#muttering to himself ‘that didn’t happen. that didn’t happen.’

[enigmaris]

If Lois Lane had a nickle for every time she had to help an overpowered boy from the midwest with the power of journalism, she'd have two nickles. Which isn't a lot but its weird that its happened twice.

Danny watched as Lois pulled out her phone and pulled up a recording app.

“What are you doing?”

“You came to a journalist and are surprised to get an interview?” She asked him, her tone clearly joking. “What you’ve given me here is great kid, but newspaper clippings and copies of federal laws don’t get the public’s attention. I need a story, Phantom’s the story.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

Lois looked at him, less than impressed. Slowly, she turned the screen of her computer until it was visible to both of them. There, in full clarity, was a front-page story from his hometown newspaper. ‘Danny Phantom saves Bus Full of Children!’ and there was a picture of him in his ghost form, his face crystal clear on her screen.

"Phantom’s a ghost. I’m just a dumb kid.” Danny tried again.

Lois pinched the bridge of her nose with her right hand and muttered to herself.

“Why do all you midwestern boys have the same schtick?”

“I’m sorry?” Danny said, unsure if he should be apologizing or not.

“Changing your last name from Fenton to Phantom does not a secret identity make kid. It might work for most civilians, but anyone familiar with the hero game will clock you from a mile away.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

“Sure, kid. But I’m sure you have a way for me to interview him, right? Because I want to talk to him before I do anything else about your town.”

Danny hugged himself and looked down at his knees.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Not the worst I’ve seen. Wonder Woman’s is paper thin. I'm pretty sure most people in DC know who she is outside of the cape and just don’t say anything because she scares them.”

Danny snorted involuntarily at that, looking back up at the woman.

“What’s going on in your town, Phantom? Why come to a journalist and not the Justice League?”

“The Anti-Ecto Acts got passed like a year ago. They state that only being that produces or contains ectoplasm above a certain amount is considered non-sapient and is to be turned over to the government for disposal.” Danny said. “I put the whole thing in there for you to read, but it's long. Amity Park has a lot of ectoplasm in it. It's seeped into the air and water. Normal human people have it in them now. At first, those agents were just firing at me whenever I finished a ghost fight. I could deal with that. Their aim is terrible anyway. But then they figured out that humans can become contaminated with ectoplasm. They decided that meant the entire town was under their jurisdiction. They've decided that means that no one in town counts as human anymore, that we don’t have rights, that they’re doing us a favor by not just exterminating the entire town like the law says.”

Danny leaned forward, putting his hands on the desk in front of Lois Lane. He looked right into her bright eyes and spoke seriously.

“When it was just ghosts under attack, I didn’t think anyone would care. I’ve tried calling the Justice League for help, but they’ve brushed me off. People need to know what’s happening. Anyone can become ecto-contaminated. You just have to be in the right place at the wrong time. It’s not right what’s happening to Amity, Miss Lane. I came to you because if anyone could get the world to listen, to believe, then it's got to be you.”

And Lois Lane smiled. It was a proud, eager smile. The kind of smile Danny had seen on Sam right after she convinced the school to serve a vegan lunch. He barely held back from shivering.

“Well then, Mr. Phantom.” Lois said, before tapping onto the recording app on her phone and starting a recording. “Let’s begin.”

[star-har]

crimson oaths

Gojo Satoru | hurt/comfort (i think?!)

The mission had been going well. Too well.

You should’ve known better.

Now, you’re bleeding.

The rain hammers down, cold and relentless, soaking through your clothes as you push yourself through the door of your flat, breath uneven, hands slick with blood. Your side burns, pain lacing through your ribs with every shaky step, but there’s no time to deal with it. Not properly. Not yet.

The plan was clear—apprise and radio silence. No contact, no deviations. Stick to protocol.

But you’re compromised.

The thought clenches at your ribs as you fumble with the door lock, pushing it shut behind you with a quiet thud. Your mind races, fighting through the haze of pain and exhaustion. You don’t have time to stitch yourself up. You don’t have time for anything. The clock is already against you.

And then—

A presence.

You feel it before you hear him, before you see him. A shift in the air, a weight settling in the dimly lit space behind you.

Then his voice—low, almost amused, but laced with something sharper beneath it.

“Rough night?”

You freeze, breath hitching, before turning your head just enough to see him.

Gojo Satoru is leaning against the wall like he owns the place, arms crossed, white hair damp from the rain, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. But his eyes—those striking blues—are locked onto you with an intensity that makes your stomach twist.

Your fingers tighten against your side as you swallow the sharp pain curling through you. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Came to check in,” he says easily, but there’s an edge beneath his usual arrogance, a flicker of something unreadable as he tilts his head at you. “Didn’t think I’d walk in on this, though.”

His gaze flicks down—to the blood staining your dress, the way you’re gripping your side, the unsteady way you’re holding yourself upright.

His smirk fades.

“Who did this to you?” His voice is low, clipped. Eyes dark and clouded.

You scoff, turning away. “None of your business.”

He’s in front of you before you can take another step.

Too fast. Too close.

Your breath stutters as you feel the warmth of him, even through the cold dampness of your clothes. He’s still watching you with that unreadable expression, but now that you’re close, you see it—the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitch at his sides, like he’s forcing himself to stay still.

“Move,” you say, voice strained.

He doesn’t.

“You’re bleeding,” he states, like it’s some grand revelation.

“Brilliant observation,” you deadpan, pushing past him. You barely make it two steps before the pain sharpens, a gasp slipping from your lips. Your balance wavers, legs giving just slightly—

And then he’s there.

Gojo’s hands catch you before you can fall, firm and steady. One grips your arm, the other comes to your waist—too close, too warm, too much.

You tense. He doesn’t let go.

“You need stitches,” he mutters, the teasing lilt in his voice barely there anymore.

You shake your head. “I don’t have time for that.”

He exhales sharply, almost a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh, now you’re in a hurry? What happened to that ‘I can handle anything’ attitude?”

You glare up at him, but your vision blurs for a fraction of a second. The blood loss is catching up. You can feel it.

Gojo must see it, too, because his grip tightens.

“I didn’t know where to go.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.

It’s quiet. Soft. Too raw.

Gojo stills.

Something unreadable flickers through his expression before he exhales, tilting his head slightly, voice dipping lower. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “You did.”

You try to ignore the meaning behind his words.

He moves then, guiding you toward the couch, and for once, you don’t argue.

You let him push you down, let him kneel in front of you, let him tear your dress where your wound lies, just enough to get a better look. His fingers graze your skin—light, careful, almost gentle. You hate the way a shiver runs up your spine.

His jaw tightens. “You’re an idiot.”

You roll your eyes. “Great, thanks.”

Gojo doesn’t respond. Instead, he shifts closer, one hand pressing against your thigh to steady himself as he examines the wound. His touch is warm, steady, but there’s an undercurrent of something else beneath it.

It’s when he finally speaks again that you feel it—the shift.

His voice is quieter this time, almost something else. “You scared me.”

Your breath catches.

It’s barely a confession, barely an admission at all. But coming from him, from Gojo, it’s enough to send something spiraling through your chest.

For a moment, just a moment, you forget about the pain.

Just a moment.

Then his fingers press a little too hard against the wound, and you hiss, snapping back to reality.

“You did that on purpose,” you grit out, glaring at him.

His smirk is back, lazy and infuriating. “Oops.”

You groan. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” His voice is too smug, too sure.

You don’t answer.

Gojo leans in just slightly, just enough to let you feel the warmth of him, the way his breath ghosts against your skin. “Lucky for you, sweetheart, I’m the only one you can trust right now.”

Your stomach twists.

Gojo just grins.

His fingers ghost over your skin, light but deliberate, as he pulls the ruined fabric of your shirt further up, exposing the deep gash along your side. You don’t have the strength to protest—not when your body is still trembling from the cold, not when the pain is starting to settle into something heavier, something deeper.

Not when his touch is so warm.

Gojo exhales, running a hand through his damp hair. “This is gonna hurt.”

You huff, shifting slightly. “No shit.”

He smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead, he leans forward, grabbing the first aid kit from the table beside him, fingers moving quickly. The amusement in his expression fades as he soaks a cloth in antiseptic, pressing it against the wound with little warning.

A sharp, involuntary hiss escapes your lips, muscles tensing against the sting.

Gojo stills.

His free hand—large, steady—moves to your thigh, grounding you. His grip is firm but not overbearing, thumb rubbing absent circles against your skin. You barely register the touch at first, focused too much on the pain, until he murmurs, “Relax, sweetheart. I got you.”

You glare at him. “Don’t—” Another sharp inhale as he dabs at the wound. “Don’t call me that.”

He chuckles, low and rough, but his grip stays, grounding you through the pain. “Thought nicknames were supposed to be cute.”

“Not from you.”

His grin widens, but the teasing glint in his eyes is softer now, something else lurking beneath it. “Shame,” he muses, pressing the cloth a little harder—maybe as payback. “It suits you.”

You mutter something under your breath, but you don’t push him away.

Gojo works in silence after that, his focus sharp, almost unnervingly so. He preps the needle with practiced ease, threading it with a precision that feels at odds with the reckless way he usually carries himself. His hands, though steady, are gentle as he moves back to you.

“This part’s gonna suck,” he warns, voice softer.

You nod, already bracing yourself.

Gojo shifts closer, pressing a hand to the back of your neck. His touch is warm, steady. “Bite down,” he murmurs, guiding your face toward his shoulder.

You stiffen. “What?”

“If you don’t, you’re gonna bite your tongue. And as fun as that sounds for me, I don’t think you’d appreciate it.” His voice is light, teasing, but his grip stays firm, urging you closer.

You hesitate, but the next sharp sting from his fingers grazing the wound has you biting into your lip, drawing blood. With a low exhale, you press your teeth into the firm muscle of his shoulder, biting down hard.

Gojo barely reacts. No sharp inhale, no flinch—just a slow exhale as his hand drifts down to your hip, thumb rubbing easy circles against your skin. “There you go,” he hums, low and warm. “That’s my girl.”

You sink your teeth in harder just to spite him, and this time, his breath catches, fingers tightening slightly where they rest.

But he only chuckles, soft and deep, pressing his lips to your temple—so fleeting, so light, you almost think you imagined it.

“Just a little more, sweetheart.”

But nothing—nothing—prepares you for the moment he pushes the needle through your skin.

Pain lances through you, white-hot and searing, and before you can stop yourself, your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, gripping tight.

A low sound leaves his throat, something dangerously close to a groan, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his free hand finds your waist, thumb pressing into the dip of your hip, grounding you as he works the needle through your skin.

Your breath is uneven. His is too.

“You’re handling this so well,” he murmurs, the smirk audible in his voice.

“Shut up,” you bite out, nails digging into him as another wave of pain hits.

He laughs—actually laughs—but there’s something rough in it, something laced with too much tension. “You know, I think I like you like this. Clinging to me. Makes me feel needed.”

You snap your head up, glaring at him. “I will kill you.”

“I have no doubt,” he hums, tightening a stitch.

The sharp tug makes you jolt, pressing further into him—practically in his lap now, breath warm against his throat. His body stiffens for a fraction of a second before he exhales, amused but strained.

“You sure you hate me?” His voice is quieter now, teasing but laced with something else. Something heavier.

You don’t answer.

Not when his hand is still on your waist. Not when his breath fans against your cheek. Not when your fingers are still fisted in his shirt, knuckles brushing against the warmth of his skin.

The room feels smaller. The air feels thick.

And Gojo, for once, is quiet.

Then, finally—finally—he pulls the last stitch tight and murmurs, “It’s over. Just one more thing.”

Before you can ask, he presses a bandage over the wound, smoothing it down with careful fingers.

His touch lingers.

You’re still pressed against him, your breathing uneven, his warm and steady. His hand is still on your waist. His lips part just slightly, like he wants to say something—

But instead, he exhales, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze.

“You should rest,” he says, but he doesn’t move away.

Neither do you.

You swallow, forcing yourself to break eye contact, fingers finally loosening their grip on him. “You should leave.”

Gojo tilts his head, amused. “And miss taking care of you when you inevitably pass out from blood loss? Not a chance, sweetheart.”

Your jaw clenches. “I hate you.”

Gojo grins, and this time, it’s different. Something softer. Something dangerous.

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs.

You want to argue more. But you’re already drifting. Black seeps into the corners of your eyes, blinding you momentarily before you gain your vision back, blurred and distorted.

Black again. This time, it takes what’s left of your strength with it.

Your head lolls forward, but before darkness fully claims you, something—someone—catches you. Warm, steady, unyielding.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” Gojo’s voice. A soft hum an endless sea away. “I’ve got you.”

That shouldn’t be as comforting as it is.

———

Brb I have to go run laps lol

[tangerineastronaut]

Hi! I saw you take requests.

May I request something with GOT7 Jackson Wang and best friend!reader, in which the reader starts developing feelings for him and start thinking he’s the one for her? <3

Friends, Just for Now | Jackson Wang (Part 1)

Part 2

The one where your best friend can't keep his secret anymore (and you're oblivious).

Pairing: Jackson Wang (GOT7) x Fem!Reader Genre: Fluff, BestFriend!Reader, idiots to lovers Requested: Yes w.c. 6.6k (oops) Warnings: Cheating (not between jackson and reader), lots of profanity, nicknames, namecalling, minor injury, reader wouldn't know love if it smacked her in the head, holy shit they're kind of annoying af A/N: this was so fun to write, love me a good idiots friends to lovers. I'm also cheesy af, feel free to call me out. Please excuse any errors there may be, I usually proofread after posting. ❣️The love I received on my yunho imagine has literally made me do happy dances, I haven't posted anything on tumblr in 8 years and you guys are just literally the best. I love you all so much! Requests: Open (link below)

Requests | WIPs Masterlists: BTS | ATEEZ | GOT7 | Stray Kids

🎧 FRI(END)S by V

“Come on, pie, I told you this was gonna happen. You never listen.”

Two things went through your mind, though you refused to lift your head from where it was tucked against your knees. 

One, you hated that nickname. Pie. He thought it was so cute, and it probably would’ve died off had you not reacted to it the way you did. One missed smear of cherry on your nose 3 years ago and suddenly you’ve been christened. It was his favorite story to tell. 

And two, Jackson Wang was going to get his shit rocked if he didn’t leave you alone. 

“Fuck off,” you say bitterly, pulling further into yourself.

He was right. He had warned you.

You’d hoped Leejin was different, that the rumors were just exaggerated. Surely he didn’t cheat on every girlfriend…right?

“Wrong,” Jackson had laughed. “He’s a fucking dog, y/n.”

You’d rolled your eyes, and then Jackson said three words to you that had kind of hurt. Not kind of. A lot. They’d hurt a lot. 

“You’re not special.”

Leejin was so nice, he was smart and funny and headed for a successful career with his family’s business (so what if his parents probably paid off the school to make sure those student conduct violations never stuck). You wanted to be special. Spent 4 months trying to be. It wasn't an eternity, but you tended to put your whole heart into everything, and it almost always ended up like this.

But Jackson’s words rang true, painfully so, when you received a text from an unknown number earlier today—screenshots of messages between Leejin and some girl, including explicit photos. The unnamed person had said nothing else; you wondered if it was the girl from the screenshots, but you didn’t reply. You simply texted Leejin to go fuck himself before blocking him on everything, running straight home to your apartment, praying that Jackson wasn’t there. He was, of course, as you split the rent. You hated the look on his face when you barged in, nose red and snotty from crying.

It wasn’t smug, it was just…"come on, pie, I told you this was gonna happen." 

You heard him sigh now, no doubt running a hand through his hair. It was blonde; you’d made fun of him at the time he'd dyed it though begrudgingly had to admit it suited him. But he was going to be bald before he was 40 if he didn’t stop tugging at it when he was stressed.

“Hey. Hey, stop. I hate it when you cry, you know, makes my joints hurt or something,” he says, kneeling beside you.

The fuck…? What does that even—

But you were too upset to stop, so he muttered under his breath, poking at your head until you whipped it up to slap him away. He looked like such a boy, hugging his knees and giving you a pleading look. Fine. Bastard.

You sighed and uncurled yourself, your knees screaming from the pain of turning into a human rollie pollie for the last half hour. Jackson sighed as well, no doubt relieved that you weren’t ugly crying anymore. 

He waited until your sniffles were a few minutes apart before moving, sitting criss cross on the floor. His brown eyes were soft, a rarity, truly, though you knew he was already formulating ways to tease you about this when it was more irritating than painful. 

“Done?” he asks, more to comfort himself than you. You sniff and nod, wiping your nose on your sleeve. Well, his sleeve. He made a face, realizing that you were wearing one of his sweatshirts, but made the apparent decision to yell at you later. 

“Don’t be mean to me,” you mumble, resting your cheek on your knee. 

“When am I ever?”

“Jackson, I swear to fucking—”

“I didn’t say anything, pie.”

“If you don’t drop that god damned nickname, it was one time, one little bit of cherry filling, I don’t even like cherry pie, you’re so fucking annoying—”

It was his turn to interrupt, but he didn’t. He just watched you, an irritating twinkle of amusement in his eyes. You scoffed and tucked your face away again, wishing he’d stop looking at you like that. Or at all, really. If there was one thing you’d learned after being friends with him for so long…the asshat had some eyes on him. Had this way of using his gaze to set the mood, able to stop your arguments or rile you up with micro expressions like an olympic gold medalist of manipulation. 

“Want some ramen?” he asks, tilting his head as though speaking to a kicked dog. You crinkle your nose without looking at him. “Want some cake? Some candy?”

“I want you to leave me alone,” you grumble. 

“Want a bath?”

You sigh, refusing to humor him with an answer he already had. He snapped his fingers like he’d just solved the equation of the century, having the audacity to ruffle your hair as he stepped over you unnecessarily to get to the door. You could hear him down the hall, the sound of the bathroom cabinets opening and closing, the water running, hopefully set on hot like you liked. 

“You're out of bath bombs,” he called. You frown. 

“I’m not, they’re under the sink.”

“Why’d you move them? Next to your menstrual equipment, eww.”

That’s why. You felt sorry for whatever unfortunate woman Jackson decided to wife up—the man was addicted to hot baths and cotton candy bath bombs. You’d have to move them again though, now that he knew about your stash. Besides, you’d sent him to the shop more than a few times when you were cramping and out of pads (and chocolate); he would not be impeded by them.

Jackson was waiting for you by the time you dragged yourself to the small shared bathroom. He bowed dramatically, gesturing toward the tub which was steaming hot, as you liked—a meal’s gotta cook. 

You mumble a thank you as he walks past, though he pauses in the doorway, eyes narrowed.

“Get naked, and give me my damn sweatshirt,” he says, pointing accusingly at you. You pout, immediately clutching your pearls.

“Is that why you never get laid? Jesus, would’ve thought you were smoother than that,” you huff. He impatiently tugs at your sleeve, rolling his eyes in that sassy way that always made you giggle and made him more irritated—a win win scenario. 

“It’s a $30 shirt, not a snot rag…pie.”

“You’re a snot rag,” you mumble. You turn your back to him, crossing your arms at the hem and tugging it over your head. You were still in a bra thankfully, though still covered your chest as you tossed the material at him. 

