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dreamersworldduh · 2 months ago

Text

RISKY DECISIONS

• Oliver Queen x Male!Reader

SUMMARY — being an assistant is supposed to be an hell of a job, at least that was how the movies make it seems. Yet somehow it’s the complete opposite for you when you become an assistant to Mayor Oliver Queen.

WARNING! 18+ MDNI. Suggestive Langauge. Swearing.

WORDS! 9.3k

AUTHOR’S NOTE! Hi! Sorry for the delay, I couldn’t choice which fic I wanted to do between Oliver Queen and Nate Jacobs, plus I have my first request that I’m writing, so I did to them all. Enjoy! 😚

You never imagined that living in a place like Star City would lead you to be sitting across from its enigmatic and undeniably handsome mayor, Oliver Queen, on a date of all things. Life has a funny way of throwing curveballs when you least expect them, and this was certainly one of those moments. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you'd go from an ordinary citizen in a bustling city to sharing an intimate evening with one of its most powerful and mysterious figures. But, as they say, fate works in mysterious ways.

It all began on what you thought was just another ordinary day, one where you were desperately scouring job listings and hoping to find something, anything, that could help pay the bills. As an art major fresh out of college, you'd always envisioned a life filled with creative pursuits—painting, galleries, exhibitions, and maybe even a small studio of your own someday. However, reality had other plans. The bills didn't stop, and your bank account certainly wasn't growing any larger. That's when the job posting for an assistant position in the mayor's office caught your eye.

It wasn't exactly a dream job, but it was stable, well-paying, and honestly, you couldn't afford to be picky. So, you applied, never thinking you'd actually hear back. To your surprise, you received a call within days. A whirlwind of an interview followed—though, admittedly, the moment you saw Oliver Queen walk into the room, you barely remembered what you said. His presence was larger than life: sharp blue eyes that seemed to see right through you, a confident smile that somehow managed to be both charming and intimidating, and the kind of charisma that could make anyone feel like they were the only person in the room. By some miracle (or perhaps your desperation showed just enough to make you seem dedicated), you landed the job.

At first, the position was everything you anticipated—and maybe a little less glamorous than you'd hoped. Your days were filled with the predictable rhythm of office life: fetching endless cups of coffee, juggling the mayor's ever-changing schedule, filing documents that seemed to multiply overnight, and acting as a buffer between your boss and the chaotic world of Star City politics. The office buzzed with constant activity, from council meetings to press conferences, all of it demanding your attention. You often found yourself staying late to meet impossible deadlines or untangling last-minute crises that seemed to pop up without fail. It wasn't the creative dream you'd envisioned, but it was stable work that kept your head above water. For that alone, you were grateful.

Still, the job came with its challenges. You quickly learned that Star City's political landscape was as turbulent as its streets. Factions bickered over funding and policies while the media scrutinized every move the mayor's office made. More than once, you found yourself running interference during heated debates or smoothing over tense situations with quick thinking and a calm demeanor. The work was demanding, but it left little room for boredom.

What you didn't expect, however, was how involved Mayor Queen was with his staff—or, to your growing surprise, how often he interacted with you personally. You'd heard the rumors before you took the job: that he was aloof, enigmatic, and often kept to himself. His reputation painted a picture of a man who carried his secrets like armor, a leader whose complicated past made him both a hero and a mystery to Star City's citizens. But the man you came to know was so much more than the headlines suggested.

Oliver had a presence that was hard to ignore. Whether he was striding into the office with his signature confidence or leaning over a conference table to make a point, his sheer charisma filled the room. What struck you most, however, was the surprising warmth behind the stern exterior. He wasn't just the brooding figure the tabloids made him out to be. He had a sharp wit and an easy, disarming sense of humor that could catch you off guard. He took the time to remember the little things—your favorite coffee order, your comments about your artwork, and even the days you looked particularly tired after long hours.

At first, your interactions were brief, professional exchanges—a quick thank-you for a report or a casual nod as he passed your desk. But those fleeting moments gradually grew into something more. Conversations in passing turned into longer discussions during late-night work sessions, where the two of you often found yourselves the last ones in the office. He'd linger, asking questions about your background, your aspirations, and what had brought you to Star City. You found yourself opening up in ways you hadn't expected, drawn in by his genuine interest and the way he seemed to truly listen when you spoke.

And then there were the glimpses of vulnerability, the cracks in his armor that revealed the man beneath the title. You could see the weight he carried—the burdens of his position, the responsibility he felt for the city, and perhaps even the ghosts of his past. There were moments when his smile faltered, when his gaze lingered on something unseen, and you realized just how much he gave of himself to lead Star City. It made him more human, more real, and in turn, it made your admiration for him grow.

Before long, you began to notice the subtle shifts in your dynamic. The way his gaze would linger just a moment too long when you spoke. The warmth in his voice when he addressed you by name. The private smiles he seemed to reserve just for you. It was as though he saw something in you that no one else did, and the realization sent a flutter through your chest every time. What had started as an unassuming assistant job was slowly transforming into something far more significant—something you never could have anticipated.

It wasn't long before the dynamic between you and Oliver began to shift in ways you couldn't quite define but couldn't ignore either. At first, it was subtle, so subtle that you wondered if you were reading too much into it. A fleeting glance, a brush of fingers when he handed you a file, the way his voice softened slightly when he said your name—these small, delicate moments began to stand out amidst the chaos of your daily responsibilities. It was easy to dismiss them at first as coincidence, or perhaps just a byproduct of your overactive imagination. After all, this was Oliver Queen, the mayor of Star City—your boss.

But the signs kept coming, and they became harder to rationalize. Like the way his gaze would linger on you during meetings, just a beat longer than it did with anyone else. Or the way his entire demeanor seemed to change when you spoke about your artistic ambitions, a rare spark of curiosity lighting his usually serious eyes. He'd ask questions—not the polite, cursory ones people ask out of obligation, but genuine inquiries that made you feel like he actually cared about what you had to say. And then there were the smiles, small and fleeting but entirely private, as though they were meant for you and no one else.

One moment in particular stuck with you. You'd been working late on a policy briefing, your desk cluttered with papers and a cold cup of coffee. Oliver had come by to check on your progress, leaning casually against the edge of your desk as he skimmed through a draft you'd prepared. When he handed it back, his hand lingered just a moment longer than necessary, his fingers brushing against yours. It was barely noticeable, but it sent a jolt through you nonetheless. He'd given you one of those rare smiles then—soft, almost shy—and for a moment, the bustling office around you seemed to fade away.

Still, you told yourself not to read into it. He was your boss, after all, and the last thing you wanted was to create some awkward misunderstanding that could jeopardize the job you'd worked so hard to secure. But the moments kept adding up, like puzzle pieces that refused to fit into the neat, professional boundaries you'd tried to maintain.

And then, one evening, Oliver made it clear that you weren't imagining things. It had been an exhausting day, the kind where the tension in the office was almost palpable. A city council crisis had thrown everyone into overdrive, and by the time the dust had settled, the office was nearly empty, save for you and a few other stragglers finishing up loose ends. You were at your desk, methodically packing up for the night, when you heard his familiar voice behind you.

"Long day," he said, his tone warm but edged with fatigue. You turned to find him standing a few feet away, his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up—a rare, unguarded version of the polished mayor the public usually saw. He looked tired, but his gaze was steady, focused entirely on you.

"It's an understatement," you replied with a tired smile, reaching for your bag. You expected him to make a quick comment and head out, as he usually did after late nights like this. But instead, he lingered, his hands resting in his pockets as though he were trying to decide something.

"I've been meaning to ask you something," he said finally, his voice low but firm. There was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, a vulnerability you'd never seen before. You straightened, suddenly very aware of the shift in the air between you.

"Of course," you said, trying to keep your tone casual even as your heart began to race.

He took a small step closer, the distance between you shrinking. "I've really enjoyed getting to know you," he began, his words deliberate, as though he'd been rehearsing them. "And I'd like to spend more time with you—outside of work."

The room seemed to grow quieter, the hum of the office fading into the background. His words hung in the air, carrying a weight that made your pulse quicken. There was no mistaking his meaning now, no room for misinterpretation. This wasn't a casual invitation to discuss a project over coffee or grab a quick lunch. This was personal, intimate—a step into uncharted territory.

"Are you... asking me out?" you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

His lips curved into a soft, almost sheepish smile, the kind you rarely saw from him. "Yes," he said simply. "If you're interested."

For a moment, all you could do was stare, your mind racing as you processed the enormity of what was happening. The mayor of Star City, the man who had once seemed so untouchable, was standing in front of you, vulnerable and waiting for your answer.

You agreed, of course—how could you not? But even as you said yes, a thousand thoughts raced through your mind. How had this even happened? How had a job you took out of sheer necessity led to this? As you sat across from Oliver now, his attention focused entirely on you, you couldn't help but marvel at the twists and turns life had taken to bring you to this exact moment.

As the evening unfolded, the boundaries between professional and personal seemed to blur, dissolving into something warm, candid, and deeply human. The weight of Oliver's office—of city budgets, policies, and public appearances—felt like a distant memory. For the first time, the man across from you wasn't Star City's mayor, nor a public figure surrounded by layers of protocol and mystery. He was just Oliver, and his curiosity about your life was genuine in a way that caught you completely off guard.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table as he spoke, his piercing blue eyes never straying from yours. "What made you choose art?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with a genuine interest that made your heart skip.

At first, you hesitated. It wasn't often someone asked about your passions with such sincerity, and you weren't sure how much to share. But there was something in the way he waited—patient, attentive, and utterly engaged—that made you feel safe enough to open up. You spoke about how art had always been your refuge, a way to process the chaos of life and transform it into something meaningful. You told him about the quiet joy of sketching in a sunlit room as a child, the long hours spent perfecting your craft, and how your dream of making a living from your passion had always seemed just out of reach.

Oliver nodded thoughtfully as you spoke, his expression shifting between admiration and understanding. He asked questions that went deeper than surface-level curiosity: What inspired you? What challenges had you faced? What did you hope to achieve? It wasn't just polite conversation; it was as though he wanted to piece together every fragment of what made you who you were. His attention made you feel seen in a way that few ever had, and the ease with which the words flowed from you surprised even yourself.

Then it was his turn. Slowly, carefully, he began to share pieces of himself—pieces you'd only glimpsed through the carefully curated image of Oliver Queen the public knew. He spoke of his years away from Star City, the pain of losing people he loved, and the weight of the mistakes that had shaped him. His voice carried a quiet intensity as he described the sense of purpose he had found upon returning home, the drive to rebuild a city he felt responsible for.

"I never thought I'd end up here," he admitted, leaning back slightly, his gaze momentarily distant. "Running a city, leading people—it wasn't part of the plan. There were times I didn't even think I'd make it through the day, let alone find a reason to keep going. But Star City... this place, these people, they gave me that reason."

His honesty was raw, vulnerable, and it struck a chord deep within you. It was one thing to admire him as a leader, a symbol of resilience for the city, but hearing the weight of his struggles made him feel more real, more human. He wasn't just the polished figure on campaign posters or the commanding presence in a boardroom—he was someone who had fought to piece himself back together, someone who had chosen to carry the burdens of an entire city on his shoulders.

Of course, it wasn't all heavy confessions and heartfelt exchanges. This was Oliver Queen, after all—a man whose charm was practically legendary, a weapon he wielded with precision even now. Throughout the night, moments of levity broke through, lighthearted and flirtatious in a way that left you both blushing and grinning.

"You have this way of pulling people in," he said at one point, his lips curving into a sly smile. "It's not just your art—it's the way you see the world. It's captivating."

You laughed, trying to brush off the compliment even as your cheeks warmed. "That's rich coming from you," you teased. "I'm sure you've had plenty of practice captivating people."

He chuckled, a low, warm sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Maybe," he admitted, his gaze locking with yours, "but that doesn't make this any less real."

The weight of his words hit you like a jolt. It was playful, yes, but there was an unmistakable sincerity beneath the flirtation. He wasn't just flattering you; he meant every word, and the realization left you momentarily speechless.

And then there were his eyes. You'd always thought they were striking, but tonight, they were utterly mesmerizing. In the intimate glow of the room, they seemed to hold a depth and warmth that drew you in completely. There was an intensity in the way he looked at you, as though you were the only person in the world, the only thing worth his attention. You found yourself hanging on his every word, not because he was Oliver Queen, the mayor, but because of the way he made you feel: seen, valued, and undeniably alive.

By the time the conversation began to wind down, you glanced at your watch in surprise. Hours had slipped by without you even noticing, the world outside fading into irrelevance. You weren't sure what the future held—what this connection would mean or where it might lead—but in that moment, you couldn't bring yourself to care. All that mattered was the man in front of you, the shared laughter and confessions, and the undeniable spark that had taken you both by surprise.

Your relationship with Oliver had evolved into something that neither of you could easily define, but it was becoming clear to both of you that the lines between personal and professional were growing increasingly blurred. You found yourselves spending more and more time together—not just outside of work but during long hours in the office as well. Though you both tried to maintain a semblance of professionalism in front of others, it was becoming harder to keep up appearances. Especially when Oliver seemed determined to test those boundaries every chance he got.

One afternoon, you were in his office, helping him sort through a mountain of paperwork that needed his signature or review. The large space, usually a hub of activity, was uncharacteristically quiet, with most of the staff out to lunch. You sat comfortably in one of the plush lounge chairs positioned across from his desk, your legs crossed as you sifted through a stack of documents. Oliver was seated behind the desk, but you couldn't help noticing that his attention wasn't exactly on the papers in front of him.

"Okay, so this one is for the new community center funding," you explained, glancing up at him briefly before returning to the next item in the pile. "And this one is for—Oliver, are you even listening?"

He didn't respond, not really. Instead, he leaned back slightly in his chair, his piercing blue eyes fixed on you in a way that made your stomach do a little flip. You furrowed your brow, confused, and a little exasperated by his lack of focus.

"Oliver?" you prompted again, your tone carrying a hint of warning. That's when he stood abruptly, pushing his chair back and rounding the desk with a purposeful stride.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your voice a mix of confusion and curiosity as you tilted your head to look up at him.

Still, he said nothing. Instead, he reached out, his hand brushing against yours before firmly taking it in his grasp. Your heart skipped a beat as he gently tugged you to your feet, leading you behind the desk. Before you could protest or even fully process what was happening, he dropped back into his chair, pulling you into his lap in one swift motion.

"Uh, no, sir," you said quickly, shaking your head even as your cheeks flushed with heat. "This is definitely not happening. Do I need to remind you that your sister, who also happens to be my boss, would kill me if she saw me sitting on the big boss' lap?"

Oliver threw his head back and laughed, the rich sound filling the room and sending a shiver down your spine. "Relax," he said, his voice low and teasing as his hands rested lightly on your hips. "Everyone's out to lunch. We have the whole office to ourselves."

As if to further his point, he leaned forward slightly, brushing his lips against the side of your neck in a way that made your resolve falter. You wanted to protest, to remind him of the risks, but his charm—and the warmth of his touch—was dangerously persuasive.

"Oliver..." you began, your tone meant to be scolding but coming out far weaker than you intended. He smirked against your skin, clearly enjoying how easily he was unraveling your composure.

"You worry too much," he murmured, his voice soft but laced with mischief. "You work hard, you're brilliant at what you do, and you deserve to take a little break every now and then."

His lips pressed another soft kiss to your neck, and you felt your resolve slipping further. You glanced toward the office door, half-expecting someone to barge in despite Oliver's assurances that you were alone. But no one came, and for the moment, it was just the two of you in the quiet, sunlit office.

"Fine," you relented, though your tone carried a mix of exasperation and amusement. "But if anyone walks in, you get to explain this."

His grin widened, and he leaned back in the chair, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt protective and intimate all at once. "Deal," he said simply, his voice low and satisfied.

For a few stolen moments, the world outside the office seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in your bubble of shared laughter, quiet teasing, and the unmistakable spark of something neither of you could quite put into words.

Suddenly, Oliver's lips claimed yours in a kiss that was anything but hesitant. It was heated, passionate, and filled with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. His hands, firm and commanding, cupped your face as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that made your heart pound wildly. The world around you blurred and disappeared, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the electricity crackling between you.

