#lighter x wise

[cheeweekiwi]

Based on that trust event where you can borrow his shades ❤️

[jiro-sensei]

WHO WAS GOING TO TELL ME...

THAT ZZZ IS NOW AN OTOME GAME?!

From motorcycle date to being super protective!!! 😭❤️ I can't with this game!

[sukzuuhh]

lighterwise wip>:]

lighter is the complete opposite of what I was expecting him to be. He is just so adorable when he talks to wise 🥹😔🤏

[peachy-mp3]

12 Days Of Christmas #2 - Trapped Together In A Snowstorm

The Face Of A Lover With A Fire In His Heart Day 2 - Trapped Together In A Snowstorm Zenless Zone Zero - Lighter x Wise Warnings (if applicable): Spoilers for Lighter's Trust Events and overall lore! Word Count: 1687 Words

the face of a lover with a fire in his heart (1687 words) by peachy_mp3 Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Zenless Zone Zero (Video Game) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Lighter/Wise (Zenless Zone Zero) Characters: Lighter (Zenless Zone Zero), Wise (Zenless Zone Zero), Inky (Zenless Zone Zero) Additional Tags: 12 Days of Christmas, Ambiguous Relationships, Spoilers, Fluff, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Regret, Flirting, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Movie Night, First Dates Summary:

Lighter gets stranded in New Eridu due to a freak snowstorm and he seeks shelter at Random Play, more than happy to slum it with his favorite companion. Wise has no intentions of letting him leave until the storm subsides tomorrow, though, so he says that Lighter has to spend the night.

Not that Lighter is complaining, though.

@12daysofchristmas

[roseyrays]

This was originally a Lighter x Reader idea but I vibe with Lighter x Wise more so here ya go, also this is a yap session, you can do whatever you want with this idea

Lighter x Wise, but it’s doomed. By that I mean the relationship is impossible. Lighter just can't open up, he just can't bear losing one more and being used like the debt collectors used him. So he made a vow to not make deep connections to spare himself the pain of loss. He cares about the Sons of Calydon, he says that it’s just a basic level friendship, but they’re like family to him. He denies it, but once he realizes, he’ll shut himself out. The same happens to his and Wise’s relationship, and Wise can't stop it, he’s helpless. No matter how hard he tries to help, Lighter’s walls are too built up, too hard to break down. If the relationship gets started, which I doubt it will, it’ll just be constant stress for both sides, constant arguments about Lighter shutting himself out and not making an attempt to heal, constant arguments about what Lighter views as an attempt to heal, and constant pain on both sides. No matter how much they love each other, pain will get in the way.

Yes, this is based on Ekko and Jinx’s relationship and the song “Ma Meilleure Ennemie” from Arcane, how can you tell?

Oh my gof oh my god

This could work for both reader and wise lowkey haha

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SENDING ME THIS

😣😣⁉️⁉️🩷🩷

[yierrem]

dating headcanons - zzzero men edition (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡

ft. gn!reader x anton ivanov, ben bigger, lighter, von lycaon, wise ; no applicable warnings! my first request (i tried to finish it before christmas in my timezone, but still, merry christmas to the anon who requested this :DD and to those reading!!) hehehhe i hope its good enough｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡

anton ivanov

you cannot look me in the eye and tell me this man isn’t the type to yell “this is for you!” or “if i hit this you give me a kiss” and completely miss whatever target he’s supposed to hit. he hits it. sometimes. he still gets a kiss anyways.

[“dude” “we’re literally dating and you’ve placed your lips on mine do NOT call me dude.” “…babe”]

big on gift giving and words of affirmation in terms of love languages. he makes sure to put a lot of thought into whatever he gives to you to properly convey his appreciation and show just how much you mean to him.

"strong, sincere, and straightforward." he's definitely the type to encourage you to try new things especially when you're the type to get easily nervous. if you're scared of looking stupid, don't worry; he'll do it with you hand-in-hand so you can be stupid together. becomes your no. 1 hype man and would give you his honest opinions whenever you need ‘em.

you see or hear him talking to his jackhammer bro for the most mundane or random things and you've become used to it at this point. its honestly endearing (you're hopeless)

["bro do you think they'd still love me if i was a worm?" "vroom vroom vroom" “you think so?” “vroom” "yeah, you're right."]

ben bigger

scary bear privileges meaning no one wants to mess with you knowing that you're dating someone who cuts such an intimidating presence but you know better than them because ben would much rather use his paws to tap away at a calculator or spreadsheet than willingly get into fights.

on that note, he's most likely to be the best companion for grocery shopping; he'll know how to get all the good discounts and haggle for the best prices for sure.

best cuddle partner to have during colder seasons no. 1. although he puts his fur care second, it's still soft and fuzzy to the touch and he likes that you appreciate the warmth it provides too.

since he struggles with some of his accounting responsibilities due to the size of his paws, sometimes you help him with sorting some of belobog industries' financial documents and eventually you end up finding the task quite relaxing after a while of doing it.

but, of course, he loves spending time with you outside of work. anything to take his mind off of the horrors of accounting. he'll mentally file away anything he learns about you when you're together for future purposes, may it be gift or date ideas.

he's the bear thiren between both of you, but in private he loves cuddling against you like you're some sort of plush toy. you don't mind. another win-win situation because you get to rest against him like a giant pillow as well.

lighter

he tries to be flirty with you and sometimes it works! but when you match his energy and it backfires on him he turns into a blushing mess who doesn’t know what to do with himself.

also the type to want to show off or act all suave. he has an image to keep as the undefeated champion! the red scarf! (he’s internally giggling and kicking his feet from one [1] cheek kiss you left in passing).

date nights with him sometimes consist of drives on his bike and stargazing at a nice little spot he found in blazewood. then halfway through, he’d get distracted from seeing the stars in your eyes and think that its a hundred times better than the real thing and fall in love all over again.

“gets as many challenges as love letters” but he makes sure that you and anyone who tries to make a move know that he only has eyes for you. could be in the form of having an arm around your waist or his jacket on you when you feel cold.

a physical touch and acts of service guy because. well. he did say he’d like to die for love one day. that’s a very romantic thing to say and do. also his heart still races whenever you hold his hand but he swears he’s getting used to it (he isn’t). probably melts when you gently run your fingers over his face or any of his scars

i honestly feel like he's one of those "me and my bae don't argue they just tell me to shut up and i do" types.

von lycaon

an ideal date for him would be a fancy dinner or picnic somewhere nice and discreet. complete with scented candles, your favorite flowers, and homecooked food (which probably tastes better than anything you've ever eaten at any restaurant). then at some point when both of you have finished eating and you're both in conversation, he brings your hand up to his lips and leaves a kiss on your knuckles.

["darling, your face is...concerningly red. are you feeling alright?" "i'm fine. i think."]

you WILL be receiving that prince/princess treatment (threat). breakfast in bed when he isn’t busy, spontaneous massages offered when you mention ONCE that you feel tired, and all that jazz. you probably will never have to open another door yourself with him around and he ALWAYS offers his arm for you to take when you're walking together.

best cuddle partner to have during colder seasons no. 2. just prepare yourself for horrendous shedding as summer begins… but you don’t mind helping him brush through his fur (*´ω`*) its therapeutic and you’re one of the very few people he trusts with the task so its a win for both of you.

since he's a wolf thiren, he sometimes unwillingly attracts the attention of stray cats and dogs; he usually pays them no mind but it is somewhat of an inconvenience for him. however, the sight of you playing with them while quietly cooing eases some of his discomfort. seems like you aren't the only one suffering from cuteness aggression.

his guilty pleasure is squishing your cheeks in his hands. no i will not elaborate

wise

this is one of the random play managers we’re talking about, so. movie date nights are mandatory. both of you alternate when picking movies but sometimes you bicker over options like an old married couple just for the fun of it.

a lot more chill when it comes to PDA but he can be flirty when he wants to be. if he knows you have a weak spot for it, he uses it to his advantage to get what he wants. scheming little minx. /pos

words of affirmation and quality time guy, i think. since he's always so busy with managing the store and completing commissions alongside belle as proxies, he makes the most out of the time you guys can spend together alone. even if it's just laying in his bed or on the couch doing nothing together sometimes.

everyone and their mothers and grandmothers on sixth street will probably know that you’re dating or figure something out at some point even when both of you don’t really do much together in public/are trying to keep it on the low. never underestimate these aunties man

unfortunately for wise, he will become the target of teasing or nagging from belle when it comes to your relationship. once you get close enough she'll also share embarrassing stories from when they were younger or before you and wise started dating much to her brother’s chagrin.

secretly likes clinging and cuddling up to you like a koala. both of you are in bed? oh okay, don’t mind him, he’ll just scooch a bit and wrap his arms and legs around you, claiming that having you in his bed helps fix his insomnia (it does, to some degree). [“wise i can’t move.” “you don’t need to.”]

on the days you help out with tasks in random play, you could quite literally just be standing while doing something and then you’ll feel a pair of arms sneak around your waist from behind as he leans his head on one of your shoulders with a quiet, satisfied sigh.

