#the way she talks about him keeping an open mind as if he is the only one who has reasons to think badly of Tom
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wendichester · 2 days ago
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Hello! Hope you are well:)
Could I request a little something where reader is scared to ask for help when it’s about her mental health (and barely ever talks about how she feels if it isn’t a happy feeling) and she’s been keeping everything bottled up for so long, all she needs now is a hug from Dean, but she has no idea how to ask for it? And when he hugs her tears start pooling in her eyes and Dean comforts her?
Thank you!!🫶🏼🫶🏼
(Sorry if it was too specific😅)
౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ comfort,
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summary. sometimes all we need is a hug, right?
pairing. dean winchester x reader ; angsty
wordcount. 315
notes. totally get the feeling! thanks for requesting this hun 🥺
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You’re fine.
That’s what you keep telling yourself. It’s what you’ve been telling yourself for weeks, maybe months. The weight pressing against your chest, the exhaustion that never fully goes away—it’s just stress. Just another rough patch. You can push through it.
Except, tonight, it feels unbearable.
Dean’s sitting on the edge of the motel bed, flipping through TV channels like it’s just another night on the road. He glances at you, sprawled out stiffly on the other bed, your body curled inward, hands gripping the fabric of your hoodie like it’s the only thing holding you together.
“You okay?”
The question is simple, casual, but it feels like a punch to the gut.
Your first instinct is to nod, to plaster on a smile and say, Yeah, just tired. But the words get stuck. Your throat tightens, and for a second, you think if you speak, you’ll crack wide open.
Dean notices the hesitation. The way your fingers twitch, the way your breath is a little too shallow.
“C’mere,” he says, his voice softer now, his arms opening without hesitation.
Your body moves before your mind can catch up. You barely make it across the room before you sink into his chest, his arms wrapping around you like they were made to fit.
And just like that, the dam breaks.
Tears spill over, silent and unstoppable, soaking into Dean’s flannel as you press your face against his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything—doesn’t rush you, doesn’t pry. He just holds you, one hand smoothing over your back, the other resting at the nape of your neck, grounding you.
“I got you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. “Whatever’s going on, you don’t have to carry it alone.”
You squeeze your eyes shut, your hands clutching at his shirt. You want to believe him. For now, you just let yourself stay here—safe, warm, held.
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daryltwdixon · 3 days ago
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Summary: fluffy, domestic grumpy Joel drabble—he finds you after a trail ride with Ellie, acting all huffy like you were gone for days instead of a few hours. But for all his grumbling, he can’t seem to keep his hands off you, sneaking in every touch he can while you untack your horse.
I had this dream last night and after getting done with my morning shift at the barn (yes im a tried and true horse girl) I had to get home to write it asap. I really hope you guys don't mind my random stream of consciousness fluff ideas because I don't plan on stopping
The sun was dipping behind the mountains when you and Ellie rode back into Jackson, the warm glow stretching long shadows across the main road. The ride had been good—brisk air, the scent of pine, the rhythmic drum of hooves against the dirt. Ellie had been chatty, as always, rambling about how she totally could’ve shot that deer quicker if you’d just let her.
You laughed, nudging your horse forward as the gates swung open, and right there—like he had been waiting, though he’d never admit it—was Joel.
His arms were crossed, his mouth set in that usual line of perpetual disapproval, but the second his eyes landed on you, something softened. It was quick, a flash of warmth before he scowled at Ellie instead. “Took you long enough,” he grumbled.
Ellie huffed as she swung off her horse. “We weren’t exactly in a hurry, old man.”
“Obviously,” he muttered, though his gaze flicked back to you, sweeping over you like he was checking for any sign of trouble.
You grinned as you slid off your horse, your boots hitting the ground. Before you could even brush the dust off your pants, Joel was there, his hands bracketing your waist as he pulled you in. His lips pressed firm against yours, warm, familiar, and entirely unapologetic despite the fact that Ellie was loudly gagging in the background.
“Oh my God, can you guys not?” she groaned, dragging her horse toward the stables.
Joel ignored her, his thumb tracing along your cheek as he reluctantly pulled away, his voice gruff but low just for you. “Go get cleaned up. I got the horse.”
You tilted your head at him with a teasing smile pulling at your lips. “I'm perfectly capable to untack my own horse,”
Joel exhaled through his nose, already shaking his head. “Never said you weren't.”
“But I want to.” You met his gaze, steady and unwavering, knowing exactly how this would go.
He held your stare, jaw ticking, that stubborn streak flaring like he was about to tell you to get your ass home. But you saw it—the way his resolve crumbled almost immediately. Joel never really fought you on anything, not when you looked at him like that, not when he’d do just about anything to make you happy.
With a sigh, he muttered, “Stubborn woman,” before stepping back and nodding toward the stable. “Fine. But you brush 'em down. My back ain't gonna put up with that tonight.”
You beamed, looping your arm through his as you led your horse inside, and though he grumbled about how he was too old for this, you saw the way his fingers lingered against yours, like he had missed you the entire time you were gone.
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The scent of hay and leather wrapped around you like something familiar and safe as you entered the stables with your horse in tow. Ellie was already tending to Shimmer, loudly talking about how next time she’d take you to a cool spot by the creek she found, but you weren’t paying her much mind. Joel was right behind you, keeping close, as if he still wasn’t convinced you’d made it back in one piece.
You pulled your saddle off and hoisted it over the railing, rolling your shoulders to ease the weight. Joel moved beside you, unclipping the bridle from your horse, his touch careful as he slipped the worn leather over her ears. “Good boy,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing a rough palm against the gelding’s neck. His hand brushed against yours as he stepped past, slow and deliberate, like he was making sure you felt it.
It was such a small touch, but it sent warmth curling up your spine.
“You do the brushin',” he murmured, voice low beside you. “I’ll put this away.”
You huffed a soft laugh. “Delegating, huh?”
“Yeah,” he said, deadpan, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Gotta keep you in line somehow.”
You shot him an unimpressed look. “Oh, that’s what this is? You think you’re in charge?”
Joel gave a low huff, shaking his head as he passed behind you, his hand dragging slow along your waist. “Ain’t no thinkin’ about it, sweetheart.”
You smirked, brushing your horse with a little extra purpose. “Mm-hmm. Keep telling yourself that, Miller.”
That earned you a sharp look, but it didn’t have a single ounce of bite. He moved past you, close enough that his palm landed at your lower back, just for a moment, a quick press of warmth before he was gone. Always touching, always making sure you were there, close enough to reach.
You picked up the brush and started working through your horse’s coat, sweeping in long, even strokes while it grazed on its hay. Joel returned a moment later, settling in the stall, already working the leather cleaner into the seat of the saddle on the railing. But every time you passed near him—every time you shifted to reach another spot—his hands found you. A steadying palm on your hip. A slow drag along the small of your back. Fingers curling at your elbow, thumb smoothing over the inside of your wrist. You wondered if he was even trying to help or just wanted to stare.
“Y’know,” you mused, keeping your tone casual even as heat bloomed under every touch, “you could help.”
“I am helpin’,” he said, completely serious. “Cleanin' yer damn tack. Supervisin’.”
You shot him a look. “Uh-huh.”
Joel exhaled a slow breath, like you were really putting him through it, and finally relented. He stepped behind you, so close his chest pressed against your back as he reached around you to grab another brush. Instead of moving away, he stayed there, caging you in with warm, steady hands.
“Like this,” he murmured, guiding your hand with his own, their weight pressing down together against the horse’s coat.
You swallowed hard, heart knocking against your ribs. “You think I don’t know how to brush a horse, Miller?”
He smirked, his breath warm against the side of your face. “Just makin’ sure.”
You scoffed, but your voice came out softer than you meant it to. He was teasing you, but you could feel the way he lingered, the way he soaked up every second of being this close, like he’d been waiting for it.
Ellie made a disgusted noise from across the aisle. “Are you guys seriously flirting while brushing a horse?”
Joel barely even glanced her way. “Go home, Ellie.”
She groaned, muttering something about old people being gross as she grabbed her stuff and left. But you barely noticed. Joel’s hand was still over yours, fingers brushing slow circles into your skin, like he had no intention of letting go.
“You miss me that much?” you teased, leaning into him just a little.
Joel grunted, pressing a kiss against the top of your head before stepping away to put the brush back. “Every damn minute.”
Your stomach flipped at that, at the gruff honesty of it, no hesitation in his voice. You watched as he opened the stall door, letting your horse into the pasture for the night, his movements slow, easy—so at home here, so at home with you.
When he turned back, his hand slipped around your waist, pulling you gently from the stall. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Let’s go eat.”
You exhaled with a smile, warmth curling through your chest. “Fine. I’m starved.” You hesitated for just a second, then reached for his hand, fingers slotting between his as you squeezed. “And, Joel?”
He glanced down at you, his grip instinctively tightening. “Yeah?”
Your smile turned softer, quieter. “I missed you too.”
Joel didn’t say anything, but his hand slid from your waist up to the back of your neck, tilting your face up to lean into you. He kissed you slow, deliberate—like it wasn’t enough to just hear it, like he needed you to feel it. Needed to remind you, in the only way he really knew how, just how much you meant to him.
Joel Miller was never a man of many words, but the way he held you, the way he kissed you in moments like this...it said more than words ever could.
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fanfics-i-find-here · 1 day ago
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Do I Know You? Part 11
Synopsis: Jason continues to stick around and take care of you.
Notes: I am so happy you guys liked the last chapter. She was my baby while I was sick. Moving forward, we are going to keep going with the comfort because it's just nice. Jason is very touchy in this chapter. I mentioned somewhere about Jason’s love languages and this chapter is covered in them. He is out here taking care of Reader the way he would want to be cared for (even if he won't admit it out loud). Enjoy!!
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You spent the night tossing and turning, drifting between the realm of asleep and awake. Aside from a warm hand luring you back into the dream world, you don't remember much. When you do wake finally, it’s raining. You can hear it pattering against the window of your room, the cold of it seeping in where it can. Your hand reaches for the warmth you had felt through the night to find it gone. You open your eyes to find yourself alone. An achy loneliness claws at your throat for a moment until you hear a clattering followed by a muffled curse. There’s silence for a moment before movement continues.
You turn to look at your alarm, quickly reminded of the pains from the night before. 11:48. You don’t know what time you made it home or what time you actually fell asleep. You still feel exhausted, but you don’t know if you could drift off. You take your time sitting up in bed, staring at the covers as you push down a wave of nausea. You slide out of bed, movements slowed by short waves of dizziness. You’re cold the moment your feet touch the ground. You grab a zip-up sweater and some fuzzy socks. You slide the sweater over your shoulders gingerly and take your time to pull your socks as you listen to shuffling from the kitchen.
You move quietly out of the bedroom and toe your way down the hall, peaking around the corner to see the kitchen. Jason stands in front of your stove. The smell of bacon invades your senses, and your earlier nausea tries to show itself. You watch him as you quietly pull a stool from under the island and sit down. He moves easily through your kitchen and before you fully settle in your seat, he has a glass of water and a couple of pain pills in front of you. You glance at the items and then up at him. He cracks a fond smile at you and a tender gnawing feeling starts in your chest.
“How’re you feeling?” he asks. His voice just slightly gravellier than normal. You had only heard his voice like that once before when he took you to watch the sunrise on the bay. The memory warms you.
“I’m okay,” you say quietly tugging at the sleeves of your sweater where your arms rest on the counter. He catches your movement and leans across the island, grabbing your hands and pulling them slightly forward. He pushes your sleeves down. Twisting your hands this way and that, he examines the bruising with a disapproving frown.
“It’s okay if you’re not; you went through something traumatic,” He gives your hand a rub with is thumb before he sets your hands back on the counter and turns back to the stove, “I was worried, you were seriously out of it last night.”
Your mind flashes through everything from the moment you made it to your apartment. You feel warmth creep up your neck and you bury your face in your hands. God, he had practically seen you naked. Talk about skipping a few steps in a relationship. Over your embarrassment, you feel a flood of gratitude because, despite the vulnerable position you had been in, Jason never took advantage of you. You hear a clink as something is set down in front of you. You peek through your fingers to see a plate loaded with bacon, scrambled eggs, and fried potatoes. Your nausea flares again.
“I’m not hungry.” You say, swallowing around nothing.
“You feel sick?” he asks. You nod and he’s quick to respond.
“It’s because you’re starving. I know you didn’t eat lunch or dinner yesterday because you were working all day and you definitely haven’t had anything today.” He states. You drop your hands to squint at him suspiciously.
“How do you know I was working all day yesterday?”
“I called Jackie’s,” you open your mouth to complain but he keeps talking, “There was no way you were going to go to work today. You have a concussion. You need rest no heavy lifting and plenty of good food.” He nudges the plate closer to you.
“Oh, yes, bacon. The most healing food out there.” You pick up a piece and bite into it. Despite the nausea, it tastes amazing. You finish the piece and your nausea ebbs away. You glare at Jason for being right. He just smiles and turns to make himself a plate. One slice of bacon in your stomach and you take the pain meds he had gotten for you. As you’re gnawing on a potato, you notice that the TV is on, volume so low you hadn’t noticed it at first. It’s the news, something about a car chase earlier that morning. You take your plate and cup of water and settle on the couch, crisscross. You had thought Jason was going to join you, but you hear the sound of the kitchen faucet running.
“You don’t have to wash my dishes. I can do it.” You call out. You hear a scoff before he responds.
“I made the mess; I’ll clean it up.” He says. You sigh because you know that there were more dirty dishes in the sink than the ones that he used but you don’t have the energy to argue. You continue eating, zoning out on the TV. Jason sits next to you, your knee pressing to his thigh, when the news changes. The anchor woman’s sharp voice evoked urgency.
“Breaking News. This just in. The Penguin has been arrested on accounts of multiple homicides and involvement in a human trafficking ring run through his club The Iceberg Lounge. Late last night at a known body dumping sight just north of Aparo Park, The Red Hood was seen pulling a young woman from a warehouse just minutes after Penguin had left the scene. The GCPD knew about the dumping site but had no evidence connecting it to him until now. At the warehouse, Police found the body of Ted Jackson. Jackson has been wanted by police for months on accounts of sexual assault and homicide. His body was brutally mutilated and the woman’s official statement states that Red Hood was responsible. For those not aware, Red Hood has been playing by Batman’s rules of no killing for the last four years. Is this sudden change in ethics a bad sign for Gotham? Or has The Batman lost his hold on this vigilante? We’ll see what our commentators think after the break.”
You set your plate on the coffee table, appetite gone. You tip your head back against the couch and slouch with a sigh, eyes closing. You rub your hands against your face in frustration. You wish you could just forget last night but you can feel it, just hovering at the edge of your mind, ready to pounce if you were to relax even a little bit.
“You okay?” Jason asks again. You peek one eye at him from the cracks in your fingers.
“You going to keep asking me that?”
“Only until you give me an honest answer.” He gives you a knowing look and you drop your hands.
“I’m not but it won’t change anything. I’ll get over it.” He snorts at your comment, and you glare at him.
“We can make you a Gothamite yet.” He grins at you.
“Shut up,” You try to smack at his arm, but he catches your hand. He holds your hand softly and gently rubs over the scraps on your knuckles and fingers. They tingle but don’t hurt. Your mind slips for a moment to how you got them, knife in hand, dragged by the ankle.
No. You snap yourself out of it and pull your hand from his. You meanly press your hands together in your lap. You keep your chin tucked watching the way your fingers squish together. You can feel Jason staring a hole into your cheek but you ignore it. A strange awkward silence creeps into the space. You hadn’t known awkward silence with Jason, ever.
“So, Red Hood? Good thing he showed when he did, huh?” He finally says. There’s a weird forced nonchalant to the question and you wonder if maybe he’s a fan.
“No, that asshole,” you mumble under your breath. You feel a sudden unbridled anger towards that man that had been coming in through your window. It was his fault you got kidnapped and then he showed up just to ditch you outside. He didn’t even do anything!
Jason must have heard your words and tone as he lets out a shocked, “What?”
You shake your head because you had to explain how you’re feeling to Jason, you would have to explain a bunch of other stuff too. Mostly you didn’t want to tell Jason that it was you who had killed Ted Jackson, not Red Hood. You didn’t want Jason to look at you any differently than he usually does.
“It’s nothing. He’s a great guy, did his job and all that.” You say with a less than enthused tone. You can see in Jason’s eyes that he wants to question you on the matter but instead, you get a different question.
“Wanna watch a movie? Keep your mind off of everything?” you eye him like he might jump you with a different question. His brows raise, still waiting for an answer.
You finally answer, nodding, “Yeah, okay.” You drag your blanket from the other side of the couch and pull it into your lap. “Nothing action-y or gore please.”
Once you have the blanket settled, you glance at him to find him gleaming at you.
“What? What do you watch?”
“Pride and Prejudice?”
Your face crinkles and you respond, “Do you have no other personality? Just Jason, Pride and Prejudice fan.” He chuckles at your comment.
“Unless there’s something else you want to watch.”  You don’t have anything else in mind, so you concede with a head shake. He offers you the remote. You stare at it.
“Just look it up,” you tell him, still shuffling your blanket. He stares you down like he’s about to tell you something devasting.
“I’m going to be honest,” his tone serious, “I had a really hard time just finding the news this morning.” You laugh quietly into your hand.
“Don’t worry. I honestly didn’t even know I had the news.” You steal the remote from his hand and do a quick search through your streaming services. As the movie starts you snuggle back into your blanket, propping your feet on the coffee table. You lean over just slightly your shoulder pressing to his. He tenses for a moment and then relaxes again.
“I think it’s really funny that you suck with technology.” You whisper.
“I don’t suck at it. It just doesn’t make sense sometimes.” He whispers back to you like you’re in an actual movie theatre. You giggle into your blanket but quiet up, focusing on the movie. You don’t pull away from your touching shoulders and neither does he.
Jason does the opposite. He copies your slouch against the couch and props his feet on the table next to yours. The slouching pushes his shoulder tighter to yours and you just settle your head against his shoulder. Body relaxed against the heat of him again, you fade in and out of sleep. Moments of dancing, arguments in a drizzle of rain, and a warm body keep the cold dark corners of your mind at bay.
When you wake, you find yourself on your side, lying across the rest of the couch. Your legs had somehow ended up in Jason’s lap. You turn your head slightly just to watch him. His eyes focus on the TV as his hand moves up and down your calf, absentmindedly massaging the muscle before squeezing at your ankles, feet, and toes through your socks before repeating the process over. You take the time to just stare at him.
His black hair curls at the tips and you wonder if he styles it. You quickly brush the notion off because you can’t picture him doing that. He must have curly hair then. You follow the line of his face and smile at the intense stare he has on the TV. You pause at the scar on his cheek. Your old mental jar does rattle, although it’s not as loud as it usually is. Red Hood left you, Jason hadn’t. you still focus on the scar and your mind drifts to your conversation with the penguin.
“Do you have a job?” you ask suddenly. Jason glances at you out of the corner of his eye. The corner of his lip twitches up.
“Tired of me already?” he says as he gives your calf another squeeze before rubbing up and down.
“That’s not-” you pause for a second and close your eyes trying to collect your thoughts, “We’ve just never talked about it. Obviously, you know where I work. I don’t know where you work.” You don’t want to admit that Penguin, of all people, was making you question whether or not he was a criminal.
“I work in security.” He says easily.
“That’s beautifully vague.”
He chuckles at your comment, “A security subcontractor. I can make my schedule and only take on jobs I want.”
“Oh, like a mercenary,” you feel him tense at the word, “but you protect people instead of killing them.”
He shifts uncomfortably where he sits and you wonder if it’s you, so you try to pull your feet from his lap. His hand tightens around your ankle, keeping you there. You don’t think he realizes it.
“Yea, something like that.” He nods finally. “You should get a new door lock.” You want to roll your eyes.
“I can’t. This apartment is a rental.”
“You already changed your window locks and installed a shitty alarm system.” You snort.
“I didn’t-” you stop yourself, once again not wanting to tell Jason about Red Hood. “If you want to change my locks you can take it up with my landlord.” You offer instead of arguing.
He seems content with the offer, returning his gaze back to the TV with an “I will.”
Once the movie ends you stand to stretch, a slight twinge still in your back. You use the restroom and when you come back there’s a glass of water where your plate was, and Jason is wiping down the island with a rag.
“Will you stop cleaning my apartment?” you ask. He does a final wipe-down and shakes the rag over the trash.
“I’m stopping.” He rounds the island to stand in front of you. His hands find your arms, moving up a down slowly. “How you feeling?”
You roll your eyes, “I’m not answering that.” Hands move down your arms to hold your hands and pull them up to his eyes. The sleeves of your sweater slide down enough for him to look at the bruises on your wrist again. You want to pull your hands away and brush off his staring, but you like the way his hands feel holding yours. Rough and warm. You’d let him hold you for hours if that’s what he wanted.
“We should get you some bruise cream. They still hurt?” he says finally.
“Only a little. What do you mean bruise cream? I thought you just waited out bruises.” He stops staring at your wrists to look at you. Your hands hang loosely between you two, but he doesn’t let go.
“You could but my grandfather used to use this stuff on me when I was younger, the bruise wouldn’t disappear, but it did make it hurt less. One of those natural remedies sort of thing.” It was rare that Jason talked about his family and rarer with a tone of fondness. He has the same happy look that he did when he told you about the best cookies in the world. You wonder if the same man is responsible for those.
“Okay, do you make it?” You don’t think you have any ingredients for magic bruise cream, but he shakes his head.
“We can buy it; I think you need some groceries too.” He squeezes your hands and lets go, “I made a list.” You blink at him.
“You made a list?” you ask incredulously.
“Yea, you want to come with me, or do you want to stay?” The easy way he’s managing your apartment and getting ready to go grocery shopping for you throws you for a loop but you're even more caught off guard by his question. You don’t really want to leave your apartment just yet. The thought of what could be lurking in the shadows outside is enough to make you sick. You don’t want Jason to leave either. You know he would come back but you don’t think you’re ready to be alone yet. He must see your worried mental debate.
“No rush on the decision. We can watch another movie while you think on it.” You shake your head at his offer.
“Why don’t we just have it delivered?” you feel selfish asking. You’re sure he wants to go out but if he’ll let you keep him longer, you want him to stay. He gives you a confused look.
“It's not pizza. It's groceries.” You laugh at the surety of the statement. Your unknown scrunched shoulders relax. You’re once again reminded of how out of the loop with technology Jason seems to be.
“Everything can be delivered now, especially in the city. I just need my…” you trail off. Your phone. You don’t remember the last time you saw it. Definitely not today. Last night before you taken? You pat at your bum like it’ll be in the back pockets that don’t exist on your PJs.
“Phone?” You finally finish your sentence. A look of recognition crosses Jason’s face. He walks over to your dining room table where there’s a pile of papers you hadn’t noticed before along with your phone on top of it.
“The commissioner stopped by to drop it off this morning. They found it in the warehouse last night. He also dropped off some extra information if you need it, help lines stuff like that.” You were shocked that the commissioner would offer resources for help but you guess Gotham has enough crazies as is. Your shock changes to confusion.
“My phone was in a different place than my purse?” Jason's brows furrow.
“What?”
“Last night, you had my keys. You said that they had found them in the warehouse and gave them to you. But if they found my phone in the warehouse it would’ve been somewhere else since they didn’t give you my phone last night.” Jason presses his lips together and nods along as you speak.
“Sound thought process to me.” He hands you your phone. You get the strange feeling that Jason is hiding something from you but there’s nothing in the conversation to hide so push down the thought. You settle on the couch and show him how to order groceries online. An hour later and halfway through The Notebook, your groceries are delivered. You try to help Jason bring them in but he shoos you off. Then you try to help put them and he shuffles you to one of the stools at the island. You watch him put away the groceries easily. You get the feeling he had a lot of time this morning while you were sleeping, enough to make a grocery list and know where everything in the kitchen went. You don’t feel uncomfortable with the idea like you thought you would. Jason wasn’t a strange man rummaging through your apartment. He was your friend (or something more? You seriously needed to talk about that) and he was looking into your world and taking care of it and you.
Groceries put away he comes to stand next to you. He easily pulls your stool out more and turns your seat. Your heart jumps at the display of strength but you ignore it. He has a small jar in hand and you can only assume it’s the bruise cream he was talking about. He opens it, sets it on the counter, and pulls one of your hands from your lap. His ever-gentle touches are back, pushing your sleeve up to your elbow. He dips his finger into the cream and swipes it onto the bruise. You gnaw at your inner cheek, periodically glancing between his face and his hands. His eyes focused like he was worried he could hurt you by accident at any given moment. You focus on his hands as his fingers rub the cream until the white becomes clear. He takes your other hand and repeats the process, Warm, sturdy, and tender hands caress your skin and your heart aches just a little with that gnawing emotion you don’t think too hard about.
His thumb rubs at your knuckles for a moment and his other hand dips back into the jar. Cold cream is dabbed into the bridge of your nose, startling you enough to tip backward, nearly falling off of the stool. Jason moves quicker than you anticipated. His hand wraps around your waist pulling you forward. Your legs spread, accommodating him as he accidentally pulls into your space. Your hand curls into his shirt at his stomach, where you had grabbed in momentary falling panic. You stare up at him with wide eyes.
“Careful,” he murmurs, “your nose is bruised.” He adds in explanation. His hold on your waist loosens but doesn’t remove his hand entirely as he goes back to rubbing at your nose. You stare into his blue-green eyes as he rubs, relaxing in his hold. A surge of gratitude overtakes you again. It had been a long time since someone had taken care of you and you’re not sure if it was with a tenderness like this.
“Jason?” you say his name quietly. He hums in response, fingers no longer rubbing along your nose but moving to hold your face. You want to say how thankful you are for him and happy that he’s in your life. The words choke in your throat. He’s watching you again, the way he always does. You think you know what it means now but you’re not emotionally ready for that conversation.
“Will you stay the night again?” you finally get out, “Please.”
He nods, “Course.” His hand slides from your face to hold at the back of your neck. Your hands slide from his front to around his waist in a hug as you press your face to his chest, hoping it conveys what you’re feeling. You’ll have to have a conversation, eventually, but not today. Today, you’re content with Jason holding you.