Before you could fully comprehend what was happening, Oliver's hands slid down to your waist, guiding you with a confidence that left no room for second-guessing. With a slight shift, he maneuvered you to straddle his lap, his strength evident as he adjusted your position as though you weighed nothing at all. Your knees pressed into the soft leather of his chair as you braced yourself on his shoulders, your breaths coming in shallow, rapid bursts.

His hands found their way to your hips, gripping you firmly as though grounding you in the moment. But he didn't stop there. His fingers moved lower, kneading your curves with a mix of control and reverence, until they rested on the swell of your ass. His touch was possessive, his palms squeezing with a deliberate pressure that sent shivers racing down your spine.

Your body pressed closer against his, and that's when you felt it— his dick—hard, undeniable, and pressing against you with a need that matched the fire in his kiss. A quiet gasp escaped your lips as he tilted his hips slightly, guiding you against him with a motion that made the heat between you both nearly unbearable. His hands urged you to move, rolling your hips against his in a slow, deliberate rhythm that left no doubt about his desire for you.

The friction was electric, a spark that ignited something primal within you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your lips parting to let him take the lead as his kiss grew deeper, more consuming. His tongue teased yours, each movement of his lips and hands drawing you further into the whirlwind of his passion.

"Oliver..." you murmured breathlessly against his lips, your voice barely audible. But he didn't stop. If anything, your quiet plea only seemed to fuel him further. His grip tightened, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to leave you tingling, and he pressed you down harder against him, making sure you felt every inch of him.

The sensation was overwhelming, his touch, his kiss, the way he looked at you with a gaze that burned with both desire and something deeper, something more tender. It wasn't just lust—it was connection, raw and unfiltered, as though the barriers between you both had finally shattered.

In that moment, there was no office, no mayoral responsibilities, no rules or consequences. There was only Oliver, his body against yours, his hands guiding you, and the all-consuming pull that neither of you could resist.

Your fingers moved almost instinctively, as though they had a mind of their own, reaching up to loosen Oliver's perfectly knotted tie. The soft silk slipped through your fingers, and with each tug, you felt a thrill rush through you at the sight of his reaction. Oliver's lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile, his eyes glinting with delight as he watched you work. There was something utterly magnetic about his gaze, the way it locked onto you with unrelenting focus, making you feel like you were the only person in his world at that moment.

"Taking charge, are we?" he teased, his voice low and rich with amusement, though the heat in his tone betrayed just how much he was enjoying this.

You didn't respond, not with words at least. Instead, you let the tie fall free, the fabric sliding between your fingers as you dropped it onto the desk behind him. The small act felt bolder than it should have, but the way his smile deepened, his sharp jawline relaxing just slightly, made your pulse quicken.

Your fingers hesitated for just a beat before moving to the top button of his crisp white shirt. As you slipped it free, your fingertips brushed lightly against the warm skin of his chest, and you felt him draw in a slow, deliberate breath. The air between you seemed to crackle, the quiet tension growing with every passing second. You glanced up at him, your eyes meeting his, and the intensity in his gaze sent a shiver racing down your spine.

Encouraged by the way he was watching you, you continued. One button became two, then three, and with each flick of your fingers, more of his chest was revealed. The smooth, taut skin beneath his shirt was a distraction all its own, and the heat radiating from his body only seemed to amplify the electricity between you. His collar loosened, exposing just a hint of his collarbone, and you couldn't help but let your fingertips trail lightly against the edge of the fabric as you worked your way downward.

Oliver's hands moved to rest gently on your hips, his touch grounding you even as your heart raced. "You're full of surprises," he murmured, his voice quieter now, softer, but no less filled with that unmistakable heat. His smile had turned from playful to something deeper, something laced with admiration and desire.

As you undid the next button, the edges of his shirt began to fall open, revealing more of his toned chest, and you couldn't help but let your fingers linger for a moment, brushing against the smooth lines of his skin. His muscles tensed slightly under your touch, and his eyes darkened, the playful glint replaced by something far more intense.

You were acutely aware of the closeness between you, the way his breath mingled with yours as you leaned closer, your fingers still working on the remaining buttons. The quiet intimacy of the moment was intoxicating, each small movement drawing you both deeper into uncharted territory. With every undone button, every fleeting touch, the barriers between you seemed to fall away, leaving only the undeniable connection that neither of you could ignore.

Oliver's lips crashed against yours with renewed intensity, his kiss deep and commanding as he lifted you effortlessly by your legs. You barely had time to gasp before he was standing, his strong arms supporting you as if you weighed nothing, and placing you on the cool, polished surface of the desk. The sudden shift in position sent a rush of heat through you, but practicality took over for a brief moment as you broke the kiss to hurriedly push the paperwork to the side.

The sound of the papers scattering across the desk made him chuckle, his lips curling into a mischievous smile. "Really?" he teased, his voice low and filled with amusement.

"Shut up," you shot back playfully, grabbing his face and pulling him back into another kiss before he could say anything else. Your lips silenced his laughter, and his hands settled on your waist, pulling you closer to the edge of the desk. The kiss was fiery and relentless, leaving you breathless as your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan softly against your mouth.

Then Oliver broke the kiss, leaving you gasping for air as his lips trailed down your jawline and onto your neck. His hot breath sent shivers racing down your spine, and the scrape of his stubble against your skin made your heart race. His hands, steady and deliberate, found the buttons of your shirt, and you felt the subtle tug as he began to undo them one by one. There was no rush in his movements—each button was undone slowly, almost torturously, as though he wanted you to feel every second of the moment. His lips followed the path of his fingers, brushing against the newly exposed skin and leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

Your hands, seemingly acting of their own accord, moved to his waist. You fumbled slightly as you found his belt buckle, your fingers trembling with a mix of anticipation and urgency. The clink of the metal as you unfastened it filled the quiet space around you, and you wasted no time pulling the zipper of his tailored pants down.

The pants slipped down his hips, falling into a crumpled heap around his feet, revealing a pair of tight black briefs that left very little to the imagination. Your breath hitched as your eyes were immediately drawn to the prominent bulge straining against the fabric, impossible to ignore. The sheer size of him made your pulse quicken, and a faint blush rose to your cheeks as your gaze lingered. He was rock-hard, his dick was pressing against the material, begging to be freed from its confines. The sight alone was enough to make your thighs press together, a rush of heat pooling low in your abdomen.

Oliver caught the way you were staring, and his lips curled into a knowing smirk. "See something you like?" he asked, his voice dripping with amusement and desire as he continued working on the last few buttons of your shirt.

You didn't answer—words felt unnecessary. Instead, you reached out, your fingers grazing over the waistband of his briefs, your touch tentative yet deliberate. The sensation of his hard length beneath your fingertips made him exhale sharply, his movements pausing briefly as though savoring the contact. The tension between you was palpable, every touch, every glance fanning the flames of a fire that had been building for far too long.

With a deliberate tug, you slid Oliver's briefs down, revealing him in all his glory. His nine-inch dick sprang free, thick, hard, and pulsing with need. The sight of him, fully aroused, made your breath hitch, your eyes lingering for a moment as you took him in. You bit your lip, a mixture of nervous anticipation and sheer desire coursing through you, before glancing up to meet his eyes. The way he looked at you—raw, hungry, and utterly captivated—only fueled your confidence.

Without breaking eye contact, you placed a hand on his chest and gave him a gentle push, urging him back into his chair. He complied willingly, sinking into the plush leather, his gaze never leaving yours. His lips curled into a faint smirk, but there was a flicker of tension in his jaw as though the anticipation was almost too much for him.

You slowly sank to your knees in front of him, your hands trailing down his thighs as you positioned yourself between them. The power dynamic had shifted slightly now, the usually confident and composed Oliver watching you with uncharacteristic vulnerability. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, his hands gripping the armrests of the chair as he waited for your next move.

Your hand reached out to wrap around the base of his shaft, your fingers barely managing to encircle his impressive girth. His skin was warm to the touch, the velvety smoothness contrasting with the hardness beneath. You gave him a tentative stroke, marveling at the way his body responded to you, the way his hips shifted slightly at your touch.

Leaning forward, you let your tongue dart out, flicking it lightly against the head of his dick. His sharp intake of breath was music to your ears, and the faint groan that followed sent a thrill rushing through you. Encouraged, you let your tongue trail along the length of him, your movements slow and deliberate as you tasted him for the first time. The salty, masculine flavor was intoxicating, and you couldn't help but savor every inch.

"God," Oliver murmured, his voice rough and strained. His hands twitched on the armrests, as though fighting the urge to grab you and take control. But he didn't—he let you set the pace, his trust in you evident in the way he surrendered to the moment.

With one last teasing lick, you parted your lips and took him into your mouth, inch by inch. The stretch was intense, but you relished the challenge, the way he filled you completely. You hollowed your cheeks, creating a tight seal as you began to move, your tongue swirling around him with each stroke.

Oliver's reaction was immediate. His head fell back against the chair, a low, guttural moan escaping his lips. "You're... amazing," he managed to say, his voice heavy with pleasure. His hands left the armrests, one of them tangling in your hair as though he needed something to anchor himself.

You glanced up at him as you worked, his jaw clenched and his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The sight of him, undone and vulnerable, sent a wave of satisfaction coursing through you. You adjusted your angle, taking him deeper, and the way his grip tightened in your hair told you exactly how much he appreciated it.

The rhythm you set was slow at first, deliberate and teasing, but as his moans grew louder and his hips began to move in sync with you, you quickened your pace. The room was filled with the sounds of his pleasure, the quiet groans and gasps that made it clear you had him completely under your control. Every movement, every flick of your tongue, every pull of your lips was designed to drive him closer to the edge—and judging by the tension in his body, you were succeeding.

Suddenly, you pulled away, letting his length slip from your lips as you caught your breath. The moment lingered, both of you flushed and panting, the heat between you almost unbearable. Without a word, you rose to your feet, your movements deliberate, your eyes locked onto Oliver's. His gaze followed you intently, dark and filled with desire, as though he could hardly wait to see what you'd do next.

Your hands moved to your belt, the faint sound of the buckle clicking open breaking the tense silence in the room. Slowly, purposefully, you slid the leather strap free and let it drop to the floor. Oliver's lips parted slightly, his chest heaving as he watched you with rapt attention. You moved to your pants next, unbuttoning and unzipping them with agonizing slowness, letting them fall to pool at your feet. With one final motion, you slid your briefs down, freeing yourself completely.

Your length sprang free, hard and ready, the cool air sending a slight shiver down your spine. Oliver's eyes flickered down, his gaze darkening even further as he took you in. A low, appreciative growl escaped his lips, and you felt a rush of satisfaction at the way he looked at you, his hunger evident in every line of his body.

Without hesitation, you climbed back onto his lap, straddling him. Your thighs pressed against his hips as his strong hands immediately found their place on your waist, gripping you possessively. His fingers dug into your skin just enough to make you gasp, the pressure grounding you as you shifted into place.

Oliver let out a guttural groan as your length grazed against his, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through both of you. The heat and hardness of his arousal pressed against yours, the friction intoxicating as you rolled your hips slightly. The faint slickness between your bodies only heightened the sensation, and you couldn't help the quiet moan that escaped your lips as your movements grew more deliberate.

"Damn," Oliver muttered, his voice rough and low as he tilted his head back slightly, his grip on your waist tightening. His usual composure was gone, replaced by pure, unfiltered desire. "You're going to make me cum."

You smirked, leaning forward just enough for your breath to ghost against his ear. "That's the idea," you teased, your voice soft but dripping with mischief.

Oliver growled again, his hands sliding down to grip your hips firmly. With an ease that spoke to his strength, he lifted you slightly, aligning you above him. The heat of his length pressed against your hole, and you felt a pulse of anticipation ripple through you. He held you there for a moment, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

"You ready for this?" he asked, his voice rough but gentle, a stark contrast to the raw desire in his gaze. His hands steadied you, his touch a perfect mix of control and care.

You nodded, your lips parting as your breath hitched. "Always," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

With that, Oliver guided you down slowly, the pressure building as he pushed against you. The stretch was intense, but his firm, steady hands on your hips kept you grounded, helping you adjust inch by inch. The combination of his strength and gentleness left you breathless, and you couldn't help but marvel at the way he seemed to read your body so effortlessly.

As you sank lower, the feeling of him filling you completely sent a wave of pleasure through you, making you gasp and clutch at his shoulders for support. Oliver let out a deep, satisfied groan, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he finally buried himself within you. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, every nerve ending in your body alive with sensation as you both paused, letting the raw, intimate connection settle over you..

Oliver's lips claimed yours once more, a kiss that was deep and fervent, filled with passion that left you breathless. His hands remained firmly on your hips, his grip strong and steady, guiding your movements as you began to lift yourself slowly. The sensation of him inside you was intense, every inch of his length pressing against you in a way that made your entire body tremble.

You moved cautiously at first, rising up just enough for the stretch to ease before sinking back down, taking him in again. The friction was exquisite, a slow, deliberate rhythm that made your breath hitch with every motion. Oliver groaned against your lips, the low, guttural sound reverberating through you and spurring you on. His fingers dug into your hips, not enough to hurt but enough to ground you, to remind you of the control he still held even as he let you set the pace.

Breaking the kiss momentarily, you gasped for air, your hands braced against his shoulders for balance. His gaze met yours, piercing and filled with a hunger that sent a shiver racing down your spine. He leaned forward, capturing your lips again, his tongue teasing yours as your movements grew more confident, more fluid. Each rise and fall of your body sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, the connection between you both deepening with every thrust.

Oliver's head fell back against the chair, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as a groan escaped him. "You feel... so damn good," he murmured, his voice thick with pleasure. The praise only fueled you, making you move faster, your hips rolling as you adjusted to the rhythm that had both of you teetering on the edge.

You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tensed beneath your hands as you rode him, the heat radiating from his skin. His hands slid from your hips to your lower back, pulling you closer against him as if he couldn't bear to have even the slightest bit of space between you. His lips found your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there, his hot breath sending jolts of electricity through your body.

"Oliver..." you gasped, the sound of his name escaping your lips in a breathless moan. He responded with another low growl, his hands gripping you tighter as he began to meet your movements, thrusting up to match your rhythm. The chair creaked beneath you both, the quiet sound lost in the symphony of your ragged breaths and the unmistakable sounds of your bodies moving together.

Each motion brought a fresh wave of heat, the pressure building with every rise and fall. The connection between you was raw and consuming, the kind of intensity that blurred the world around you until there was nothing left but him—his touch, his kiss, and the overwhelming sensation of him filling you completely.

Oliver's lips found yours again, his kiss searing and desperate, as if he needed to feel every part of you, to lose himself completely in the moment. And you let him, your movements growing bolder, faster, as you gave yourself over to the intoxicating rhythm of pleasure and passion that bound you both together.

You never imagined yourself in a situation like this—having sex in an office, no less the mayor's office—and with the mayor himself. The fact that Oliver Queen, your unofficial boyfriend, was the one making you unravel so completely felt like something out of a fever dream. But here you were, straddling him in his plush leather chair, your bodies moving together in a rhythm that sent shivers down your spine. The taboo nature of it all—the high-powered setting, the risk of someone walking in—only seemed to heighten the intensity, making every sensation feel sharper, more electrifying.

The thought of the unlocked door barely crossed your mind. If it had, you didn't care enough to stop. The pleasure coursing through you was too overwhelming, too consuming, to let the fear of being caught disrupt the moment. Oliver's hands gripped your hips possessively, guiding you as you moved, his strength grounding you even as your world felt like it was spinning out of control.

His head tilted back slightly, exposing the sharp angle of his jaw as he groaned deeply, the sound echoing through the otherwise empty office. His usually composed and polished demeanor had completely unraveled, leaving behind only the raw, passionate man beneath. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, filled with a hunger that made your breath hitch. The way he looked at you—as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered��sent a rush of heat through your body.

"You're doing so good," he murmured, his voice rough and low, each word dripping with sincerity and desire. His praise sent a jolt of pleasure through you, spurring you to move faster, to take him deeper, to draw even more sounds of pleasure from his lips.

The documents behind you probably held the future of Star City in their inked words, but they were the farthest thing from your mind. All you could focus on was the way Oliver's hands explored your body, the way his lips occasionally captured yours in a searing kiss, the way his dick filled you completely with every movement.

