long, strained groan when he unbuckles your bra. “Gonna be so pretty as a mama.” Large, soft hands coming to knead and guide your pretty nipples into his mouth, “Gonna be- fuck- so pretty with these all full.” 

And you can only watch, jaw-dropped, as Choso sucks on your tits. Eyes rolling to the back of his head with how harsh he was - as if he was trying to get out milk. Needing to feel it - to taste it on his tongue. 

“And this- oh this-” A hand sneaks its way down to splay out over your stomach. Pressing down, hard. “So round and full with my kid.” He manages to grit out over the metal clinking of his belt, “They’ll look at you and all they’ll see is me.” He pauses, feeling something crinkle in his pocket - a shiny condom. One that Choso chucks along with your dress, “Fuck, they’ll see me. Know how I ruined you. Me me me me-”

Fuck- 

You’re so caught up in Choso’s sinful little mutters that you barely even noticed he’d pull down his pants - just enough for his rock-hard erection to spring free. And he looked so painfully hard, such an angry red at his weeping tip, leaking all the way down, down, down those prominent veins. 

Twitching upwards at the mere sound of your voice, “Why don’t you p-prove it then, Cho?”

You broke him. You were sure you broke him. 

The words have barely left your lips before Choso’s fist is squeezing at the drenched base of his cock. Angry. Desperate. 

All but cumming on the spot when he glides his fat head along your slit - letting your cunt drool all over him before-

“F-fuck-”

“Shhh baby, I know I know.” his mouth crashes against yours in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Sucking on your tongue while he bullies his massive cock into your snug cunt. Inch by fucking inch. And whatever’s remaining of Choso’s sanity knows he should slow down, let you breathe, maybe stretch you out more - but how could he when he physically can’t. “Fuck- too- too good. God, I have t-to do this more often.”

Your raw cunt too heavenly that he genuinely can’t stop his hips from splitting you apart deeper, from spreading your thrashing legs so far apart it burned.

From feeling the way you’re torn between taking more and flattening your feet to push away- Letting out a strangled groan, “No no no no no- don’t you take this pussy away. How else will I breed her?” He runs his delirious mouth, strong arms just dragging you across the couch back onto his mean cock. “Need this- need this so bad. Fuck-” Choso throws his head back as your cunt sucks up his leaky tip. “-oh god think m’gonna die if I don’t get to breed this pretty pussy. To give her my kid.”

Pushing in small, sharp jabs to bully himself inside, having your puffy folds bulge so obscenely around his cock. Quivering and struggling to take him all. Not even a quarter of the way in yet he was pushing in and out in and out in and-

“Oh- please-” you claw down his toned back, his waist, onto the biceps that were pushing your knees up for easier access, all the way until they were at your tits. Folding you into a tight mating press, “Cho–”

Ah, that little nickname always did things to him. And Choso nuzzles the crook of your neck gently - the exact opposite of his hips, leaving faint, dark streaks of eyeliner on your skin. “What is it? What do you hngh- want, baby? I’ll give ya anything.”

And maybe you were a mastermind. Maybe you were an idiot. Because you hum into his ear, sending goosebumps rising down your boyfriend’s spine, “Wan’ five of them.”

If you thought you broke him before then you fucking ruined him now.

Because in one, harsh thrust he’s bottoming out - feeling like he was pushing all the way into your lungs, your hazy brain. And the stretch - fuck. You could feel each and every dip and curve of Choso’s girth, thrumming against your plushy walls. Still pushing inside you despite bottoming out, stretching you out like such a slut. 

It was all Choso could do to echo, over and over like some type of mantra. “Finally- Five, huh? Five- Fuck!” Leaving little bruises on your thighs from spreading them apart so hard. “Gonna give you five- fuck- five.”

Each word was punctuated by a long, mean thrust, not daring to reel back until Choso could feel his fat head kiss your poor cervix, and his heavy balls smack against your ass. 

It was starting to take a toll on your ability to speak in coherent sentences - as expected, of course. 

“Oh- ngh- Cho, s’too deep. Too- ah-” you blubber tearily, heels digging into his shoulders. And he only fucks you harder into the couch. Bouncing you so rough on his swollen cock. 

“Too deep?” Choso mutters, sounding genuinely surprised. As if to confirm for himself, he trails up a hand to feel for where he knew he was leaving loving little marks on your cervix. Pressing down. “How are ya- hah- how are ya gonna let me breed this cute cunt if even this is too deep, huh?”

You don’t have the ability to answer even if you wanted to - because Choso starts to toy with your still-sensitive clit. Sending flashes of white-hot pleasure with each roll of his ringed thumb over it. Tiny, incessant circles.

He coos over your lewd ah! ah! ah! “Awww. My baby can’t s-speak anymore?”. The curve of his dick fucking you so dumb, massaging your tight walls, hitting sweet spots you didn’t even know you had. “S’alright, jus’ let me hah- take care of it, okay? Jus’ let me paint this oh- heavenly pussy white.” Choso’s knees dig into the cushion as he angles his hips ever-so-slightly to hit that one-

“Fuck! Oh fuck- Cho–”

Found it.

“C’mon, baby.” Choso moans into the valley of your breasts, hips out of control now. Free hand coming up to squish your cheeks together, forcing you to peer into his dark gaze. “L-look at me. Fuck- look at the future father to your kids.”

All while his thick tip hit your g-spot over and over and- 

And oh how he loved how fucked-out you looked already. Capable of only giving him bleary, cockdrunk heart-eyes as he milks himself on your sloppy cunt. He couldn’t think straight - doesn’t think he’s been able to since five hours ago. 

Since he’s been wrecked with thoughts of how he’d do their hair and you’d pick them up from school. And how Yuji would be the best uncle and- Fuck, how he wanted those five kids with you - maybe even more- 

“More?” you gasp. And Choso lets out a guttural groan when you clench so sinfully around him in surprise. Fucking you so filthy, “M-more kids?”

Choso only drawls out a low, “Mhmmmm.” Pinching your clit faster between two fingers to shut up those cute whines because shit- he could cum from just how tight you were squeezing him. But refuses to before the mother of his kids. “Ya don’ ngh- wan’ me to? Don’ want me to fuck a baby into you?” 

You’re crying out harder when he speeds up. Rocking your sloppy cunt so harshly, making sure your poor pussy will remember him for a long, long time. Just trying - needing - to make himself cum. To fill you up with his seed till you can’t take it anymore. “I- ngh- do!”

And it takes everything in Choso to pull away from your ravaged tits, connecting his sweaty forehead with yours. Whispering, “How many?”

“As- fuck-”

“Mhm?”

“As many as you want- hngh-”

That’s all it takes for Choso’s body to bow, teeth digging in right above that rapid pulse on your neck so hard you wondered whether it drew blood. Hips stuttering, giving your sensitive spot one last, harsh kiss.

This time, when you cum you see white flashes behind your eyes - or maybe that was just Choso. Because the sight of you falling apart on his dick was all it takes for him to as well. Hard. Almost painfully so. 

Eyeliner running down his cheeks now with each thick, hot rope of seed he was filling your snug cunt up with. Those cushions below the two of you the last thing on his mind right now as he holds your trembling hips still, fucking his cum deeper and deeper.

The hand on your stomach pushes down, watching awe-struck at how your bloated cunt just coats him in cum. Dribbling down the side of your puffy folds, forming a creamy ring at his base.

“Oh!“ your jaw falls slack at how animalistic it felt. At how slutty your overfilled pussy felt, drooling all down your legs - and his. Onto Choso’s painfully squeezing balls as he fucks you like an animal. Again. And again and-

Again. He was speeding his hips up again. 

Then it’s like something snaps - Choso’s restraint, your sanity, and the couch. Fuck, his hips were so harsh that the couch was sagging entirely too much on your end.

This time, wrangling your legs around Choso’s waist, lifting your limp body up into Choso’s arms before you can react - squirming at the way he still doesn’t bother to pull out. Letting your cum gush all the way down his still-hard dick. 

Hands spreading your puffy folds apart, making such a mess of cum down below as he drags himself across your walls. Like he was marking you from the inside out - and he was.

“Didn’t think we were ngh- done, did you?” Choso’s lips graze your swollen ones. “After all, I did promise five.” Softly pooling a stray tear onto his tongue, piercing burning into your heated skin. “N’ we gotta practice for that, too, right?”

---

“The photo albums, really? Honestly, dad, you might as well have just gone and just outright told them.”

The older man only waves a hand dismissively, turning back to his favorite late-night show, “I’m not getting any younger here. N’ I’d like to see some grandkids before I see the pearly gates.”

Jin only sighs, but doesn’t disagree - after all, he couldn’t deny his father what he himself has been dreaming about ever since Choso finally plucked up the courage to actually ask you out. Yet he persists, “But honestly, Sukuna - you were teasing him a bit too much.”

Sukuna grunts, “Teasing? What teasing?” Crossing two big arms across his chest, “From the way they ran outta here, I suspect he should be thanking me.”

“Well, the true MVP - as the kids say - is this one-” Grandpa Itadori points at a rather oblivious Yuji. ‘Real nice improv to the plan, kid.“

Who only shakes his head before looking around the room for any answers, “Huh, wait. What plan? Did I miss some plan?”

“Ahem- no. Nothing.” Jin coughs, swiftly moving along the conversation above Yuji’s confused protests about what secret plan there was and why. “But, really, it should be that fortune teller you hired, Sukuna. Bit over-the-top honestly, but Choso was telling me all about her and you must’ve gotten a real convincing actress.”

Rolling his eyes, “Huh, I didn’t hire her, I thought that was the ol’ man’s work?”

“Now why would I go looking for actresses, my wife would just haunt me from the grave.”

The silence that follows is a heavy one as it slowly dawns upon everyone in the room - except for a still-floundering Yuji - that this was in no way a creative improvisation to the aforementioned plan. Not at all, really.

Oh. 

Wow. Five…really?!

“GUYS WHAT WAS THE PLAN?”

A/N. This got wayyyyyy longer than I expected lmao.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[dollwrites]

ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪᴛʏ ! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ʀᴀғᴀʏᴇʟ

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!bff!reader, sex toys mentioned but not used, noise control, dub con technically ( for him… kinda TRUST THE PROCESS ) prank gone wrong for reader lol, creampie, has absolutely no spoilers or deep lore, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. HAPPY 4/20! i was gonna do some dizzy drabbles but i couldn’t get this out of my head. not proofread ( and written when i was in the clouds ) so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

what had started out as a fun prank on your best friend for revenge ended with you completely at his mercy, unbeknownst to him.

picking up around the studio wasn’t something you did too often, considering it a breach of Rafayel’s privacy, but when you got there and he wasn’t home, you let yourself inside like you usually did. you were about an hour early, anyways. you hadn’t taken two steps when you stumble over a pile of crumpled sketch paper. you scrunched your brows as you gazed around your environment. scattered brushes, broken pencils, and a canvas half-painted in the middle of the floor. you sighed; perhaps Rafayel had hit a wall with his muse and had gone for a walk on the beach. the least you could do for him, you’d decided, was to clean up a bit. after all, a clean space is a productive space, right?

that was when you came across it, left carelessly on his bed, swaddled in a sea of white sheets and the comforter. you’d never seen one in real life until this moment, and at first you mistook it for a woman asleep in his bed with her butt sticking out of the blankets— but, it was fake. a plump, nearly life sized ass sitting atop the mattress.

does Rafayel really use something like this?

you found your cheeks heated up with embarrassment when you pictured him mounting it, both of his smooth palm against the cheeks, svelte digits digging into the silicone to spread it open wide enough for him to push inside…

shaking your head to snap yourself out of the fantasy, you look around, making sure no one was around to see you get lost in your own desire for him. “S—stupid.” you muttered to yourself, stepping closer to touch the fleshiest part of it. surprisingly soft, as soft as your own skin. your brow quirks, fingers sliding to the waistband of a pair of cerulean, lace panties that adorned the faux lower body. it seemed so strange to have clothes on something that was meant to stay hidden and used in private, as if the silicone slab had been laid out meticulously…

no, Rafayel didn’t use this for his own pleasure, you decided. this was a prank. an elaborate one, but one meant to fluster you when you came over.

he was such an ass!

“Oh yeah?” you challenge under your breath, grasping the panties and tugging them off of the toy, “You want to play games? I can play, too.” determined to outprank Rafayel, you toss the panties on the bed and stash the toy beneath the bed. it was surprisingly heavy, and made a splat when it hit the surface of the floor, you had to stifle a chuckle as just hilarious this was. you didn’t want him to win, even if he wasn’t there to see it. quickly unbuttoning your pants, you discard them and the panties you were wearing, kicking them under the bed, too. then, you grab the cerulean lace and pull them on— perfect fit! you took a moment to glance in a nearby mirror, turning slightly. your ass had a similar curve and complexion, and you hoped it was enough to fool him, at least long enough for you to scare him when he least expected it. then, you climb into the bed, scrupulous as you nest your top half under a pile of blankets, the pillows resting on the top of your shoulders to hide your head. there was also the issue with your legs. it took a great amount of wrapping sheets around your thighs as you kick and squirm, before you’re finally perfectly positioned— identical to the way he’d left the fake ass, your own sticks out as if inviting him, as you wait for him to return.

at first, it had been difficult to keep yourself from jittering, too excited to see the look on his face when you jump out, effectively one-upping his lewd joke. but, as the minutes ticked on, with your entire body hidden within his bedding, you’d started to sweat, breathing in the dense air trapped under the pillows with you, and you had to readjust several times. it took so long that you were just about to give up on the prank and unbury yourself, before you heard the door open.

showtime.

you felt knots of excitement tying themselves together in your belly as you willed yourself to be as still as possible, and appear as the lifeless, silicone toy.

you could hear him moving about the studio, sighing, and your heart was starting to beat faster in your ears— you hoped that he would hurry to his room, so you could reveal yourself soon, and you could get out from under this suffocating duvet.

when he’d stepped into the bedroom, you hear the door close behind him, and you have to physically keep yourself from kicking your feet in excitement. it was almost time to scare the living daylights out of your best friend. your muscles tighten, ready to jump up, but a sound abruptly stops you.

a zipper.

you freeze, listening silently to the sound of rusting fabric. soft thuds as he kicked out of his shoes, and a whoosh that follows towards the floor.

was he undressing?

your eyes widen only when you hear a heavy breath, followed by the click of a cap. squeezing, then a low moan coming from behind you. it was Rafayel. your eyes widen. you’d never heard such a sound from his mouth, and you had a pretty good idea of what he was doing. the subtle skin slapping that started slow, but sped up shortly after, his breath getting heavier simultaneously. you realized how wrong it was to hear Rafayel pleasuring himself, especially when he didn’t know that you were there. you should really say something, open your mouth and let him know that he wasn’t alone, but when your lips parted, you couldn’t force any sound from it. you were too stunned by these sounds to give him any kind of warning. you listen, mouth agape and eyes big, staring into the headboard of his bed as he takes a few steps towards the foot of it. your mind races, realizing that he had not placed the toy on his bed for you to find it—

this had not been a toilet-humor prank that he was putting together. he simply hadn’t had the time to hide his private toys before you stumbled upon them.

to solidify this revelation, you feel one hand tracing over the shape of your ass. his fingers were warm and slick, and you nearly gasped, sealing your lips just in time for his digits to curl around the panties and tug on them, inching down your thighs. he would definitely discover you were disguising yourself as the toy when he couldn’t take them all the way off, and that thought was equally humiliating and comforting. you didn’t exactly love the idea of him finding out now, after exposing your cunt to him, and now that you’d gotten an earful of him jerking off, but at least things wouldn’t go further. Rafayel doesn’t, however, try to pull the panties down completely. instead, he seems content to leave them around your thighs, and his fingers trace upwards, slowly and skillfully, until they trace your netherlips, slathering your sex in what had to be lube, cool and wet.

oh, god. your top teeth sink into your lower lip as his fingertips swipe full laps between your folds. the pads rub against your most sensitive nub, leaving it throbbing and begging for more attention before they drag downwards, teasing your opening. he didn’t seem to notice that your cunt spasms, attempting to clamp down on his fingers, before they run another lap. he lets out a heavy breath, the sound of his palm smacking against his abdomen as he fucks his own hand in tandem to the way he was unknowingly teasing your pussy making your head spin.

this was so wrong.

you had to tell him right now.

your tiers part once more, this time determined to stop this before—

the swollen, slippery head of Rafayel’s cock rubs against your slit. one hand covers your mouth to keep any sound, words or otherwise, from escaping as you realize that it’s too late to expose yourself now. you’d look like a total creep, taking advantage of your best friend by pretending to be his sex toy. “Huh—uhh…” Rafayel emitted a low moan as he rubbed his dick against you a few more times, before planting one palm on your ass, the other holding tight to his base as he plunged inside.

it took all you had within you to not let out a cry of surprise at the sudden entry. your free hand grips the sheet so tightly you fear your nails will rip holes in it, and your toes curl beneath the mattress. Rafayel had been under the impression that he could be as rough as he wanted, because the pussy was nothing but a silicone replica, and so his rhythm was steady, deep pumping almost immediately upon bottoming out in your guts. “Fuck,” he breathes out, hips thumping against your ass, both hands grasping at it. “F—feels good… yeah,”

he was right about that, and you wished you could vocalize it. your walls fluttered about in delight as he pounded into you, his cock was longer than you’d thought it would be, the tip bold in its deep exploration, prodding against your g-spot with every, full thrust of his hips. you fought the urge to bounce back, meet his movements with equally eager grinding. instead, your eyes began to roll and your lids flittered, and the grip on your own mouth tightened to keep any of your stifled mewls and whimpers from escaping. you couldn’t, however, keep from gushing when he hit the perfect depth with his fervent stroking, and you could only hope that his thorough drenching you in lubrication would be enough to mask this.

you could hear him panting, moaning, swearing, as he fucked you with reckless abandon. his fingers digging into your warm, satin skin, his cock twitching and throbbing inside you. it was as if you felt every, single vein as they rub your walls, autographing your insides, claiming them as his as he uses you.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…!”

he was getting louder, his hips bucking more powerfully, more erratically, and the throbbing in your core was a testament to just how close to cumming he was.

you knew how wrong this was, but all rational thinking was dissipating; you were enjoying being fucked like this; greedy, careless pounding, by your closest friend too much to ruin it, now. you didn’t want to stop it, not until he was fully satiated.