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Additional Note: This is Jason domesticating himself. I picture Jason as a watch-and-learn type of person and he’s been watching her as Red Hood how she keeps her apartment clean to her standards for a while. He’s going to use that knowledge. This chapter and the next chapter are definitely filler type chapters but its okay, we’ll get somewhere eventually. Drop a comment if you want, I like everybody's thoughts. Thank you for reading
Tag List: @little-miss-naill, @nikilolo787, @joonunivrs, @uzxotic, @qardasngan, @stormz369,  @g4bbi3xx, @iwatobiswimbros, @the-lonely-flute, @elz-xo, @gone-batty-fics, @princessesgarden, @notfckincreative, @love-theangel, @feyres-fireheart, @tetsuroubaby, @herodedicatedblog
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munsonsmixtapes · 6 hours ago
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This could be just my hormones going insane but I just need a fix of Steve/eddie (or both) giving reader some loving cause all of her friends are having babies and she’s feeling a little bit frustrated it’s not happening with her. Either of the boys end up catching the vibes so they doo all they can to help our girl out and it sticks
What I would GIVE!
cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) grinding, breeding kink, creampie, mention of pregnancy, hurt/comfort, cockwarming
Having a baby isn’t something you’ve ever really thought about. Your life has always been so you haven’t really had the time, but as you’ve gotten older, you’ve begun to wonder if maybe you wouldn’t mind having a little one running around. You see the tiny little clothes when you’ve gone shopping and your heart bursts. At restaurants, you’ll see the cute little families and wonder what if that could be you?
Your baby fever get even worse when one of your close friends who just had her first child invites you over to meet him. The second she puts him in your arms and his tiny hand wraps around your finger, that's it. You just know you want one of your own. A little baby that you would raise until they eventually would venture out in the world on their own.
But that's all a pipe dream in your eyes. That would never happen for you because you’re single and sperm donors and adoptions can be tricky. So you're just stuck thinking about it for the rest of your life, just hoping, wishing that it'll miraculously happen.
You spend the whole drive home sobbing. You can barely even see through your tears, but you somehow make it home to your apartment that you share with your best friend, Steve. And for once, you hope he isn’t home, because there's no way you can tell him why you're crying. It'd be way too embarrassing.
So you wordlessly hurry to your room where you bury yourself under your covers as the sobs pour out of you. You feel so pathetic for crying about something like this, but you can't help it. It just hurts way more than it should.
There's a knock at the door and you're so glad that you locked it. You really can't talk to Steve right now. He just wouldn't understand. You know that he would be understanding and sympathetic like always, but this time, it would be even better if he was actually experiencing what you are.
"Hey, y/n," he says from the other side of the door and you can just imagine him with furrowed eyebrows, the look he always gets when he's upset. You know you've hurt his feeling by shutting him out, but this is for his own good. He doesn't want to have this awkward conversation with you. You're sure of it.
"I know you're upset about something so I uh, I made you that hot chocolate you like." He's so sweet that it makes your heart ache sometimes. What did you do to deserve a best friend like him?
You throw the covers off of you and make your way to the door. You unlock and open it to reveal Steve's sympathetic smile. He holds the mug out to you and you take it, taking a sip before heading back to your bed, Steve sitting next to you, but making sure to keep some space between the two of you.
Just like always, the silence isn't awkward between the two of you as you sip on your beverage and he just sits there. You set the mug on your desk then sit next to him again, this time to where your thighs are touching and you lean your head on his shoulder.
His arm wraps around your arm, his hand moving lazily up and down it as a way to comfort you. You can't help but let you mind wonder what it would be life if Steve was the father of your child. You're he'd be the perfect candidate, but you're sure that he'd think it was weird. His best friend wants to have a baby with him? That's definitely out of his comfort zone and you know it.
"You wanna tell me what's bothering you?" No fucking way. you're taking that shit to the grave. You've got to make something up, and fast.
"Just womanly stuff, you know how it is," you sniff, feeling tears streaming down your cheeks again. You do your best to try and pretend that your stomach is cramping and Steve is quick to pull you into his lap.
His rests is hands on the lower part of your stomach where he knows they get really bad and he begins to massage the area to relieve some of the pain. He always take sure good care of you and that's how you know that he would be a great dad.
You think about him doing the exact same thing when your stomach starts showing, talking to the baby and you suddenly feeling wet between your legs. You're staring to see Steve in a different way and you're not entirely sure how to feel about it.
"How does that feel?" He asks, looking down at you and suddenly, every single thought is replaced by your need to know what his lips feel like. They look like two pretty, pink pillows and you just can't stop staring.
“I’m not really cramping,” you tell him, feeling guilty that you lied to him. “I uh, I was actually upset because-well, because everyone around me is getting married and having children and I just-that’s what I want. I just want a family, Stevie.”
You look so heartbroken and Steve can see your eyes welling up again. He suddenly gets an idea, but he knows it’s crazy. When you mentioned having a family, clearly he wasn’t supposed to be in the picture. But now that it’s come to his mind, he can’t stop thinking about it.
He’d be honored to have a baby with you. He just knows you’d be an amazing mother, especially when he’s seen you with the kids in his family at different Harrington functions. Now that he’s thought of it, he can’t unsee it. Now he’s got to see it through. That is, if you agree. And why would you? The idea really isn’t something that he should be suggesting to his best friend, but what the hell?
“What if we had a baby?” He asks, his honey eyes boring into yours and you swear you just might melt. He’s so sweet sometimes that you don’t feel like you deserve him. He takes your silence as his answer and quickly tries to backtrack. “Just forget I said anything.”
“No, Steve,” you grab hold of his face in your hands, forcing him to look you in the eye. “I’d love to have a baby with you. Honored, actually.”
“You would?” His face lights up and you can’t help but laugh at how adorable he is.
“Yes,” you nod.
You move so that you’re straddling his lap while his hands rest on your waist. Shit, you’re really doing this and Steve can’t hide his excitement. This might be the smartest thing he’s ever done.
You make the first move, leaning down and bringing your face to his, slowly capturing his lips with yours. He's quick to respond, trying to match your pace as his lips move against yours. Yours are soft and he's convinced that this is the best kiss he's ever had. You know exactly what you're doing and he's just desperate for more.
Just as he melting into you, he feels you grinding against his crotch and he lets out a whine, already feeling himself getting hard. This has to be a record for sure. He lets you do what you want, loving everything you're doing so far.
His tongue slides into your mouth and he swears he's going to come just from hearing you. It's so hot and now that he's hearing it person and not on the other side of the wall when you pleasure yourself, he's sure it's even hotter because he's the cause of it.
“God, you’d look so pretty,” he sighs against your lips. “So fucking hot. And I’d praise you any chance I got.”
He’s saying all the right things and now you think you’re ready. You’ve-you’ve never done anything like this with Steve, but something about it feels so good, so right.
Your top comes off and it’s thrown to the side as Steve takes advantage of your now exposed skin. He kisses and nips at chest as you melt in his arms, mewling at every touch of his lips.
He slips the straps of your bra off of your shoulders and continues his kisses there, mixing in his lips with it as your hands grab hold of his biceps, digging your fingers into his skin.
“So fucking pretty,” he mumbles against your skin and you flush, feeling hot from both his compliments and his soft lips. “Now let me see you.” He unhooks your bra and pulls it away from your body to reveal your bare chest.
Your nipples are hard and Steve’s mouth waters as he thinks about how badly he wants them in his mouth. They’re practically begging for it as your back arches, moving your body from side to side, his gaze following you.
Without warning, Steve grabs hold of your waist and turns your bodies so your back is flat against your bed, him on top of you. He goes straight for your nipple, taking it into his mouth, giving it a hard suck as he pins your arms to the bed.
You gasp as the feeling and Steve continues, introducing his tongue as he licks and sucks on your nipple, one of his hands moving to massage the other one so it gets some attention as well.
Your back arches against his as a pretty moan falls from your lips and he takes that as an invitation to continue. He bites down hard and you mewl, your fingers gripping the bedding underneath you.
“That’s a pretty sound, baby,” he compliments as he pulls away for a split second. “Wanna make it again?”
“Please,” you whine and he goes in again with another as you let out another moan. Once you’ve reached your peak, he moves onto the other nipple, doing the exact same routine until you’re orgasming again, grabbing onto his shirt, trying to pull it off of him so you can proceed.
Steve’s shirt is off in an instant and he kisses his way down your torso slowly, giving your stomach special attention. He peppers it with kisses as he showers you with the sweetest words, wanting to make you feel special, to know that he really wants this and isn’t just doing it because he should.
“You’re gonna be such a great mother,” he starts off, pressing a kiss to the spot right above your belly button. “I’d be honored to raise a child with you.” Another kiss to the spot. “Fuck, I’m gonna love filling you,” is what he finishes off with before pressing a kiss to the spot right above your jeans. He then unbuttons them and you just now you’re a mess now, feeling your slick rolling down your legs.
Your jeans are off in an instant followed by your panties and Steve undressed himself before spreading your legs wide, lining himself up with you before slowly inserting himself. It’s a tight fit, but by the time he’s done with you, you’re going to be so loose.
His pace is slow as he takes his time, watching you so intently to make sure that you’re okay. You’re more than enjoying yourself, it seems as you moan and whine, your nails scratching down his back. Steve didn’t realize just how much he loves not using a condom, feeling every single part of you against him.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he says as his thrusts pick up, moving even faster, inch by inch trying to get all of himself inside you.
“Haven’t done this in a while.” It’s at least been a couple of months.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll loosen you up in no time.” He’s pumping even harder and faster now, trying to get to a pace that the two of you will enjoy and continues at that pace as you respond positively.
“And look at that. You’re taking me so well.” He’s moving so fast now that the bed is squeaking underneath you, moving back and forth with every pump and you’re eating it up, needing feel all of him.
“More,” you whine and Steve just chuckles.
“Can’t go any faster than this.”
“No, Steve, more.” You grab hold of his hips and push him further inside you, bucking your hips against his so he gets the hint.
“You got it, sweetheart,” he winks. “Sure I’m not gonna hurt you?”
“I want you to. I just need to feel you. Want you to fill me.” You buck your hips again and again as the two of you work together, trying your best to get the other off.
He’s all the way inside you now and you can feel tears pricking your eyes as you can feel every single inch of him, so sure that he’s going to split you apart. Not that you mind. That would actually be the best way to go of you’re being honest.
“Taking me so well. Look at you, so close to coming. I can see it. Fuck, you’re beautiful. Gonna look even more beautiful with my baby. Gonna-“ his words are cut off as he reaches his own orgasm. He releases inside you and you watch him come undone, curling his head towards his chest as his eyes shut tight. His fingers are digging into your waist and you push his hair away from his sweaty face as he’s coming down.
He’s got just enough energy for little more. Just enough to get you there. He’s moving as hard and fast as he can, watching you come undone underneath him. You’re so pretty, the perfect mother for his child.
As soon as your orgasm is over, Steve lowers himself down onto, not even bothering to pull out because he just wants to be this close to you for a little longer. His lips find yours in a gentle kiss before he lays his head on your chest, your fingers running through his hair.
You spend the rest of the night like that before cuddling up in your bed, the two of you discussing baby names, deciding that neither of you care whether it’s a boy or girl.
Nine months later, you welcome your baby girl into the world. Steve is right by your side the entire delivery and seeing you hold her for the first time, he’s sure that you’re going to be an amazing mother and he’s so excited to navigate parenting with you.
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amitiel-truth · 21 hours ago
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River Maiden Pt. 9
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Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8,
(A/N: is Telephone technically a Monsterfucker in this story? I mean, Penelope's Half Nymph so he got it from Odysseus. : ))
"I don't know what to do..." (Y/N) mutters, her head on Penelope's lap as they're in the Queen's Quarters, they're meant to start another lesson, but they've postpone it for now.
"It's a difficult situation, isn't it?" Penelope replied, gently stroking her hair. "You want to be honest with Telemachus, but you fear how he would react to the truth."
"Don't you hate me, Mother? How Poseidon was the reason why it took your husband to get home 10 more years after the war?." (Y/N) asked in worry, tearing up at her.
"Oh, my dear child," Penelope's tone was tender as she gently wiped away (Y/N)'s tears. "I could never hate you. You are not responsible for the actions of your father. You deserve love and acceptance just like anyone else."
"But...I'm scared to tell Telemachus." (Y/N) professes, leaning onto the comforting woman's hand.
"I'm scared of how he'll react, will he look at me with disdain, blame me for Poseidon's action, or be disgusted for bedding a monster." (Y/N) ponders, tears streaming from her eyes.
"Shhh," Penelope hushes her, gently stroking her hair again. "You cannot control what Telemachus will think or feel when he learns the truth. But if he truly loves you, he will see past your heritage and understand that you are your own person, separate from the actions of your father."
She gave (Y/N) a reassuring smile. "I have faith in Telemachus. He is a good man, and he has already shown how much he cares for you."
"But...what about your husband?." (Y/N) frowns once more, looking onto the ground.
"He might end our engagement..."
Penelope chuckles, a fond smile tugging at her lips. "(Y/N), did you truly think Telemachus would allow anything to come between him and you? He is practically obsessed with you. He would fight off an army of Cyclopes if it meant keeping you safe and by his side."
"But...He practically idolized his Father, he just had the chance to get to know him, I don't want to get in the way of it." (Y/N) added with a worried look.
Penelope shook her head, placing a gentle hand on Egeria's shoulder.
"You're not going to get in the way of anything. Telemachus loves you, and that won't change once he learns about your heritage. Yes, he idolized his father, and he still does to an extent, but he is his own person now.
"He's grown up, had his own experiences and formed his own opinions and values. He's not going to simply abandon you because of something you have no control over."
(Y/N) looks at her, speechless, before she could say something to Penelope, someone knocked at the door.
Penelope looked at (Y/N) fondly before turning toward the door. "Come in." she called out gently.
(Y/N) wiped away her tears, trying to look halfway decent.
A servant entered the room.
"Queen Penelope, King Odysseus is requesting Lady (Y/N)'s presence." The servant relays, shocking (Y/N).
"Very well. (Y/N), it seems the King wants to speak with you." Penelope gently nudged her.
(Y/N) could only look at Penelope in worry, before following the servant.
As (Y/N) followed the servant through the palace halls, her mind raced with anxiety and questions. What could Odysseus possibly want to talk to her about? Was it about Telemachus?
Finally, they reached Odysseus's study, and the servant opened the door, gesturing for her to enter
As (Y/N) entered the room, she noticed how very different it was to the Queen's Quarters, weapons, maps, and armour, she could almost hear their stories.
Odysseus was sitting at his desk, shuffling through some maps and documents. He looked up as (Y/N) entered, his gaze sharp.
"Close the door." He commanded the servant.
The heavy oak door shut with a resounding thud, leaving (Y/N) alone with Odysseus.
(Y/N) stood in the middle of his study, holding her hands in front of her.
"You wished to see me, Sir?" (Y/N) asked, a bit nervous
Odysseus leaned back in his chair, studying (Y/N) intently. "Yes, I did. Have a seat."
He gestured to the chair across from his desk, his expression unreadable.
As (Y/N) sat in front of Odysseus, on his desk is a Latrunculi board with it's pieces in place, making (Y/N) curious.
As she looked down at the Latrunculi board on the desk, she couldn't help but wonder why it was there. The game was a strategic one that required foresight and planning.
Odysseus noticed her gaze and a half smile played across his lips.
"Do you play Latrunculi?" He asked, his tone almost casual.
"My Aunt taught me, as well as I had a few games with my...Cousins" (Y/N) answers, a bit reluctantly
Odysseus nodded, noticing (Y/N)'s hesitation.
"Ah, so you have some experience with strategy and tactics, then." he said, leaning back in his chair. "You see, this game is not just about making random moves. It's about understanding your opponent, anticipating their moves, and making calculated decisions."
He gestured towards the board. "The pieces may appear small, but their positions and moves have a significant impact on the outcome of the game. Each choice you make can either bring you closer to victory or lead you to defeat."
Odysseus leaned forward, a gleam of challenge in his eyes. "I have a proposal. Would you like to play a game of Latrunculi with me?"
"Of course sir, do excuse me for I'm a bit rusty." (Y/N) admits with a nervous smile.
Odysseus chuckled, gesturing to the board. "Oh, don't worry about it. I'm in the mood for a game myself."
He moved a piece on the board, making what seemed to be a bold but well-placed opening move. "Your move."
(Y/N) moves a man as her starting move
Odysseus watched as (Y/N) made her move, his eyes narrowing in thought. He studied the board for a moment, considering his options.
"Not a bad opening move," he commented with a hint of surprise in his tone. "Looks like you remember a thing or two about the game."
"It's only a start, Sir." (Y/N) points out with a smile, before moving another man.
Odysseus nodded, his expression focused as he considered his next move.
"Indeed, the game is only beginning." He studied the board, his mind working to anticipate (Y/N)'s strategy. After a moment, he moved one of his men, initiating a counterattack.
(Y/N) noticed his moves, before doing the unexpected, moving her Dux (General), early in the game, trapping and capturing two of his men at once.
Odysseus's eyes widened in surprise at her unexpected move. He had not anticipated her making such a bold and strategic play so early in the game.
"Well, look at you," he said with a hint of admiration, "that was quite a risky move. And it looks like it paid off. You just captured two of my men in one turn."
"It was only a quick strategy, Sir." (Y/N) smiled sheepishly.
Odysseus chuckled, shaking his head.
"You're being too modest. That was more than just a 'quick strategy.' It was a well-calculated move, and it left me two pieces down."
He studied the board, taking stock of his remaining pieces and formulating a plan.
"You're quite the competitor, aren't you?" Odysseus said with a hint of respect in his tone as he continued to study the board. "We're only a few moves in, and you're already putting me at a disadvantage."
Odysseus's expression turned serious as he focused on the board, his eyes scanning the pieces. He made his next move, a strategic one that not only defended his remaining men but also threatened (Y/N)'s.
Odysseus continued his assault, carefully maneuvering his men around (Y/N)'s, boxing her in and limiting her options. He was a skilled player, and he was determined to turn the tables on her.
"You see, in the game of Latrunculi, as in life, it's not just about making the moves that feel good or seem easy. It's about being able to adapt, to think several steps ahead, and to make sacrifices when necessary.
"You can't be afraid to take risks, even if it means losing a few pieces along the way. Sometimes, the most strategic move is to sacrifice a man to capture the Dux."
(Y/N) tries to navigate her troupe, backing her Dux and spreading out her men, but before she knew it, she's already in a corner, with Odysseus's own men and Dux cornering her.
"I knew I was rusty." (Y/N) sighs in defeat.
Odysseus chuckled, pleased with his victory.
"You played well, considering how 'rusty' you claim to be," he said with a smirk. "But you made a crucial mistake. You let yourself get cornered, and once you're corned in this game, it's difficult to escape."
(Y/N) looks at him in a bit of suspicion.
"This isn't about the game, isn't it, Sir?" She asked, ready for his interrogation.
Odysseus leaned back in his chair, studying (Y/N)'s expression. He could tell she suspected his true intent behind inviting her to play.
"Very perceptive of you," he said with a wry smile. "No, this wasn't just about the game. There's something else I wanted to discuss with you, something of a more...personal nature."
(Y/N)'s heart skipped a beat, her curiosity piqued. She had a feeling she knew what he wanted to talk about, but she remained silent, waiting for him to continue.
"I won't beat around the bush," Odysseus said bluntly, his gaze fixed on (Y/N). "I've noticed the way my son looks at you, the way he hangs on your every word. He's enamored with you, that much is clear. And as his father, I feel it's my responsibility to look out for him, to make sure he's not making any mistakes."
"I understand, As his bethrode I'll answer every question you ask to the best of my abilities." (Y/N) answers, her hands on her lap.
Odysseus's expression softened slightly, appreciating her sincerity. He leans forward, placing his hands on the desk.
"Good," he said, nodding. "That's what I wanted to hear. But before we get into that, I need to know for certain. Are you truly fond of Telemachus? Is your affection for him genuine?"
"Honestly sir, I didn't know how I lived before him, but he's everything I could ever ask for, his sweet, sensitive, thoughtful, and caring, a rarity among men, I'd lose my mind if I lost him." (Y/N) answers honestly with a blush (🙃)
Odysseus studied (Y/N)'s face, searching for any hint of insincerity. But all he saw was honesty and a genuine affection in her eyes. He could tell that she cared deeply for Telemachus, and it brought a small measure of reassurance to him as a father.
A wave of nostalgia washed over him. Her words reminded him of the younger version of himself, hopelessly in love with Penelope and willing to do anything for her. He couldn't help but see the similarities and feel a strange sense of familiarity.
"Your affection for my son, it's..." Odysseus trailed off for a moment before continuing, his gaze softening. "It's almost a mirror image of how I felt about his Mother, years ago. It's hard to deny that you genuinely care for him."
"Oh..." (Y/N) blushes, looking onto the ground shyly.
Odysseus chuckled softly, noticing her bashfulness.
"No need to be embarrassed," he said with a small smile. "It's a good thing, you know. Caring for someone deeply is a powerful feeling, and it can make all the difference in life."
His expression turned more serious.
"But, love and affection aside, there's another aspect I need to discuss with you."
(Y/N) looked up, her curiosity piqued once more. She had an idea of what he was going to ask next, but she waited for him to continue, mentally bracing herself.
"Your past," Odysseus began, his eyes fixed on her. "I know you haven't always been forthcoming about it, and there are things you've kept from Telemachus."
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.
"I need to know the truth. Who are you really, (Y/N)? And what are you hiding?"
(Y/N)'s smile tightens, her eye twitching before coughing, dismissing her nervousness "W-well, Sir, as I've said before on our first meeting, I was born in Gibraltar under my Mother's care before her health declined, so my Aunt took me in and brought me to Athens, she's also a Teacher so she taught me everything I know, along with the different specialties of my Cousin, but my Aunt still has her own plights, as much as I want to stay with her, my Uncle, her husband, let's just say he isn't very...loyal, she already has too many on her plate so I decided I wanted to live on my own, in solitude.
Ithaca was the first choice with the lush greens and surrounded by water, but I later realized it wasn't that isolated..." (Y/N) tells her story, albeit vaguely.
Odysseus listened intently to (Y/N)'s story, his gaze sharp and observant. There were certain details and holes in her story that he picked up on, but he decided to focus on one particular thing she mentioned.
"You didn't mention your Father," he said quietly, his tone almost accusatory. "Why is that?"
"The Bastard can go screw himself." (Y/N) mutters harshly, surprising Odysseus.
"I-i mean, he isn't that much in the picture so I don't know him much." She tries to backtrack with a sheepish smile.
Odysseus raised an eyebrow, intrigued by (Y/N)'s sudden change in tone and the venom in her voice when talking about her Father. It was obvious there was animosity there, but he couldn't quite understand why.
"You seem to have quite a strong opinion of him," he observed, his gaze still fixed on her. "Yet you say you don't know him much. That's a rather conflicting statement, don't you think?"
(Y/N) looks at him in shock, before looking at her lap,her hand tightly clenched.
"He forced himself onto my mother..." (Y/N) admits with a frown.
Odysseus's expression darkened as (Y/N) revealed the truth about her Father. His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white. He didn't like the sound of what she was insinuating.
"You mean..." he began, his voice a low rumble, "He...assaulted your mother?"
"I was the product of her defilement, as a child, I watched her degrade, crying herself to sleep, and the bastard didn't even bother checking on her or taking responsibility, he continued his life as usual, while I had to watch that beautiful woman self destruct." (Y/N) mutters, glaring onto her own hands.
Odysseus's heart ached for (Y/N) as she recounted her traumatic past. The disdain in her voice was palpable, and he could see the pain and hurt behind her words. He couldn't imagine how difficult it must have been for her to grow up under such circumstances.
"Your Father is a vile man," Odysseus spat out, his voice filled with disgust. "He didn't deserve to be called a Father, let alone sire a child."
"I'm so sorry that I didn't tell you, Sir. I was afraid you'd think I'm not the perfect match to your son with the circumstances of my birth." (Y/N) mutters with guilt.
Odysseus sighed, his initial anger cooling down into sympathy. He could see the shame and guilt in (Y/N) eyes, and he knew that she had carried a heavy burden with her for a long time.
"You don't need to apologize, (Y/N)" he said gently, his tone kinder now. "I can understand why you would keep such a thing to yourself, especially given the stigma surrounding your circumstances. But let me make one thing clear."
"The circumstances of your birth do not define you," Odysseus continued firmly. "You are more than just a victim of your Father's cruelty. You're a strong, intelligent, and kind-hearted young woman. Telemachus is lucky to have you as his betrothed, and nothing will change that."
"I must admit," he said thoughtfully, "I'm quite surprised at how you've taken to Telemachus so quickly. Considering the circumstances of your past, I would have expected you to be more guarded when it comes to matters of the heart."
"It's also one of the reasons why I wanted to live in isolation, but your son...is so different, he's not brash, not proud, not cocky, his caring, kind hearted, sensitive...everything that bastard could never be." (Y/N) mutters, not even realizing she's already swooning in the thought of Telemachus, snapping out of her daze.
"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to babble!"
Odysseus chuckled softly, amused by (Y/N)'s unabashed gushing about Telemachus. It was clear that she was completely smitten with his son.
"No need to apologize," he said, waving a hand gently. "You're in love, and Telemachus is a remarkable young man. I'm not surprised you can't help but gush about him."
He leaned back in his chair, a small smile on his lips.
"It's quite endearing, actually."
"But I have to ask," Odysseus continued, his tone becoming more serious again. "How do you think Telemachus would feel if he knew the truth about your past? About your Father?"
"I...I don't know..." (Y/N) admits, looking down onto her lap.
Odysseus was quiet for a moment, studying her expression. He could see the fear in her eyes, the worry at how Telemachus would react to the truth.
"You're afraid he'll reject you," he said bluntly, hitting the nail on the head. "You're afraid he won't be able to look at you the same way once he knows."
Egeria grew quite, biting her lip.
Odysseus's expression softened, his tone growing gentler.
"I understand your fear, (Y/N)," he said quietly. "But you can't keep something like this hidden forever. The truth has a way of coming out, and when it does, it's better that Telemachus hears it from you, rather than someone else."
He leaned forward, his gaze steady on her.
"You need to tell him."
"I don't know how, Sir." Odysseus's heart ached at the sight of (Y/N), the once confident and fiery young woman, now reduced to a trembling girl. He knew how much she cared for Telemachus, and he could see the fear in her eyes at the thought of losing him.
"(Y/N)," he said softly, his tone soothing. "I understand that it's difficult, but you can't keep something this important hidden forever. You need to be honest with Telemachus. You owe him that much."
"He loves you," Odysseus continued, his voice firm but kind. "And if he truly cares for you, he'll understand. But you have to give him the chance to understand. You can't let your fears hold you back."
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze still fixed on her.
"You're strong, (Y/N). You can do this."
She looks at him in shock, before sighing, smiling at Odysseus "Thank you for your advice, Sir." (Y/N) thanked him.
Odysseus nodded, a small smile on his face.
"Of course, (Y/N). But remember, this is something you need to do soon. The longer you wait, the harder it will be for the both of you."
He paused for a moment before speaking again.
"And (Y/N)?"
"Yes, Sir?" She asked, her attention fully on him.
"He loves you," Odysseus continued, his voice firm but kind. "And if he truly cares for you, he'll understand. But you have to give him the chance to understand. You can't let your fears hold you back."
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze still fixed on her.
"You're strong, (Y/N). You can do this."
Egeria looks at him, before smiling brightly at him "Thank you, Sir." (Y/N) thanked him one last time, before leaving his study, looking for Telemachus in the courtyard, training once more.