The faint hum of city noise from the windows seemed a distant backdrop to the symphony of your shared breaths, quiet moans, and the creak of the chair beneath you. The unlocked door stood as a silent reminder of just how risky this was, but it only added to the thrill. Anyone could walk in—his other assistant, a council member, even Thea—and yet neither of you could bring yourselves to stop.

The sheer recklessness of the moment made it all the more exhilarating. The polished, professional space of the office felt almost surreal as a backdrop to something so intimate, so primal. This was the same place where press conferences were planned and city policies were crafted, and now it bore witness to a completely different kind of connection—a connection that was raw, electric, and undeniable.

You hadn't planned for this, hadn't expected to find yourself in a whirlwind romance with Star City's most powerful man. Yet, as you moved together, his hands gripping you tighter, his name falling from your lips in a breathless moan, you realized you wouldn't trade this moment for anything. Locked door or not, the passion between you was too powerful, too consuming, to be denied.

Suddenly, Oliver's eyes darkened with a new intensity, a spark of determination flickering across his face. Without a word, he tightened his grip on your hips, and in one fluid motion, he stood, his incredible strength evident as he lifted you effortlessly from his lap. The movement made you gasp, your body clinging to his as his dick stayed buried deep inside of you, the sensation making your head spin.

Before you could fully process what was happening, he turned and laid you down flat on the cool, polished surface of his desk. The contrast between the hard surface beneath you and the heat radiating from his body was electric, sending a shiver racing down your spine. Papers and folders scattered to the floor, forgotten in the haze of passion, as Oliver positioned himself over you, his hands firm and commanding as he held your legs in each of his hands.

He pushed your thighs apart, lifting your legs slightly to give himself the perfect angle. The possessiveness in his touch sent a thrill through you, making you feel utterly exposed yet completely safe at the same time. His grip was steady, his fingers pressing into your skin as he adjusted your position, and you couldn't help but marvel at the raw power in his every movement.

Without hesitation, Oliver began to thrust into you, his pace quickening with a new fervor that left you gasping for breath. The desk creaked slightly beneath the force of his movements, the sound mingling with the quiet moans and gasps that spilled from your lips with every powerful stroke. Each thrust was deliberate, his hips snapping against you with a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure radiating through your entire body.

"God, you feel so good," Oliver groaned, his voice rough and strained, every word dripping with raw desire. His gaze flickered between where your bodies were joined and your face, his expression a mix of concentration and unrelenting hunger. His intensity was overwhelming, consuming, and you couldn't tear your eyes away from him.

Your hands instinctively reached out, gripping the edge of the desk for support as his thrusts grew deeper, harder, the angle sending shockwaves of pleasure straight through you. The fullness of him, the way he moved with such precision, made your head fall back, your lips parting in a breathless moan. Oliver leaned over you slightly, his strong hands keeping your legs steady as he drove into you with a pace that bordered on relentless.

The sounds of your bodies moving together filled the room, a symphony of desire that drowned out everything else. Each thrust sent the desk sliding ever so slightly against the floor, a subtle reminder of the raw power behind Oliver's movements. His hands shifted slightly, his grip tightening as he adjusted the angle again, hitting a spot that made your entire body arch in response.

"Oliver!" you cried out, his name escaping your lips in a breathless moan as pleasure coursed through you like fire. He grinned at the sound, his usual smirk replaced with something darker, more primal.

"I love hearing that," he muttered, his voice low and gravelly as his pace quickened even further. His fingers dug into your thighs, anchoring you to him as he drove you closer to the edge. Each thrust was purposeful, each movement designed to wring every ounce of pleasure from your body, and you couldn't stop yourself from surrendering completely to him.

The desk beneath you seemed almost insignificant compared to the connection between you both, the way he moved, the way he looked at you as though you were the only thing in the world that mattered. The vulnerability of your position, the strength of his control—it was intoxicating, overwhelming, and utterly perfect.

The pressure in your body had been building steadily, each thrust of Oliver's hips pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your fingers curling tightly around the edge of the desk as the overwhelming pleasure coursed through you, making your entire body tremble. The intensity was almost too much, each wave of sensation crashing over you faster than the last, until you felt yourself teetering on the brink.

With one final thrust, the tension inside you snapped. Your back arched off the desk, your head falling back as a guttural moan escaped your lips. Heat rushed through you, your cum spilling out in hot, pulsing streams against your stomach, the release leaving you breathless and utterly consumed. The slick warmth spread across your skin, a stark contrast to the cool air of the office. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, the aftershocks of your orgasm still rippling through your body.

Oliver slowed his movements for a moment, his gaze dropping to your stomach, where your cum glistened against your skin. His lips curled into a satisfied smile, the dark, hungry gleam in his eyes telling you just how much he enjoyed watching you come undone beneath him.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough and low, filled with both admiration and desire. But he wasn't done yet.

His hands tightened their grip on your legs, holding you firmly in place as he resumed his thrusts, this time with a newfound urgency. His movements grew faster, more erratic, the sound of his hips snapping against you filling the room as he chased his own release. The sight of you, still trembling from your climax, seemed to spur him on, his breathing ragged and heavy as he drove into you with relentless intensity.

The raw power of his movements left you gasping, your body still hypersensitive from your own pleasure. Each thrust sent another jolt through you, the rhythm pushing you to the edge of overstimulation even as it brought him closer to his peak. His head fell forward slightly, his jaw clenched, and his hands flexed against your skin as his pace quickened.

"God," he growled through gritted teeth, his voice rough and strained as the tension in his body built. You could feel him throbbing inside you, his muscles taut as he edged closer and closer. His eyes locked onto yours, filled with a fiery intensity that made your breath hitch, and you knew he was seconds away from unraveling completely.

With one final, powerful thrust, his body tensed, his head tilting back as he let out a deep, guttural groan. His release came in hot, pulsing waves, filling your hole completely as his hands gripped you tightly, as though anchoring himself in the moment. The warmth of him, the way his body trembled slightly as he came, left you breathless all over again. His chest heaved with the effort, his gaze slowly returning to yours, softened now with a mix of satisfaction and something deeper, something intimate.

As the tension eased from his body, Oliver leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips—a stark contrast to the intensity of the moments before. "You're amazing," he murmured against your mouth, his voice still husky with the remnants of pleasure. The tenderness in his tone made your heart flutter, a perfect end to the wild, exhilarating ride you had just shared.

Suddenly, the faint murmur of voices drifted through the office door, snapping you out of your blissful haze. Your head whipped toward Oliver, your eyes wide with panic.

"Oh shit," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Oliver, ever calm under pressure, smirked slightly and grabbed your hand. "Come on," he said, tugging you down toward the space under the desk.

"This is not gonna work," you hissed, glancing at the scattered papers strewn across the floor—the remnants of your earlier passion—and the very visible evidence of what had just transpired. Your heart pounded as the sound of footsteps grew louder, accompanied by the unmistakable clack of heels.

The door creaked open, and you froze, crouched under the desk with Oliver. The sound of heels clicking against the floor sent a chill down your spine as the familiar voice of Thea Queen, Oliver's sister and your boss, echoed through the office.

"Ollie?" she called out, her tone sharp and inquisitive.

From your vantage point, you could see her shadow moving closer, her figure pausing as she took in the mess you'd left behind. Papers were scattered across the desk and floor, and—oh no—your pants and briefs were still in plain sight, lying in a heap next to Oliver's discarded clothing. You could only imagine the look of horror that must be dawning on her face as she pieced it together.

"Oh my god, Oliver!" Thea exclaimed, the disbelief in her voice palpable. "If you're going to have sex in your office, the least you could do is lock the damn door!"

You turned to Oliver, glaring at him with an expression that screamed, I told you so! He met your gaze with a sheepish grin and shrugged, mouthing, "Oops."

"Duly noted," Oliver replied aloud, his tone surprisingly casual for someone caught in such a compromising position. His calmness would've been impressive if you weren't on the verge of wanting to strangle him.

From her position above the desk, Thea sighed loudly, clearly exasperated. "Unbelievable," she muttered before she turned toward the door. But before leaving, she paused and glanced back over her shoulder. "Oh, and tell Y/N when you're both...dressed that those papers still need to be on my desk by the end of the day. Got it?"

You cleared your throat, trying to keep your voice steady. "Gotcha," you managed to reply, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

With one final huff, Thea walked out, but not before locking the door behind her. The sound of the lock clicking into place was strangely reassuring, though it did nothing to ease your mortification.

As the silence returned, you turned to Oliver, who was now sitting back on his heels under the desk, a smug smile plastered across his face. "See? Everything's under control," he said with a wink.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't help the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Oh, whatever," you replied, shaking your head as the two of you began gathering your clothes and the scattered papers. Despite the embarrassment, you couldn't deny the absurdity of the situation—or the fact that you wouldn't trade it for anything.

#dc x male reader #oliver queen x male reader #oliver queen #stephen amell #stephen amell x male reader #oliver queen x male!reader #smut #oliver queen x male reader smut

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manicpixiefelix · 10 months ago

Text

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 20.

Summary: The evening of the Arts Collective dinner somehow gets even worse for you as Farleigh gives you some unfortunate news about Oliver and Venetia and their moonlight exploits. The worst part is having to figure out a way to break the news to Felix.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: angst, mentions of childhood/ongoing parental neglect.

A/N: 3729 words. I finally cracked it!! Figured out the ending!! Sorry for the delay I was busy writing 20k about Jacob Elordi being hot and mean which I will never publish (Euphoria, a show I STILL have not watched beyond like 20 minutes of clips on YouTube lol). Anyways I've missed you and these characters and hopefully 21 won't be too far away xx (also I started my new job so that's been exciting but also Ooft ouch my bones hurt)

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

For a day that was already pretty damn shit, Oliver's cruelty was like salt in the wound. Hand still on the doorknob after you close it, you listen to him retreating over the ringing in your ears. If you let go, you'll see your hands shake, so you're frozen, heart in your throat, the house growing quiet around you. It's familiar, but unwelcome in this moment.

Tears well in your eyes as you sit back at the desk, computer humming pleasantly, bathing you in a cool glow. Part of you was desperate to run after him, to oblige him, to reveal every inch of your past and soul to him, hoping he was true to his word. That he could actually care about you in a way that very few have ever bothered to. That he could love you the way Felix did.

I don't know you.

An even stronger part of you wanted to run right across the hall, to bury yourself beneath the covers of your bed, safe and waiting for Felix. Surely he'd be back soon, if Oliver's return indicated anything. You hadn't heard him return, but it wouldn't be long. But how were you meant to look at him, lie next to him, even touch him, after all of that. It had been easy to bite your tongue on your disappointment so far, knowing that like so many others, Oliver's love for you thus far had been merely as a proxy for Felix himself. You knew Felix was vaguely aware that that was how others sometimes viewed you, but you'd always been eager to assure him that as long as he genuinely cared about you, and the others were good to you, you'd be more than happy.

And that used to be true. But none of the others were Oliver. Felix knew you loved the boy just as genuinely as he was coming to, you could never tell him that your affections were not as genuinely returned.

Your pride held you hostage in this room on both accounts.

When you finally raise your head from your hands, scrubbing unspilled tears from your eyes, you try and focus yourself once more on rereading the email that had already put you in a foul mood before Oliver had made it worse. It had taken all afternoon to detach yourself from it's contents, especially knowing your mother was waltzing about the grounds, spoiling your sanctuary.

The details of an official nondisclosure agreement, sent from your parents' team of lawyers. The paperwork was to arrive in the next few days, but you were being warned ahead of time. Before Oliver had interrupted, you were finally getting to the point of finding it all funny, that they were that insistent on cutting social ties with you that they'd go to almost any lengths that remained discrete, and out of the general public's reach. Now it just... ached.

Felix's heavy footsteps echo through the long gallery outside your study door, but he heads straight into bed. You wonder if it's even worth it to head to bed that night, you can't see yourself getting much sleep.

Now mostly, tragically, sober after you'd spent the afternoon trying to get out of your mind to cope with the day, you wonder if a drink would help put you to sleep, put an end to this abysmal day you'd endured. Which is how Farleigh finds you in the Blue Room, frowning at the bottle of liquor you'd left in the broken piano.

"You're up late," you mused flatly, still trying to decide if it was worth it to drink until you pass out in your study, "how was the -"

"We need to talk," Farleigh's tone is even more irate than you'd expected. Neither he nor the Catton siblings were ever in a particularly bright mood after being forced into any kind of proximity with your mother, and you were always touched by their loyalty, but this was something else.

You lower the piano lid, leaving the liquor for the time being. Turning to look at Farleigh, it's almost shocking to see how dark the look in his eyes was.

"What... happened?" You asked slowly. Farleigh's gaze flicks to the door behind you, to the long gallery and to the entrance to both yours and Oliver's bedrooms. Prying eyes, listening ears, though you were almost certain you'd heard Oliver leave not too long ago. A muscle in Farleigh's jaw twitches, and you instead offer your study for some privacy.

"You're not going to like it," is the first thing Farleigh tells you once the study door is closed. He sounds furious. Turning off your computer monitor, you choose to sit yourself on the sofa by the window, looking at him expectantly.

"This day's been a fucking nightmare already, I'm sure I can handle it," you rolled your eyes. Farleigh, however, chooses to sit at your desk, sideways on the chair, rather than joining you.

"You told Oliver not to fuck around with Venetia, didn't you?" It's unsettling to see Farleigh so serious. Still, his words have something twisting in your gut, even as you tried to play it off.

"Of course I did."

"Then tell me why I saw them practically eating each other on the front fucking lawn."

It's like you can feel the moment your blood turns to ice in your veins.

"This isn't funny," your lip curls, but Farleigh's severity remains, "this is a sick fucking joke, Farleigh, and a shitty thing to try and pull today of all goddamn days," your voice is rising, but he lets your fury build, uninterrupted.

"It would be an awful joke," he agreed, "if I was joking." All of the hopelessness that had plagued you since Oliver had left began to crystalise, calcifying into rage as his words settled in, "I don't care about Oliver," Farleigh's gaze shifted for a moment, still tense and furious, but there was something very nearly apologetic in his next words, "but unfortunately for me and for you right now, I care about you and Felix."

"Felix." Oh God. This couldn't be happening again. You'd told Oliver; you'd warned him. The fucking nerve!

"Yeah," Farleigh mutters quietly, "and you're going to be the one to tell him." When you try and protest, you're met with a sharp glare, and a stern reminder of how this exact situation had been reversed only twelve months ago over Eddie, "I'm not doing that again," Farleigh warned, "you owe me."

"Fine," you spit, "fuck, I'll tell him," hands shaking, you light up a cigarette. Farleigh stands, but hovers by your desk for a moment.

"He really knows how to pick them," He muses flatly.

"Shocking taste in men," scowling our of the window, your agreement is nonetheless irate, "fucking unbelievable," you hissed under your breath, "and he thinks there's something wrong with me?"

"There is," Farleigh's words surprise you, stinging a little, all things considered, "you fell for that stupid, little boy too," he reminds with a particularly vicious look.

"So it's my fault I have to break Felix's heart?"

"I'm saying that you've given me a lot of attitude for not liking him, but Oliver wouldn't even be here without both of you."

"Get the fuck out of my study, Farleigh," you order, pointing at the door, cigarette in hand and fury in your eyes.

The anger bubbling in your gut is beginning to burn. A thousand things are racing through your mind; top of the list is wondering just how quickly you make sure he's never welcomed back at Oxford. All you'd need was your computer and an hour to ruin Oliver Quick's entire life; you'd done it before. But if you turned that monitor on, if you had to once again look at that fucking email from your family - not even your family, their lawyers! - you think you might throw up. Tomorrow, with a clear head, you'd make your move.

And you'd tell Felix. No need to wake him now, give him a few hours to still live in the fantasy where the boy he was falling in love with wasn't once again going after his sister. Fuck- Venetia.

The more you thought about it all the more frenzied your outrage became. She wasn't innocent in this either, she never was. Venetia Catton was more than adept at finding both yours and her brother's exact pressure points and pressing with vehemence. So desperate to be loved yet so unable to come across as anything but insatiable, she'd always taken what she could get. You were good, but clearly you weren't enough to distract her from new, shiny Oliver.

The taste of smoke sticks to your teeth, as does your sour contemplation on how little the people you tried to love respected you. Or Felix. Christ, how were you meant to tell Felix?