[luminique]

hear me out: lighter with a reader who's sick, tired and dehydrated 24/7 with very deep eyebags. he's effortlessly doing pushups while you sit on him but you can jog for 5 secs without becoming a panting mess.

imagine him u up like a bunch of grapes and manhandling u

oh that is so me. he has shown in game that he would tease you a little for it (he laughed at our poor attempt of pull ups) but i don’t think he’d be mean about it. if you really wanted to, he’d help you get started so that it isn’t intimidating but he wouldn’t force you to do it. he would DEFINITELY try to help you live a healthier lifestyle in other ways like cuddles to sleep earlier, getting drinks together, etc.

i think something that’s fun to think about is actually helping lighter when he’s practicing/exercising. he feels a lot more motivated when you’re around but he doesn’t want you to just watch him. if it’s an actual fight, sure he doesn’t mind, but this is precious time that could be spent together.

so now he has you keeping his feet down while he does sit ups. it doesn’t ask much from you and he gets to see your face, unlike sitting on him when he does push ups. it’s like a reward in a sense, your voice counting each rep and your smile that just pushes him to do more every time. he doesn’t know if he’s feeling weak from the exercise or from your presence, as he’s beginning to slow down.

you observe that he’s getting tired, sweat running down his face. he doesn’t wear his shades when he’s practicing, they just get in the way sometimes, so you can see the focus in his eyes disappearing. “6, 7, 8,” you continue counting for him, keeping a mental note of how many reps he has done until now. just before he finishes, you decide to give a little boost of motivation to him. he gets ready to sit up, taking his time to ensure he does it safely. right as he sits up, you place a little kiss on his nose and he doesn’t register that for a moment. his body was ready to lie back down but then it stops half way and then it clicks in his head. a smirk on his face before lying back down, his heart rate increasing from both the exercise and you.

also i do think that he can easily manhandle you. his hands on your waist and you’re up in the air, placing you on the nearest surface. but if there’s anything that you’ve shown clear discomfort to, he would never do. i don’t think he’d slam you into a wall or anything like that, but instead would pin you to a wall slowly mhm

[kiwicopia]

Did you get 2 requests?

The first one is "NSFW headcanons of his female s/o spanking ZZZ Wise, and Lycaon"

The second one is "NSFW headcanons of his female s/o spanking ZZZ Lighter, and Anton"

Thanks! Please take your time though!

Anton

"You wanna do... what?"

There's slight apprehension towards the idea, at first, but give him some time to think about it. Anton will, eventually, come around to testing it out in bed, and bed only.

With a safe word in place, and after the first three smacks, he's silently questioning himself on why he didn't try this with you sooner. Admits in passing, after the session, that he enjoyed it enough to try it again.

Won't admit early on about how he liked the way each smack on his ass made his cock throb with need, but there were signs. Anton prefers the rhythm being out of sync. Not knowing when a slap is coming just ups the anticipation of the impact, and it just might make his cock throb again. It absolutely does.

Lighter

"Mm, 'kay."

He confused spanking with something else, at first, but that first slap sent a sudden jolt through his body, causing his cock to ache for another. Lighter tries to keep his cool with each repetitive smack against his ass, but he fails miserably.

Soft curses fall from his lips each time your hand makes contact with his ass, and he can't help it when the word "harder" slips out. He's used to enduring pain in battles, but this is different. The red-hot sting leaves him craving more.

Will eventually bring up using a paddle. It isn't that he opposes your hand, because that's not the case. He's just slightly curious to feel the difference between the two. If anyone mentions hearing anything, he's just silently denying it all.

Von Lycaon

"I beg your pardon?"

Apprehensive at first, but eventually gives in after some coaxing and reassurances that this isn't because you're mad at him. The first smack has him groaning, claws digging into the sheets while his tail gives a little wag.

It shouldn't feel good to be spanked so harshly, but he can't help that it makes his cock twitch. Give his tail a little tug while smacking his ass and it gets him going, causing his hips to hump against the bed.

Call him a "good boy" during a session of spanking and he's creaming all over the sheets. Will try and deny that he likes it. Can't beat the good boy allegations here.

Wise

"Seriously?" ... "You're being serious."

He thought you were kidding when first mentioning it, but Wise is a "try things for the first time" type of dude, so he gave it a go. It felt silly for him to be bent over against the bed, but all of those thoughts left his mind after the first two smacks. He liked the way his body jerked forward and how his dick rubbed against the edge of the bed.

A bit vocal with grunts and groans, but he'll throw in the occasional beg here and there when he's close to spilling. Likes it when you keep a steady rhythm and will especially enjoy it if you incorporate a paddle or a whip. A bit of a guilty pleasure for him.

Wise secretly likes the marks that are left on his skin. Won't make eye contact or even answer when someone points out that he's walking a bit stiffly. He just sat in his chair for too long. Not like he was bent over it moments prior.

[queenendless]

○•°♡ GIFT ♡°•○

A/n: Dropped Phantom Parade all to play this game for my #1 man who is the reason being me playing a Hoyo game. Everything about him is too good to ignore. So forgive me for this writing dump.

~Also this is now an impromptu piece for his birthday today so happy birthday you beautiful man~

Pairing: Adult!Lighter Lorenz x F!Adult!Reader

CW: Kinda spoilers for the game, but basically fluff/intimacy with our dear Champ. My first time writing for Zenless and for Lighter so please go easy on me. I hope you enjoy.

“Hey there.”

Butterflies raced through you, nerves getting to you, as the sight of the Red Scarf Champion walked through the front door the moment you walked in from the parking lot, trolley filled with sealed boxes stuffed with new inventory.

“L – Lighter.” Your heart skipped a beat as his amused grin grew from

“Are the managers around?”

“No, they had to make an emergency run and won't be back for a while. Left me and Eous in charge in the meantime.” You avert your gaze, turning your back to him to focus on settling the weighty box at the top of the stack down on the floor, using your box cutters to pry it open, eyeing the newly obtained video tapes. A looming shadow enveloped you as a tape was presented right before you.

“In that case, here. I’m returning this video.”

“Thank you. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Actually, there is.” You gulped at how easy it was for him to take the second to last packaged box from the trolley and rested it on his bicep, literally flexing his strength for your eyes only. “If I asked you to go out with me, would you?”

Your brain screeched to a halt, winding back the reel tape, in the hopes of making sense of how you had gotten to this point.

The fact of the matter is, the past few weeks were spent readjusting to a new life in New Eridu on Sixth Street, bunking with the siblings, and working for them full time as compensation for all their aid, you had seen this man around Radio Play as long as you have been there.

Introducing you two to each other and explaining your situation, Wise and Belle exchanged knowing looks as Lighter offered his gloved hand for you to shake, your mesmerized gaze and smitten smile not going unnoticed.

And ever since then, every time he visited the store to either commission them or just to rent another tape, your nervous shy smile and waves resulted in his sole pupil peaking out over his shades twinkling intriguingly, lips curling, as he chuckled softly at your goofy self trying not to stare too much while nearly knocking into the store counter with packages still in your arms. Belle’s exasperated giggle filled the air as she tugged you in the staff room, Wise sheepishly apologizing on your behalf.

So how did all that come to this?

“Excuse me?”

The surprised look he gave had him clearing his throat, setting his box down, awkwardness showing through, featuring a new side of Lighter for your viewing pleasure. “Going out. D – Dating. With … me. Just you and me.”

“Uh … can I ask … what brought this on?”

“To be honest, being the Champion for the Sons of Calydon has always been my highest priority. It didn’t leave me much room for dating. But before, I never really thought much about it, believing that I had all I needed.” He fell so in tune with you, helping you unload and slide those tapes in the display racks, his shoulder brushing yours so slyly. “Despite the fans and admirers I’d gotten over time, I was never interested. Until recently, that is.”