As Egeria made her way to the courtyard, she spotted Telemachus in the midst of a training session. He was drenched in sweat, his muscles straining as he wielded his sword with precision and power.
(Y/N) stood at the edge of the courtyard, watching him for a few moments, admiring the grace and strength with which he moved. It stirs something..sinful inside her, watching his sweat roll down body, every grunt as he swung his sword, but her fantasies have to wait at a later time.
Just as she was about to approach him, it suddenly...rained.
"What?" (Y/N) held out her hand, catching a few rain drops, before she felt something familiar in this brewing storm.
"No...it can't be..."
Meanwhile
Odysseus is in his study, cleaning up the Lactruculi pieces, before he noticed it started raining outside, this rain seems familiar, he looks outside the palace where it has the view of the beach...his heart dropped.
There stood...Poseidon.
Odysseus's heart pounding in his chest. Poseidon's presence sent a wave of unease through him, but he knew he had to face the god once again.
He steeled himself, taking a deep breath before stepping out of the palace and onto the beach where he found himself face to face face with the lord of the sea.
"Poseidon," Odysseus said coolly, his voice steady despite the churning emotions he felt inside. "What brings you here?"
Poseidon regarded him with a steely glare, his eyes narrowing in anger.
"You know why I'm here, Odysseus," he replied, his voice booming with authority. "Your arrogance and defiance has not gone unnoticed."
"But don't worry, I'm not here for you." Poseidon looks around, scanning the palace.
"Where is she?"
Odysseus's heart skipped a beat as he heard Poseidon's question.
"Who?" he asked, trying to hide the worry in his voice. He had a feeling he already knew who he was talking about, but he needed to be sure.
"A brat of mine who snuck into your kingdom, I usually don't care about any of them but this one's...a special case." Poseidon vaguely answers with a crude smile
Odysseus's gut twisted at Poseidon's words. He knew who he spoke of.
"(Y/N)," he muttered, but loud enough for Poseidon to hear.
"So that's her name, (Y/N)." Poseidon mutters in thought, pacing around on the sand.
"Good enough of a name, I guess, and I could only guess she didn't even bother telling you her story." Poseidon smirked, taunting Odysseus in his foolishness.
Odysseus tensed up, but he tried to keep his composure. He knew what Poseidon was doing, but he couldn't let his anger get the better of him.
"She's under my protection now," Odysseus said firmly. "Whatever grievances you have with her, you'll have to get through me first."
"Oh, I don't have any grievances with her, she's mine after all." Poseidon stated, before telling a chilling statement.
"I'm taking her now"
Odysseus's blood ran cold at Poseidon's statement. He couldn't let him take (Y/N), not after everything she had been through.
"No," he said firmly, his grip on his sword tightening. "You're not taking her anywhere."
Poseidon chuckled darkly, amused by Odysseus's defiance.
"You really think you can stop me, little king?" he taunted. "I am a god, and she is mine to do with as I please."
Odysseus gritted his teeth, his resolve steeling. He knew what he was up against, but he couldn't let (Y/N) bear the consequences of Poseidon's cruel desires.
"You may be a god, but I'm not going to let you hurt her," he retorted, his voice filled with determination. "You'll have to go through me first."
Poseidon smirked, his eyes gleaming cruelly.
"And so it shall be," he snarled, his hand reaching towards the sea, the waters rising and beginning to churn viciously. "You may think you stand a chance, but you're just a mortal, and I am a god of the sea. Do you truly think you can defeat me?"
The sea roared in fury as Poseidon drew power from the depths, unleashing a brutal barrage of attacks on Odysseus.
Before Odysseus could draw his blade, the gushing waters paused in place, stopping in front of him, before it burst into nothing.
"Enough" a cold voice orders behind Odysseus, as (Y/N) walked past him, the waters churning around her, glaring at Poseidon.
Odysseus was stunned, the waters obeying her command. He had never seen such power emanate from her before.
Poseidon's gaze hardened as he shifted his attention to (Y/N).
"(Y/N)," he said, his voice a mixture of irritation and...pride. "You've grown stronger."
"Spare me your adulation, it's disgusting hearing it from you." (Y/N) stops him in his tracks, glaring at him.
"What do you want?"
Poseidon's expression darkened at (Y/N)'s sharp tone.
"I've come to take you back, of course," he replied matter-of-factly. "You're my brat, and you belong to the sea."
"Why now? You didn't even spare me as much of a glance when I was under Hera's care, you looked at me with disgust, why should I believe I belong with you?." (Y/N) snapped back at him, the waters around her rising.
Poseidon sneered, his irritation growing at her defiance.
"You're still a mouthy little thing, I see," he grumbled. "I may have looked at you with disgust, that was because I wasn't ready to acknowledge you then, but now...I see potential in you."
"No, no you don't, I don't believe you, I think you're only using me as an excuse, because you can't get over the fact that Odysseus had bested you at your own game." (Y/N) insulted, continuing her glare of him
Poseidon's expression darkened even further, anger now blazing in his eyes. He was not used to being insulted, especially not by his own child.
"Do you have any idea who you're speaking to, girl?" he growled, his voice booming with authority, sending waves after her. "I am the lord of the sea! You should show me some respect!"
"All I see is a bastard who can't get over his lost, the same bastard who destroyed my mother." (Y/N) insulted once more, before stopping Poseidon's waves
Poseidon's anger turned to full-blown rage at Egeria's words, his face contorting in fury.
"How dare you speak to me like that, you insolent little brat!" he roared, his voice thundering across the beach. "You have no right to judge me or my actions! I am a god, and you are just a mortal, never forget your place!"
As (Y/N) and Poseidon clashed, their battle shaking the very earth. The water and the earth collided fiercely and neither backed down to the other. Poseidon was filled with rage while (Y/N) held a calm gaze.
Odysseus watched them from the sidelines, torn between worry and awe.
The sea raged around them, responding to (Y/N)'s control as she fought against her father's relentless assault. Poseidon was filled with a mix of anger and grudging respect for his daughter's power, while (Y/N) fought with a cool determination, never faltering.
But someone can falter it.
Telemachus sprinted towards the beach, panic etched on his face as he saw the intense battle unfolding before him. Without hesitation, he ran towards (Y/N) and Poseidon.
Odysseus's eyes widened in alarm as he saw Telemachus rushing towards the fighting and he called out to him, "Telemachus! Wait! Don't-"
Poseidon looks at the running Prince, before smirking at (Y/N), his water arm grew in size, reaching for the Prince.
"TELEMACHUS!" Telemachus's heart seized in terror as he saw the water hand reach for him, but before it could grab him, (Y/N) pushed him away, taking the hand's grasp herself.
"No!" Telemachus shouted. "(Y/N)!"
"Get out of here! Please, I'll be fine!" (Y/N) begs, struggling in Poseidon's hold.
Telemachus hesitated, torn between the desire to run away and the need to help (Y/N). He looked at her, struggling in Poseidon's grasp, and his heart ached at her plea.
"I can't just leave you!" he protested, his voice filled with desperation.
Poseidon smirked at Telemachus's plea, the sound of his despair music to his ears.
"Oh, how sweet, the prince is for his princess," he mocked, his grip on (Y/N) tightening. "But you can't help her, boy. She's mine, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."
"Why are you taking her!? She has nothing to do with you!" Telemachus screamed, watching her squirm in Poseidon hold, struggling.
"Nothing to do with her? My, She didn't tell you as well?" Poseidon taunted with a smirk.
Telemachus's confusion deepened at Poseidon's words.
"What do you mean? Tell me what?" Telemachus demanded, his gaze filled with a mixture of anger and desperation.
She watched him with a helpless expression, her struggles growing weaker as Poseidon's grip tightened.
"This one is my kin, my daughter." Poseidon shook her in front of Telemachus like a doll, as she could only look at him in shame.
Telemachus's eyes widened in utter shock, his mind struggling to process Poseidon's words.
"Your...daughter? But... but that means..." Telemachus's voice trailed off as he looked at (Y/N), a mix of realization and disbelief on his face.
"Is it true?" he asked her softly, his expression torn between confusion and concern.
(Y/N) looks at him in shame, tears in her eyes.
"I'm sorry, my Love." She apologizes, before being pulled away from him.
"Yeah, yeah, enough with the sappy sentiments." Poseidon rolls his eyes as she continues to struggle in his hold.
Telemachus watched she being pulled away from him, his heart sinking. He couldn't believe he had fallen so madly in love with the daughter of the king of the seas.
"No, wait! You can't take her!" Telemachus protested, trying to move closer to them.
"Why? You actually love this halfbreed of mine?" Poseidon waves her around in front of him like a toy, as she continued to struggle
Telemachus's face contorted with anger and helplessness.
"Yes, I do! She may be your daughter, but that doesn't change the fact that I love her!" Telemachus retorted, his voice filled with passion.
(Y/N) felt a jolt of surprise at Telemachus's declaration of love before looking at him with a mixture of guilt and longing, while Poseidon simply chuckled at the prince's words.
"Love? Ha! You think you love her? You don't even know her, you fool! You don't know what she really is!" Poseidon taunted, his grip on her tightening as he spoke, making her grunt.
Telemachus's face grew even more determined at Poseidon's taunts. He knew he didn't fully understand who (Y/N) was, but he also knew deeply that he loved her.
"It doesn't matter! I love her, and I refuse to let you take her away from me!" Telemachus retorted, his voice firm despite the fear he felt.
Poseidon chuckled at Telemachus's defiance, his expression growing sly.
"You love her, huh? Well, what if I proposed a little challenge then?" he suggested, his grip on (Y/N) loosening slightly.
"No! Telemachus! I'll be fine-" Before (Y/N) could protest, her head was shoved into the water hand.
"Relax, this one can breathe under water...I think." Poseidon mutters the last part to himself, as (Y/N) pounded at the surface of it.
Telemachus's heart raced at the sight of (Y/N) head being shoved underwater. But before he could panic further, he heard Poseidon's reassurance that she could breathe underwater. Nonetheless, Telemachus's mind raced with worry.
"What kind of challenge?" Telemachus asked, his voice shaky but resolute.
"Go to my own home turf, the Aegean Sea, come give your in law a visit and it'll be a leveled playing field, for me of course, if you win, She's all yours, and if you lose, I'll turn this halfbreed into seafoam." Poseidon challenges with a smirk.
"And don't even think about not coming at all, because I'll simply turn her into seafoam as well."
Telemachus's heart felt like it was going to explode. He was being challenged to a battle he had no chance of winning. But if he didn't accept, (Y/N) would be turned into seafoam...
"Fine," Telemachus agreed through gritted teeth. "I'll go to the Aegean Sea. But if I win, you let (Y/N) go."
(Y/N) banged on the surface of the hand, shaking her head, begging for him not to accept the challenge
"Excellent, that, if you win of course." Poseidon taunted with a smile, before slowly walking back to the sea, make his point.
Telemachus watched Poseidon walk towards the sea, his mind racing. He knew he had no chance of winning the upcoming battle, but he had no choice. He couldn't let (Y/N) be turned into seafoam.
Suddenly, with a dagger lent to her by Ioannis, she broke the water surface, screaming at him.
"Telemachus! I'm sorry I didn't tell you! Don't come for me! Please! Stay ali-" before (Y/N) could finish what she's saying, she already pulled into the ocean with Poseidon, disappearing into the seas.
"(Y/N)!" Telemachus shouted, his voice filled with desperation. The sight of (Y/N) being pulled into the sea, disappearing from his sight, was unbearable. He ran towards the edge of the shore, his heart racing with panic and helplessness.
"No! No! Bring her back!" Telemachus screamed, unable to contain his anguish. He was torn between anger at Poseidon and guilt for accepting the challenge.
Odysseus, who had watched the scene unfold in horror, pulled Telemachus into his arms. He held him tightly, trying to offer some comfort in the midst of the chaos.
Telemachus, still reeling from the shock of what just happened, pushed Odysseus away.
"Let go of me! I have to go after her!" Telemachus protested, his voice choked with emotion.
"You know you can't do that, my boy," Odysseus replied, his voice firm but filled with empathy. "Poseidon has her now, and there's no way you can fight him in his own domain."
"But I can't just sit here and do nothing!" Telemachus protested, his eyes filled with desperation. "I love her, Father. I can't let her be taken away from me."
Odysseus sighed, his heart breaking for his son. He knew how much Telemachus loved (Y/N), and the pain of being separated from her must be unbearable.
Odysseus took a deep breath and began to speak, his voice tinged with a mix of empathy and skepticism.
"Telemachus," he began, his grip on his son's shoulders tight but gentle. "I know you love (Y/N), but you have to consider the possibility that she may have been tricking you this entire time."
Telemachus looked at his father in shock, his heart clenching at the implication. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"(Y/N) is Poseidon's daughter," Odysseus explained. "It's possible that she's been playing a role all along, manipulating your feelings for her to serve her father's purposes."
"No," Telemachus protested, his mind unwilling to accept the idea. "She couldn't have been faking her feelings for me. I know she loves me, Father. I can feel it in my heart."
Odysseus sighed, his heart heavy with the burden of uncertainty. "The heart can be deceived, my son. You have to consider the possibility that her love for you may have been part of a ruse to manipulate and control you."
Telemachus shook his head, his expression pained but resolute. "I can't believe you're saying this, Father. (Y/N) loves me, I know it. I saw it in her eyes, I felt it in her touch. How can you doubt that?"
Odysseus placed a hand on Telemachus's shoulder, his gaze filled with compassion. "I'm not doubting your feelings for her, my boy. I'm just asking you to consider the possibility that she may have had ulterior motives all along. After all, she's the daughter of Poseidon, and who knows what schemes the gods have in store for mortals like us."
"What's going on here?" Penelope asked in worry, walking into the beach towards her husband and son.
"There was a storm and it suddenly disappeared, what happened?" Penelope asked once more, looking at Odysseus for answers.
Odysseus took a deep breath before turning to his wife. He knew he had to tell her what had happened, but he also knew it would not be easy.
"It's... complicated, my love," he started, his voice heavy with a mix of guilt and worry. "There was a storm, yes, but it wasn't a natural one. Poseidon was here, and he..." Odysseus trailed off, unsure of how to continue.
Penelope's face paled as she listened to her husband, her heart sinking with dread. She knew deep down what he was going to say before he even spoke the words.
"He took (Y/N), didn't he?" she asked softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Odysseus looked at his wife in surprise. He had been expecting shock, disbelief, even anger, but not this.
"How did you know, my love?" Odysseus asked, his voice filled with curiosity and a hint of suspicion.
"If so...then you must have known of her secret?" Penelope asked with a frown, her eyebrows furrowed
"...She already told me once." Penelope admits, looking at the ground
Odysseus's eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't expected his wife to know about (Y/N)'s true identity, but here she was, confessing that she already knew.
"You knew this entire time?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of confusion and frustration.
Telemachus couldn't believe his ears. His mother had known about (Y/N)'s true identity and kept it a secret from him, even as he had fallen in love with her. He felt a mixture of anger and betrayal.
"You knew, Mother?" Telemachus asked, his voice filled with disbelief. "You knew that (Y/N) was the daughter of Poseidon?"
"Let me finish" Penelope raised a hand, trying to calm both her son and husband.
"Her Father is Poseidon...and her Mother's Medusa." Penelope revealed with a tight frown.
The news hit Odysseus like a thunderbolt. (Y/N)'s mother was Medusa, the woman who had been violated by Poseidon himself. Suddenly, everything made sense.
His expression turned somber as he realized the weight of (Y/N)'s situation. "So, the story she told me about her Mother… it's true," he mumbled to himself, the reality sinking in.
Telemachus's mind raced as he tried to process the revelations. He was still grappling with the fact that (Y/N) was the daughter of Poseidon and Medusa, and now he was hearing about her mother's tragic past.
He turned to his mother, his expression a mix of confusion and anger. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his voice tinged with frustration. "Why keep all this a secret?"
"I wanted her to tell you herself, but she was too scared, too afraid of what you'd think of her." Penelope answers at the best of her abilities.
Telemachus felt a pang of guilt and empathy. He understood that (Y/N) must have been afraid to reveal her true identity, given the circumstances of her birth and the reputation of her family.
"But why would she think I'd react badly? I love her regardless of who her parents are," he protested, his voice growing in volume.
Penelope gave him a sad smile, placing a hand on his arm. "Sometimes, people's fears are not always based in logic, my son," she said softly. "Even though you may love her and accept her as she is, she may have grown up with a lifetime of prejudice and judgement because of her bloodline. That kind of fear can be difficult to overcome."
"And you were the only one who had loved her wholeheartedly, it would have crushed her if you thought so differently of her, fearing for the worse." Penelope explains with a frown.
Telemachus's heart ached at his mother's words. He could only imagine the loneliness and self-doubt (Y/N) must have felt, believing that everyone would judge her for her parentage.
"Is that why she was so hesitant to tell me?" he asked, his voice tinged with sadness.
"She loves you too much to loose you, Telemachus." Penelope explains.
Telemachus nodded, understanding the weight of her words. (Y/N)'s love for him must have been so powerful that she was willing to keep her true identity a secret, fearing that it would drive him away.
"I don't care about her lineage, her past, or her family," he said firmly, meeting his mother's gaze. "I love her for who she is, and nothing can change that, that's why I'm going after her."
Odysseus shook his head, his expression hardening. "No, Telemachus. You can't go after (Y/N)," he said firmly. "It's too dangerous. Poseidon is a vengeful god, and he won't hesitate to hurt you if you get in his way."
"Believe me, I know that." Odysseus added, reminding Telemachus of his stories about Poseidon.
Telemachus sighed, frustrated by his father's protectiveness. He knew all too well the stories of Poseidon's wrath, but none of that mattered to him now.
"I don't care about the dangers, Father," Telemachus argued, his voice growing in volume. "I have to save (Y/N). I love her, and I won't let Poseidon have her."
"Your old man's right, Lover boy~" a teasing voice suddenly joins in, startling the family, it was Hermes.
Telemachus's eyes widened in surprise as Hermes, the god of messengers, appeared before them.
"Hermes?" he asked, taken aback by the god's sudden appearance.
Odysseus scowled at the god, not pleased by his sudden appearance. "What are you doing here, Trickster?" he asked gruffly.
"Just here to lend a helping hand, just like the old times, old friend" Hermes zips around Odysseus, pinching his cheek
Odysseus swats at Hermes, trying to shoo him away. "Stop that! I'm too old for your games, Hermes."
Hermes chuckles, hovering just out of Odysseus's reach. "Oh come on, don't be such a sourpuss. Where's the old Odysseus I knew and annoyed?"
"I'm right here, you annoying god," Odysseus grumbled, glaring at Hermes. "Now, can you get to the point and tell us why you're here? We don't have all day."
"Well, Young lad, It's your lucky day, because someone up above with high power has given me strick orders to help, and I mean it very seriously, she hates my guts and doesn't usual intrude in human affairs so consider yourself lucky." Hermes explains, a large grin on his lips
Telemachus's heart leapt at Hermes's words. Could it be true? Was he really here to help?
Odysseus's expression remained neutral, not yet convinced. "Help with what, exactly? And who gave you these instructions?" he asked, his voice full of skepticism.
"that's besides the point" Hermes presented him a bag.
"inside this bag are Brutus Flowers, its pollen and necter has the ability to render a god into a mortal, though with Poseidon being the God of the Seas, his system will flush out these out in lets say 3 to 5 minutes tops, but that'll give you enough time to defeat him, wouldn't it?" Hermes held out the bag, covering his nose with his chiton for good measure.
Telemachus's eyes widened, hope rekindling in his heart. A way to defeat Poseidon, even if just for a few minutes. It was a chance, a glimmer of hope.
Odysseus's initial skepticism began to fade, giving way to cautious optimism. He knew better than to trust the Trickster god at face value, but this was their only chance.
"Brutus Flowers," he mused, his voice tinged with a hint of excitement. "I've heard tales of their power, but I never thought I'd actually get to use them."
"Well you do need the help, correct? and I don't want to be gutted, so what do you say? Are you going to rescue your Princess?" Hermes asked Odysseus, before turning to Telemachus.
Telemachus was practically vibrating with anticipation.
"I'm going after her," he stated firmly, his voice filled with determination.
Odysseus looked at his son, his expression a mixture of pride and worry. He could see the fire in Telemachus's eyes, the strength and courage that would one day make him a great leader.
"Alright," Odysseus finally relented, his voice weary, but firm. "We'll do it. We'll use the Brutus Flowers to take down Poseidon."
Odysseus's decision to join Telemachus surprised even himself. He hadn't intended on accompanying him on this dangerous mission.
"I can't let you go alone, boy," Odysseus said, his voice heavy with resignation. "I may be a bit slower and older, but I still have some fight left in me."
Telemachus felt a wave of gratitude towards his father. He knew that Odysseus was taking a risk by joining him, and it meant a lot to him that his father believed in him enough to do so.
"Thank you, Father," Telemachus said quietly, his voice filled with a mix of relief and determination. "We'll get (Y/N) back, together."
"Yes, yes, family and all, anyways, you might want to say something to the missus before embarking on this fight." Hermes points out to Penelope, who looks at them with a frown
Odysseus and Telemachus both turn to look at Penelope, her expression a mix of worry and resignation. They knew they were asking a lot of her, to let them go on this dangerous quest.
Odysseus approached his wife, taking her hand in his. "Penelope, my love," he said softly, his voice tinged with regret. "I need to go with Telemachus. I can't let him face Poseidon alone."
"But...you just got here." Penelope teared up, looking at Odysseus.
"But I know...we can't let our son go on his own..."
Odysseus wrapped his arms around Penelope, holding her close. "I know, my love. I just got back, and I never wanted to leave you again."
Telemachus watched his parents, his heart heavy with guilt for putting them both in this position. He hated seeing his mother in tears, but he knew he had to go. Egeria needed him.
"We'll be alright," Odysseus reassured Penelope, his voice steady and calm. "I promise we'll come back, both of us."
Odysseus looked at Telemachus, meeting his gaze with a nod. They were in this together, come what may.
Penelope nodded, wiping away her tears. She knew there was no point in trying to change their minds. These were two stubborn men, both strong-willed and determined.
"Just...come back to me," she said softly, her voice filled with quiet desperation.
Odysseus placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "We will, my love. I promise."
Telemachus stepped forward, embracing his mother tightly. "We'll be back before you know it, Mother."
Penelope held him close, her grip tight. "I'll be counting the days, my son."
"We have to go now," Odysseus said softly, his voice tinged with remorse.
Telemachus nodded, understanding the weight of their words.
"Goodbye, Mother," he said softly, his voice filled with love and determination.
Odysseus took a step back, taking one last look at Penelope, before turning his gaze to Hermes.
"Alright, Trickster, lead the way." Odysseus said gruffly, gripping the bag of Brutus Flowers tightly in his hand.
(A/N: Are you catching these references I'm throwing?)
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favefandomimagines · 5 hours ago
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I Know Places 2 (r.c)
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Summary: Rafe goes to Y/N at the bait shop and his presence is not celebrated
AN: part 2 of ‘I Know Places’ and I’m deciding to go the traditional route! I’m used to the old school way of fics so this will be fully written out and not SMAU! Though I do love how that’s on trend right now!
Previous part
The next morning, Y/N Maybank was up before the sun had fully risen, her mind too restless for sleep. She had spent the night tossing and turning, debating whether or not to tell JJ and the Pogues about what happened at Tannyhill. It wasn’t that she wanted to keep secrets—she just didn’t know how to explain the strange feeling of being pulled into Rafe Cameron’s world, if only for a fleeting moment.
By the time the bait shop was ready to open, she was already elbow-deep in her morning routine: feeding the live bait, checking inventory, and wiping down the counters.
Summer was here, which meant the shop would soon be crawling with locals and tourists alike, and she needed everything to be in order.
The small bell above the door jingled, pulling her attention away from the tank of minnows. She glanced up to see Rafe Cameron standing in the doorway. His broad shoulders filled the frame, his usual air of arrogance replaced by something quieter.
“Hey, Pretty Girl,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
Y/N quirked a brow, unsure whether to be annoyed or amused. “Rafe Cameron on the Cut? You must’ve hit your head harder than I thought.”
“Funny,” he replied, stepping closer. “How’s business?”
“It’s early,” she said flatly, then tilted her head. “How’s your head?”
“Better,” Rafe said, though his hand instinctively went to touch the bandage she had applied the night before. “Still aches.”
“Maybe now you’ll listen to me and see a doctor,” Y/N said, crossing her arms. “What if you’ve got brain damage? You must have if you thought coming here was a good idea.”
Rafe chuckled under his breath, but his expression quickly sobered. “I need to talk to you about last night.”
Y/N set the container of fish food on the counter, her brows knitting together. “What do you mean?”
Rafe leaned against the counter, his blue eyes scanning the shop briefly before landing back on her. “How many people did you see leave the house?”
“Three,” she said slowly, thinking back to the shadowy figures slipping through the side gate. “They looked like men, but I couldn’t see their faces. They had black hoods on.”
She watched as Rafe’s jaw tightened and his eyes clouded over, clearly running through a mental list of possibilities. It didn’t take a genius to realize there was more to the break-in than he was letting on.
“Are you in some kind of trouble?” Y/N asked, her voice softer now.
Rafe shook his head quickly. “No. Don’t worry about it.”
“Rafe, someone broke into your house and assaulted you. You need to tell Shoupe,” Y/N said firmly.
“I’m sure they didn’t find what they were looking for,” he replied cryptically.
“What does that even mean?”
Rafe ignored the question, shifting his weight uncomfortably. “I just... I wanted to see you. And to thank you again for helping me last night.”
Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “It’s no problem,” she said, though her voice faltered slightly. “But you should probably go before JJ finds you talking to me.”
“Do you always do what JJ wants?” Rafe asked, but there was no malice in his voice.
Y/N hesitated, his question catching her off guard. Did people really think that? “No,” she said finally, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It’s just that a fight is bad for business.”
Rafe returned her smile, a rare softness in his expression. He pulled out his phone and handed it to her. “Here. Put your number in. You know, in case I need another house call.”
Y/N stared at him for a moment, her instinct screaming at her to say no. But Rafe seemed... different. The last time they’d spoken, he’d been consumed by grief and arrogance, still reeling from his father’s death and struggling to take over the family business. But now, he seemed calmer—more grounded, though still carrying an edge.
She grabbed his phone and began typing her number. Her head was screaming at her to not do it, don’t give him access. But she did it anyway.
“Rafe?”
Both their heads snapped toward the dock, where Sarah Cameron was walking toward the shop. Rafe stepped back from Y/N, his demeanor instantly shifting.
“What are you doing here?” Sarah asked, her gaze narrowing suspiciously.
“Thought someone broke into the house last night,” Rafe said smoothly. “I knew you parked outside when you went to that party, so I came to see if you saw anything.”