Except you can't even really begin to contemplate how you'll break the news when you hear footsteps across the gallery.

Felix doesn't even knock - not that he ever has - before he lets himself in. You thought you'd have more time; the anger still burns white-hot inside of you, but despair and guilt flickers at the edges. He looks about as rough as you feel, concern and ebbing irritation in his expression. Of course, he'd spent the evening in the presence of your mother; none of the others ever felt nearly as much ire in her presence as he did.

Without a word, he strides across the room, all but pouting, and throws himself onto the sofa beside you. Drawing his legs up onto the sofa, he makes himself as small as possible - quite a task considering his size compared to the small, squashy sofa - and leans against you, head on your shoulder.

"Hate that woman," he hisses under his breath. You know he means your mother, but your mind is on his deceitful sister. All you can think about is Venetia and Oliver, but you can't very well tell Felix now. You don't have the words to not make everything so much worse if you tried. Already you'd decided to tell him in the morning, but right now you had to keep him from figuring out what was bothering you. Or that you were bothered at all.

So you decide to take a leaf out of Felix's own book, keep him happy and distracted in the way you knew best.

"Bad night?" Your voice is low as you move your arm back, fingers carding through his hair. The way Felix hums is still dark, but he shifts closer to you. After another moment of quiet, he huffs an irate breath out through his nose and begins to pluck at the hem of your shorts.

"Can I maim your mum the next time I see her?"

"She's not worth going to jail over," you tell him, leg shifting into his touch. Felix's hand stops fussing with your shorts to grip your thigh.

"You are," he huffs resolutely, and even despite your own anger you smile.

"My knight in shining armour," you laugh softly, lips against his forehead, "but do you really want to be so far away?" Leaning back against him, your hand moves from his hair to graze your nails down his bare arm, hoping he takes the hint. Thankfully, he does. The warm grip on your thigh tightens, and when he turns to look at you, there's something hungry in his eyes, "she's not worth your time, Fi," it comes out almost as a snarl, a truth you believe even in the depths of your own, otherwise mostly unrelated anger, but you turn your tone teasing, smirking at him, "I just choose to think about how I was apparently on your mind all night."

"I'm always thinking about you," he almost sounds a little breathless as he says it, managing to sit up more properly without moving away. You let your gaze flick to his lips before going back to look him in the eyes. Tongue darting out to wet your lips, you tilt your head very slightly, beginning to smile.

"And what are you think about me now?"

You'd always quietly loved whenever Felix was feeling possessive, and now moreso than ever. It made distracting him easy and fun, and Felix himself, his hands as he pulled you over to straddle his lap, to hold you close, to cradle your face as he kissed you so furiously, it was almost enough to distract you too. In all honesty, it was the only good thing to have happened all day, though even this was coloured by guilt, knowing what you still had to tell him when you found the right words.

However suddenly, Felix pulls back wearing a frown. For a few moments you find yourself catching your breath, confused, arms still around his neck.

"Something's wrong," it's not a question.

"Nothing's wrong," you lie, and hope it's more convincing them his usually are, "nothing at all," you hum, and move back in to press kisses to his jaw, hoping it's enough of a distraction to trail those kisses down his neck.

"You're angry about something," damn it. Of course Felix knows you too well.

"Am I?" You want to keep the ruse up for as long as you can manage, "and what would that be?" You murmured before you're sucking a beautiful, bruising hickey against his neck.

"I don't -" but his breath catches, grip on you tightening. It almost works; he swears faintly under his breath, losing himself in the moment and leaning into you, but then he actually seems to shake himself out of it, "come off it," he sighs, and you sit up, trying your best to appear both confused, and still in the mood, "if I'm not allowed to do this, neither are you." He says pointedly. Even though you're fighting a losing battle, you still lean in, still try and distract him with your mouth on his.

"Do what?" You murmur, nose to nose as you peck him quickly, desperately trying to keep your tone light and teasing. But you can see it in his eyes before he even says it; he knows exactly what you're doing.

"Distracting me because you know how fucking hot I think you are."

"And if I was," you murmured, pressing yourself against him, "why would that be such a bad thing?"

"Because you're being evasive," Felix pushed you back, held you at arm's length as your expression began to drop, fury beginning to creep back in as you remembered what exactly it is you didn't want to tell him, "you're not evasive with me;" he insists, "everyone else, sure, but this - whatever this is - is.. it's- it feels weird. This isn't you!"

"What am I then, Felix?"

"Mine!" He answered far too quickly, frustration sling out of him, but appears to catch himself, correcting to, "my best mate, alright? You don't not tell me things."

"So if there is something I'm not telling you, can you not trust that I might have a reason?" Finally your anger bursts from you, furious in the evening light. Felix has gone quiet, shocked; it's been a long time since you'd yelled at him like this. He looks wounded, apologetic, something you're not used to. Climbing off of him, you stand, you have to give yourself some distance from him, "there's a lot I don't tell you, Fi," you sighed, expression pinching as you tried to force yourself to calm down.

"You can tell me anything," Felix's voice has softened, leaning forward on the sofa. It aches to look at him, to see him so beautiful and vulnerable in these moments, "you know that."

"I know," you agreed, "it's not that I can't tell you, it's that I don't want to," you pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes, groaning; you can't look him in the eyes, can't even look at him right now, "and I will, that's the thing; I'm going to tell you, you're right, I always do, I just -" in a moment of weakness, your voice comes out almost sounding pitiful, defeated and frustrated, "I thought I had more time."

"What's wrong?" Felix asks softly. When you laugh, there's no humour in it. The more the reality of your situation sinks in, the more the fight leaves you.

"It's going to make you angry, or upset, or probably both," you sound rather helpless when you say it, but it seems like you no longer have a choice in when you get to tell him.

"Is it your mum?"

"I wish it was my mum," you shook your head, finally moving your hands to shake them out as you stepped back, leaning back against your desk with defeat. With every moment that passes you can feel Felix's gaze upon you, burning into you. When you are upset, he will never relent until he finds the source; usually it would be a gift, make you feel wanted and special and like you actually mattered for once. But this knowledge feels like a curse.

"We could run away," it's a last resort, barely more than a mutter as you look at your hands.

"What?"

"Just us," you continue, fidgeting, unable to look at Felix and the concern you knew you'd see in his eyes, "I could get us a little apartment in some artsy, London suburb," it's not going to work, not going to distract him, to keep him from prying the information from you that you know will hurt him, but it's all you have left, "you know nan would help us out, she'd kill for me. We could do whatever we wanted, never have to work a day in our lives. We could be whoever we wanted, wouldn't have to live in a house where they'd rather we die of heat stroke than ruin the wood panelling with an air conditioner," all you can think about is how you fell for a boy who didn't love you the way you hoped he would, and turned out couldn't even really respect you, "never have to go back to Oxford."

"What happened?" Standing, Felix crosses the short distance to your desk. There's so much sweetness in his voice as he sits in the desk chair beside you, looking up at you with his damn perfect brown eyes.

"I can't let this happen again, Fi," you hadn't even realised you were close to tears until it becomes harder to speak, "I tried, I fucking tried, I told him -"

"Who?"

"Ollie," you sniffled, face growing hot as you couldn't stop your tears from beginning to fall, "I warned him not to go near Venetia- I just- I can't believe she'd do this again, that Ollie couldn't respect when I ask him this one thing -"

"Ollie and Venetia?" There's an unsettling, blank quality to Felix's voice. The look in his eyes is far away and ice cold.

"Apparently hooking up on the front lawn," you clarified, voice weak, trying to wipe the tears from your eyes, derision edging it's way back into your voice as some of the anger returns, "for God, and Farleigh to bare witness," you took in a deep, shaking breath, attempting to pull yourself together, "I tried, Fi -"

"Fucking unbelievable," Felix snarls furiously, getting to his feet, "both of them- fuck, was Farleigh sure? He wasn't making some sick joke?"

"Even Farleigh wouldn't fuck with us like that," you muttered darkly, before adding, quiet, sounding actually pained with frustration, "I've been nothing but good to them, Fi, I thought -"

"You are never touching my sister again," Felix cuts you off firmly, voice forcibly calm. Surprised both by his tone and his words, you look up; he's so much closer than you'd realised The look in your best friend's eyes almost overwhelms you; protective, possessive, "I'm not watching her treat you like that anymore," he braces himself against the desk either side of you, crowding you against it.

"Fi," your barely manage a whisper, heartbeat racing in your chest, "I..." for just a moment he looks almost pained, and he hangs his head, faint, humourless laugh escaping him.

"I have to watch you fuck around with people who would barely give you the time of day; you're so fucking good it kills me sometimes," he bites out; you can't tell him that you know they're just using you, that so many people simply entertain the idea of you as a way to stay in Felix's life. Even if he'd never admit it, Felix knows. There's very little in his life that he's ever felt the need to reflect on, and even less that he feels any particular guilt about. You used to think he was fine with this arrangement, that he knew you could find the fun in these one-sided dynamics, "they're fucking using you," he grits out, but you're surprised by the way his fury almost sounds like despair, "I watch them and they're fucking using you like you're not even a person, Y/N."

Felix looks up; the looks in his eyes is more serious than you think you've ever seen from him. Deliberately, firmly, he takes your face in his hands.

"You're not my shadow, you know that, right?"

For a very long moment, you think you feel your heartbeat stop in your chest. On the surface it's a completely ridiculous question, except...

Feeling your face grow hot, you know he can see you tearing up; Felix has always known you better than anyone, always known exactly what you seem to need to hear. Nodding weakly, caught, pinned by his intense gaze, his focus on you, your lip trembles. Already fraught with emotions from the day, and the evening that had just passed, you have no fucking idea what to say. Felix has never spoken this out loud, never let himself properly wrestle with the subtext that coloured so much of your dynamic; it flickers across his face, the surprise and guilt and realisation as it hits him what he'd just said.

You are so much more to him than anyone else will ever give you credit for.

You are not his shadow, but you are unequivocally his.

So you kiss him.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick x you #felix catton smut #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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caitchercatlady · 5 months ago

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Not Having a Good Time

-Heartslabyul Version

Note: Hey, everyone. So I've had these stories on the back burner for quite a bit, and I do have intentions to work on more than just this one imagines series. I hope you guys like this one nonetheless first <3

Riddle Rosehearts

As much of a stickler Riddle is for keeping the peace, unless it's necessary not to, he can tell when someone is not in the mood for nonsense in the exhausted sense of the word. He will ask to speak with you in private, away from any snickering and gossip.

"Queen's Rule #568: Grievances must be shared over a cup of lavender tea and the griever's favorite treat."

You and Riddle will enjoy this occasion in the quiet side of the garden, where Riddle allows you to rant about your issues as he listens with open ears. Riddle always had Trey and Chen'ya who would listen to his problems, so it was only right as a Housewarden to act upon his position with you, even if you aren't his house student.

He knows it's not the permanent solution, but, while also warning not to tell anyone that this happened, he gives you a hug of comfort, lifting your spirits just a little.

Trey Clover

You have your head to the floor, so you don't notice Trey approaching when you accidentally bump into him and step on the tip of his shoe. Already distressed enough as it is, you apologize profusely. Trey smirks as he replies:

"It is just a shoe, not my mother's flower garden. Why don't you walk with me?"

As Vice Housewarden, the solver of the majority of the dorm's problems and the mediator of all squabbles, it is Trey's natural instinct to approach you the moment he sees the frown on your face. He allows you to express your grievances as you walk through the campus garden.

Trey believes the best way to release stress is a nice baking session. He even lets you do the kneading and taste testing steps.

Cater Diamond

Even though you just want to be alone in Ramshackle Dorm, prior to your return to your dorm, Cater couldn't help but notice how stressful you've felt all week if your account is proof of anything. He couldn't help but send you a DM on MagiCam.

Your latest pic is looking pretty gloomy. If you wanna talk, spam me as much as you like. -CayCay <3

You gladly take the offer since you felt comfortable ranting not face-to-face. You can tell that Cater is reading them by reacting to each message you send with an alternate sad or a heart emoji.

As a peacemaking offering, Cater tells you that if you are ever interested in doing a "Cay Cay pampering session," he'd be at your dorm in half a finger snap to help clear the stress from your mind.

Ace Trappola

When you're not feeling your best, the last you need is someone or something to make it worse. Ace didn't get on your best side as he pulled off the "dunk your face into your lunch" prank today. He didn't react so nicely when you told him off, but after realizing what had gone on prior to that prank, he finds you during flying class to try to make things up for what he did.

"Yuu...what happened at lunch today, I'm sorry. I should've just said, "Hi," and asked how you were doing. I didn't know you were already mad. Please forgive me. If you can't, let me make it up to you somehow."

If Ace wasn't sincere, you supposed he would've waited until after class was over to apologize. Now that he was listening, you let out everything that had been going on before Ace pulled off the prank. You also express the "I message," which Ace is more than willing to accept.

With Vargas busy with...whatever Vargas is doing, Ace offers you to go on a flying ride with him. A little entertainment screaming would do you some good to make you forget about your problems...even just a little.

Deuce Spade

Deuce finds it odd that you've been less chatty as of late. You barely even spoke when the professors pointed to you for answers to their questions. He catches you after class and asks what's happening. He's all ears to hearing you out. That's when you finally respond, and he feels the pain with every word that comes out of you.

"Ah geez, Yuu. I'm really sorry. I think I've been feeling it, too, and when I'm feeling that way, I need a Blastcycle ride. Wanna go on one right now?"

You don't find that to be a bad idea, so you guys head out and take a campus ride to let the issues out of your hair. The island is lovely enough for its wind to brush it right out.

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angstigone · 3 months ago

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WARNINGS: manga spoilers, angst related to such spoilers, she/her - afab character (she's called 'miss').

ten years have passed when you meet again the love of your life.

the birthday cake for denji is an afterthought when you are faced with the many beauties laid and exposed on the window of the bakery that you have been suggested by yoshida to visit after having received the task of ordering the cake for the birthday boy.

ten years had meant much - and an apocalypse avoided - and albeit devils still needed hunting and chainsaw man couldn't yet rest, there was a sense of peace that makes birthdays almost... good.

you are all trying to do better and task isn't excessive, especially when you are already on your way to work.

especially with the various beauties exposed as you think about sneaking a pastry with your coffee.

still, with the focus on the pastries, you don't notice the man adjusting them till it's too late to avoid awkward eye contact.

the situation is already awkward with you making bedroom eyes to a specific eclair, but the familiar features are what sold you.

dark blue hair and eyes of a shade that was just lighter although troubled by the dark eyes right beneath them. stress didn't seem to abandon aki hayakawa even in his second lifetime.

immediately your mind wanders to an explanation but the deer caught in headlight look is stronger and hence you and the baker-who-is-aki-but-also-isn't-aki find yourself staring at each other through the glass till it gets all back to you.

a snowball fight, not even a funeral and being forced to hide as to avoid makima.

maybe ten years might have been enough to get over it or not.

you ran then and thought of never going back.

and yet, it isn't like you could show up to denji's birthday party without cake, simply because you had met somebody that looked like the man that you had loved the most in your whole life. you could choose another place, you doubt that denji would notice the difference but there's a morbid curiosity as you walk in the shop this time, glad when the blue-eyed baker simply stays at the till while you look around the different cakes on the shelves.

albeit, it might not seem, though, you feel his gaze onto you and no matter the slightly cold air coming from outside, you are a sweaty mess once you have done your choice - you are glad that you had already made it the previous night - asking for the matcha and chocolate tiramisu.

you don't know why - this man isn't aki, you didn't see his body but you felt it when he died - but somehow you expect recognition from him, as if at any moment he might say 'hello, it's me, I am back'.

it shouldn't be that startling nor surprising to know that it won't happen.

"he is gone" you repeat to yourself, over and over "... he is gone, he is gone, he is go...".

«I am sorry, miss» the voice - it's the same, it's haunting how much it sounds the same and for a moment you think of asking him to say 'I love you' one more time - questions as you raise your eyes, risking of dropping your bag on the carpet «... I... well, will it be all?».

of course.

of course, he's a simple baker, not your aki.

«yes... ahem... no actually... I saw some eclairs would I be able to take them on the go, today? I... my friend will come to get it on the day of the birthday. should I leave you an account of the total for the cake?» it's a normal conversation.

a totally normal conversation with somebody that seems like aki and sounds like him.