“F—fuck, yeah,” Rafayel swoons, grabbing full fists of your ass, pulling your ass back to meet his hungry hip-snapping, “more, more, more!”

you couldn’t take much more, and you push your face into the mattress to keep quiet, both hands scrambling to hold on to something, squeezing the edge of the mattress with your nails sinking in— anything to relieve the pressure he was forcing as deep into you as he could. your feet wanted to kick, your back wanted to arch, and you wanted to scream out in pure pleasure, so you clung to the bed as tightly as you could in hopes that you could ride out the orgasm he was ripping from you.

he didn’t even seem to notice your twitching and subtle squirming beneath the blankets as he made you drop off and come undone, which you were thankful for, because he was too caught up in chasing his own high. “Gonna cum, gonna cum!” Rafayel was sputtering, desperately trying to get there, pressing all of his weight against your ass as he pumps a few more, deep and hard, thrusts into you before he grunts, and releases. as if he’d been pent up for quite a while, you felt a spattering of warmth, and then it spreads as he fills your belly with his essence. you nearly lose it in this moment, and almost blow your cover, your walls clamping down on his cock as he starts to retract. it felt so good to be full of Rafayel that you didn’t want him to pull out, but he does so with a ragged moan. there’s an uncomfortable emptiness that follows his abandoning of your cunt, the feeling of being fucked deep and left there, your oblivious best friend’s cum dribbling out of your used pussy as it twitches and your muscles stay tense. you knew you were leaving a small puddle on his sheets below you, but you could hear him milling around the room instead of focusing on you, now.

“Damn,” he mutters to himself, and you his phone unlock, then the rapid-fire tapping of his fingers on the keys. was he… texting?

you were answered when you heard the faint vibrating of your phone in your pants pocket, hidden under the bed. he texted you?! at first, you think he must’ve heard it, because everything went silent, and you waited for him to start shouting, but he doesn’t.

a few moments later, the door opens, and his footsteps fade as he swaggers down the corridor, satiated, and a moment later, you hear the shower turn on.

for the first time in several minutes, your muscles relax for a moment, before you swim out from your heated prison in a hurry, scrambling under the bed to grab your phone. every move you made, you could feel his release swirling around inside you and dribbling down your thighs, and you groan at the sensation, and the trail you made before you pulled the panties up to keep any more from leaving evidence. staring at the screen, panting and fucked out, your eyes barely focusing, you read the message in disbelief.

just woke up so i’m running late. stop on the way and buy lunch or something i’m starving

liar.

but you didn’t have time to dwell on the message; you get dressed as quickly as you can, what with your legs trembling like shaken jelly and your insides sore from Rafayel’s eager plowing, and hoist the fake butt back into place on top of the bed. you had to make a stealthy exit before he got out of the shower. stuffing your own panties into your pocket, you decide the best way to avoid an even stickier mess on his floor that would certainly be noticeable, you had to wear the panties meant for the doll. you could only pray he didn’t realize they’d gone missing right away, and later today when you could sneak away to the bathroom, you’d put them back in place.

so, stumbling and trying to catch your breath, freshly fucked, you leave through the sliding back door, the one that faces the shoreside, and closes it behind you to complete your escape.

once outside, you exhale deeply, lean against his car, hidden from windows’ views, to evaluate the damage, beyond the mess of him in your panties. you groan, covering your face with both hands in belated guilt.

you could never, ever tell him about this!

[crheativity]

SUMMARY: Something goes wrong, and you’re in tears. How do the Overblot boys help you?

WARNINGS: Tried to keep things vague but sorry if it’s a lil too specific sometimes. Reader is Prefect. Written under a romantic presumption but could possibly be read platonic. The Hell Word pops up in Leona’s and Idia’s. Book 3, Book 4 and Book 6 spoilers in Leona’s, Jamil’s and Idia’s respectively. I wrote all of these late at night also, so fair warning

NOTES: sorry it’s been a while, life go brr. This is heavily self indulgent, and sorry if it’s OOC. Might do the others (First, Second & Third years) if enough people want it. 

Also, if you like this, please feel free to check out my Valentine’s Day Event!

He hesitates for a moment, hands hovering beside you as he thinks carefully about what to say. As he speaks, his voice begins to shake. 

“Thank you for trusting me of all people with your feelings and circumstances. I… I am so, so sorry, Prefect. I’m-- I wish I was good at this - there are no rules for comforting someone you care about - but I’ll do my best. I— I can’t imagine what it’s like, going through what you’re going through. What you’re about to be going through. But— of course, all of Heartslabyul and I are at your disposal. Anything, anything at all that would bring you a moment’s comfort or peace, please come to us. I— all of us care about you deeply. Please tell us what to do to assist.”

If you want it (and are willing to excuse a slightly flustered Riddle), he’ll give you a tight hug, trying to convey how much he cares about you. He hates that he struggles to talk about things like this. For you, he’ll do anything. Anything to bring your rosy smile back. And if anyone dares oppose him? Heads will roll. 

He’s been strangely quiet during your explanation, venting, tears - all of it. He waits until you’re finished - and then a moment longer, to consider his words. He reaches up to dry your tears. With his spare hand, he takes yours and pulls you a little closer, speaking in a low, gentle voice. 

“Oi, Herbivore, c’mere. It’ll be alright, you hear? You’re strong, shameless and crafty. Hell, you give that Octotwerp a run for his money. If you gotta fight tooth and claw to get through this, then I’ll fight with you, okay? Just— no more waterworks for now. Yeah, it sucks. But you’ve cried about things, so now you should have the strength to get up and stick through them. If that’s all you can manage, I’ll get Ruggie to take care of the rest. Just don’t push yourself right now, ‘kay? Good, now rest. You’ll need it after a sob-fest like that.“

He pulls you into a surprisingly gentle hug, rubbing circles on your arms. After a while, he’ll ask if you want to nap with him. Once you fall asleep, he’s calling Ruggie and making plans. No way in hell are you dealing with more than you have to. He’ll fight for you himself if he has to. 

Hearing the pain, the anguish and the tears in your voice, he has to fight back tears himself. He hesitantly reaches out for you. Pausing for a moment, he begins to speak, voice filled with emotion. 

“This is— I’m very, very sorry, Prefect. You do not deserve to go through this— any of this. Should you request anything at all, the Mostro Lounge will provide, free of charge, of course. If there is anything we— I— can do to ease your burdens, please do not hesitate to ask. The world can sometimes be a deeply flawed, unfair place. I wish that I had the power to better shield you from this side. I’m truly, very sorry, Prefect. Please know that I— we care about you. This world is a far better place for your presence in it. Please, let us return the favour for you.”

He (with permission) gently pulls you into a hug, holding you as though you were glass. He was going to find who- or whatever caused you to hurt like this and make their pitiful existence miserable. Those poor, unfortunate souls. 

As you confide in him, Jamil seems to turn strangely quieter than usual. His solution oriented mind begins to whir, thinking about what he can do to help, the logistics of it, etc. Your sniffling snaps him back into reality. Putting solutions aside for now, he reaches for your hands and squeezes them gently, offering you a small, sad smile.

“Hey, everything will work out. It sucks right now, obviously, but in a while, it’ll all be okay. That’s just the way life goes, for some reason. World shattering events can happen, but time marches on anyway. It’ll always drag you with it, too. What I mean is that because you’ll be okay eventually, it can help you be okay now. I guess. And we at Scarabia are always here for you, okay? Kalim’s… Kalim, and I’m always here for you if you need to vent or complain or if you need help. I’m never too busy if it’s you, alright? Just don’t bottle it up… that works out well.”

He smiles a little ruefully at that last comment, then takes off his hoodie and drapes it over you. He tells you to keep it - that way he’s always there with you if you need it. He squeezes your hands and rests his forehead against yours, comfortingly. Jamil wasn’t used to being quite so… hopeful. But you had helped him become better, and he wanted to return the favour.

Vil may be a good actor, but his thoughts were shockingly readable as you vented to him. He seemed to react correctly in all the right places, asking questions but never pressing for answers. When you finish, he gently reaches out and starts stroking your hair. He pulls you a little closer for comfort. He pauses for a moment, then begins to speak.

“I’m so sorry, Prefect. You do not deserve this - any of this. Pomefiore’s students and I are always here for you, no matter the need. Anything you need, it would be our honour and privilege to provide. In times such as these, I find taking care of oneself is extremely important. Not to the extent of perfectionism necessarily, but enough to bring you joy. So please, if it’s not too much trouble, please find one indulgent thing each day. Not something so unhealthy it’d ruin you, but something gentle and sweet. Like a bubble bath, or watching that movie you’ve mentioned wanting to see. It’s important to keep yourself as happy as you can, when life is attempting to do the opposite. And if you can’t think of anything, then please, come to me. Let me take care of you.”

He then, with permission, sweeps you into the biggest, comfiest, warmest hug you’ve ever experienced (Ghibli-style), and stays that way until you move. He wants to do so much more for you. He knows where you’re at, and, being the kind of person you are, he trusts you’ll know what’s best for yourself. He only hopes you let him take care of you, too.

Bro was low key in panic mode. What the hell is he supposed to say/do??? He really, really can’t afford to screw this up. He’s pretty sure he’d get a -1000 debuff to his Charisma stats if he doesn’t say the right thing. Usually, he wouldn’t particularly care if it was just some NPC he had to comfort - but this is the protagonist we’re talking about! And Ortho’s not here, just his luck! He sighs and his mind races back through every Otome/VN game he’s played and every shoujo romcom to figure out what in Twisted Wonderland he’s supposed to say.

“Uhh, that’s not very… plus ultra? Shoot, I mean-... That sounds really tough. I’m sorry, Prefect… Stuff like that is rough… I’m, uh, not the best person to go to for advice. Not particularly known for my ability to… handle stuff. mentally. But uh, I’m always here for a distraction if you need. That’s what I typically do. Distract until you don’t feel anymore haha… but uh, that’s probably not a good thing. Still, though. I’m always happy to play games or watch anime with you.. Or something. Those are my favourite things, not necessarily yours. We don’t have to. It’s honestly enough just to hang out with you… ugh, that was cringe, wasn’t it?”

Once you assure him that it was very much not cringe, he sighs in relief and gives you a small, soft smile - not an expression you’ve seen often on him. He reaches over and pulls out two controllers, throwing one to you. He boots up a game, commenting how he’s not gonna go easy on you just because you’re sad. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You cautiously ignore the thunderstorm brewing outside as you vent to Malleus about your problems. You carefully construct your words and phrases, to protect Sage Island from month-long hurricanes. After you finish, Malleus asks if you are comfortable with physical affection. With consent, he pulls you into a hug. 

“Apologies, Child of Man, I am not familiar with methods of comfort. I will do my best - I only ask for your leniency if I say something wrong, and for you to understand that all I say is with the best intentions. I want you to know that I care about you. I believe it is important for those going through difficult periods of time to know where they have true friends. No matter what, Child of Man, I wish to be counted among those. If I am, and with your permission, I will enact all I can to assist you through and out of these situations. I only ask your patience. I promise, I will do whatever you require during this time. Only speak my name, and I will be there.”

Malleus continues to hold you gently, unsure about what to do or say from here, other than gently repeating he’s here for you. He stays there with you until you are ready to move on, then takes you for a walk around campus. And this time, he’ll only go on two tangents about gargoyles you pass.

♥Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!♥

[moonydustx]

a/n: just leaving it here

How does it feel?

Part 1 (you're here) - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

warnings: smut, porn with no plot. Law "teaching" F!Reader how to have orgasms. without many warnings to avoid spoilers.

Law x F!Reader

Comments, reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated.

MDNI | MINOR DO NOT INTERACT

Law found it funny how escalating a conversation between his friends - coincidentally also his crewmates - could escalate.

It had started with each person commenting something about the most recent island they had visited, the chat continued until the topic became about Shachi having met a woman, staying with her and she said that she had had the best night of her life and then she charged him for the services. Finally, the subject that had left him uneasy: orgasms.

His uneasiness was directed at you and how you claimed you had never had one. That your previous companions didn't seem too concerned about it and you had never been able to get close to the height of your pleasure not even by yourself. You and Law were nothing more than a few stolen kisses when you were both high or when a certain need struck. You had never gone beyond that, you had never assumed anything either. But Law couldn't get it out of his head.

That was when he convinced you to accompany him to the bedroom and as soon as the door closed behind you, he took your lips in a kiss that, no matter how much you both denied it, was full of feeling on both sides.

"Can I help you with that?" he asked and saw you looked lost. "With the orgasm thing."

"Oh." was the only thing that seemed to come out of your lips. Your mind was going haywire with the information.

"I'll understand if you don't want to. I mean, it's a strange request, isn't it?" Law almost let his nervousness get the better of him. "I just want to make you feel good and I don't intend on actually reaching the end and..."

"Please." the request didn't seem clear to him, so you insisted. "Please give me an orgasm."

A growl escaped Law's lips and he had to control himself. The focus was on you and only your pleasure that night. After you discovered what it was like to actually get there, he would let you choose whether you wanted to continue feeling that way with him.

"Take off your uniform." Law took a few steps back and sat down on the bed.

He watched you take off your outfit and remain in just a thin blouse and panties. A sight that pleased him enough. He leaned against the headboard and tapped the padded spot in front of him and you promptly complied, sitting up and letting his arms wrap around you.

"What do you plan captain?" you turned your face so you could face him.

"First, no captain here." he pointed out. "I plan to teach you how to get there. And then you can do it yourself or teach your future partners." the idea sounded bitter on his lips, but he didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation.

"So where do we start?"

"This way."

He gently held your face and started kissing you. Calmly, he felt you snuggle even closer to him. Almost like an authorization for him to sink deeper into your mouth.

While his tongue massaged yours, eliciting small murmurs that vibrated between you, one of his hands kept you trapped in the kiss, cupping your face. The other walked around your body, running down the sides of your skin, down your thighs. You squeezed your legs, trying to find some relief from the heat that was starting to accumulate there.

"A kiss is a good way to start." He pulled away just enough to comment, returning to your lips for a few more seconds. "When it's about you, a kiss is a good thing for any occasion."

"Don't say things like that." you moved away from his lips almost definitively, your head lolling just enough to rest against his chest.

The sight - almost as sinful as his own thoughts - was something to behold. You were there waiting for him to start showing you what pleasure was. One of his hands continued to trace some incoherent patterns on your skin, while the other wandered over your hardened nipple.

"Women are a little different from men in this regard." now avoiding touching your nipple through the thin fabric of the shirt, he just circled the areola. "Some are extremely sensitive at this point, others not so much, for some it also depends on the period of the cycle."

This time, he suddenly ran his thumb firmly over your nipple, your back letting you touch his chest for a brief moment, just to seek more contact.

"I see you fit into the first group."

"And what does that mean?" the question sounded innocent and silly, but it was difficult to think with Law so close to you, where you needed him.

Both of his hands came up enough to remove the straps of your blouse and expose your breasts.

"It means I can have some fun with them." he need to focus this was about you and not him. "So fucking beautiful."

His fingers gently slid over the two highlighted points. First he caressed your nipples gently, testing to see how much more you might want. Seeing you tighten your thighs even more and move a little in search of friction, Law captured both nipples between his fingers, eliciting an intense gasp from you.

Since the position didn't allow him to taste it directly on his lips, he at least tried to simulate the sensation for you. The hands that were previously on your nipples briefly went to his mouth and were bathed in saliva. In a calculated movement, Law placed his wet fingers back on your nipples just as his mouth closed on your neck in a wet kiss. A no longer so shy moan escaped you and made his dick twitch inside the pants he was wearing.

"Law, this...this feels good." your body arched against his fingers.

"I bet I could make you cum with just that." his lips untied themselves from you only to speak softly in your ear. "I will do this next time."

His hands allowed themselves to slide down your body again, now exciting a more breathless version of you. Law took his hands to your bare thighs and after caressing them, he gently opened them, placing them on top of his legs. Even though you were still covered by your panties, you felt exposed.