Before Sarah could respond, Y/N interjected. “I already told him I didn’t see anything. We were still at the party when it happened.”
“Someone broke into the house? Did they take anything? Are you okay?” Sarah questioned. “I’m fine. It didn’t look like they took anything. Just a window and a door I have to replace.” Rafe answered.
“I uh, gotta go, I’ll see you around.” He added, his gaze fleetingly on Y/N.
He walked past Sarah and up the dock, leaving Y/N standing there, her heart pounding for reasons she couldn’t fully understand.
“Was he bothering you?” Sarah asked, stepping into the shop.
“No, no,” Y/N said quickly. “He just wanted to ask if we saw anything.”
But even as she spoke, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Rafe’s visit meant something more. And as much as she hated to admit it, she didn’t entirely mind.
“JJ is going to freak when he finds out.” Sarah commented. “We don’t need to tell him. I’m sure Rafe came here looking for you but I was here.” Y/N quickly replied.
As Sarah stepped closer, Y/N busied herself with the container of fish food on the counter, her mind racing. She could still feel the heat of Rafe’s presence lingering in the room, and her stomach twisted at the thought of Sarah catching onto something she hadn’t even figured out herself.
“What’s going on?” Sarah asked, crossing her arms as she studied her friend.
Y/N shrugged nonchalantly, hoping her casual demeanor would be enough to shut the conversation down. “Nothing.”
“Since when does Rafe come to you for answers?” Sarah’s tone was skeptical, her piercing gaze making Y/N feel like she was under a microscope. “And why didn’t he just ask me?”
“Maybe because you were at the party too?” Y/N said, raising a brow. “I don’t know, Sarah. He didn’t exactly give me his whole life story.”
Sarah frowned but didn’t press further, instead moving to grab a soda from the mini fridge behind the counter. “Still... I don’t like him showing up out of nowhere like that.”
Y/N let out a short laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “What, you think he’s gonna rob the bait shop? Pretty sure we’re not hiding any family heirlooms in the minnow tank.”
Sarah snorted, but her expression remained thoughtful as she leaned against the counter. “I just don’t trust him, Y/N. You know how he is.”
Y/N hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her shirt. Sarah wasn’t wrong—Rafe Cameron was trouble. He always had been. But last night, when he was bleeding and vulnerable, he didn’t feel like the same guy she’d written off.
“Yeah, I know,” Y/N said quietly. “But he’s your brother, Sarah. He can’t be all bad.”
Sarah gave her a sharp look, clearly not expecting that response. “You’re defending Rafe now?”
Y/N shook her head quickly. “No, I’m not defending him. I’m just saying... people can change, right?”
Before Sarah could respond, the bell above the door jingled again, and John B strolled in, followed closely by JJ, who was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Morning, ladies,” John B greeted with a grin, grabbing a bag of chips from the shelf. “What’s the gossip?”
“Rafe was here,” Sarah said bluntly, making both boys freeze in their tracks. Y/N glared at her friend, eyes saying ‘why the hell would you do that?’
“What?” JJ’s tone immediately turned sharp as he walked over to Y/N. “Why the hell was Rafe Cameron here?”
“Someone broke into his house,” Y/N said quickly, trying to downplay the situation. “Wanted to know if we saw anything suspicious last night. That’s it.”
JJ’s jaw clenched, and he let out a humorless laugh. “Since when does he care about what we saw? He’s up to something.”
“Relax, J,” Y/N said, placing a hand on his arm. “He wasn’t here to start trouble. He just... wanted answers.”
“Well, he better not come around again,” JJ muttered darkly, his protective instincts kicking in. “I don’t care what he wants. You don’t need to be talking to him.”
Y/N bristled at his tone, but before she could respond, Sarah spoke up. “Let’s not make this a thing. Rafe’s gone, and he’s not coming back here.”
JJ muttered something under his breath, clearly still annoyed, but he let it go for now. Y/N, however, felt a tinge of annoyance in her chest. She loved her brother, and it was just the two of them at the end of the day so it makes sense he’s protective. But he’s not her father, she’s 20 years old, she doesn’t need her brother telling her who she can and can’t talk to.
||
The fire crackled softly, its orange glow casting warm shadows on the Pogues as they lounged in the cool evening air. John B was sprawled out on the sand with Sarah curled up beside him, their laughter intertwining as they recounted the story of JJ’s infamous fight with Topper outside the country club.
“And then Shoupe shows up, and Y/N’s out here sweet-talking him like she’s auditioning for a soap opera!” JJ exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air for emphasis.
“Sweet-talking?” Y/N interjected from the hammock, her tone dripping with mock offense as she rolled another joint. “I’ll have you know I was using logic and reason to keep your ass out of juvie.”
Kie snorted. “Logic and reason? You told Shoupe Topper started it and then cried about how JJ was just trying to defend your honor.”
“Exactly,” Y/N said with a smug grin. “And it worked, didn’t it?”
JJ grinned back, leaning over to flick sand at her. “I owe you for that one, Sunshine.”
“Damn right you do,” Y/N quipped, expertly twisting the joint closed.
The group dissolved into another round of laughter, the kind that came easy after a long day and a few too many hits. Pope was stoking the fire while Cleo leaned against him, teasing him about his terrible impression of Shoupe. It was one of those rare nights where everything felt simple—just them, the stars, and the stories they carried.
“Hey, Sunshine!” JJ called, breaking through the chatter. “Toss me one of those masterpieces!”
Y/N smirked, flicking the newly rolled joint in his direction. JJ caught it with ease, holding it up like a trophy before lighting it.
As she reached for another paper, her phone buzzed against her thigh. She picked it up without much thought, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the name.
Rafe.
The text was simple but enough to tug at her carefully guarded smile.
RC: Hey, Pretty Girl.
Y/N: Can I help you, Cameron?
RC: What are you doin’?
Y/N: Currently? I’m rolling a joint.
RC: Lol, save one for me?
Y/N: Maybe.
The next text froze her in place.
RC: Just wondering, is asking you out against doctor’s orders?
Her breath hitched, her mind racing. Was Rafe Cameron—Rafe Cameron—really asking her out? She stared at her phone for a moment too long, trying to process what this meant.
Y/N: Hm, that might be bad for your health
RC: What if we don’t tell anyone?
This wasn’t the Rafe she’d known before. The old Rafe was reckless, arrogant, and self-absorbed. But now? He felt different, quieter. Something had shifted, and Y/N couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
RC: Did I lose you, Pretty Girl?
She glanced around the fire. Her friends were laughing, oblivious, completely immersed in the stories of summers past. Sarah was teasing John B about his failed attempts at surfing, JJ was leaning back with a lazy grin, and Kie was high enough to be softly singing to herself.
Y/N was the odd one out—always had been in a way. The one without a partner, without a storybook romance. And yet, there was something undeniable about the way her chest had tightened in Rafe’s bathroom, how she’d felt something she couldn’t ignore.
Y/N: Better plan a good date
The reply came seconds later.
RC: Is that a yes?
Y/N: It’s a yes. Don’t mess it up.
Y/N set her phone down, the smallest of smiles playing on her lips as she leaned back in the hammock.
“Who are you texting?” Kie’s voice came from beside her, making Y/N jump. Kie had slid into the hammock, her eyes glassy but curious.
“My cousin,” Y/N lied smoothly, reaching for another paper. “We need more weed, and he’s got the good stuff.”
Kie leaned her head on Y/N’s shoulder, her movements sluggish. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
Y/N froze, the lie suddenly feeling heavy in her chest. “Of course, Kie,” she murmured, though her voice felt hollow.
“You’re my best friend,” Kie continued, her words slurring slightly. “You and me, we’re a team, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Y/N said softly, guilt twisting in her stomach.
But as Kie drifted into a half-asleep haze against her shoulder, Y/N’s thoughts drifted back to Rafe. Whatever this was, it wasn’t something she could tell them. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
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shieldedreams · 2 days ago
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come with me (where you go i'll follow) (m.m.)
summary ⇾ minho's going on a journey of self-discovery over the summer... but he'd like to have you by his side details ⇾ 3,339 words / minho moon (xo, kitty) x female!reader / 🌸 a bunch of soft feels / a sprinkle of curse words / reader calls minho 'min' / kitty being the biggest shipper / reader shares a couple dorm with kitty only [!] spoiler disclaimer below the cut! + very stinking cheesy rom-com plot
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[!] spoiler disclaimer: in an au where the roles of minho and kitty are somehow switched at the end of season two! (just a little!)
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minho has had the million-dollar question in his head as the days count down in his mind to his departure for the summer break. more and more students begin to leave campus with luggages in tow; some askew, some perfectly wrapped and some... a work in progress whenever minho swings by your shared dorm with kitty (feigning the need to check on her only to constantly peep if you're anywhere near done packing or pry a little on your plans for summer).
today is the last day minho'll have that chance considering–"w-what? you're almost here?!" minho tries to keep his voice leveled, but with the way kitty gasps from the spot on her bed and the soft thud from the kitchen, she has an inkling of what's about to happen.
"yeah, sure," minho sighs, rubbing his face, "n-no, i haven't asked yet. i don't–"he groans–"okay, okay! i'll get to it now. give me at least thirty minutes!"
with one last sigh, he hangs up and now looks up to meet with kitty's eyes as she shakes her head.
"minho, you have to ask her now!"
"i don't know what you're talking about," minho clears his throat, stepping out of the kitchen but kitty scurries to get in his way, "minho!" she grabs his arm, giving him a good shake when he faces her with wide eyes.
"this is it," she grips onto his arm, "when will you ever get a chance like this again?"
the boy opens his mouth, only to find himself at a lost for words when he glances over kitty's shoulder to see your packed suitcase, ready for the leaving... and he has no idea where you're headed... but he'd like to be with you wherever that destination may be. that's what scares him. that despite the uncertainty... he's willing to take a chance on it with you.
but he has a bigger fish to catch when he doesn't even know what your plans are.
a bigger, bigger fish?
his flight leaves in an hour.
and it's not to say he left it down to the last minute but–
"c'mon, minho. you can do this," he mutters under his breath, shaking his hands dry as he turns off the faucet. clearing his throat, he tries to man up as he exits the bathroom and heads on out to the living room.
he stands a distance away, watching you play uno with kitty, q and yuri. there's occasional banter and the flicking of cards back and forth but just as minho's about to call for you, it seems like you're a step ahead when–"min!" you wave him over, "come play!"
the boy gulps, swallowing the lump in his throat as he shakily replies: "y-yeah, sure. in a second. but could you–"he clears his throat, "c-could i ask you something?"
that grants the attention of everyone in the room to look at his direction, following your line of sight as you watch him with a small smile. "of course. what is it?"
like a deer in headlights, he did not expect you to respond in that way, but now he looks back and realises he should have called you out to speak with him rather than ask in front of everyone. he tries to think of a way to get out of this situation, only for kitty to catch on to save minho's ass with: "oh! i think we were thinking of ordering pizza earlier,"
that seems to draw the crowd to kitty as she whips out her phone to order, even your attention is now on her. minho mouths a quick thank you, covey, only for kitty to snort and act invested in which pizza flavour to get. another time, minho thinks, now joining your side physically, and decision-wise in supporting which pizza toppings you wanted.
fast-forward to a couple of days later... this is it, now's the time, minho thinks. in the space of the kitchen where the two of you are alone (kitty gave him a heads up she'll only be back in an hour so now would be a great time), cups of warm tea in possession and him... being lost in the conversation with you as he always does makes him lose track of time.
maybe it was the way you always give him your undivided attention. with the things he's able to talk to you off the bat; the good, the bad, the things that keep minho up at night and you see him past all of the things that hold him captive. being in his father's shadow, drowning in his parents' wealth, his status–it all seems to strip to nothing to just... himself.
and you look at him like love is ever-present in him.
like it is in you.
he doesn't know how to bring it up or whether he can bring it up but when the door swings open, minho sighs when you giddily set your cup down to–"kitty! i got you something!"
the girl remains frozen as she watches you flee from the kitchen, grabbing something from your bag discarded on the floor next to the sofa. kitty turns the cheek to look at minho, who remains his head hanging low as he sinks so far down he might as well be glued to the kitchen counter. that alone gives her the answer that he probably has not asked you the important question and that brings you to–"minho!"
the boy blinks back to reality and kitty sees that. this reality where he minho hasn't manned up and at least give it a try, he's going to regret it for the next few weeks. he frantically fishes out his phone and–"she's not answering her phone!" minho yells. oh my god, he's yelling. he can't help it, the volume came out louder than he had intended but–"go find her! at least try!" kitty spins him around and gives him a nudge. minho can't think straight but his body kicks into overdrive as he dashes out of the room.
once he's out and the door slams behind him, he freezes on the spot. his heart is pacing so fast, he thinks he's about to pass out but... no. no, no, no. this can't be the way. not like this. minho keeps trying to dial your number as he starts going down the list of places you might be at.
library? no. cafeteria? not there either. in one of the classrooms you decide to linger around every now and then–fuck's sake, classes aren't even on anymore, why is he checking here?!
his feet reroutes him to the next best thing: out of the buildings and in the open where he can think of where to go to next. through it all, though, he keeps cursing himself in plenty colourful languages in his mind. the one that keeps repeating itself is: i can't believe i'm a fucking idiot!
his mind is haywire, nearly set on fire the entire time he's scouring the campus for a glimpse of you. he feels like the upper hands of the universe must be laughing at the turn of events. mocking him for his failure with each location he tries to go to only to no avail; left with the dust of loneliness when you're nowhere to be found. he curses under his breath, not knowing where the hell you are especially when you're not reachable through phone.
his feet brings him out of the buildings, through the flush greenery and–the familiar sound of his ringtone vibrates in his pocket. he frantically pulls it out and processes your name flashing across the screen. he manages to answer the call with trembling hands, only to be greeted with: "hey, min! sorry i didn't get to your calls. i didn't realise my phone was dead and i just plugged it into my power bank–"
"where are you, y/n?" minho cuts you off, almost feeling bad for doing so but he doesn't have much time. hell, he hasn't been keeping track of it just so it feels like he has more time to get to you.
he hears you chuckling, and he hates that at a time like this, he can't indulge in the feeling of making you laugh; be it intentional or not.
"turn around, min."
it takes the boy a second or two before he processes your words. he spins around once his mind registers your words and... and there you are. phone to your ear with your power bank plugged to it and... that stupid smile on your face that renders him breathless (including all that running he's been doing for the past ten to fifteen minutes).
his eyes soften at the sight of you, despite his heart doing somersaults because that was the effect you had on him. the power that makes his knees weak and... and...
"are you okay?" you snort, waving a hand in front of his face as you've shoved your phone into your bag, tilting your head at him. he's still catching his breath, heaving as the sweat trickles down his forehead. it seems to catch your attention when you use the sleeve of your sweater, lightly dabbing it to his forehead, "jeez, what were you doing? running a marathon?"
he answers truthfully: "i was looking for you."
"oh," you chuckle, retracting your hand to gesture it to yourself, as if to silently say well, you've found me.
"min," you call softly, swallowing thickly after, "i-is everything alright?"
minho doesn't know where to begin or how to begin. but with the countdown he has in his mind, he knows he has to start somewhere.
"i'm leaving," the words fly out of his mouth quicker than he can stop himself, and when he manages another deep inhale, he appreciates that you wait until he continues. "f-for summer, i'm following my family on the summer tour. my flight's in an hour."
"that's great!" was your immediate response, but when the seconds pass by and the longer you're staring into minho's eyes, it seems like there's more than meets the eye. "w-wait, is that not good? am i supposed to have another reaction?"
minho hates how you're hesitant to say anything further when the smile you have on your face is slowly fading. it's not that he doesn't want to smile, but it just feels like he can't. you see how minho's not returning your smile and something feels off. you can't put your tongue on it and it begins to near scare you but everything comes to a halt when you watch as minho puts his phone into his pocket so his hands are free to... reach for your hand.
he's gentle, as if any sudden movement will scare you away. you're trying to make sense of the situation when minho gives your hand a squeeze, cupping them in his hands as he builds the courage to look up to you, connecting your eyes once more.
"a-and i'd like it if you'd come with me."
he watches as his words sink into your system. how your eyes grow wide and your jaw hangs open but it doesn't look negative... yet. minho feels his heart racing; this could either make or break his summer. him knowing very well despite him going on the tour will unlock new sides to himself... he would love it if he got to spend it with you and just... exist in the world with you while experiencing new sides of the world. the thoughts alone has left him dreaming with a smile... and that's when he knew he wanted to try to make it a reality. to at least give it a shot and now, in this moment with you... he's well-aware it was a fifty-fifty chance.
and that was a chance he was willing to take.
"me? on the summer tour?" you glance down to your hand in his and gulp, blinking back up to him as the words try to formulate themselves: "is there something i'm not catching on here or–"minho's actions makes your words fall into themselves when he steps closer into your personal space bubble. he's... gentle with his advancements despite the urgency lacing his words. yet, the sudden movement doesn't make you back away.
if anything, you lean in when minho's closer to you.
"i... i know it sounds crazy but," he licks his lips, blinking down to the gap between your bodies because he doesn't know if he can look you in the eye as he says: "i wouldn't have anyone else to come with me if it's not you."
the silence is deafening; past the ruffles of the leaves that float on the ground. the low murmurs of passerbys and their footsteps padding away in the distance. the heavy breathing from minho, catching his breath from all the running and the anxiety biting at the back of his neck.
"what if i said no?" you try asking, not that it was your intention but it was a thought you let out loud. you watch as your question makes minho a little sad but he still manages a smile. bittersweet. "then i'd wish you a good summer break... and hope i'd still see you back here."
you nod slowly, your eyes gazing down to watch your hand in his both. you give his hands a squeeze and he reciprocates, still cupping your hand tenderly.
"and what if i said yes?"
those words alone sparked hope into minho's eyes, and you feel it when he tightens the grip out of his subconscious. he takes in a deep breath and exhales shakily, licking his lips before he says: "i can't begin to imagine what it would be like if you said yes. but for starters," he looks up to you, the glint in his eyes is what makes your heart race and calm at the same time–this unspeakable comfort that makes you know, no, feel that being with minho... feels right. "it would make me happy," he murmurs, lowering his eyes from yours to smile to himself, seeing how your feet goes between his feet due to the proximity, "very, very happy."
though it was sudden, though it was out of nowhere, you can't deny that in your heart, this... felt right. it scared you and makes you wonder of all the possibilities of what could go right, wrong but you know regardless of it all, not going with minho would be something you'd regret if you let this chance go. (plus, you didn't have much of a real plan of where to go for the summer anyway. so this was a big step ahead.)
"we have so much to unpack here," you chuckle, shaking your head as you grip onto minho's hand, feeling him return the gesture as he uses a hand to hold onto yours properly, the other cupping the back of the hand of yours he has captive.
"and we'll have time," he says, gazing up to your eyes with the kind of happiness that makes your heart swoon.
"my luggages are still in the dorm," you snort, just now realising they're in the corner of your dorm living room.
"not exactly," minho chuckles, using his eyes to point over your shoulder and you look over it to see kitty and q, out of breath, hunched over your couple of luggages as they try to keep themselves upright with a feeble thumbs up from a distance. you can't help but laugh at the sight before the feeling of minho holding your hand reels your attention back to him.
you watch as he gulps, his hands are beginning to get clammy and you know when minho's nervous. it wasn't your intention to keep him waiting but it's not everyday that someone just asks you to join them to tour several countries in less than an hour. it makes your heart race just thinking about it but... one thing's for certain that you need to clarify: "are you sure?"
minho can't help but laugh. he's been thinking about this for the longest time since he's made the decision to go on the summer tour alone. when the thought of you joining him became a possible equation, it's–"i've been right and wrong about a lot of things," minho murmurs, taking the brave step to lean his forehead onto yours, "but this..." he's already looking at you when you tilt your eyes up to meet with his, "this i'm certain of."
you let your eyes flutter shut with a soft exhale. minho feels the nervousness take over his system with each second that goes by and you don't say anything. then, he feels your fingers filling between his own. before he can bask in the feeling, before he can jump to his conclusions, you say a single word that makes his breath hitch.
"okay."
it's like radio silence. the only thing minho can hear is your voice that he has to be clear on this.
"o-okay?" he leans back, eyes widening with the flood of joy he can't contain when your smile grows first, before your eyes open and now the two of you are a pair of smiling idiots.
"yes, i would love to!"
minho lets go of your hand to pull you into his arms. you're surprised, but it's like your body and heart knows what to do when your arms welcome him in to wrap around his neck. you squeal when he spins you around; feeling him laugh against the side of your ear as he squeezes you tight.
the two of you are about to indulge in the feeling; being in each other's arms but–"i hate to be the bearer of bad news but minho, y/n, continue this at the airport!"
"oh, shit!" minho pulls away from you to let you know that–"the driver's here! we have to go!"
"what?!" is the only thing that comes out from your mouth, the shock renders you speechless that you've conveniently forgot that minho clearly mentioned flight's in an hour.
"hug, kiss, do whatever you want but later! get to the airport!" kitty's voice gives you the nudge you need. you barely have enough time to hug either kitty or q properly and say your goodbyes. minho's grabbing onto your hand, the other grabbing some of your bags and nudging you to do the same before you're left running to where his driver's parked.
from a distance, you can hear kitty and q squealing, but really, all you can focus on is the adrenaline fueling your veins with minho's hand in yours and occasionally glancing to his smile.
(("all of this feels surreal," your words come out in a mere whisper as your eyes drink in the details of the lavish seats; marble panels, the vast space between the seats and quite frankly, the lack of seats which makes everything feel more spacious. you hadn't realised you had said it out loud when you hear minho saying: "yeah, it does," while you're talking about the grandeur of it all, it seems like minho's talking about something else when you meet with his gaze. the warmth and excitement that radiates his pupils makes you smile, even more when you follow his line of sight down to between your bodies. he has his palm facing up, resting in the space between your bodies. his fingers are a little shaky as he lifts his hand up and rests it on your thigh, close to your knee. you try to be calm and collected but minho doesn't miss the way you press your lips together to avoid smiling too wide as you place your hand in his. his fingers fill the spaces between yours; like you were made for him to hold and he cherishes it. he gives your hand a squeeze before he decides to close his eyes. you do the same, only difference is that you scoot a little closer towards him to rest your head on his shoulder. he instinctively shifts lower to let you slot your head perfectly and minho's already smiling as he drifts away to sleep. knowing that the weeks ahead, the dream he has of you following him on the summer tour, is now a reality when he feels you close to him and the fingers of yours between his own.))
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weekendlusting · 13 hours ago
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A TALE OF FAME
pairing ꪆৎ charles leclerc x ahaana patel ᥫ᭡. f1 driver x bollywood actress au
chapter ꪆৎ 3
summary ꪆৎ she's everything, and he just drives.
note ꪆৎ no hate to any characters used in the story, none of what i write reflects on how they actually are. all my love, happy reading.
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Charles Leclerc sat in his hotel suite, fingers drumming impatiently against the glass of whiskey in his hand. He wasn’t even drinking it—just swirling the amber liquid in the dim light of his room, as if the motion itself could steady his thoughts.
Alex was late. Of course, she was. She had a way of dragging things out, prolonging the inevitable, believing that if she held on long enough, reality would bend to her will.
He heard the sharp knock at his door and exhaled slowly before getting up to open it. Alex stood there, all too put together—her blonde hair in effortless waves, her lips curved in a knowing smirk, like she already thought she’d won whatever game she was playing.
“Chéri,” she purred, stepping past him without waiting for an invitation. “Miss me?”
Charles shut the door and ran a hand through his hair. “Sit down, Alex.”
She turned, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. “Oh? We’re being serious now?” She strolled over to the couch, sitting with the grace of someone who still thought they held all the cards.
Charles didn’t sit. He remained standing, arms crossed, his jaw tight. “I told you this was over.”
Alex let out a soft laugh, tilting her head as she crossed her legs. “And yet, you called me here. Mixed signals, don’t you think?”
“I called you here,” Charles said, voice measured, “because you don’t seem to get it. We are done, Alex. Finished.”
Her smile didn’t waver, but something flickered in her eyes. “Are we?” she said smoothly. “Because I keep hearing your name next to mine. The media still calls me your girlfriend. You haven’t exactly rushed to correct them.”
Charles clenched his fists. “I shouldn’t have to. We broke up. You just refuse to accept it.”
She leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “Or maybe you’re just confused. Maybe this—whatever this little tantrum is—will pass, and you’ll realize that I am the only woman who truly understands you.”
Charles let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Tantrum? You think I’m throwing a tantrum? Alex, I am exhausted.”
Her smirk faltered slightly, but she masked it quickly. “Exhausted of what?”
“Of you!” His voice rose, exasperation lacing every word. “Of the mind games. Of the manipulation. Of the constant need to control everything, including me.” He pointed at her. “You think if you show up enough times, if you insert yourself into my life over and over, I’ll just—what? Change my mind?”
Alex’s eyes darkened. “I wouldn’t have to insert myself into your life if certain people weren’t trying to replace me.”
Charles exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And here we go.”
She stood, arms folding as she stepped closer to him. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Charles. That little actress you’ve been parading around—Ahaana.”
Charles’s eyes snapped to hers, his posture stiffening. “Ahaana has nothing to do with this.”
Alex scoffed. “Please. You think I don’t see the way you looked at her that day?” She stepped closer, voice dripping with venom. “She is nothing. She’s a novelty. A shiny new toy for you to play with. And once the excitement fades, you’ll realize what I’ve always known—you and I are inevitable.”
Charles’s jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. “You are delusional, Alex. And actually fucking crazy if you think that Ahaana has anything to do with this.”
Her lips curled. “Am I?”
“Yes,” he snapped, stepping forward, closing the space between them. “I have never—never—been more certain about anything in my life. We are over. I am breaking up with you. I don’t love you. I don’t even like you.”
She inhaled sharply, but before she could speak, Charles continued.
“You want to know why? Because I see you now. For who you really are. You’re not the woman I fell for—you’re a version of her, twisted and bitter, clinging onto something that doesn’t exist anymore.” He exhaled harshly. “You’re right about one thing. I do look at Ahaana differently. Because she isn’t like you.”
Alex’s face twisted, her hands curling into fists. “She will never be me.”
“Thank God for that.”
The silence between them was thick, charged with something dangerously close to hatred. Charles had never wanted to hate Alex—had never even imagined he could—but looking at her now, seeing the pure, unfiltered malice in her eyes, he realized he might be close.
She straightened, lifting her chin. “You’ll regret this.”
“No,” he said quietly. “I won’t.”
She stared at him, something almost desperate flickering across her features, before she masked it with indifference. “Fine,” she said. “Have it your way.”
Charles said nothing. He just watched as she turned, her heels clicking against the floor as she stormed toward the door. But before she left, she paused, glancing back over her shoulder.
“This isn’t over,” she said, voice eerily calm.
And then, she was gone.
Charles stood there for a long moment, his heart pounding, his fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms.