«oh no, it's alright. just... I need a phone number for any... delays or such» he explains professionally although not without a sheen of nervousness, probably thought it's a mixture of tiredness and awkwardness.

you give him your number, although it'd be better to use yoshida's since he is the one doing the pickup but it's a self-indulgence that you allow, sure that from the moment you exit this place you won't ever think about the baker that shares so many traits with your beloved.

it'll just worsen everything for you.

«alright, miss... I'll call you for any delay but your friend should be able to pick it up at any time in the afternoon of thursday».

you nod, now your head downcast while your eclairs are packed and you give him your card, cursing yourself for not having chosen to pay in cash when the awkward time that awaits for the bank confirmation stretches uncomfortably.

«... I also... do know this might be a personal question and I... I just had this sensation... have we met before?».

no, this can't be happening. it defies any law that you have ever known, because people don't come back.

especially people that you prayed to come back at night while holding to their shirts till they lost the telltale smell of smoke and cologne and not eve a combination of cheap cigarettes and the specific perfume brought it back.

your legs want to go, but you find yourself anchored on the ground as you awkwardly stammer.

«I don't... I don't think so... I... it's the first time I came around this part of the city» not wholly a lie, but you feel like it'd be much to spring the truth: 'you look like a whole lot like the man that I loved with all my heart and who took it with him when he was gone' «... but I... well, it seems that I feel the same way... I mean... I got the same sensation».

because you know him, you wish to say, because he's your aki.

and he does smile like aki, all open and soft, holding his teeth back and all lips.

«oh then maybe... we have known each then...» he hands you your receipt as finally the bank sends the confirmation of your transaction «... in a previous lifetime».

#Aki Hayakawa x Reader #Aki Hayakawa Fic #Aki Hayakawa x Y/N #Aki Hayakawa x You #aki hayakawa #aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa fic #aki hayakawa x y/n #aki hayakawa x you #csm x reader #csm fic #csm x y/n #csm x you #CSM x Reader #CSM Fic #CSM x Y/N #CSM x You

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darkbluekies · 2 years ago

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Silas asks #5

Previous one next one

Concept: I've put multiple asks into one post to avoid too much loose posts on my account! This way, you have more to read too<3

Warnings: mafia, yandere, isolation ... the normal stuff

In Intruder, would Silas still have been able to find the reader if she didn't look to see what was on the USB? (Perhaps she didn't know she had a foreign USB in her purse in the first place) You mentioned Silas could see her on the webcam, but I assumed that was because she used the USB on the computer. Also, if she didn't see the USB would Silas have taken it back without question or would he have still kidnapped the reader? Sorry for all the questions, I'm just curious hehe 😅

Hm, interesting question. I think that Silas would be able to find the USB one way or another, either through a tracker on it or hacking into surveillance cameras to follow her. He would most likely not be too interested in getting her, but would think of her when he leaves ... which means that he'll be back for her.

There's this meme on tiktok that goes "my blickyyyyyy upon the dresseeeerrrrr" it remind me so much of Silas who definitely is the type of dude with a gun in his dresser 🔫 🔫

I haven't seen that meme, but Silas would 100% keep a gun in his dresser! For uh "safety reasons". Not to keep you in the room no no

Do you think the reader would ever develop Stockholm syndrome with Silas?

I actually think so. He treats you well when you're obedient so if you don't try to escape and actually listen to what he says, he will be the most wonderful man you can ever get your hands on. And that's dangerous for your mental health because anyone would fall for that.

With that Broken reader x Silas fanfic Does the reader have a caretaker that had been helping them?

[fanfic?]

Oneshot it's basef off of (i think)

No, Silas doesn't want anyone to be close to you, escpecially not after what you've been trough. He's scared that you'll fall for someone else in your fragile state. He needs you to be reliant on him only. You're vulnerable, perfect for him to mold how he wants you to be.

LOVING SILAS SM MWAH MWAH MWAH LEMME KITH YOU omg but like.. 😳 what if he grows to lowkey miss gen z reader's remarks and jokes in the long run😶. like ok yeah big man got what he wanted😮‍💨🫥 but now reader doesnt laugh or smile anymore cause theyre lowkey highkey traumatized😁💧 ykwim????

[omg thank you for the kith hehe]

Then he'll try to bring it back! Silas thinks that you're a toy that he can break and bend to be how he wants you to be. Somehow you'll be back to normal, he just needs to figure out how. He'll regret breaking you down so badly and will do his best to crack your numb shell.

"I like it when you smile. Come on, baby, curse at me. You know you like that. Tell a joke, I'll laugh, I promise. No, you won't get punished, little thing."

The Valentine's day ask for Silas got me thinking, what if his s/of wanted to get job? (cause I can't just do nothing all day) And since I'm sure he wouldn't let us go somewhere, what if we asked for him to hire us? (Cause if he wouldn't we can start looking for a online job or a job where we could leave and come back without getting caught) We can basically do some clean up or just paperwork 🤔. Also sorry if my English is bad

He'd hate the thought of you working because he thinks that you should be doing things you liked, but if you really had to, he'd keep you in his office, right by his side, where you can go through some papers. Of course not the ones that could make you scared. If there are no papers for you to go through, he'll print fake ones, just so you'll have something to do. As long as he'd keep you occupied, you'd not complain about being bored or wanting to leave.

"Ah, how about a break? We should take a nap on the couch. We've been working so well, don't you think, little thing? Come here, baby, let me hold you."

Silas be like "I'm gonna torture you badly" I be like "I like that"🥴Chain me up in the basement for punishment? "oooh kinky"Psychological torture? "Hey how'd you know I like mind games?"Threaten friends and family? *Looks around sarcastically "where are they? I don't see them!" 🙃In conclusion, I identify as a chaotic neutral that cannot be contained. Go ahead, do your worst! It'll be fun~ >:3

You'd be Silas's nightmare.

Ok that was weird how would Silas react to a mc who was in awe about how rich he was and shocked when they arrive at his mansion?

[what was weird ...?]

He'd be shocked. He's been in defense mode to give you a fright, to scare you into obedience ... but you're not scared?

"If I live here? Uh yeah, i do ... what about it? You like it? Yeah, I guess it's nice. Do you really like it that much?"

Hello 👁🫦👁. I love all your stories and I'm trying to figure out how best to behave with Silas so that he doesn't lock me in the basement, but also doesn't break my mind or bones😭p.s. i love the yandere characters but even chatting with AI yanderes gives me bad endings

As long as you do as he says, (you stay in your room, doesn't complain too much, doesn't nag and demand him to be let out) he'll be pleased with you. He'll take you out for dinner and dates and be more patient with you. The more you demand of him, the less likely you'll get it and the quicker you'll end up in the basement. He wants to be treated as a human being, depsite all the bad things he's done to you :)

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere fics #yandere mafia #yandere stories #yandere talks #yandere oc x you #yandere headcanon #yandere reactions #yandere asks #yandere ocs x reader #yandere ocs #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #silas oc

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nonotnolan · 2 years ago

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Summer Break Dullahans

I can’t say that I was expecting to respond to somebody’s cry for help at three in the afternoon. The student dorms were already pretty empty, since only one of the three buildings would be open for summer classes, and most people were at home until the summer semester officially started. So when I heard a faint cry of “Can anybody hear me? I need help!” it was easy for me to believe that the guy had been yelling in vain for quite awhile. I wasn’t sure what I expected-- a Freshman who managed to get pinned between the bed and the wall, maybe? I sure as hell wasn’t expecting to see Ben’s detached head sitting on a couch pillow.

No wonder he was yelling for help, he was literally just a head! I walked over and picked him up off the couch, grabbing him on either side of his ears. I thought for sure this was just an optical illusion somehow, but... no, I was holding his entire head in my hands. “Put me down, jackass,” he shouted, trying and failing to wiggle out of my grip. “I don’t need help from you.”

I wasn’t expecting to feel the muscles in his jaw move as he spoke, and I’m a bit ashamed to admit I actually dropped him in surprise. He landed on the couch, at least, but it couldn’t have felt good to land nose-first from that far up. “I’m so sorry, Ben,” I said, as I rotated him back to an upright position. “What happened to you, anyway?”

“You know damn well what happened-- your fucking roommate happened, that’s what,” he said, glaring at me. “I was just watching some Netflix when Grant barges into my room with a goddamn sword. Next thing I know I’m stuck on the couch, and he’s taking away my headless body! He already told me about your plan to steal bodies away from other guys, don’t you fucking dare pretend to feel bad.” Well, that was news to me, but Ben refused to believe a word I said. Not knowing what else to do, I turned on the TV on for him, and leaved the door open so that the next person might be able to find him a bit easier.

Pulling out my phone, I discovered that I’d missed a few text messages from Grant. He said he was waiting for me downstairs in the parking garage with a surprise that I’d have to see to believe. Which... yeah, if I hadn’t managed to stumble across Ben’s detached head, I don’t think that I ever would have expected to see a muscular Grant. He was a great roommate and all, but the dude was maybe 120 pounds on a good day. Given that I was easily twice his weight, the two of us definitely had a weird dynamic going.

Or, we used to, at any rate. The new Grant was almost certainly a lot more muscular than he had ever been before in his entire life. It was hard to imagine the guy who stayed up every night with me to grind rank in League of Legends being able to earn a physique like that. And there was something about seeing his pale head resting on top of Ben’s tanned body that was just far too comical.

“What, is that the only reaction I’m going to get?” he asked, frowning slightly. “Fuckin’ look at me, bro. I’m like some sort of Alpha Male now. You wish you could be a man like me!” He started flexing his arms, causing veins to appear in places I didn’t even know they existed. “It’s okay to be jealous, Eric. You don’t gotta act so modest on my account. I know you’re gay, it’s okay if you suddenly want a piece of this.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry if you were expecting me to be completely losing it right now,” I said. “I already ran into Ben upstairs, and he told me... well, what’s left of him told me about what you did. Nice sword, by the way.”

“Well, fuck,” he said, letting his shoulders drop. There was something about seeing him stand there, slouched over, that made him look so much more like the real Grant. “Probably should have slapped his head onto my old body before leaving. I guess on the plus side, I won’t have to work very hard to convince you that this sword is magic somehow. And anyway, I still have another surprise up my sleeve.” He snapped his fingers, and gestured toward a figure who had been standing off in the shadows. Well, most of a figure, at any rate. A headless body, absolutely stacked with muscles, stepped forward into the lights.

“Did you... is that for me?” I asked, trying to make sense of the surge of emotions I felt. Desire. Longing. Lust. Holy hell, I wanted that body to be mine. The shoulders, the pecs, the abs... healthy, vibrant, everything that my current pale and flabby body could never be. Not without more work than I would ever be willing to do. A primal, animalistic Need. And, if I had to be honest, a slight amount of guilt. I’d already saw what Grant had done to Ben. If I made this body mine, I would be stealing it from someone else.

I was utterly entranced. I found myself tracing the ridges of its chest with my fingers, my head utterly swimming in hormones as my manhood rose to its paltry four inches underneath my cargo shorts. “Grant, who did... where did you find him?”

“Nuh-uh,” Grant said, shaking his head at me. “I know you, Eric. You think too much. If I tell you his name, you’re gonna feel bad and you’re gonna try to make it up to him. Fuck that shit. This is all or nothing. You want this body, you don’t get to know whose it was.”

He knew me far too well. I looked back and forth between Grant and the headless muscle hunk that he had procured for me. Did I want it that badly? Would I be able to live with myself afterward? My head tried to argue ethics, but my heart already knew my answer.

I dropped down onto my knees, giving Grant easier access to my neck. He lifted the sword up high into the air, striking down with a massive swing. I felt a sudden lurch as I fell several feet to the ground. I tried to use my arms to prevent myself from hitting the ground, only I didn’t have arms anymore-- my old body was completely unresponsive.

“Hey, wanna know what your new body is gonna smell like?” I tried to protest, but I was unable to stop Grant from lifting up my new body’s arm and shoving my head right into its armpit. The coarse hair brushed up against my nose and lips as the sweaty musk filled my nostrils. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you,” he said, laughing at me. I wanted to be mad, but... he was absolutely right.

“Just shut up and attach my head,” I said, trying not to let him know how much it was turning me on. If I didn’t have an armpit fetish before, I did now. Grant lowered my head into place, and suddenly I had full control over my new, muscular body.

I practically sprinted back inside to find a bathroom with a good mirror. Can you blame me? You could still see the difference between my head’s pale skin and my body’s bronze tan, but I think maybe a lot of people would just assume that I had used tanning spray. Hell, for all I know, my prior body really had used a tanning spray.

A few months from now, the rest of my friends would return from summer break, and I would have to try and convince everyone that I had gained this body naturally. No one would ever believe that I had lost 100 pounds at the same time that my roommate gained 100 pounds. Although... if Grant was planning to keep the sword, maybe he would be willing to hook up my friends with a new body as well?

#male body theft #nerd to jock #male body transformation #muscle jock #nerd #selfish magic #headless male #detachable head #headless #detachment #natural body magic #dullahans

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fortunatelyseveredreamland · 3 months ago

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What a week…

It’s so weird to be back here. I am sad I deleted my blog so many years ago and forgot what it was even called. I knew I’d come back eventually if something big were to happen. Never thought this exact thing would be the reason.

I was at work on Wednesday when I found out. My hands immediately shook and my heart sank. I couldn’t wait to leave to get home and be able to know more and mourn. As soon as I got in the car, I started crying.

It’d been such a long time since 1D took up this much space in my brain. It feels like a lifetime ago, sitting on tumblr from night to morning. Rewatching the video diaries and music videos millions of times. Making my friends and followers one shots and photoshopped texts. Plastering my entire room with posters from every magazine I could find. But somehow, it also feels like yesterday?

It felt weird to have my mind immediately transport back to being in my room and only caring about the boys. Sleepovers with my bestie revolving around their music.

I don’t think I have ever loved something as much as I love One Direction. The feeling of hanging out with you all and loving the boys so very much. I wish I could feel that way right now without the overwhelming amount of guilt.

I had to come back here with a brand new account and feel this community’s embrace again. The only people that will ever truly understand this feeling. And I’m so glad I did. While everyone is speaking how they feel, they are also sharing old posts, and funny ones. Ones that make all of the good memories come rushing back like a rough river. It’s like I never left. And in some way, I don’t think I ever truly did. I left my heart on this website and in One Direction and now I feel like there is a part of my soul that is never coming back. But maybe in due time, he can live in that void for the rest of time.

I have seen a lot of posts about inner child. But to be honest, I don’t think my inner child is crying. My full adult self is crying. The part of me that would spend all of my life savings on a ticket to an ot5 reunion. The little girl inside of me left long ago, but the adult 27 year old woman who has nothing to look forward to now feels like she’s actively dying inside. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. They were supposed to live until they were 90. It’s just unfair and too soon.

I’d like to say that I hope all of you are doing well. This is the first day since the news that I haven’t been a full puddle of tears, but I also keep waking up and hoping this is a nightmare. I took a shower and blasted take me home. I cried a little bit it was cathartic. It made me feel that all of those memories are worth so much to not only me but to the boys and their families.

I’d like to round this off with my letter to Liam.

Hey Leeyum,

I miss you like crazy already. Which pains me to say because I could’ve been a more active fan for you in the last few years. I knew what had been happening, but always felt like you were going to come out on the other side, stronger. I wish we all could’ve saved you.

Thank you for being you. Thank you for writing songs that helped me through my teenage and early adult years. They still do. Thank you for making us laugh. Thank you for making us proud. I know you wouldn’t want us to wallow in sadness for you. You’d want us to talk about the memories.

The boys love you so much and I hope you knew that. There was no One Direction without you. You were the glue that held it all together. You deserved more public love than you were ever given. I just hope you know how much the 1D family cares and loves you.

I’m so sorry this was the way your story ended. You deserved so much more than life gave you. I will love you until the end of time, sweet boy. <3

I love you all. Please take care of yourselves. I plan on sticking around a while. Hope to see more names that I recognize on my feed.

#one direction #rip liam payne #liam payne #1d #harry styles #zayn malik #louis tomlinson #niall horan #directioners

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mangoharvest · 1 year ago

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Which yandere twst boys do you think would be (or pretend to be) understanding of their darling not wanting a romantic relationship?