"Most women don't like to get straight to the point. Teasing can help make things more interesting." His hands ran up your inner thighs, raising goosebumps.

"I don't think provoking is the best option." you tried to sound firm, but your voice came out more breathless than you expected.

"This tells me otherwise." without hesitation, two firm fingers pressed your damp panties. "This pretty pussy is so wet just from me teasing you a little."

"Please Law." you tried to move against his fingers, which were now sliding along the sides of your intimacy.

"Did you know that the labia majora also have nerve endings?" he pointed out, ignoring your plea and letting his fingers slide. "Some stimulus can help."

His movement stopped for a brief moment, so brief that you were unable to ask why he had stopped or to contain your moan when you felt him touch through your panties where you needed it most.

"But they're not as sensitive as this one." Law started to make small circles over where your clit was. When he looked at your face, he could see that you had brought both hands to cover your mouth, your nails digging into your own cheek. "Room. Silence." he saw your eyes look around briefly. "Just let me hear you, please."

As soon as the blue dome formed around you, Law deftly removed your hands from your lips and covered them with his own mouth. His tongue invaded your mouth shamelessly while his movements over the damp fabric of your panties became a little faster. Your hands tried to hold on to him as best you could and even with him kissing you so voraciously, your moans still found space to remain there against his lips. Again, he stopped his movements and moved away from your lips just enough to find your attentive eyes, dilated pupils and reddened lips.

"I'll buy you another one. As many as you want."

Instead of explaining why, you just felt his two hands force the fabric of your panties and it split into some pieces.

The touch of his fingers directly against your little bud could be enough for Law to have his own orgasm there. More exciting than that was just seeing your eyes closing in front of his, a loud moan escaping your lips at such a short distance from him. Heavens, that was a little bit of paradise he thought he'd never taste.

"I need more Law, more please." you turned to him again, but one of your hands remained tied to the back of his neck. "It feels so good, so fucking good."

"Fuck" he murmured against the skin of your neck as his fingers slid easily to your entrance. The warm wetness against his fingers left him on the verge of irrationality. Gently, he slowly penetrated you with his middle finger, your fingers against the back of his neck held tight to Law's dark strands of hair. "That's a good girl, I can feel you squeeze me. Is that what you wanted?"

"D-Don't stop Law, please." you involuntarily moved your hips against the back and forth of his finger, searching for more and more.

"I won't stop, babe, I won't." Law removed his entire finger and added his ring finger, slowly penetrating them again. The way you moved your hips against his fingers - and against his cock behind you - indicated that you wouldn't last long. "You're taking me so good, pussy so fucking tight."

“Law, I just…” as soon as his fingers pressed against your g-spot, a sharp scream left you. A knot beginning to tighten and burn inside you. "Fuck, that's it. I c-can feel something, I think… Law, please."

Seeing you start to lose control of your hips and tighten even more inside your pussy, Law knew he needed little for you to get there - and to be quite honest, he was about to reach an untouched orgasm himself.

"Stop holding back." His voice came out as a whisper at the edge of your ear, using the palm of his hand to stimulate your clitoris, your increasingly intense moans were a melody for him. "I can feel you squeezing me, begging for more. Come on, give it to me, let me feel you come. Just for me, okay? You're going to do this just for me."

"Law!" With one last moan from you, Law could feel you squeeze him hard and the fingers inside you become drenched as your body softened against his arms.

Giving a few more gentle caresses against your intimacy, Law took his hand away from you and had to dare the urge to put his fingers to his own lips. He would have the chance to taste you and when he does, he will taste it straight from the source itself.

Seeing your tired form nestled against his chest, Law let the caresses against your body be softer and without any trace of malice, just as his lips placed some chaste kisses on the top of your head.

"Thanks for trusting me." You smiled at his thanks, taking one of his hands and placing a small kiss on it. "So... how does it feel?"

"It felt so good, I've never felt that before." you adjusted yourself just enough to meet his lips.

"Yes, it was great."

"I'm sorry for not making it up to you." you pointed out and saw a light laugh escape his lips. "What?"

"I feel like a teenager, but..." his gaze directed yours to the wet spot on his light pants. "Feeling you and hearing you was a little too much for me."

You both laughed for a brief moment, enjoying the little bubble of affection that seemed to be surrounding you.

"Law?" his murmur indicated that he was paying attention. "You must be pretty experienced, right? To know all this."

"Not so much." his fingers intertwined with yours. "Part of it I know because I'm a doctor, so it's easier to know how bodies work. And part of it is because I've seen it in some books."

You just nodded and snuggled into him, his fingers were distracted playing with yours. This time, just like you had done, he called your name and you just mumbled back.

"What I said before." it was strange, but Law felt a little shy about bringing the subject on board. "I take back what I said. I wanted this – what you felt today – to happen just to me and not to other partners."

"It's okay. I also want you to be the one to do this to me."

[kamaluhkhan]

LONG HOT SUMMER NIGHT

pairing: luke castellan x fem!poseidon!reader word count: 8.4k chapter summary: it's the summer solstice and olympus is throwing a party! thalia notices the tension between you and luke, poseidon gives you some relationship advice and you punch the god of desire in the face. warnings: angst! jealous reader. lots of drinking. complicated relationships. reader dealing with ptsd + survivor's guilt (post-titan war). mention of injuries + blood. creepy guy pushing reader to hook up. ending is a bit steamy but no actual smut. spoilers for the entire pjo (book) series. no betrayal (au where chris was the one who sided w kronos and led the titan army) so slightly ooc luke <3 also reader is in a band called the midnight sirens and is born on the summer solstice! author's note: thank you so much for all the love for part 1!! summer is almost over and this is very much a summer series BUT summer's not over yet !!! hope y'all enjoy this one too and thanks 4 reading 💙

part 1 | series masterlist

♪: long hot summer night by jimi hendrix

mail to: 

Luke Castellan Camp Half-Blood, Half-Blood Hill 3.141 Farm Road Long Island, New York 11954

LUKE! 

I’m sitting in my kitchen right now, watching Percy make us blue blueberry pancakes and hoping he doesn’t burn down my kitchen while doing so. I caved and agreed to take him to Disneyland while he’s here and breakfast was part of the deal, but I think I might regret it later. 

We went surfing yesterday. It was Percy’s first time, but he was (unsurprisingly) amazing at it. I still can’t get over how beautiful the beaches are and the waves — gods, the waves are unreal. You’d seriously love it here. It’s like every day is summer. You have to come visit. PLEASE come visit!!!!

- [your initial]

P.S. The band and I are working on some new music, which means I won’t make it to camp again this summer. I’m sorry ;( Fingers crossed I’ll make it next year. 

P.P.S. hi luke! happy to report that i did not burn down my sister’s kitchen. anyways, can’t wait to kick your ass in sword-fighting this summer. xoxo, percy

THREE YEARS LATER 

the first time you visited olympus, you had been sent on a quest to retrieve zeus’ stolen lightning bolt, bringing luke and charles beckendorf along with you. you had missed the summer solstice deadline, but still tried to reason with the king of the gods when presenting the symbol of power, maybe calling him out once or twice along the way. before zeus could strike you down for your boldness, poseidon stepped in. the war between them was averted in fear of a much larger, looming threat; an ominous introduction for what was to come in the next chapter of your life.

another time, the gods debated whether or not they should kill you, some seeing you as a threat to their future. that was the day you accepted your destiny, not wanting your brother percy or your cousin nico to deal with the weight of the great prophecy. 

your last visit to olympus was on your 18th birthday, after helping to defeat kronos and his army. you made the gods swear to stop neglecting their kids and to allow all demigods, regardless of whether their parent was an olympian or not, to have a home at camp half-blood; to treat their children as children rather than heroes as pawns in their twisted games.

needless to say, it’s quite strange, being back here under very, very different circumstances, where the gods invited camp half-blood’s senior counsellors and staff to join in their summer solstice festivities.

it’s not every day you’ll be invited to a party on olympus; you’re determined to have a good time, to have fun. there’s already an abundance of music, dancing, food, or alcohol, and the night is just getting started.

you’re happy to be there with new and old friends, but you’re ecstatic when you see that thalia grace is there, too. 

“immortality looks good on you, t!” you compliment, raising your voice slightly over the music.

thalia preens, and you bask in her silver glow. 

“bet you wish you took the gods up on their offer, huh,” she teases. then, her eyes widen. “oh - shit! it’s your birthday! happy birthday!” 

thalia tackles you with another hug; even after all these years, she still smells like pine trees. she grabs two goblets of honeyed wine and hands one to you as you catch up. you eagerly gulp the sweet drink, until you’re reaching for another while listening to her stories about adventures she’d been on with the hunters of artemis. 

about halfway through her story about fighting off a manticore during a snow storm, a nymph appears with a platter of the ripest of fruit – sweet plums and fresh figs, tantalising pomegranates, succulent grapes and crisp apples. 

“oh my gods, this is the best apple i’ve had in my entire life!” thalia exclaims after indulging in a taste, herself giddy from a few goblets of wine. “where’s luke? he’s gotta try this — he’s always reminding us to eat more fruit. luke!” 

you hadn’t kept track of luke, at least not on purpose. you assumed he’d been off partying with van or his siblings, and, probably, avoiding you. wherever he was, thalia calls his name twice more and, like a ghost, luke appears. 

“i’m here, t.” luke’s voice is a deep, steady rumble floating above the music. his cheeks are slightly flushed, either from the heat or the drinks. likely both. “what’s up?”

“you need to try this.” thalia shoves the apple in his mouth before luke can respond. 

luke takes a bite, and some juice drips down his chin. you, in a honey-soaked haze, think about running your tongue over to catch it, but he beats you to it, wiping it away with the back of his hand. 

probably for the best.

“holy shit. yeah, it’s good.”

thalia, a sparkle in her eyes, urges you to try it as well. from across the makeshift triangle the three of you had formed, luke tosses the apple your way. you catch it effortlessly, and sink your teeth into it. 

you’ve almost overwhelmed by the burst of flavor. the fruit is just the right amount of tart to balance out the sweetness, and it’s damn near the best crunch you’ve ever experienced.

“good is an understatement,” you say after another bite. a distant memory crosses your mind. “i wonder if these are the same ones we almost got killed by a hellhound for.” 

thalia shakes her head, laughing in disbelief. “all because luke said we needed more vitamin c.”

“i was just looking out for us!” luke guffaws. “how was i supposed to know that persephone owned an apple orchard in connecticut?”

you pat his shoulder, the three of you smiling at the memory. “let’s call it an honest mistake.”

“well if annabeth had been with us by then, i’m sure that she wouldn’t have made that same honest mistake.” 

“okay, but she’s the daughter of athena —”

you let luke and thalia slip back into their playful bickering as if no time has passed. you listen and continue eating that glorious apple, enjoying how the golden glow of your shared past fills whatever distance might have grown between the three of you. 

somewhere down memory lane, luke’s amber eyes flick towards you.

“hey, you’ve got some….” without another word, luke suddenly reaches over to brush away a trail of juice with his thumb before sticking the finger in his mouth to savour the taste. he holds your gaze as he does so, and you feel a familiar kind of heat rush through your body — not from alcohol or summer sun, but from luke. 

it’s such an intimate gesture that you almost forget that you’re at some extravagant party on mount olympus, where gods and half-bloods and a whole bunch of other mythological creatures are celebrating the start of summer by essentially getting drunk together, until thalia clears her throat. 

“okay, well, seems like the two of you might want some alone time.”

luke’s cheeks grow more flushed than before, and his eyes widen as if realizing what he’d done.

“oh, we don’t need —”

“we’re not —”

you and luke both stumble over your words; thalia just smiles knowingly. 

“i’m gonna go flirt with that nymph,” she announces, pointing across the grand marble pavilion.

“i thought — doesn’t artemis sort of frown upon that sort of thing?” you ask.

“she makes exceptions on holidays. besides, i’m her favourite. you guys have fun.” thalia winks at you and walks away.

you glance at luke and, gods, there’s so much history between you. 

the time you jumped into an ocean full of sirens to save luke from drowning? you have a scar running down your forearm where one of them scratched you as you struggled to get luke towards the surface. 

or when you took turns holding up the sky while on a quest to save lady artemis and defeat the titan atlas? it’s evident in the matching streaks of grey that you each have running through your hair. whenever you see your reflection in the mirror, you remember how you couldn’t save your cousin bianca di angelo earlier that day, and how nico has had to grow up without a sister because of a promise you broke.

how about when you, luke, and one of your best friends were sent on a mission to destroy the princess andromeda, the headquarters of kronos’ army? only the two of you survived, and sometimes you can still feel luke squeezing your hand pike he did during charles beckendorf’s burial shroud ceremony while you both cried.

or when luke took a sword between the ribs for you because he, somehow, knew the one spot the curse of achilles left you vulnerable? he can only slouch for so long before the bones there start to ache.

so, yeah. there’s way too much history, and so many tangled threads, and now really isn’t an ideal time to unravel it all. 

“i’m gonna go find my dad,” you blurt out and disappear into the crowd with no real intention of finding your father. 

the once sweet apple now tastes rotten on your tongue; you rid yourself of it in exchange for some more wine. you’re determined to have fun — no pain or heartache or grief. 

you’ve all had enough of that for three lifetimes. 

summer — age 14

“sorry your birthday was ruined.” 

luke exhaled sharply when you pressed a disinfectant-soaked cloth to the wound on his leg.

“hold still,” was all you mumbled in response, brows knitted together as you wrapped the cut in gauze. 

once you were done with his leg, you moved on to luke’s hands, burned by poisonous acid. the four of you had run into a hydra earlier that night. you managed to wound it enough so you could all get away, but not before a few injuries were sustained. 

you were uncharacteristically quiet as you worked. you only met luke’s gaze to warn him before pouring some nectar on his wounds. you let luke hold your hand, tightly, as the liquid dripped through his fingers and down to yours, first right, then left. the pain was instant, seering almost as much as the hydra acid, but it was over quickly. the last thing you did was bandage each hand before getting up. 

“i’m…i’m gonna check on thalia and annabeth. i’ll take first watch.”

luke caught your hand before you got away.

“wait. you’re bleeding.” he pointed to the cut on your brow. you had been so preoccupied in making sure everyone else was safe that you let crimson liquid drip down your face. it probably stung, too, based on your grimace.

luke wiped away the blood with his sleeve, used nectar to disinfect the wound, and dressed it with a fresh bandage, working silently as you did.

“it’s still your birthday,” luke finally said once he was done. “you get some rest; i’ll take first watch.”

you gave him a small, strained smile before checking on the others. 

later that night, you stayed up with luke anyways. 

seemingly out of nowhere, you handed him your portable cassette player. luke stared at it for a moment, unwilling to comprehend just what you were offering and, more importantly, why. 

you and luke had grown accustomed to sharing things: flannels, socks, makeshift beds and scavenged food. but this —

it was your aunt’s. 

you never met your mother, who’d left you as a baby, and of course, poseidon was too busy tending to his underwater kingdom to step in as a parent. your aunt raised you as her own. and then you lost her, too. 

you kept her cassette player buried deep in your bag with some mixtapes she had made and ones you’d stolen throughout the years. when it wasn’t your turn to keep watch, luke would sometimes catch you with headphones on, looking up at the stars. 

luke liked to think he knew you well; all those subtle elements that made you — the crack of your knuckles, the cadence of your voice, the slope of your nose, the dreams of your childhood. engraved in his own personhood. bones and all. 

and, still: he didn’t know you, not entirely. 

you’d only allowed luke to listen with you once, maybe twice. he’d never forget what it was like: knees pressed together and heads just as close to keep the wires from stretching too far; you gushing about the magic of jimi hendrix, recounting memories that echoed through gentle guitar riffs; luke yearning for one more song to play, for another a wistful smile of yours to appear. luke, wishing to linger in your private oasis a beat longer before you pushed him out again and closed the door behind him. 

the one lock luke couldn’t crack: your grief, and how you carried on so buoyantly despite its weight.

well, there you were, presenting the key to luke as an offering. a sacrifice for something luke would never ask of you. 

“this….” luke swallowed the lump in his throat, refusing to look at you. he turned the device over in his bandaged hands, the metal smooth, though well-worn. “you can’t just —”

leave. you can’t just leave. you can’t just —

“hey.” 

your hand over his, forcing him to stop spiralling and look at you. 

right away, luke regretted it. a small sliver of him, however delusional, had hoped that you were joking. 

you weren’t. behind you, there was an empty space where you had previously wedged your sleeping bag. your backpack was already strapped around your shoulders, fully packed. 

“i need to leave, luke. we can’t stay together. it’s too dangerous.”

“you don’t need to —”

“there’s more of us, now,” you interrupted, pulling your hand away to rest on your thigh. “four demigods together isn’t ideal. we’ve been attracting more monsters. more deadly monsters.”

“that would happen, anyways. it always has whether it’s the four of us, the two of us, or….” 

luke stopped his sentence short, not even wanting to give you the idea to go out on your own, even though you’d probably been thinking about leaving for some time. 

you made reckless decisions sometimes, but this didn’t seem to be one of them.