Jackson caught it smoothly, though he wasn’t even looking at the sweatshirt. You didn’t realize he was looking at you until you reached for the button of your jeans. His eyes weren’t lower than your lips, but he looked a little…off. You expected a joke about a food baby or maybe how pale you’ve gotten, but he says nothing. 

“Hello?” you say, shaking your head. “Is that all? Want my pants too? Gonna do my laundry for a change?”

Jackson blinks like his brain finally returned to his skull. He bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head and backing out of the doorway. Before he closed the door, however, his eyes leveled with yours, so intense it made your breath catch in your throat. Was he mad? Over a sweatshirt?

“Leejin is a fucking idiot,” he says before turning on his heel and heading down the hall. 

You stare at the spot where he stood, even after he’s gone. The hell was his problem now?

By the time you’ve finished your glorious bath, you waltz into the living room like a princess. Jackson looks up from his place on the sofa, deadpanning and tossing his phone on the coffee table as he takes in the freshly purloined hoodie you're sporting.

“Gonna lock my closet,” he says, shaking his head. You beam at him, cutely crinkling your nose as you pad to the kitchen. You tug open the fridge, thinking maybe you could cook something simple for the two of you. It was kind of late to make anything grand, but you wanted more than ramen. 

The empty shelves make your eye twitch. 

“Seriously?” you huff, gesturing around. “Would it kill you to get groceries once?”

“You always complain when I do,” Jackson shrugs, flicking through netflix with the remote. “Got the wrong brand, got too many, didn’t get enough—”

“I always text you a detailed list, but whatever,” you grumble, low enough that it doesn’t provoke a response. “Since you’re a big man baby incapable of buying groceries, you can buy us something at the convenience store.”

“I am perfectly capable, thank you,” Jackson says, narrowing his eyes. 

“Of what? Weaponized incompetence? I agree, get dressed,” you hum. 

Ten minutes later, you’re walking side by side down to the convenience store. The apartment’s location was perfect—five minutes from campus one way, five to a 24 hour convenience store another. Perfect because you both had a habit of wanting to come home when you were drunk after a party, starved and craving foods that you’d regret the next day. 

The doors chimed a welcome as they slid open, allowing you inside. You made a beeline for the sweets, Jackson went straight for the energy drinks. 

You perused the aisle for a few minutes, making your choice and going to find your roommate. You rounded the corner and froze. 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t possible to block someone in real life. So while you’d never see Leejin’s social media posts, it didn’t mean that you wouldn’t run into him on a saturday night at the convenience store near your apartment. 

You feel a mix of emotions—anger, shame, disbelief among them. You knew it wasn’t impossible, it wasn’t even unlikely, as this store was one of only a few. But it felt so damn unfair that he’d happen to be here, hours after you found out about what he’d done. 

“Is that all you’re getting?” Jackson snorts, frowning as he eyes your bag of chips. But he notices your stillness, following your gaze to see Leejin, casually chatting on the phone as he looks at the protein bars.

You expect him to snort, maybe make a comment just loud enough for the other to hear before pulling you away, but Jackson surges forward so quickly he nearly knocks you over. You grab his arm, both to steady him and stop him from…whatever the hell he’s doing. 

“Where are you going?” you whisper, tugging him back with as much strength as you could muster. 

“He broke your heart and I’m gonna break his fucking face.”

He moves again, this time dragging you along on the linoleum floor. Fortunately, Leejin is too preoccupied with his call to notice. The thought makes your stomach twist, briefly wondering who he’s talking to. 

“You’re gonna get us kicked out, what’s the matter with you?” you hiss, trying to shake sense into him. Jackson yanks his arm away from you, dropping the energy drinks on the nearest shelf before storming off. You stare after him, mouth agape in disbelief. 

You arrive home 15 minutes later, having hid near the bathrooms until Leejin had left. You’d bought (and paid for, irritatingly) your snacks and Jackson’s drinks, but when you shove into the apartment, it’s empty. Lights off, no sign of him. You worry for a few seconds—had he waited for you and bumped into Leejin instead? But you surely would’ve heard something outside. You opt to text him and choose to believe he’s being broody and walking through the streets like a sad music video.

> what the fuck? is your deal? Where are you??

You’re confused and groggy when someone taps at your cheek, not realizing you’d even fallen asleep on the couch. You rub at your eyes, squinting, processing the sight of Jackson standing over you, t-shirt stuck to his form, beads of sweat rolling down his cheeks. 

You’ve had weird dreams about him before, ones that you’d rather never speak of again, and they usually start out like this. But this Jackson rolls his eyes in a way that sweet, sweet dream Jackson would never. 

“Get up, jesus. Your back is going to hurt,” he says. You slowly sit up, realizing he’s right. Apparently not only had you fallen asleep on the couch,  but you’d fallen asleep sitting up, sleeping in an unnatural slouched position. 

“Ow…”

“Told you.”

“No it’s…hey,” you snap, waking up a bit more now that you  remember that you’re actually pissed at him. “It’s your fucking fault, what happened to you? You just disappeared! I was worried!” 

You’re surprised to see Jackson bristle. He’s not shaken easily, least of all by you, but he glances to the side and tugs at his t-shirt, separating it from his damp skin. 

“Went to the gym. Figured I should cool off,” he says. You want to be pissed at him more, say something else, but your back hurts and you’re sleepy. Plus, you’re glad to see he’s alright. Mostly.

“Whatever,” you finally grumble, trying to stretch out your neck. “What time is it?”

“Dunno, around 2 a.m.,” he replies casually. “I’m gonna shower.”

“Great,” you huff. “You go shower. I’ll go roll over and die happy now that I know you’re alive.”

You stumble down the hall to your room, sighing at the sight of your unmade bed. What was the point if you were going to mess it up anyway? You hear Jackson follow shortly after, the bathroom door opening and closing. The shower starts, and you shuffle beneath the covers. 

You wake up not long after, whining in protest as you’re jostled. 

“It’s me,” Jackson says, rudely pushing you over. “Scoot.”

You wanted to shove him away, to point out that “scoot” should be said before you rob someone of their bed, but you can’t be bothered. Besides, once he settles next to you, you realize that he’s not wearing a shirt and he smells nice and clean. 

Sleepy, groggy, annoyed, relieved, you curl against him like a bunny seeking warmth. You feel him stiffen, though you think little of it. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, not sounding the least bit tired. You couldn’t say the same for yourself, unable to open your eyes as you reply. 

“Mm. ‘s warm down here. Night night.”

You hear him sigh, then shuffle, and then he’s rolled over to face you, offering a human-made cocoon that you happily burrow into. He’s soft and warm and smells like his manly body wash—and your shampoo, damn it. 

“Goodnight, y/n,” he says, soft enough to count but not enough for you to notice. 

Waking up tangled with Jackson was, unfortunately (?), not all that unusual. When you were upset, you found your way to his bed, and despite his protests you knew he didn't actually mind. It went both ways—you'll die before you admit that you like it, if only because he's a human heater.

You still feel groggy, squinting and fumbling around for your phone. Such a task is difficult when there's deadweight slung over your waist, but you manage, bringing the device to your face.

10:43 a.m.

Oh good. You slept 8 hours—and half the day away, to your brain at least. You toss your phone down, debating whether or not you should just go back to sleep. You choose instead to roll over, addressing the sleeping shirtless man keeping you pinned to your bed.

Your camera roll was filled with photos just like this, because Jackson slept like a baby. Literally. Hands curled into fists, face relaxed, head tilted to the side. His blonde hair is mussed from sleeping with it wet last night, and you dodn't hesitate to run your fingers through it for no reason at all. It was soft and surprisingly thick, but you weren't about to dial back on the baldness theory.

Jackson stirred, though didn't wake up, shifting to lie on his back. Freed from your restraints, you sat up and had to cover your mouth to stifle a laugh.

Of course the curtains parted like that, of course he was sleeping like a prince now, sunlight arcing off of his jaw—it even highlighted his stubble in an annoyingly poetic way. What kind of gods were kind enough to give him of all people that face?

He really was kinda...pretty.

No, not kinda. Jackson Wang was beautiful. You were his best friend, but you weren't blind. Maybe you'd become a little numb to his charms, but you'd seen what he could do to people with just a look, even without malicious intent. He was charismatic on top of that, though you were the only one who got to see the side of him that wasn't.

The side that stole your shampoo and commandeered your bed, anyway.

So fine, you knew he was pretty. But he was kinda sorta extra pretty right now, and maybe you wanted to remember it later.

You shifted to grab your phone—a never-ending quest for material to bully each other over—but the movement apparently jostled him awake. You sheepishly smiled as he blinked a few times, using the heel of his palm to rub the blurriness away.

"Really?" he asked, voice rough, eyes leveling to the phone in your hand. "Fucking creep."

"You have like a thousand pictures of me sleeping," you point out, narrowing your eyes. Jackson nods, rolling over and hugging your waist, his head resting against your hip.

"That I do—you're cute when you drool all over yourself. I'm working on a collage."

"Asshole," you mutter, prying his arms off of you. You make an attempt to escape, but as expected, you're smoothly hauled back down.

"Where you going?"

"I need to pee, wanna come with?"

"It's early."

"It's almost 11."

"Yeah, early."

Jackson grunts before you can reply, practically placing you in a chokehold as he rolls over. You have no choice but to go with him, ending up flopped over his chest like a dead fish.

He says nothing for a moment, and you wonder if he's fallen back asleep. It's not difficult to squirm out of his grasp this time, though rather than allowing you to slide off, the apparently-awake-Jackson moves both hands to your hips.

Your stomach does that funny thing it sometimes does around him, like a little alarm that says 'hey! getting too close!' Listening to this alarm had prevented a lot of mistakes over the course of your friendship, mistakes like wanting to kiss him when you were tipsy, noticing the way he looked after a long workout, hair plastered to his forehead, the fuzziness you felt that time your heating pad broke, and his warm hands wound up on the lower half of your tummy to stave off the cramps.

Mistakes like that.

His eyes open again, and you do your best to look irritated.

"I'm sorry about last night," he says, suddenly unnaturally serious. "I was just trying to cool off, and my phone died, so I didn't see your text until after I got home."

You're not really sure how to respond—it was always strange when conversations got like this between you, regardless of the topic. It was so jarring, so far from the usual cracked out nonsense. You decided to nod, then shake your head, then nod again.

Jackson was a badass, most people knew as much. He was trained in martial arts and practically ate protein for every meal. But despite this, he wasn't typically an aggressive guy. You'd only ever seen him throw one punch—an ex of yours a couple years ago who threatened to post a nude photo of you. Needless to say, the guy deleted them, made difficult thanks to the blood smearing his screen as it dripped from his nose.

"It's fine, I get it," you say. "Just...why were you so mad at him? Did he do something to you?"

Jackson blinks up at you, shifting so that he's partially sitting up on his elbows.

"I told you, y/n," he says, shaking his head like you're an idiot. "He broke your heart, I was gonna break his face. You should've let me get one hit in at least."

"He didn't break my heart," you groan, rolling your eyes. "It wasn't that serious, you know that. We'd only been dating for 4 months."

"...I watched you cry for an hour because someone stepped on a worm—"

"—that's different. It's literally a living little creature, what if that's someone's girlfriend, hm? What if she asked her boyfriend 'would you still love me if I was a worm' and he said yes except now they can't live wormily ever after because she's smushed all because some horrible person can't be bothered to step aside for a worm?"

Jackson stared up at you, blinking slowly, looking 175% done with your shit.

"What the fuck is wormily ever after?"

You sigh, leaning forward until your head is on his bare shoulder. You have half a mind to bite him, though you resist. You will be civil—for now.

"I don't know," you mumble. "No early birds, no hot sidewalks?"

"I....you're so fucking weird."

"Lots of guys are dickheads, but you were ready to knock him out. Really, Jackson, was that all? Promise he didn't say something to you?" you ask, voice muffled against his warm skin. Just one lil munch. It'd be good payback for him scaring the hell out of you last night.

Jackson exhales, and there's suddenly a hand tugging at your tangled mess of bedhead until you're sitting up, looking down at him.

"I wanted to kick his ass for the same reason that I never bring anyone home," he says quietly. His eyes are serious, no sparkle of humor in them, and it makes your stomach twist. You didn't like it when Jackson got serious.

"What? Because of me?" you ask. "I don't care who you fuck as long as I don't have to cook them breakfast."

Mostly true—you were afraid of walking out of your bedroom one morning and running into a really pretty girl, someone with perfect grades and clear skin, who has the audacity to be beautiful and nice. Someone only Jackson deserves. But you leave that bit out and give him a half teasing smile.

Jackson doesn't return it. He grunts, moving his hand up to tug at his hair. You slip yours beneath his, mumbling for him to stop doing that.

"You really don't?" he finally asks, swallowing hard enough that you see his throat move.

"Don't what?"

"You don't care who I fuck?"

His question catches you off guard, though not as much as the fact that he still looks dead serious. This seems like something the two of you should be laughing over—not something to talk about whilst you're currently straddling your best friend in your bed, who happens to be naked from the waist up.

"I mean...no?" you say, shaking your head in confusion. "Should I?"

"I don't know, should you?"

Should you? What the hell was that supposed to mean? You didn't like riddles, and this felt like one. You'd tried to stay out of his business over the four years you've been friends, though come to think of it...you'd never met any of his girlfriends after the first six months. You'd assumed he was so busy with classes and his extracurriculars that there just wasn't much time for anything past shallow hookups.

But...you couldn't remember a single time that had occurred. He was home every night, never brought company over for that purpose.

"Jackson," you say quietly, palms resting on his chest. When the hell did he get so muscular? There was a noticable firmness beneath your fingers, and you briefly considered billing Leejin for your services in making sure he didn't get the shit beat out of him. "I feel like this is an inside joke and I'm out of the loop. You're upset? Why?"

"Why would I be?" he counters, irritatingly smooth. The hands on your hips squeeze once, like he's trying to talk to you in morse code. It's annoying.

"Quit," you mumble, biting your lower lip. "I'm trying. Stop being mean and just tell me."

He sighs, moving a hand to his face.

"If you don't already know, then it doesn't matter, alright?"

"Wh—"

You're cut off as he suddenly shifts from beneath you, leaving you tumbling to the sheets when he stands. Just like the last two times for some damn reason, he prepares to storm out of the room.

"Jackson, wait—shit."

You trip over the edge of your nightstand, catching yourself on your hands. Your lamp tumbles to the floor, thankfully not shattering on the carpet. Still, the ache brings tears to your eyes, and you bite the inside of your cheek as you sit down.

"How many times have I told you to push that against the wall!?" Jackson says, rushing over to you. You lean back against your bed, grimacing as you look at your knee. It's not the worst scrape you've ever gotten, but it is bleeding, and it burns.

"Hang on, pie." He leaves the room, and by the time he returns with the pack of bandaids and peroxide, you're covering your face with one hand and hugging your knee with the other.

"Hey, it's not so bad," he says, obviously in partial panic mode as he kneels in front of you and tugs at your ankle. He probably thought that's why you were in tears, but it was moreso the fact that he was being...just...weird, and you didn't like it.

You quietly sit there, hands over your eyes as he uses a cotton ball to dab at the blood. You don't even flinch, it doesn't burn—perks of having an MMA star for a roommate; he knew how to bandage a cut (a common occurence for your clumsy ass, unfortunately).

After a few minutes, he pats the side of your calf, and you finally uncover your eyes. There's a bandaid over the scrape now, and you let your knee fall to the side. Jackson is looking at you, and you nod.

"That's good, thanks," you mumble quietly.

"You sure?" he asks. You frown, nodding quickly. But his hand moves up to your cheek, cupping it as his thumb swipes below your eye.

Tears.

That alarm goes off inside of you, but Jackson doesn't move his hand, so you let it sit there and you feel your stomach tying itself into a knot. You're a little worried it's not gonna come undone.

"I wasn't crying because of that," you say, swallowing as you glance away shamefully. "I...I don't like this, Jackson. Feels weird. If I did something to make you mad, I wish you'd just tell me—"

"I'm not mad at you," he replies. You sniff, and finally his hand slips away, though only to rest on your uninjured knee. His fingers twitch, like he wants to do something but won't let himself. Slap you, maybe, for never listening to him and always ending up hurt because of it. You would, if you were him.

"You keep running away from me," you point out, a little surge of anger from last night returning. "You keep acting like I'm supposed to know everything you're thinking, and I don't, because you won't tell me stuff. I tell you stuff, the least you could do is text me a grocery list of what the fuck is going on inside of your brain, so I'm not sitting here thinking I'm gonna lose my best friend and roommate over something I don't even know that I've done. I'm sorry we ran into Leejin, it's not like I knew he was gonna be there. I'm sorry for thinking I was special in the first place and ending up where you said I'd be."

Jackson sighs and tilts his head, and you hate yourself for crying more. It wasn't a big deal, things were a little crazy after yesterday. You didn't even love Leejin, it had just...hurt? Your pride? No one wants to know they're less than a second choice. But Jackson had acted like Leejin was out for his blood, and every time he runs away, it feels like he's escaping you.

"You're not gonna lose me," he finally says, glancing down at the floor. "I just...I've got a lot of shit to work through, you know? It's not...it's not your fault though."

"Like what?" you ask, worry lining your brow. "If you'd just—is it money? Because we can figure out rent—"

"It's not money," he interrupts. "I promise, it's nothing like that."

"Then what?" You huff, a little more irritated than concerned. "Parents? Grades? Girl trouble?"

"Yeah," he nods, licking his lips. "That last bit."

"Girl trouble?" you ask, somewhat surprised. For some reason, the fact that he hadn't told you about a girl bothered you more than the idea that there was one at all. You shared everything with him; if he'd kept her a secret, it had to have been a little more serious.

"Do I know her?" you ask tentatively. Please say no, I don't want to go through a list of the hottest girls I know.

"Yeah," he replies. Fuck.

"Oh. How long have you been dating?"

"We're not."

"Then...?"

"She's an idiot."

"It's a mystery as to why you're single, really," you say, rolling your eyes. "So she's an idiot because she won't date you? Sounds kind of shallow on your end."

"She's an idiot because she keeps dating jackasses who don't give a shit about her. I don't give a damn if she ever chooses me or not," he says plainly. You frown.

"Maybe she's insecure?"

"She is. Very."

"Huh. Is she pretty?"

"Beautiful."

"Oh. Hm."

Well what the fuck were you supposed to say to that? Congratulations? Sorrows, sorrows, prayers?

"Okay..." you say after a beat. You were not good with advice, especially when it came to love, obviously. He didn't say love though. Infatuation, maybe. Still, you were not an expert. "So if she keeps dating jackasses and won't date you, why do you bother? Why not just forget about her?"

Jackson's eye twitches. You don't notice.

"Hard to forget someone you see every day, pie," he says. You scoff.

"Okay, I'm calling bullshit. I'm literally the only person you see every day."

"Mhm."

"Then you're lying?" you ask. Jackson deadpans.

"Please, for the love of god, never reproduce."

"Rude," you mutter. "Fine, so I know her, she's insecure, pretty, dates assholes, you allegedly see her everyday?"