The friction that came in, the air thick with such sexual tension, had you turning the corner to the other side of the display, stealing a glance at him, in between slotting in some tapes. “I see.”

He had on quite the bashful expression to get you going doki doki. That small red tint to his cheeks and him coughing into his gloved fist made you gush internally. “I am serious, though. I get that I can be stoic and intimidating. But just being around someone that’s as gentle and carefree as you kinda – no, really – lightens me up.” The sudden cringe got a laugh outta you, his lopsided grin got you blushing more. “Even your laugh is adorable. And that blush … I just can’t get enough of you.”

You got a tickle in your dry throat, ducking your head, remembering you still had his return tape in your grasp. A rom com. You then felt those leather bound fingers brushing yours holding said videotape. You flinched back at how close his face had gotten the moment you looked up.

“I can see I make you nervous. I don’t mean to … but I admit … it is kinda cute.” Pressing the videotape to your face to hide your flustered state was as futile as it was enjoyable to him. “And trying to hide your face just makes me wanna see it more.” His gentle yet firm prying, pulling the tape away and setting it aside, he grinned at spotting your pouting look. “I’m asking you, not as the Red Scarf Champion of the Sons of Calydon, but as Lighter … will you be my girl?”

The arrow did pierce your heart at his honest confession.

Oh, how can he be so cute and handsome all at once?!

The sudden tug on his red scarf by you pulled his face in, right into yours, as your timid chaste kiss met his lips. A few slow gestures had him curling against such sweet succulence.

“Yes.”

Your whispered consent got him going.

Such smooth swift movement swooped in like a blur, expected from a former boxer, as his arm draped snugly around your sides to make you spin at how easily you melted within his grasp. Your touch starved self never thought they’d ever be satiated, let alone by the very man you couldn’t help but fall for the day you met him in the flesh; his handsome, noble, honor bound self.

His gloved hand weaved through your hair, held the back of your head, pulled you gently closer, ready to make his own kiss go deeper. Your hum brought delight to his ears, sensually moving with your lips, to pull more pleased sounds out of you. Your hands trailed up his jacketed chest, careful when moving through the spiky details, brushing the nape of his neck, giving him goosebumps as your sneaky fingers gently but firmly massaging his skin.

“Keep turning me on like that … and I'll really never let you go.” His low purr surprised you as much as his seriousness did. “I mean it.” Your hand moved to cup his cheek, your thumb rubbing circles, as your other hand brushed through his dark green bangs, velvety to the touch.

The deep hums he responded with by your actions had you smiling all dopey like. Your forbidden desire, your inner longing, seeped right into your core. “Then don’t.”

Your eye dares peek open only to feel breathless by how that one lone green eye with his scarlet pupil burned with such a primal longing; not unlike your own gaze.

In a moment, your back was flushed against the Staff Room. His hands were on both sides of your head, keeping you caged, blocking the front door out of your sight.

Two firm pricks tugged on your bottom lip, carefully so as not to draw blood for his sake. The sight of his fangs brought shivers throughout you, his toothy grin bringing a beautiful blush out of you, licking your lips with enough persuasion to have you open up.

Running your hands along his back, your tongues danced together, sounds of wet lips smacking being heard had got Bangboo 18, 6 and Eous acting flustered as evidenced by their digital face screens, befuddled at how miraculously no one had entered the shop to see such the passionate public display.

Lost in the depths of intimate liplock for a while when puffs of heat were exchanged as you broke apart, taking in much needed air, his hazy eyes staring into yours with an added layer of tenderness.

“Getting light headed, are we?”

The cheesiness had you snort. “Quit it.”

His nose lightly brushed yours. “Thanks, by the way.”

Your petal soft peck to his cheek had his lips curling. “For saying yes?”

He nodded, his mouth whispering heatedly in your ear. “And on my birthday, no less.”

Your face glowed and your eyes swelled up all chibi like at this new revelation. “Aw, you could have told me that sooner, you know~!”

His eyes crinkled with mirth at your adorable self. “Well, now you know.”

The abrupt sound of the bell ringing followed by rough coughing had you two on edge as your faces turned to spot Wise raising a suspicious brow and Belle giggling quietly behind him as the siblings caught you red handed.

“We're lucky it's a slow day. Otherwise you two would be swarmed by Lighter’s fanbase. Especially if they saw your PDA.” Wise sighed with caution.

“Sorry we took so long. But Caesar and the others messaged us while we were out about the big news. Happy Birthday, Lighter!” Belle cheered.

“Thank you, manager.” He was able to keep a steady gaze, even as he pushed off the wall to give you some breathing room, but that did not keep him from your side.

“They also invited us to a party in Blazewood to celebrate~!” Belle was over the moon for it.

Lighter sighed, exasperated. “I told them they didn't have to throw me a party. But they insisted.”

“I guess we can close shop early today.” Wise spoke. “

“ … Unless you two would rather be left alone right now~?” Belle teased.

Your head drooped in burning shame. “No, a trip would be fine, thank you very much.”

“This will also be your first time visiting the Outer Ring. If we're planning on spending the night there, you may want to pack some things.” Wise pointed out.

“Really? In that case, let me be your personal guide. The Sons of Calydon are gonna wanna meet you, after all.” The suave bow and taking your hand in his just for you to feel him smirking against your knuckles had you nearly get a nosebleed.

“Come on, Y/n. Let's get packing.” Belle dragged you upstairs by hand before that could happen.

And yet your dazy eyes looked back to Lighter whose burning gaze followed you, bewitching you further by his very presence.

By the time you girls got your bags packed, Wise was already in the driver's seat of the van with his stuffed bag and Eous in the back seat. As Belle got into the passenger seat, you approached Lighter as he straddled his motor bike, with your stuffed bag strapped to your back.

“Your chariot awaits, my lady~”

“Is that my pet name now?”

“And lots more where that came from. Now, you better hold on tight. It's gonna be quite the ride.” Snugly pressed against his back, you hugged his waist tightly as the engine roared to life. He leaned into your embrace as he took the lead with the Random Play van following shortly behind, going down the usual route, outta the big city and down the highways.

Resting your cheek along his spine, you become entranced by the changing landscape from buildings to the outback like land.

Spotting the town in the distance, he felt a bundle of anticipation and anxiousness in the pit of his stomach.

He's dating you now.

And he was gonna introduce you to his crew – his closest friends – his found family.

Wonder how that's gonna play out.

He hoped for the better.

After all, you are quite literally the best present he could ever receive, indeed.

[generalsdiary]

I mean... based?

[ninunino]

Sorry for my bad english

[acidpurple]

Looking for ZZZ(Zenless Zone Zero) roleplays🫶

Only 20+ people

So I'd be interested to write for the following ships

Wise X Lighter (can do both)

Jane X Seth (Can do both)

Harumasa X Seth (Can do both, more on Seth)

if interested like, comment or DM me

I do rp on Discord using tupper

[jiro-sensei]

The sweet dialogue! The two of them together! The gay rainbow! 😭❤️🥺

[drvscarlett]

Let Him Cook Pt 3

Charles Leclerc x MasterChef contestant!reader

Series Part: 1, 2, 3

Taglist: @bookstore-of-dreams @barcelonaloverf1life @ririyulife @minkyungseokie @mehrmonga @sltwins @charlesgirl16 @six-call @spideybv28 @casperlikej

"I honestly can't believe that this is actually happening"you told Charles as you sit down on your couch with your laptop.

The past few days have been a lot of preparation for the three most important dish of your life. You have been replicating and timing yourself to make sure that you are a perfectly well-oiled machine during the competition proper.

Charles is currently in Abu Dhabi for the final race which is a complete bummer. He wanted to be there but work is work. So that's why he spends most of his available time doing a facetime with you. It was pretty helpful since his conversations with you helps soothe your nerve and helps avoid overthinking the whole process.

"You got this mon amour. You know I always believed in you since day 1" Charles grinned.

"I really hope that everything goes well tomorrow"

"It will and I will be watching all the way from Yas Marina to hear that my girlfriend is a MasterChef winner"Charles proudly states "I'm really getting so excited, is this how you feel when you watch me race?"