“well, it’s happening more.” your voice was steady, too steady. luke imagined you rehearsing just what to say to counter the inevitable backlash. 

luke shook his head. “i’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”

“you almost died because of me,” you clipped. you lifted a hand to touch the bruise on luke’s jaw, but let it drop just as quickly. “you know that children of the big three cause more trouble. maybe we managed it when it was the two of us, but now, there’s more to consider. a child of poseidon and a child of zeus, travelling together. it’s like we’re asking to be killed. it’s too dangerous.”

“that’s our life,” luke snapped. “you can’t just run from it.” from us.

you faltered, looking back to where annabeth and thalia were sleeping peacefully. 

oh. he must have said that last part out loud, too. 

“you know i’m right,” is all you said.

luke could only shake his head again. because, fine, you weren’t entirely wrong. it was more dangerous — but it was danger luke hoped you’d all face, together. 

“i’ve made up my mind,” you added, an anchor in the sand.

“don’t leave.” luke’s words came out as a prayer. if he offered something, maybe you’d stay.

you paused to take a shaky breath. “this isn’t goodbye, luke. i swear to poseidon…fuck, i swear to all the gods that this isn’t goodbye.”

luke couldn’t speak. there were tears bubbling in his throat, threatening to spill. 

“so, keep this for me,” you whispered, once again placing your hand on top of luke’s. his fingers gripped your cassette player tightly, like it was the only piece of driftwood leftover from a shipwreck, keeping him from sinking into the cold, dark nothing. “you’ll give it back when we see each other again.”

a promise. 

“fine,” luke conceded, though he wanted to scream at you. he wanted to argue like little kids — petty, loud, meaningless, back and forth until tears streamed down cheeks and throats were raw. 

but, you were leaving, one way or another. luke didn’t want this shared memory to be tainted if it might be your last.

“you have to take this, then. give it back when we see each other again.”

luke removed the chain from around his neck, the one that held the key to his childhood home. he placed it around yours, instead.

he didn’t need the key now, but his mother had given it to him when he was six. before he knew what it meant to be the son of hermes, god of thieves. 

call him sentimental, but luke had kept it. just in case he ever got lost. 

“if you’re ever back in connecticut, you have a home.”

“yeah, okay.” you smiled softly. 

it fell just as quickly. 

“take care of them,” you told him. “of yourself, too. i’ll see you again when it’s safe.”

luke didn’t ask when it would be safe, because the truth is that it might never be.

“because you want your cassette player back?” luke joked, instead trying to lighten the mood, to capture one last moment of brightness.

you laughed softly to not wake the others. 

“yeah. that too.”

you pressed your forehead to his, something you hadn’t done since you were kids. 

“i’ll see you again,” you repeated.

without another word, you got up and jogged away. luke shut his eyes, refusing to see you become nothing but a shadow. 

(you looked back several times, but he couldn’t see through the darkness.)

now

call the gods out on their bullshit (you encourage it), but if they have one thing going for them, it’s that the olympians know how to throw a party. 

the night grows darker, yet somehow becomes more lively. demeter and persephone had supplied a generous amount of fresh, decadent fruit, and dionysus an even more generous amount of wine. apollo starts a karaoke corner and you’re just tipsy enough to agree to sing a duet with him in order to break the ice. apparently, he’s a big midnight sirens fan and had seen your band when you headlined at glastonbury festival. you smile to yourself, imagining your bandmates’ faces if you told them that the god of music had watched you perform.

as you hand the microphone to a giggling dryad, the sound of your name washes over like gentle waves on a shore.

“if it isn’t my sweet, summer child!” your father brings you in for a hug and an ocean breeze engulfs you — salt and sand and sun. 

“hi dad,” you exhale as you pull away. 

you hadn’t seen each other in a while, but poseidon looks the same. he’s dressed in a turquoise hawaiian shirt and birkenstocks with a crown of seashells on his head. there’s a cocktail umbrella in his glass, a slice of pineapple wedged onto the rim. you’re about to ask him how he managed to secure a pina colada and where you might find one, too.

“that was quite the performance!” poseidon takes an eager sip of his drink, green eyes sparkling like sea glass in the sun. “i must tell you: your newest album is all the rage in atlantis. the nereids and merpeople can’t seem to get enough of it and, truthfully, i find myself playing it on repeat as well. you’re quite talented.” 

you try not to let your shock slip through, instead smiling and asking how things are in his underwater kingdom, but you’re….touched at your father’s unexpected praise.

the gods aren’t perfect, and your father is no exception. they’re divine beings who have time to conceive children, but not to raise them. there’s a long history of them abandoning, mistreating, and manipulating their own offspring. of course, being the prophecy child, it became practically impossible for your father to ignore you; you’re sure that being dubbed the saviour of olympus gives him bragging rights with his immortal family. even with their sworn promise to change, it’s impossible not to resent the gods in some ways. 

still, you feel comforted by your father's presence at times — when you catch the perfect wave on your surfboard, for example, or when you sit on your fire escape during a storm after a bad day. it’s been like that pretty much all your life: poseidon there in spirit, not in practice. despite everything, he’s watched over you, and percy, throughout the years.

and here poseidon is now, grinning at you like you’re his pride and joy. 

“enough about aquatic politics.” he pats your shoulder enthusiastically after telling you about the struggles of keeping humans from overfishing. “i came over to wish you a happy birthday. and to give you this.” 

poseidon reaches into the pocket of his shirt and hands you something you’d long thought gone: a leather cord with several clay beads and a silver key.

“i found it off the california coast,” he explains. “i kept meaning to get it to you, but i suppose time has a way of getting away from us, immortal or not.”

a warmth grows in your chest as you run your thumb over your old camp necklace, bright and full. it had fallen off one day when you’d gone surfing, and you assumed it was lost to the ocean. you'd been given a fresh leather cord when you arrived at camp earlier this summer, but it felt empty. hollow.

“thanks, dad.” 

you smile at him as you put on the necklace; it feels like coming home. your father then asks you about your summer so far.

you tell him all about your life as of late, until you catch a glimpse of luke with van on a marble bench at the other end of the pavilion. van is sitting in luke’s lap, and they lean over to whisper something in his ear before kissing his cheek. 

you freeze mid-way through your sentence.

sensing the shift in mood, poseidon frowns. he turns his head to follow your gaze.

“ah.” poseidon turns back to you and clears his throat. “now, i don’t mean to pry, but i saw you earlier with the castellan boy.”

you flush at the fact that your moment with luke was witnessed by your own father. “dad —”

“did you know in ancient greece, throwing someone an apple and having them catch it is considered a marriage proposal?”

“i’m pretty sure that was disproven,” you scoff.

poseidon raises an eyebrow at you, clearly amused. “which one of us was actually there, hm?” and though you roll your eyes, you can’t argue with that. “i just wanted to know if there was a wedding happening in the near future.”

you almost choke on the last remnants of your wine. “dad.”

“i’m kidding. i’m kidding! mr. castellan seems otherwise occupied.” 

“yeah, it does seem that way,” you grumble.

poseidon puts a hand on your shoulder, firm but reassuring. “regardless: if you find someone who would go to tartarus and back with you, someone who would fight alongside you every step of the way, you hold on to them. there’s only so much time you mortals have on this earth.”

you sigh — easier said than done — but your father is trying, so you manage a nod.

“i’ll keep that in mind.”

“now, i better go — ” poseidon looks over your shoulder, where the air behind you starts to feel staticky. “it seems a disagreement is brewing between zeus and hades. they always get into it whenever dionysus makes the wine a bit too strong. brother, put away the lightning bolt —” and he rushes away to prevent another divine conflict from arising.

left to your own devices, you venture over to the food table, finding an array of fresh and dried fruit, breads, cured meat, fresh oysters and, of course, more wine. you grab a goblet and a few dried figs.

“careful, i heard dionysus made the wine extra strong tonight,” someone warns, creeping up beside you. the voice is soft and alluring, and you feel something tug at your heart. 

you do a double take when you turn to them; the person is devilishly handsome, a golden aura paired with a golden smile. 

(you will soon find out that the god flirting with you is the son of ares and aphrodite, the latter of which takes the appearance of whoever the onlooker loves. as it turns out, her son appears in the same way. 

all this to say: it doesn’t mean anything that this god looks like luke castellan to you. 

it doesn’t mean anything at all.)

“i’m eros.”

“hey. i’m —”

“i know who you are, savior of olympus.” eros winks at you. “i just never realized you were so beautiful.”

your cheeks heat up as you take a sip of your drink.

oh, shit. 

okay. the literal god of desire and pleasure is flirting with you. 

you’re flattered, really, and maybe the wine has gotten to your head, but you’re not eager to turn him away.

“well, i’ve definitely heard about you, and the rumors do not do you justice,” you quip, painting on a flirtatious smile.

eros puffs out his chest, clearly pleased. 

over the next few minutes, you decide that eros can hold a decent conversation, asking you the classic first date questions about your likes and dislikes, and he’s cute enough that you wouldn’t mind things going further. 

(he might be a god, but he’s no luke. you push that thought away, and force yourself to flirt with helios. eros. right, eros.)

eros leans in close, pretends to listen to you, lets his gaze drop every so often to the deep v-neck of your shirt.  

“no way! 13 going on 30 is a classic,” you argue. you nudge your shoulder into eros’s playfully, and let the contact between you linger. eros, the inspiration for cupid himself, has angel wings, and you feel them brush softly against your burning skin. 

“it’s totally overrated!” eros exclaims. “also, the childhood friends to lovers trope gives people false hope.”

“it’s not false hope. it’s about the buildup to their happily ever after,” you reason, swallowing some wine to dislodge the lump in your throat.

eros shakes his head. “trust me, baby, it’s all about the instant attraction. that’s where the excitement is.” 

he’s so close now, you can smell the sharp alcohol on his breath. not wine, but something stronger.

“oh? what do you mean by that?” you lean impossibly closer, trailing a finger down his chest.

eros smirks, placing a hand on your thigh. “want me to demonstrate?” 

not even a second after you whisper a yes, eros crashes his lips onto yours, and you will yourself to kiss back. he slides his tongue in your mouth, runs his hands over your body. 

you’re making out with the god of desire and passion, so, objectively, it’s a good first kiss: soft around the edges and firm where it needs to be.

sure — you feel nothing, no real spark, but it’s almost enough to fill the hole in your heart in the shape of a certain son of hermes. 

the son of hermes who has moved on and is in a loving relationship with a perfect emotionally available partner. 

so, it’s fine. 

this, this thing with eros, is fine. 

you’re fine.

eros pulls away first, but keeps a hand on your cheek.

“let's get out of here.” 

he grabs your wrist before you have a chance to answer. you stand up, let him weave you through the crowd towards the stairs of the pavilion. apparently, his room is just through the garden. 

as he tugs you along, he looks back at you, smiling. under the glow of the stars, eros looks just like luke, except it’s becoming harder to ignore that he isn’t luke and that makes you feel all sorts of nauseous. your camp necklace weighs on your chest and, in particular, the silver key that you’d kept for all those years burns through your skin. 

lightheaded, you pull away from eros’ grip just as you reach the top of the stairs and place a hand on the column next to you to steady yourself.

eros turns around sharply. “what is it?”

“i changed my mind, actually. let’s just…keep talking here.”

eros grabs your wrist again, his grip tighter than before. “don’t be a tease.” his tone is ever-so-gentle, but there’s an edge behind his words. 

this time, your voice comes out more assertive. “i just changed my mind. that doesn’t make me a tease.”

“come on, baby, don’t you wanna experience what real passion is? this is a once in a lifetime opportunity that a million girls would kill for. you’d be an idiot to pass it up.” he brags, and you’re this close to breaking this guy’s nose, god or not. 

“i don’t care,” you snap, struggling to break free from his grip. “and i’m not your baby.”

“okay, whatever,” eros rolls his eyes, but quickly plasters on an arrogant grin. “we’ll go somewhere private and i’ll call you whatever you want.”

he manages to drag you down two steps as you strain against his iron grip, now almost cutting off your circulation. your heartbeat quickens and you feel dizzy. finally, you grab onto the railing for leverage and use your strength to rip out of his grip, forcing eros to stop in his tracks.

“what is it now?” he snaps, whipping his head around once more. 

he looks nothing like luke, now.

“just stop, eros.”

“listen,” he starts, speaking to you almost mockingly, like you’re a naive little kid. so much for being the savior of olympus. “trust me, i know what people want, so you don’t have to be shy. i promise to be the best you’ve ever had —”

“eros, is it?” the rest of the party is in full motion, but here’s percy, giving eros one of the most intense death stares you’ve ever seen. percy, your little brother who talks to lonely fish at the aquarium; who, if you cut open, would bleed blue m&m’s; who would never let anyone, god or otherwise, hurt someone he loves. “i’m gonna have to ask you to let go of my sister.”

“mind your own business, kid,” eros hisses. “we’re kinda in the middle of something.” he tries to move you down another step, but you stand your ground.

annabeth, no longer the scared little seven year old you, luke, and thalia found behind a dumpster, is also glaring at liam from the top of the stairs. one of her hands rests firmly on her belt, where she keeps her dagger. 

“i’d back off, if i were you,” she warns. “wouldn’t want to cause a scene.”

“just mind your own business,” eros snarls.

“they said leave her alone,” thalia asserts, walking over once she sees what’s happening. “and you don’t wanna mess with us, trust me.” she clenches her hand into a fist.

“who the fuck are you? her bodyguards?” 

“just let her go,” percy orders. “my sister can do a lot better than a minor god with a major god complex.” 

eros growls, baring his teeth at percy. “you impertinent little shit.”

as soon as eros lunges for your brother, you tug one of his wings towards you, hard. he whips around and you take the opportunity to punch him in the face. he doubles over, golden ichor gushing from his nose.

“i’d be careful if i were you, baby,” you seethe. “you wouldn’t want to go up against the demigods who led an army against kronos and won. unless, of course, humiliation is a kink of yours.” you laugh humorlessly at the way eros scowls at your words. “to each their own,” you continue. “but i’m not in the mood to fuck an entitled creep with angel wings to compensate for his tiny dick. you better fucking respect that, and leave us alone while you’re at it.”

eros’ flirtatious smile is long gone, replaced with the kind of anger only entitled, self-important jerks have when they don’t get what they want and they’ve taken a few blows to their ego. 

call it stupidity or arrogance, but his only response is a punch delivered right back to your face. 

you hear a crack upon impact, and pain radiates from your nose. you stumble, but percy manages to reach out and catch you before you fall down the stairs. he holds you as thalia and annabeth create a barrier between you and eros. you hear them shouting at eros over the music, but their exact words don’t register.

you lick your lips, tasting blood. your ears are ringing, and everything is suddenly all fuzzy. percy tries his best, but you slump your body weight into his and he almost topples over.

“i’ve got her.” luke’s calm and measured voice cuts through the chaos. you feel a strong, familiar arm wrap around your waist to steady you. “from what i remember, you were too much of a coward to even step foot on the battlefield, so i’d listen to her if you know what’s good for you.” in a haze, you guess that luke is directing his sharp words towards eros, before turning to the others and instructing: “you guys take care of this — find clarisse if you need back up.”

somehow, you find yourself over in a small secluded temple, sitting on a window bench overlooking the clouds as luke sits next to you.

like most of olympus, the building is made of marble with gold accents; this one has roses engraved on the walls, and the space smells like flowery perfume. it’s much quieter than the pavilion, though you can hear laughter and music in the distance. it’s cooler, too, but not by much; even without all the body heat, you're left with sticky summer air, and luke’s breath on yours, sweet with wine and ripe fruit, as he carefully examines your injury.

you feel your head spinning all over again. maybe it’s the alcohol, or the adrenaline, or the fact that the two of you haven’t been this close in a while — probably a dangerous mix of all three. 

you know (from trying not to but ultimately not being able to pull your attention away from him after all) that he’s had a few drinks as well; it seems like the two of you ignore each other best when you’re sober.

“thought the curse of achilles would protect you from nosebleeds.”

“guess it doesn’t protect against —” what did percy call eros? “ — minor gods who have major god complexes,” you recite.

luke looks slightly amused. “that’s a shame,” he hums. “would have been nice to get one birthday without being injured.”

a smile creeps onto your face, despite the dull ache from your nose.

“you remembered.”

“of course i remember,” luke almost scoffs like the mere suggestion of forgetting what day you were born is an insult to his very character. he meets your gaze, and you could melt when he offers you that lopsided smile of his, painfully familiar. “happy birthday, aquagirl,” and it’s the softest he’s spoken to you in a while. just like old times.

he remembers. 

somewhere within him, luke holds on to fragments of you.

he wipes the blood off your face, the sleeve of his silk white button-down now stained crimson. “how’s your hand?” he asks. 

you flex your fingers. “it’s been better,” you answer, your knuckles slightly aching. “totally worth it.”

“i guess all those years away didn’t change anything. still willing to put a god in their place, huh?”

all those years away. 

the reminder feels like a stab to the heart, and you’re worried that it might burst the comfortable bubble you and luke had drunkenly stumbled into. 

thankfully, luke continues:

“the kids really take after you.”

he says as a joke, mostly, but there’s a sincerity in those deep brown eyes of his, too. something you also hadn’t seen from him in a while. 

the kids, who you’d in some ways raised together when monsters were trying to kill you and the gods didn’t care enough to stop it. 

the family you and luke had built together despite being born into the world of greek tragedies. 