"All of the above," he says. You frown, lips pursing as you rack your brain for answers, going through the hot insecure girls you know like a filing cabinet.

Wait.

Your eyes widen. Jackson's do the same, and then he smiles, like he's proud of you.

"Oh my god, is it Kim Sujin?" You ask, covering your mouth. "The girl with the—"

"Jesus fucking christ, y/n," he groans, running a hand through his hair. "Are you...you're fucking with me? That's what this is. You're not this dumb, right? Please say no. I feel like I'm in middle school right now, holy shit."

You open your mouth to argue, to insist he was being unfair (you didn't even like puzzles!) but he suddenly leans forward, palms cupping both of your cheeks. He pulls you toward him, nose inches from yours. You've been this close to him before, but you're suddenly dizzy now, a little out of it as you wonder if this is really happening to you—or if this is another sweaty-jackson-standing-over-me dream. Jackson, who has freckles on the tip of his nose and won't stop looking at you like that, the knot pulling tighter and tighter.

"Stop thinking before you hurt yourself. 'm gonna kiss you now, is that okay?" he asks.

Is that oka—?

"Kiss?" you mumble, swallowed up by those god damn pretty brown eyes. Jackson nods, head tilted, primed to kiss the cluelessness out of you, apparently. "Y-yeah, that's fine."

"It's gonna be...it's gonna be a lot, okay? Like not just a peck. You're fine with that?"

"Yep," you nod.

Jackson nods back. And then he kisses you.

He doesn't release your face, squishing your body between himself and the bed behind you. His lips press to yours, insistent and warm, though you can tell he's being cautious—if you wanted to push him away, you could. But you did not want to do that.

Because Jackson Wang was kissing you, and he's a really good kisser.

You briefly forget that you have hands, so when you remember, you waste no time in using them. One cups his jaw, feeling the edge of it press into your palm. The other fists his blonde hair, tugging it gently.

Jackson groans into your mouth, and that alarm in your belly turns into a fucking war drum. You feel the knot tighten and snap, and suddenly you're pushing him back, scrambling into his lap.

You kind of want more, kind of want to put your tongue in his mouth because he's warm and tastes good and you can only imagine how much better it would be, but he beats you to it. His tongue swipes over your lower lip and you eagerly open for him. He breathes in as soon as you do, and it feels like he's stealing your soul. Fuck it? He can have it?

It's messy, a tad bit desperate, definitely not the poetic kiss of rom coms, but you don't give a shit. It feels good, feels warm and right, like you've been kissing him in your head every day for the past 4 years.

By the time you manage to separate, you're trembling an embarassing amount. You'd blame the buzz on coffee if you'd had any, but you just hide your flushed cheeks and rest your forehead against his shoulder. You can tell that for once, Jackson's brain seems to also have short circuited, as it takes him a minute before he finally wraps his arms around you. You can hear his breath—as shaky as yours, thank god.

"Was that okay? Was it weird? Did I make you uncomfortable?" he asks, tilting back on one palm to look at you, his other arm secured around your waist. You sit up, shamelessly biting your lower lip, refusing to meet his eyes. He mistakes this for discomfort, all but shoving you out of his lap, hands flying to his hair.

"Fuck, I...I shouldn't have...I didn't mean to. I wasn't gonna...I'm so fucking sorry y/n, if you want me to move out—"

"You're gonna go bald," you mumble, a little blitzed out as you rest on your hands.

"Huh?"

"Nevermind. Stop freaking out, okay?" you offer, finally looking up at him. God he looks...scared. Hair messy, brown eyes wide. So unlike his usual cocky self that you're a little shaken, caught between wanting to protect him and wanting to kiss him again.

"I didn't make you uncomfortable, did I?" he asks softly. That alarm is now everywhere, setting off in your chest at his concerned tone. You shake your head.

"No. I'm okay," you reassure him. "A little irritated."

Jackson's head snaps up, worry on his face. You feel guilty, so you quickly clarify.

"You said I'm not special," you say quietly, looking away. "If you were talking about me just now...why did you tell me that?"

He looks confused, like he can't remember (of all the things he's said to bully you—while you kept a detailed record). But he seems to finally recall the conversation, rubbing his forehead as his lips spread into a smile.

"What's funny?" you puff.

"I meant to him, pie. You're not special to him. Not that you weren't special at all, or to...to me," he explains, looking part amused and part shy. You soften a bit, unable to help but pout.

"Then you should say that!" you say, gesturing at nothing. "You can't just go around telling people they aren't special."

"I don't make you feel special?" he asks, dipping his head to meet your eyes.

Well, yes, but that's not the point. You choose not to reply.

Just like most things when it comes to you, however, he already knows the answer. He looks a little too proud of himself as he reaches for your wrist, pulling you back into him. You're not quite in his lap, but you lean heavily against his side, your chin resting against his chest.

"What if we mess it up?" you ask, looking up at him. He frowns, not understanding. "Us. What if...what if we mess us up?"

"I don't see how we would," he laughs. "We're practically married."

"Gross. We are not."

"We split the bills, pie."

"Most roommates do."

"We cook together."

"Most roommates do."

"My mother loves you."

"Your mother loves everyone."

"Not true. And my father loves you."

You pause, then squint.

"Your father has good taste," you say. Jackson rolls his eyes. He looks a little conflicted, like he can't decide what's too much, what's too soon.

"I do," he says quietly.

You hate that, for once in your life, you know exactly what he's saying without him saying it. And god damn it, you feel your eyes burning.

"Don't...ugh," you whine, looking away from him. But he's not having it, taking your chin and tilting your face up. You're faced with glassy eyes that make you want to die.

You hated it when he cried. Maybe you make his joints hurt or whatever, but you've only seen Jackson cry twice, once when his family dog died, and another when he was drunk and had convinced himself you weren't his friend anymore. Both times, you'd never felt so helpless. The way you feel now.

"Y/n, I—"

"Please don't," you breathe quickly, swallowing down your tears. You immediately panic at the look on his face, like you've slapped him. But you tuck your hair behind your ear and shake your head.

"No, I-I mean, I know you do, and I...I'm pretty sure I do too. I just...I can't say it now, alright?" you explain. "I'm sorry, I just—you know me better than anyone. I don't...don't wanna fuck it up, you know? I don't wanna lose you, I'm so bad, so stupid when it comes to this—"

"Hey, hey, shh..." Jackson says, gently shaking your chin. "I'm not upset, okay? Just relieved, a little scared. I don't want to fuck this up either, yeah? I want...I want what we are today and I want it tomorrow, even if that means we stay just like this."

His thumb brushes your lower lip. God, you want to kiss him again.

"No rush, pie, okay? I'll wait for you, even if..." he sucks in air and looks away, as though the idea hurts to even consider. "...even if it's never for us."

You want to kiss him again. Would that even be appropriate? After what you just said? After the emotions threatening to disrupt the foundation of your life for the past four years?

"Can...can I kiss you again?" he asks softly. You swallow and nod.

"Please."

Part 2 is out now!

[et6rnalsun]

I NEED A GANGSTA

your boyfriend was like a crazy spring. he couldn't sit still, a sense of uneasiness surrounded him as he continually checked himself; under his shirt, under the waistband of his jeans, everywhere. as if he was looking for something he couldn't do without.

you huffed, crossing your arms as you leaned back in your seat, waiting impatiently for him to finally start the engine and at least go somewhere. “damn, rafe, what are you lookin’ for?” you couldn’t help but ask with as you leaned closer, tilting your head to take in his expression better. his eyes rose to meet yours, and he huffed as he ran a hand through his greasy, messy bangs. “think i forgot somethin’” he muttered, patting his pockets one last time.

“what?” you raised an eyebrow, your tone curious, a hand pressed to his arm. with a dismissive wave of his hand, he moved to start the car, but you stopped him by kneeling on the seat—blocking his hands with yours, even if smaller. “c’mon, tell me,” you whined, frowning. “what could this be? a gift for another bitch, huh?” your drama was never lacking, and in response rafe gave you a shit-eating smirk, licking his lips as his head leaned back.

“i forgot my gun,” he said, his lips moving slowly. “happy now? i didn’t tell you so you couldn’t say shit like how much i need to stop carryin’ it around, baby,” and it was the truth. you often insisted on lecturing him about how you didn’t like the fact that he had a gun right under his shirt, something he would surely and willingly hurt a potential disturber with, right before your sensitive eyes.

to that, your mouth formed a small ‘o’, as if the answer was more obvious than expected. you subsequently freed his hands, moving to take your (heavier than usual) purse and open it with a small giggle. to his utterly damned surprise, you pulled out his gun with casualness, showing it to him. you could barely hold it up properly, your manicured fingers contrasting the violent nature of the object. “i saw it on your bed and thought i’d take it,” you explained innocently, before it was urgently snatched from your hands.

“you must be crazy?” he spat out absentmindedly, checking to see if the gun was on safety. “you could have hurt yourself” rafe sighed, shaking his head in resignation.

“but it didn’t happen” you pouted a little, wrapping your arms around his neck. “come on, baby, I did it for you. appreciate it” your sweet voice was close to his ear as your glossy lips pressed against his cheek in many sticky kisses, making him roll his eyes and place the weapon back where it belonged. “i’m appreciatin’ it” he teased, a hand on your waist and the other finally turning the car key.

who would have thought you'd really keep his gun in the same bag as your $50 lip gloss, mirror, and perfume?

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

mc just falling asleep on ominis's lap and he's like i can't move like ever now. sebastian please get me a book

Trust and Torment | Ominis Gaunt x Reader

ANON! Thank you sm for your ask, this was so cute ;.; gave me a few new HCs for Ominis as well that I included heheh :')

I got an ask not long ago ab how I go about writing and stuff, so with this one, I visualized my general thought process is for when I start (excuse my chicken scratch writing). Not sure how helpful it'll be but I thought why not! <3

Words: ~3,200

Tags: Mentions of Smut, Pining, Romance, Fluff, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House

The faint crackle of the torches filled the quiet space, their warmth radiating in uneven waves that brushed against the cool stone walls of the Undercroft. The scent of parchment mingled with ink and the smoky aftermath of spell-fire. Ominis sat on the couch next to you, relaxing into the softened edges of the cushions—a familiar, worn comfort shaped by years of use.

Your shoulder brushed against his, a fleeting touch, but it sent a ripple of warmth through the air between you, one that lingered beneath his skin long after the contact had passed. The faint sound of your fingers turning the pages of your book mingled with Sebastian's muttering and sighing from where he sat across the room, scratching at his Arithmancy homework.

Study sessions like this had become the norm for the three of you in seventh year. What used to be lively gatherings filled with procrastination and teasing in years past had quieted into focused companionship, the looming specter of N.E.W.T.s demanding most of your attention. Tonight was no different.

Ominis seemed, as always, the picture of calm. His steady fingers brushed the braille of his book, the other hand resting neatly in his lap. But beneath his composed exterior, his thoughts were fraying. Sitting this close to you, with the faint scent of your shampoo wrapping around him, your shoulder occasionally brushing his own, he was hopelessly distracted.

It was maddening, really, how easily you unraveled him—how the simple press of your body against his own could splinter his focus into something delicate and dangerous. Because the truth was, Ominis rarely wanted to touch anyone at all.

Touch was not something he easily welcomed. His family had made sure of that—cold, distant, cruel as they were, touch had only ever been associated with pain or control. Even with his friends, Ominis had never been particularly tactile. The exceptions had been Sebastian and Anne, the only ones who had ever felt safe enough to let close. And then, of course, there was you.

You, who had never asked permission outright, but whose touch had never been unwelcome. You, who reached for him in passing—soft brushes of your fingers against his sleeve when you wanted his attention, the warm press of your palm to his arm when laughter had made you lean into him, the absentminded way you tucked his hair behind his ear when he was too deep in thought to notice it falling forward. He had never stopped you.

He never wanted to.

Because the truth he could never voice—perhaps even to himself—was that he was painfully, desperately touch-starved. And when it came to you, your touch was the most desirable of all.

It was getting harder to pretend it didn’t affect him. Harder to keep himself from leaning into it, from seeking it out. Harder to ignore the way his heart beat faster whenever you shifted closer, the way his fingers itched to reach for you in return.

This was just studying. Just work. He told himself that over and over again.

But the longer you read, the slower your movements became, and Ominis didn’t miss the way your shoulder leaned just a little more heavily into his. At first, it was subtle—your head dipping slightly, then snapping back up. A small shift, barely noticeable. But then it happened again. And again.

Ominis barely had time to register what was happening before you gave in entirely, your head resting against his shoulder with a sigh so soft he almost didn’t hear it.

His entire body locked up.

Oh. Oh.

He didn’t dare move. He didn’t even breathe. His brain, usually sharp and composed, blanked completely, drowned out by the deafening drum of his heartbeat in his ears. Your weight was warm and solid against him, pressing into his side in a way that sent his thoughts spiraling.

Surely this was a mistake. You were tired. You hadn’t meant to—

Then you shifted again, tilting, your warmth slipping lower.

And before he could even begin to process what was happening, your head slipped from his shoulder entirely, settling against his lap.

Ominis nearly had a heart attack.

The book in his hands slipped from his fingers, landing on the couch beside him with a dull thud. His breath caught so sharply in his throat that he thought he might choke on it. Every muscle in his body tensed so violently that he might as well have been Petrified.

Your head. Was in. His lap.

His brain was screaming. His body was screaming. His entire existence was screaming.

The soft press of your cheek against his thigh burned hotter than fiendfyre, and he was terrified to move even a fraction of an inch, as if any shift might wake you—or worse, alert you to what you’d done.

A chair scraped against the stone floor, the sharp sound slicing through his unraveling thoughts. Ominis didn’t need to see Sebastian to know that he had just turned, and, judging by the way the air shifted, was now staring.

“Well, well,” Sebastian mused, and Ominis could hear the smirk in his voice. “Look at that.”

“Don’t,” Ominis hissed, his voice sharp but barely above a whisper. His entire being was already on the verge of short-circuiting, and Sebastian Sallow’s commentary was the last thing he needed.

Sebastian made a thoughtful sound, far too amused for Ominis’ liking. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so… flustered,” he drawled, clearly relishing every second of this. “It’s adorable, really.”

Ominis’ hands hovered uselessly in his lap, his fingers twitching, aching to move, but paralyzed by the sheer catastrophe of the situation.

“Sebastian,” Ominis bit out a warning, his voice low and laced with something dangerously close to desperation.

Sebastian, of course, did not care.

The scrape of his chair echoed again as he stood, his footsteps far too leisurely as he strolled across the room.

“So,” Sebastian continued, his voice all casual-like as he stood over where Ominis sat on the couch. “Have you told her yet?”

Ominis’s stomach plummeted. His head whipped toward Sebastian, his pale eyes narrowing in immediate alarm. “Told her what, exactly?”

“Oh, you know,” Sebastian said breezily, tone far too innocent to be anything but dangerous. “How you feel. How you’ve been pining for her for years, how the mere sound of her laugh sends you spiraling, how you—”

“Sebastian,” Ominis hissed, his entire body going rigid as heat flared up his neck, spreading fast. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, as if gripping onto whatever composure he had left. “Will you shut up?!” His voice dropped to a hushed, frantic whisper, sheer panic creeping in. “What if she hears you?!”

Sebastian snorted. “Trust me, she’s not hearing anything right now. She’s completely out.” A pause. Then, far too smugly, “Although, if she was awake, this would make for a fascinating conversation.”

Ominis groaned softly, dragging a trembling hand down his face. He couldn’t do this right now—he couldn’t. His mind was already in tatters, barely keeping him together beneath the searing weight of you pressed against him. His heart was hammering so hard he was convinced it was audible, each heavy beat a taunting reminder of just how doomed he was.

“Look—”

“I am looking,” Sebastian interrupted, entirely unrepentant. “And she looks very comfortable. Entirely content, all cozied up in your lap like that.” His voice dipped into mock sympathy. “Honestly, I think she’s found her new favorite spot. Looks like you’re stuck here, mate.”

Ominis’ lips parted, but nothing came out. His thoughts were too much—too loud, too scattered, an impossible mess of holy hell what do I do and I can’t move I can’t move I can’t move.

Sebastian, because he was insufferable, only continued.

“And look at you,” he mused, his tone brimming with pure mischief. “All flustered and red in the face—Merlin’s beard, Ominis, her face is practically on your di—”

“Enough!” Ominis snapped, his voice a desperate whisper, his entire body burning. His hands hovered uselessly above his lap, fingers twitching, aching to do something—anything—but he didn’t dare move. He turned his head away sharply, as if that might somehow shield him from Sebastian’s relentless torment.

Sebastian laughed, warm and unbothered. “Relax, Ominis. I’m only joking.” A beat. “Mostly.”

Ominis wanted to die.

Sebastian sighed, entirely too pleased with himself. “Well, I suppose I could be a decent friend and leave you to your little—” he waved a hand vaguely, “—situation.”

Ominis felt the shift in the air as Sebastian moved, as Ominis heard the the lazy, purposeful way he strolled toward the exit. Finally.

But then—panic struck. He had no idea how long he'd be down here, now idea how long he'd be unable to move.

“Wait,” Ominis blurted, his voice sharper than he intended, but still quiet, tinged with something between resignation and pleading.

Sebastian paused. “Hmm?”

Ominis hesitated. He hated the way his fingers twitched at his sides, how stupidly vulnerable he felt, trapped in this moment, utterly helpless beneath the weight of something he wanted—ached for—but could not handle.

He swallowed hard, forcing his voice to remain even. “Could you… bring me something from dinner?”

Sebastian was silent.

For a moment, Ominis thought his friend was about to pounce on his uncharacteristic uncertainty, dig into it, use it to fluster him even more.

But then Sebastian chuckled, softer this time. Genuine.

“Of course,” he said, still teasing but gentler now. “Anything for the lap-bound prince.”

Ominis clenched his jaw. “I hate you.”

Sebastian only hummed, entirely unfazed. “I’ll make sure it’s something easy to eat,” he added, far too cheerfully. “Wouldn’t want you disturbing her.”

Ominis groaned, his face burning all over again. “Just go.”

With one last low chuckle, Sebastian finally turned and stepped out, the door creaking closed behind him.

Silence fell over the Undercroft once more.

Ominis exhaled a breath, but it did little to steady him. His thoughts were racing, still frayed beyond reason.

And you—blissfully unaware, still peacefully asleep in his lap—remained the greatest, most tormenting comfort of all.

Every part of him was acutely aware of you. It was overwhelming, like he’d been plunged into a dream he desperately didn’t want to wake from.

His fingers twitched at his side, his hand hovering uselessly in the air before retreating back to the couch, clenching into the fabric as if to anchor himself. He wanted—Merlin, he wanted so badly to touch you, just a simple brush of his fingers over your hair, something small, something to savor. But the thought sent a wave of panic crashing through him.

What if it woke you? What if it startled you? What if you looked up at him, bleary-eyed and confused, and he had to explain why his hands were trembling, why his breath was uneven, why he couldn’t stop thinking about you?

The mere idea of it made his stomach twist violently.

Yet his mind wouldn’t settle, wouldn’t let him rest. His thoughts churned, slipping into dangerous territory before he could stop them. Was this moment as perfect to you as it was to him?