GUH so I actually submitted an answer for this, but my silly computer did an update and lost a bunch of draft data (Sorry Jade...)

Sorry for the wait, hopefully these are okayyyy! They are on the drabble side since platonic darling is still new ish to me (I really love it though!! And hope I can write more!)

twst boys with a platonic darling!

* Ace Trappola

He’s such a kid when it comes to these things. He confessed his love with so much enthusiasm and confidence! Only to be rejected. He could at least breathe easy knowing no one else had a chance to steal your heart. Still, he couldn’t help but want you all to himself. He’s not smart enough to play mind games (sorry), but he is practical.

You were amazed at how quickly he went back to his usual self, laughing with and teasing you into oblivion. However, this was nothing but a farce. He begins extending the time you two hang out. No big deal, he’s fun to be with. The clock in his room breaks, and for some reason the alarm on your phone never goes off when you're with him.

After a while, it’s not enough. He asks you to help him study, as if that’s going to actually happen. You always end up chastising him, doing work for maybe an hour, then falling asleep while watching whatever movies you find that catch your eye. He makes a space for you to stay over, practically kidnaps you for any class you don’t share, and is somehow always right around the corner. Thanks Cater, for that wonderful tracking app!

* Trey Clover

Unlike his underclassman, Trey doesn’t get to confess before being rejected (albeit, unintentionally). He had been studying in the library with you and Riddle when the topic of attraction came up in relation to a potions assignment. After a bit of teasing towards your favorite red ant, you confessed a lack of interest in pursuing a romantic relationship. It wasn’t that you were opposed per se, but you definitely were not looking for at least the next few years.

In the moment, Trey nodded along and gave an understanding smile. Internally, he wanted to toss himself off a cliff. It wasn’t as if he felt a need to rush into a relationship himself, but he knew it had to be with you.

Taking your wishes into account, Trey changed how he treated you ever-so-slightly. His touches lingered a little more, and he somehow always had a new cake or cookie he wanted you to try. He wouldn’t stalk you, but he would create opportunities to be of service to you. Falling behind in class? He’s got your study guide. ‘Forgetting’ your lunch (that you swore you put in your bag) is not a problem, since he always has an extra for his study buddy. The attention and care he gives you rivals that of Riddle, not that you could complain. After a while, you would find yourself dependent on Trey, and seek him out when you needed anything. Your clothes are missing, you keep unintentionally breaking rules, and you somehow failed a test in your strongest subject. You couldn’t help but lean on him for support. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

* Ruggie Bucchi

Similar to Trey, Ruggie has a very service-centric way of expressing his affection. He’ll offer you some of his treats and plunders stolen from Leona. He’ll always ask to pair up with you for assignments(which you enjoy, since he actually does his work!), and he gives you Azul-level study guides for upcoming quizzes and tests. He’s the secret weapon you never knew you needed!

He never neglects to tell you about how lucky you are, and that he wouldn’t work so hard for anyone else in the world. You always roll your eyes in mock annoyance before thanking him with a bright smile. He loves seeing you happy, and you love seeing his face turn cherry red. On days where his stress gets the better of him, petting his ears and offering to buy him breakfast always calms him right down. After a while, he’ll straighten up with a grin, promising that he’ll never forget your ‘service’ and that he will pay you back.

For him, attraction comes out of friendship. You two had a natural chemistry, so when you were together it felt like home. The reason he wanted so badly to submit to you, to shower you with gifts and to be at your beck and call; he loved you. When he realizes the reason you get such special treatment, he really only amps up the generosity. He wants to show you how reliable and useful he is. He’s not terribly possessive(liar), at least not nearly as much as some of the others. Still, he wants to be the only one whose ears you rub before a nap, and the only one you come to when you need help. That’s not so selfish, is it?

You know he has feelings for you, and he knows you aren’t seeking something romantic. You two dance on the line between platonic and something more, but why change what works?

#yandere x reader #twst #yandere twst x reader #twst x reader #yandere #ruggie bucchi #ace trappola #trey clover

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bdafic · 1 month ago

Note

How have you been?

I appreciate this -- it's very kind to ask. I'm putting the answer under a cut because it's an honest one, and I get that not everyone is comfy reading about more serious medical/health stuff.

Not great!

Some years back, I suffered a pretty significant brain hemorrhage that resulted in permanent damage. I had a smaller one about a year ago, and possibly another in the summer. This is all due to a genetic condition.

I made a good recovery, but part of that was (is) accepting that I will never go back to being the person I was. And that really fucking sucks. Among other things, my short-term memory, speaking, word-finding, reading, and short-term memory are all severely impacted. I am bursting with the desire to create, but much of the time it feels like my hands are bound and my mouth taped shut. Writing is something I was always pretty good at -- I've been doing it since childhood -- and it's demoralizing to see it ripped away so easily.

I would love to be more connected to fandom spaces, but it's hard to feel comfortable talking to people. It's embarrassing to repeat myself, forget shit, talk too much, mix up words, say things the wrong way... People on the internet are not known for extending grace and patience. What I miss the most is being able to read tons of other works and leave comments. Nowadays I have to use a voice reader, take notes, frequent breaks, constantly restart chapters, and potentially wait ages for another 'good' day. I genuinely get a lot of joy out of uplifting others, but it's deeply uncomfortable to do all of that and then spend the next week worrying that I still managed to mess it up somehow. I was already weird and autistic before any of this and let me tell you brain damage has not improved things!

Currently, I am awaiting surgery for a different thing relating to the same genetic condition. My body is not digesting food, and it causes a lot of pain. As a bonus, malnutrition also messes with your brain function. This, too, sucks.

(For the record, my wife has instructions on how to update this account if anything more permanent were to happen to me).

I think about my writing almost every day. I try to pick at my drafts whenever I can make my words work. It's cliché, but every time I get a comment or someone like you comes by and asks me a question, it feels very revitalizing. It tells me I was once capable of creating something that someone else thought was kinda neat. Maybe I still am. I'm fairly unknown in this fandom and very rarely get asks or a bunch of comments or anything, so every time an AO3 email comes in it is a genuinely wonderful surprise. The one perk of brain damage is that I may forget to archive the email and then get to experience that wonderful surprise several times over!

(If I have ever replied to a comment twice: I'm very sorry. I will do it again).

I hope this does not discourage anyone from leaving one, because I regularly go back and re-read them. They mean a lot to me, especially right now. I don't have anyone to talk to about Dragon Age and fic, and I am not comfortable with the people in my life knowing how many hundreds of hours I have spent thinking about elves having sex, so it's really nice to live in a world where I can gush with someone else for a moment.

Thanks for taking the time to ask.

#personal #writing adjacent #health and medical

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demons-and-demigods · 9 months ago

Text

Demons and Demigods Part Twelve: Written Scene #7: The Storm

Sorry for the long wait, my darlings, but it is finally here! This part got a little away from me, I will admit. But! I had a lot of fun writing it (even though it took me so long) and I hope that y'all have fun reading it <3 Thank you for being patient with me, and I hope this part makes up for the wait (at least a little)! Now, enjoy 8.7k words of everyone getting a little fucked up 😈

A storm raged around them, violently rocking the boat as the wind and the waves savegely tore at them. Somehow, Jason managed to drag himself above deck to join the rest of his friends (save Hazel, who was busy trying not to hurl her guts out). He swept his gaze across the ship, trying to account for everyone. Leo had lashed himself to the control console with a bungee harness of some kind, Annabeth and Piper were trying to save the rigging, and the gorilla that Jason assumed to be Frank was trying to untangle some broken oars. Even Festus the dragon head was trying to help, spouting flames at the rain, though it did nothing to discourage the storm.

The only person who seemed to be having any luck at all was Percy. Which, yeah, made sense and all, but it was still mind-boggling and more than a little disconcerting to see Percy standing there in the middle of the deck, completely dry and unbothered by the raging squall while everyone else was barely hanging on.

It was mesmerizing, almost, to watch Percy. He stood with his eyes closed and arms outstretched to either side, palms up. When a wave crashed into the hull, Percy would tilt his head and another wave would rise up on the opposite side of the boat to level them out. He’d curl his fingers as a large wave bore down on them and an even larger wave would grow to swallow it up and stop it from reaching the deck. He jerked his chin, and the rigging Piper and Annabeth were working on righted itself. He flicked his wrist, and the broken oars gorilla-Frank had been trying to detangle went flying.

Jason had the sudden realization that if not for Percy, the Argo II would have been capsized or smashed to bits almost immediately. It was not looking good for them.

Jason staggered his way toward the center mast, praying that he wouldn’t get knocked off his feet before he got there. Leo saw him and shouted, probably telling him to get back in bed or something, but it was impossible to hear over the storm. He just waved.

Thankfully, he managed to reach the mast without being sent overboard by the violent rocking of the ship. Percy opened his eyes and grinned at him as soon as he got close, almost like he had somehow known that Jason was there. It was a little creepy, but Jason couldn’t care less.

Percy was the only one who didn’t start treating him like fragile glass after his injury. Percy treated him just as he always had, seemingly trusting him to know his own limits, and Jason was beyond thankful for it. It made him feel less like he was on death row.

Jason smiled back at the son of Poseidon and then made a frantic grab for the mast when the ship gave a sudden, particularly violent lurch. Though, to his surprise, Jason found himself rooted to the spot, unable to move. The ship lurched again but Jason remained right where he was. He tried to take a step only to find it impossible to move his leg.

His limbs felt leaden, and he realized he couldn’t move at all. It wasn’t just his legs that had locked up, but his arms and head too. Jason panicked. What the fuck was happening to him?

But then, just as suddenly as it had happened, it was over; the ship rocked again and Jason stumbled forward, no longer frozen in place. He latched onto the center mast, panting as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

He glanced at Percy and found the other demigod watching him with concern, though there was something else in his expression that Jason couldn’t quite figure out. (He shrugged that off, though. Ever since he and Annabeth had come back from the Pit, it wasn’t unusual to find Percy with an unreadable expression on his face and some strange emotion swirling behind his far away gaze. It was always disconcerting to see his usually grinning face wear such a tumultuous expression when he thought no one was looking. Jason didn’t know if anyone else had noticed, but he’d been allowed little else to do besides watching his friends. Shit, if Jason hadn’t been injured and practically put on bedrest by his girlfriend and best friend, he doubted that he would have noticed anything going on with Percy either.)

Jason waved off Percy’s concern with a thumbs up and a shaky grin. Percy seemed to take that to mean that he was fine and started gesturing.

“—THING . . . UNDER . . . STOP IT!” he shouted, though half his words were lost to the wind as he pointed over the side of the boat.

Jason cocked an eyebrow at him and gestured vaguely at his ears. I can’t hear you, he mouthed.

Percy huffed and rolled his eyes. He pointed first to himself then to Jason, and then over the side of the ship again. He mimed diving into the water and pointed at the two of them again.

Jason tried to convey ‘You want me to go with you? Are you sure?’ and ‘I can’t breathe underwater, dude’ with his expression.

Percy rolled his eyes again and pointed at the storm clouds roiling above them, then took a running leap and dived overboard.

Jason looked up to see Piper and Annabeth giving him matching ‘Are you crazy?’ looks, to which he just smiled and shrugged. He turned his attention to the storm and his eyes widened as he sensed angry venti swirling around up there. How the fuck had Percy known they were up there before he did?

Whatever, that would be a question for another time. Right now, he needed to find a way to follow Percy.

Jason stretched out his arm and imagined his will as a rope of wind, flinging it into the swirling mob of venti. He sought out the nastiest ventus he could find and snared it with his wind rope, tugging it down to form a cocoon around him as he jumped into the water.

Immediately, he was surrounded by an eerie silence, his own breathing nearly deafening in comparison. It sent a shiver down his spine, but he forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

He scanned the water around him through the filter of his personal cyclone. (Which, thankfully, allowed him to breathe. The air smelled strongly of ozone and the ventus was definitely not happy with the arrangement, but at least it was breathable air and Jason was strong enough to force the wind spirit to remain in place.) There was something about the ocean that had always set Jason on edge, more than the Roman’s hatred of it and his father’s rivalry with Neptune.

It was similar enough to the sky, Jason supposed, in that they both stretched as far as the eye could see. But the sky had nothing to hide. Even full of clouds, nothing could remain obscured in the sky for long. The ocean, however, Jason shuddered. There was so much they didn’t know about it, more than just mythological beings and creatures evaded the notice of everyone who sought to know the oceans. So much was still unknown and unexplored, and the light only reached so little.

Anything could be lurking in the depths of the oceans. Anything could be waiting just out of sight, hidden by the cloying darkness of deeper waters.

In the sky, Jason felt secure, always aware of everything around him, cocooned in a blanket of wind and air. But underwater, Jason felt horribly exposed. His senses couldn’t expand into the area around him like they could in the sky, and he couldn’t sense let alone see all of his blind spots at all times. He was just out in the open, unprotected and unprepared; he would have no clue if something snuck up behind him, no time to react if something came hurtling out of the dark to attack him.

Thalassophobia, Jason thought he’d heard it called before: the fear of large bodies of open water; although ‘fear’ didn’t feel like the right word, didn’t quite cover the absolute terror that gnawed on his bones.

And here, floating in the middle of nowhere in the open ocean in his little personal tornado of lassoed air, a violent storm raging on the surface above him and who knows what waiting who knows how far below him.

With nothing but dark, gloomy water surrounding him, Jason was terrified.

But then, he spotted Percy.

The son of Poseidon hung suspended in the dark water, illuminated only by the soft bronze glow of his sword. His long, inky black hair seemed to leach the light out of the water surrounding him as it floated around his head like a dark halo, dancing in some imperceptible current. His outline flickered, his form broken in places and replaced by dark, writhing masses of tentacles and stark, bony protrusions. He looked both unimaginably large, as ancient as the oceans themselves and just as monstrous, and like his skin was stretched too thin over bones that were too long with edges too sharp to be wholly human. He was dark and all-encompassing, filling the water with an inescapable presence, yet he was also pale and haunting, skin near translucent as it gave off an eerie glow.

His body was threatening to rip apart at the seams, unable to contain the esoteric power lurking just beneath the surface. An arcane aura leaked from his ruptured mortal form, permeating the ocean around him and filling Jason’s mind with static.

The eldritch creature playing at mortality turned its head to look at him and Jason realized that he had never felt true terror until that moment. Its face was that of nightmares; it had no lips, just thin, bloody ribbons of flesh stretched too far across a dark, gaping maw filled with rows and rows of razor-sharp serrated teeth. Its eyes were unsettlingly vivid, as though the saturation of the creature’s eyes had been dialed up to eleven, swirling blue-green voids that lacked sclera and pupils. Within those effervescent eyes, Jason swore he could see all the world’s oceans at once; raging storms and roaring waves, plunging trenches and abyssal depths dark enough to drive one mad.

Its very presence emanated a dissonant, distorted screeching that Jason could feel vibrating through his bones, filling the surrounding water with static. Jason thought his eardrums might burst with the intensity of the high-pitched ringing and feared his insides might liquify from the infra- and ultrasonic frequencies he could feel quivering through his flesh and bones.

Jason felt his mind begin to fracture as he stared at the being before him, pressure built behind his eyes and limbs seemed to have turned to jelly. He knew he needed to look away before his mortal body exploded or something, but he was powerless to make himself move, trapped in the vortex of its aura. He felt drawn to the creature, unable to bring himself to avert his gaze. He had no control over his body, locked in place by the deity’s whirlpool eyes.

A scream built in his throat, but he had no breath with which to voice it. He teetered on the brink of madness, but he had nothing to grasp at to pull himself away from the edge. Something in the back of his mind screamed at him, but he couldn’t hear it over the static filling his head. He wanted to claw at his ears until it stopped and left him in blissful silence, he wanted to scratch out his eyes to relieve the pressure that had made a home behind them, he wanted to tear himself open to assure himself that the pounding in his chest was that of his still-beating heart and not some vestigial part of the monster looming before him. He needed to fill the yawning, cavernous void that had taken up residence in the place where his lungs should have been.