“as if annabeth wasn’t threatening to pull the dagger you gave her, skywalker,” the nickname rolling off your tongue with ease. “besides, they’re not kids anymore.”

“yeah.” he pauses. “neither are we.” 

luke’s fingers trace your camp necklace, brush against your collarbone. the breath hitches in your throat.

here you are again, at the edge of something real and very scary, and you fear luke is going to push the two of you over. 

but he doesn’t. instead, luke suggests, jokingly: “maybe we should start a fight club at camp.” 

you take that as a good sign: like you, he’s hoping to preserve the playfulness between you before everything else seeps in and ruins it. before you’re brought back to the present, where you’re practically ignoring each other.

where you’re fine, but really. 

you snort. “chiron and mr. d would love that.”

“like they’d ever find out!” luke explains. “you know the first rule of fight club —”

“don’t talk about fight club,” you finish together. 

luke laughs, even though it’s not that funny. you laugh, too. 

and that’s the thing that really, truly gets you. 

try as you might to ignore it, some days it’s hard to forget the pain and heartache and grief. 

you still feel like your life is a battlefield; you still see the ghosts of everyone you couldn’t save even though people call you a savior; you still have those scars, inside and out, that seemed healed but ache every once and a while. 

but that isn’t all. 

sometimes it hurts more thinking back to the good times and knowing, deep down, you can never go back.

summer — age 13

“ugh — you think with all their power, the gods could help stop global warming,” you groaned, swatting away a mosquito that tried to land on you. “do you think they have air conditioning on olympus?”

“oh, for sure,” luke quipped. he gave you a lopsided smile, his curls sticking to his forehead, drenched in sweat. 

it was the summer solstice, the longest and the hottest day of the year so far. the two of you had found a perfectly good hideout, but luke insisted that this place would be worth the move. 

he’d been leading you down side streets for what felt like forever. the sun had already set, and you were very close to passing out from the heat, until luke finally stopped at a door behind an alley, with a sign reading CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS. 

luke knelt down to do whatever son-of-hermes lock magic he had to do to get the door open. he flipped a switch, and you winced at the sudden overwhelming brightness. 

the destination was different than the hideouts you usually sprung for: those small, hole-in-the-wall type places. instead, this space was big and bright, filled with arcade games and fun posters and neon colours. the type of place a kid might have a party or where a group of normal teenagers might spend their friday night. 

“what…what is this?”

“you thought i forgot, didn’t you?” luke smirked at you. he sat down on the colourful carpet, taking out some snacks, a small plastic bag with coins, a wrapped box, and a plastic blue crown, and gestured for you to join.

you did, in fact, think that luke had forgotten your birthday. 

birthdays were bittersweet for children of gods, who were constantly reminded that any year could be their last, their youth cut short by monsters or prophecies or a fatal flaw. all the two of you usually did on either birthday was split any sweet treat you could get your hands on. 

it wasn’t a big deal, really, to skip that tradition of yours. there were much more urgent things to worry about, like finding food and water and shelter, and not being devoured by monsters. 

you did think it was strange that luke hadn’t so much as said happy birthday to you all day, but you knew that he loved you.

(like a friend loves a friend. nothing else, no matter how much your stomach fluttered at the thought of him.) 

“i wanted to surprise you,” luke explained once you claimed your spot next to him. he reached over to place the crown on your head. “i found this place a few days ago during a food run. it reminds me of where we had your —”

“eighth birthday party, yeah.” you smiled at the memory of running around and feeding quarters to every machine and trying every game, of your classmates singing happy birthday to you off-key before you all stuffed your faces with sickly sweet confetti cake. 

truthfully, you never thought about having another celebration like that again.

but, it was five years from that faded childhood memory, and luke was presenting you with something you didn’t even realize you had needed: the chance to be a kid again.

“so,” luke got up, a wide smile on his face. he held the plastic bag in one hand, extending the other to you. “which do you wanna play first?”

you started with space invaders, then moved on to dragon’s lair and pac-man. you took a break before street fighter ii so that luke could ceremoniously light a candle and present a cupcake that had been tossed around in his bag (but you were still very, very grateful for), along with fresh batteries for your portable cassette player. he had made you a mixtape too, though you couldn’t figure out how. 

your last stop was a photobooth. you vowed to keep those pictures — a collection of you and luke together, smiling bright and colourful, goofing off and laughing — for the rest of your life.

now

those moments from past summers are like popsicles melting in the sun: tangible for a limited time before leaving you with a sickly sweet mess of what once was. 

you think about what happened earlier, how percy, annabeth, and thalia stepped in to protect you, still the brave kids you had once known so well. how luke is here with you now, taking care of you so tenderly even after you’ve silently agreed to give each other the cold shoulder. 

maybe luke is right. maybe all those years away didn’t change anything. 

except — once you leave this temple and the alcohol leaves your system, it won’t be the same. 

none of you are kids anymore, if you ever even were. 

“why’d you go for eros, anyway?” luke asks, breaking you away from your thoughts. he removes his sleeve from your nose since the bleeding seems to have finally stopped.

“you really wanna know?”

“yeah. most gods are assholes. and you’re…” luke places a hand close to your leg, pinky finger brushing your thigh. “you.”

“i went for eros because….well, honestly, i don’t think i cared who it was, as long as they made me forget you,” you admit, because what did you have to lose. you probably have a broken nose, you definitely have blood on your shirt, and your time with luke is running out. 

luke’s eyes darken. his fingers start to play with the hem of your shorts. 

“did it work?” his voice is a whisper, but he’s close enough that he’s crystal clear.

“no.”

it’s hard to determine who leans in first, but soon enough your lips are on luke’s — messy and urgent. noses bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. he cradles your face in his hands, and you move to straddle his waist. you taste wine on his tongue, and maybe a hint of sweet pears, but it’s overwhelmed by the salty, metallic taste of blood stained on your lips. when you run out of air, you pull away. it’s clearer now: you’re not dizzy from the alcohol or adrenaline, but dizzy from him. luke’s gaze is heavy on yours as he traces your top lip with his thumb.

“luke,” you whimper, itching to kiss him again. 

“you’re still bleeding.”

luke wipes away the blood with his thumb. before either of you can do or say anything more, there’s an echo of footsteps on the marble floor. a flower nymph, there to leave an offering and let you know that, while aphrodite encourages acts of love, she prefers it doesn’t happen in her place of worship. 

you realize that aphrodite also might not look so fondly at you kissing someone else in her place of worship after publicly rebuking her own son.

luke untangles himself from you, and you know that he’s been jolted back to reality, too. 

and, just like that, another moment has melted away.

your father was right. time has a way of slipping away for us, immortal or not.

summer — age 18

“hey, you awake?”  

“yeah,” you replied softly. sleep hadn’t been easy, in the days and weeks and months leading up to that final battle with kronos and his army. 

and once it was all over? 

you rested your head on luke’s shoulder, sword discarded at your feet and armour half-removed, as argus, the hundred-eyed security guard of olympus, drove a school bus with a dozen or so demigods back to camp.

“why’d you turn down their offer?” luke whispered.

oh.

"why...why do you ask?"

"i don't know." luke paused. "just curious, i guess."

you closed your eyes and replayed that moment on olympus when you refused the gift of immortality. the look of shock written on the gods’ faces. and on luke’s.

“i don’t care about living forever,” you told him bluntly.

forever seemed too long, especially for someone who was prophesied to die at 18.

you tilted your head up to meet luke’s gaze, and his messy curls brushed against your forehead. evidence of the battle was clear on his face: caked-on dirt and blossoming bruises and dried blood. 

behind him, outside the bus window, the world was flying by. a child who had fallen off their bike being comforted by a friend. two people sharing an mp3 player and a pair of earbuds. an elderly couple walking their dog.

“you once told me that this was our life,” you continued, gesturing towards the weapons and battle-worn kids, some quiet, others crying, many injured. “what if it didn’t have to be?” 

luke furrowed his brow. “do you mean….are you talking about leaving?”

you shrugged. running from monsters for your entire childhood then being the child of the great prophecy was a lot.

a break might be nice.

there was so much about the world, the one you’d fought and bled to protect, that you wanted to experience. 

maybe something closer to a normal life.

“would you ever leave camp?” you wondered, not really answering luke's question. 

“no,” luke replied instantly. his fingers started fiddling with the beads on his necklace. “i can’t just walk away, not after everything.”

“yeah, i get that.” and you did; you really, truly, did. the guilt of wanting to leave camp curled in your stomach like a venomous snake. you took a shaky breath. “let’s talk about this later, yeah? i’m tired, and we have the rest of — ”

the rest of the summer slipped away in the blink of an eye. gone, before you even had a real chance to say goodbye.

you closed your eyes and held on to luke, as if gripping his arm would anchor you to something you weren't ready to let go of, but in some ways needed to move on from.

it was no use, though. 

by the end of august, you’d be gone too. 

now 

you learned early on that the curse of achilles doesn’t protect you from hangovers.

you wake up the morning after the celebration on olympus with a deep, throbbing pain lodged in your temple and an uncomfortable swirling in your gut. parties and late nights at bars are common on tour, which means migraines are, too, so you have a routine to make sure you’re not out of commission for too long.

except this time, the aspirin and blue gatorade and dry toast don’t work. the sting in your brain and uneasiness in your stomach doesn’t go away, even after a few days. you haven’t been able to sleep, either.

desperate for a cure, you consult lou ellen, head counsellor of the hecate cabin, who you’d unexpectedly grown close to in the past few weeks. she mixes something for you, while asking if there’s something that’s been weighing on you.

you couldn't keep it in anymore; you tell her about the summer solstice and luke.  

later, with nothing but your thoughts and percy’s snoring occupying your time post-curfew, you grab your phone and flip it open, deciding to finally reach out to luke, when you get a text from him.

luke is already on the beach when you arrive, looking out onto the water. 

“hey,” you greet as you sit next to him on the sand, but not too close. “i was actually about to text you —”

“did you tell anyone that we kissed?” he interrupts. you can’t quite read his expression as he waits for you to answer.

“no, i didn’t,” you lie. “would it matter if i did?”

“well, i mean, word travels fast around camp, and i don’t want van finding out. it’s not like it meant anything.”

the throbbing in your brain becomes a sharper sting, the uneasiness in your stomach a tidal wave of nausea.

“it didn’t?” you hate how fragile your voice sounds, compared to luke’s stoic demeanor.

luke shrugs. “i mean, we were both drunk and the thing with eros happened…we just got caught up in the heat of the moment.” 

“you’re saying there’s nothing between us, then? nothing?” the word tastes bitter in your mouth.

luke turns away before he answers. “no. nothing.”

“then what about last summer?” you demand. you force yourself to keep it together, your tone firmer than before. “i guess that didn’t mean anything, either.”

“y/n…” he sighs. “i don’t know what you want me to say. we’re barely even friends anymore. you come back here, after all this time, after so much shit happened, and expect us all to drop everything to fit you back into our lives. but, you don't. whatever you came here for, it's not here for you. there's nothing to go back to. we moved on. i moved on, and i can’t deal with you —" 

“got it,” you snap, already turning to walk away. “loud and fucking clear, luke.” 

it’s not like it meant anything. we’re barely even friends anymore.

you replay luke’s words as you crawl into bed, holding back tears so as to not disturb percy. finally, you swallow a generous amount of whatever concoction lou ellen had brewed up for you.

drifting off into your own sleep, you decide that you don’t love luke anymore. not as a friend, not as a.....

nope. 

according to luke, there's not even anything to go back to.

nothing.

nothing.

[greengoblinswifey]

Dark Paradise—JJ Maybank x Pogue!Reader

summary— in a foreign land far from home, you’re forced to say goodbye to your love. as grief consumes you, you cling to the hope that your souls will find each other again, no matter the distance, no matter the life.

warnings— season 4 part 2 spoilers, death, angst.

a/n— still not over JJ’s death, won’t ever be.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

The world around you felt suffocating. The distant sound of the strange land and faint sobs from the others faded into nothingness. All you could hear was your own ragged breathing, choked sobs breaking through as you cradled JJ's lifeless body in your arms.

“JJ, no,” you whispered, voice trembling as your fingers brushed against his face. His skin, once warm and full of life, was cold under your touch. His golden hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead in messy strands that you once loved to push back with teasing affection. “Please, wake up. You always wake up.”

But he didn’t.

You leaned over him, your tears falling onto his face like raindrops. His chest, which had always risen and fallen so rhythmically, stayed still. You couldn’t stop your hands from shaking as you pressed them to his heart. Nothing.

“No, no, no. JJ, you don’t get to do this,” you said, voice cracking, desperation clawing at your throat. You shook him lightly, as though you could jolt him back to life. “You don’t get to leave me. You promised me, JJ. You promised we'd always make it back home.”

But there was no home without him.

The memories came flooding back, crashing into you with the force of a tidal wave. His wild laughter as he leaned against his bike, the wind whipping through his hair as he drove you both down the Cut. The way his lips would curl into a cocky grin whenever he caught you staring at him for too long. The way he always had your back, no matter what chaos surrounded you.

And his hands — oh, God, his hands. They had always been there to catch you, to hold you steady when the world felt too heavy. Now, those same hands lay limp and lifeless.

You curled into him, your forehead pressing against his. “You always said you’d wipe my tears, JJ,”’you whispered. “So why aren’t you here now? Why aren’t you wiping them away?”

Your mind played cruel tricks, replaying all the times you’d fought together, laughed together, survived together. All the times you made it back safely to the Cut, bruised and battered but alive. This time was different. You couldn’t wrap your head around it. He wasn’t coming back.

Sarah’s muffled sobs reached your ears, and you vaguely felt John B’s hand on your shoulder, trying to pull you away. “We have to go,” he said softly, his voice thick with grief.

"I’m not leaving him!" you screamed, your voice echoing into the endless dark of the night.

“You’re going to have to,” John B said, tears streaming down his face as he pulled harder. “He’s gone.” His own voice was laced with disbelief.

The words cut through you like a knife. He’s gone.

“No!” you screamed, your voice raw. “He’s not gone! He’s just—just hurt. He’ll be okay. He always is!”

But even as you said the words, you knew they weren’t true. He wasn’t coming back. You pressed your forehead against his one last time, your tears soaking his hair.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I love you, JJ. And I don’t know how to do this without you.”

You sobbed harder, clutching onto JJ as though holding him tighter could somehow pull him back to you. But deep down, you knew. No amount of crying, no amount of screaming, would bring him back. He wasn’t going to open those bright blue eyes and crack some stupid joke to lighten the mood. He wasn’t going to smirk and tell you to stop crying because, “Tears don’t look good on you, baby.”

It was over.

JJ had been your paradise, your home, your light in the dark. And now, he was gone.

Forever.

You wanted to believe you’d see him again, that somehow, somewhere, he’d still be waiting for you with that crooked smile and those bright blue eyes. But for now, all you had was the ache in your chest and the memories that refused to fade.

JJ Maybank was gone.

And so was a piece of you.

The grave was small, shallow, hastily dug in the foreign soil. A makeshift wooden cross stood at the head of it, his name carved into the wood by John B’s trembling hands. The cross looked crude, unfinished, like it didn’t belong to someone as full of life as JJ.

You stood frozen, your feet anchored in the sand as if any step closer would make this all too real. The wind kicked up grains of sand around you, stinging your cheeks, but you didn’t care. Your gaze was fixed on the dirt they were about to pile over his body, the final separation between you and him.

The others stood nearby, their faces tear-streaked and hollow. John B was clinging to Sarah, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Pope had his arm around Cleo and Kiara had tears streaming down her face, her hand covering her mouth to stifle the sobs.

“JJ always said he wasn’t afraid of anything,” Pope said, his voice hoarse and cracking as he tried to find the words. “He was fearless. And I guess, in a way, he still is. Wherever he is now, I know he’s—I know he’s free.”

Kie stepped forward, her voice trembling as she said, “You were our brother, JJ. Our family. And I promise we’ll keep fighting for you, no matter what. You’d hate it if we gave up now.”

You couldn’t move. The lump in your throat was too big, the weight in your chest unbearable. How could they talk about him in past tense like this? How could they just accept it?

Your knees buckled, and you fell to the ground in front of his grave, your fingers digging into the dirt as if you could pull him back up, as if he were just a little too far beneath the surface.

“This isn’t real,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “This can’t be real. JJ, you, you’re supposed to be here. With me. With us.”

Your hands trembled as you pressed your palms to the ground, trying to feel something, anything. “You said we’d always make it back, remember? You promised!”

But the sand beneath your hands was silent.

John B knelt beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “We have to let him go,” he said softly, his own voice raw with grief.

You shook your head violently, tears streaming down your face. “No! I’m not letting him go. I can’t.”

The others watched as your sobs filled the air, a sound so broken it made Cleo turn away, unable to bear it.

As the first handful of dirt hit the grave, something inside you shattered. You collapsed to the ground, your cheek pressing against the warm sand as you screamed his name, screamed until your voice gave out.