No, of course not.

You were asleep, utterly unaware of the emotional devastation you had just unleashed upon him.

But still…

Sebastian, as infuriating as he was, was right. Your face was dangerously close to Ominis's pelvis, to the very peak of his torment.

Of course he had imagined you down there before. A million times. Your face, your mouth—Merlin, your mouth—and all the wicked ways he had dreamed of feeling it, of having it wrapped around him. It was a dangerous, recurring indulgence, one he had forced himself to bury, to ignore, to pretend didn’t exist.

But this wasn't that, he reminded himself sharply.

You weren’t here to torture him, to tease or tempt, to unravel him piece by trembling piece. You weren’t even aware of what you were doing to him—of how you had always done this to him, effortlessly, unknowingly. You were just… sleeping. Soft and trusting, warm and utterly oblivious, curled into him as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if you belonged there.

So even as his body betrayed him, as heat coiled low in his stomach and his blood turned traitorous, as the cruelest corners of his mind whispered every half-buried thought, every shameful fantasy he'd ever had of you—he could not let his mind wander further.

Ominis forced himself to exhale slowly, counting each breath in a desperate attempt to steady the erratic rhythm of his heart. In and out. In and out. But it wasn’t helping—nothing was. His body was taut with restraint, his nerves raw beneath the unbearable weight of you.

And then, another thought crept in, unbidden.

Was his lap even comfortable enough for you?

It was ridiculous, laughable even, that of all the things he should be worried about right now—his lack of control, the way his thoughts teetered on the edge of something dangerous, the sheer agony of wanting something he could never have—this was what took root in his mind.

But it did.

Because you were still there, still sleeping, still soft and warm and so impossibly close. And Ominis had never been… particularly built. He was lean, all sharp angles and bony joints, nothing like Sebastian, for example, who was solid in a way that made people feel secure when they leaned against him. Ominis, though?

Was he enough? Was he warm enough? Soft enough?

Did you even feel comfortable? Or were you simply too exhausted to move?

Ominis’ throat tightened. His jaw clenched.

Stop it.

He shook his head sharply, forcing the thought away before it could spiral further. It was ridiculous.

He let out a low, shaky sigh, tilting his head back against the worn fabric of the couch. His eyes fluttered closed, as if shutting them might help him breathe, might help him find some semblance of control.

Minutes passed—or maybe it was hours, he wasn’t sure—before his restraint began to crumble.

His fingers twitched at his side, brushing against the edge of his robe, as though testing his resolve. He swallowed hard, heart pounding in his chest.

Don’t do it. Don’t move. Just sit here. Be thankful she’s even this close.

But his hand betrayed him.

Slowly—hesitantly—he let his fingers lift from the couch, hovering for an agonizing moment before finally—finally—settling gently on your shoulder.

He froze. Held his breath. Waited.

You didn’t stir.

Encouraged by your lack of reaction, he let his hand shift, his fingertips ghosting over the curve of your shoulder, barely daring to make contact. He moved so carefully, as if even the air around you might betray him.

And then—

His fingers brushed against the soft skin of your cheek.

Ominis stopped breathing.

Oh, this was—this was worse. This was so much worse.

You were so warm. So soft.

It was unbearable. It was blissful.

It was a catastrophe.

His fingers lingered, just for a moment, before moving again, his touch impossibly light as he carefully tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His throat felt tight, his pulse hammering so hard he thought it might shatter him from the inside out.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He knew that. He shouldn’t be indulging in something so selfish, so fleeting. And yet he couldn’t stop.

Being blind, Ominis had grown up with people making assumptions about him—about what he wanted, what he needed. One of the most common, most infuriating notions was that he must long to touch their faces, to “see” them with his hands. Strangers would offer their cheeks, their chins, without hesitation, as if they were gifting him something precious. He hated it.

To him, it had always felt invasive. Hollow. An empty gesture that lacked the intimacy people so foolishly believed it conveyed.

But you?

You had never offered. Never asked him to touch your face. Ominis wondered if it was out of politeness, or if you simply didn’t want him to. Maybe you thought he’d recoil at the idea.

And yet—selfishly, shamefully—Ominis had wished more times than he could count that you would bring it up. That you would offer, not out of pity, not because you felt you should, but because you trusted him enough to let him. To let him know you.

But you never had.

And now—

Now, he had his chance.

His fingers mapped the soft curve of your cheek, brushed against your jawline, and trailed down the delicate bridge of your nose. Every touch was feather-light, as if he was terrified he might shatter you, might shatter himself.

His fingertips ghosted over the curve of your chin, tracing the soft slope with a gentleness he hadn’t known he possessed. Every tiny detail of you was being burned into his mind now: the smoothness of your skin, the faint warmth radiating from you, the way your breathing remained steady, peaceful, as though his touch didn’t disturb you in the slightest.

It was intoxicating. It was terrifying.

It was everything.

His thumb brushed against the edge of your jaw, and his chest ached with the weight of everything he'd never said, everything he secretly felt. A quiet storm of longing and guilt swirled inside him, tightening in his throat, stealing the breath from his lungs.

What would you think if you knew? Would you pull away? Would you be offended by his presumption? Or would you—

He refused to finish the thought.

Ominis let out a slow, trembling breath, his thumb tracing one last, fleeting touch before he forced himself to pull away. His hand drifted back to your shoulder, retreating to safer ground, while the other, still trembling faintly, lifted to cradle the back of your head.

And then you shifted slightly in your sleep.

A soft, barely-there sigh escaped your lips as you curled just the slightest bit closer to him, seeking out his warmth as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Ominis's breath hitched. The tension bled from his frame, melting into something warmer, something deeper—something that made his heart ache in a completely different way.

Because you were here. With him. Safe and peaceful, trusting him enough to let your guard down in a way that left him utterly, completely speechless.

And finally—mercifully—the storm in his mind began to quiet.

Ominis let his head tip back against the couch again, his fingers brushing absently against your shoulder as his eyes slipped closed.

He didn’t realize when his breaths grew deeper, slower, or when the exhaustion that had been tugging at the edges of his mind finally overtook him.

All he knew was that you were there.

Safe. Close.

By the time Sebastian returned, juggling plates of dinner, Ominis was fast asleep—his head resting against the couch, one hand still gently cradling the back of yours.

[wqlfstqr]

◟𖥻 love notes : percy jackson

▰▰ pairing: percy jackson x fem!reader

Valentine's day is coming close and y/n starts to receive love notes from a secret admirer. Meanwhile, Percy's panicking because someone got ahead of him.

warnings: mentions of cabin 10 reader, couple mentions of some random camper I added just for the plot, miscommunication but like it gets resolved at the end.

It's only a week before valentine's day and the entire aphrodite cabin is buzzing with excitement. Every night, they gather around one bed and share their gossip of the day: who was asked out by whom, who was spotted crying after training, who do they want to be their valentines.

She was sure of who she wanted to be her valentine. Percy and her had been spending a lot of time together lately, and she was crushing hard. But she wasn't sure he felt the same, at least not until the notes started to show up.

At first, when the first few notes started appearing on her bed, she wasn't sure who it could be. But then they became more obvious and she couldn't help but connect the dots: the one saying her hair was beautiful that day just after Percy had helped her brush it, the one complimenting the sweater Percy had let her borrow, then talking about her favorite flowers after she had told Percy she loved tulips.

And then: 'You looked pretty today, i love how blue looks on you.' that had to be Percy, right? it was his favorite color, and he had told her earlier that her shirt was nice.

She doesn’t share this with anyone, but she's so sure it's Percy leaving the notes that she starts making comments about it, hoping he confesses soon.

When he compliments her blue shirt again, she smirks at him. "Do you think it looks good on me?" she asks, expecting him to tell her about the letters.

"Yes! it's very pretty." He replies, unaware of the underlying meaning under her question, before he turns to follow Grover.

Maybe she didn’t get a straight up confession from him, but that only feds into her suspicions.

"Percy, would you say you have a recognizable handwriting?" She asks out of nowhere when they're training, she's supposed to be helping him with archery while he helps her with swording.

He's immediately distracted because that's who he is— he looks at her and the arrow he releases is far from hitting the target but he doesn’t even realize it.

"Maybe it's recognizable because of how ugly it is." He shrugs, finally looking at where the arrow fell and dropping the bow. "You should see my math notes, they look like ancient Greek threw up in my paper."

She's sure that he's downplaying it because he knows that she's onto him. In the notes, he has a very pretty handwritting, he only wants her to think that it's not him.

By the weekend, as the days keep getting closer and the notes keep coming, she's completely sure it has to be him. But he hasn't admitted it even after her efforts to drop hints at it. She thinks that maybe he's just shy, so in another desperate attempt, she mentions the notes.

"You know, i've been getting the sweetest notes lately. You wouldn't happen to know who's sending them, would you?" She finally asks, trying to act nonchalant as she looks up from her book.

Percy's head turns so fast that he gives himself whiplash, and then he blinks at her, trying to process what she just said. "you what?"

"Love notes, almost every night. I think whoever's behind those will ask me to be their valentine." she grins at him.

Percy's internally panicking— What. The. Hell. Is somebody getting ahead of him and sending her letters? who is trying to steal his valentine?

He stands up from her bed so fast that it takes her off guard. "I have to go, Grover needs my help with— uh— yes." He mutters, and then he's almost running out of her cabin.

Now more than ever, she's sure that he's simply nervous because he got caught. He'll probably confess to it soon enough.

Instead, Percy's panicking on his cabin while Grover sits on the edge on one of the beds, his eyes following his best friend as he paces around the place like a maniac. "Somebody got ahead of me, Grover! they'll ask her out before I can"

Grover gives him a deadpan look. "Then why haven't you?"

Percy stops, looking utterly confused until he understands that Grover is asking why he hasn't ask her to be his valentine yet.

He sighs. "I don't know, man. She's just so sweet and pretty and funny— I guess I just get nervous every time I try." frustrated, he runs a hand through his already messy hair. "Who even is sending her those stupid notes, anyways? I can totally do better than that."

"In the name of Pan, Percy! If you're scared of someone asking her first, then do something." Grover tells him, he already feels dizzy just by following Percy as he's pacing around.

Percy frowns. "Like what? should I drown the mystery letter guy?"

"Of course not!" Grover sighs, must he explain everything to these demigods? "you said it yourself, you can do better than those notes. So do it. Romance is literally her thing. You just have to start sending her your own gifts and letters to show her that you really like her, and then she might get the hint."

He stops pacing again, considers this and then nods, determination settling in. "Yes! I can totally do that. That's perfect! G-man, you're the best."

That's how the next morning, y/n wakes up to not just a note, but a tiny box sitting on her bed. When she opens it, she finds a tiny silver sea-shell charm attached to a delicate chain.

She quietly gasps. The notes before were sweet, but this is beautiful. And now there's no denying Percy's the one behind it, he must be fully confessing through gifts now.

The next days, she hopes for Percy to say something. Anything. She even wears the bracelet everyday just so he can point it out, but she only gets a smile out of him. But the gifts keep on coming.

After dinner one day, she comes back to a blue hoodie placed neatly on her bed. It smells suspiciously like Percy. And there’s two notes now, one complimenting her hairstyle today and the other one says 'You should keep this one, since blue looks much nicer on you.'

What confuses her is that the handwriting on those two notes is too different to even belong to the same person. But she doesn't think about it too much, because the hoodie takes her whole attention— she sleeps with it that night.

Then, the next day it's a small jar with sand, seashells and some sea glass pieces. There's still two notes, and she doesn’t understand this at all, but she still focuses only on the one placed on top of the jar, 'Something from my favorite place for my favorite girl'

She's so over the moon that she spends the whole day smiling and giggling. His favorite girl. Valentine's day is coming soon, and there's no way he's not going to ask soon.

After sword training, there’s a chocolate bar placed on her pillow and she can't help but giggle at the sight of it. Because she mentioned she was craving something sweet to Percy earlier. And now there it is, her favorite chocolate with a note: 'Thought you deserved a treat after all that sword fighting.'

It's only a day before valentine's when she finds a small glass bottle on her nightstand with a message inside, she immediately pulls the note out of the bottle and smiles when she reads it.

'I've been meaning to tell you how much I like you. But everytime I try, I just forget how words work. Which is ironic, because I could fill pages talking about how pretty you are, how much I love hearing you talk about the things you're passionate about, how my brain turns to mush— or seaweed more like, when you smile to me.

— P.'

Her breath catches in her throat once her eyes reach the final line. It is Percy. She was right!

A delighted squeal escapes her lips before she can stop it, the excitement bubbles out of her, an uncontrollable rush of happiness as she clutches the note to her chest, jumping up and down.

Suddenly, the door swings open and her sister comes to a halt in the doorway, eyebrows raised. "What's with all that noise? Did you get another note from Peter?"

She's so happy, that she just giggles, thinking that her sister got the name wrong. "Percy, silly."

"No, Peter from cabin nine? he's been asking me to help him put those notes in your nightstand everyday."

The giggles and jumping stop immediately. "Wait— Peter?" she repeats, voice suddenly unsteady. "Not... Percy?"

Her sister tilts her head, confusion all over her face. "Percy? No, I don't— He hasn't said anything to me. Why? did something happen?"

y/n's stomach drops. She doesn't answer. It's not possible. It has to be Percy. The shell bracelet. The hoodie in his favorite color. The sand and shells from the beach. The seaweed joke on the note. It has to be him.

Unless she was misinterpreting everything. Of course that's something she would do, her lovesickness got the best of her and she started seeing things as she wanted them to be.

The heartbreak is instant. She feels ridiculous. She drops the letter on her bed as if it was burning and, ignoring her sisters talking about how Peter will probably ask her out soon, she runs out of the cabin.

The disappointment feels suffocating and heavy on her chest as she walks with her head low. She keeps walking, and walking. Until she's at the pier, which feels even worse because it reminds her of Percy and yet again she feels stupid.

Her heart aches as she lets herself sink into the ground in front of the water. She wants to cry but also laugh at herself. What a joke.

She's there for what a feels like a long time. Maybe hours. Just staring at the ocean in front of her while going through the past few days in her mind, trying to conceal the fact that some Peter from cabin nine was the one behind those letters. She doesn't even know a Peter to begin with.

She's halfway through her third time scolding herself when she hears footsteps behind her, closer and closer until someone is suddenly sitting beside her. Quickly, she wipes the few tears.

But when she finally looks at the person beside her, she nearly forgets how to breathe.

Because there, sitting beside her, is Percy Jackson. And he's holding a bouquet of tulips.

His eyes soften when he sees her, his gaze following the trail of tears in her cheeks as his expression shifts to concern. "Are you okay?"

She blinks at him, unable to process anything as she looks between him and the flowers. Her favorite flowers.

But she didn’t want to get her hopes up again, so she looked away quickly. "Percy if you need my help asking someone for valentine's, maybe I can help you later."

Percy blinks at her before he's able to process her words, then he looks downright offended. "What? No! these are for you."

She whips her head towards him, her eyebrows raised as if she doesn’t believe him. "What?"

"Yes! for who else? I was—" he takes a deep breath, suddenly feeling nervous. "I went to your cabin to ask you if you wanted to be my valentine, but your sister told me you were gone because you were freaking out about some Peter sending you notes."

She stares at him, mouth slightly open. "You wanted to ask me to be your valentine?"

He nods softly, nervously scratching his eyebrow. "Yes but I totally understand if i'm too late and if you want to go with that guy."

"No! I mean— I just—" She trips over her own words, her heart hammering so hard she thinks it'll jump out of her chest. "I thought you were the one writing those love notes. But apparently it was Peter from cabin nine. I just— I started freaking out because I wanted it to be you."

Percy's face scrunches in confusion. "Peter from cabin nine?"

She feels the embarrasment again, her cheeks turning pink. "I thought it was you because those gifts, they were so much like you and—"

He finally understands where she's coming from, and he lets out a breathless chuckle, interrupting her before she keeps talking.

"No, no! I was the one leaving those gifts. You were right about that." He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I wanted to ask you to be my valentine but I always got too nervous, and then you mentioned those notes and I freaked out because someone would ask you before I had the chance. So I started leaving those gifts hoping you would know it was me, but when you didn’t mention anything about them—"

It takes another shaky breath for him to continue. "I thought maybe you weren't interested in me like that, but then I thought maybe the gifts weren't obvious enough so I was going to give it another shot." he gestures to the tulips in his hands. "And ask you myself."

She blinks at him, her mind struggling to keep up, specially when he keeps on rambling. "So you left those gifts? the bracelet? and the jar with the seashells? and the hoodie?" When he nods, the relief washes over her as she lets out a laugh. "Oh my gods, Percy! I thought I was ridiculous for thinking it was you!"

"You're not ridiculous." He nudges her shoulder with his. "Maybe I should've approached it in a least... confusing way."

"No way, I loved those gifts." She returns the nudge, unable to contain her big smile. "I was just confused over, Well— Peter from cabin nine with those notes."

"Oh yeah, no, that's totally your fault for having so many secret admirers." He teases her, grinning widely.

She rolls her eyes, but another laugh burst out of her lips before she can reply. "And you're one of them."

"I don't know, I don't want to be so secretive about it anymore." He tells her, offering the bouquet in his hands. "So, there's something I've been meaning to ask."

Percy doesn’t feel nervous anymore, but the way she beams at him as she takes the bouquet makes his heart skip a beat. "Go on."

He doesn’t know why he was ever nervous, because the question rolls easily out of his lips. "Will you be my valentine?"

She holds the flowers to her chest like it's the best thing she has ever received. "Of course." she then caughts him by surprise when she leans to press a kiss against his cheek.

He exhales in relief, leaning back on his hand. He knows his face must be red, but at least she doesn't comment on it as she goes back to admire the tulips. After a second, he smirks. "Soo... about this Peter, you know I can be intimidating, right?"

She laughs, slightly pushing his shoulder. "Percy, don't be rude! I'll turn him down tomorrow."

"That's a shame." he replies, even though he doesn’t look shameful at all with the grin plastered on his face.

She shakes her head, smiling softly. "He never stood a chance anyways."

Percy chuckles, reaching for her hand to give it a small squeeze. "Good."

[swappedman]

A Family Reborn

The Parker family had planned an ordinary weekend, but the universe had other plans. The Great Shift had hit overnight, and when they woke up, their lives had changed forever.

Jeff, the father of the Parker family, woke up under a sunny sky, lying on a wooden deck. He blinked at the world around him, confused by the unfamiliar setting. When he tried to push himself up, his body felt strange—lighter, smaller, and far more… flexible. He looked down and froze.

Slender arms. Smooth skin. Long, wavy hair tickling his shoulders. His clothes were tight—a crop top and denim shorts.

“What the hell?” he muttered, but his voice was high-pitched and feminine, nothing like his usual deep tone. He stumbled inside the house and found a mirror, staring in disbelief at the reflection of a young Asian woman. “No. No. No way. This has to be a nightmare.”

The room wasn’t his. The face wasn’t his. None of it made sense.

Rachel, the mother of the Parker family, woke up in a dimly lit bathroom, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. She was leaning against the wall, feeling groggy. When she finally opened her eyes, she noticed the shower curtain and strange surroundings. She rubbed her face, only to feel stubble.