You laughed "Oh mon ami, you are much more stressful to watch with your high speed corners and those wet race misshaps"

"But doesn't this technically make me your WAG if you win? Don't they have WAG gossip accounts that I could be part in?"

It was moments like this that Charles made everything lighter by focusing on trivial things. It helps a lot with the building pressure that everyone has been placing on your shoulder.

Y/NCooks posted a photo.

Y/NCooks the boyfriend is so supportive. I'm pretty excited for today!

Gordongram goodluck Y/N! Boyfriend reveal when you win?

User1 Gordon is so real for that Y/NCooks thanks Chef! Lets see???

User2 win or lose, you already made it Y/N!

User3 its just so wholesome to see how Y/N keeps the relationship private but never secret. I ship them so much

User4 i don't know if i want to be Y/N or I want to be her boyfriend

User5 goodluck Y/N! Get that trophy!

Final episode.

Former contestants lined up at the balcony with some of your friends and close relatives. It was a very surreal moment because you used to watch this sitting in the comforts of your own home and now you are actually the one being watched.

The moment that the clock starts ticking, you started to work. There was no room for any delays today as you were creating dishes after dishes. You have to use your time wisely so that you can finish the dishes you have in mind.

"Charles, were going out to drink, are you coming?"

"You guys go ahead, I'm going to watch something" The minute that the cars were back in the garage and the ceremony was over, Charles couldn't wait to go back to his hotel room. He was to turn on his TV to watch the live broadcast of the MasterChef Australia.

He was just on time with the last five minutes of the appetizer round, technically he haven't miss much. You were focused in tasting everything and ensuring that all the flavors are there. You plated really well and it shows how much you have grown. Charles is extremely proud of you.

"Aren't you a little worried to be working on the octopus so early on?" the judges wondered. The judges were currently tasting the soup that you have given them.

"I know that its a lot of risk but I have to push for it to show my talent"

The judges find the soup beautifully seasoned but their only slight flaw with the dish is that the octopus is a little bit tough due to the water not boiling hot enough. Its that flaw that sets a 2 point difference with your fellow contestant.

Charles could feel his eyes getting heavier from all the events earlier that day but he really wants to stay awake. He believes that Y/N could do it. The main course was a stronger dish for Y/N which is how she tied the score with her fellow contestant.

The dessert is the make and break for Y/N. Charles knew that its also her greatest opponent as you prefer savory over sweet. However, seeing the way that you are cooking right now that you have massively improved your skills in the sweets department.

It was tense as you run back and forth to the freezer to make sure that the pana cotta is chilled enough while you went back to your work station to mix the pot. Charles almost had a headache after seeing you trip over in the last 20 minutes of the session.

But all in all you pulled it off. The dessert was stunning and exquisite as the judges noticed. It was an elevated traditional pana cotta

"I believe we have made a decision and the scores are very very close with each other" one of the judges concluded.

The guests from the balcony went down to join the homecooks and Charles wishes that he could have been there for you. Instead, he records the moment through his phone. The announcement will be here in any seconds now.

"And the MasterChef Australia winner is....."

MasterChefAU just posted a photo.

Liked by Gordongram, Charles_Leclerc, and 670,000 others

MasterChefAU congratulations to Y/NCooks you are the MasterChef Australia winner!

User1 That was worth the wait, Y/NCooks is now a masterchef winner!

User2 she was so brilliant! what a performance!!!

User3 tell me why is Charles Leclerc is in the likes, isn't it like 4am there in Abu Dhabi?? Didn't you just race sir???

User4 Seems like Charles is a fan of MC Australia User5 Answer the crowd Charles_Leclerc User6 Didn't Arthur and Lorenzo guest in MC Australia, they say they are good friends of Y/N User7 That is some interesting information User6

Y/NCooks posted a photo.

liked by MasterChefAU, Charles_Leclerc, and 308,000 others

Y/NCooks I have a new plate!!!!

It was such a wonderful experience to be a part of this kitchen and to win this prestigious award. Thank you so much for all your support and love. This is such a dream come true!!

User1 im so proud of her

User2 Can't wait what's next for you!

Gordongram Well-deserve! You did amazing!

Y/NCooks this means a lot Chef! Thank you for watching

MasterChefAU Our winner!!!!

Charles_Leclerc 🏆❤️

User3 what even is that? you are putting sebastian vettel to shame with your rizz User4 Charles, she has a boyfriend!!!!!!! User5 Bro really thinks he can bag Y/N when he can't even cook Y/NCooks Thank you :')) Charles_Leclerc liked this comment. User6 SHUT UP, CHARLES IS COOKING SOMETHING User7 Silence for Y/N's bf, Charles is coming after your seat!

[delicrieux]

. . . l'oeuf

˙⋆✮ summary. just another evening at henry's.

pairing. henry winter x f!reader warnings. smoking, swearing, mentioned drug use, bad aspirin use specifically, use of alcohol, +18 (p n v sex, no condom henry DOES NOT care, very minimal dirty talk), pretentiousness, an inkling of classicism, bunny™ wc. 6.9k ✧˖°.

author's note. happy october everyone ! i always wanted to write smth for the loml henry winter but i never had the patience to sit down and do it. well, now i did. this was written with prompt 1. thick, acrid smoke. feel free to rqs more for the prompty thingies! x . . . side note! the fic is named by this song since i listened to it while writing. you can draw a metaphor from it if willing

creds. hd., div.

mlist | buy me coffee ♡ྀ

it was at the start of october on that fateful senior year that you had found yourself in henry winter's illustrious townhouse. from the lacquered brazillian hardwood floorboards to the ivory plasterwork on the ceilings – every corner pertained a certain degree of finery that reflected poorly on the rest of its objects: a well-worn armchair perpetually stuck in henry’s physique and fraying at the edges, the trampled rug that snaked upstairs and held all of your secrets, the coffee table with too many wine stains. in the dim light, the dried rorschach looked like blood.

the present company consisted of six and was slowly dwindling. your dear friend francis, the only boy who had never cared to peek up your skirt in childhood tennis practice, was a moment from collapsing into himself like a weary, old star. holding a champagne coupe from which he exclusively drunk only campari, he had thrown himself over henry’s couch not unlike a discontent lead from a penny dreadful novel. his face kept twisting according to the sounds: bunny’s voice was met with pursed lips and a tightly shut eye (only one, closest to bunny’s person sat by the aforementioned coffee table), charles’ – with a look of defeated boredom, and in the odd bouts of silence and music, bliss.

you offered him a cigarette, and he barely managed to crane his neck to kiss the knuckles of a helping hand before he snatched it away and searched his pockets for a lighter.

sweet camilla sat by the fire, with her knees drawn to her chest. one black stocking was torn on the side, rippling up her calf and sneaking into her inner knee, an action bunny had noted and all had taken particular interest in. there had been a metaphor about literature resembling her glossy stockings – all that language and reference weaved into a fabric that stretched till it could no more, thus marking the end of innovation and intertextuality. a book can only fit so much, and as all of them cared for ancient greek only – a language that no one spoke, and so, could never refine past its perfect state – the topic soon waned in favor of more brandy.

bunny cowed a story about richard papen, the outsider that had joined their coterie, who was not present, as he had not been invited. he was a fine orator, had a specific sense of humor that, while not always understood, could charm an audience when fidgeted with enough. only bunny was too drunk, and his glass of whiskey kept spilling on his trousers till it left an undignified blotch crowned by cigarette ashes, which only painted him a blubbering buffoon. ‘the fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool,’ came to mind as you admired the embers dancing in the halo of his blond hair.

then, there was charles, drunk as always, who had opted to lay by camilla’s feet, the place where bunny’s drunken attempts of metaphor had landed him.

lastly, there was henry, your own personal virgil, who had not wanted you to come, but allowed it still. he looked tired from across the room, an arm thrown over the cushions of the armchair in which he sat. in his left hand he held a book, a cover and a title too out of frame for your eyes to see; amber reflected in his wiry glasses, the color of his brandy bottle (half empty) before the orange glow of the fire burned it copper. a plume of cigarette smoke curled into the ceiling from his two fingers. only he could have full concentration among the chaotic symphony in the living room.

the record spun to silence, and you quickly abated your seat on the windowsill to pad to the cabinet and change the vinyl. the collection of classics had not increased since your last visit, which was roughly a week ago, and it had not changed since henry moved out the dorms during the winter of your junior year. there were chopin’s nocturnes and etudes, beethoven’s piano sonatas, and wagner’s tristan and isolda, just to name a few. something lulling, quiet. you picked debussy and placed the needle. lilting, soft and steady, like you supposed love would feel.

instantly, you were met with bunny’s ire.