But then he exhaled, shaking his head, as if shedding the last remnants of whatever hold Alex had on him.
For the first time in a long time, he felt free.
Meanwhile not too far away,the hotel room was bathed in soft hues of twilight, the warm amber glow of the setting sun spilling through the sheer curtains. Ahaana sat curled up in a chair by the window, her phone resting idly on the armrest. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of a coffee mug, long gone cold. The day had been uneventful, yet her mind was anything but still. The ghosts of the past lingered in the shadows, whispering doubts, tugging at old wounds she had worked so hard to forget.
India.
Film city.
Even the thought of it sent a strange chill through her veins. It wasn’t fear—not exactly. It was the weight of something unfinished, something unresolved, lurking in the corners of her memory. The industry that had once been her playground had also turned its back on her when she had needed it the most. And yet, here she was, being offered a way back in.
What the fuck is happening? She sighed to herself, rubbing her temple.
The phone buzzed suddenly, pulling her out of her thoughts. She glanced at the screen, expecting yet another half-hearted PR email or a message from her manager. But instead, a name lit up the display, and for the first time that day, she felt something shift inside her.
Varun Dhawan.
She hesitated for only a second before answering. “Hello?”
“Finally! Madam has answered my call.” His voice was light, teasing, filled with the familiar warmth that had always made her feel like home.
Ahaana huffed out a small laugh. “Hi, Varun.”
“Hi, she says. That’s all I get? After ignoring me for days?”
“I haven’t been ignoring you.”
“Really? Because Karan and I were starting to think you had developed some severe phone phobia. Should we be concerned?”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Dramatic? Me? Never.” His tone dropped slightly, losing some of its playful edge. “Ahaana, you know why I’m calling.”
Her smile faltered. Of course, she did.
“You and Karan are relentless,” she muttered, leaning back against the chair.
“Because we believe in you,” he countered immediately. “And because we know you still love this. Don’t pretend you don’t.”
She exhaled slowly, staring out at the dimming sky. “It’s not that simple, Varun.”
“Yes, it is.” His voice softened. “You were born for this, Ahaana. And you know it. Whatever happened before—”
She stiffened slightly. “Let’s not talk about that.”
There was a pause, as if he was choosing his next words carefully. Then, he sighed. “Fine. But don’t let the past dictate your future. You’re not that person anymore.”
She wanted to believe that. She really did.
“You don’t have to do this alone, you know. And we’re still your people, Ahaana.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. She had spent so long pushing everything away, convincing herself that she didn’t need anyone, that she had forgotten what it felt like to have people who cared. People who wanted her back.
Then, before she could respond, another voice chimed in from the background. “Has she said yes yet?”
Karan Johar.
Ahaana let out a small laugh despite herself. “Karan, are you eavesdropping?”
“I don’t eavesdrop. I supervise.”
Varun snorted. “He’s been pacing for the past ten minutes, by the way. I think he might actually combust if you say no.”
Karan’s voice came through again, a touch more serious this time. “Darling, you’re a star. Stop dimming your own light.”
Ahaana stared at the city skyline, a myriad of thoughts swirling inside her. But for the first time in a long time, the hesitation didn’t feel quite as heavy. Maybe Varun was right. Maybe Karan was right. Maybe it was time to stop running.
She inhaled deeply, a quiet moment of clarity settling over her. Then, she spoke.
“Okay.”
A beat of silence. Then Varun whooped so loudly she had to pull the phone away from her ear. “YES! Ladies and gentlemen, she’s back!”
Karan’s relieved sigh came through the speaker. “Finally. I was this close to staging a full intervention.”
Ahaana laughed, shaking her head. “You two are impossible.”
“And you love us for it,” Varun quipped.
She did. More than she cared to admit.
And maybe, just maybe, it was time to come home.
The gang had game nights far too often then they'd like to admit, Max and Kelly were ofcourse there, Ahaana was there, Carlos and Rebecca joined, Lando somehow always inserted himself in even though everytime he cheated and got himself uninvited. Even Alex Albon and Lily joined them from time to time, but couldn't make it this time and Charles was with them for the first time ever.
The night was young, but the energy in the room felt like the start of a Grand Prix itself—fast, loud, and filled with the potential for absolute disaster. The gang had gathered in Max’s hotel suite for a game night, and true to form, it had already descended into chaos.
“I’m telling you, Lando cheats,” Ahaana declared, pointing an accusatory finger at him as he smirked from his spot on the couch. “There is no way you won that round fairly.”
Lando, lounging back with all the ease of someone who had just scammed his way into victory, dramatically placed a hand on his chest. “How dare you? I am an honest man.”
“Honest, my foot,” Kelly interjected, shaking her head. “Even Charles saw it, didn’t you?”
Charles, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for the past few minutes, blinked. “Huh?”
“See? He wasn’t even paying attention,” Lando scoffed. “Probably too busy thinking about how free he is now that he’s finally dumped his psychotic ex.”
That got everyone’s attention.
Rebecca, who had been stacking poker chips, froze mid-motion. Max, who had been snickering at Lando’s misfortune, raised a brow. Ahaana, who had been preoccupied trying to figure out how Lando had managed to win five rounds in a row, looked up.
“You finally did it?” Carlos leaned forward, grinning. “You actually told Alex to get lost?”
Charles exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. “It was not exactly smooth.”
“Of course, it wasn’t,” Max said. “She’s like an overly attached leech.”
Kelly winced. “Oof. Harsh, but fair.”
“I don’t even want to know the details,” Lando said, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Actually, no. I do. Tell us. In detail.”
Charles groaned. “Why are you all like this?”
“Because this is the most entertainment we’ve had all season,” Rebecca quipped. “Now spill.”
Charles rolled his eyes, but he recounted the story of his final conversation with Alex. The room responded accordingly—with gasps, laughter, and a few muttered curses aimed at Alex’s name. When he finished, Ahaana just shook her head, unimpressed.
“She’s delusional,” she said simply. “Absolutely delusional.”
“I would’ve paid money to see her reaction when you told her it was over,” Max admitted, grinning.
Charles smirked. “It was… satisfying.”
“Okay, enough about the she-devil,” Lando said, stretching. “Let’s get back to the game before Ahaana starts accusing me of cheating again.”
“You do cheat,” she said without hesitation.
“I do not—”
“Lando, you have a history of cheating at literally every game we’ve ever played,” Max said, unimpressed.
“I prefer to think of it as strategic improvisation.”
“Strategic bullshit,” Rebecca muttered.
The next hour was filled with absolute mayhem. There was yelling. There was a near-brawl between Carlos and Lando over an Uno reverse card. At some point, Kelly got so frustrated she threw a playing card at Max’s head, which only made him laugh harder. Charles, for the most part, found himself entertained just watching it all unfold.
Ahaana, in particular, seemed to come alive in the chaos. Her laughter was light, effortless, and every time she rolled her eyes at Lando or tossed a witty remark at Max, Charles found himself watching her just a little too long.
“Alright, alright,” Ahaana said, throwing her hands up in surrender after another brutal loss. “I need a break before I throw Lando out the window.”
“Jokes on you,” Lando said. “I’d land gracefully.” To which Max snorted.
Ahaana got up and stretched, and that’s when she casually dropped, “Oh, by the way, I officially start shooting for Jigra in 17 days.”
The room went silent.
“What?” Max was the first to react, blinking.
“You’re actually going back?” Lando added.
Rebecca gasped. “Finally! You’re returning to the big screen!”
Ahaana smiled, a little softer this time. “Yeah. It’s time.”
There was a beat of silence before Max, ever the older brother figure, crossed his arms. “Are you sure?”
She looked at him, understanding the weight behind his question. “I am.”
Max studied her for a long moment, then exhaled. “Alright. If anyone gives you trouble—”
“I know, I know.” She grinned. “I’ll call my attack dog Verstappen.”
He smirked. “Damn right.”
After a long round of jenga and then stuffing their faces in food, the last slice of pizza appeared on the table, and the room instantly went silent, all eyes locked on it.
Ahaana leaned forward, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Well, look who’s in the spotlight now.”
Carlos didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve been eyeing that slice for the last ten minutes.”
“Oh, please,” Ahaana shot back. “You just noticed it now because it’s the last one.”
Lando raised an eyebrow. “You’re really gonna fight over pizza? This is an all-time low, even for you.”
“Shut up, Lando,” Carlos grumbled. “It’s mine.”
Max chuckled from the side. “This is gonna be good.”
Ahaana picked up the slice like it was some sort of prized possession. “I’m just saying, I’ve had a long day. So I think I’m entitled to this.”
Carlos shot up from his seat, but Ahaana held the slice just out of reach, her smirk widening. “Nice try.”
Max shook his head, watching the two of them. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve seen all week.”
Ahaana, sensing victory, took a deliberate bite of the pizza. “Too slow, boys.”
Lando leaned back, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “Well, that was anticlimactic.”
Later that night, after the raucous energy had settled slightly, Charles found himself watching Ahaana from across the room. She was laughing at something Lando had said, her head thrown back, eyes crinkled in amusement. The dim lighting softened her features, casting warm shadows over her skin, making her look almost ethereal.
He didn’t know when it started, this quiet admiration of her. Maybe it was when she first walked into his life with that effortless confidence, like she belonged in every room she entered. Maybe it was when he realized she wasn’t just sharp-tongued but also deeply, frustratingly kind. Or maybe it was moments like this, when she wasn’t doing anything extraordinary—just laughing, existing—and yet, she managed to pull his entire attention like a force of gravity.
There was something in the way she carried herself—unapologetic, bold, yet with an underlying grace that was hard to ignore. She was an enigma, a storm and a lull all at once. And he was starting to realize he liked that about her. A little too much.
“Are you staring at Ahaana?”
Charles nearly choked on his drink. He turned sharply to see Max smirking at him, amusement flickering in his eyes.
“No,” he denied, a little too quickly.
Max hummed, unconvinced. “Sure. And I’m a level headed person when angered.”
Charles groaned. “Can you not?”
Max chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Oh no, mate. I definitely can.”
Across the room, Ahaana caught his gaze, a small, soft smile playing on her lips. Charles smiled back but quickly looked away because he was scared his blush would be way too evident, but the warmth on his face lingered and Ahaana caught it anyway, chuckling a bit at the very handsome man, which Charles heard.
Yeah. He was in trouble.
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ᝰ.ᐟ third part! hope you guys like it!
next
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tags @seonghwaexile @bookishprophecy @justadesirebel @peterholland04 @bakingpiastries @ricciardosheart @mikefaistgf @sp1rl @charlesgirl16 @leila-030304 @uhcalli @blahblechblah
comment to be added to taglist
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© weekendlusting
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voxiteri · 2 days ago
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Baldur's Gate 3 Companions and ✨Marijuana✨
Let them get high!!!!
tw: drug use
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Halsin
Has 100% smoked before and still does
Definitely had his own grow room at the grove
Likes to mix it with tobacco, since sometimes the taste is too strong for him
Usually just takes a couple puffs to relax
However, when he does smoke more than just a little, he likes to revert to his bear form afterwards and take a little nature walk
Sharing is caring, the man always offers
Big cuddler when he's high
Astarion
Alternatively, and surprisingly, he has never done it, seeing as he didn't have much access to, well, anything
HATES the smell, and refuses to be around it at first
It takes quite a bit of convincing, but the idea of being under the influence of something other than shitty wine sounds appealing
Also hates the taste
Coughs like a bitch lol
Says "this ain't shit" and then proceeds to smoke way more than he probably should for his first time
Gets paranoid and has to lay down
Oddly enough, the best sleep he's gotten in a very long time
Gale
Stoner virgin pt 2
He's probably never smoked anything in his life
YAPS about the effects of marijuana (he read it in a book once)
Coughs so hard he almost pukes
Doesn't mind the taste or smell, but he's not a fan of the burning feeling from smoking
Would use a bong if given the chance
Would also be godly at making edibles
For the first time ever, he shuts the fuck up
Non-verbal stoned moment
Gets REALLY horny
Wyll
He smoked during his rebellious years as a teen
Sometimes finds himself missing it
The smell gave him flashbacks
Handles it well, considering it's been a while
A little giggly
TOUCHY but in a platonic way
He gets the munchies BAD, and usually craves sweets
Tries to keep up with more seasoned smokers but ends up passing out at some point
Shadowheart
Doesn't really remember if she's smoked before or not
A little put off by the smell
Doesn't think smoking is healthy in general, but she's out of wine, so
Takes one hit and realizes she's DEFINITELY felt this before
I imagine pre-game she wasn't smoking a lot, but maybe a couple of times here and there, seeing as she was far too focused on her Sharran worship, so it makes sense that she wouldn't really remember after getting her memories back
GIGGLY
Also touchy in a platonic way, but not nearly as much as others (*cough cough* Karlach *cough cough*)
She gets really focused on the Owlbear and Scratch, and practically ignores everything else around her in favor of baby-talking and loudly smooching foreheads
Lae'Zel
Thinks such activities are useless and that time spent smoking is time better spent training
Finds the smell revolting
Thinks it makes everyone stupid
Won't
But if she did, her personality does a total 180 and she gets oddly sentimental and will openly tell you she cares about you
Likes shining her sword if she's high, it's therapeutic
Karlach
TOTAL STONER
It was a great escape when she had down time in the hells
Smoked with Gorty once, back when they were buddy-buddy
LOUD
Doesn't stop yapping
Giggly
TOUCHIEST TOUCHER
She WILL squeeze
Out smokes everyone, even Mr. 350 Years Old
Minthara
Thinks it's poison, and won't do it
Even if she wanted to, nobody else does
Nightmare blunt rotation member
Jaheira
Smokes with Halsin
Can grow her own instantly, and does so consistently
Appreciates it's medicinal properties, even allowing it to be used by the Harpers as such
Quiet when high, but is more prone to opening up about her life/past when probed
Prefers edibles
Minsc
Definitely smokes consistently
Makes sure Boo isn't right in the smoke
LOUD pt 2
At least he's sitting still for once
Likes telling stories
Will do "funny voices", but to everyone else it's just his normal voice
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5targh0st · 2 days ago
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NUMBER ONE GIRL
58. called it (written)
prev // m.list // next
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"So," Ryujin takes the seat in front of Hyunjin, "what did you want to talk about?"
"I can't do this to you." He looks distressed.
"What?"
"I don't wanna sound like a narcissistic asshole but I think you like like me and I feel like I'm leading you on."
Now it makes sense. All of Hyunjin's mixed signals and awkward advances followed by radio silence. Of course, Ryujin has to admit he's right. She likes him a lot.
"Why?"
"Cause I have someone else in my mind right now. I like you, I really do; you're amazing and literally everything I've ever asked for, but-"
"You have feelings for Yn." She interrupts softly. She's not blind. She's noticed the way he looks at her now friend.
Hyunjin's voice is barely above a whisper. "Why would you say that?"
"Cause I've been there." She's honest. "Look, I've known Yeonjun for basically my whole life and there was a time when I thought I was in love with him. Maybe I was, I don't know."
How cliche can that be? Hyunjin, however, is fairly surprised by her words.
"You confessed?"
"Absolutely not. I realized I wanted to keep him in my life forever and relationships are complicated. I love him, he's my favorite person ever. But it's a different type of love." She's so sincere and wise, that's why he likes her, but he doesn't know if he can love her.
"What do you mean?"
"I want him to be happy. I don't wanna be with him romantically, but I do wanna be beside him every step of the way. I'm not sure if my feelings where ever romantic but right now they're not. Now I understand there are very different types of love. He found someone and one day I'll do the same but we'll always be together cause we're more than family."
It makes sense. He wants to see Yn happy. His love for her is not the selfish kind. He even likes Yeonjun, he's perfect for her. Different types of love, he knows it in theory, but he never stopped to think about it before.
"You thinks that what I feel for YN?" He just wants someone to give him the answers.
Ryunjin reaches for his hand and smiles at him. "I think you're a good guy and that you love her deeply, but you're the only one who can be sure of what kind of love that is."
"How?"
"Just feel." She says.
"Thank you." He caresses her knuckles.
"For what?"
"Listening and being understanding. For being you."
She laughs and he loves that sound. Love. He doesn't know how or why, but the sudden urge of farting his shit together invades him.
"Let's just have fun together. Today the world doesn't exist. You can worry about everyone else tomorrow."
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notes:
we love love 😫
beomgyu was definitely screaming when he saw the TS reference
ryujin deserves everything in this world
taglist: open! (17/50)
@estella-novella @poetryforthesad @lisaswifey @angelzforu @ihrtlix @gloriousqueenking @domfikeluva @circus-of-thoughts @conwunder @miniature-tragedy @jeonginplsholdmyhand @sh0dor1 @yourenzoo @tkshairband @realrintaro @castingjinx @amara-mars @hwangrfrnd @nujeskz @jisungs-iced-americano @zeizeisjy @va1entinaa @beomgyusluver @to-toad @akindaflora @hoefororeo @mandydxndy @nyanamii @delulu4-life @thatonexcgirl @starsunoo @4lndr17 @nbjch05
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lucygxybaird · 1 day ago
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billy x reader - reader is very shy
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As you cling to Billy’s arm, one hand in his and the other grasping his elbow, you think — with undeniable yearning — of your armchair by the hearth, your book resting on the worn leather cushion. You can even picture the piece of ribbon you’ve been using to mark your place. You imagine a fire crackling merrily in the grate, warming your feet as you immerse yourself in the safe, familiar world of the printed page. 
Billy squeezes your hand, bringing you back to the moment. “You alright, darlin’?” he murmurs, leaning down to speak in your ear. 
You nod, peeking up at him from the corner of your eye. “I’m okay.”
“We won’t stay long, I promise,” he says, as the two of you approach the front door. “It’s just that Mr. Tunstall invited me — well, invited us — personally, and I didn’t wanna put him off.”
Your brow furrows. “He invited me?” you press, nibbling on your lip. Billy knocks on the door, so in a rush you whisper: “Not-just-you-he-specifically-said-me-too?” 
He smiles. “Specifically you,” he says. “He likes you.” 
You’re torn between delight and anxiety at the news. On the one hand, you do like Tunstall. You like to think you’re good at reading people, at sensing who they really are, the way some can scent a rainstorm coming in the air. If Tunstall is rain, he’s a gentle spring shower. Kind, warm, with a soft way about him that belies the strength underneath. He’s exactly the kind of man Billy needs in his life. 
On the other — 
You have no idea what you did to make Tunstall like you, and that makes you nervous. If you don’t know what you did, how are you supposed to keep doing it? And if you don’t keep doing it, does that mean he won’t like you anymore? If he doesn’t like you anymore, will he take it out on Billy? You don’t think he will — he doesn’t strike you as that sort of man, but what if—? 
“You with me, sweetheart?” Billy says softly, ducking his head to look you in the eye. “If you really wanna go home, we—”
You shake your head firmly. You don’t want to go home, not least of all because you know Billy really wants to stay; it’s hard for you, to be around people you don’t know very well, but Billy is the type of man who has never met a stranger. He likes parties like this (at least ones that are given by his friends, rather than — for example — a selfish, self-serving smarmy slimeball with an Irish accent and a proclivity for taking what doesn’t belong to him). 
You’re determined to stay at least an hour for him, maybe two if you can manage it. You know you’re going to be exhausted by the end of the evening, wrung out like a rag hung on the line, but you want to stick it out for Billy’s sake. 
It does help that he looks good. You love to see him in his neatly pressed shirt and waistcoat, the string tie — which you helped knot — around his neck, his hair neatly combed and smelling faintly of the apple-scented pomade he uses to make that sweet little cowlick he has lay flat. As if he’s reading your mind, Billy leans down further, his lips brushing against your ear. 
“Everybody’s gonna be jealous of me, walkin’ in with you on my arm,” he says. “Stick close to me, honey. I don’t want anyone stealing you away.” 
You only have time to giggle before the door is swinging open, revealing one of Tunstall’s maids. She gestures for you to come inside, and by the time you’ve flashed her a small, tight smile, people have already come up to Billy. You relax a little when you realize you recognize some of them — Manuela and Charlie, Tom, Mr. McSween and his wife, Susan. 
“You look lovely,” Susan says, smiling softly as she cups your elbow.
Your heart gives a little uneven thud, and you swallow. “Thank you,” you murmur, the corners of your mouth flickering briefly in return. “So — so do you.” 
You don’t let go of Billy’s arms as Charlie and Billy start talking about the last herd of cattle they moved for Tunstall, with Manuela and Susan chiming in every now and then — how Charlie came home late one evening, a cow pie smeared all over his boots and the seat of his pants; how Susan remembers one summer when she stayed with her uncle, who raised cows, and she gave them all flower names. 
You have a story yourself, one about your father trying (and failing) to get a cow up a flight of stairs to play a trick on a friend of his, but you can’t quite get your mouth to work. 
Even though you know these people, your throat still feels a little tight, the pit of your stomach going hollow, like you’re balancing on a tightrope. A part of you knows you’re being ridiculous. It’s the part that sounds an awful lot like your mother, when she would tell you to speak up, to enunciate, to stop hunching your shoulders. 
You wish you could explain it to her — to anyone — but it’s so difficult to put into words. 
Sometimes you feel as though who you really are is wrapped up in all these layers, wound around and around you, bound up so tight that it can be suffocating. You have to fight tooth and nail to drag out the same words, the same smiles, that seem to come so easily to everyone else. 
It takes time, to get through those layers, and not many people seem to want to put forth the effort. Certainly not at a gathering like this, where they’re just trying to have fun. And you can’t really blame them for that. You yourself have often wondered if what they find is worth the effort. 
Then, of course, there’s Billy. He’s never once made you feel like getting to know you, working through the awkward pauses and nervous huffs of laughter, the uncertain silences, is anything less than a pleasure. As if all that is nothing but a treasure map, and you’re the fortune waiting on the other end.
He doesn’t seem to mind acting as your interpreter, either. Walking around the party, he steps in when you stammer answering a question, or bends down so he can catch your words, lightly and easily as if he’s catching a snowflake in his palm. That’s how it is with him, when he’s guiding you through an evening like this. He never lets on, even for a moment, that he’s annoyed with you, that he finds it tiring or remotely taxing that he has to be your voice.
“You look familiar,” a man is saying to you. “Do you work at Tunstall’s store?”
You hesitate, as if this isn’t a straightforward question. “Um,” you say. “I — yes, I do.”
Billy presses his shoulder against yours, a wordless gesture of comfort. “She sure does,” he confirms. “Lucky for me, too. That’s where we met.” 
You smile. Lucky for me. Lucky for you, more like. You’re entirely convinced that Billy could have anyone he wanted — not only is he gorgeous, but his heart is just as lovely, if not lovelier. Not that you’ve ever told anyone this, because you would rather die than admit to harboring such maudlin thoughts, but he’s often reminded you of leather. 
Masculine and tough, sure, and sometimes bearing scars and damage right on the surface, whether it’s a gunfire flash of temper (never, ever directed at you, but at people like his stepfather, at Riley or Murphy) or guilt written in his eyes. But he can also be incredibly soft, his very touch a luxury, wrapping you up warm and making you feel so safe.
You’re pulled out of your reverie when the man clears his throat, making you give a little jump, as if someone has unexpectedly turned a corner down the hall ahead of you, coming right for you. “Do you know if there’s any jobs available down there?” he says. “My son-in-law is lookin’ for something, and I understand Tunstall is a good boss.”
“Oh—” Your tongue immediately finds itself in knots, and you feel the pit of your stomach tilt away as if it’s about to drop to your feet. “I mean, I — I think — I could ask…”
At your side, Billy smiles. “I’m sure Mr. Tunstall could always use help at the store,” he says. “Or if your son-in-law is any good with horses, the gang would never say no to another pair of hands. Y’never know when an extra man would come in useful herding cattle.”
You have to fight the urge to bury your face against Billy’s shoulder. Your cheeks are unbearably warm, and you can’t bring yourself to focus on the man in front of you, who smiles back at Billy and ambles away. You don’t even have to say anything. Without thinking about it, you tighten your hold on Billy’s arm, and he knows.
“It’s okay, darlin’,” he says softly, reaching with his free hand to turn your face toward his, gently grasping your chin. “That was a lot to ask of you out of nowhere. I didn’t mind steppin’ in.”
You curl your fingers into the material of his sleeve, offering him a small smile. “Thank you,” you murmur.
Billy tightens his grip on your chin just a little, so you can’t look away. “You don’t gotta thank me,” he says. “I would do anything for you, I hope you know that.”
“I do,” you tell him. 
He turns to face you, taking you by the waist and tugging you closer. You can’t help but giggle, even as you flush and look around. “Billy…”
“We’re not doing anything wrong,” he reminds you. “I’m just holdin’ onto my girl, that’s all.”
“I know,” you murmur, absently smoothing down his collar. He smiles, shrugging one shoulder as though to bump your hand back in that direction. You brush your fingertips over the curve of his neck, tentatively caressing the curls at his nape. “I just don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”
Billy gives your hips a little squeeze. “The only one I care about bein’ uncomfortable is you,” he says. “Are you?”
The truth is, you’re once again of two minds. You certainly don’t want to let go of Billy; you never do. Before, you weren’t really one to feel particularly comfortable with physical affection, but with him, it’s different. It just feels so…natural, as if your body is the tide and his is the shore. Being in his arms soothes you and softens you, even now, when nerves are crawling and pinching in the hollow spaces between your ribs. 
But the idea of people noticing you — of drawing attention to yourself, even if it’s positive, like playful ribbing from one of the boys — makes you feel as if you’ve been holding your breath for a moment too long. 
“No,” you murmur finally, pressing against him. “I just wish…”
Well, frankly, you wish nobody else was here, that it was just the two of you. But you usually wish for that. Or if it was just the two of you, at home, with the Bowdres and the McSweens. Since you’re more comfortable with them than you are with strangers, in the comfort of a familiar environment, you would actually be able to talk to them. To relax, enjoy yourself. 
Tunstall is well-liked — as he should be — and so nearly everyone on the guest list appears to have shown up tonight. With so many people here, you can’t help but feel like you’re waiting in the wings for a performance you didn’t expect to be putting on. Which means you’ll just end up being embarrassed in one way or another. 
Billy frames your face between his hands, pressing his forehead to yours. “I know,” he says. He offers you a smile. “Why don’t I go get us something to drink? Maybe some ginger ale to settle your stomach?”
He must see it when your heart gives a little leap of alarm in your chest, like a hare startling in the grass a fox gets closer. “I’ll be right back,” he promises. “Just…look, why don’t you wait for me in here?”
With his hand at the small of your back, he turns you toward an open doorway, which looks into Tunstall’s little personal library. “I’m sure Mr. Tunstall won’t mind,” he says. “You can see how many of these books you’ve already read. He’d probably like someone to talk about them with.” 
You manage to smile. If this was coming from anyone else, you would feel like a child being pacified with a piece of candy; but you know Billy means well, and besides, the idea of spending a few moments in this oasis of a room strikes you as perfectly fine. 