“What the—” she said, only to stop in shock at the sound of her new voice: youthful, male, and raspy. She rushed to the mirror and gasped. A teenage boy with messy curls stared back at her, his face looking amused despite her panic.

Her chest was flat, her hands were rough, and the reflection was so far removed from anything she had ever known. “How is this possible?!” she said, her heart pounding as she tried to come to terms with the impossibility of the situation.

Ethan, the oldest child of the Parker family, blinked awake in a bedroom he didn’t recognize. His chest felt heavy, with curves and limbs that weren’t his. When he tried to stand, he caught sight of himself in a floor-length mirror.

He screamed.

“WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?!” His voice—her voice—was rich and confident, completely foreign. A woman in a bright red onesie with snowflakes stared back at him, her lips curling into a confused, horrified expression.

Ethan staggered back, feeling his—her—heart race. “This can’t be real,” he whispered.

Lily, the youngest child and daughter of the Parker family, awoke in an unfamiliar hotel room with stark white walls and fluorescent lights. She sat up, only to feel her body stretch in ways that didn’t feel normal. Her arms were huge—thick with muscle—and her legs looked like they belonged to a professional athlete.

“What’s going on?” she muttered, her voice deep and booming.

She staggered toward a mirror, her jaw dropping as she saw the reflection of a tall, muscular man with abs so defined they didn’t seem real. She was wearing a pair of light blue shorts and nothing else, and the sight of her new body made her gasp.

“I look like… a freaking superhero,” she muttered, touching her chest and flexing her arms.

The government’s intervention was swift after the incident. Families across the country reported similar body swaps, and officials scrambled to confirm identities and restore order. It took a month for the Parker family to reunite at their home, each member now becoming more accustomed to their new lives and identities.

When Ethan arrived, he saw his mother Rachel—now a lanky teenage boy—leaning against the porch. “Mom?” he asked, his high-pitched voice making him cringe.

Rachel turned and grinned. “You mean ‘son,’ right?” she teased, her male voice rich with sarcasm.

Ethan sighed. “This is gonna be weird.”

Jeff, now in the body of the confident young woman, opened the door. “You’re late, ‘mom’,” he said, smirking. “We’ve got to get dinner ready.”

“Yeah, honey,” Lily chimed in, stepping into view. She towered over everyone else, her muscular frame dominating the doorway. “Don’t keep your husband waiting.”

Ethan groaned. “I don’t know if I can ever get used to this.”

“You’ll have to,” Rachel said with a laugh. “If your father and Lily can accept being your husband and daughter, you and I can handle being the a wife and son.”

Lily placed a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “Relax, ‘honey.’ It’s not so bad. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you to get use to your new body.”

The Parker family eventually adapted, though not without challenges. Ethan and Lily embraced their new roles as the husband and wife of the household, managing the responsibilities that came with adulthood.

Jeff and Rachel on the other hand found themselves reliving their youth in unexpected ways. Jeff discovered a new passion for photography and social media, while Rachel joined the high school soccer team and quickly became a star player.

Though their bodies and roles had changed, their bond as a family remained unshakable. Together, they faced their strange new reality.

[helenofsparta2]

All of the Seven were in support of saving Nico in Mark of Athena

I have absolutely no idea where the misconception came from that no one on board of the Argo II, except for Hazel, wanted to save, or cared for Nico, but it's starting to really annoy me. So, here’s a little summary of every member of the seven’s and Coach Hedge’s thoughts, feelings and actions when it came to Nico, backed up by exempts from the book

 (Safe for Hazel, because… it’s Hazel. Thankfully, there’s no misconception surrounding her, regarding this subject.)

Coach Hedge:

He Immediately agreed to rescue him when the topic came up

 “The giants are trying to lure us,” Annabeth said. “They’re assuming we’ll try to rescue him.” “Well, they’re right!” Hazel looked around the table, her confidence apparently crumbling. “Won’t we?” “Yes!” Coach Hedge yelled with a mouthful of napkins. “It’ll involve fighting, right?” (Mark of Athena, Chapter 14)

Frank:

He Immediately agreed to rescue him when the topic came up

“Hazel, of course we’ll help him,” Frank said. “But how long do we have before… uh, I mean, how long can Nico hold out?” (Mark of Athena, Chapter 14)

He got angry when Leo and Jason suggested that Nico might not be trustworthy

Jason sat forward, his expression grim. “You’re wondering if we can trust the guy. So am I.” Hazel shot to her feet. “I don’t believe this. He’s my brother. He brought me back from the Underworld, and you don’t want to help him?” Frank put his hand on her shoulder. “Nobody’s saying that.” He glared at Leo. “Nobody had better be saying that.” (Mark of Athena, Chapter 14)

Annabeth:

She reacted with anger and sadness when the topic of Nico’s predicament came up

She shook her head sadly when he described Nico’s imprisonment in the bronze jar. (Mark of Athena, Chapter 13)

“One seed a day,” Hazel said miserably. “That’s if he puts himself in a death trance.” “A death trance?” Annabeth scowled. “That doesn’t sound fun.” (Mark of Athena, Chapter 14)

Hazel also seemed preoccupied. Maybe she was taking in their surroundings, or maybe she was worrying about her brother. In less than four days, unless they found him and freed him, Nico would be dead. Annabeth felt that deadline weighing on her, too.  (Mark of Athena, Chapter 18)

She was in support of rescuing him:

“Fine,” Annabeth muttered. “Hazel, now that we’re in Rome, do you think you can pinpoint Nico’s location?” (Mark of Athena, Chapter 31)

Percy:

He immediately agreed to rescue him in Son of Neptune:

Not the part about Sammy – that was still too painful to say out loud – but she told them about Gaia’s offer of a fake life, and the goddess’s claim that she’d captured her brother, Nico. Hazel didn’t want to keep that to herself. She was afraid the despair would overwhelm her. Percy rubbed his shoulders. His lips were blue. ‘You – you saved me, Hazel. We’ll figure out what happened to Nico, I promise.’ (Son of Neptune, Chapter 41)

I think my dad is turning a blind eye. I think – I think he wants me to find Nico.’ ‘We’ll find your brother,’ Percy promised. ‘As soon as the ship gets here, we’ll sail for Rome.’ (Son of Neptune, Chapter 52)

He never once considered the possibility of not saving Nico in Mark of Athena

“He disappeared.” Hazel moistened her lips. “I’m afraid…I’m not sure, but I think something’s happened to him.” “We’ll look for him,” Percy promised. “We have to find the Doors of Death anyway.” (Mark of Athena, Chapter 3)

Huddled next to it was a dejected looking boy in tattered jeans, a black shirt, and an old aviator jacket. On his right hand, a silver skull ring glittered. “Nico,” Percy called. But the son of Hades couldn’t hear him. The container was completely sealed. The air was turning poisonous. Nico’s eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. He appeared to be meditating. His face was pale, and thinner than Percy remembered (…) “Nico,” Percy said, “where is this place? We’ll save you.…” (Mark of Athena, Chapter 13)

“Nico is the bait,” she murmured. “Gaea’s forces must have captured him somehow. But we don’t know exactly where they’re holding him.” “Somewhere in Rome,” Percy said. “Somewhere underground. They made it sound like Nico still had a few days to live, but I don’t see how he could hold out so long with no oxygen.” (Mark of Athena, Chapter 13)

But most of the time, Nico sided with the good guys. He certainly didn’t deserve slow suffocation in a bronze jar, and Percy couldn’t stand seeing Hazel in pain. “We’ll rescue him,” he promised her. “We have to. The prophecy says he holds the key to endless death.” (Mark of Athena, Chapter 14)

About a hundred yards away, he spotted a raised dais with two empty oversized praetor chairs. Standing between them was a bronze jar big enough to hold a person. “Look.” He pointed it out to his friends. Piper frowned. “That’s too easy.” “Of course,” Percy said. “But we have no choice,” Jason said. “We’ve got to save Nico.” “Yeah.” Percy started across the room, picking his way around conveyor belts and moving platforms. (Mark of Athena, Chapter 45)

He informed Hazel and the rest of the seven of Nico’s predicament the very morning after he found out

But how can Nico survive that long? We should talk to Hazel.” “Now?” She hesitated. “No. It can wait until morning. I don’t want to hit her with this news in the middle of the night.” (Mark of Athena, Chapter 13)

He told them about his dream—the twin giants planning a reception for them in an underground parking lot with rocket launchers; Nico di Angelo trapped in a bronze jar, slowly dying from asphyxiation with pomegranate seeds at his feet. Hazel choked back a sob. (Mark of Athena, Chapter 14)

He insisted on saving Nico immediately, once he met up with Jason and Piper in Rome

Percy pointed at Piper’s dagger. “Tiberinus said you could find Nico’s location…you know, with that.” Piper bit her lip. The last thing she wanted to do was check Katoptris for more terrifying images. “I’ve tried,” she said. “The dagger doesn’t always show what I want to see. In fact, it hardly ever does.” “Please,” Percy said. “Try again.” (Mark of Athena, Chapter 41)

Piper dropped the blade. “What’s wrong?” Jason asked. “It was showing us something.” Piper felt like the boat was back on the ocean, rocking under her feet. “We can’t go there.” Percy frowned. “Piper, Nico is dying. We’ve got to find him. Not to mention, Rome is about to get destroyed.” (Mark of Athena, Chapter 41)

“We should wait for the others,” she said. “Hazel, Frank, and Leo should be back soon.” “We can’t wait,” Percy insisted. (Mark of Athena, Chapter 41)

He felt anxious when thinking about Nico and the possibility of him dying

The vision zoomed in again. Inside the jar, Nico di Angelo was curled in a ball, no longer moving, all the pomegranate seeds eaten. “We’re too late,” Jason said. “No,” Percy said. “No, I can’t believe that. Maybe he’s gone into a deeper trance to buy time. We have to hurry.” (Mark of Athena, Chapter 41)

Otis trudged over to the dais, stopping occasionally to do a plié. He knocked over the jar, the lid popped off, and Nico di Angelo spilled out. The sight of his deathly pale face and too-skinny frame made Percy’s heart stop. Percy couldn’t tell whether he was alive or dead. He wanted to rush over and check, but Ephialtes stood in his way. (Mark of Athena, Chapter 45)

At Otis’s feet, Nico shuddered. Percy felt like a hellhound hamster wheel somewhere in his chest had started moving again. At least Nico was alive. (Mark of Athena, Chapter 45)

He called Nico a friend

Jason and Piper closed ranks on either side of Percy (…)“We’re here,” Percy said, which sounded kind of obvious once he had said it. “Let our friend go.” (Mark of Athena, Chapter 45)

“Okay.” Percy decided not to comment on the Hawaiian shirt. “Now, about our friend…” “Oh, him,” Ephialtes sneered. “We were going to let him finish dying in public, but he has no entertainment value. He’s spent days curled up sleeping. What sort of spectacle is that? Otis, tip over the jar.” (Mark of Athena, Chapter 45)

He was careful to make sure Nico would not get injured while he, Jason and Piper fought the giants:

Percy was ready to slice this giant in half and get out of there, but Otis was standing over Nico. If a battle started, Nico was in no condition to defend himself. Percy needed to buy him some recovery time.  (Mark of Athena, Chapter 45)

Percy glanced over at Nico, who was just starting to move. Percy wanted him to be at least conscious enough to crawl out of the way when the fighting started. (Mark of Athena, Chapter 45)

Piper:

She immediately agreed to rescue him (There’s a pattern here)

“And he has five seeds left,” Percy said. “That’s five days, including today. The giants must have planned it that way, so we’d have to arrive by July first. Assuming Nico is hidden somewhere in Rome—” “That’s not much time,” Piper summed up. She put her hand on Hazel’s shoulder. “We’ll find him. (Mark of Athena, Chapter 14)

“We’ll rescue him,” he promised her. “We have to. The prophecy says he holds the key to endless death.” “That’s right,” Piper said encouragingly. “Hazel, your brother went searching for the Doors of Death in the Underworld, right? He must’ve found them.”  (Mark of Athena, Chapter 14)

She felt anxious when she thought about Nico’s predicament

Piper tried to imagine what Nico di Angelo was feeling, stuck in a jar with only two pomegranate seeds left to sustain him, and no idea whether he would be rescued. It made Piper anxious to reach Rome, even though she had a horrible feeling she was sailing toward her own sort of prison—a dark room filled with water. “Nico must have information about the Doors of Death,” Piper said. “We’ll save him, Hazel. We can make it in time. (Mark of Athena, Chapter 25)

Piper slipped it back into its sheath, trying to keep her hands from shaking. She hoped that Percy was right, and Nico was still alive. (Mark of Athena, Chapter 41)

She protected Nico, once he had escaped from the bronze jar:

Nico stirred. Otis looked down at him. His snaky feet flicked their tongues at Nico’s head. “Plus!” Piper said quickly. “Plus, we could do some dance moves as we’re escaping. Perhaps a ballet number!” Otis forgot all about Nico. He lumbered over and wagged his finger at Ephialtes. (Mark of Athena, Chapter 45)

He caught a brief glimpse of Piper leaping across a hopscotch pattern of fiery pits, making her way toward Nico, who was dazed and weaponless and being stalked by a pair of leopards. (Mark of Athena, Chapter 46)

At the dais, Piper stood guard over Nico as the leopards advanced. She aimed her cornucopia and shot a pot roast over the cats’ heads. It must have smelled pretty good, because the leopards raced after it. (Mark of Athena, Chapter 46)

Across the room, sandbags rained down around Piper and Nico. Piper tried to pull Nico to safety, but one of the bags caught her shoulder and knocked her down. (Mark of Athena, Chapter 46)

Jason & Leo

I’m going to sum Jason and Leo up together, because their perspective is very similar on this subject.  

Now, obviously, both of them had some doubts at the beginning:

Uh…” Leo shifted in his chair. “One thing. The giants are expecting us to do this, right? So we’re walking into a trap?” Hazel looked at Leo like he’d made a rude gesture. “We have no choice!” “Don’t get me wrong, Hazel. It’s just that your brother, Nico… he knew about both camps, right?” “Well, yes,” Hazel said “He’s been going back and forth,” Leo said, “and he didn’t tell either side.” Jason sat forward, his expression grim. “You’re wondering if we can trust the guy. So am I.” Hazel shot to her feet. “I don’t believe this. He’s my brother. He brought me back from the Underworld, and you don’t want to help him?” Frank put his hand on her shoulder. “Nobody’s saying that.” He glared at Leo. “Nobody had better be saying that.” Leo blinked. “Look, guys. All I mean is—” “Hazel,” Jason said. “Leo is raising a fair point. I remember Nico from Camp Jupiter. Now I find out he also visited Camp Half-Blood. That does strike me as… well, a little shady. Do we really know where his loyalties lie? We just have to be careful.” (Mark of Athena, Chapter 14)

If I am being honest, this is actually a completely valid point. The way that both of them phrased it was pretty harsh, especially considering the fact that Hazel was sitting right next to them, but the point in of itself, is not preposterous.

Leo had never even met Nico, and Jason had only seen him a couple of times in Camp Jupiter, before this quest. Finding out that a demigod, neither of them really knew, had known about both camps long before any other half-blood did, and is now being used as part of a trap is suspicious (even if none of that is Nico’s fault).

But ignoring that, this hesitance to saving Nico, only lasted for like one or two chapters. After this conversation, both Leo and Jason were completely in support of saving Nico throughout the entire rest of Mark of Athena:

Instead, we could send out a decoy to trick the eagles. We take the ship on a detour, go the long way to Charleston, and get there tomorrow morning—” Hazel started to protest, but Leo raised his hand. “I know, I know. Nico’s in trouble and we have to hurry.” (Mark of Athena, Chapter 17)

Hazel glanced at the evening sun, which was almost to the horizon. “We need to go fast. We’ve burned another day, and Nico only has three more left.” “We can do it,” Leo promised. (Mark of Athena, Chapter 21)

“She’s right,” Hazel said. “After today, Nico has less than two days. The fish-centaurs said we have to rescue him. He’s essential to the quest somehow.” She looked around defensively, as if waiting for someone to argue. No one did. (Mark of Athena, Chapter 25)

Jason suddenly looked as though his brownie with peach preserves didn’t taste so good. “Which will put us in Rome on the last possible day for Nico. Twenty-four hours to find him—at most.” (Mark of Athena, Chapter 25)

“Good idea,” Percy said. “How about we plan to meet back here at… what?” “Three this afternoon?” Jason suggested. “That’s probably the latest we could rendezvous and still hope to fight the giants and save Nico. (Mark of Athena, Chapter 31)

About a hundred yards away, he spotted a raised dais with two empty oversized praetor chairs. Standing between them was a bronze jar big enough to hold a person. “Look.” He pointed it out to his friends. Piper frowned. “That’s too easy.” “Of course,” Percy said. “But we have no choice,” Jason said. “We’ve got to save Nico.” (Mark of Athena, Chapter 45)

Leo was even prepared to open Nemesis’ fortune cookie to find out where Nico was being kept:

The fortune cookie in his tool belt started to feel heavier. Last night, as they flew from Atlanta, Leo had lain in his cabin and thought about how angry he’d made Hazel. He had thought about ways he could make it right. Soon you will face a problem you cannot solve, Nemesis had said, though I could help you…for a price. Leo had taken the fortune cookie out of his tool belt and turned it in his fingers, wondering what price he would have to pay if he broke it open. Maybe now was the moment. “I’d be willing,” he told Hazel. “I could use the fortune cookie to find your brother.” Hazel looked stunned. (Mark of Athena, Chapter 21)

[heliosunny]

Part 4 of yandere Mydei plsss there's so little Yandere Mydei 🥲

Yandere!Mydei x Knight!Reader

[part 1]; [part 2]; [part 3]; [part 4]

You thought last night would be forgotten. A mistake, a haze, nothing more. But Mydei, he won’t let it go. And when he confronts you about it, he says three words you never expected.

"I’ll take responsibility."

You should have expected this. But you still weren’t ready when Mydei cornered you. It was just after the morning assembly, in a quiet corridor of the palace. You had hoped, or prayed—that he would let last night’s incident fade into nothing. But the second you turned the corner, he was already there. Leaning against the stone wall, golden eyes locked on you.

And worse—he was smirking. Like a hunter who had finally caught his prey.

"We need to talk, Y/n."

You tried to walk past him.

"No, we don’t."

But his arm shot out, blocking your path.

"You left a mark on me." His voice was smooth, almost amused. "I thought I should return the favor."

"It was an accident." You kept your tone flat. "I was drugged. Whatever happened wasn’t real."

"You seemed quite real when you begged me to stay."

"I don’t beg."

"You did last night."

Your fingers curled into a fist.

"Let it go, Mydei."

"Oh, but how can I?" He leaned in

"You made quite the spectacle of it. The court is already whispering."

He brushed his fingers over his throat, right where your teeth had sunk into his skin.

"You left a claim on me, dear knight." His golden eyes burned. "Should I not take responsibility for that?"

"Don’t be ridiculous" you snapped.

"Am I?" His voice was silk-wrapped steel. "You bit me in front of my gods, my ancestors, and every noble in this court."