“no, no,” a wave and a body too weak to stop you. you ensured he was gifted your most sly smile, “no, woman, put on somethin’, somethin’ grand,” a larger wave, like a poorly coordinated conductor, he smacked his hand too close to francis’ head. a groan from charles, as if he had grown nauseous from watching the motions, “somethin’ for me and charlie here,”

charles tried to turn away in his discontent, yet did not manage. camilla, concerned, laid a hand on his shoulder, “should we go? i think we should head home.”

“see?” bunny’s accusing tone found you once more, “you’re scaring the guests. put on some real music. like the... the...” he trailed off, lighting another cigarette. for good luck, one could imagine, “like goddamn— listen to led zeppelin, man! the rolling stones!”

you glanced to henry and found yourself surprised. a shared look.

“no such things in our humble repertoire,” you stated.

“mile davis, at least?”

“no,”

“i don’t believe you,”

“you’re free to check for yourself.”

amidst this small argument, which was much too common when dealing with bunny, camilla had somehow managed to wrestle charles into standing on his own two feet. unstable, he leaned onto his sister, the added weight making her stagger.

“goodness, take care of charles,” bunny whined, though his complaints never amounted to more than simple sulking. you chose not to pay them much mind.

it was henry that helped, carefully balancing his book on the armrest and coming to take charles from camilla’s embrace.

“should i drive you home?” he asked.

camilla shook her head, en route to retrieve her red scarf and new coat, “no, no, we’ll call a taxi.”

it was always mildly fascinating watching the two interact. camilla, never able to meet his gaze directly and for too long, and henry, who only ever extended wordless aid without prompt or reason to her only. what had she done to earn such favor was beyond you – beyond everyone, perhaps – but you were certain you weren’t the only one that saw this careful act of piety and kindness.

you observed them shuffle out after moments on the telephone, camilla’s hand ghosting henry’s arm, or grazing the bend of his elbow, and only when they disappeared past the large door to wait for the taxi did you look away.

loving henry winter was a sisyphean task, unworthy of the effort which it required. you thought yourself too smart for it, and thus, never cared to entertain the notion, not even when he kissed you.

you caught bunny staring at you: not scrutinizing, not calculating – simply staring. a curious leer that often fell on you after some semblance of mirth had worn down. almost shy, somewhat longing.

“this richard of yours,” you began, helping yourself to henry’s lucky strike. out of all the brands that you had smoked, this was the most bitter and always left a tart taste in the back of your throat. you craved it, “papen, was it?”

“yup,” bunny mumbled into his glass.

“and how is he?” your gaze jumped from him to francis.

“poor,” bunny said.

“californian,” francis tacked on.

“but he pretends he isn’t,” bunny continued.

“californian?” your brows rose. the smell, the taste – too powerful, almost choking.

“no, no,” bunny shook his head, disoriented for a moment, “rich. pretends to be rich. see, i didn’t tell you this, but,” and he reached for henry’s cigarettes, too, even if his own pack laid abandoned, two-three left untouched. he did this, at times, this odd mimicry: you smoked, he smoked what you did, you drank, he drank what you did, you decided a getaway to italy was your dream destination for a week and later learned he had haggled henry into buying tickets for the two of them, “but i, you know me: never judge a book by its cover, i say. invited him to dinner. the usual place, the one on-”

“god,” francis winced, and if he could move, surely he’d flee, “stop talking.”

“the lady asked, am i to deny her now? i thought he wouldn’t show, but he does, doesn’t he? with a goddamned tweed jacket, like i wouldn’t notice,” he hiccupped mid-explanation, the liquor long congealed into his system, “and, you know, me, i know people. i know people. i see them for what they are, and i knew he was a no good cheat from a mile away, but hey,” a straight spine, a bit proud, “i think to myself, you know what, old man, i’m gonna give this guy a chance. pop’s always-”

“aspirin,” francis interjected, this time directed at you, “bring me some, would you, juliet?”

you snorted, “a moment,”

“thank you, desdemona. you’re a midsummer night’s dream,”

“she’s from othello,”

“my point stands.”

you sauntered off into henry’s kitchen and scoured his cupboards for painkillers. the layout of this place you knew too well – perhaps, even, if you closed your eyes, you could discern each obstacle and map it in front of your eyes with the grace and certainty of a guidebook. you did just that.

behind you, a sudden coldness pierced through the humidity and a door shut harshly. the influx of fresh air was a brief slap to the face.

it’s been silent for a while now.

“what are you doing?” henry’s voice, not close, yet not too far. always observing at a distance, since closeness was never his intention. henry winter. what a fitting name.

“looking for aspirin.”

the tick of an unseen clock.

“top drawer,” there was no urgency; something you didn’t understand was what made him hurry to answer, “i hid them there. bunny keeps stealing my entire cabinet.”

your eyes fluttered open, “my, my. what a snitch,”

“don’t give him the aspirin,”

“it’s for francis,”

“very well.”

an impasse. you closed the cabinet and thought against bringing water with you, knowing it’s unneeded.

“may i?” henry asked, and when you turned to look at him, he was as always – unbreakable, unmovable. expectant, perhaps, his heavy gaze a familiar pressure upon your cheekbones, the curve of your jaw, your swollen mouth (from biting, not being kissed).

“they’re yours,” you said easily, turning the cap and spilling a few into the bed of your palm as he approached, “here.”

to make matters harder, there’s but a foot of space between the two of you. the smallest separation, every part of him and every part of you entangled into one odd constellation. an immensity of motion before him and an immensity of energy after.

“water?”

“whiskey.”

“is it also hidden?”

“no.”

so you retrieved him a glass, and then the bottle, and lastly you poured the amount enough to swallow in one gulp. when he took and drank, and you watched his adam’s apple bob, you wondered, briefly and hazily, was your act in any way similar to camilla’s. a star that constantly drew him into her orbit.

“you didn’t leave,” he uttered quietly, tired eyes flicking to the maw of the kitchen opening. down the foyer, the firelight danced. bunny’s voice rose in a toast, no doubt to shake francis out of his stupor.

“i did,” you said, a slow smile curling, “what you see before you is a specter. the delirious imaginings of an impoverished mind.”

“ridiculous,” the quirk of his eyebrows: mock-offended.

“amusing,” the narrow of your eyes: contagious, “was everything my spirit foretold the same as you saw it unfold?”

weariness. you looked for it and found it easy enough. his fingers flexed, his tongue went behind his teeth. the cogs turned. for all his genius, henry was too susceptible to fable and entirely too superstitious. he could ward himself off it well, yet when his inhibitions were down, there was a hint of something else, a spark of pious faith in the impossible, what not might come next. he kept looking at you for an extended moment, until the corner of his mouth, minutely, drew up into a not-quite-smile.

“hermia!” came francis’ voice from the other room, “i’m dying.”

henry said nothing.

you expected bunny drunkenly swinging an almost empty bottle around to try and cheer up francis (it rarely worked, unless it was wine), and yet, he wasn’t there. the living room felt very big, somehow, devoid of him and the makings of his gullible heart.

“and where is bun?” you questioned, almost scolding.

“bathroom,” francis succeeded sitting up, yet only just.

you heard henry curse under his breath. he disappeared, and soon you heard the continents of a stomach emptying down the hall and henry’s monotone behind a closed door.

“time to end this sabbath, me thinks,” you said. francis took the pills with a fresh glass of campari, nose scrunching from the taste.

“d’you think henry could drive me home?” francis asked.

“do you trust him with your life?”

“do you think he’d let me die?”

“depends,”

“no. i’ll cab it,”

“wise decision.”

henry returned, seemingly exhausted from his small adventure. no one followed after.