His blood moved sluggishly through his veins where they burned beneath his skin. He was coming apart, his atoms threatening to fly apart, on the verge of disintegrating. He was nothing more than a tiny pest to this primordial of the seas, barely worth the effort it took this eldritch horror to kill him. His being was infinitesimal in comparison to this primeval monster, little more than a speck of dust floating through its waters. This was all the waters of the earth given form, and it was enraged at their treatment. And in that moment, he knew.

He was going to die.

Then, everything snapped back into place and Jason gasped.

Air, sweet, ozone-scented air, filled his lungs and Jason could have cried. He clutched his chest and heaved frantic breaths into his aching lungs. He looked up and saw Percy hovering in front of him with a worried expression on his now normal-looking face. Jason’s heart pounded in his chest as he searched Percy’s face for any trace of the Lovecraftian nightmare that had been clawing its way out of his skin just moments before.

“Jason, hey, are you alright, dude? You with me?” Percy said, though Jason had no idea how he could hear him so clearly under the water. He nodded slowly and ignored Percy’s puzzled look.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good, man. Sorry, just not a fan of the open ocean I guess,” Jason said and tried to laugh it off.

Percy’s eyes narrowed, his gaze intense and searching, boring into Jason’s soul as though he could pluck the truth from Jason’s psyche if he stared long enough. Thankfully, though, before Jason could buckle under the strength of Percy’s gaze, a beam of bright green light split the darkness in front of them like a spotlight before it disappeared, coming from the depths of the chasm Percy had been hovering over the edge of.

Percy snapped his head around to stare over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. “I was waiting for you before going to check it out, but I’d bet that whatever is causing this storm, is also the source of that light,” he said, glancing back at Jason. “Come on, let’s go.”

As they sank deeper and deeper into the chasm and fell further and further away from the sun, Jason couldn’t shake the horrifying vision from his mind or the sense of unease in his stomach. It grew darker and darker until the only light came from Percy’s sword.

Though, if Jason looked too long at his friend, he could swear that Percy began to glow too; an eerie, pale blue light seemed to emanate from strange markings on his skin, as though he was bioluminescent or something. A handful of his scars shed golden light into the water as his eyes illuminated the way ahead of them like headlights. It was fucking creepy, Jason thought, if kinda fascinating. (He wondered if Percy knew that he glowed, if Annabeth knew. He wondered if Percy only became bioluminescent underwater, or if he would light up in a dark room, too. Despite his curiosity, though, Jason couldn’t bring himself to say anything to the other demigod, the image of the savage creature tenuously caged beneath his skin still too fresh on Jason’s mind.)

Eventually, the water began to lighten around them, and Jason saw the glowing ruins of a palace or something appear out of the dark haze before them. As they drifted toward the remains of a partially collapsed dome, Jason stared around the ruins with wide-eyed amazement.

“What do you think this place was?” Jason asked reverently, yearning to reach out and run his fingers along the crumbling structures but unwilling to risk breaching his ventus cocoon just yet to do so. “Atlantis?”

Percy snorted and waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, Atlantis is just a myth.”

Jason squinted at his friend. “Uh, don’t we literally deal with myths like, everyday? Aren’t we technically a myth ourselves?”

Percy rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue. “You know what I mean, dude. Atlantis is a made-up myth, not, like, an actually true myth. Plus, Plato never intended anyone to believe in Atlantis, it was only ever meant to be a parable, to serve as an allegory to the hubris of nations and a cautionary tale warning against its dangers.” He shrugged. “All that flew over a lot of people’s heads though, and the original purpose of the Lost City of Atlantis was overshadowed by a bunch of idiots and their desire to find a place that was never real.”

Jason gave Percy an incredulous, wide-eyed stare.

“What?” Percy asked, defensive. “My mom is a published author, my stepdad is an English Lit teacher, and I’m dating Annabeth who loves ancient Greek philosophers and playwrights. I pick up a thing a two.”

Jason often forgot that Percy was a lot smarter than most people gave him credit for, and he was pretty sure that was something Percy did on purpose. It was something he’d noticed about the son of Poseidon before, but he played the part of ‘dorky fool’ so well that it was nearly impossible not to fall for the act. Though he was never sure if it was an act that Percy himself actually believed or not.

But rather than bring that up right then, Jason just shrugged and held his hands up in surrender. “Fair enough, Jackson,” he laughed. “But if not Atlantis, then what was it?”

“I don’t know,” Percy said, face scrunched up in concentration. “But it feels familiar, like I’ve been here before or something . . .” he trailed off, leaning in to study some markings carved into the domed roof in front of them.

“Maybe you have,” Jason said playfully. “Maybe you saw it in one of your weird-ass dreams; I’ve been told that they’re a lot more intense and prophetic than the average demigod’s.”

“Oh, shut up, Grace,” Percy snarked back. “My dreams suck ass, but they’re not anything special. Besides, I always remember my dreams. This is something else.” He reached up to ghost his fingers over one of the markings.

Then, that brilliant green spotlight flashed directly beneath them, blinding Jason for a moment.

He dropped like a stone until his feet hit what felt like solid marble. When he finally managed to blink the spots from his eyes, he realized that they’d found the source of the storm.

An ethereal woman in a flowing green dress cinched at her waist with a belt of abalone shells hovered before them. She had to have been close to twenty feet tall, though she shrank to something closer to ten at their startled entrance. Her skin was a soft, luminous white, mirroring the fields of algae covering the underwater ruins. Her hair fell across her shoulders in gossamer strands reminiscent of jellyfish tentacles, some swaying as though caught in a gentle current. Her face was as haunting as it was beautiful; her eyes too bright, her features too delicate, and her smile too cold, as though she’d studied human behavior but hadn’t quite managed to master replicating it.

Before her stood a tall, marble pedestal, atop which rested a large, mirrored disk. Her long, slender fingers danced along its edge before she sent it spinning, and the green light cut through the water again. The water churned, shaking the palace ruins. Shards of stone from the domed ceiling broke off and slowly sank down to settle on the marble floor.

“You’re causing the storm,” Jason said, careful to keep the accusation from his voice.

The woman laughed, a sharp, violent sound like the crashing of waves. “That I am,” she said. Her voice was melodious, though it had a strange resonance, one that reminded him of the horrible ringing sound the creature clawing its way free of Percy’s form had emanated, like it extended beyond the range humans had the ability to process. That same, static pressure built up behind Jason’s eyes and his sinuses threatened to explode.

Percy, both thankfully and annoyingly, appeared unaffected. He just tilted his head and squinted at her. “I’ll bite,” he said, and Jason saw a flash of that dark, gaping maw full of razor-sharp fangs. “Who are you and what the fuck do you want?”

A manic glee sparked in the woman’s eyes and her smile sharpened, sending an involuntary shiver down Jason’s spine. “Why, I am your sister, Percy Jackson. And I wanted the chance to meet you before you die.”

Percy tilted his head and squinted at the goddess. Jason tried to resist the urge to reach up and massage his sinuses which still felt like they were about to explode.

Percy hummed and crossed his arms. “Y’know, I’m not super well-versed in mythology involving Dad, so I’m not sure who all my godly siblings are, but . . .” he gave the goddess a long, considering look before he nodded. “I’m gonna take a wild guess here and say you’re Kymopoleia, goddess of violent sea storms if I remember correctly?”

The goddess’s eyes widened slightly in shock. “Most have never heard of me, little brother. I am surprised, yet none-the-less pleased that you do know me.”

Percy shrugged. “At some point after I accidentally blew up Mount St. Helens—”

Jason choked on air and started coughing. “After you what?” he asked incredulously, but Percy and Kymopoleia ignored him and continued on as though he hadn’t said anything.

“—I’m pretty sure I heard Dad mutter something under his breath like, ‘I pray you never meet Kymopoleia,’ and I got curious, so I looked into the name.” He shrugged again. “Oh, and I’m just gonna call you Kym. Kymopoleia is a bit of a struggle and also it takes too long.”

Jason watched the interaction carefully. Percy spoke so casually to the goddess it kind of freaked Jason out. But he’d heard enough stories to know that it was common practice for the son of Poseidon to be so irreverent.

For her part, Kym appeared amused rather than angry at least.

“I’ll consider it an honor to get a Perseus Jackson nickname before you die,” she said with another spin of her disk.

“I don’t suppose catching our ship in your massive storm was an accident, was it?” Percy asked with a resigned sigh.

“No, no it was not,” she said.

“And there’s no chance that you’ll cut it out if we ask nicely?”

“Not a one. Though I am rather impressed that your ship has held together this long; excellent workmanship.”

Sparks flew along Jason’s arms and into his ventus tornado. He thought about Piper and Leo, Annabeth and Frank and Hazel up there frantically fighting to survive the storm. He and Percy had left them defenseless up there. They had to end this and they had to end it soon.

“My Lady,” Jason broke in before Percy could say anything to potentially aggravate the goddess, “Is there anything we can do to get you to change your mind and let us get on our way?”

Kym turned her faintly glowing eyes to him and tilted her head. “Son of Jupiter,” she said dryly. “Do you know where we are? What this place once was?”

“Uh,” he said, glancing at the crumbling structure around them. “These ruins? Uh, maybe it was a palace at some point?”

Percy snapped his fingers. “That’s it!” he exclaimed. “Dad’s new place in the Atlantic looks pretty similar to this. Last I was over there, it was almost done.”

Jason gave Percy an incredulous look. He’d actually been to his father’s domain? To his palace? What the fuck was with this guy and the gods?

Kym made a frustrated noise and crossed her arms. “I wouldn’t know,” she huffed. “I’m not allowed in our father’s court. He finds my presence disruptive,” she hissed, and gave her storm-disk a harsh spin.

“I can’t imagine why.” Jason gave her a skeptical look as the ruins shook and more pieces fell slowly through the water around them.

“I know!” she threw her hands up in exasperation. “I am an absolute delight to be around! I’m certainly better company than my total bore of a brother Triton,” she pouted and crossed her arms again.

“Ugh, definitely!” Percy agreed. “I’ve met Triton and honestly, he’s such a pain in the ass!”

Kym smiled. “Finally!” she said. “Someone who sees sense! He is such a πομπώδης μαλάκας!”

Whatever that last thing meant, Jason had no idea as the Ancient Greek didn’t come to him, but he could only assume it was some kind of insult because Percy laughed.

“Exactly! He never shuts up! He’s all ‘I am Father’s heir’ and ‘Father only likes you because you’re useful’ and it’s just like, ‘look, you absolute douche-nozzle, you’re both immortal! You’re not gonna inherit shit, ass-wipe,’ I mean, honestly!” Percy said, presumably mimicking Triton with comically furrowed brows and a fierce scowl, his chest puffed up and chin raised to look down his nose at an imaginary person.

Kym burst into giggles (which reminded Jason of the clicks and whistles of dolphins). “Oh my—He sounds just like that!” she said, doubling over and clutching her stomach as she laughed. “Oh, that is just perfect,” she snickered. “I can see why Father hoped we might never meet, Perseus. You and I would have gotten along splendidly.”

“Just Percy, please,” Percy said with a playful bow. “Only my enemies call me Perseus and I’d really prefer if I didn’t have to fight you.”

Kym let out a dramatic sigh. “I don’t want to fight you either, little brother,” she said. “Unfortunately, Gaea really wants your blood, and she’s made me a wonderful offer that I just couldn’t refuse.” she shrugged and flashed a shark-like smile. “Gaea will allow me to wreak whatever havoc I please once she has risen so long as I help her and her children destroy the gods.”

Jason tensed as the water around them seemed to shudder, he saw Percy do the same. He pulled his gold coin from his pocket and flipped it to summon his sword.

“Now, I believe there’s someone here who is just dying to see you again, Percy. I do hope you can forgive me.” Kym gave them a faux-apologetic look.

“PERSEUS JACKSON!” a thunderous voice boomed, sending ripples through the water and making the ruins tremble.

Percy’s face twisted into a dark, angry scowl.

“Do you know who that is?” Jason asked, tightening his grip on his sword.

“Polybotes,” Percy snarled. “The anti-Poseidon. I’ve already killed him once; I guess he really wants a rematch.”

Just then, the Giant rounded a corner ahead of them and Jason barely stopped a disgusted noise from escaping him. He’d thought the other Giants he’d met had been ugly, but Polybotes might just take the cake.

Even underwater, the guy managed to look greasy and oily, like he had never heard of a shower before. He was absolutely massive, towering close to thirty feet or more in height if Jason had to guess. Like all Giants, he had scaled reptilian legs. His hair hung like shriveled up seaweed around his face. His skin was a murky blue, like the color of poluted water. His eyes were sharp and cruel as a hungry smirk spread across his harsh, mottled face. When he shook his head, basilisks fell from his hair and began circling in the water, hissing and letting out little bursts of flame.

“I hunted you through Tartarus, son of Poseidon, and you managed to escape me then, but there will be no escape for you now!” Polybotes laughed cruelly.

Percy snorted and raised his sword. “I killed you before with only a river to lend me strength; what makes you think you stand a chance against me here in mY dOmAIn?” Percy snarled, lips curled up in an equally cruel grin. His voice reverberated through the water the same way that eerie ringing that emanated from that creature hiding beneath his skin had. It shuddered through Jason’s bones and the pressure that had finally begun to fade from his sinuses returned with a vengeance.

Polybotes barked out a laugh. “HA! Whether you are stronger here or not, little demigod, you cannot kill me without the aid of a god. And there are no gods here willing to aid you, sea scum.”

Percy’s grin turned sharp and deadly as his form seemed to ripple, the monstrous horror lurking within his flesh straining at the seams to get free. “WHaT maKeS YOu tHiNk I NEeD a gOd?”

He lunged.

A few of the basilisks hurled themselves at him, but Percy turned them to dust with one sweep of his sword. Polybotes swung his trident through the water and left an arc of some thick, oily looking substance in its wake.

Percy barreled right through it without slowing down and the smug look on the Giant’s face turned to shock then indignance before settling on rage.

“I will torture you under the sea! Each day the water will heal you, and each day you will suffer worse than the last! I will bring you to the brink of death and beyond the edge of mortal agony until you beg for me to kill you, until I have reduced you to nothing more than a quivering mass of flesh desperate to die.” Polybotes snarled. “But you will only know the relief of death when your blood is drained from your wretched body to awaken the Earth Mother. You will die with the knowledge that your last act has brought about the violent end of everyone you love.”

By then, Percy was on top of the Giant, fighting like a man possessed. He growled low in his throat and swung his sword in a vicious arc, leaving a deep gash on the Giant’s leg when he was too slow to block the attack.

Polybotes howled and swung his trident. It slammed into Percy’s chest and sent him hurtling through the water to crash through a wall. He recovered quickly enough and shot towards the Giant, spearing through the water faster than Jason could track. Sword met trident and when their weapons clashed it sent a shockwave through the water.

Jason gripped his own sword tightly and prepared to jump into the fight to help his friend, but before he could do so, the remaining basilisks zeroed in on him. The poisonous, fire-breathing snakes circled around him, hissing and snapping at him. Anytime one of them got too close, Jason managed to cut off its head. But the serpents grew bolder, swimming closer and closer to him. They stopped attacking one at a time and tried to rush him.

Jason closed his eyes, sent up a prayer that he wouldn’t fry Percy, himself, or Kym, and lifted his sword toward the sky. He called down brilliant arcs of lightning and let out a breath of relief as they struck the dozen basilisks swarming around him. The snakes went belly up in the water before crumbling to dust.

Percy and Polybotes continued their death match. Percy seemed to be doing just fine, ruthlessly attacking the Giant, slicing and stabbing relentlessly; but Jason could see the smoke curling off his skin as it blistered and sizzled. Whatever substance had spread from the Giant’s trident, some sort of poison or acid if Jason had to guess, was affecting his friend. And despite Percy’s, frankly unnerving, claim, Jason knew he’d need a god to kill Polybotes and there was only one available to them at the moment.

Jason turned to Kymopoleia. She was watching Percy and Polybotes fight with a fascinated look on her face, totally enraptured by the carnage her half-brother gleefully unleashed on Poseidon’s Bane.

“Kym,” he said, “What if I make you a better offer than Gaea did?”

The goddess hardly acknowledged him, merely letting out a noncommittal hum.

“She promised that you could cause raging storms to your heart’s content, but Gaea and the Giants are going to kill every mortal and demigod, wipe them off the face of the earth. What good is it to finally be able to ravage coastlines and annihilate shorelines when there’s no one left to cower and tremble in fear of you?” he cajoled her.