“Every time I close my eyes, it’s like a dark paradise.” The song’s lyrics echoed in your head, mocking you with their cruel truth. JJ was your paradise, your light in all the chaos, and now, without him, everything was dark.

The desert wind carried your cries, blending them with the grief of your friends as they said goodbye to the boy who had kept them laughing, kept them fighting, kept them alive.

The grave stood lonely and out of place in the arid Moroccan desert, so far from the marshy shores of the Cut that had shaped him, nurtured him, and kept him tethered to his home. This wasn’t Poguelandia. This wasn’t the dock where he used to sit for hours, feet dangling off the edge, or the familiar roads he sped down with reckless abandon on that beat-up bike. It wasn’t even near his house, if you could call it that, where the broken windows and peeling paint still held memories of the boy who made the most of nothing.

He didn’t belong here, buried in foreign soil so far away.

“How will your soul find me, J?” you whispered, voice trembling as your knees sank into the sand beside his grave. “How am I supposed to leave you here?”

The wind carried your words into the vast expanse, your grief disappearing into the endless sky. The thought crushed you, his body trapped in this foreign land, while you would have to carry his memory back without him. You hated it. Hated that you couldn’t take him home.

Tears blurred your vision as you traced his name on the makeshift wooden cross. It didn’t seem fair, not for JJ. Not for someone who burned so brightly, who carried you all through your darkest moments. The boy who swore he’d never leave.

“I’ll find you, you know,” you said, your voice cracking. “Even if it’s not in this life, I’ll find you. You and me, we’re tethered. We always will be. No matter how far you are, I’ll wait for you.”

But the thought of waiting, of the long journey his soul would have to take to find yours again, made you sob even harder. The journey would be so long, so cruel. He deserved to rest somewhere familiar, somewhere safe. Somewhere he could always find his way home.

You pressed your hands into the warm sand, the heat burning into your skin. “I’m sorry I have to leave you here,” you choked out. “I hate it. I hate that you’re not buried on Poguelandia, where you belong. I hate that you’re not near the water, near your house, near us.”

The others stood quietly behind you, their grief palpable but unable to match the hollow ache inside your chest. No one knew JJ like you did. No one had seen him in those quiet moments when it was just the two of you, when he wiped your tears away and whispered that you’d always have him.

Now, your tears fell freely, soaking into the sand, and there was no one to wipe them away.

Your fingers dug into the dirt, desperate for something to hold onto. You didn’t want to leave him behind, but you had no choice. Morocco would keep him now, this strange and foreign land that didn’t know the sound of his laugh or the way his smile lit up a room.

“Promise me,” you whispered to the grave, the words catching in your throat. “Promise me you’ll find me J, even if it takes forever.”

The makeshift cross stood still in the desert wind, offering no answer.

You stayed on the ground for what felt like hours, forehead pressed against the sand, as if you could anchor yourself to him one last time. Somewhere in your heart, you knew you’d see him again. Whether it was in this life or the next, you and JJ were bound together, tethered by something even death couldn’t sever.

But as the others gently pulled you away, their hands guiding you back, you realized the weight of leaving him here would stay with you forever. JJ wasn’t just gone. He was gone from you.

And as you walked away from his grave, the distant hum of the wind in your ears, you whispered one last time:

“I’ll find you. No matter what.”

[werewolf-cuddles]

It was bad enough that Deck Nine broke up Pricefield (in a particularly shitty and vindictive way, might I add), but they had to go and throw Chaseprice into the crossfire too with that ship teasing.

I seriously hope this doesn't spark a ship war, because I doubt anybody on either side wanted this.

[inkspiredwriting]

The Diner of Destiny - Part 2

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: Okay, some of you wanted a second part. So I thought why not? I've never written a second part to any of my stories, so I'm not so sure if the second part is any good.

Warnings: spoilers for season 4 episode 5-6, angst

Five wandered through the fractured remains of countless timelines, driven by a singular purpose: to find y/n, the woman he had unwittingly erased from existence. He had become a phantom, slipping between realities like a shadow, his resolve hardening with each failed attempt. Every timeline, every world was a dead end, a cruel reminder of the life he had obliterated with one careless choice. But giving up was never an option. He had to find her.

Weeks blurred into months as he tirelessly pursued the faintest hints of her existence. Fragmented memories, distorted whispers, and fleeting visions of a woman whose face he had never truly known. Each clue led him deeper into the labyrinth of time, and each step weighed heavier on his conscience. He was close—he could feel it.

Finally, one day, in a timeline that felt strangely still, as though it had been waiting for his arrival, Five found her.

She was sitting in a small, secluded garden, surrounded by overgrown ivy and vibrant flowers. The sun cast a warm, golden light over the scene, but there was an air of melancholy that clung to the place, as if it remembered the things that had been lost. Y/n was there, her back to him, her head bowed as she absentmindedly traced patterns in the dirt with a stick. She looked almost like a statue—beautiful, but untouchable, frozen in a moment that he had shattered.

Five approached her cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest. His footsteps crunched softly on the gravel path, and y/n looked up, startled. Her eyes met his, and for a brief, agonizing moment, it was as though she recognized him. But then the flicker of familiarity vanished, replaced by confusion.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice tinged with wariness but not fear. There was a gentleness in her tone that cut Five deeper than any anger could have.

He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, and for the first time in a long time, he hesitated. How could he explain the unimaginable? How could he make her understand what he had done?

“My name is Five,” he began, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m not sure how to say this, but… you were supposed to be someone important to me. To all of us, actually. But I made a mistake, a terrible mistake, and I… I lost you.”

Y/n’s brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of his words. “Lost me? I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. We’ve never met before. How could you have lost me?”

Five’s chest tightened with the weight of his guilt. “You’re right. We’ve never met. But we should have. I was supposed to find you, fall in love with you. You were supposed to be my anchor, the person who kept me—and all the other versions of me—grounded across the timelines. But instead, I got involved with someone else, someone named Lila.”

At the mention of Lila’s name, Y/n’s expression softened, but only slightly. “Lila?” she echoed, the name unfamiliar and distant.

Five nodded, his voice trembling. “Yes. I thought I was making the right choice at the time, but it was the wrong one. Choosing Lila… it erased you from our lives. You were supposed to be there, and because of me, you weren’t. I took away your life, your future, and I didn’t even know it until it was too late.”

Y/n stared at him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of deception or malice. But all she saw was a man haunted by his mistakes, a man who had come to her not for forgiveness, but for something even more elusive.

“What do you want from me?” she asked quietly, her voice laced with a sorrow she didn’t fully understand.

Five closed his eyes for a moment, gathering the strength to continue. “I don’t know if I can make things right, but I had to find you. I had to tell you what happened, even if it doesn’t change anything. I’m sorry, y/n. I’m sorry for what I took from you, for what I took from all of us. I just… I wanted you to know that you mattered. That you were supposed to matter.”

Y/n looked down at the ground, her hand still clutching the stick. She was silent for a long time, and Five feared that his words had only hurt her more, that there was nothing left to say. But then, she spoke, her voice soft and distant.

“Do you really believe we could have been happy?” she asked, almost to herself.

Five’s heart ached at the question, at the lost possibility of what could have been. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “But I would have liked to find out.”

Y/n nodded, her expression unreadable. “I can’t remember you,” she said softly. “But something in me feels… something. Maybe it’s just the idea of what could have been. Or maybe… maybe there’s something more.”

Five watched her, his breath catching in his throat. This was it—the moment that could change everything. But even as hope flickered within him, he knew the truth. He had come too late. The damage was done, and there was no going back.

“I wish I could change what happened,” he whispered. “But all I can do is tell you the truth. You deserved so much more than what I left you with.”

Y/n looked at him, her eyes filled with a sadness that went beyond words. “Maybe we were never meant to be,” she said quietly. “Maybe… maybe this was always how it was supposed to end.”

Five shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. “No. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. But it’s what I’ve made it. And for that, I’m sorry.”

Y/n stood slowly, the stick falling from her hand as she faced him fully. “I don’t know if I can forgive you,” she said, her voice trembling. “But I appreciate that you tried to make things right. Even if it’s too late.”

Five nodded, the tears finally spilling over as he met her gaze. “I’ll never stop trying to make it right,” he vowed. “Even if I never see you again, I’ll keep looking for a way to fix this.”

Y/n gave him a small, sad smile, the kind of smile that spoke of acceptance and resignation. “Goodbye, Five,” she said softly. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, her figure growing smaller and smaller until she disappeared into the distance. Five stood there, alone in the garden, the weight of his actions pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. He had found her, but he had also lost her—again.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the garden in a blanket of twilight, Five knew that this was his burden to bear. He had made a choice, and now he would live with the consequences for the rest of his existence. The woman who was supposed to be his anchor, his salvation, was gone, and he was the one who had pushed her away.

And so, with a heavy heart and a mind full of regrets, Five turned and walked back into the shadows, disappearing from the world that could have been his. The timelines would go on, fractured and unstable, and he would continue his endless search for redemption. But deep down, he knew the truth—some things could never be undone. And some losses were meant to be permanent.

The garden, now empty and silent, bore witness to a moment that had passed, a possibility that had slipped through time’s fingers. And as the stars began to twinkle in the darkening sky, Five’s silhouette faded into the night, carrying with him the memory of what could have been, and the sorrow of what never was.

[oceansoul001]

Couple of random thoughts regarding KCD2 last conversation with Hans.

[Spoilers!!!]

1. You can have this conversation either still in Suchdol (after talking to Sir Hanush) or in the Devil's Den post credits. They don't differ beside last topic ("What are your plans now?") that is removed if you choose the latter.

2. Generally there is not much of a difference between romance and non-romance paths. Romanced Hans tells you everything that the non-romanced does, just adds a few unique sentences. You can probably notice switch of tone in "What are we going to do about the wedding" topic, for the romanced lines: "I'm not sure what to do... after what happened, you know...? I mean... me and you... I suppose we'll just have to wait and see how things turn out..." I find this reaction very believable given the situation, I recon they both need some time to sort things in their heads, as the ongoing siege/bringing reinforcements didn't leave them much time and space for reflection. So I am very okay with them not discussing the topic further at this point. And, I know this might sound strange, but I also really like that there are no love confessions at this point, I greatly dislike it when games throw them at me after literally one night spent together with someone.

BUT. Directly after this part comes the non-romance part where Hans worries about his bride being ugly and then proceeds to talk about naming his son after Henry, and I don't know... I mean, yeah, we all are aware of the fact that Hans most probably still has to get married, and have an heir, and it does not matter at all whether something happened between him & Henry, or not, but is this really the thing he would casually say at this moment...? Okay, maybe he would, it's Hans. But what is even more bizarre to me is my Henry, who is happily babbling as if nothing has changed at all, even though like a minute ago he was this awkward mess thanking Hans for "the encouragement". So what I'm trying to say is, I would prefer at least for Henry to act/respond differently in the romanced version and remain more awkward throughout this convo. But maybe I'm overthinking this! 😅

3. Another difference in the romance path occurs when discussing Hans' injury, as only in this version Henry asks if he can take a look at the wound later, and I think it is so sweet. Very minor detail, but I love it. ❤️

4. The thing that I definitely don't like is asking Hans about his talk with Hanush, and Hans responding with "You don't need to know everything", like??? My guy. Please. You've just shared with me probably the most intimate and secretive moment OF YOUR LIFE, and now you don't want to tell me some shit about Hanush, even though it is not even a secret and like everyone in Rattay already knows (your own words!). I don't get it at all, why in the romance path this still requires a speech check and why is Hans so weird about not telling me "everything", even though mere hours ago he was ready to die from grief if I don't come back 😭

5. Speaking of dying, romanced Hans can say the following at the beginning of your conversation: "I'm glad nothing happened to you. That would have killed me", but it only happens if Sam does not survive. So not in my game, as I would never leave my brother behind. Hans can also admit that he was jealous of Sam, which for me was very clear during the game, but also under the condition that Sam does not survive.

6. Last, but not least - I wish we could have another conversation with romanced Hans after couple in-game days pass, after we both have had a chance to collect our thoughts. Nothing groundbreaking, just something short and sweet, and you know, maybe get the possibility to share a kiss in our room at the Devil's Den when we want... I know it might sound greedy, or silly, after all we've just got this perfect, almost unreal relationship at all, but nothing can stop me from dreaming. 🥹

Happy to hear your thoughts on the subject! ❤️

[leirastar]

new world | chapter 4

Pairing: Ot8 Ateez x reader AU: fantasy AU | stranger -> mates Summary: A tragic accident left you unable to use your wings and, with that, claimed your father's life, leaving you in the care of your noble uncle. In Hala, a house of eight kingdoms, each boasting its own wonders, you never imagined that amidst the pain, you would also fall—this time, in love. Word Count: 4.7k | 20 minutes A/n: ANOTHER CHAPTER!! a cute episode and omg the ENDING! i hope i got ya'll hooked. I WILL UPLOUD AGAIN NEXT WEEK!! i'm enjoying my holidays but again i can't let you wait for too long. BTW i'm still not sure i will be uploading anything for new years as i planned bc i'm enjoying spending time with my family. BUT i am planning on creating a mood board for all of the kingdoms, so i hope i can finish that before i start my semester! i love you all, have a good day everyone! SLIGHT SPOILERS: i might or might not deprived you from yunho content, so enjoy the next 3 chapters while you are at it hihi. Warning: emotional tension, vulnerability, subtle romantic, confessions, introspection, mentions of longing and absence, mutual attraction, TEASING.

The silence lingered after his words, stretching thin between you like a drawn bowstring. The quiet was deliberate—he was waiting for something, a response, a reaction. Yet, all you could do was stare.

Yunho’s presence felt heavier than it should have, like a shadow pulling at the edges of the light. Though his smirk played at confidence, there was something else beneath the surface—a question he hadn’t spoken aloud.

Slowly, you pulled your hand from the chair, straightening your posture. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, a glimmer of something—amusement? annoyance?—flashing in his golden-brown eyes. “You doubt me so easily?”

“Easily?” You let out a quiet laugh, more breath than sound.

“A week isn’t ‘not long,’ Yunho.”

The teasing edge of your voice seemed to land somewhere between his ribcage and his heart, catching him off guard for the briefest of moments. Yunho’s smirk softened, as though he hadn’t expected you to challenge him so directly. The flicker of something—fondness, perhaps—settled in his gaze, warmer now, though he masked it quickly.

“Time moves differently for me,” he replied, almost absently, his eyes tracing your face as though committing every line and curve to memory. “But I suppose a week is long when you’re waiting.”

You swallowed, the weight of his words tightening something in your chest. There was a rhythm to this—each word, each look, a quiet pull that seemed to draw you closer, as though gravity itself was bending toward him. You weren’t sure when the air had shifted, but it was charged now, like the calm before a storm.

Before you could respond, Yunho’s gaze shifted slightly, and his posture straightened. From behind his back, he pulled out a small bouquet—a wild mix of flowers, all soft petals and bright colors that looked as though he’d plucked them fresh on his way to you. The sight caught you entirely off guard, your breath stalling as he held it out, his expression strangely unreadable.

“For you,” he said simply.

Your fingers hovered for a moment before taking the bouquet carefully, the delicate fragrance of the blooms drifting up. “You brought me flowers?”

“Should I not have?” Yunho’s voice was casual, but there was something softer behind the words, as though this gesture meant more than he was willing to say.

You looked down at the flowers, unable to hide the small smile pulling at your lips. “No, it’s… sweet. Unexpected, but sweet.”

Yunho exhaled faintly, as though relieved, before his familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Good. I wasn’t sure if it would be enough to make up for my absence.”

“Well,” you said, your voice softer than you intended, unable to stop the warmth spreading through your chest.

“you’re here now.”

Yunho tilted his head slightly, studying you as if he could see more than you were saying. The corner of his mouth lifted again, but this time it was less of a smirk and more of a smile, faint and fleeting, but no less sincere.

“I am,” he said quietly. “And I’ll stay, if you’ll let me.”

The confession sat between you like a small ember, its glow refusing to die out. You found yourself holding his gaze longer than you should have, heat crawling up the back of your neck, but Yunho didn’t look away. He stood there—steady, unshaken—as though his whole world rested on the way you’d respond.

Finally, you exhaled, breaking the stillness. “Well,” you said, trying to inject a bit of lightness back into your tone, “I was just about to make lunch.”

He blinked, surprised, before his smile deepened ever so slightly. “You cook?”

“Not as well as you probably think,” you shot back, turning toward the kitchen, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you. “But you’re welcome to join me—if you’re not afraid of terrible food, that is.”

Yunho laughed softly, the sound so genuine and easy it sent warmth unfurling in your chest. “I think I’ll survive.”

The weight of his presence shifted as he followed you into the kitchen, his footsteps soft but deliberate, a quiet rhythm that somehow made the air feel heavier. He didn’t hover close—no, Yunho was careful about space, respectful and measured, as if he knew the effect his nearness could have. But still, you felt him—felt him in the way your skin tingled with awareness, as though the room had shrunk to hold only the two of you.