Still — 
“Hurry back,” you murmur, bracing your hands on his shoulders. 
Billy leans down and presses his lips against your forehead. “I will, honey, I swear.”
There’s a certain comfort in being known so well, you muse, as you step into the little room. You already feel better with the brunt of the party behind you, and the sight of the wall-to-wall shelves, filled with beautiful leather-bound volumes, makes you feel at home. There’s even an overstuffed armchair by the hearth, not too different to the one you have. 
You drift over to the shelves, brushing your fingers over the spine of a forest-green book whose title is printed in gold leaf: Leaves of Grass.
“Have you read it?” 
You would scream if not for the fact that your throat has suddenly narrowed to the width of an apple stem. A strangled squeak manages to escape as you whirl around, your hand to your pounding heart. You manage a deep breath when you see it’s only Mr. Tunstall.
“Oh, my dear girl, I’m so sorry,” he says, his face creasing in concern as he crosses the room toward you. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you alright?”
You nod, massaging at the base of your throat, where you can still feel your heartbeat fluttering like a trapped hummingbird. “I — yes,” you say. “I didn’t realize…”
Mr. Tunstall smiles. “It’s getting rather rowdy out there,” he says, gesturing with a tilt of his head toward the party behind him. “I needed a little bit of a break.”
You smile. “Me too,” you say. “Billy thought I might…”
“Wait in here?” Tunstall smiles again. “Yes, he told me. I hope I’m not intruding.”
A small laugh, more like a huff of air, escapes you. “Mr. Tunstall—”
“John,” he corrects gently.
You nibble on your lip, a shy little grin brushing against your lips. “John,” you say, fighting the urge to giggle again, like a child who swears under her breath in church. “It’s your house.”
“And, at the moment, this part of it is your refuge,” he says, with a courtly little bow that actually does get another giggle out of you.
“You aren’t intruding,” you assure him. “I was just admiring your books.” You gesture at the Whitman sitting on the shelf behind you. “I have read this one. I love it. I usually…” You smile self-consciously as one hand worries absently with a tendril of hair that has escaped your coiffure. “I usually read histories, but Whitman’s verse is so beautiful.”
Tunstall nods thoughtfully, another smile warming his face. “History is your milieu, is it?” he says, and his interest seems so genuine that you actually feel a little wriggle of excitement. “Any particular era?”
You feel a little silly admitting this to a proper Englishman, but you say, “The Tudors. And the Plantagenets, the Wars of the Roses.” You pause. “The Stuarts, a little.” You seesaw your hand from side to side to indicate that your interest in that scion of the royal family isn’t solid. 
“Ah!” Tunstall moves to another section of shelves, pulling a book from its place among its fellows. “I assume, then, you’ve read A History of England by Hume?”
You smile. “Oh, yes,” you say. “I think it’s fascinating, especially since he doesn’t really seem to see a particular difference between the Tudors and the Stuarts.” 
“You do?” Tunstall says, perching on the edge of a table tucked up into the corner. 
“Well, sure,” you say. “There has to be. For one thing, until Edward’s reign, the Tudors were essentially Catholic — even Henry VIII only diverted religious policy from the traditional doctrine where it suited him. Some of his advisors wanted to go farther, maybe, and they played on his — well, he was a bit full of himself — ”
Tunstall smiles again. “A bit,” he agrees.
“And they played on that, making it seem like he was like a Moses leading his people to the light,” you say. “But not only was James I a Protestant, he had something that the last three Tudor monarchs didn’t have.” 
“And that was?”
“Heirs,” you say. “A nursery full of children. That alone means he was in a very different place than either Edward, Mary, or Elizabeth.”
Now that you’ve run out of steam, you feel a warmth creeping over the nape of your neck, climbing into your face. “I — sorry,” you murmur. “I’m sure you didn’t…”
“Oh, no, no, don’t apologize, my dear,” he says. “I agree with you, for one. And for another, it’s always a pleasure to talk with you. You’re very clever.”
Your blush only deepens, and you immediately duck your head in an undoubtedly futile attempt to hide it. “Thank you,” you murmur.
When you peek up at him again, Mr. Tunstall is looking at you with a thoughtful, gentle expression. “And I think,” he says, “you’re exactly what Billy needs. I’m enormously fond of that young man, and I like to think I know him quite well by now. He’s a good man, exceptionally so, but he can be…impetuous. Reckless. There is a fire in his belly, which is an admirable quality. But sometimes, it can burn him.”
You nod. You certainly agree. 
“He needs you,” Tunstall goes on, smiling softly once more. “You have a gentle nature. You are thoughtful, and you measure your words. The two of you — well, I would say opposites attract, but perhaps you are not so dichotomous as one may think.” He smiles again. “I believe you have plenty of fire yourself, and Billy has a gentle heart. I know all he wants is peace.”
“He does,” you murmur. Your throat feels rather full, but you find that you don’t mind it. Not really, not about this. “I so…I so very much want to give that to him.”
“Oh, my dear,” Tunstall says softly, and he moves closer to you, reaching out to take your hand. “I can assure you that you do. I have never seen him so happy, or so content with himself. I have no doubt that you are the reason for that.”
You feel like you might cry, but in the happiest way possible. “Thank you,” you say again. “That means…” You swallow. “That means very much, coming from you. I hope you know...” You smile, clearing your throat. “I hope you know how much you mean to him.”
Before Tunstall can muster any answer besides a smile of his own, you hear the door creak and you turn to find Billy filling the doorway, a glass of ginger ale in one hand and a tumbler of scotch in the other. Only Tunstall still grasping his hand in your own prevents you from flying across the room to him. 
“You’re not makin’ any moves on my girl, are you, sir?” 
Tunstall chuckles and lets go of your hand. “I would never presume to think someone so young and so lovely would ever look twice at an old man like me, even if she were available,” he says, and the flush in your cheeks returns full force. “In any case, even if I were a young man, I know when I am beaten. The two of you are made for each other.”
Your face might actually, at this point, be on fire, but you don’t mind all that much when you look up to see the way Billy is smiling. He hands you the ginger ale, slides his palm one or twice against his shirt to rid it of condensation, and slides it around your waist to pull you closer. 
“Well, I think so, too,” he says, the smile still on his face. 
You press close to him and hopes he understands you feel the same. Judging by the kiss he presses to your hair, he does. 
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Tunstall says, giving them a little bow of his head, smiling softly. “I’m sure I’ll see you two out there later.”
“Yes, sir,” Billy promises. 
Tunstall closes the door behind him, and as soon as it clicks shut, Billy has set his own drink aside and he’s taken hold of your waist again. “Have I mentioned lately,” he murmurs, “how very much I love you?”
You giggle. “I’m sure you have,” you say. “But I do like hearing it.”
You don’t protest when he takes your un-sipped ginger ale and puts it on the same little table as his scotch, nor do you demur when he kisses you softly on the mouth. “I love you,” he says. 
“I love you, too,” you say, winding your arms around his neck. “Very much.”
He kisses you again, lingering so that you can’t see anything else except his face. Which you certainly don’t mind. “Thank you for comin’ out with me tonight,” he says. “Everybody is real glad to see you.”
You blink, your intent to say he doesn’t have to thank you dissolving on your tongue. “They are? Who?”
Billy chuckles. “Everybody,” he says again. “Mrs. McSween was sayin’ how she thinks you’re just about the sweetest girl she’s ever met. I had to convince her not to ask us over for dinner tomorrow night, so we could have the time to ourselves. I think we settled on Saturday instead.”
It’s such a little thing, this consideration that you would like to have a night at home after this party, but it means the world to you. And only Billy would think of it.
You lean up to kiss him. “I love you,” you say again. 
He places a hand against your cheek, thumb sweeping over your skin. “My sweet girl,” he murmurs. “I love you.” 
Eventually, after a few more kisses and sweet, whispered words, the two of you head back out to the party. You keep hold of Billy’s hand all night, but you don’t think he has any complaints — he laces his fingers with yours, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles every now and again, as if to reassure you that he’s right here. 
You keep hearing his words in your mind — everybody is real glad to see you — and it loosens you up, just a little. You even manage to crack a few jokes, making the people around you laugh. Most importantly, you hear Billy’s sweet, warm chuckle in your ear. 
By the time the party winds down, and it’s time for everyone to go home, the stars are out and the air has grown cool. After handing you up into the wagon, Billy grabs a blanket from the back and wraps it around your shoulders, making you giggle. “You don’t have to swaddle me like a baby,” you tease.
He grins at you, giving the blanket a playful little tug. “I just want you to be warm,” he says. “I gotta take care of my girl.”
As soon as he’s beside you in the front seat, you snuggle up to him, your head on his shoulder. “You do,” you assure him, thinking of the way he never hesitates to speak for you, or speak up for you, how he always thinks of your peace of mind and your comfort.
Clicking his tongue and giving the reins a little flick to get the horses moving, Billy leans his cheek against your hair. “I told you, honey. Anything for you,” he murmurs. “Anything for you.” 
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hxrtnett · 15 hours ago
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pasture child – luke castellan
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𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:・ luke castellan falls in love with his town’s church girl before he’s sent off to camp half-blood, he thinks of her with every return. he tries to find her years later after he never returned. inspired by pasture child by dominic fike.
warnings/mentions. swearing, religion mention (following lyrics of song), kissing, luke grows up and never dies in this timeline, talking of female assets (teenage boy antics but not terrible), mental heath & cps (luke’s mother), i also delayed his full time or age to his admission to camp half-blood so they’re 15/16 ish in the scenes before he’s gone forever, praying to mother mary, atheist luke
pairing. luke castellan x mortal!fem!reader
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at a young age, luke always found himself in the church near home. the door was always open in the spring time, and always unlocked in the colder weather. he was always allowed some shelter or quiet when his mother had her times.
luke wasn’t quite unknown in the town, everyone knew of his mother’s mental health, how it fluctuated frequently and sometimes he’d be watched over as she was hospitalized. luke had ran away from home and cps many times. so, his name was known in the town.
luke’s only enjoyment in his younger years and young teenage years was camp half-blood, and when he went to the church and saw you; the pastor’s daughter of the church he escaped to.
every time he ran away or returned home from summer camp, luke found his way to you. as he grew up and you did too, you both talked about childish things that led to normal teenager topics. you were more than the pastor’s child.
luke slowly grew a heavy crush on you, now as a teenager he watched you grow older and more rebellious to your father’s rules or restrictions. you always wore long skirts and modern shirts or dresses, sometimes pants and a fitting top that your father grimaced at, despite you respecting his modesty rule. you hated it though, luke always heard you complain about it, especially in the start of the summer.
“it’s getting warm out, i now,” you looked around to make sure your father wasn’t near, “sneak clothes in my bag, dad lets me drive the truck now so i change when im gone.” you confessed to luke. he was surprised, you were good and never disobeyed your father or your church, but he was wrong. “what do you wear?” luke asked, curious and looking around also.
“i’ll wear tank tops out without a sweater, skirts that are above my knees, or shorts. my dad doesn’t know i have em, my mama does but it’s just a secret. can you keep a secret?” you asked, informing him on a vision he was missing out on in the summer. he could picture you in shorts, your legs on display and the jean curved to your bottom perfectly, matching it with a tank top that showed your cleavage or a bit of your stomach, alongside that your gold cross pressed against your chest. the thought made his teenage mind run wild. he nodded at the words, “i can keep a secret.” he spoke, looking at you with wide eyes.
your smile blossomed and he felt his heart beat harder, he always had feelings for you, but he knew that this was the last time he’d be with you; his mother had died. he had no where to stay once he left. your father opened the door and you both split apart before smiling at your father. “hi dad.” you greeted him softly, crossing your legs and clasping your hands together. “we were talking about summertime.” you said softly, pushing your hair out of your face.
your father nodded and his eyes flickered between you both, a bit suspicious. he brushed it off and fully looked at the demi-god, “luke, do you want to have a funeral for your mother? i know you both aren’t a member truly, but you’re here a lot. we respect you and care for you and your loss. we can honor her.” your father offered.
luke looked between you and your father, seeing the striking similarity in your faces but difference in the way you presented yourselves. your father composed, you more relaxed. “yes sir, thank you father.” luke agreed, hating the words he spoke but he did it out of respect. he loved his mother, he missed her truly. the three of you spoke the plan and you placed your hand on luke’s arm gently, making his face burn and look sheepish under your father’s stare.
you two were soon dismissed by him, walking through the church. “where do you go in the summer? i wish you could be here.” you said softly, bumping shoulders with him. “oh, summer camp. the one cps lady found it for me and takes me away as a break from it all.” luke informed. it was true actually, the cps lady was actually a camp half-blood counselor who was set to find him, it explained his mother’s insanity and the weird things he saw. “when are you leaving?” you asked, fingers finding his and intertwining your hands, looking around to see if your father was around. he forbid the action with boys, only dismissing it when you had your hand on top of luke’s, not interlaced.
“i leave this weekend.” he informed, keeping hold of your hand, “i’ll call you before i go” he added, both of you standing in a vacant hallway. you leaned against the wall, “you will?” you asked, hopeful. “yeah, always. one of our night calls before i go.” he assured, hand still holding yours. throughout the years, you both called one another at night around ten, though your parents rule was lights out at nine. you both talked amongst one another quietly, luke and you both going silent every now and then if you thought you heard a noise in the night. sometimes you fell asleep on the line, making him laugh and have to hang up.
the next and new idea you presented surprised him, “can i see you tomorrow night?” you asked, curious. tomorrow was friday, he left sunday night. luke thought about it, “sneaking out?” he asked you, taken aback slightly at your change. typically he saw you in the daytime, this was different. “yeah! cmon we can go for a walk under the stars, wouldn’t that be lovely?” you spoke, bribing him before hearing a door close nearby. you both stood up straight and you put your hands behind your back, acting like nothing different was going on.
you smiled at your dad who walked to the office, it instantly dropped once he left, luke could feel your nerves; you weren’t the only one with a shitty parent. “we can.” luke said softly.
so luke did as told, standing under the streetlight at 10pm down your street, waiting for you.
meanwhile you climbed out your window, a stone under the sill and your door closed per usual. you had a fence to climb up and down by your window, so it was easy to leave.
luke expected to see you meet him in your normal attire, but it took him by surprise when you ran down the street in your tennis shoes, shorts, a tank top, and a zip up hoodie you didn’t even zip up. you stopped in front of him, smiling as you breathed heavily, “hi.” you spoke, making him smile in return, “hi.” he said back, cupping your face to kiss you.
this wasn’t the first time he did this, you two had met in private many times in the church, kissing a bit. even in public you two found your ways to be romantic, but not enough for the church ladies to spread gossip. and you weren’t terribly rebellious, so they couldn’t say anything, you just had a secret romance your father didn’t know of. your mother knew, she knew everything, and she didn’t dare tell your father because she once was like you. there had been arguments between you both over it, so she picked her battles and you picked yours.
you loved luke, you hoped to marry him. a lovesick teenager you were, but he was perfect to you. you kissed him again before pulling him in the direction of the playground, planning to lay on the playscape and look at the stars.
you both spoke amongst one another, luke’s hand in yours while you laid beside each other. “i prayed for the first time.” he admitted, making you look at him in shock, “wow! really?” you asked, “the quiet atheist prayed, how surprising.” you teased, making him laugh. you obviously didn’t know the demi-god fully, he knew gods were real. he wasn’t truly an atheist, though he didn’t like his father and the other gods that ignored him. he just had some resentment towards any form of god presented towards him, but for once he did pray to the god you looked towards. your laughter died down, “who? and what did you ask?” you pried, looking at him.
he noticed the sparkle in your eyes, the moon illuminating your features, if you were a demi-god like him he knew you’d be aphrodite’s daughter. but, you were a mortal, and he couldn’t love you like you wanted. you both had two different worlds, two different lives, he only was immersed in yours when you were beside him. he also knew he’d live longer than you, and it’d pain him to see you pass when he’d still be alive. but he savored the moments with you because somehow, the monsters didn’t bother him when you were near, and the demi-god curses paused when you were with him.
“i asked mary to watch over my mother, since you constantly say how comforting it is to pray to her.” luke spoke, telling you the full truth. he also asked his father to show up instead of being a deadbeat. but that wouldn’t be answered. you smiled again, “holy shit luke castellan, you asked a higher power for something.” you said in surprise. he rolled his eyes, “shut up.” he spoke, nudging you as you laughed. you sat up and looked down at him, “i don’t expect you to be a child of god,” how ironic, “but it’s cool you tried out something new cause of me.” you finished, leaning down to kiss him. luke met you halfway and sat up slowly, kissing you, his hands finding your figure he knew and now fully saw, enjoying the feel of your soft skin.
you both stopped eventually, knowing it was too risky to be out as the sun was starting to rise. luke knew you would fall asleep beside him laying under the stars, you needed the rest he could easily miss. luke laced his hand with yours, walking back to your home for the last time. luke watched as you climbed up towards your window, eyes watching your backside a bit too much, then leaving back to his house that was slowly emptying.
you called for the last time saturday night after the funeral, not knowing it was the last time you’d see one another and speak before his return. the call was longer, luke tried to get every ounce of words from you, getting to hear your soft laugh and voice. he knew it would be the last time he heard it until he returned, and he didn’t know when that was. luke had some responsibilities and figures to return to at camp half-blood, and he had no other home. he didn’t plan to return to your state, return to the town. though you were there, he couldn’t stay in a foster house just to see you. he couldn’t risk the monsters making him seem insane in public.
“goodnight luke.” you said softly, making tears form in his eyes softly, he smiled and his breath hitched. “goodnight y/n, sleep well, i love you.” he admitted, taking the jump. you were silent on the other end, “i love you too. be safe.” you said softly, soon he could hear you hang up.
finding you was difficult. luke returned to your hometown, scarred and much older, twenty-three now. he had battled, went to war, betrayed others, got his monsters under control, found his father, was possessed by kronos, killed kronos and nearly himself, and all he wanted was you in the end.
he knew he betrayed you, and how it was hard for a mortal and demi-god to live and love. but finding you and making it up to you was what he survived for.
he found your father, who was surprised at his return, and asked for your location. he learned that you moved states and resented your family. he also learned that you became a well known author, writing books for those who dared to break out of their forced norms. the books had striking characters, all fictional. but, you released an autobiography the year he returned. luke bought it instantly, as your father refused to promote it.
luke struggled with reading the mortal language, though it wasn’t as difficult as he last remembered. luke managed to read through your book, reading about your life and learning your traumas and resentment you dared to share. in none of the pages luke existed, he thought maybe you alluded to him as one of the guys you talked about, but the timeline didn’t add up in his mind.
luke felt a bit hurt, how he returned to you so dearly and saw how dead he was to you by not reading anything about him.
however, when luke opened the book for the final time, he managed to finally catch the dedication.
dedicated to: luke castellan, wherever you are, if you’re even alive. i still think of our last call.
luke read it, slightly appalled. his thumb brushed over the words as if he could bring them to life and bring you into his arms again, holding you against him. luke knew he could navigate through your world easily, he could blend in as a mortal and find you.
so, he did.
luke rented a car and read the back of the book where it stated where you resided in. he wanted to find you and tell you everything he lived through and tell you the truth, despite knowing the dangers it could bring to both of you. he just wanted you in his arms again.
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part two?
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sherewrytes · 5 hours ago
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𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤, ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 8
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↳ Sukuna x f! black reader
Summary: After the death of his grandfather, Sukuna Ryomen is left to shoulder the weight of his family, caring for his younger brothers, Yuuji and Choso. As he withdraws into grief, his relationship with Y/N, his girlfriend of a year, begins to crumble. When Y/N discovers the truth about his grandfather’s passing during a heated argument, it leads to a painful breakup. Now, both are navigating life apart, but Sukuna’s heart aches for Y/N. Determined to win her back, he must confront his pain and find a way to break through the walls he’s built. Can he rekindle their love, or is it too late?
contents: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, smut, dark romance, drug use, talks of depression and similar topics. (a lil )
fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, serious drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.
Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.
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PREVIOUS
CHPATER 9 - AFTERSHOCKS
Yn pov
The cold night air felt like a slap to my face as I left Kenjaku’s place, my footsteps echoing hollowly down the quiet street. I tried to keep my mind blank, to drown out the lingering, haunting image of Sukuna—his dark, haunted eyes and the barely lit cigarette slipping from his fingers as he whispered for me to leave.
My chest felt tight, my heart pounding as I tried to make sense of the broken pieces he’d left scattered inside me. Every time I thought he’d reached his lowest point, he seemed to spiral deeper, as if he was determined to burn everything down to ashes.
I couldn’t ignore that I still cared. Seeing him like that—seeing him looking at me with that raw, bitter pain—I wanted to help him, to reach out, but I knew better now. I had spent months clinging to hope that maybe, just maybe, he would change for us, for himself, for the family that he still had.
But tonight, his words left no doubt. He wasn’t ready, not for me, not for anyone. And I had to face the reality that he might never be.
A few blocks down, I caught my reflection in the darkened glass of a closed café. I looked like someone I barely recognized—worn, tired, weighed down by a love that kept clawing back even when I tried to sever it.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw a text from Utahime: “Hey, just checking in. Are you okay?”
The concern in her message softened the ache, even if just a little. I didn’t have to handle this alone; I didn’t have to keep it all bottled up inside. I knew she’d come over, let me talk or sit in silence—whatever I needed. And right now, maybe I needed someone to remind me I still mattered, even if Sukuna had all but forgotten that.
I texted her back, “Not really, but I’m heading home. Could use some company if you’re free.”
Within seconds, she responded, “On my way.”
I slipped my phone back into my pocket and took a deep breath, looking up at the night sky. I whispered, maybe to the stars or just to myself, “I’ll survive this. I’ll get over him.”
But as much as I wanted to believe it, the ache in my chest told me it wasn’t going to be that easy.
I knocked lightly on Utahime’s door, the sound muffled by the weight of my thoughts. As the door swung open, I was greeted by her warm smile, though I could see the concern in her eyes. Behind her, Shoko sat on the couch, a soft glass of wine in her hand, and Geto was casually leaning against the wall, arms crossed. My heart did a little flip in my chest as I processed the sight of them together—together, like a real couple.
I hadn't been prepared for that.
Shoko saw my hesitation, and before I could ask, she smiled and said, “Yeah, we’re dating. Long story.”
I nodded quietly, swallowing back the knot in my throat. I wasn't sure why the news hit me so hard, maybe because it was a reminder that things were changing—life was moving on for everyone, even if I felt stuck in place, trying to untangle the mess that was Sukuna.
Utahime saw my expression shift and gently ushered me inside. “Come on, sit. You look like you need to get out of your head for a while.”
I sank into the couch, a little too aware of the awkward silence hanging between us. Geto noticed and softened his posture, giving me a small, understanding nod.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice low but filled with concern.
I forced a smile, but it felt brittle, like it might shatter at any moment. “Yeah, just been a long couple of days.”
I glanced at Shoko, who didn’t speak immediately but gave me that steady, unspoken support only she could. She, too, knew the weight of what I’d been going through. We’d all lived it in some way or another, the pain of love and loss.
Utahime sat beside me and handed me a glass of water. “You know you can talk about whatever’s going on, right? You’re not alone.”
But the weight of the night—the weight of Sukuna’s words—was still too much to carry. I didn’t want to bring up my problems, especially not with how well everything seemed to be falling into place for them. I didn’t want to ruin the rare moment of peace I had here with my friends by pouring out the chaos of my emotions. Not when I knew they already had enough of their own burdens.
“I just...” I trailed off, unsure of how to say what I was feeling. “It’s a lot to process. And I’m not sure where to go from here, you know?”
Shoko’s gaze softened as she placed her drink down, giving me her full attention. “You don’t have to have it figured out right now,” she said gently. “You just have to take it one step at a time.”
I let out a shaky breath, nodding as the tension in my chest eased a fraction. They were here. I wasn’t alone.
But even with their support, my mind kept drifting back to Sukuna, to his cold dismissal, to the rawness of his words.
“You made the right choice… don’t let guilt eat at you.”
I closed my eyes briefly, trying to push the thought away. That guilt... it would always be there, wouldn’t it? No matter how many times I told myself to let go.
But for tonight, at least, I could let the presence of my friends drown out the echoes of his voice, if only for a little while.
I watched as Geto leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Shoko’s lips, his actions almost casual but carrying the weight of a goodbye. Shoko held his arm, reluctant to let go, her fingers tightening around him, before she looked up at him, her expression a mixture of concern and confusion.
“Why?” she asked softly, her voice laced with worry.
Geto’s eyes briefly flicked over to me, and my stomach churned at the look he gave. It wasn’t pity, but it felt like something else—something more complicated. He gave her a small, almost apologetic smile, brushing a hand over her arm. “I’ll text you, Sho. Gotta check up on some people, you know how it is.”
Shoko didn’t respond immediately, but I could see the hesitation in her eyes. She wanted to argue, to keep him here, but she didn’t. Instead, she let out a small sigh and nodded, her fingers brushing the fabric of his sleeve one last time before he stood up and turned toward the door.
“Take care of yourself, okay?” she said to him, her voice small, almost fragile.
“I will,” Geto answered, offering her one last soft smile before leaving the room. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving an unsettling silence in his wake.
I didn’t know what to make of it. Their relationship wasn’t something I was used to yet—seeing them together, watching the small acts of affection that seemed so natural, yet felt so foreign to me.
Shoko exhaled slowly, her gaze turning to the space Geto had just vacated. It was clear she was processing something, her usual calm mask slipping just slightly. After a moment, she looked back at me, her eyes sharp with a quiet intensity.
“You doing alright?” she asked, her voice softer nowr as if the moment had made her more aware of the space between us.
I nodded, forcing a smile even though the ache in my chest was still there, gnawing at me, a reminder of everything I wasn’t ready to face. “Yeah. Just... a lot.”
Shoko studied me for a moment before leaning back against the couch, folding her arms across her chest. “You don’t have to talk about it now. But you know, you’re not alone in this, right?”
I met her eyes, and for a moment, I let myself believe her. Maybe this pain wasn’t mine to carry alone.
Maybe, for tonight, I didn’t have to keep pretending that I had it all figured out.
“Thanks,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, feeling the weight in my chest ease just a little as I let myself believe in her words.
I took a deep breath, the tension in my shoulders still heavy as I recounted everything to Shoko and Utahime. The weight of the situation felt heavier now that I was speaking it out loud, but I couldn’t hold it in anymore. They needed to know—especially after everything I’d just witnessed.
“Yuuji came by earlier today,” I started, my voice quieter than I intended, but steady enough to keep going. "He showed up at my apartment, completely out of the blue, looking... well, he looked like he’d seen a ghost. I could tell something was wrong the minute he walked in."
Shoko raised an eyebrow, shifting slightly in her seat, her expression curious but concerned. Utahime looked at me, her usual stern demeanor softened for a moment as she awaited the rest.
“What happened?” Shoko asked, her voice gentle but insistent.