"Did you want them to know I’m yours?"

Heat shot through you.

"You’re twisting this."

"Am I?" He stepped closer, crowding you against the wall.

"I’m saying I’ll take responsibility. I’m saying I’ll claim you back."

His fingers brushed against your chin- teasing.

"Unless… you regret it?"

"It wasn’t real" you hissed.

"Say that again."

You opened your mouth.

But your mind flashed back to last night. His warmth. His steady grip. The way he stiffened when your lips brushed his skin. The way his breathing faltered when you left that mark. Your body betrayed you. You hesitated.

Mydei chuckled softly.

"That’s what I thought."

His fingers slipped beneath your chin—tilting your gaze up.

"I don’t mind waiting, Y/n." His voice dropped to a murmur. "You’ll accept it soon enough."

He finally stepped back, letting you breathe.

"In the meantime" he mused, "I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re mine."

"Don’t you dare—"

"Oops." His smirk was downright wicked. "Too late. The rumors have already begun."

And before you could react, before you could curse him to the depths of the abyss, he was already walking away.

Leaving you furious, flustered, and utterly doomed.

You thought you could escape him. With Selene’s help, you vanished from Mydei’s sight. For the first time, he couldn’t find you.

And for a while, things settled.

Until the news arrived.

Prince Mydei—gravely injured on the battlefield.

"Where have you been?"

Selene was waiting for you the second you slipped into your shared hideout.

"Don’t start." you muttered, shrugging off your cloak.

"Oh, I will start." She stepped closer, voice dropping. "Do you have any idea what kind of madness he’s causing?"

"I haven’t seen him in weeks."

"Exactly!" Selene threw up her hands. "And he’s been tearing through the palace trying to find you."

You already knew that. You had spent weeks dodging him, avoiding his reach.

With Selene’s help, Mydei couldn’t track you down.

Selene sighed, her expression growing serious.

"You heard it too, didn’t you?"

"Prince Mydei" she murmured. "Gravely injured on the battlefield."

You shouldn’t have cared. You should have let him bleed out where he fell. But even now, you couldn’t stop the way your breath caught.

"He did this to himself" Selene warned. "Don’t let him pull you back."

But it was too late. You had already made your choice.

You arrived at his chambers past midnight.

The guards let you through without a word, they had been expecting you.

And when you finally pushed the door open… Mydei was waiting.

Not unconscious. Not dying.

Just sitting on his bed, golden eyes glinting.

Smirking.

"I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come, assassin."

He wasn’t dying.

He wasn’t even seriously injured.

He looked fine.

Perhaps a little pale, a bandage over his arm, but otherwise..completely unharmed.

"You—" Your voice shook with rage. "You tricked me."

His smirk only widened.

"Did I?"

"The rumors," you whispered. "The entire kingdom thinks you were gravely wounded—"

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand.

"It worked, didn’t it?"

You stormed forward, grabbing his collar, yanking him closer.

"You played with war just to drag me back?"

"Would you have come otherwise?"

Your grip tightened.

"You’re insane."

"And you’re here." His voice dropped—low, triumphant. "That’s all that matters."

"Did you miss me?"

"No."

His lips brushed against your fingers, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss.

"Stay." His voice was a whisper, dangerous, pleading.

You took one step toward the door. And that was as far as you got.

Because before you could reach the handle, a hand clamped around your wrist.

"Where do you think you’re going?"

You turned, slowly just to see his fingers coiled tighter around your wrist.

"You just got here." His voice was too smooth, too calm. "Surely you don’t plan on leaving so soon?"

"Let go."

He didn’t. Instead, he stood, his height towering over you.

"Not yet" he murmured. "You owe me, don’t you?"

"I owe you nothing."

"Oh?" He tilted his head, mocking. "You disappeared for weeks. I could have died."

"You didn’t."

"But I could have." His voice was teasing. "And whose fault would that have been?"

He was toying with you like usual.

You yanked at your wrist. He didn’t budge.

"Mydei."

"Say it again."

Your jaw clenched.

"Let. Me. Go."

His grip loosened—just barely. But then, his other hand lifted to brush a loose strand of hair from your face.

"What if I don’t want to?"

His fingers trailed lower, ghosting over your cheek, your jaw.

"What are you doing?"

"Something I should have done a long time ago."

And then, he leaned in. You braced yourself. For a threat, a taunt, for him to force you back. But instead, his lips brushed against your temple.

"Stay."

You tried to pull away. But his hands were already on you, one still gripping your wrist, the other curling against your back, firm and unmoving.

"You’re mine, Y/n" he murmured against your skin.

Your heart pounded.

"You’re delusional"

He only chuckled.

"You say that, yet you’re here."

"Because you lied" you spat.

"And yet you still came."

He was too close. The warmth of his breath, the faintest scent of blood and steel clinging to his skin—all of it suffocating.

"Tell me." His fingers tightened against your back. "Would you have run to anyone else’s side the way you ran to mine?"

You opened your mouth, ready to retort but nothing came.

"I thought so."

"Let me go, Mydei."

"No."

"You can’t keep me here."

"Can’t I?" He tilted his head, mocking. "What will you do, assassin? Kill me?"

"You wouldn’t." His smirk only grew. "Because if you could, you would have done it a long time ago."

"I don’t need to kill you to leave."

"Then leave."

His fingers unraveled from your wrist, your back.

Your muscles coiled—preparing to bolt for the door.

But before you could take a single step, Mydei moved.

Faster than you expected, faster than you had ever seen him.

His arms caged around you, forcing you against the wall.

A startled gasp tore from your lips.

"Do you really think," he whispered, voice low, dangerous, "that I would let you go so easily?"

"You can’t do this."

"I can." His breath ghosted against your skin. "And I will."

You twisted in his grasp, nails digging into his wrist, shoving at his shoulders—but it was useless. His arms were like iron bars, pinning you to the wall.

"Are you done?" Mydei’s voice was silken, patient.

You glared.

"Not even close."

And then—you lunged. Your leg swung up, aiming for his side, but he caught it effortlessly, smirking.

"Predictable" he murmured.

"You think you can run from me, love?" His fingers traced down your arm—slow, possessive. "After everything? You're mine after all"

You bit the inside of your cheek.

"I don’t belong to you, Mydei."

"But you do."

His hand trailed lower, down your wrist, over your fingers. You snatched your hand away.

"I won’t play this game."

"Oh, but you already have." His smirk deepened. "From the moment you let me touch you. From the moment you came running back to me."

"I had no choice."

"You always have a choice." His fingers ghosted over your jaw. "You just keep choosing me."

A sharp knock suddenly broke the tension.

"Your Highness?"

Your blood ran cold.

Before you could even speak, the door opened.

A young servant stepped in, eyes wide with shock as she took in the scene.

Mydei towering over you.

Your wrists pinned in his grip.

The servant’s face blanched.

"I— I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—"

"Out!" Mydei ordered, voice cold, sharp.

The girl hesitated—then turned to you.

"D-Do you need help?"

A chance. This was your chance.

But the second you opened your mouth, Mydei moved. His grip shifted, wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

"She’s fine" he said smoothly. "Aren’t you, love?"

His fingers dug in—warning you.

"I… I’m fine" you forced out.

The servant faltered. But Mydei’s gaze was a silent command. So she bowed quickly—then fled, shutting the door behind her.

The second she was gone, you shoved at his chest.

"That was low" you hissed.

"I told you" he murmured, smirking. "You’re not leaving."

His grip tightened.

"Not now. Not ever."

The rumors started the next morning.

Hushed whispers in the halls. Stolen glances in the corridors. Servants whispering about the Prince’s secret lover—his knight, a former assasin, held captive in his chambers.

About the way he pinned you against the wall.

The way his golden eyes gleamed with possession.

The way he held you—like you belonged to him.

"Did you hear? She didn’t even fight back."

"Maybe she likes it, being trapped in his bed."

You heard every word.

And so did Selene.

A soft knock echoed at your window.

Your heart leapt.

Selene.

Without hesitation, you unlatched the window, letting her slip inside.

"Took you long enough" you whispered.

She grinned, mischief gleaming in her very eyes.

"Had to take the long way in" she murmured. "Your dear Prince seems to think locking doors will keep me out."

She wasn’t wrong.

After last night, Mydei had tightened security around his chambers.

Extra guards. Double patrols.

You weren’t just trapped.

You were caged.

"I heard the rumors" Selene said, her smirk faltering. "I’m getting you out" she said, voice firm, final.

"Selene—"

"No arguments. I’m not letting you stay in a gilded cage just because he wants to keep you."

She reached out—gripping your hand.

"Do you trust me?"

"Always."

"Then let’s go."

But before you could move, the door swung open.

And there stood Mydei.

"Going somewhere, love?"

Selene moved first. A dagger flashed, aiming straight for Mydei’s throat. But he was faster. He caught her wrist, twisting it just enough to force her to drop the blade.

"You have a habit of sneaking into places you don’t belong" Mydei murmured.

"And you have a habit of keeping things that aren’t yours," she shot back.

"Oh? But Y/n is still here."

Selene’s grip tightened around your wrist.

"We’re leaving."

"No" Mydei said simply.

His hand reached out, curling around your waist.

"You bastard—"

"Your lovely friend could have left anytime." His golden gaze flickered to you. "But Y/n is still here. Ask yourself why."

Selene turned to you—eyes searching yours.

"Tell me you want to leave" she urged.

Deep down you knew.

If you ran, he would find you.

Your silence was all the answer Selene needed.

Her jaw clenched.

"You’re a fool" she muttered—before slipping out the window and vanishing into the night.

Leaving you alone.

With him.

"You made the right choice" he murmured, lips brushing against your temple.

You exhaled shakily.

But you didn’t move.

Because no matter how much you wanted to deny it, somehow, somewhere along the way, you had stopped running.

[angstywaifu]

I Only Want You - Liam Mairi

Request: Liam Mairi fic (smut) where he is the readers first time and he’s super sweet when she gets a little nervous or shy? Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Fingering. Unprotected P in V. Readers first time.

Masterlist | Support Me

Ever since battle brief and the comment I had made, I had felt Liam’s eyes on me all day. Every time I met his gaze he didn’t look away. He’d look at me as if he was trying to figure something out. Like if there had been a hidden meaning in my words. And there had been.

Ever since I’d laid eyes on Liam I had been attracted to him. He was easily one of the most attractive riders in the quadrant in my opinion. And I knew a lot of other girls thought that with how they looked at him. Especially in gym or challenges. The way he moved and handled himself, it was like an art form. An art form I’m sure translated to his skills in bed. My room was just up from his, and at least once or twice a week I would catch a girl sneaking out or in. Usually the same girls, but occasionally I would see someone different.

But I had never dare hinted I wanted to see what it was like. I didn’t want to risk the friendship we had. Liam and I had hit it off almost immediately after I very nearly kicked his butt in the first day of challenges when we had been paired up. He eventually got the better of me and won. But after he pulled me up from the mat and introduced himself, we’d been close friends since. But now it felt like we were at a turning point in our friendship after my comment.

“One time! It’s happened one time, Rhi!” Violet says loudly as I join my squad and take my place next to Rhiannon.

*“Right. And what would you call that whole thing with Tynan?” Rhiannon asks in a sassy tone that nearly has me laughing.

”Threshing.” Violet says in a way to try shrug it off.*

*“And what about Barlowe’s constant threats?” I ask as I lean around Rhiannon with a smirk on my face. Liam shakes his head at me, knowing I’m just fuelling the fire now.

”They’re just threats. The only time I’ve actually been targeted was at night, and it’s not like Liam here is sleeping in my bedroom.”*

*He pauses his wood carving as he shrugs his shoulders. “I mean, I’m not opposed-”

”Don’t even start.” Violet whips her head towards Liam. “You are a shameless flirt.”

His usually cocky grin spreads across his face. “Thank you.”*

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

Rhiannon leans back in her chair and laughs. “Don’t mind her, she’s just sexually frustrated. Makes a girl crabby.” Adds as she starts writing in her book.

“That has nothing to do with it.” Violet mutters.

“And yet I don’t hear you denying it.” Rhiannon adds with a sweet smile.

“I’m sorry I don’t make the cut.” Liam says teasingly.

“Maybe not for her.” I add a little too flirtatiously, causing Liam’s eyes to snap to me as I sink back into my chair trying to hide behind Rhiannon as my cheeks flush bright red. Shit.

I yet again felt his eyes on me as I walked into the dining hall. As my eyes scan the hall I find him sitting with Xaden, Garrick and Bodhi. All of whom are looking at me then back at Liam before laughing at him. Were they talking about me? Surely not. I tear my gaze from them and grab some food for dinner before walking over to Imogen and Rhiannon who were the only ones in our squad at our usual table. Both of them going silent as I take seat next to Imogen and slowly pick at my food.

“You ok? You’ve been super quiet since battle brief?” Rhiannon asks as I roll a potato around my plate.

“Honestly, I don’t know.” I tell her as I look up at her. Behind her I see Liam and Xaden looking over at me.

“Regretting the comment you made to Liam about sex?” Rhiannon teases me as Imogen’s head whips towards me.

“Clearly I need to sit closer to you first years in battle brief. What did you say to him?” She asks a she props her head up on her arm as she looks at me, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Violet made a comment about missing sex, and the boys started being well boys and Violet shot them down, then this one her pipes up and says to Liam maybe he’d make the cut for someone else. Gods I’ve never seen those boys eyes go as wide as they did when those words left her mouth.” Rhiannon informs Imogen.

“And he’s been avoiding me ever since. Successfully ruined that friendship.” I say sarcastically as I finally stab the potato on my plate.

“And yet his eyes have not left you once since battle brief.” She adds sternly.

“Wait, you haven’t hooked up with him?” Imogen asks as her eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Wait, you think Liam and I have slept together?”

She shrugs. “I mean with the way he looks at you and follows you around. Hell no guy goes anywhere near you because of him, and trust me they’ve tried. Even poor Bodhi over there wanted to have a shot with you before Liam sternly told him to look elsewhere.”

I shake my heat at them. “Trust me, not been there or done that. Not with anyone. And he doesn’t see me that way.”

Both girls look at me like I’ve told them the skies as pink as Imogen’s hair.

”Wait, you’re a virgin?” Rhiannon asks, lowering her voice so only I can hear her.

I nod. “Yes, and he definitely wont want to be with someone who has no experience/”

“You girl are so blind and oblivious.” Imogen states bluntly.

“I am not. If he wanted to be with me he would’ve tried. And he hasn’t. And I don’t want to be added to the list of girls he brings back to his room every other night.” I say a little too angrily.

“And also jealous apparently.” Imogen adds with a smirk.

“Am not.”

”Then how many girls are there?” Rhiannon asks.

I purse my lips together. And it’s all the answer they need from me to prove their point. “It doesn’t matter. He’s not the one girl kind of guy. And I don’t want to be on a list. It ain’t happening.”

“Maybe you just need to shoot your shot? What’s the worst that could happen?” Imogen adds so casually.

”I ain’t wrecking the friendship more than I have already. It will all be fine in a few days. He’ll sleep with someone and forget all about it.”

”I don’t know, that boys eyes have barely left you since you walked in and sat down. I say just go for it.” She adds before turning her attention back to her food.

I look up and immediately meet Liam’s blue eyes. I feel like he’s staring into my soul. As if trying to read my mind and intentions behind that comment. I shove my barely touched plate of food away before walking out of the dining hall and back to my room. I’m glad neither Rhiannon or Imogen try to follow me. Clearly deemed I’d had enough teasing for the evening. But in my hurry to leave, and my mind elsewhere. I don’t hear another set of feet following me, running to catch up. It’s not till they call out to me, that my blood runs cold with dread and my heart starts beating at a rapid pace.

“Y/N, wait up!” Liam calls behind me.

Only one more corridor and I can hide in my room for the night. Hide and deal with this tomorrow. I push my legs faster hoping my pace is faster than his. But it isn’t, and his hand grasp my wrist and spins me towards him. His other hand reaching out to steady me as I collide with his very solid muscular chest beneath his tight fitting black linen shirt. Too embarrassed to look him in the eye, I keep my eyes focused on the ground. He goes to grab my chin to raise my head but I tilt my head to the side and avoid his grip. I don’t have to know his eyes are furrowed at me right now. I’ve never avoided him touching me like that. Like I hated being close to him.

”Can you look at me?” He asks softly, his hand falling to his side.

I keep my eyes firmly on the floor. “What do you want Liam?”

”I want you to look at me Y/N. I want you to talk to me and not ignore me like I’m the plague like you have since battle brief.”

Anger flairs in me and has my eyes flicking up to his in an instant. “You weren’t exactly doing much better.” I snap.

He chuckles at me. “There she is.” I roll my eyes and go to leave, but he reaches out again and grasps my wrist.

I turn back and face him, watch as he swallows slowly, nervously. His eyes darting over me. Liam was nervous. Something I could say I had never seen him be.

“Are you ok?” I ask quietly.

”That comment you made today. In battle brief.” I gulp. Shit. “Did you mean you when you made that comment?”

I roll my eyes. “Heaps of girls want to be with you Liam, you know that.” I say trying to dodge the questions as I look down at my hands.

”That’s not what I asked.” He pleads, his fingers grasping my chin and forcing my eyes back to him. My breath catches in my throat at the intensity in his gaze “Did you mean you?”

His voice is almost pleading. Like, like he wanted my words to mean me. That I wanted him. That he would make the cut for me. That I would let him in.

”And what if I did? What if I was meaning me?” I ask quietly as I take a cautious step closer and place a hand on his chest as his hand moves from my chin to cup my cheek.

”Then we might need to go somewhere else if you did sweetheart.”

Gods I could have melted at the huskiness in his voice.

”I’m not being another girl on your list. It’s not what I want. And….”

“And what?” He asks, leaning down towards me.

”I’m…. I’ve never been with anyone. Ever.” I confess, averting my eyes from his.

”You would be the only girl on my list if you meant you. I only want you.” His voice so soft and gentle as his thumb runs over my cheek.

I look back up at him, his blue eyes piercing into mine. ”Then yes. I did mean me.”

I gasp as Liam backs me into my closed door, my legs locking around my waist as he kisses me, so soft and gentle as if testing the waters. He bites my lip before pushing his tongue into my mouth when I gasp at the sensation. His hands push under my shirt, his fingers skimming up and down my sides. I moan into his mouth as his grip around my waist tightens. His weight pushing me back into the door. I instinctively wind my fingers into his hair, as I tug I feel the moan rumble from his chest before he removes his lips from mine and rests his forehead on mine.

“Do that again.” He whispers against my lips.

I smile and do as he says, tugging on his blonde hair. I watch as his eyes darken and flare with desire. He walks backwards from the door, placing me back on my feet as he pushes the jacket from my arms and tugs on the bottom of my shirt. I raise my arms and he’s quick to discard of the material before removing his own. I go to trace the relic on his arm, but he kneels and starts to remove my boots, followed by my pants and underwear. He slowly stands back up, kissing his way back up my leg, sending shivers through my body. As he stands to his full height, he quickly removes his pants, exposing himself to me. He chuckles as I take him in. All of him.