“bun?” you asked again, which seemed to displease him. he only shook his head. passed out, then. unfortunate, yet expected. if bunny could somehow gain authority over all of henry’s things – even the minute ones, the ones that don’t matter and exist in the peripherals without henry’s notice – he would. it was the same reason francis once insisted that bunny had been in love with you.

the incident occurred during your first year of college in early november. a rather somber and chilly day with leaves sticking to wet asphalt and stone walls amidst the rainy season. a monday. bunny had broken his ankle and complained terribly about it, and henry, who had become his caretaker, was sick of it and instead abhorred him. by accident and complete mischance, the handling of bunny corcoran had fallen onto your graceful shoulders, and in a single day – full of obsolete complaints and impulsive questions – the theorized affection was born.

if there was a way in which bunny’s countenance had changed in your presence, it was lost on you, for your attention, at the time, was solely pilfered by charles. he was, back then, the most handsome of the greek class, and oddly enough, the only one pleasant, thus you sought his favor. but charles never returned your fondness, no matter how minuscule it could be, and he never gave the impression of fleeting interest. only sometimes, when he thought you would not catch him, he would stare at you for a bit too long. you never got to figure out what he had thought in those moments.

instead, you figured yourself an actor – a pretty one at that – and decided to ignore this indelicate sort of charm and pursue a new mark. there were many, of course, plenty of faces to consider, yet the outcome was always the same. as it were, they were all terribly boring and reminded you greatly of the peers you’ve encountered in private schools, the self-proclaimed intellectuals of the new age that had too much time and too much heartbreak on their hands. good looks aside, not the slightest hint of culture nor comprehension, just money and nothing to show for it.

and then there was henry, of course, so quintessentially different that his existence, still, was hard to define. something outside the realm of you. something above or beyond, or perhaps below – always somewhere you could not reach. there was an irrecoverable arrogance to him and in his aloof demeanor. an inviolable space that never invited others.

yes, there had to be some appeal to the strangeness of him, yet never could you put your finger on what exactly it was. at least, not immediately. at first sight, though, there were more poetic reasons to it – of the tragic and of the divine kind, yet that was no truth but some novel-born whim, a pointless obsession, some meager infatuation. an involuntary fetish. he had not wanted you, which only made it so that you wanted him in turn. it wasn’t an ugly thing – it simply was.

he must’ve known. henry always seemed to possess the knowledge of things you had never dared to question or to think twice of. or, perhaps, maybe not: but, despite your inability to identify the cause of it, there was a certain change to your disposition upon entering his shared room. one, maybe, akin to the sudden fear brought by dark enclosed spaces, though a bit more subtle and complex.

it was, ironically, a winter’s night.

when you phoned the same taxi and requested it’s return, francis spoke in a hazy murmur, sluggishly trying to shrug on the coat you brought him, “god, i really need a cigarette.”

“hm?”

“do you see mine anywhere?”

a rueful search, hands grabbing the scattered glass and hardbound that littered the surface of the coffee table. a valiant attempt to move the couch cushions and dip fingers into the cracks.

“no,”

“well, fuck me,”

henry offered his, but francis refused. the living room lit up in that thick, acrid smoke anyway.

the foyer echoed with your footsteps. outside the townhouse, rain had started again. a few drops at first, tapping the windows, before quickly it grew and gained weight. soon, it was battering against the glass.

with your scarf in your hands you suddenly found yourself unsure what to do with it. the taxi was coming and it was time to go home and plead to a higher power for reprieve from the headache you knew would cripple you in the morning. perhaps, an afternoon tomorrow to mull around, dazed. yet there was no respite in any of that. you realized, then, with this abrupt trepidation, that the cause of your discomfort, or the cause that exacerbated it, was within this confided space. a chasm-deep disquiet, like an open mouth of a ravine, dark and shadowy, or the pull of a tide at sea, which was, as they say, irresistible to even the most levelheaded.

somewhat uneasily, you lingered by the coat hanger, and when francis ambled over, tripping over his own two feet, he downed the rest of his campari and shoved the glass into your useless hands. then, he kissed your cheek, quick and wet, before ripping the door open and shoving it closed behind you, hence halting your escape.

the house was deafened, and your palms itched. the overwhelming urge to twiddle with your scarf became unbearable, or it was because a pair of eyes bore into you from the depths of the room. the closest thing you’ve ever considered to a tangible aura: the smell of ozone and rain water and tobacco.

“don’t suppose he’s waiting in the rain, is he?” you said.

“no, i don’t think he is.”

it didn’t make sense, none of what happened afterward – the decision to face him instead of making off into the chilling night. your arms crossed in a quiet and peculiar motion, clutching the coupe a bit too tight.

“whiskey?” henry offered, and you felt like the silly ingénue in some high-brow noir thriller donning all that cashmere by the door, “or bourbon.”

“fine.”

a crease of his eyebrow – the sole indication of surprise. your jacket found its rightful place on the rack along with that dreaded scarf. hesitance was unfamiliar to you, as you had not known it growing up – neither a sense of propriety nor a loss of footing. the dandy act had been adopted and perfected to such a degree that to relinquish the mask itself was oddly relieving, the discomfort born merely by knowing that francis was aware of your unusual situation and the upcoming events that would take place once the theater was done. there was a brief thought to how henry might’ve perceived you then. perhaps the removal of a layer of pretense might’ve intrigued him, if anything.

you remained at a slight distance and watched him traverse his domain, stepping around the askew items left behind by bunny and a bottle of gin haphazardly upended by charles, warm by the fire. there was an anomalous sort of patience to him. the silence was an abrasion. so often, you found yourself chattering to fill the void, even with other men who took the shape of strangers.

“there’s quite a storm brewing,” you said, only to be met with more silence. when your words simpered, the feeling they left was inexplicably ominous. ‘all that is transitory is but a symbol,’ yet only a bad poet would dare to draw a soliloquy from henry’s figure by the flames.

thus, you sat down on the couch, still warm from francis, and held up the beloved champagne coupe. henry’s hand did not tremble as it poured, but your fingers quivered when his attention fell onto you.

“is it good?”

you never felt the alcohol, only the burning in the back of your throat.

“very,”

he found himself beside you, not too close. the distance was not unlike orpheus’ journey, or so it appeared in the dim firelight – the familiar pangs of the unwilling, the sudden, selfish urge of wanting to see him in his entirety, his visage unhindered

“may i?” you asked, meaning, of course, his cigarette. he acquiesced easily. the only telltale of his everlasting unbothered mien: his focus had, and always seemed to be, too acute. it was enough to unnerve anyone. flattering, perhaps, if only you could tell what he was thinking, but you never could.

in your lap, the half-empty coupe. you left a smudge of your lipstick on the cigarette butt. henry inhaled. it was not unlike a kiss.

“francis mentioned you didn’t want to see me,” you said.

“i didn’t,” he responded.

“a lie, was it then?”

“you assume to know?”

“yes.”

another drag. smoke parted his mouth, slow as molasses and heavy as clouds.

“you’ve changed,” you said.

conversation with henry had always been difficult, before and after your frequent follies in the dark. if you did speak, it was never about one another, or anything that resided past skin and bone, nestled somewhere in the marrow, only felt. in instances where you did find common ground it was only ever art – literature, specifically, and when he was in a good mood, painting. henry only had one fascination and refused to entertain others; here lied his fatal flaw. thus, in a crowd of three and more, you could exchange remarks that would seem and sound important but held no real meaning.

“what sort of change have you noticed?” henry murmured. the lighting cast shadows. his hands twitched.

you were not sure, as you remembered him in much more detail and color. here, ashen-faced and obscured, all you saw was the ghost of his image, as though he had grown morose in a way that a single season could not alter. the greek class had often suffered for the aesthetic – self-imposed punishments of grandeur and excess that to everyone outside their circle seemed quite ridiculous, along with their dark clothes and mysterious miens and enigmatic jokes. some said they were haunted or blessed, but none envied them. alas.

troubled is the closest you could find, though if you were to voice it, he might take you for a child. it was never good to seek out his vulnerability. he would say you could never find it, and, inevitably, it would end up being the truth. henry wasn’t good at love. no one of were.

you shrugged, “you’ve become quiet.”

“am i, now?”

“more so than you’ve been,”

“perhaps you’ve just gotten better at listening,”

“unlikely,”

henry cocked his head. his hand, once again, twitched and there was an urge to reach out and grasp his fingers – some sort of absolution or at least a consolation for something neither one of you might’ve cared to mention. never did the man in front of you appear unsure, yet somehow, despite his best effort to the contrary, you felt a similar trepidation of an undefined thing.

henry was impossible to read. not just a mystery, but undeciphered in ways so beyond the mundane. over the years, you had collected enough clues to form a humble dictionary, yet much of what was missing could only be determined through his own misfortune and complacency – things which would, then, by nature and by fate, stray into your arms.

it did not matter, not entirely, at least. you did not love henry, but you thought that camilla did, and he, in turn, her. once you exhausted your inspection, perhaps you would pass that glossary to her, though you doubted that she would ever find any use for it.