I hesitated for a moment, my mind replaying the earlier events like a loop. "He was asking me if I’d seen Sukuna. He told me that Sukuna had been holed up in his apartment for days and that he was... acting strange, even for him. Yuuji didn’t want to deal with it alone, so he came to me. I knew something had to be off. Sukuna hasn’t been answering calls or texts, and when Yuuji said he couldn’t even get in contact with him, I just had this gut feeling. I knew exactly where he was."
I paused, swallowing the lump that formed in my throat. "Yuuji said Sukuna’s been shutting everyone out, and I don’t think anyone really knows the extent of it. I don’t know how Yuuji does it, but I could see the worry on his face. He’s scared, Shoko."
Utahime’s eyes narrowed slightly as she processed my words. "And then what? What did you do?"
“I told Yuuji to go back home. I gave him my spare key to my place, just in case Sukuna showed up again, but... something didn’t feel right. I didn’t want Yuuji to be on his own with this, but I couldn’t exactly go to Sukuna’s apartment. I didn’t know how to handle that. So, I called Kenjaku, asked if he knew where Sukuna was. He was quiet at first, but then he told me Sukuna was with him—said he wasn’t doing well.” I looked down at my hands, my fingers fidgeting nervously. “He said... Sukuna was completely off the rails, Yuuji’s not the only one trying to keep him together. He’s falling apart, guys. I’m not sure he even wants help anymore.”
Shoko’s gaze softened, a quiet understanding passing between us. Utahime leaned forward, her arms crossed as she listened closely. “He’s drowning, isn’t he?”
I nodded. "Yeah. I think he’s been drowning for a long time. I don’t think anyone’s been able to reach him, not really. And after everything with Jin... I don’t know if he’s even capable of letting anyone in anymore. It’s like he’s pushing everyone away, even the people who want to help."
Utahime let out a slow exhale, her brow furrowing as she processed the situation. "And you? How do you feel about all of this?"
The question hit me harder than I expected, the weight of it pressing against my chest. I paused, uncertain of how to answer. "I don’t know. I love him, I do. But I can’t keep doing this to myself. I can’t keep waiting for him to pull himself out of this mess he’s made. He has to want it, right? He has to fight for it."
I swallowed hard, blinking back the burning in my eyes. "But I can’t help him if he won’t let me. I don’t even know where to start anymore."
Shoko shifted in her seat, a small, knowing smile pulling at her lips. "Sometimes the hardest thing is realizing that you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. But that doesn’t mean you don’t care. It just means you have to put yourself first now. He’s got to figure this out on his own, Y/N."
Utahime nodded, her voice quieter now but no less firm. "And you’re not the one who has to carry the weight of his choices anymore. You’ve already done enough."
I let her words sink in, the truth of them slowly loosening the grip of guilt that had been squeezing my chest. Maybe they were right. Maybe Sukuna needed to want help before anyone could reach him. But part of me couldn’t shake the thought—was I giving up too soon? Could I have done more?
"I just want him to be okay," I murmured, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them. "I just want him to find a way out of all this... for himself."
Shoko leaned forward, resting a hand gently on mine. “I know you do. But sometimes, the best way to help someone is by letting them figure things out on their own. He has to want to get better for himself, not for you, not for anyone else."
I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of her words settle into my bones. I wasn’t sure what the future held for me and Sukuna, but for now, I had to accept that I couldn’t save him. Not unless he was ready to save himself.
The conversation lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken words. Shoko’s hand remained on mine, grounding me as I processed everything. Utahime leaned back in her seat, her arms still crossed as she studied me.
“You did what you could,” Utahime said firmly. “Now it’s up to him. But don’t think for a second that it’s your responsibility to fix him, Y/N. You’ve been through enough.”
I nodded, though the ache in my chest didn’t lessen. “I know. It’s just… it’s hard to see him like that. To see someone you care about destroy themselves.”
Shoko gave me a small, reassuring smile. “It always is. But you have to remind yourself that you can’t set yourself on fire to keep someone else warm. You’re allowed to move on, Y/N. You’re allowed to heal.”
I let out a shaky breath, the weight of their words both comforting and suffocating. I wanted to believe them, to let go of the guilt and pain that had been eating away at me since I walked out of Sukuna’s apartment. But it wasn’t that simple. It never was.
Geto’s voice broke through my thoughts. “You know,” he started, his tone careful, “Sukuna’s not someone who’s easy to reach, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t leave a mark on him. Sometimes people need to hit rock bottom before they realize they need to climb back up. You might have been the first step for him, even if it doesn’t feel like it now.”
I glanced at him, surprised by the insight in his words. Geto had always been quiet, observing from the sidelines, but when he spoke, his words carried weight.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe you’re right, but it still feels like I failed him. Like I should’ve done more.”
“You didn’t fail him,” Shoko said firmly. “You loved him. That’s not failure. But love isn’t always enough to fix someone. And that’s not on you.”
Her words stung, but they were true. I nodded again, more to myself this time, and took a deep breath. “I just hope he finds his way out of this. For Yuuji, for Choso... for himself.”
Geto stood then, brushing his hands against his jeans. “You’ve done more for him than most people would’ve, Y/N. Now it’s his turn to step up. You’ve got your own life to live, and you deserve to live it without carrying the weight of his choices.”
He glanced at Shoko, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll text you later, okay?”
Shoko frowned but nodded, clearly still unhappy about him leaving. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”
He chuckled, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her forehead. “I’ll try my best.”
I watched him leave, the door clicking shut behind him, and felt a pang of envy at the ease between them. The love and understanding they shared were palpable, and it made the emptiness Sukuna left behind feel all the more stark.
Shoko turned back to me, her gaze soft but firm. “You’re stronger than you think, Y/N. And you don’t have to carry this alone.”
Utahime nodded in agreement. “We’re here for you. Whatever you need.”
I offered them a small, grateful smile, though it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”
As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, I tried to focus on the present, but Sukuna’s broken expression lingered in the back of my mind. I didn’t know what the future held for him—or for me—but for now, I had to let go. For my own sake. For my own healing.
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—Sukuna’s POV—
I stared at the cigarette between my fingers, watching the ash build and fall like tiny, useless fragments of my life. The apartment was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the heater struggling against the cold. Uraume was gone—finally giving up after one too many of my dismissive grunts. And Y/N… she was gone too.
That thought gnawed at me.
I flicked the cigarette into the ashtray and leaned back, letting the smoke curl lazily around me. My body ached in ways I couldn’t explain. Not just the aftermath of the hospital or the lingering burn of Kenjaku’s words. It was deeper than that, heavier. A dull, throbbing weight that seemed permanently lodged in my chest.
Her voice echoed in my head. The way she said my name—firm, concerned, and just a little broken. Like she still cared, even when I begged her to leave. Maybe especially because I begged her to leave.
I hated it. Hated how much I wanted her to stay. Hated how much I needed her and hated myself for needing her. She didn’t deserve this mess. Didn’t deserve me. I’d proven that a hundred times over.
The door creaked open, and I flinched, expecting Kenjaku to barge back in with another lecture. But it was Uraume, holding two bags of groceries. She glanced at me, rolled her eyes, and started unpacking like I wasn’t there.
“What now?” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face.
“Relax, I’m not here to lecture you,” Uraume said, their tone clipped. “I just thought you might want to eat something that isn’t stale chips or whatever’s left in that takeout box.”
I didn’t respond, turning my head to look at the ceiling instead. The silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable. I could feel Uraume’s eyes on me, but I refused to meet their gaze.
Finally, they sighed, setting down a container of food on the coffee table. “Look, I don’t know what happened with Y/N, but if she came all the way here for you, maybe think about why that is.”
I barked out a laugh, bitter and sharp. “She came because she felt guilty. That’s it. She thinks she owes me something. Like she can fix me.”
“And what if she does care?” Uraume shot back, crossing their arms. “What if she actually gives a damn about what happens to you? Ever think about that?”
I sat up abruptly, the movement making my head spin. “It doesn’t matter, Uraume. Caring doesn’t change anything. Caring doesn’t bring Jin back. It doesn’t undo the shit I’ve done. And it sure as hell doesn’t make me any less of a screw-up.”
They didn’t say anything, just stood there with that same unreadable expression they always had. After a moment, they shrugged and turned away, heading to the kitchen. “Whatever you say, Sukuna. But maybe you should figure out what you actually want before you push everyone away for good.”
I dropped back onto the couch, my head pounding. What I wanted? That was easy.
I wanted Jin back. I wanted Grandpa back. I wanted my old life—the one where everything wasn’t broken and I wasn’t dragging the people I cared about down with me. But that life was gone, and wanting it back was as useless as the cigarette butts piling up in the ashtray.
Still, Uraume’s words stuck. Y/N’s face flashed in my mind—those tired eyes, the way her lips trembled when she spoke my name. The way she didn’t flinch, didn’t run when I lashed out.
What the hell did she see in me? Why did she even bother?
I reached for my phone on the table, hesitating for a moment before unlocking it. The screen lit up, the messages from Kenjaku and Toji staring back at me like a slap in the face. No missed calls. No texts from her.
Of course not. Why would there be?
I tossed the phone aside and leaned forward, burying my face in my hands. My mind replayed the conversation from earlier, every word, every look. The regret in her voice when she said my name. The way she fought back tears, trying to stay strong even when I broke her down.
I didn’t deserve her. I knew that. But damn it, I wanted her. I wanted her to pull me out of this pit, even if it was selfish. Even if I dragged her down with me.
But she was right to leave. She was right to walk away.
Because no matter how much I wanted to believe I could change, deep down, I wasn’t sure I even knew how.
I hear the door knock and Toji strolls in. im pissed off thinking how the fuck does he know where I am. He stared at me, then talked to Kenjaku. I saw them walking in my direction. Ken said again "I think you should go to rehab" I closed my eyes trying to drown him out again....I told him. I already told you no, now just stop
Toji leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his usual cocky smirk nowhere in sight. That alone told me he wasn’t here to bullshit around. I glared at him, the weight of their stares burning a hole through me.
Kenjaku crouched in front of me, his face level with mine. "Sukuna," he said calmly, almost like he was trying not to lose his temper. "This isn’t about what you want anymore. This is about what you need."
I scoffed, looking away. "What I need is for you all to get the fuck out of my face. You think rehab’s going to fix anything? You think a few weeks locked away is gonna magically make me less of a fuck-up?"
Toji pushed off the wall, stepping closer. "Maybe not," he said, his voice low but firm. "But sitting here wallowing in your own self-pity sure as hell isn’t doing you any favors either."
I felt my jaw tighten, my fists clenching at my sides. "You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about."
"Oh, don’t I?" Toji shot back, his voice rising. "You think you’re the only one who’s been through shit, Sukuna? The only one who’s lost people? Guess what, man, the world doesn’t stop spinning just because you’re hurting."
"Toji," Kenjaku said sharply, holding up a hand.
"No, let me finish," Toji snapped, his eyes locked on mine. "You wanna drown yourself in booze and pills? Fine. But don’t pretend you’re the only one who’s suffering. Yuuji’s a kid, for fuck’s sake, and he’s holding it together better than you are. What do you think he’s gonna do if you don’t make it out of this? You think he’ll just move on?"
The mention of Yuuji hit me like a punch to the gut, but I didn’t let it show. I wouldn’t give Toji the satisfaction.
Kenjaku leaned closer, his voice softer now but no less insistent. "Sukuna, you’ve got people who care about you. People who want to see you get better. But we can’t do it for you. You have to make the choice."
I closed my eyes, the weight of their words pressing down on me like a goddamn boulder. I didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to think about Yuuji, or Choso, or Y/N. It was easier to stay numb, to shut it all out.
"I already told you no," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. "Now just stop."
There was a heavy silence, the kind that made the air feel thick and suffocating. Then, Toji let out a long, exasperated sigh.
"You’re a real piece of work, you know that?" he said, shaking his head. "Fine. Stay here. Rot in your own misery if that’s what you want. But don’t expect anyone to keep picking up the pieces when you finally break for good."
He turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him. Kenjaku stayed for a moment longer, his eyes searching mine like he was looking for some shred of hope, some sign that I wasn’t completely lost.
"I’ll give you some time," he said quietly. "But not forever, Sukuna. Think about what you’re throwing away."
And then he was gone too, leaving me alone in the suffocating silence of my own damn thoughts
Toji paused on his way out, turning back to face me. His expression shifted, an edge of disgust crossing his features. “Didn’t you take Yuuji to live with you and Megumi?” I snapped, trying to push him away with my words. “He’s fine. And Choso’s a grown-ass man. Why don’t you save the lecture for someone who gives a damn?”
Toji stared at me for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “You really think that’s all there is to it?” he said slowly, his voice dangerously calm. “What about Y/N?”
I tensed, glaring at him. “What about her?”
He smirked, but there was no humor in it. “Didn’t you fuck her? What if she’s pregnant?”
The words hit me like a truck, but I shoved the thought aside. 
She’s not pregnant. She can’t be. And even if she was, what does it matter? It’s not my problem.
“Who cares if she is?” I shot back, my voice venomous. “I don’t. She means nothing to me. I don’t know why you guys keep acting like she was ever anything more than a good time.”
Toji’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he stared me down. “You’re a goddamn liar,” he said finally, his voice cold and cutting.
I didn’t say anything, just clenched my fists tighter, nails digging into my palms. 
What the hell did he know? What the hell did any of them know?
Toji shook his head, the disappointment in his eyes cutting deeper than I wanted to admit. “You wanna pretend like she didn’t mean something to you, fine. But don’t expect anyone else to buy into your bullshit. Especially not yourself.”
And with that, he walked out, slamming the door behind him.
I slumped back onto the couch, my head spinning. 
Who the fuck does he think he is, coming in here and saying that shit to me? Like he knows what I’m dealing with. Like he knows what I feel.
But the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.
I closed my eyes, trying to block out the memories of Y/N. Her smile, her laugh, the way she used to look at me like I was worth something. Like I wasn’t the broken mess I am.
Stop it. She’s gone. She left. And good for her. She doesn’t need this shit.
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the gnawing ache in my chest. The one that whispered she meant more than I wanted to admit. That she still did.
I wanted more drugs, maybe sleep. I wasn’t even sure anymore. My head was a mess, a tangled web of thoughts I couldn’t unravel.
Y/N… pregnant? No. Hell no. I shook the thought out of my head, like swatting away a fly. There’s no way. And even if she was, it doesn’t matter.
I pushed myself off the couch, the weight of my own body feeling heavier than it should. My legs felt like jelly, the room spinning slightly as I stood up. I barely took a step before my knees buckled, and I hit the floor hard.
“Fuck,” I hissed, clutching my head as a sharp pain shot through it. My palms pressed against the cold floor as I tried to steady my breathing.
I need to chill. I just need to breathe.
But it wasn’t just the withdrawal or the physical exhaustion. It was everything else swirling in my head. Y/N’s face flashing in my mind, Toji’s words digging into my chest, Kenjaku’s voice still ringing in my ears about rehab.
I leaned my forehead against the floor, my fists clenching. 
Why can’t I just shut it all off? Just for a little while?
The idea of her being pregnant—it was absurd. It had to be. But the thought wouldn’t stop gnawing at me. What if? What if she was? What if she wasn’t?
And what if I wasn’t even around to find out?
I laughed bitterly, the sound hollow in the empty room. “She’s better off without me,” I muttered under my breath.
Still, the thought wouldn’t leave. It lingered, festering like an open wound, making my chest tighten.
I forced myself to sit up, leaning against the couch as I rubbed my hands over my face. I could feel my body screaming for another hit, another drink, anything to numb the storm in my head.
But deep down, I knew nothing would make it stop. Not really.
Kenjaku strolled over and pulled me up off the floor, his grip firm, almost too tight. I hadn't even realized I was still on the ground until he yanked me upright.
"You need help," he said, his voice low and steady, but his eyes burned with something harsher—disappointment, maybe, or frustration.
I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head. "No," I muttered, my voice cracking slightly. "I don’t need help. I need it to stop."
He didn’t say anything, just stared at me like he was waiting for more.
“The noise, the thoughts... I just need it all to stop,” I continued, my hands trembling as I tried to steady myself against the couch. "Maybe a Xanax... something to take the edge off."
Kenjaku’s lips curled into a bitter scoff, and before I could react, he shoved me back down onto the floor. The impact jarred me, knocking the air out of my lungs for a second.
“You’re unbelievable,” he snapped, standing over me like I was some kind of pathetic, broken thing. “You think another pill is going to fix this? That it’ll fix you?”
I glared up at him, my hands braced against the floor. “Why the fuck do you care, huh? You’re not my family. You’re not my fucking anything!”
Kenjaku crossed his arms, his expression cold, almost calculating. "Maybe not, but someone has to give a damn about you since you clearly don’t."
His words hit harder than I wanted to admit. I turned my face away, staring at the cigarette butt smoldering in the ashtray on the table. “You don’t know what it’s like,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.
“What’s that?” he asked, leaning down slightly.
“To live with this... this constant noise,” I said, tapping my temple. "The memories, the guilt, the fucking pressure. You don’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning every single second of the day and to know no one can pull you out."
Kenjaku crouched down, his face level with mine. “You think you’re the only one who’s ever dealt with shit? You think you're special because you're in pain? Grow up, Sukuna.”
I clenched my fists, my jaw tightening. “Fuck you.”
“No,” he said, standing back up. “Fuck you for thinking this is how it has to be. You’re better than this, but you’re too much of a coward to try.”
I looked away, swallowing hard. His words cut deep, but I didn’t want to show it. Didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
“I’ll tell you what,” Kenjaku continued, his tone softening just slightly. “You want the noise to stop? You want to get out of this pit you’ve thrown yourself into? Fine. But it’s going to take more than a fucking Xanax.”
I didn’t respond, didn’t even look at him. But somewhere, deep down, a small, flickering thought took root.
What if he was right?
Kenjaku’s eyes narrowed, and his voice dripped with disdain as he went in on me.
“When was the last time you even looked at yourself, man? You’re withering away. Skin and bones. Walking around like a ghost of who you used to be,” he said, pacing in front of me like he was building up momentum. “Is this what you want? To fade into nothing?”
I clenched my jaw, refusing to meet his gaze. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, don’t I?” he shot back, stopping abruptly to stare me down. “When was the last time you did anything that wasn’t about numbing yourself? Did you even sign up for the new school year? Or is that just another thing you’ve let rot?”
I bristled at his tone, my fists tightening at my sides. “I took time off. You know that.”
“Yeah, when Jin died,” he replied, his voice softening for a split second before hardening again. “And I understood. Everyone did. But you said one year, Sukuna. One year. Now look at you. What the hell are you even doing?”
“I’m dropping out,” I said flatly, my voice low but steady.
Kenjaku stopped pacing, blinking like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Then he laughed.
A sharp, bitter laugh that cut through the room like a knife.
“Dropping out?” he repeated, his eyebrows raising in mock surprise. “That’s your big plan? Just throw it all away? Jesus Christ, Sukuna. Do you even hear yourself?”
“I don’t care about school, Ken,” I snapped, finally looking up at him. “It doesn’t matter. None of it fucking matters.”
He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Of course, it doesn’t matter to you. Nothing does anymore, does it? Not school, not your family, not even yourself.”
“Don’t bring my family into this,” I warned, my voice low and dangerous.
“Oh, I’m bringing them into this,” Kenjaku fired back. “Because while you’re busy spiraling, they’re the ones who have to deal with the fallout. Yuuji. Choso. Hell, even Toji. They’re all trying to hold it together while you—”
“SHUT UP!” I shouted, cutting him off. My voice echoed in the room, and for a moment, everything went silent.
I could feel my chest heaving, my fists trembling. Kenjaku didn’t flinch. He just stared at me, his expression unreadable.
“You’re better than this, Sukuna,” he said quietly, his tone lacking the usual sharpness. “Or at least, you used to be. But if you want to throw it all away, fine. Just don’t pretend like it’s anyone’s fault but yours.”
I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. The weight of his words pressed down on me, suffocating, but undeniable.
I glanced around the room, my gaze flickering over the scattered bottles, the ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts, and the faces staring at me—Kenjaku’s, Uraume’s. It felt like they were all closing in, suffocating me.
They don’t get it. None of them do.
The words echoed in my head, growing louder and louder until they slipped past my lips before I even realized it.
“I don’t wanna be here anymore.”
The room froze. The air felt heavy, and for a moment, I thought maybe I hadn’t said it out loud. But then Uraume’s voice broke the silence, soft but trembling.
“You don’t mean that,” they said, stepping closer. Their eyes searched mine, desperate for something—anything—that would prove I wasn’t serious.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
Kenjaku’s jaw tightened, his sharp gaze cutting through me like a blade. “Sukuna,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Don’t say shit like that unless you’re ready to have a real conversation about it.”
“I’m not having a fucking conversation,” I snapped, the words coming out harsher than I intended. “It’s not a cry for help, okay? It’s just the truth.”
“You’re lying to yourself,” Uraume said, their voice stronger now, almost angry. “You’re drowning, Sukuna, and instead of reaching for help, you’re just letting yourself sink. But don’t drag us down with you.”
I flinched at their words, my body tensing.
“Sink or swim, huh?” I muttered bitterly, shaking my head. “That’s what everyone keeps saying. Like it’s that fucking simple.”
“It’s not simple,” Kenjaku cut in, his tone sharper now. “But you don’t get to just give up and act like you’ve got no choices. You’re still here, Sukuna. That means something.”
I laughed, a hollow, bitter sound that made Uraume flinch. “You’re all so sure it does. But if I’m just gonna keep fucking everything up, what’s the point? Jin’s gone because of me. Grandpa’s gone. Everyone would’ve been better off if I wasn’t—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Uraume snapped, their voice cracking with emotion. “Don’t you dare.”
I looked up at them, my vision blurring. Their face was a mix of anger and pain, their fists clenched tightly at their sides.
“Do you really believe that?” Kenjaku asked, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “That the people who love you would be better off without you? Think about Yuuji. Choso. Hell, even Y/N. You really think they’d be better without you?”
My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard, the lump refusing to go away.
“I don’t know,” I whispered. The words felt like glass, sharp and jagged as they left my mouth. “I don’t know anything anymore.”
Uraume stepped closer, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Then let us help you figure it out,” they said softly. “But you have to let us in, Sukuna. You can’t keep shutting everyone out.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. The weight of their words pressed against my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Part of me wanted to believe them.
But the other part—the louder part—kept screaming that it didn’t matter. That nothing mattered.
I looked away, unable to meet their eyes.
I was tired. Tired of the fighting, the guilt, the endless cycle of fucking up and trying to fix it.
“I’ll think about it,” I muttered finally, the words feeling empty even as I said them.
Kenjaku didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “That’s a start,” he said. “But thinking isn’t enough, Sukuna. Eventually, you’re gonna have to do something.”
Eventually.
I needed to go back home. back to work. I did to stifle myself a bit. I got up to leave. then I hit the floor.
FUCK!
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fallendev0tionvn · 3 days ago
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I'm a bit curious as to what Victor is like, could you perhaps give us an introduction to him?🥺🙏
(keep in mind that this was supposed to be a comic/webtoon)
Victor is the main character of Lovesick/Amore Langueo, a psychological horror about mental health, love and human nature- all set during a devastating virus outbreak.
let's talk about the virus first:
We all know humans are social creatures- we need each other to survive, to grow, and to find meaning in life. Love is one of the strongest bonds we can form, but it's rarely balanced or fair. There will always be someone who loves more, gives more, and that imbalance tears us apart.
They say a broken heart can kill you, and in lovesick, it does.
We are talking about a virus, disguised as simple "recurrent takotsubo cardiomyopathy"- or heartbreak syndrome, it takes hold the moment someone's heart gives out.
The second they die, the parasite takes over their body, and only then, their body warps into one of a disturbing creature. See it as something similar to hanahaki disease, except you turn into something that only knows hunger. We've regressed so much as a species that love itself has become a punishment, a disease, just like Shopenhauer's hedgehog's dilemma, the closer people get, the more they end up hurting each other. (🤓🤓🤓 <- me)
symptoms:
- chest pain
- difficulty breathing
- nosebleeds
- coughing up petals, which eventually leads to suffocation
the virus spreads through:
- bites
- open wounds (contaminated air)
- unrequited love itself
About Victor:
Victor is a med school dropout who was on his way to visit his mother, willing to explain why he left university. But the trip there doesn't go as planned- the driver (possibly patient 0) begins turning mid drive. Victor loses consciousness (after barely managing to escape), and wakes up to the world being almost wiped out because of how aggressive the infected are.
The same day, he meets a girl, Hana, he quickly grows attached to. Sadly she is the reason he becomes infected but he doesn't turn fully. Victor is immune.
Love and obsession aren't the same thing. The virus feeds on unreciprocated love and what Victor feels is something else.
trigger warnings (also hints):
- medical failures
- violence and gore
- abuse
- cannibalism (doesn't actually happen)
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croxxbow13 · 1 day ago
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Not Tonight
Summary: Daryl and Rosita were both affected by Denise’s death, whether they want to talk about it or not. So they look for comfort in the bottle of a whiskey bottle.
Word Count: 6k
Notes: takes place immediately following Denise’s death in Season 6 Episode 14: Twice As Far. During the Alexandria era, right before the Savior arc. Rewatched the episode last night and seeing these two together and the opportunity just presented itself. I feel like they deserved it lol
Warnings: 18+ MDNI - language, consensual sex, alcohol consumption, slight angst.
I asked you to come with me because you're brave like my brother and sometimes you actually make me feel safe.
Daryl’s lungs burned. His arms ached, every muscle pulling tight with each motion as he drove the shovel into the dirt. He felt the beads of sweat as they rolled down his brow and into his eyes. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
And I wanted you here because you're alone. Probably for the first time in your life.
His fingers clenched around the wooden handle, rough and splintered, gripping it tight like it was the only thing holding him together. Carol stood across from him. He could feel her eyes on him, but she didn’t speak. She knew he wouldn’t talk about it even if she asked.
And because you're stronger than you think you are, which gives me hope that maybe I can be, too.
Denise’s words played through his mind as he shoveled harder. Faster. As if he could dig the sound of them from his memory.
He gritted his teeth and shoveled another heap into the hole. Then another. The late afternoon sun was hot on his back and he welcomed the feeling of the way it burned through his shirt. The ache in his muscles gave him something to focus on.
Something other than the gnawing weight in his chest.
And it makes me sick that you guys aren't even trying because you're strong and you're smart and you're both really good people, and if you don't wake up... and face your…
The angry growl that rumbled up from his chest sounded too far away in his own ears as he threw the shovel to the ground, the metal clanging off the dirt and stone. His breath was ragged as he stormed off towards the house. He had to get out of here. Away from… this. The walls that were supposed to be a promise of safety and security felt like a prison cell. One that he had to escape. Now. He didn’t want to stay in this cage.
Not tonight.