Neither of us speaks, not wanting to break the moment. Liam grabs my hand and pulls me with him as he sits down on desk chair, guiding my legs either side of him. I go to sit but his hands hold me up by my waist. One of his hands slowly moves down, his fingers lightly caressing my skin as he makes his way between my legs. My hands grasps his shoulders as a moan rips from my throat as he inserts to fingers into me, my eyes closing as my head rolls back. He curls his fingers inside me, hitting the perfect spot, causing my to jump forward a little, but Liam’s hand keeps me steady as he chuckles at my reaction. He slowly slips his fingers from me as I groan at the loss. Liam’s hand comes up and cups my cheeks, my eyes opening to meet his.

“You ready?” He asks me, eyes blown wide with lust, but looking at me like I am the most precious thing in the world.

I look down at him. Gods I’m nervous. But I wanted him. I wanted him so badly. And now all embarassment and regret from making that comment in battle brief was gone. Because now I had Liam sitting below me, looking at me like I’m his everything.

I nod. “I’m ready.”

My eyes go wide as he stretches me open. It takes all my will power to keep my eyes open and looking at him. They risk fluttering shut but I force them open. My fingernails dig into Liam’s shoulder, definitely leaving marks as he lowers me slowly onto him. Eventually he sheaths himself inside me as I sit in his lap, a moan rippling through me and him.

He leans back in the chair as best as he can, as he starts to thrust slowly up and down. Each thrust pulling sounds I didn’t know were possible to come out of me as I clench around him. Every time i clench around him his fingers dig into my waist. His lips meet my neck, pressing light kisses and bites as he moves his way down my neck. As my fingers slip back into his hair and tug, he bites down hard causing me to yelp.

Liam thrusts up into me as he wraps his arms around my waist as he stands up, keeping himself inside me as he walks over to the bed and lays me down. He hitches my legs over his shoulders, immediately making me moan with out even moving. The position of my legs now having him hit a completely different angle in me. He smirks at me as I squirm under him. His hands find their place either side of my head as he leans forward and thrust into me. This time I am unable to keep my eyes on him as they roll back and flutter close. Liam clearly forgotten about the command he had given me as I clench around him and his pace picks up.

My hands reach up and pull Liam’s lips down to mine in a passionate kiss that is a fight for dominance. Each of us biting at our lips, our tongues fighting, Eventually Liam wins as my fingers run down his chest. He moves one of his hands to raise my hips, my eyes flying open at the new angle as Liam rests his forehead against mine as he stares into my eyes. A silent command to keep my eyes on him as we finish. With the rate I’m clamping down around him, he knows I’m close. Liam shifts his balance on his legs, his hand not raising my hips moving to my most sensitive bundle of nerves. Immediately I come undone beneath him. His name rolling off my lips, mine soon tumbling off his as he finishes as well.

In one swift movement Liam rolls to his side, pulling me with him and cradling me against his chest. He presses a kiss to the top of my head as his fingers trace up my thigh and back, lulling me into sleep. Liam must sense me dozing off in his arms as he pulls the blanket over us, his arms tightening around me as I doze off into the best sleep I’ve ever had.

[cheeseatlantic]

part twosie woosie if ur new part one is like on my profile meow

MARKED FOR DEATH

(PART TWO: THE MARK) GHOST’S POV

Pain burned through his side, hot and pulsing, but Ghost had felt worse. Much worse.

He lay still, back against the pavement, chest heaving. Blood trickled from the gash on his temple, blurring the edges of his vision, but he didn’t need to see clearly to know what was happening.

You had won.

You stood over him, gun trained steady, eyes sharp and dark in the dim streetlights. He could see it—feel it—the weight of the moment, the breath between life and death.

And yet, you hesitated.

A smirk curled at the corner of his mouth. “Gonna say somethin’ dramatic first? Or just shoot me and get it over with?”

Your finger twitched on the trigger. “I should.”

“You should.” His voice was rough, a whisper of smoke. “So why aren’t you?”

Silence.

Ghost watched you closely, noting every flicker of hesitation, every shift in your stance. You didn’t know, did you? Couldn’t figure out why you hadn’t pulled the trigger yet.

Interesting.

Slowly, he lifted a hand, wiping two fingers through the blood on his temple. He saw your eyes track the movement, a flicker of confusion breaking through your focus.

Good.

Then, with a deliberate slowness, he pressed his fingers to his forehead—dragging an X in his own blood.

You went still.

Dead silent.

Ghost could feel the tension crackling between you, thick enough to choke on.

Then, finally—

“What the fuck was that?”

He grinned, lazy and sharp. “Figured it’d help, love. You looked like you needed a little encouragement.”

The way your expression twisted—somewhere between exasperation and disbelief—sent something amused curling in his chest.

“You’re insane,” you muttered.

Ghost hummed. “Only for you.”

He could see the shift in your expression, the flicker of irritation, the way your grip tightened on your weapon. He pushed, just to see how far he could take it.

“Idiot.”

You exhaled sharply, crouching before he could react. And then—

Your fingers brushed through the X he’d drawn, smearing warm blood against his skin.

His breath hitched.

It was fast—so fast even he almost didn’t notice—but you did.

Your touch was firm when you pressed your bloodied palm against his chest, right over his heart.

And fuck—that was new.

Ghost went still. Completely.

“You’re lucky I don’t like playing with broken toys,” you murmured, voice quiet but firm.

Something flickered in his chest. Sharp. Unfamiliar.

He had to go. Now.

Before you could register the shift, before you could trap him in another moment like this—Ghost moved.

A sharp twist of his body, a flick of momentum, a feint—he slipped from beneath you, rolling out of reach, vanishing into the darkness before you could react.

He climbed, fast, pushing through the pain, boots finding purchase on rusted metal as he hoisted himself onto a rooftop.

Then, just because he could, he chuckled. Low, smug, teasing.

“Better luck next time, yeah?”

And then he disappeared.

But this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

and a very special shoutout to @lluvia-jc for being the 150th follower and making this little drabble thingy happen! im so grateful for all 150 of you, all the friends ive made on this platform, all the love and support! truly from the bottom of my heart thank you.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: The Fight

The night was supposed to be quiet, simple—just the two of you and some takeout on the couch. But it had escalated so fast, neither of you saw it coming. What started as a casual disagreement had turned into a full-blown fight, voices raised, words thrown like daggers, all of it spiraling out of control.

“You don’t get it, Marshall!” you shouted, your hands trembling with frustration. “You never listen! I’m always the one making compromises while you just do whatever the hell you want!”

Marshall was pacing, his face flushed with anger, his jaw clenched tight. “Oh, so now I’m the bad guy? You think I don’t try? You think I don’t care about you, about us? You’ve been distant for weeks, and every time I try to talk to you, you shut me out!”

You threw your hands up, the last bit of patience you had evaporating. “I’m trying! But you—You’re always too busy! It’s like I don’t even matter anymore! Maybe I don’t matter to you at all!”

His eyes narrowed, hurt flashing across his face. The words stung more than he wanted to admit, but he refused to let it show. “You matter to me more than anything. But you keep pushing me away! What do you want from me, huh?”

“I want you to hear me,” you yelled back. “I want you to care about what I need too, not just what you need!”

The silence that followed was deafening. Both of you were breathing hard, emotions running high. For a long moment, it felt like the world was holding its breath.

You could see it in his eyes—the hurt, the confusion. But even then, something inside you snapped. You couldn’t stay in this suffocating atmosphere anymore. Without saying a word, you turned and grabbed your jacket from the chair, making a beeline for the door.

Marshall watched in shock as you stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind you. For a brief second, he stood frozen, unsure of what just happened. Then, his heart dropped.

“No,” he muttered under his breath, the panic beginning to set in. He quickly ran to the door, throwing it open to find you standing at the foot of the driveway, your back to him, your posture stiff.

“Wait!” He called out, his voice desperate. “Where the hell are you going? We need to talk about this!”

But you didn’t stop. You just kept walking, your footsteps echoing in the cold night air.

“Stop, damn it!” Marshall’s voice cracked, and he didn’t care. He wasn’t letting you leave. Not like this. Not after everything. You weren’t going to walk out of his life when it felt like his whole world was crumbling apart.

He moved faster, his long strides closing the distance between you in seconds. As you reached for the car door, he grabbed your arm, spinning you around to face him. His breath came out in ragged gasps, his frustration and fear mixing with something else—something he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time.

“Don’t leave,” he whispered, his voice strained. His grip softened just enough to let you know he wasn’t trying to control you—he was just scared. “Please... we can work this out. I need you.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat. Your anger was still there, but underneath it, you felt that familiar pull of love, the connection you shared with him.

“I can’t keep doing this, Marshall,” you said, your voice breaking. “I can’t keep feeling like I’m invisible to you.”

“You’re not invisible,” he pleaded, his hand reaching for yours. “I see you. I see everything you do. I know I mess up. I know I don’t always get it right, but I’m not giving up on us. You’re my everything.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, but you didn’t move.

Marshall took a deep breath, looking down at your trembling form. He couldn’t lose you—not like this. Not when things had already been tough enough.

Before you could even react, he stepped forward, his hands gently but firmly wrapping around your waist. “I’m not letting you walk away from me.”

“What are you—” you gasped, but Marshall didn’t give you a chance to finish your sentence.

In one swift motion, he lifted you off the ground, your feet dangling in the air, and he started walking back toward the house.

“Put me down!” you protested, trying to wriggle out of his grip, but he tightened his hold, not allowing you to break free.

“Not until you listen,” he said, his tone soft but insistent, his voice thick with emotion. He wasn’t going to let you go, not when you were both this close to fixing things.

He carried you back inside the house, shutting the door behind him with a force that echoed through the quiet night. He didn’t put you down until you were back in the living room, sitting on the couch. He kneeled in front of you, his hands resting on your knees, his eyes desperate.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice almost pleading. “I’m not perfect. Hell, I fuck up a lot. But I need you here. I need you in my life, and I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. Just don’t leave me, please.”

You looked at him, the fire in your chest starting to die down. His words, his raw honesty, hit you harder than you expected. And for the first time that night, you didn’t feel so angry anymore. Instead, you just felt… exhausted.

“I don’t want to leave,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I just... I don’t know how to make things better.”

Marshall’s gaze softened as he stood up, sitting next to you and pulling you close, his arm around your shoulders. “We’ll figure it out together,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “I promise, we’ll work through it. I’m not letting you go.”

You leaned your head against his chest, letting the warmth of his embrace sink in, the tears you hadn’t realized you’d been holding back finally falling. But in that moment, you knew one thing for sure.

You weren’t alone. And neither was he.

[koyagifs]

𝓼𝓹𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓪𝓷

『pairing』: spiderman! san x reader ft. wooyoung 『au』: marvel | spider-verse | 『genre』: angst | 『summary』: san knew the consequences of being spiderman, but he didn't realize the fact that you would someday be apart of it as well.. 『word count』: 3.4k 『warning(s)』: green goblin, san trying his best :(. Woo to the rescue ( as a bestie )

San's hands trembled slightly as he handed you the cup, though he tried to play it off by scratching the back of his neck. He avoided your gaze, knowing full well that the guilt of lying to you was evident on his face. Being Spider-Man had changed everything in his life, including the way he loved you.

"Work's just been... crazy lately," he muttered, sitting across from you on the couch. The faint bruise on his jawline, just barely peeking out from under his collar, didn’t go unnoticed.

You narrowed your eyes, setting the coffee down on the table. "Crazy enough for you to miss date night three weeks in a row? And for you to show up looking like you lost a fight with a wall every other time I see you?"

San flinched but forced a weak laugh. "I'm clumsy, you know that."

You leaned forward, concern softening your features. "Sannie, you can tell me if something's wrong. I just... I feel like you're keeping something from me. Is it the job? Did something happen at the Bugle?"

He looked at you then, and for a moment, his heart clenched painfully. You deserved the truth. You deserved to know everything. But the memory of the last time he let someone close to him know about Spider-Man played over and over in his head. The danger, the consequences—it wasn’t worth risking your life.

"It’s just the job," he lied, hating himself more with every word. "Jonah's been running me ragged with all these deadlines. And, uh, there’s this big assignment I’m working on. It’s been keeping me out late."

"An assignment?" you asked, tilting your head. "Does it have to do with Spider-Man? You’re always bringing in those crazy photos of him."

San swallowed hard, forcing a casual shrug. "Yeah, something like that."

You studied him for a moment, clearly unconvinced but choosing not to push. "Okay, fine. But if you’re overworking yourself, promise me you’ll take a break, okay? I don’t like seeing you like this."

San smiled faintly, the warmth of your concern only deepening his resolve to protect you. "I promise."

But as he watched you sip your coffee, blissfully unaware of the world he carried on his shoulders, he knew it was a promise he couldn’t keep.

The weight in your chest grew heavier as you stared at the blank screen of your phone. No missed calls. No texts. Just the same empty silence that had started to feel all too familiar. You sighed, setting the phone down on the table next to the untouched breadbasket, trying to ignore the pang of disappointment coursing through you.

The restaurant was warm and inviting, filled with the soft hum of chatter and the clinking of silverware. Yet, in that moment, you felt completely out of place, like a painting hung in the wrong gallery.

The waiter approached again, their polite smile faltering slightly. “Would you like to order something while you wait?”

You forced a small smile. “Not yet, thank you. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

They nodded, retreating back to the kitchen, but you could feel their pity lingering in the air.

Another glance at your watch. He was over an hour late. This was supposed to be a night for the two of you—a rare moment where San had promised you his undivided attention. No work. No excuses. Just the two of you and the kind of love that had once felt so effortless.

You tried to brush away the doubts creeping into your mind, but they were relentless. This wasn’t the first time he’d done this—missed a date without so much as a word. The excuses always came later, flimsy and unconvincing, but you wanted so badly to believe them because it was San.

" yn? is that you?"

You looked up to see Wooyoung, you gave him a polite smile, waving at him. He was quick to sit across you.

" what are you doing here alone? waiting for san?"

“Wooyoung,” you said softly, surprised to see him. His sudden presence was like a gust of fresh air breaking through the suffocating heaviness you’d been feeling. “Yeah, I’m waiting for San.”

Wooyoung tilted his head, his ever-curious gaze settling on the untouched wine in front of you. “Hmm, how long have you been waiting?” he asked, his tone light but laced with concern.

You hesitated, swirling the glass absentmindedly. “About an hour.”

His eyes widened slightly before narrowing in annoyance—not at you, but at the situation. “An hour? Seriously? What’s he doing, fighting off villains or something?” He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, but you couldn’t bring yourself to laugh.

You gave him a weak smile. “You know how he is. Work gets in the way a lot.”

Wooyoung frowned, leaning forward, his voice dropping to a softer, more serious tone. “That doesn’t mean he should leave you sitting here by yourself. You deserve better than this, Y/N.”

You looked down at your hands, his words stinging in a way you didn’t expect. “It’s not always like this. He’s just… busy.”

Wooyoung’s gaze softened as he watched you struggle to defend San. He reached across the table, resting his hand lightly over yours.

" why don't we hang out hm? It's been years since we last seen each other anyways"

You glanced down at Wooyoung's hand resting over yours, his touch gentle yet steady. The weight of his words lingered in the air, a mix of nostalgia and comfort that pulled at your heart.

“It really has been years, hasn’t it?” you murmured, a small smile playing on your lips. Memories of late-night adventures and endless laughter with Wooyoung flickered through your mind like an old film reel.

He grinned, his eyes lighting up. “Exactly. So, let’s catch up. No pressure, no strings. Just two old friends grabbing a bite or doing something fun.”

You hesitated, your mind drifting to San. You’d been waiting for him all night, hoping for some time together, yet here was Wooyoung, offering you the one thing San had been struggling to give: his undivided attention.

“Are you sure you don’t have somewhere else to be?” you asked, your voice soft but teasing.

Wooyoung scoffed, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. “Y/N, I’m offended. Do you really think I’d leave you here by yourself after all this time?”

A small laugh escaped your lips despite yourself. “Okay, okay. You win.”

His grin widened, and he gave your hand a light squeeze before letting go. “Great! Where to? Fancy wine isn’t really my style, but I know a killer street food spot nearby. Unless you’re craving something else?”

You looked at him, his enthusiasm infectious. For the first time that evening, the disappointment and frustration that had been weighing you down seemed to lift. “Street food sounds perfect.”

Just as you stood to grab your coat, your phone buzzed on the table. You glanced at the screen to see San’s name flashing, a wave of conflicted emotions washing over you.

Wooyoung noticed your hesitation and leaned closer, his voice low and sincere. “It’s your call, Y/N. But whatever you decide, just make sure it’s what you want, not what you feel obligated to do.”

You met his gaze, his words resonating deeply. Taking a deep breath, you picked up your phone, but instead of answering, you slid it into your bag.

“Let’s go, Woo,” you said, a newfound sense of clarity in your voice.

His face lit up, and he offered his arm with a playful wink. “That’s what I’m talking about. Lead the way, my lady.”

San’s brow furrowed as he swung through the city, the wind rushing past him. His grip tightened on the web-line as he landed on a nearby rooftop, staring down at the glowing city streets below. He glanced at the time on his phone. An hour and twenty minutes late. The guilt he’d been carrying all night only deepened as he realized just how much he’d let you down—again.

San’s mind raced as he approached the restaurant, his heart pounding. What if you were still there? What if you weren’t? The thought of you leaving, of giving up on him, was enough to make his stomach twist.

Swinging down to the alley beside the restaurant, he quickly pulled off his mask, stuffing it into his backpack and smoothing his hair. He stepped inside, scanning the room, but his heart sank when he didn’t see you.

What he did see, however, was the waiter clearing the table where you’d been sitting. The half-empty glass of wine, the untouched breadbasket—it all painted a picture he couldn’t ignore.

San approached the waiter hesitantly. “Excuse me. The woman who was sitting there—did she leave long ago?”

The waiter gave him a look of recognition, paired with mild irritation. “She waited for over an hour. Another gentleman joined her for a bit before they left together.”

Another gentleman? San’s jaw clenched. “Did she say where she was going?”

The waiter shook his head, clearly unimpressed. “She didn’t mention anything. Maybe try calling her.”

San nodded, murmuring a quiet thank you before stepping back out onto the street. His mind reeled as he pieced things together. Another man? Who could it have been?

Then it hit him. Wooyoung.

San pulled out his phone, his fingers hovering over your name in his contacts. He wanted to call, to explain, to beg you to give him another chance—but he didn’t.

Instead, he shoved the phone back into his pocket and started walking, his head hanging low. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t let his double life hurt the people he loved, but tonight, he’d failed you.

And now, he couldn’t shake the image of you walking away with someone who might actually make you feel like you mattered.

You were laughing at something Wooyoung had said as you two walked side by side.

" so, how are you and San? Surprised that he hasn't put a ring on it just yet?"

You let out a soft chuckle at Wooyoung's playful teasing, though his question hit a little closer to home than you’d expected. “San and I…” you trailed off, the words catching in your throat as you glanced at the ground.

Wooyoung noticed the hesitation and slowed his steps, his usual grin softening into something gentler. “Hey, I was just joking,” he said quickly, nudging your shoulder lightly. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

You shook your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “No, it’s okay. It’s just…” You paused, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Things between us haven’t exactly been easy lately. He’s so busy with work, and I just feel like… like I’m always waiting for him.”