“well,” henry said, “i suppose that’s to be expected. anything else?”

“would you enjoy a dissection?”

henry hummed, perhaps in agreement or curiosity, but it was very possible that he thought you foolish.

“no need,” he said, “yours is transparent.”

“really?” you countered, “they never are. people, i mean.”

“who are you thinking of?”

your mind drifted to bunny, likely curled on the cold tiles of the bathroom. with the first few buttons of his shirt popped and tie loosened, there was the picture of one not withering away but merely on the incline of a steep and lonely hill. all quiet in the dark of a windowless room from which he couldn’t even turn his head and see the stars.

it felt as though he would wake soon and interrupt. his presence always breached spaces he did not occupy, and the anticipation of his arrival always lingered in the air, unspoken but palpable. perhaps bunny would always exist in the shadowy corner-room between you and henry, because, if what francis said was true, henry was the first to know of it and had you, still.

you wondered if he regretted it, if he felt like brutus sticking the first knife into caesar’s rib, closest to the heart. you considered asking: in that moment, the urge felt insurmountable. instead, you said, “a little bit of everyone.”

inclined, you caught his gaze. an abysmal color and a disorienting shade, as deep and gloomy as the woods surrounding mount cataract.

“and me?”

“of course,” you smiled and slid a bit closer, “it’s not like you to ask. have you become sentimental?”

“not exactly,” his eyes moved to his hands. then, the flecks in the fireplace, the piles on the floor, “i’ve been thinking.”

“care to elaborate?”

“no,” he said. you understood his need for privacy, and a small part of you could appreciate his effort, or maybe, rather, that you got something of an answer at all. he did, occasionally, tend to disappear in thought. he remained, despite his reluctance, sitting with you. this, in a way, spoke more to you than the words that could never leave his mouth.

“this weather makes a body wistful,” you told him, “and the greek have always liked their tragedies.”

he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth before lighting another cigarette, “what do you know of greek?”

always the same argument. always the same contradiction. your attraction was tempestuous, and so, it should have surprised you neither the sudden bite or the wicked sense of amusement.

“all that any student would, naturally,”

“so, nothing,”

“i suppose,” you would not admit, for he would win, “henry,”

something in his posture betrayed him, but it was not his eyes, nor his tone, “yes?”

you were close then, much closer than you were moments ago. his lips thinned in a brittle, noncommittal line and his eyes drooped – more of a warning than anything.

“are you going to kiss me?” you asked.

he wanted to, he must’ve, for it had been the only sensible action – you always pressed for what would hurt least. to drown and swallow poison. it was a favorite, and, for some reason, one he allowed, like an agreement reached. to your knowledge, he only ever let himself indulge in you.

henry only leaned in, which was enough for you. his mouth, a second, not any less tantalizing than the first. and you had kissed him with a brazen softness, enough that his hands snaked to grasp the back of your neck. another hit. the smoke and ash settled deep in your lungs. you had pushed it out in a groan when he dropped his hands to your thighs, pressing hard and confident as he had on those nights when you found each other too lonely. the ache he created was wonderful.

you grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled it until it untucked. he swallowed and whispered in a language you were familiar with but couldn’t speak, and lifted your skirt.

you kept the cigarette between your teeth as he mouthed down your jaw and neck. his finger traced the skin at the back of your knee and that tickling spot right below your ribs. goosebumps rose and followed his touch. he nipped at the crook of your neck and dragged you onto his lap.

“you are dressed far too heavily, and terribly,” you heard him say, and when his lips found the shell of your ear, you could not stifle the shiver. the whole room felt claustrophobic, hot and steamy, like the aftermath of a scalding bath. your breaths grew labored. you closed your eyes against it and clawed into his arm.

henry said, again, this time more slowly and with a dull emphasis, “terribly.”

“how dare you insult my taste,”

“would you allow for a remediation of my sins?”

“luckily, i’m in an agreeable mood.”

henry’s own sigh was long and somewhat labored, as though a great pressure had been taken off him. and his hands flexed, moving up and down your back. a rare instance, to find him restless. you could admire this in private.

the press of lips to your neck. the collarbone, jutting sharp in the firelight.

there was the urge, sudden and quite novel, to caress his face, cup his cheek, graze the edge of the scar of the eye that’s colder than its twin, that shrouds you in a mist. such an act was outlawed, naturally, thus, the opportunity came and went, carried away on a drafting wind of smoke. an irredeemable misfortune, and you flicked the cigarette into your abandoned coupe.

“are you comfortable?” the gentle cadence of his voice sent a wave through the warmest depths of your abdomen.

“yes.”

henry, having brushed away your stockings, stroked at the insides of your thighs. there was a light feeling in your head, an almost dizzying sway. a subtle rocking, like boats at port, from where the two of you were perched. his digits dug into the firm meat. beneath his hands, a stretch of burning skin and sinew. muscle clenched and quivered, “terribly inconvenient, by the way.”

“how do you mean?”

“all the layers,” he muttered.

“good,”

“never good,”

and then, suddenly: “are you wet?”

“if you touched me properly, you could tell,”

henry ignored your response. his hand climbed upward, and found a place between the gusset and the middle seam, rubbing, testing.

“recently,” you said, “i’ve become fascinated with joseph cornell.”

“you’re stalling,” henry informed you without inflection, slipping a finger through the damp center. a harsh noise of pleasure left you when his tongue slid between your lips. one, then two, circling and sinking with the utmost delicacy.

“why? are you not curious to hear what i think of his boxes?” you managed, halfway.

another stroke. his thumb rubbing, slow and considerate, in the spot that makes your toes curl, tight and demanding. when his eyes opened and found yours, it was almost comical – his fingers in you, mouth and mind on a completely different path, yet the connection was there all the same. even more so, while trying to be detached, fumbling over buttons and laces.

“no,”

“you might learn something,”

he quirked a brow, “you truly wish to waste time talking?”

“aren’t you?”

“i am taking an assessment of your willingness to submit,”

“are you certain it’s not the other way around?”

henry rarely responded with malice; each action was carefully devised and, in conjunction, quite merciless. in this case, he dropped his hand from the vee of your legs and tugged at his shirt collar. the emptiness was startling, as was the feeling of tension that coiled tightly in your gut. then, he grabbed his drink and sipped from the sparkling glass. petty revenge, something he always assured was beneath him.

sensing defeat, you decided to placate him. after a dramatic roll of your eyes, you slipped onto the ground and knelt.

“henry,” you began, and reached for the fly of his pants. the outline of his cock was obvious beneath the smooth fabric, thick and promising, “home ruler,” in one instance of drunken curiosity, the lot of you agonized the meaning of your names, that perhaps they, somehow, unknowingly dictated your fate, “unwilling to shed his crown. is the head not heavy? most kings lost theirs, you know.”

“flattery doesn’t suit you.”

“folly, then,” you replied, dragging the flat of your palm across his groin and taking pleasure in the strained hiss, “are you going to let me do as i please?”

“i think that is,” at the peak of his inhale, you reached into his trousers and curled your fingers around his stiff cock, “quite apparent.”

you grinned, lazy but triumphant, thumbing the blunt ridge. smudging the dribble of white at the leaking head and reveling in his restrained reactions: the minute tremors, the twitch of his jaw, a gasp caught in his throat. you would have kissed him, again. his face might’ve twitched, something uncontrollable that would’ve given away his longing, if only he hadn’t pushed it down.

with a slow pump, your hand traveled. the size was admirable, familiar, nearly to the point of nostalgia. henry had touched more parts of your body than some of the lovers you took as an earnest attempt for passion. you had begged him once, half-gone, half-wild with what you thought was need and impatience, to only fuck you – without his clever mouth and his careful hands, but he hadn’t said yes, no, had only grabbed your jaw and pressed a sucking kiss to the soft and sensitive skin beneath your ear. a promise, almost. and in a way, it had been.

“you remember?”

henry’s voice snapped you to attention, and when you looked up, his expression matched his darkened eyes, intense. something flared hot and needy in you, and with it, the desire to be open and dripping for him. he curled a hand in the small hairs on the back of your neck, stroking the skin there and, even briefly, allowed himself an indulgence in the pleasure he could get from a single touch, and rocked his hips.