You moved with practiced motions, pulling ingredients from shelves and gathering utensils, but it was impossible to ignore the way his gaze lingered. It wasn’t intrusive, wasn’t sharp; instead, it was steady, tracing each movement like he was committing you to memory. There was something calming about it—like the quiet pull of the tide, gentle but impossible to resist. And yet, beneath that calm, a fluttering warmth spread through you, delicate and restless, like sparks caught in the breeze.

Your fingers fumbled over the edge of a jar, slipping just enough to make you laugh under your breath, trying to shake it off. But you felt it again, the way his attention lingered—not just watching, but noticing. Noticing the way you moved when you thought no one was paying attention, the curve of your smile when you found something amusing, the way you seemed so wholly yourself in this small, unguarded moment. It wasn’t judgment; it wasn’t expectation. It was just Yunho, quietly taking you in, and the thought sent a soft, persistent hum through your veins.

It was like yunho was memorizing you, this version of you—self-assured, capable, unguarded. And the way he watched did something to you, sent a restless warmth curling through your chest, soft and unsteady. It was as though sparks had caught on dry tinder, spreading slowly but surely, igniting something you weren’t ready to name.

It felt like standing in sunlight after a long winter—warm and slow, and maybe a little overwhelming. Or maybe it was the opposite, like the quiet of the ocean when you let it wash over you, grounding you in a way you didn’t quite know you needed.

There was an intimacy to it that made your breath hitch, like standing on the shore and feeling the tide pull at your ankles, urging you forward. Calm, quiet—but insistent.

“You’re staring,” you said finally, shooting him a glance over your shoulder. The words were teasing, but your voice sounded softer than you intended, betraying just how aware of him you really were.

Yunho didn’t flinch, didn’t try to deny it. His golden-brown eyes remained fixed on yours, steady as ever, though something flickered beneath the surface—something quieter, softer. He didn’t smile, not exactly, but the corners of his mouth tilted as if he were holding something back.

“I’m observing,” he corrected smoothly, though the playfulness in his tone didn’t hide the way his gaze softened when you looked at him. “There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” You turned back to the counter, shaking your head with a quiet laugh.

“Mm-hmm.” He moved to lean against the edge of the table, arms crossing casually over his chest. “I’m learning things about you. For example, you hum when you’re focused.”

“I do not.”

“You do,” he said with an easy certainty, the smallest of grins tugging at his lips. “It’s… endearing.”

The word hung in the air like a whispered secret, and for a moment, your hands paused. Something about the way he said it—soft, honest, with no room for teasing—left your heart stumbling over its own rhythm.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, trying to hide the way your cheeks warmed as you began chopping vegetables.

“And yet you invited me to lunch,” he countered, and when you turned back toward him, you caught that familiar gleam of mischief in his eyes.

“I must have lost my mind,” you shot back lightly, though your voice faltered under his gaze.

“Or you missed me,” Yunho added, his voice dropping just enough to make your breath hitch.

You met his gaze, the easy banter falling away for the second time that afternoon. The words sat between you, unspoken but understood.

Maybe I did.

“Well,” you said after a moment, the word escaping like a breath as you turned back to the stove, unwilling to let the moment crack open too much more. “If you’re going to stand there being smug, you might as well make yourself useful.”

“As you wish,” he replied, pushing off the counter with an exaggerated sigh, though the faint smile he wore told you he didn’t mind.

By the time lunch was ready, you realized you’d been smiling the entire time. Between the hum of simmering food and the clinking of dishes, Yunho’s occasional remarks, dry and teasing, filled the spaces where silence might have settled. It was nothing grand, but it felt comfortable, like slipping into something warm and familiar.

When you set the last dish on the table, Yunho moved with you, reaching for utensils and bowls without being asked, as though he’d already learned the flow of your kitchen. There was a shift in the air, subtle but certain—a new balance between you, as though his edges weren’t quite so sharp now, his presence not quite so heavy.

“You didn’t have to help,” you said softly, wiping your hands on a towel as you glanced over at him.

Yunho was already seated, arms crossed as he leaned back slightly in the chair, stubborn as ever. “I wasn’t about to stand around doing nothing,” he replied, his tone gruff, though his words carried an edge of something softer—unspoken, but present.

“Always so serious,” you teased, settling across from him and letting yourself meet his gaze fully for the first time since you’d sat down.

Yunho raised a brow, his expression skeptical. “You think I’m serious?”

“I know you are,” you replied, picking up your fork and shooting him a look of mock challenge. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you relax.”

“I am relaxed,” he argued stubbornly, though the slight furrow of his brow and the straightness of his posture betrayed him.

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, warm and genuine. “Relaxed people don’t sit like they’re bracing for an interrogation.”

Yunho huffed softly—not quite a sigh, but close. “You’re imagining things.”

“Sure,” you said, dragging out the word with exaggerated disbelief. “The brooding stare. The stoic silence. Totally relaxed.”

Yunho’s gaze narrowed, a flicker of that familiar stubbornness returning, but this time, it didn’t carry the same weight. There was something different—the tension that usually surrounded him seemed lighter, like it wasn’t holding him in a chokehold anymore. He didn’t argue, didn’t push back immediately. Instead, his lips twitched faintly, like he was holding back something between amusement and resignation.

“Some of us aren’t so easily distracted,” he muttered, reaching for his fork at last.

“Distracted?” you repeated, tilting your head as if challenging him. “By what, exactly?”

Yunho hesitated then, his expression faltering for just a moment, as though a crack had appeared in the carefully constructed armor he always wore. It was small, almost imperceptible, but you caught it—the faint flicker of something softer, something unspoken lingering in the depths of his golden-brown eyes. He shifted his weight slightly, his fingers curling against the edge of the table as though grounding himself, yet the motion was subtle, as if he didn’t want you to notice how much the question had unsettled him.

For a beat, he held your gaze, a war playing out in the quiet space between you—his instinct to guard himself colliding with something else, something more fragile. His shoulders, usually stiff with quiet control, loosened just enough for you to see the truth: this wasn’t a question he knew how to answer easily. Yunho had spent so long keeping his thoughts locked away, his emotions buried beneath layers of steel and silence, that the idea of exposing even a fraction of them felt foreign, like treading into unfamiliar territory.

Finally, his gaze broke away, flickering to the floor, his jaw tight as though he were biting back words he couldn’t quite say. Vulnerability sat on him awkwardly, like a garment he wasn’t used to wearing—uncomfortable and heavy, despite its delicate nature. And yet, for all his reluctance, you could see something else, too—an unspoken effort, a wanting. He wanted to say more, to let you in just a little, but it was clear he hadn’t yet figured out how to make peace with it, how to lower his defenses without feeling exposed.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, a fraction less steady than before. “Nothing,” he murmured, the word clipped but carrying a weight that betrayed him. It wasn’t a dismissal, not truly—it was a placeholder, a shield thrown up just in time to keep you from seeing too much. But you weren’t fooled; that single word had layers, and though Yunho was too proud to admit it, you could see them all, thin and translucent like glass.

The silence that followed stretched longer than it should have, as if he were waiting for you to push further, to call him out on the half-truth. Instead, you let the moment settle, soft and unspoken, giving him the space he needed. You didn’t press, didn’t pry, though your gentle patience seemed to make him shift uncomfortably, as though it was easier to deal with sharp edges than with kindness.

And yet, in the stillness, you caught it—the faint, almost imperceptible way Yunho’s shoulders dropped again, the tension bleeding away just slightly. Even if he didn’t say it aloud, the quiet acceptance in your silence told him that he didn’t have to fight so hard here. That he didn’t need to armor himself with words or distance.

The moment passed like a breath, fleeting yet lingering in the spaces between you, and when Yunho finally looked up again, his eyes were softer, less guarded. He didn’t say another word, but the look he gave you spoke for him—a silent acknowledgment, a step forward, no matter how small. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to feel like something had shifted between you, the tiniest crack letting light seep through.

Your smile softened, your teasing quieting. “Well,” you said gently, “if you ever feel like saying it out loud, I’ll listen.”

The words hung in the air, and when Yunho’s gaze flicked back to meet yours, something shifted. For a long, still moment, he studied you, as if measuring how much of himself he could let you see. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t look away either, and somehow, the silence between you felt more honest than anything either of you had said all afternoon.

Finally, Yunho exhaled, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The soft promise settled between you, and though it was small, it felt like something. A step forward. A crack in the carefully constructed walls he kept up. You smiled back, breaking the moment before it could press too deeply.

“Now eat before it gets cold,” you said, lifting your fork. “I didn’t make all of this for you to just sit there and brood.”

Yunho blinked, feigning offense. “Brood? I don’t brood.”

“You do,” you shot back, grinning. “And you’re proving my point again.”

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, though the words held no real frustration. If anything, his voice carried something new—something faintly fond, though he likely wouldn’t admit it.

“And you’re predictable,” you countered lightly, reaching for your own bite.

Yunho paused, giving you one of those skeptical, narrow-eyed looks. “Don’t get used to this,” he warned, though the effect was lost when he reached for another helping of food.

“To what?” you asked, feigning innocence as you smiled behind your fork.

His gaze lingered then, steady and quiet, before he finally said, “Me staying.”

Your heart skipped, your breath catching just slightly, but you managed to keep your voice even. “Then I’ll make sure the food’s good enough to keep you around.”

Yunho didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked at you for a beat too long, as though trying to figure you out yet again. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer. “Fine. But don’t expect compliments.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you said with a smile, turning your focus back to your plate.

And then it happened—soft and low, a quiet chuckle escaped him. It was small, almost as though he hadn’t meant for you to hear it, but it lingered in the space between you, warm and unguarded. The sound curled in your chest like an ember, steady and bright, something you knew you’d carry with you for a long time after.

Yunho didn’t touch his food right away. Instead, he leaned slightly forward, picking at the edge of his fork with idle focus. “Where did you go this morning?” he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet rhythm of clinking silverware.

You glanced up, caught off guard by the question. “The market,” you replied casually, reaching for a piece of bread. “It’s livelier on late mornings, and the vendors are more generous when they’re almost sold out.”

Yunho raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. “You bartered.”

You smirked, shrugging. “I negotiated. It’s a skill.”

“Clearly,” he murmured, though the faint amusement in his tone softened the usual sharpness of his words. “And you go often?”

“Only when I need to,” you said, lifting your fork with an easy shrug. “Unlike you, who seems to disappear for weeks on end.”

Yunho didn’t flinch at the jab; if anything, he seemed amused by it. “I was working,” he replied smoothly, his golden-brown eyes meeting yours with quiet certainty.

“And what exactly is your work?” you asked, curiosity tugging at the corners of your mind. You’d never pressed Yunho for details before, and though he wasn’t one to share freely, something told you he might answer today.

“A diplomat,” Yunho said, taking a bite of his food and chewing thoughtfully, as though the word itself carried a certain weight.

“A messenger between kingdoms, if you will.”

“Diplomat?” you echoed, your brow lifting in surprise. “That’s… unexpected.”

His lips twitched. “You sound disappointed.”

“Not disappointed,” you admitted with a small smile.

“I didn’t think you’d have the patience for it.”

Yunho’s lips twitched as though fighting back a smile. “You’d be surprised,” he said, setting his fork down briefly to lean back in his chair. “It takes a lot of patience to listen to people argue over things that don’t matter.”

“And Where’d you disappear to this time?” you asked, taking another bite, keeping your tone casual though your curiosity lingered.

Yunho tilted his head slightly, studying you before answering. “Caius. The capital.”

“Caius?” you repeated, interest flickering in your voice. “What for?”

His smirk returned, faint but unmistakable. “Let’s just say I hastened the arrangements I had to make there… so I could see a certain beautiful girl out here in the outskirts.”

Your fork paused midair, the words sinking in with a weight they probably shouldn’t have. “That’s quite the line,” you gulp, though your voice came out softer than you intended.

“Is it?” Yunho replied, leaning back in his chair with a casual confidence that didn’t quite match the way his gaze lingered on you. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

The weight of his words settled between you, lingering like the gentle crackle of a fading fire. You looked away, focusing on the food in front of you as if it demanded your full attention, but it didn’t stop the warmth spreading across your cheeks. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence thick with something unspoken—something that made your pulse quicken in a way you didn’t quite want to name.

“So,” you began, breaking the silence as you plated food. “Where are you from? Really?”

Yunho tilted his head slightly, his fork pausing mid-air as he considered your question. “Reed,” he answered simply, his golden-brown gaze meeting yours.

“Reed?” You couldn’t hide the small, teasing smile that crept onto your face. “Ah, I understand your cold exterior now. That icy place must have frozen your personality.”

For a moment, Yunho blinked at you, his usual sharp retorts caught off guard by the jab. Then, he huffed softly, the corners of his lips twitching into something between a frown and a reluctant smile. “I don’t have a cold exterior.”

“You do,” you shot back, grinning. “All intense and serious… but it’s okay. I’ll just blame the environment.”

A faint chuckle escaped him, though his eyes didn’t lose that steady focus on you. “Careful,” he murmured, the corner of his lips quirking up. “You might find the cold isn’t so bad once you get used to it.”

“You’ll have to prove that someday,” you teased, shaking your head as you reached for your glass. “Until then, I stand by my theory.”

Yunho sighed, but there was no hiding the way his expression softened at your playful challenge. He shook his head faintly, as though exasperated, but his eyes betrayed him—warm and lingering just a beat too long.

The rest of lunch passed in that easy rhythm, filled with quiet conversation and teasing remarks that seemed to chip away at the usual Yunho—a man of sharp words and a guarded expression. He didn’t praise your cooking, true to his word, but when he went back for seconds without a word, you couldn’t help the satisfaction that curled in your chest.

“You can stop pretending you hate it,” you said finally, watching as he set his empty plate down with the same deliberate care as everything else he did.

“I never said I hated it,” he replied, his voice calm and even. “I said I wouldn’t compliment it.”

You arched a brow. “That’s the same thing.”

“It isn’t,” he countered stubbornly, though the faint flicker of amusement in his eyes betrayed him.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered for what felt like the hundredth time that day, though the words were softened by your smile.

“And you’re predictable,” he replied, though his tone held no real bite. If anything, there was something warmer in it—something more familiar, like he was settling into this version of himself, here with you.

The quiet that followed wasn’t awkward—it was charged, the air between you suddenly warmer, thicker. You couldn’t hold his gaze for long, so you returned your focus to your plate, though the food in front of you suddenly seemed far less interesting.

The rest of lunch passed in that same rhythm—an easy ebb and flow of words, teasing remarks laced with just enough sincerity to make you pause, and silences that didn’t feel empty. Yunho’s stubborn refusal to compliment your cooking stayed true, though the way he cleaned his plate and lingered in his seat told you everything you needed to know. His shoulders, once tense and sharp with unspoken words, had softened, and there was an ease to him now—a presence that wasn’t so much guarded as it was… present.

It was late afternoon by the time the kitchen had been cleaned, the dishes stacked neatly away and the air outside beginning to soften into evening. Sunlight poured lazily through the windows, golden and drowsy, streaking across the wooden floors. You’d pulled out a small pitcher of mulled refreshment—something akin to a medieval wine, spiced and warm—and paired it with a simple platter of cheeses and sliced fruit.

Yunho sat at the table again, one arm draped casually over the back of his chair, his presence quieter now, more at ease. He lifted the glass you’d set before him, turning it slightly between his fingers as though inspecting it.

“Do diplomats get to drink this well in Caius?” you asked lightly, sitting across from him and pouring yourself a glass.

“Not often,” he replied, his voice softer now, as though the long day had smoothed the edges of it. “The wine is better, but the company isn’t.”

You paused mid-sip, his words landing with a subtle weight that you didn’t miss. “Is that your way of complimenting me?”

Yunho tilted his head slightly, his golden gaze meeting yours across the table. “Would you prefer I deny it?”

The question hung there, unspoken but understood, before you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You’re terrible at this.”

“At what?” he asked, the faintest smile tugging at his lips as he finally took a sip of the drink.

“Being subtle,” you teased, though the warmth that curled through your chest suggested you didn’t really mind.

A comfortable quiet followed, the two of you sipping the spiced drink and sharing bites of cheese and fruit as the sunlight began to shift. The house felt still, cradled by the late-afternoon calm, the kind of quiet that wrapped around you like a blanket. Yunho didn’t rush to leave, though you could see the faint shift in his expression—the way his gaze drifted briefly to the door, as though preparing himself to return to wherever his duties called him next.

You set your glass down, watching him carefully. “Are you leaving soon?”

Yunho nodded faintly, though he didn’t move yet. “I should.”

Something inside you sank slightly, though you kept your voice steady. “And where to this time?”

“Reed, for now,” he said, though his eyes lingered on you, his next words softer. “But maybe not for long.”

You tilted your head, curiosity flickering in your chest. “What do you mean?”

Yunho set his glass down, his movements slow, deliberate. His gaze held yours, steady and unwavering as he spoke. “Maybe,” started, as though choosing his words carefully, “if a certain lady here doesn’t have anyone waiting for her… she might have the honor of being courted by a gentleman.”

Your breath stilled.

He didn’t smile—not fully—but there was something about the way he looked at you that made it clear he wasn’t teasing, not this time. Your heart skipped, the weight of his words landing softly but unmistakably.

“A gentleman?” you asked lightly, though your voice felt fragile.