Wooyoung frowned, his brows furrowing in concern. “Y/N, that doesn’t sound fair to you. Relationships are supposed to be a two-way street, not one person doing all the waiting.”

You shrugged, your hand brushing against his as you walked. “I know he’s trying, but it’s hard not to feel… invisible sometimes.”

Wooyoung stopped walking, gently catching your wrist to make you turn toward him. “You are not invisible,” he said firmly, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “Anyone who makes you feel that way doesn’t deserve you. And I’m not just saying that because I think you’re amazing.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the intensity of his words. “Woo…”

He held up his hands, taking a small step back to give you space. “Sorry, didn’t mean to go full motivational speaker on you,” he said with a small laugh. “I just hate seeing you like this. You deserve to feel loved and appreciated, not like you’re some afterthought.”

Your chest tightened at his words, emotions swirling inside you. Wooyoung had always been honest—sometimes to a fault—but hearing him say these things out loud made it harder to ignore the doubts that had been creeping into your mind for weeks.

The joyful moment between you and Wooyoung shattered as piercing screams echoed through the street. People began scattering in all directions, panic and chaos erupting like wildfire. Your heart pounded as you instinctively grabbed Wooyoung’s arm, your breath catching when you heard the sinister laughter reverberating above the chaos.

“Green Goblin,” Wooyoung muttered under his breath, his grip on your hand tightening protectively. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

Before you could respond, a deafening explosion shook the ground, sending shards of glass and debris flying through the air. Wooyoung yanked you closer, shielding you with his body as the two of you ducked into a nearby alley.

Your mind raced as adrenaline surged through your veins. “What the hell is he doing here?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Wooyoung peeked around the corner, his face pale but resolute. “Whatever it is, we don’t want to stick around to find out.”

The eerie cackle grew louder, closer, and your stomach churned as you caught a glimpse of Green Goblin’s glider swooping through the air, smoke trailing behind it. He hurled another pumpkin bomb, the explosion lighting up the street and sending more terrified civilians scrambling for cover.

Wooyoung pulled you further into the alley, his hand steady on your back as he guided you toward an exit. “We’ll head toward the subway. It’s safer underground.”

But as the two of you started running, another explosion rocked the area, forcing you to stumble. You looked up just in time to see the glider hovering above the alley entrance, Green Goblin’s twisted grin visible even from a distance.

“Well, well, what have we here?” he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “A lovely couple out for a stroll? How quaint.”

Wooyoung stepped in front of you, his stance tense but unwavering. “Stay behind me,” he whispered, his voice low but firm.

“Woo, we need to run,” you urged, panic bubbling in your throat.

Green Goblin tilted his head, clearly amused. “Oh, don’t run now. The fun’s just getting started!” He tossed another bomb, but before it could hit, a streak of red shot through the air, webbing it mid-flight and flinging it away.

Your heart skipped a beat as Spider-Man swung into view, landing gracefully between you and the Green Goblin. His suit gleamed under the flickering streetlights, his posture tense and ready for battle.

“Sorry, Gobbie,” Spider-Man quipped, his tone sharp but calm. “Date night’s officially canceled.”

“Spider-Man,” Green Goblin snarled, his grin turning feral. “Always ruining my fun.”

San had to do a double take when he realized who he had just saved. His heart pounded loudly in his ear now when he knew your life was on the line. Goblin noticed his double take, causing him to swoop down and grab you away from Wooyoung who you tried to hold to.

“Y/N!” San’s voice cracked as he watched Green Goblin swoop down, his clawed hand yanking you away from Wooyoung’s grasp. You screamed, reaching out for Wooyoung, but the Goblin’s iron grip held you tight, dragging you into the air.

“Ah, this one’s special to you, isn’t she, Spider-Man?” Green Goblin taunted, his laughter echoing through the chaos. He ascended higher, dangling you precariously over the street below. “Let’s see how well you fight when your heart’s on the line!”

“No!” San shouted, panic surging through him. He launched a web at the glider, trying to pull it down, but Goblin swerved at the last second, sending the web latching onto a lamppost instead.

“Let her go!” San demanded, his voice shaking with barely contained rage. He swung after you, his mind racing. Every instinct screamed at him to act fast, but he knew the Goblin would exploit his desperation.

Wooyoung stumbled back, his face pale as he watched the scene unfold. “San...” he murmured, realization dawning on him. He shook himself out of his shock and turned, looking for a way to help, but the battle raging above was beyond anything he could do.

“Poor Spider-Man,” Goblin crooned mockingly, his glider zigzagging through the air with you in tow. “What will you choose, hm? The girl or the city?” He tilted his head, then suddenly hurled a pumpkin bomb toward a nearby building.

The explosion sent debris raining down onto the street, and San’s stomach twisted. He didn’t have time to think. He shot a web to catch falling rubble, using all his strength to yank it away from the scattering civilians below.

“Stop it!” you cried, struggling against the Goblin’s grip. “You’re insane!”

“Oh, my dear,” Goblin sneered, his grip tightening on you. “Insanity is just another word for freedom.”

San swung toward the Goblin with everything he had, firing a web straight at the Goblin’s arm. This time, it hit its mark. “I said, let her go!” he roared, yanking hard enough to jolt the Goblin off balance.

With a snarl, Green Goblin flung you aside, sending you plummeting through the air. Time seemed to slow as your scream tore through the night.

San’s heart stopped. He didn’t think—he just moved. In one fluid motion, he shot a web toward you, snagging your waist before you could fall too far. He yanked you toward him, catching you in his arms mid-air as he swung to safety.

“Got you,” he whispered, his voice trembling as he held you tightly.

A choked sobbed left your lips as he put you down next to Wooyoung who was quick to take you into his arms.

“Y/N,” Wooyoung murmured, his voice shaky as he pulled you into his arms. He held you tightly, his hand cradling the back of your head as you buried your face into his shoulder, the sobs wracking your body uncontrollably.

San stood there for a moment, his mask hiding the raw pain etched into his face. His chest heaved as he fought to steady his breathing, the image of you being torn from his grasp burned into his mind. He wanted to hold you, comfort you, but seeing you in Wooyoung’s arms brought a sharp ache to his heart.

San’s hands curled into fists as he turned away, unable to look at you in Wooyoung’s arms for a second longer. His heart twisted with every step he took toward the edge of the rooftop, but he forced himself to push those feelings aside. He had a job to do.

Without a word, he leapt off the building, his webs shooting out to carry him back into the fray. The city’s chaos blurred around him as his mind honed in on one goal: taking down Green Goblin and ensuring no one else got hurt tonight.

Meanwhile, Wooyoung guided you carefully through the streets, his arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders as you trembled against him. Your apartment wasn’t far, but every noise—a car horn, a distant shout—made your body tense, your mind flashing back to the terrifying moments from earlier.

“It’s okay,” Wooyoung reassured you, his voice soft but steady. “We’re almost there. You’re safe now.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight as the weight of everything pressed down on you. Your legs felt like jelly, barely able to keep up with Wooyoung’s steady pace as he guided you toward your apartment. The revelation that San was Spider-Man played on a loop in your mind, intertwining with the terrifying memory of being in Green Goblin’s grasp.

Your fingers gripped the fabric of Wooyoung’s jacket like a lifeline. The warmth of his presence grounded you, but your thoughts were anything but steady. How long has he been Spider-Man? Why didn’t he tell me? Questions swirled like a storm in your head, each one heavier than the last.

Wooyoung glanced down at you, concern etched into his face. “You’re shaking,” he murmured, stopping for a moment to steady you. “Y/N, you’ve been through hell tonight. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed.”

You blinked at him, your lips parting as if to respond, but no words came out. Instead, a tear slipped down your cheek, followed by another, until you were trembling in his grasp.

“I-I don’t even know what to think,” you choked out finally, your voice barely a whisper. “He… he kept this from me. All this time. And I almost—” Your words broke off as a sob escaped your lips.

Wooyoung’s grip tightened, his expression softening as he pulled you into a hug. “I know,” he said quietly, his voice steady and calm. “I know it feels like the world just got turned upside down. And I can’t pretend to know how you feel, but I’m here. Okay? You’re not alone in this.”

You clung to him, burying your face in his shoulder as you let the tears fall. The dam had broken, and everything you’d been holding in—fear, anger, betrayal, confusion—spilled out in messy waves.

[adawrites]

𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘴

𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚: 𝘫𝘰𝘴𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘨𝘯!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦: 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵, 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝗚𝗘𝗡𝗥𝗘: 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵

𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗚: 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳

𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗧: 0.8𝘬

𝗥𝗘𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗗: 𝘯𝘰

𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬: 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘫𝘰𝘴𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘥𝘨𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘴. 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘪𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵.

The Washington Lodge was eerily quiet at night. It had been a year since everything happened, but the weight of those memories still lingered in the walls, in the cold air, in the way the house never truly felt warm anymore.

Josh had invited you to stay for the weekend, though you had a feeling it was less about wanting company and more about his family’s insistence that he shouldn’t be alone. Not that you minded—you’d been worrying about him for months.

Ever since he came back, he wasn’t the same. Not that anyone expected him to be, but the difference was sharp, painful. Josh Washington had always been the life of the party, full of jokes, teasing remarks, and that signature smirk that made it hard to tell when he was being serious. But now? Now, he barely smiled. His words were quieter, his presence dimmer. He carried the weight of his sisters’ loss like an iron chain around his neck, and no matter how much time passed, he refused to let himself heal.

You could see it in his eyes—the guilt, the exhaustion, the way he constantly seemed to be fighting against something unseen.

That was why you were standing outside his bedroom door at midnight, hesitating. You had heard him moving around inside, restless, unable to sleep. It wasn’t the first time. Most nights, you would hear the creak of the floorboards, the sharp intake of breath, the occasional muttered words as he wrestled with the ghosts of his past.

You took a deep breath and knocked. "Josh? You awake?"

Silence. Then, after a long pause—

"Yeah… yeah, come in."

You pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, a single lamp casting long shadows against the walls. Josh was sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched over, his hands clasped together. His dark hair was messier than usual, falling over his forehead, and his tired eyes flickered toward you as you entered.

"You couldn’t sleep either?" you asked softly, closing the door behind you.

He let out a quiet chuckle, though there was no real humor in it. "Sleep and I aren’t really on speaking terms these days."

You frowned, crossing the room to sit beside him on the bed. "Bad night?"

Josh exhaled, running a hand down his face. "Aren’t they all?"

You didn’t respond right away. You just sat there, close enough that your knee brushed against his, offering your presence without pushing him to talk. Josh had always been good at deflecting, turning things into a joke, pretending he was fine when he clearly wasn’t. But now? Now, he wasn’t even pretending.

"I don’t deserve this," he muttered suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turned to him, eyebrows furrowing. "Deserve what?"

"This," He gestured vaguely between you. "You being here. Still giving a shit about me," His voice cracked slightly, and he clenched his jaw, looking away. "After everything I did… after what happened to my sisters. I should be alone. I should be—"

"Stop," Your voice was firm, but gentle. You reached out, placing your hand over his. "Josh, you don’t get to decide that."

His fingers twitched beneath yours, but he didn’t pull away. He just stared down at your hand, as if struggling to process the warmth of your touch.

"I messed up," he murmured. "So bad. And no matter what I do, I can’t change it. I can’t fix it."

"You don’t have to fix it," you said softly. "You just have to keep going."

Josh let out a shaky breath, his shoulders trembling slightly. He wasn’t crying—not exactly—but you could tell he was close. His walls were cracking, and for once, he wasn’t trying to hold them together.

You squeezed his hand gently. "You’re not alone, Josh. You never were."

He closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose. A moment later, he shifted, resting his forehead against your shoulder. It was hesitant at first, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to seek comfort. But when you didn’t pull away, he let himself lean into you completely, his body warm and solid against yours.

Your free hand came up, threading gently through his hair, fingers brushing against his scalp. He sighed at the contact, his grip on your hand tightening.

"I keep seeing them," he admitted after a long pause. His voice was quiet, raw. "In my dreams. In the dark. Sometimes, I think I hear them."

Your heart ached at his words. "Josh…"

"I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again."

You pressed a soft kiss to his temple, a silent reassurance. "Then I’ll be here. Until you are."

He didn’t respond right away, but you felt the way he relaxed against you, the way his breathing evened out just a little. The weight of his pain wasn’t something you could take away, but you could carry it with him—and for now, that was enough.

For tonight, that was enough.

[charlieg1rl]

— 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝟎𝟒. 𝐢 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐰𝐜: 𝟎.𝟓𝐤

it was raining.

felix loved the rain—he thought it was cozy, comforting, a perfect excuse to stay in, watch movies, and bake something warm.

y/n, on the other hand, hated it.

or at least, that’s what he assumed when he heard a sharp knock at his door at nearly midnight, followed by the sight of a very grumpy, very soaked y/n standing outside his dorm.

felix blinked, surprised. “y/n?”

she scowled. “don’t say anything.”

“…okay,” he said slowly, stepping aside to let her in.

she walked past him, muttering under her breath as she yanked off her dripping hoodie, shaking her head like an irritated cat.

felix shut the door, watching her with barely concealed amusement. “sooo… what exactly happened?”

she shot him a glare. “i was walking back to my dorm when a car sped through a puddle and completely drenched me.”

felix tried to hold back his laughter. he really did.

but the image was too funny, and before he could stop himself, a snort escaped.

y/n narrowed her eyes. “if you laugh, i’m leaving.”

felix immediately straightened, biting his lip to keep from smiling. “i’m not laughing.”

“yes, you are.”

“nooo, i’m not.”

“yes. you are.”

felix coughed, covering his mouth. “okay, okay. come here.”

y/n hesitated but eventually let him lead her to the bathroom, where he handed her a towel.

“here. dry off before you get sick.”

she accepted it with a quiet grumble, rubbing the towel through her damp hair.

felix leaned against the doorframe, watching her with a small smile. “you could’ve just gone back to your dorm, y’know.”

y/n paused.

she could have.

her dorm wasn’t that far, and she definitely didn’t have to come here.

and yet… she had.

felix tilted his head. “you’re starting to like me, huh?”

she scoffed. “don’t push your luck.”

he grinned. “too late.”

half an hour later, y/n found herself on felix’s couch, wrapped in one of his hoodies, sipping on hot chocolate while he flicked through netflix.

“this is the driest hoodie you have?” she asked, eyeing the oversized fabric drowning her frame.

felix beamed. “i gave you my favorite one.”

y/n rolled her eyes but didn’t complain. it smelled like him—warm, familiar, comforting.

she ignored the way that thought made her feel.

felix finally settled on a movie, setting the remote down before turning to her. “you comfy?”

she nodded, curling further into the blanket he had thrown over her. “surprisingly, yes.”

felix chuckled, pulling his knees up onto the couch. “see? i knew you liked hanging out with me.”

she side-eyed him. “don’t get ahead of yourself.”

felix only smiled, resting his head against the couch. “i like you, y’know.”

y/n’s fingers tightened slightly around her mug.

she exhaled slowly. “i know.”

felix hummed, as if satisfied with her response. he didn’t push, didn’t tease, didn’t demand anything from her.

he just let the silence settle.

and for once, y/n didn’t mind.

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

tags: @jeonginsleftcheek, @my-neurodivergent-world, @akindaflora

[sturniololuvz]

pls do a fic of the sturniolos sister getting home drunk/high

yesss!!!! btw i made these triplets get mad at her so please don’t be mad , i just love me some good fighting 😏🩷

“What Were You Thinking?”

Sturniolos x sister reader

Warnings : drunk, yelling , confronting

The clock on the wall read 2:07 AM.

Nick, Matt, and Chris sat stiffly on the couch, their eyes glued to the front door. The room was eerily silent except for the occasional frustrated sigh from Matt or the way Chris’s foot tapped aggressively against the floor.

“She should’ve been home hours ago,” Nick muttered, running a hand through his hair. “She’s not answering her phone. What if something happened to her?”

Chris clenched his fists. “If she thinks she can just roll in here like nothing happened, she’s dead.”

Matt’s jaw tightened. “I don’t care what her excuse is. She had us worried sick.”

Just then, the doorknob rattled, followed by the sound of a clumsy shoulder hitting the door before it finally swung open.

Y/N stood in the doorway, her hair a mess, eyes half-lidded, and a sloppy grin on her face. She stumbled forward, barely managing to kick off her shoes.

“Heyyyy,” she slurred, waving at her brothers as if she hadn’t just walked into an ambush. “Wha—what are you guys doing up?”

The room was silent for a second.

Then, Chris shot up from the couch.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Y/N?!” he yelled, his voice booming through the living room. “It’s two in the goddamn morning! Where the hell have you been?”

Y/N winced, rubbing her temple. “Shhhh, Chrissy, don’t yell… my head hurts.”

“Oh, your head hurts?” Matt snapped, standing up next. His face was red with anger. “We’ve been sitting here for hours, worrying about you, blowing up your phone, thinking you were in a ditch somewhere! And you just waltz in here drunk?”

Nick crossed his arms, his voice sharp but quieter. “Do you even realize how selfish this is?” He shook his head. “You didn’t text us, didn’t call, nothing. You didn’t even think about how we’d feel.”

Y/N waved them off lazily, stumbling towards the stairs. “You guys are overreacting. I was just… at a party. Having fun.”

Chris scoffed. “Fun?! You can’t even walk straight, Y/N! What if something happened to you? What if you got in a car with some asshole, or got hurt, or—or—”

“You could’ve died, Y/N!” Matt interrupted, his voice cracking with emotion. “And we wouldn’t have known until it was too late because you didn’t even bother to tell us where you were!”

Y/N groaned, rubbing her temples again. “Can you stop yelling? God, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Chris’s eyes darkened. “Not that big of a deal?” His voice dripped with disbelief. “You’re our little sister. We’re supposed to protect you! But we can’t if you don’t tell us where you are, if you don’t pick up your damn phone, if you just—”

He cut himself off, his hands shaking with anger.

Matt exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re grounded. I don’t care if you’re seventeen. You’re not going out for a long time.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You can’t ground me. I’m almost an adult.”

Nick’s eyes snapped to her. “Then act like one.” His voice was low, but the disappointment in it cut deeper than the yelling. “Adults don’t get wasted and ignore their family when they’re worried sick. You’re being reckless, Y/N.”

Y/N bit her lip, suddenly feeling the guilt sink in. The way they were looking at her—hurt, exhausted, furious—made her stomach twist.

Chris shook his head. “I can’t even look at you right now,” he muttered, storming off to his room.

Matt sighed, running a hand down his face before following Chris. “Go to bed, Y/N. We’ll deal with this in the morning.”

That left just Nick, who studied her carefully. “You scared us, Y/N,” he said softly, but his eyes were still filled with disappointment. “You really scared us.”

Y/N swallowed hard, suddenly feeling a lot smaller than before. “…I’m sorry.”

Nick nodded slightly, but it was clear he wasn’t ready to forgive her just yet. “Go to bed.”

She obeyed, dragging herself upstairs, her head spinning—not just from the alcohol, but from the reality of how badly she had messed up.