“I do like cowering,” she said absently, not tearing her eyes from where Percy had dropped his sword and begun to cave the Giant’s face in with his fists. Jason winced at the sharp, resounding crack of Percy breaking Polybotes’ nose.

“Yes! If Gaea and the Giants win, no one will be left for you to terrorize! If you help us, I-I'll make sure you are worshiped! I’ll build you a temple at each camp and-and I’ll do the same for all the gods and goddesses pushed aside by the Olympians,” he said frantically, watching Polybotes slam Percy to the ground with one massive hand wrapped around his torso, no doubt crushing his ribs. He winced when Percy let out a strangled cry of pain and turned desperately back to Kymopoleia to try and gauge her emotions on his offer.

“Polybotes, does Gaea have a counteroffer?” she called to the Giant, face impassive.

Polybotes turned his head to give her an incredulous look. “Counteroffer?” he sputtered indignantly. “Mother Earth does not need to make a counteroffer to the inane ramblings of a puny half-blood! She is offering you unfettered control of the seas! You will be allowed to let your storms rage to your heart’s content!” he said, affronted.

“Yes, but will there be demigods or mortals or really anyone left to cower in the face of my storms or worship me in hopes of appeasing my wrath? Will I get my own action figure?” Kym said evenly, raising an eyebrow and looking down to inspect her nails which Jason only just noticed were colored a pale, florescent pink.

“Well, no, bu—” Polybotes started, only to cut himself off with a cry of pain when Percy managed to free himself from the Giant’s grip by maneuvering his pen out of his pocket and uncapping it so that the blade of his sword sprung out and impaled itself right through Polybotes’ palm. The Giant snatched his hand back to cradle against his chest and Percy lunged after him with a feral snarl.

Percy moved so quickly, Jason was barely able to piece together what happened. The son of Poseidon reached out and it was like the water solidified into an extension of his will, yanking his sword from Polybotes’ hand and meeting it halfway. He wrapped his hand around the hilt and shot straight for the Giant’s face. He plunged the bronze blade down and buried it to the hilt in one of Polybotes’ acid green eyes.

The Giant howled in pain and Percy yanked his sword free, quickly backing away as Polybotes reached up to clap his hands over his bleeding eye.

“You will pay for that, half-blood sum!” he roared.

Golden ichor wept from his numerous wounds, seeping steadily between his fingers from his damaged eye and the hole in his palm. It saturated the water, hovering in shimmering globules. The Giant stared Percy down with his one good eye, pure hatred simmering behind his gaze.

“Please,” Jason pleaded with Kym. “Only a god and a demigod working together can kill a Giant. Please, help Percy finish him off before it’s too late!”

Kymopoleia merely shook her head, lips spreading in a feral grin as that spark of manic glee glinted in her eyes again. She cackled, a sound like cracking stone being split apart by an enormous earthquake, and it sent a shiver down Jason’s spine.

“I do believe my little brother would beg to differ, Jason Grace,” she said, tone carrying a hint of that unhinged, feral excitement he could see spread across her features.

Jason whipped his head around to stare in horrified fascination as all the ichor in the water began to flow in one direction, condensing into one quivering golden orb. Ichor seemed to flow from Polybotes’ wounds faster than it should have, like it was being pulled from his veins in thick rivers of divine blood, drawn towards the glittering ball. Polybotes sank through the water, hitting the sandy floor with a dull thud as his knees gave out on him. His hands fell from his face, as though he no longer had the strength to hold them there. Jason could see as the color leeched from him, seeping away with the ichor as it fled his body. Polybotes seemed unable to move, frozen in place where he knelt.

The temperature of the water dropped several degrees and Jason shivered.

“Wh-what is this?” Polybotes bellowed, feigning outrage, but the undercurrent of fear in his voice gave away how scared he truly was. He stared at Percy, one good eye wide and afraid.

Jason turned to his friend. At first, he thought it was just a reflection of all the ichor in the water. But then, Jason came to the terrifying realization; it wasn’t a mere reflection. Percy’s eyes glowed a vivid gold, the same color as the ichor he was draining from the Giant’s veins.

His face was dark, his features standing out sharp and cruel as he appeared to loom over Polybotes. That monstrous, ancient nightmare slipped through the seams of Percy’s flesh, leeching away all light until all that was left was the eerie glow of Percy’s golden eyes.

His teeth flashed in the dark, long and curved, reminding Jason of the Cheshire cat’s grin. Jason swore that he could see things moving in the dark; massive, undulating limbs and sharp, ghoulish protrusions. Bones that snapped and cracked as they moved, gnashing teeth and glowing eyes where they didn’t belong.

“YOu sAy tHat yOu FOLlowEd mE THrouGh tARtArUs, aNd yEt YoU HAvE nO iDeA WHaT i lEaRNeD tO DO dOwN THerE, whAT I wAS fORcED tO PIcK uP IN oRdER tO sUrvIVe?” Percy barked out a cruel laugh as his voice seemed to be coming from everywhere at once, sending tremors through the ocean floor. It was so deep, Jason could feel it vibrating through his bones and hollowing out his chest. Yet it was also so high, it sent his ears ringing and made his head feel like it was about to explode.

Jason recalled the time he had been too slow to close his eyes and had, for just a moment, witnessed Juno’s true form. That had felt like he was on fire, like his skin was about to slough off his bones as his eyes melted out of his skull. It had felt like his cells were imploding and withering away into ash.

But this—

This felt like drowning on dry land; it was like he was being ripped apart from the inside out, his lungs had disappeared and the hollowness that had forced itself into the space where his heart should have beat was slowly filling with water. His mind was being pulled into a black hole, fraying at the edges and threatening to tear apart at the center. His eyes were being pushed from their sockets to make room for steadily mounting pressure building in his skull. He could feel water bubbling up his throat, choking him, forcing its way out between his lips and flooding into every empty space it could find. Water began to leak from his nose where it had filled his sinuses, began to stream from his empty eye sockets and gush from his busted eardrums. His mouth fell open in a silent scream, his voice lost to the torrent of water that eroded blood and bone until all that remained was a flimsy shell of decayed and rotting flesh.

He swore he could hear a roaring, but that made no sense as he had to have gone deaf with the water pouring from his ears. Pressure built and built and built past the point of unbearable.

There was a primal, agonized roar followed by an ear-splitting pop. And then: blissful silence.

Calm swept over him like a warm breeze, and he felt like he was being wrapped in a silky blanket. He sighed and let himself sag into the gentle hands wrapping the blanket around him. He soaked in the quiet, peaceful moment languidly. After a moment, he slowly opened his eyes and immediately flailed around.

Jason let out a rather undignified squawk and scrambled to pull away from Kymopoleia, who was looking down at him with an amused expression. The silky blanket he thought he’d been wrapped in was actually a gauzy, membranous shawl the goddess had pulled from her own shoulders and the gentle hands had been hers as well. He noticed with a start that his ventus shield had disappeared and slapped a hand over his mouth and nose as he instinctively gasped.

Only when he heard Kym chuckle did he finally realize that he was, in fact, breathing and not drowning due to a bubble of air surrounding his head and neck like a diving helmet.

He glanced to the side and saw Percy watching him with a worried frown, wringing his hands together. Jason returned his wide-eyed stare to the goddess and continued to gape for a moment.

Eventually, Jason shook his head in an attempt to clear it and gulped, biting his lip as his gaze flit between Percy and Kym, both watching him quietly, one with concern and the other with bemusement.

“Uh,” he said eloquently. “What, um, what happened?”

Percy ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, but before he could say anything, Kym spoke up.

“Nothing you need to worry about, Pontifex. Polybotes is dead. And I have decided to accept your offer.” Kym looked down at him smugly and for a moment, Jason was confused.

Offer? What offer? And—had she called him Pontifex? What was that abou—

Oh. Right. He had offered to build shrines to all the minor deities and make sure they were all worshiped. (And—was he remembering right?—I also promised Kym an action figure, I think? What the fuck, Jason thought.)

“Oh, uh, awesome. Thank you,” he said somewhat falteringly.

“I expect a truly magnificent action figure, Jason Grace,” she said. “One of those articulated ones and it had better reflect my stunning beauty. I’d be happy to visit and model for reference.” Kym’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes and Jason fought the urge to fidget.

“O-of course,” he stuttered, and honestly, what the hell are you supposed to say to that? Cut him some slack, it’s a weird ass situation he has found himself in.

“Wonderful,” Kym said, and turned to Percy, making Jason look at his friend too.

Percy was wringing his hands nervously and biting his lip, gaze flitting around like he couldn’t bring himself to look at them. Jason frowned. He was about to ask Percy what was wrong when Kym spoke up again.

“It was wonderful to meet you, little brother. I look forward to getting to know you better if you survive this war. I believe we could have much fun together.” She reached out and ruffled Percy’s hair with a laugh when he swatted her hand away.

Percy gave Kym a small smile in return but still didn’t quite meet her eyes. He turned to Jason, expression tensing a little.

“We should probably get back,” he said, gesturing vaguely upward. “Now that the storm’s stopped, before everyone starts worrying about us too much. If we’re not back soon, Annabeth will probably jump overboard to come looking for me.” he shrugged. He was still avoiding Jason’s gaze, and it looked like his skin was still smoking in places.

Before Jason could say anything about that, Percy said, “Come on,” and shot toward the surface.

He turned his startled gaze to Kymopoleia, wanting to ask her for more answers. She must have seen it in his eyes because she gave him a melancholic smile.

“Percy is far more powerful than he likes to let on, Pontifex,” she said, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. “He has more power than a demigod should, and I believe that he is finding it harder and harder to control. Both he and Polybotes mentioned him having walked through Tartarus. I imagine something happened down there to push him over the edge.” She glanced upward, tracking Percy’s receding form through the water for a moment before continuing. “My brother is an impossibly good person, Jason Grace.” she fixed him with an eerie, unwavering stare, her overly bright eyes flashing. “But there is something damaged in him, something that broke down in that Pit. He has crossed a line that he cannot come back from even if he wanted to. I’ve heard that his fatal flaw is loyalty, so you have no need to fear him, nor do any of your friends. But remain wary, son of Jupiter, else you get caught in the crossfire of his rage.”

With that final, ominous warning, Kymopoleia disappeared in a whirl of bubbles and froth, leaving Jason to slowly begin the long swim back to the surface. When he finally reached the opening of the trench, he found Percy waiting for him, floating peacefully in the water.

Jason swam up beside him and waited quietly for what Percy would say.

After a moment, Percy twisted his head to face him. “Sorry for leaving you behind like that,” he said. “I forgot you didn’t have your personal tornado to help you keep up,” he joked half-heartedly and gave Jason a weak smile.

“It’s alright,” Jason said, smiling back. “I wanted to say goodbye to Kym first, and you seemed like you really needed to get out of there.”

Percy sighed. “Yeah, I did.” he crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders, drawing in on himself slightly. “Speaking of Kym, what’s the deal with the action figure she mentioned? And why did she call you a car?”

Jason snorted. “Not Pontiac, Pontifex. The Romans used to have someone called the Pontifex Maximus, a high priest who took care of the gods’ temples, made sure they were all recognized and worshiped, given proper offerings and things like that. While you were fighting Polybotes I made Kym an offer, to try and convince her to stop the storm and help you kill him. I promised to make sure temples were built for all the gods deemed ‘less important’ than the Olympians. The action figure idea just kinda happened? I don’t really know where it came from. I was kinda frantic, just saying whatever came to mind that I thought might sway her.” he shrugged. “You were holding your own just fine, but you looked to be in rough shape, too. Whatever that stuff Polybotes created that you swam through was, your skin was sizzling. You’re still smoking a little, too, by the way.”

Percy glanced down at his arms, tilting his head at the new, quickly forming burn-like scars there. “Yeah, it was some kind of acid, I think. It hurt like a bitch, and definitely didn’t help my lungs any.” he shrugged and uncrossed his arms. “But I’ll be fine. The water’s already taken care of the worst of it; a little nectar or ambrosia and I’ll be all healed with a few more scars to add to the collection.”

Percy rolled his shoulders and straightened, glancing up where Jason could see the shadow of the Argo II floating in the water above them. “Now come on,” Percy said. “I think Piper and Annabeth are getting ready to jump overboard.”

Jason laughed, letting the topic change slide. If Percy didn’t want to talk about what had really happened with Polybotes, Jason wouldn’t force it. He just hoped Percy knew that he could come to him. Their fathers may have a rivalry to end all rivalries, but he didn’t want that for him and Percy.

This time, as they rose through the water, Percy propelled Jason up alongside him. As soon as their heads broke the surface, Jason saw Annabeth getting ready to swing herself over the railing and drop into the water with Piper barely half a step behind her.

“Percy!” Annabeth called when she spotted them, proceeding to dive off the ship. Jason raised his arms to shield his face as she hit the water with a truly impressive splash. Percy just laughed and swept her into his arms, lifting her half out of the water and spinning around. Annabeth laughed in delight as Percy threw himself backwards and they sank just under the surface.

Jason wasn’t worried, though, having learned about Percy’s little air bubble trick, and instead began to paddle his way towards the rope ladder Piper had tossed over the side of the ship.

When he finally swung up and over the railing, planting his feet on the blessedly solid deck of the Argo II, Piper threw herself at him, muttering angrily in Tsalagi, no doubt cursing at him for acting like an idiot. Jason just smiled and hugged her close, pressing his lips to her dark hair when she buried her face in his chest.

After a moment, she pulled away and wiped angrily at the tears in her eyes, glaring at him.

“What is wrong with you?” she cried, smacking his shoulder. “You can’t do that to me! You can’t just-just jump overboard in the middle of a massive storm like that! Especially not when you’re severely injured—!” she gestured at his stomach, frustration and fear coloring her tone.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, Pipes,” he said, interrupting her gently. “But Percy needed my help, and I’m fine, I promise. No further harm done. See?” He lifted his shirt, stepped back, and spun around, letting her look him over for any sign of hurt. Honestly, he felt fine; great even! Hell, he felt better than he had since Michael Varus had run him through.

When he finished his little one-eighty, he noticed Piper staring at his stomach with wide eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked, glancing down to try and figure out what she was seeing.

His bandages had come loose in the water, sagging a little to reveal the upper edge of his wound, only . . . only there was nothing but smooth, tan skin where there should have been torn and reddened flesh. His mouth dropped open and he carefully tugged the bandages away, letting them fall to the deck of the ship after the soggy material tore.

Both he and Piper stared in wide-eyed shock at his unblemished abdomen for a moment. Piper reached out to ghost her fingers along the spot where the wound had been, her feather-light touch sending a shiver down Jason’s spine.

“You’re healed,” she whispered, voice filled with awe. “How are you—what happened down there?” she asked, laying her hand flat against his stomach for a moment before looking up at him with those dark, earnest eyes he loved to get lost in.

“A lot,” he said. “Though I don’t remember much of what happened towards the end.”

Piper nodded slowly and grabbed his hand, starting to pull him across the deck towards the stairs.

“Fill me in once we’re downstairs,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m getting you to eat something.”

Jason laughed brightly and allowed his girlfriend to tug him towards the galley, more than happy to let her fuss over him.

He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut that hadn’t left him since he came to wrapped in Kymopoleia’s shawl, and the dread weighing heavy at his heart that it had something to do with Percy and what had really happened to Polybotes.

#dndv #demons and demigods verse #dndv scenes #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #annabeth chase #jason grace #piper mclean #kymopoleia #polybotes #sadly frank hazel and leo are only briefly in there so I'm not gonna tag them #dark percy jackson #dark percy #eldritch horror percy jackson #uhhhh I should probably tag these w/#tw body horror #shouldn't I?#I'll try and remember to go back and tag the other ones where Percy gets eldritch-y with that too #i think that's everything for this part but please let me know if you want me to tag anything else #ugh i miss my spn boys i'll probably check in with them in the next part #maybe hit on/rewrite ghostfacers to include the boys worrying about percy+co #maybe the next part will be long too and i'll do a rewrite of jus in bello and then hand-wavey transition to ghostfacers rewrite too #yknow what i doubt i'll get many or any votes but i'll make a poll and let yall have the chance to vote on what i do next

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