Yunho’s gaze didn’t waver, his golden-brown eyes holding yours with something deeper—something unspoken but clear. “One who travels between Reed and Caius…but might find himself visiting these outskirts more often—

if she’ll have him.”

You stared at him for a long moment, your chest tight, your pulse fluttering like a wild thing. Yunho wasn’t smiling now; there was no teasing in his expression. He looked at you like he was waiting—for an answer, for a sign, for something to tell him that he wasn’t making a mistake in saying this aloud.

The confession was quiet, understated, but it felt like everything. You were unable to tear your gaze away, as the sunlight caught on the edges of his face, softening the sharp lines into something gentler. It wasn’t grand or sweeping—no promises or declarations—but it didn’t need to be.

The words you wanted to say caught in your throat, but finally, you managed to smile, soft and honest. “Well,” you murmured, your voice quieter than before, “that depends on the gentleman.”

Yunho’s gaze held yours a beat longer, his eyes steady and unwavering, as though he was taking in every detail, every unspoken word between you. Then, with deliberate care, he rose to his feet, his movements fluid but deliberate.

“Then I’ll have to prove myself worthy,” he said, his voice low and sure, the weight of the words lingering like a promise. “And perhaps… dote on her until she has no choice but to say yes.”

You couldn’t help the flutter in your chest, the warmth creeping up your neck as he turned toward the door, his hand brushing the handle as though he was reluctant to leave. He lingered there for just a moment, glancing back to meet your gaze one last time.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice carrying an unexpected sincerity. “For the food. And the time.”

As he turned toward the door, his hand grazing the handle, you called after him softly. “Yunho.”

He paused, glancing back, waiting.

“I haven’t said no yet.”

His lips lifted just enough to let you see the faintest hint of a smile—a real one, unguarded and soft—before he nodded once and disappeared out the door, the fading sunlight catching the last glimpse of him as he left.

And when the house fell quiet again, you sat there, hands still curled around your empty glass, his words playing over in your mind like a melody you couldn’t let go of.

Already, the space he left behind felt too quiet—too big—and you wondered how long it would take before you stopped looking for him in every shadow.

Masterlist

three | five

Taglist (CLOSED):

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[grapejuicestyless]

Wishes Do Come True

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: It was just a legend, something out in place to make people believe in something that couldn’t be true. But when fate has its way, JJ learns that sometimes, wishes do come true. CONTAINS SEASON 4 SPOILERS!!!

Ryan shot the gun first. He shot it because Ward was charging at him, his teeth bared and his arms spread wide. How fitting that he would go out as a somewhat decent father, a man who took three bullets and threw himself over a cliff to save his daughter and her Pogue best friends.

JJ remembers the feeling of the earth bending beneath his feet as he practically sprinted over to the edge, looking down past his feet to see where the Kook and the henchman lay. JJ thought it was strange, how someone could be so crumpled up, he knew bones weren’t made to bend that way, so seeing the way his body twisted made him a little sick.

He can hear Sarahs soft cries and echoing hiccups clearly, how Kiara seemed to grab onto herself to steady her breathing. He remembers seeing how tightly John B’s arms were woven around Sarah’s body, as if he were afraid she would jump next, as if her body could save his. There was no saving that, as sick as it was.

But what he really remembers, is the softness of her voice calling out for him, the way her voice shook like it was hard to get out. Only then did the sounds of his friends stop ringing in his ears, and through some champagne party effect, he could focus in on just the quietness of her. Only then did he realize as he tried to wrap his arm around thin air that she wasn’t at the ledge.

A stray bullet, it’s a funny thing. The shots fire, four, the last four bullets the man has, and only three reach the sacrificial lamb. The last one reaches one of the seven targets behind it.

Her hands shook over her upper stomach, gripping her skin just below her ribs. Even with a shaky focus, he could see the tint of red beginning to seep past her once light blue nails, now chipped and digging into the cloth of her shirt.

“JJ, I…I don’t…” She stumbled forward, her eyes flickering from his to some distant thing over his shoulder. She could barely focus her vision. He remembers the weight of her head hitting his shoulder as he caught her, the feeling of an extra warmth seeping into his own clothes, something wet and sticky that shouldn’t be drenching the two of them, but was.

“No, no, no. Come on cupcake, come on.” He gritted his teeth, trying to hold her up, but his need to keep her up was wavering at the look of agony on her face. She laid in his lap, his hand holding hers as they both pressed down on the wound, though, it was no use because they had no way home, and the nearest hospital wasn’t for miles. They had no idea where to even begin to search for one in the middle of all the greenery.

JJ rambled in a panic, a habit he’d always done, but she couldn’t make sense of it anymore. Her hearing was fuzzy and her vision came in and out in waves of darkness. She tried to look at her friends, but her eyes wouldn’t tear themselves away from her best friend’s face.

She had just gotten him, their love was still brand new, discovered on an island they were sure they would never find again. It was barely a month since they had shared a kiss under the stars, one both had been dreaming of for years. They went back and forth for what felt like centuries and now none of it mattered, because JJ was holding his love in his arms as she helplessly spat up blood and tried to focus on the blue of his eyes and not the tears on his face.

“It’s gonna be okay, you just gotta fight, you can fight. You fucking…” JJ broke out into a bitter laugh, one he didn’t mean as his palms messily wiped away the blood that trickled down her jaw. Red smeared everywhere, sticking to every crease in his skin. It burned, and so he kept smiling because his laughter, as disingenuous as it was, brought a weak smile to her face. “You saved my life, when I fell off that boat. You kept me alive, and I’m gonna keep you alive, so don’t give up on me.”

The sight of the tears finally spilling from her pretty eyes would forever haunt JJ, because he knew as her chest caved in against his lap, that the pain was too great to make her stay and suffer through, when they both knew she was as good as dead as soon as the gun was fired.

“It doesn’t hurt so bad anymore.” She had told him weakly, the initial throbbing turning into an intense burning, a mix of the powder and the blood that pooled around her, soaking his skin through his pants.

“N-no, come on baby…baby, cupcake, please.” He pleaded. “I love you, please.”

Her ears seemed to clear at his heavy confession, and a sweet smile, the sweet smile he had fallen for back in the third grade, graced her pretty, tired face one last time.

“I love you JJ.” She promised, blinking back the tears. Somehow, she found the strength to lift his hand from her wound and press her bloodied lips to his sticky palm.

He had to watch the way her eyes fluttered shut, one last choked breath that sounded similar to what Pope would later explain as death rattle breathing, escaped her mouth, and that sweet little smile faded into nothing as she laid dead in her best friends arms.

JJ was never quite the same after that. He still loved his friends, he was still reckless and loud and impulsive, but he seemed to do it all for her.

When they won their money finally, he thought of all the things he would’ve bought for her, all the beaches they could’ve surfed across. When he finally found a place to call home, he placed her pillow on her side of his bed, fluffed it up for her and swore some nights he could feel her head resting on his heavy chest.

He thought of how much she would have loved Poguelandia 2.0. It was bittersweet to see the flag because all he could think of was their first kiss under the white flag that waved proudly above them.

He missed their matching P4L stick and pokes, he hated that he had to look at his forever and know it no longer matched with anyone. He hated that everyone else around him had someone to lean on, a lover to come home to, when he knew he would never be able to love again. But most importantly, he hated how young she was. She was only nineteen.

John B told him it wasn’t about the time we had with those we have lost, but what we make of it, but JJ was too angry to care. He didn’t care, it was easy for John B to say when he had lost a best friend, but JJ had lost so much more.

He wore her charm bracelet on his wrist, even though it was tight and caused a lot of noise. He loved the charms on them because they were old and made of clay and they matched his rings and necklace. She made them when they were ten because they were too young for their tattoos.

He swore to never go after treasure again, he couldn’t risk it, but with the promise of a singular wish, JJ followed along like a duckling to Morocco, blood on his shirt and a new father to betray him.

“You know, they say the crown grants a wish.” Kiara broke the silence between them in the heat one day, looking up at the sky to avoid the awkwardness of eye contact. She didn’t have to ask to know he would wish for her back in a heartbeat, but she did anyway because truthfully she liked the way JJ talked about her. It made her feel like her best friend was still alive.

“Yeah?” JJ scoffed with a smirk. “What would you wish for?” He asked, leaning over the unstable ledge, bricks dusty and the cement breaking apart. It wobbled under his forearms.

“I’m not saying I believe it but…I’d wish to go back in time maybe. I’d try not to rush into everything.” She said calmly, her eyes finding JJ’s.

“What about you?” She asked softly, and JJ hummed.

“The thing about wishes is, they don’t come true if you say them.” Kiara laughed breathily at his words.

“Yeah?” She questioned for confirmation.

“Yeah.” He breathed out. “And I really want this one to come true.”

That phrase, “be careful what you wish for,” was made for people like JJ Maybank.

There’s this old game called “Monkeys Paw” that Y/n and JJ both loved when they were younger. One person would make a wish, and the goal of the game was to make that person regret that wish.

They would stay up for hours laughing about it.

If JJ wished for a pizza, the pizza was poisoned. If Y/n wanted a dog, it was rabid. They’d spend hours at a time waking up the neighbors just laughing at how outrageous they could make the faults.

Now that they were older, and now that Y/n was gone, JJ seemed to forget about the rules of the game.

He stumbled back, all air caught in his throat. He lost the crown, and he’d lost his girl, and now, here his biological father was with a knife twisted deep into his abdomen, pulling it out with a sickening crunch.

Kiara pleaded for him to keep fighting, her hands on the wound in a way that reminded him of the way he desperately pressed against Y/n’s all those weeks ago. Her cries were just as desperate, and they were just as fuzzy.

JJ now felt thankful he let her go peacefully, because living through the pain was insufferable, and he knew it would have been cruel to make her fight it any longer.

He cried a little, but he wasn’t sad. No, he was happy, even as Kiara screamed for Pope and John B, begging for help that would do no good because just like his precious Y/n, there was no way home and no help in sight.

He let out a hiccup, and his eyes focused on her brown ones as his vision cleared for a moment, the sting turning into a familiar burn.

“Kie, I never told you my wish.” He smiled, and she shook her head.

“No, Jayj, come on, you gotta fight it. I can’t lose you too.” She pleaded, and it was like he wasn’t even listening as he kept choking out words.

“I already got what I wished for.” He smiled.

All he ever wanted was a home, and though every sacred place he ever had to call that were short lived and destroyed, he had found it in the people who loved him, and the people he loved.

JJ wished for so much more than anyone thought, and he’d gotten all of it.

He had you at one point, and he was eternally grateful for every hug he ever received from your loving arms. He had Pope and John B, who made him laugh like no one else ever could, his ribs sore and his stomach shaking. Kiara and Sarah kept him grounded. He was grateful for how much they cared, how safe he felt around them. He knew he would miss his best friends more than anything else, he would miss them like family, because thats what they were.

The Pogues were his family, and his family was his home.

JJ wished for one last thing with the crown as the darkness took him. He slipped away from his body, his head lulling to the side as Kiara shook him, but he wasn’t there anymore, and he wasn’t afraid because there she was.

Kneeling beside Kiara and she didn’t even know, there she was, her sweet smile and her pretty eyes. She was holding both Kiara’s hand, and his hand, nothing more than wind to them on the ground, but now JJ could see her, and now he could hold her.

“Y/n? Cupcake?” He breathed out with a smile, the luckiest man in the world, even if his toes didn’t physically touch the dirt or the sand anymore.

“Jay…” She smiled back, a sweet sound falling past her lips, and it was simply half of his name.

As his arms wrapped around her tightly, his nose buried into her shoulder. It felt good to know that he would never have to let her go again, and that someday, his friends would have the same pleasure of holding him again too.

JJ’s wish had been a little greedy, because in addition to what he was already granted, he wished to be with Y/n again.

He guess he never really specified how but hey, wishes really do come true.

[anne-bsd-bibliophile]

Spoilers for Thousand Autumns Volumes 3 and 4!!!

I didn't pay attention to it the first time I read Thousand Autumns, but during my reread it's obvious that Xie Ling and A-Yan knew that Yan Wushi loved Shen Qiao from the start.

Art by @_Konia_; reposted with permission.

It's fairly obvious that Xie Ling is infatuated with Shen Qiao immediately because his gaze never leaves Shen Qiao and Xie Ling trusts him completely:

Yan Wushi only looked at him, his eyes filled entirely with Shen Qiao’s reflection. “I’ll be taking your pulse.” Shen Qiao lifted his wrist, and Yan Wushi didn’t respond to that either, letting Shen Qiao handle him as he wished. But his eyes remained fixed on Shen Qiao—whether Shen Qiao was hunched over or sitting upright, Yan Wushi’s gaze never left him. ...Just as Shen Qiao was furrowing his brows and pondering, Yan Wushi suddenly smiled at him. This smile was different from those faint half smiles from the past, and lacked any sense of sarcasm, ridicule, or unbridled arrogance. It was simply a smile, nothing more, as if it weren’t Shen Qiao in front of him, but a beautiful flower. (vol. 3, pg. 85-6)

A-Yan tells Shen Qiao, "...I understand why my previous self treated you the way he did. He’s a paranoid person at heart, someone who’d never trust anyone else. No matter how good you are, he’d always want to bring out the darkness hidden within you. But he doesn’t know that you are you. There may be hundreds of thousands of Chen Gongs in this world, but there is only one Shen Qiao." (vol. 3, pg. 135)

Yan Wushi notices that, "There was still a hint of remaining warmth within his chest, left there by Xie Ling and A-Yan, from their feelings whenever they thought about Shen Qiao. But at this moment, Yan Wushi forcefully wiped it away..." He doesn't consider the the thoughts and feelings from the other parts of his personality to be his own." (vol. 3, pg. 142)

There's also the scene where Xie Ling tries to kiss Shen Qiao:

...Yan Wushi abruptly seized Shen Qiao’s neck, then he threw himself closer and bit down on his lips! In pain, Shen Qiao snaked his arm around Yan Wushi’s neck and struck hard. The other man fell limply on top of him. It was finally quiet. Shen Qiao let out a sigh of relief. He picked up Yan Wushi’s wrist and felt it, then let out a gasp of surprise. If the man had just been in the throes of qi deviation earlier, then now, only a short time later, his pulse had completely calmed. In contrast, his life force even seemed to be thriving? (vol. 3, pg. 225)

When Yan Wushi is back to his normal personality, he commented on the unskilled kiss: "What, did Xie Ling even forget how to kiss someone after losing most of my memories? He was so impatient he even bit you?" (vol. 3, pg. 232) Yan Wushi knows immediately that Xie Ling has feelings for Shen Qiao, but he doesn't realize his own feelings yet.

Later, Yan Wushi admits to himself that Xie Ling and A-Yan's thoughts where his own as well, and that's what leads to the confession scene:

Yan Wushi smiled but didn’t speak. Before, he’d loathed “Xie Ling’s” influence, thinking that those thoughts weren’t his own. He’d tried to suppress that strange feeling numerous times, and he’d believed that the moment he repaired the flaw in the demonic core, that feeling would vanish with it. He hadn’t expected that Shen Qiao’s smile would reawaken everything. He was unwilling to admit that he, who’d looked down upon everyone in the world, would one day find that a name had wormed its way into his heart. Human hearts were filled with malice. Some people were traitors, turning their backs on all integrity; some were ingrates, repaying kindness with enmity. There were also those who’d abandon their spouses, who were willing to do anything for wealth and glory. Yan Wushi had seen many, and he’d thought nothing of them because he, too, was a selfish, callous human. He only categorized things based on whether they deserved his notice, and to him, there were no actions that fell beyond a line that could not be crossed. However, now Yan Wushi was forced to admit that Shen Qiao was unique and that he couldn’t change him. Though the world was vast, there was still only one Shen Qiao. “My venerable self suddenly thought of something amusing,” he said. “Would you like to listen?” “No,” said Shen Qiao. Yan Wushi turned a deaf ear and started talking anyway. “Once upon a time, there was a man who found a stone in a heap of gold and jewels.” Shen Qiao’s mouth twitched. Didn’t he just say that he didn’t want to listen? “But he couldn’t believe that it was only an ordinary stone. He thought that since it’d been piled together with the mass of treasures in that room, it must also be a treasure. So, he brought it everywhere with him, and even had it examined and polished by many. But every single person, without exception, told him that it was only an ordinary stone, that there was nothing special about it. Guess what happened in the end?” Shen Qiao’s face was both lost and bewildered. “In the end, he finally believed that it was indeed a worthless stone. But in his eyes, compared to the room full of gold and silver treasure, even if it was only a stone, it was still one of a kind—a stone out of a million.” Shen Qiao was silent. Why did this story sound so bizarre? It was indeed unusual to hear such a normal story from such an abnormal person. He couldn’t help but say, “Even thousands of gold pieces cannot purchase happiness. Some people care little for wealth—they only wish to seek out things that other people find worthless. In my opinion, that man already liked that stone more than the other jewels and treasures, but he was trapped by his preconceptions and unwilling to admit it.” Yan Wushi laughed. “That’s true, you’re very correct. Thousands of gold pieces cannot purchase happiness." There seemed to be a deep significance within these words. (vol. 4, pg. 58-60)