The streets of Alexandria were quiet. Too damn quiet. Usually, people were out, talking on their porches, walking around. Now, it was like the whole place was holding its breath.
Daryl barely noticed. His boots hit the pavement hard, his steps quick and focused. He took the porch steps two at a time and pushed the front door open without bothering to shut it. He wasn’t staying long enough for that to matter anyways.
Inside was just as quiet.
He moved straight to his room, peeling his blood and dirt stained shirt over his head and tossing it into the corner before grabbing a fresh t-shirt from the pile on the chair and pulling it on.
The bottle he had come back for was exactly where he’d left it the night he’d put it there– shoved to the back of the kitchen counter. His fingers tightened around the neck of the glass as he turned for the door.
His crossbow was slung over his shoulder in one fluid motion, a practiced habit. He was already stepping through the doorway, ready to keep moving, when something caught his eye.
Rosita.
She was walking up the steps, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, her head tipped slightly downward like she was deep in thought. The way she held herself– like she was looking for something, or maybe running from it– was too familiar.
"Hey," she said quietly, but questioningly. Like she didn’t expect him to be there.
Daryl barely lifted his head. "Hey," he mumbled back, gripping the bottle a little tighter.
She stopped on the step just below him, rocking back slightly on her heel. Her eyes flicked over him, reading him the way she always did—quick, precise, like she could see straight through whatever bullshit he was trying to put up.
"You good?" she asked, tilting her chin up just slightly, like she already knew the answer.
He worked his lip between his teeth for a moment before nodding, his gaze dropping to the porch.
Rosita let out a breath, shifting her weight, and glancing at the bottle in his hand. She made a small, unimpressed noise in the back of her throat, not quite a scoff but close.
"Where you going?"
Daryl shrugged, adjusting his grip on the bottle. “Don’t know.”
She studied him for a second, then tipped her head. “Mind if I come?”
He finally looked at her. She didn’t look away.
He could’ve said no. Could’ve walked past her, left her standing there. But he didn’t.
There was something else in her expression that he didn’t catch before. Something sad… not quite a plea, but something buried deep below the surface.
“Nah” he muttered.
Rosita gave a small nod, a barely-there smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, and then she moved. She didn’t wait for him, didn’t ask again—just stepped off the porch, heading toward the truck like she’d already decided. Like it wasn’t up for debate.
Daryl let out a breath and followed.
Neither of them spoke as they walked out of the gate and climbed into the truck. The engine rumbled to life, and just like that, they were gone.
The truck sat in a clearing on the edge of the quarry. What was once filled and brimming with walkers now just housed a few dozen stragglers wandering aimlessly around the bottom. Their dirty, dust-covered figures moving in and out of shadows in the quickly fading sun.
Daryl stood by the back of the truck, his arms resting over the side as he swirled the contents in the bottle before turning it up. The whiskey burned its way down, warm and steady, already starting to blur his edges.
He welcomed it.
Rosita sat on the hood, one knee bent, her boot propped against the metal. She didn’t say anything, just watched him as he took another swig before passing the bottle her way. She took it without hesitation, tipping it back, letting the burn settle into her chest before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
The air between them was thick with something unspoken, but neither of them moved to fill the silence. The only sounds were the distant rustling of trees and the distant, hollow moans of the walkers below.
Daryl exhaled sharply, shifting his weight. The alcohol was working its way through him, dulling things just enough to take the edge off. He stared out over the quarry, watching the way the last bit of daylight slipped behind the treeline.
He kicked a rock, watching it skitter and disappear over the edge, a small cloud of dust rising up under his boot.
Rosita let out a quiet breath, rolling the bottle between her palms. She hesitated for a moment before she spoke.
“I saw him go into Sasha’s house.”
Her voice was steady, but there was a roughness underneath it, something raw. She took another swig from the bottle.
Daryl didn’t react. Just let the words sit there, pressing down like an extra weight on his shoulders.
Rosita scoffed under her breath, shaking her head slightly. “I guess I already knew.” She said, quieter this time.
She walked over to stand beside him, peering over the edge, her eyes tracking the slow-moving walkers below. Without looking at him, she reached out and handed him the bottle.
Daryl took it carefully and lifted it to his lips. The whiskey burned on the way down, but he welcomed it, letting it settle deep in his chest.
Rosita crossed her arms, shifting her weight onto one leg. “Guess I was just stupid enough to hope I was wrong.”
Daryl wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, exhaling through his nose. He didn’t have anything to say to that. Not anything that’d make a damn bit of difference anyways.
For a while, neither of them spoke. They just stood there and appreciated the rare silence as they passed the bottle back and forth.
The night was creeping in, the last bit of light stretching thin across the trees. The air was cooling, but the whiskey kept the warmth settled in his gut. Daryl blinked slow, his ears buzzing, a steady thrumming setting in behind his temples. Not enough to knock him down, but enough to make his limbs feel heavy, his edges dull.
He let out a quiet breath, then turned back towards the truck, moving to the tailgate. He climbed up, sitting on the edge with his legs hanging off, his fingers rubbing absentmindedly at the glass bottle before taking another drink.
Rosita stayed where she was for a moment, watching him. Then, without a word, she walked over, stopping in front of him. She tilted her head, watching him take another drink. “I was gonna leave,” she admitted. “After everything. Just… go.”
Daryl didn’t look at her, just fidgeted with the bottle in his hands, his thumbnail picking at the edge of the label.
He knew the feeling.
“But I didn’t,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “And now, I don’t even know why.”
She reached out for the bottle, and as she took it from him, her fingers brushed against his—just for a second, just enough for him to feel the warmth of her skin against his knuckles.
Daryl didn’t move, didn’t pull away. Just watched as she brought the bottle to her lips, tilting her head back for a slow drink. He shifted his weight on the tailgate. “Ain’t always so easy to just walk away.”
Rosita smirked, but it was small and tired. “No. It’s not.” She looked at him for a moment before she asked, “You ever gonna leave?”
Daryl worked his jaw, staring past her toward the treeline. He didn’t answer right away, just let the question settle, rolling it over in his mind.
Rosita didn’t push. Just waited, quiet, studying him like she was trying to read something written beneath his skin. The slight sway in her stance made it obvious that she was feeling the effects of the liquor as much as he was.
Finally, he exhaled, slow and measured. “Don’t recon I got anywhere else to go.” His voice was low, rough around the edges.
Rosita held his gaze for a second longer, then gave a small nod. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Same.”
She took another sip, then handed the bottle back. This time, when their fingers touched, it lingered. Just for a second longer than before.
Daryl felt it. The warmth of her skin against his, the way her fingers curled just slightly before letting go. He swallowed, looking down at the bottle as he took it from her.
Rosita shifted her weight, crossing her arms over her chest, her boot scuffing against the dirt. “Sometimes I think I should’ve just gone,” she admitted. “Before it got messy. Before it got complicated.”
Daryl huffed, shaking his head. “Ain’t never not messy.”
She let out a quiet laugh, the sound dry, almost bitter. “Yeah. No shit.”
They fell silent again, the night stretching out around them. The whiskey was working its way through him, muting things just enough to make the quiet feel comfortable. His ears still hummed, the edges of everything a little softer.
Rosita glanced up at the sky, the stars just starting to burn through the darkness. “Ever think about it?” she asked. “What’s out there? Past all this?”
Daryl rubbed a hand over his mouth, fingers dragging along the stubble on his jaw. “Used to.”
Rosita watched him for a second, like she was waiting for more, but he didn’t offer anything else. Instead, he just took another slow drink, letting the burn settle deep.
She exhaled through pursed lips as she turned and braced her hands on the edge of the tailgate and pulled herself up beside him. The metal groaned as she situated– their shoulders close, but not quite touching. She stretched her legs out, crossing them at the ankles, her boot knocking lightly against his.
Daryl glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing.
Rosita sighed, tipping her head back slightly. “I think about it all the time,” she admitted. “Just getting in a car. Driving ‘til the road runs out.”
Daryl huffed a faint laugh, staring at the bottle in his hands. “What’s stoppin’ ya?”
She looked at him then, really looked at him. The corner of her mouth twitched, something almost like a smirk, but there was something else behind it. Something quieter.
Rosita didn’t answer.
Instead, she reached for the bottle again, her fingers grazing his as she took it from him. He watched her as she took another swig, her throat moving with the swallow before she exhaled through her nose. The bottle lowered, resting loosely between her hands, her fingers tapping against the glass in a slow, aimless rhythm.
Daryl rubbed his palms against his jeans, the warmth from the whiskey settling in his gut. She lifted the bottle again, took a drink and then handed it back. This time, when their fingers met, it wasn’t just a brush– it was slower, heavier. A beat too long. Neither one of them moved right away.
Daryl swallowed, his throat suddenly dry for reasons that had nothing to do with the whiskey.
Rosita’s eyes flicked to his– just a glance, quick, unreadable– before she pulled her hand away and settled it back in her lap.
The night stretched around them, quiet except for the rustling trees and the chorus of crickets and cicadas that filled the warm summer air.
Daryl rolled the bottle in his hands, his pulse thudding a little harder against his ribs. “You ever gonna leave?”
Rosita took a second, her lips pressing into a line as she gave him a gentle shrug. “Don’t know,” she admitted. “Sometimes I feel like it would be easier out there.”
Daryl hummed low in his throat, lifting the bottle to his lips. He could feel the weight of her eyes on him, the same way he could still feel the ghost of her touch against his skin. It made him restless. Like he needed to move.
He slid forward, his feet thudding the ground, his balance a little uncertain at first. The ground seemed to shift beneath him, so he put a steadying hand on the truck until he was sure his legs wouldn’t betray him. He thought that his small stumble went unnoticed, until she let out a small laugh.
He shot her a look and she smirked, tipping her chin toward him. “You good?” But the way she said it was in that low throaty tone that made it almost sound like a purr falling from her lips.
Daryl grunted a soft laugh, shaking his head lightly, more at himself than her. “M’fine.”
Rosita hummed like she wasn’t entirely convinced, but she didn’t push. Instead, she reached for the bottle again. This time, she didn’t wait for him to hand it over, just plucked it from his grip, her fingers sliding against his as she did.
That damn touch again. Fleeting, but warm. Enough to make something coil low in his stomach.
She took a drink, long and slow, before lowering the bottle and licking a stray drop from her bottom lip. The movement was unintentional, effortless, but his eyes followed it anyways.
She was leaned to the side, propped back on one hand, the bottle clutched in the other. Perched on the edge of the tailgate, she looked so casual, so at ease. Her dark hair fell lose over her shoulders, contrasting sharply against her white tanktop that had ridden up, showing a small sliver of her stomach just above the waistband of her jeans. Daryl corrected his gaze, realizing that the flush that crept up his neck wasn’t just from the whiskey.
She must’ve noticed something in his expression, because her smirk faded slightly, her dark eyes lingering on his. “What?” she asked, her voice lower than what it had been just a minute ago.
Daryl shook his head, turning his attention back in the direction of the quarry. “It's just funny.”
Rosita arched a brow, shifting on the tailgate, the liquor already lacing her voice with humor. “What’s funny?” she asked as she tilted her head slightly, watching him. Her eyes gleemed brightly in the dim light. And when he turned his gaze back to hers, their eyes met for a moment before he spoke.
“Instead of goin’ somewhere, doin’ sometin’,” he exhaled sharply through his nose, “we’re just sittin here on the side of this damn quarry,” he motioned back towards the gaping hole just in front of the truck, “gettin’ drunk in the dark.”
She laughed then, shaking her head. “Yeah, guess neither one of us is as smart as we think we are.”
She let her legs swing lightly beneath her as she watched him, he was working his bottom lip between his teeth again as he stared out into the distance.
She offered the bottle out to him again, and he took a step closer, his hip brushing against her knee as he took it from her. His gaze was still on the horizon.
“I mean,” She said, the humor in her voice slowly fading, “There are worse ways to spend a summer night...” He turned his eyes back to her then, and she watched as his smirk faded into something else. Something softer.
He gave a small grunt in agreement, shifting his weight slightly from one foot to the other. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He said, though his eyes never left hers.
Silence stretched between them, laced with something thicker than it had before, broken only by the steady song of crickets and the occasional groan of a walker far below.
Daryl passed the bottle back to her, and this time, when their fingers met, neither of them moved right away.
The touch lingered.
Warm.
Deliberate.
He felt the way she let her fingers trail down his before wrapping around the bottle and pulling it away, slow and unhurried.
He felt his pulse thrum in his throat, but he didn’t look away.
Rosita kept her eyes on his as she brought the bottle to her lips again. She took a sip, slow and measured, the whiskey burning down her throat. She didn’t flinch, didn’t break her gaze.
Daryl felt something shift between them, something subtle and unspoken, but undeniable.
He should’ve looked away, should’ve said something to cut through whatever it was that was building between them. But he didn’t.
Rosita lowered the bottle, her fingers curling loosely around the neck of it. Her knee brushed against him again, just barely, but he didn’t move away this time.
The space between them felt smaller now. Closer. Like something had shifted without either of them moving much at all.
Daryl’s fingers flexed at his sides, a slow, restless motion. He could still feel the ghost of her touch against his skin, the weight of her gaze lingering on him like the heat in the air.
Rosita tilted her head slightly, watching him. “What’s on your mind, Daryl?”
Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.
Daryl swallowed, his throat working around the tightness that had settled there. He could’ve shrugged. Could’ve muttered nothin’ and put a safe distance between them.
But he didn’t.
He didn’t move.
He didn’t look away.
Rosita’s lips parted slightly, like she was going to say something else, but she hesitated. Instead, she set the bottle down beside her, her fingers lingering on the glass before she straightened.
And when she did, she was closer.
Not much. Just enough.
And somehow, her knees were on either side of him now.
Daryl still didn’t move.
Didn’t pull away.
Didn’t stop her when her fingers curled just slightly in the front of his shirt.
His pulse thudded harder now, rattling in his chest like something waiting to break loose.
Then she closed the distance.
Her lips met his, slow but sure, tasting of whiskey and heat and something else that had been simmering between them all night.
Daryl sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, startled by the sudden rush of it, but he didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate.
His hands found her waist, his fingers pressing into the fabric of her shirt, gripping tight like he needed something to hold onto. Rosita responded immediately, parting her lips against his, her fingers sliding into his hair at the base of his neck. It sent a shiver down his spine, a spark shooting straight through him, unraveling the last bit of restraint he might’ve had left.
The kiss deepened.
Rosita shifted forward on the tailgate, bracketing his thighs, pulling him in closer. Daryl let her. Let her push and pull and drag him down with her, because fuck, he wanted this.
The bottle tipped over somewhere beside them, rolling off into the dirt, forgotten.
His hands slid down, gripping her hips, his fingers pressing hard enough to bruise as he pulled her forward. She shifted, legs tightening around him as she kissed him harder, more desperate now. Her hands tugged at his hair, pulling a low noise from deep in his throat.
His skin was burning, his head swimming, the whiskey mixing with something stronger—something that had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the way she was pulling him under.
Rosita broke the kiss just long enough to suck in a breath, her forehead pressing against his, her own breathing uneven.
“This a bad idea?” she murmured, her lips brushing his as she spoke.
Daryl swallowed, his grip on her tightening. “Prob’ly.”
She smirked, fingers trailing down the front of his shirt before slipping beneath the hem, her touch searing against his stomach.
“Good,” she muttered, then pulled him right back in.
The moment shattered, breaking apart like a dam giving way.
Rosita pulled him in harder, her fingers curling into his shirt, dragging him closer. Daryl let her, let himself get lost in the heat of it, in the whiskey and the way her body fit against his like they’d done this a hundred times before.
Her legs tightened around his hips, pulling him flush against her. The tailgate groaned beneath their weight, metal creaking as she shifted, pressing into him.
Daryl exhaled hard, his breath sharp against her skin as he broke away for just a second, but Rosita wasn’t having it. She chased his lips, her hands sliding under his shirt, nails scraping along his ribs, dragging another low rumble from within him.
His grip tightened on her hips, fingers pressing into the soft curve of her waist as he pulled her even closer, his mind buzzing from the alcohol, from her, from the way her mouth was working against his—needy and relentless.
She tugged at his shirt, frustration rolling off her in waves when it wouldn’t come off fast enough. Daryl helped, yanking it over his head and tossing it blindly behind him.
Rosita barely gave him time to breathe before her lips were back on his, her hands sliding up his bare chest, nails scratching lightly over his skin. He hissed at the sensation, heat pooling low in his stomach, thick and heavy.
She smirked against his mouth, biting down on his lower lip before licking over it, slow and teasing.
Something in him snapped.
Daryl growled low in his throat and grabbed her thighs, lifting her effortlessly off the tailgate. She gasped as her back hit the side of the truck, but the sound melted into a breathy moan when he pressed against her, pinning her there.
Her hands found his hair, yanking him down as she kissed him harder, her body arching into his. The scent of whiskey and summer air clung to her skin, mixing with something distinctly hers—something warm and intoxicating.
Daryl barely had a second to think, barely cared to. His hands were on her, gripping, feeling, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of her shirt, pushing it up as his lips trailed down her neck.
Rosita gasped, her head tipping back against the truck, exposing more skin for him to claim. His teeth scraped against her pulse, and she shuddered, fingers twisting into his hair.
He didn’t stop.
Didn’t want to.
Not tonight.
Rosita hooked her legs around him, locking him against her as she ground down, making his breath stutter, making every nerve in his body light up.
“Daryl,” she breathed against his ear, her voice rough and wanting.
That was all it took.
All the control, all the restraint, anything that had been holding them back—gone.
They weren’t thinking anymore.
Not tonight.
Just moving.
Hands desperate, mouths hungry, bodies pressing together like they needed this.
Like they’d fall apart if they stopped.
And neither of them wanted to stop.
Not now.
Not tonight.
Rosita’s breath hitched as Daryl’s hands moved—rough, desperate, fingers sliding beneath her shirt, palms dragging over the bare skin of her waist. She was warm beneath his touch, burning hot, and when she arched into him, he let out a sharp breath against her throat.
Her nails scraped down his back, pulling him closer, pressing her body flush against his. The truck behind them was solid, grounding, but everything else was spiraling—too fast, too much, and still not enough.
“Fuck,” she whispered against his lips, her voice breaking on the word as she tilted her hips, rolling them slow, deliberate.
Daryl gritted his teeth, his fingers tightening around her thighs, his breath ragged as he tried to ground himself. But she wasn’t giving him the chance. Wasn’t letting him get a grip before she was kissing him again, rough and hungry, like she wanted to take every last piece of him tonight.
His hand slid higher, under her shirt, fingertips trailing the band of her bra before pushing it up, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his calloused hands. She gasped into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders, and he swallowed the sound, pressing her tighter against the truck, holding her exactly where he wanted her.
Rosita reached between them, fumbling with his belt, cursing under her breath when the buckle refused to cooperate.
Daryl smirked against her skin, his lips dragging along her jaw. “Y’rushin’.” His voice was low, rough, a rasp of gravel and heat against her ear.
She exhaled sharply, her fingers yanking at his belt again, stubborn and unrelenting. “Shut up,” she muttered, but there was a smirk in her voice, breathy and reckless.
Daryl chuckled, deep in his throat, but it cut off when she rocked against him again, sending a sharp jolt of heat straight through him.
His patience snapped.
Grabbing her wrists, he pinned them above her head against the truck, his grip firm but careful. Rosita sucked in a breath, her dark eyes flashing with something wild, something daring.
Her lips parted, but before she could say anything, Daryl was on her again—his mouth covering hers, devouring, his free hand slipping down, pressing into the heat between them.
Rosita moaned, her head tipping back, body arching into his touch. “Daryl—”
That was it.
Whatever control he’d been holding onto was gone.
He kissed her hard, swallowing her gasps, letting his hands and his body tell her exactly how much he wanted this, wanted her.
Wanted to lose himself in her completely.
And Rosita let him.
Met him with the same raw intensity, the same fire.
No hesitation. No second-guessing.
Just heat.
Just this.
Just them.
Daryl’s breath was ragged, his grip tightening on Rosita’s wrists as he held them against the truck. His restraint was razor-thin, fraying with every breathless sound she made, every shift of her hips against his.
Rosita smirked up at him, lips swollen from his kisses, her dark eyes flickering with something wild. “You gonna do somethin’ or just stand there?” she taunted, her voice rough, teasing.
Daryl didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t think.
Didn’t give her the chance to say anything else before he crashed his mouth against hers, rough and unforgiving.
She gasped into him, her fingers flexing where he held them, her body pressing into his as she hooked a leg around his hip, pulling him closer.
His free hand roamed lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her jeans, his fingers brushing hot, sensitive skin.
Rosita groaned, her head falling back against the truck, her breath catching in her throat.
“Fuck,” she whispered, her hips jerking against his touch.
Daryl growled low in his chest, the sound vibrating through him as his fingers pressed deeper, dragging another sharp moan from her lips.
Rosita tugged at his grip, and this time, he let her go.
Her hands were on him in an instant, shoving his belt out of the way, popping the button of his jeans, dragging the zipper down with a quick, deliberate motion that sent heat pooling low in his stomach.
Daryl sucked in a breath, his forehead pressing to hers as her hand wrapped around him, warm and sure.
His fingers clenched against her hip, his entire body tensing as she moved—slow at first, then firmer, teasing.
“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice breaking on the word.
Rosita grinned against his jaw, biting lightly before licking over the spot. “Thought I told you to shut up,” she teased.
Daryl let out a rough laugh, but it quickly dissolved into a groan as she squeezed just right. His patience snapped completely.
His hands were on her then, his fingers digging into the soft skin of her thighs as he lifted her.
She let him, wrapping her legs around him, arms locked around his shoulders as he slammed her harder against the truck.
“Now you’re gettin’ it,” she murmured against his lips, her voice breathless, shaky.
Daryl didn’t answer. Just kissed her again, swallowing her words, pressing into her, feeling every inch of heat, of need, of urgency between them.
There was no thinking, no hesitation.
Just heat.
Just hands and mouths and tangled limbs.
Just them, lost in the moment, in the whiskey, in the night.
And neither of them cared about anything else.
Not now.
Not tonight.
Daryl grunted as Rosita tightened her legs around him, the heat of her body pressing against his, sending another sharp pulse of want straight through him. His hands gripped her thighs, rough fingertips digging into smooth skin, holding her steady against the truck.
But it wasn’t enough.
He needed more.
Without breaking the kiss, he pulled back just enough to shift his grip, one arm sliding beneath her thighs as he turned, carrying her effortlessly to the cab of the truck. .
Rosita gasped, startled for just a second before she smirked against his lips. “Didn’t take you for the type,” she teased, her breath warm against his mouth.
Daryl huffed a rough laugh, kicking open the truck door, maneuvering them both into the cab with practiced ease. “Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no real bite to it, his voice ragged with need.
Rosita didn’t argue. Didn’t hesitate.
Daryl barely had the sense to shut the truck door before he was on her again.
She just pulled him down with her as he climbed into the seat, her back hitting the worn leather, her fingers tangling in his hair as she dragged him closer. She kissed him hard, raw, full of something neither of them wanted to name.
She was fire beneath him—burning hot, winding tight, her hands gripping at his bare skin, her legs tightening around his hips, pulling him deeper, harder.
The whiskey burned in his veins, but it wasn’t the liquor making him feel like this. Wasn’t the heat rolling off them in waves, fogging up the windows.
It was her.
The way she moved beneath him, the way she gasped into his mouth when he rolled his hips just right, the way she dug her nails into his shoulders, leaving faint crescent marks against his skin.
“Fuck, Daryl—”
The way she said his name, breathless and sharp, nearly undid him.
He growled against her throat, biting lightly at her pulse point, dragging his teeth over her skin before soothing it with his tongue. Rosita shuddered beneath him, her back arching, her nails dragging down his spine.
Daryl braced a hand against the door, the other gripping her hip as she shifted beneath him, heat pressing against heat, the friction making his breath hitch.
Clothes were in the way—too much fabric, too much space between them, and Daryl wasn’t having it. His hands were rough, fast, pushing her jeans down over her hips, shoving them past her thighs.
Rosita helped, lifting her hips, kicking them off until they were forgotten somewhere in the cab.
His jeans followed, shoved just low enough, his belt clattering against the seat as Rosita wrapped her legs around him again.
She bit down on his lower lip, pulling a low growl from him, and then he was moving, pressing his forehead against hers as his fingers gripped her thigh, hitching it higher around his waist.
Her breathing was uneven, her chest rising and falling quickly beneath him, but she still managed to smirk, her fingers dragging down his stomach, teasing.
“You sure?” he muttered, voice rough, barely more than a breath.
Rosita huffed, her lips curling up in something like amusement, but her eyes were dark, heavy with want. “Shut up and fuck me, Dixon.”
Daryl didn’t need to be told twice.
He shifted, positioning himself, and then—
Rosita gasped, her nails biting into his skin as he sank into her, slow at first, stretching, fitting, filling every inch of space between them.
Daryl’s breath hitched, his grip on her tightening as he fought to keep himself steady, to keep from losing it right there.
She was hot, tight, perfect around him, her body arching to take him in deeper, her legs locking around him to pull him closer.
Daryl let out a rough breath, his grip tightening before sealing his mouth over hers again, swallowing the sharp gasp she let out as he finally settled in.
“Fuck,” she whispered, her head tipping back against the seat. “Daryl—”
He groaned, low and ragged, as he started to move, slow at first, testing, savoring the way she felt beneath him.
Rosita didn’t want slow.
She met his thrusts, rolling her hips in a way that made his vision blur, made him tighten his grip on her thighs, made him bury his face in her neck to muffle the growl building in his chest.
Rosita arched up to meet him, her nails raking down his back as they moved together, a tangled mess of heat and hunger and urgency.
The truck rocked slightly with their movements, the windows fogging up, the whiskey-fueled haze mixing with the sound of breathless gasps, low curses, the rustle of hands gripping at fabric, pulling, needing.
Daryl’s head dipped, lips dragging along the curve of her throat, tasting salt and warmth, his breath rough against her skin as Rosita’s fingers clenched in his hair.
He wasn’t thinking anymore.
Neither of them were.
Wasn’t worrying.
Wasn’t holding back.
He let go.
Let her take him under.
Let himself drown in her, in this, in the way nothing else mattered in this moment except the way she felt, the way she sounded, the way she moved beneath him like she needed this as much as he did.
They lost themselves completely in the moment, in each other, in the way nothing else existed outside the heat of the cab, the way the world could’ve burned around them and neither of them would’ve given a damn.
Not now.
Not tonight.
And when Rosita clenched around him, shuddering, gasping his name, he followed her over the edge, pulling her closer, holding on tight as everything broke apart around them.
They stayed there for a moment, tangled together, breathing hard, the weight of what just happened settling in between them.
But neither of them moved.
Neither of them spoke.
Because for once, they weren’t running from anything.
Not tonight.
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ace-of-spaders · 1 year ago
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"We've decided to keep the baby."
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