“vividly,” you told him.

the flames, behind you, cast him entirely in silhouette, and his shadow projected forward and rose tall, stretched. a ruler, indeed.

his chest moved slow and purposefully, and when he released your hair, the lack of contact felt like a shock to the system. his hand closed around your forearm, “come here.”

the tone, hoarse and hushed and so quietly demanding, startled you, and you stood up so quickly that your head spun. henry placed his hands on your hips, steadying, ushering you back to where you belonged.

“just there.”

legs, parted, framing his waist. fabric, bunched between your thighs. breathing, slowed. a firm, calming weight, pinning you down. the firelight glinted in his eyes.

“henry,” you called. and the only thing to signal his movement was a bob of his adam’s apple. the cufflinks of his sleeves swayed and flickered. he hummed, neither affirmation nor disagreement and entered you with a grunt.

more. skin flushed. eyes crinkled and tightened. more. nails curled and scrabbled for purchase.

there, your name on his lips. it was disorienting – not so much a cry, or a whisper, but something between the two. henry always spoke carefully, as though each word should carry the most weight, so each syllable, in turn, he would construct and cut, meticulous and mathematical. but here, breathless and wanting, they rolled out in a steady litany, never faltering.

all fire and scorching, the pitch of it high and needy. to thrust and bruise, the idea fizzed bright and brilliant at the apex of your spine. with each snap of his hips, a part of him carved a piece of you out, and each ragged noise shook loose a piece of your skin. it would fit him perfectly. then he would slide right into those hollow spaces that swelled and throbbed, expanding beyond tolerance. in moments like these, you loved him – his body, his touch, his face, everything that could not be articulated.

“please,” you begged him, trying to curl around the ache, “i want-”

“i know, i know,” he murmured, with a tilt of his head. his hair, you noticed, had lost its immaculate shape, wild and frazzled by your fingers. your heart swelled and contracted: you wanted to do it again, over and over until his whole countenance resembled nothing more than that of a ravaged man. your power, the only thing you had over him. henry closed his eyes.

“spread your legs a little wider,”

a moan slipped when his tongue flicked and curled against the side of your neck, wet and sloppy. the sweet roll of his hips, his fingers pulling at the buttons of your attire and squeezing the fleshy swell of your buttocks. it was always too much.

you licked your lip, shaking when his teeth gently pinched. and, for a moment, the smell of pine permeated the room. as though it were his own sweat and the heady musk of his natural scent, and not a waning bottle of cologne.

“hold onto me,” henry whispered and allowed for nothing more, driving the movement out of your hands. the tempo spiraled upward. at the center, the tension was building. there was a moment of vertigo.

and it was easy enough, as things had always been between the two of you, to ignore the disjointed voices in the back of your mind. how when you two first kissed, it’d been without grace. how the rain fell, trickled, all around you, drowning the dryness in your throat. how the next day, he asked if you would regret what you’d done. and here, now, a different but striking feeling: the warm haze brought on by alcohol, his palms were hot, slick with sweat, his belt digging into you.

henry grunted and swore to a god neither of you had put much faith in. the flush on his cheeks was impossible not to reach out and touch, his eyebrow scarred with the same sort of smooth texture and fading red, his lashes, long and fine, flickering against the high edge of his cheekbones. i love you, you wanted to tell him, but the high struck you ruthlessly, turning you to liquid.

in the aftermath of this brief paradise, you shared a look.

“i still despise this weather,” you said.

henry’s mouth quirked. and what had been the impulsive dalliances of two desperate people became, once more, two lonely creatures with enough distance between to fill one of henry’s beloved epics. the quiet, in the wake of catharsis, was rather terrifying, and the clatter outside – the rain, the wind, and the cold – almost accusatory. he offered you a cigarette.

you took it without thank you and let him light it.

“should i drive you home?” he offered, voice raspy. his shirt had wrinkles and his collar sat funny. the skin beneath was pink, and there was the barest mark where you had sunk your teeth or dug a nail too hard. you bit the end of the filter, watching the flame waver before rising into ash.

“you’re drunk,” it felt necessary to remind him, though it never stopped him.

“do you want me to drive you home?” he asked again. a long pull and a thin veil of smoke.

“yes,” you said, “i’ll go wake bunny.”

“no,”

“no?”

“stop it.”

“stop what?”

“speaking of him,”

“has he done something?”

silence.

“henry?”

“leave it,” he said, but his tone was tight.

“alright. i’ll get my coat, then,”

“of course,” he murmured, standing slowly. you shouldn’t have seen him put his hand against the wall to steady himself, as though any drunken spell had fled, and with it, his equilibrium. the movement was both conscious and contrived, a fact of necessity, and not like the rest of him, braced by his surroundings and firm in stature. a self-constructed illusion, designed to project a set of attributes meant to create the atmosphere of authority. he embodied it well, but he was still, stripped of the mythos, simply human.

you watched him settle and raise his head with a gentle exhale. a mere lift of his shoulders, and he resembled a man in control, content, satisfied – everything henry was, and yet, within the façade, you could see the truth of his discomfort, recently, and without fault, brought upon by an uttered name.

in the upcoming months, you would understand and wonder if there was something you could have done or said to warn him of a future that was inevitable. no matter how many nights you had spent distressing over this question, the answer would always make itself obvious.

there was nothing you could have ever done.

thank you for reading !

[child-of-helios]

Calypso x Leo SUCKS, here is why

Look, I get why that sounds harsh, and it is, but hear me out.

First and most importantly, Calypso is a pedophile. We see her fall in love with 14 year old Percy, then 15/16 year old Leo. Already weird, right? And look, if we got some explanation as to why it would ever be okay for a titaness who is thousands of years old to fall in love with CHILDREN, maybe I could see past it.

BUT in the odyssey myth, Odysseus was MUCH older than a teenager. He was already noted to be an old wise king (who was old enough to feign madness from old age) at the START of the Trojan war. Now that war lasted 10 years and add to that the multiple years he spent traveling to Ithaca, and you got an old-ass man. So either Calypso was already a mature adult, or a child thirsting after some old dude. Sure, it happens, but weird. Let's not forget that Odysseus was married and very much still in love with his WIFE Penelope, but Calypso basically kept him hostage on her island and would not let him leave at all.

Now let's get to Percy, he got blamed for not making sure that the gods kept their promise??? Good sir that is a 16 year old who just got out of a WAR and had his memory stolen, of course he didn't check with the gods. ITS NOT HIS RESPONSIBILITY! He shouldn't be held accountable. Also let me remind you that Calypso wanted him when he was 14. Not a good look.

And finally, we get to Leo. Poor poor Leo. A boy who was oh-so starved for love that he took anything he could get, and that's my explanation as to why Calypso x Leo ever happened. Honestly, I adored Leo. I had a crush on him (still kinda do shhh), I won't lie. However, I also adored Annabeth but since her and Percy are amazing together, I could get behind Percabeth. But Caleo? Hell no. Sure, they have a fun dynamic, but it's more of a sibling dynamic in my opinion. I would've rather had Leo x Khione or something. Maybe Leo x Echo cause that would've been adorable. But Caleo??? No. He should've never gone back for her. Leave her to rot.

Secondly, Calypso is simply a jerk. And I'm the type of person who adores asshole characters when done right. Octavian is great because he's an irredeemable asshole AND he gets karma. But Calypso? She's a bitch and gets such a kindhearted boyfriend in return. Like I said, she tried to pressure a (married) man into sleeping with her and is simply a dick to Leo (HER BOYFRIEND) and I could understand if they were siblings, cause siblings are dicks to eachother with love underneath, but she just sucks. She immediately hated him, which she has reason to do after what happened to her, but even after that she was just horrible to Leo. I seriously don't see why he loves, likes, or even tolerates her.

In conclusion, I hate what Rick did to Leo. I adore his stories like no other (which is why I'm so passionate about this), but he really fumbled the bag here. Calypso is just not a good fit for Leo.

Personally I really do prefer Leo x Jason, Leo x Nico or even Leo x Echo. And yes it does sound weird for me to say that considering that I call Calypso a pedo, but I could see Echo not being able to age normally because of being stuck with Narcissus. Echo x Leo is in my opinion much better than Calypso x Leo.

Um sorry- that was really mean but I needed to say that.

On a lighter note I saw this really long worm which was cool! :D