#watch this do better than my fully finished stuff

[wiabelle-art]

SUPER SKETCHY but yeah, have this little thingy from the @greedislandchallenge

might clean it up later but as always no promises

[supercutszns]

rotten to the touch; luke castellan

series masterlist

wc: 3.2k

pairing: pre-tlt luke castellan x f! reader

synopsis: you’re pretty sure you’re an awful person. you’re pretty sure luke castellan is too. and you’re pretty sure you want to make out with him.

warnings: reader is flawed & not the greatest, luke is ... a little dark🫣, small mention of blood, swearing, lots of making out but no explicit nsfw, a bit toxic, & no more more ‘i can fix him’ or ‘i can make him worse’ it’s ‘he can make ME worse’

notes: this is… sluttier than my usual stuff so it’s not as good but i’m trying, feedback is appreciated! also i wonder what cabin we think this reader would be in, let me know where you’d place her im curious :) maybe i’ll write more of her in the future she’s interesting!! and thank you for 100 followers i am so grateful<3 designated song for this fic is crush by ethel cain

You are a miserable, wicked, asshole of a person, and everybody knows it. Including you.

It’s unclear to you why you turned out this way—every reason to blame never satiates the fury searing your insides. All the campers hate you. The counsellors, too. Even Chiron looks down on the viciousness inside you. You are Camp Half-Blood’s black sheep; a mean, bitter person with no love for the people around you. And it’s not just for show. You know you’re rotten. You know the anger will never go away.

It’s evident in the things you think about other people—the way you pick them apart in your head, toss them aside, because they just don’t see it. This miserable, unforgiving world, with children sleeping on wooden floors because the people who created you think you disposable. Because they can just make more of you. More, more, more, until one of you comes out rotten, born of all the ugliness they have inside them. You are the worst parts of Godly blood. The wrathful parts.

Everyone hates you. Everyone hates a person with an unquenchable anger.

But everyone loves Luke Castellan.

He’s a saint at Camp Half-Blood if there ever was one. Handsome, generous, kind. Goes out of his way to help out the new kids and gives them homes in his cabin. He’s the best swordsman in camp by a mile. Shit, you’d even love Luke Castellan if you didn’t know any better.

But you do, and you don’t, and it’s complicated, okay?

Because there’s something you know about Luke Castellan that nobody else does: he’s miserable and wicked, too.

You see it in his eyes sometimes. The way they look at you at dinner, when you’re picking at your food away from anyone else at your table. Something familiar rises in them, and your stomach twists. His body tenses whenever someone mentions his father, but the smiles he flashes are so charismatic nobody notices. But you do. It’s exciting.

During sword practice, he quips back and forth with the kids and laughs whenever they take a jab at him. He’s light, easy, carefree. But you see how he holds back, the tension in his shoulder, the way the arc of his sword never fully finishes. So you wait until everybody leaves and he’s alone, with the training dummies and the setting sun. And you. Hiding.

He slashes through them and spears through their heads. You see it, the gnashing of his teeth, the sweat curling down his cheeks. There’s something there. A chasm he’s hopeless to fill.

Before you know it, you’re going out of your way to catch him training alone. It’s creepy, you know, and awful, you know, but the more you watch him the more you see a sort of violence scabbed under his skin.

Whenever you see him now, the feeling you get is entirely foreign to you. It’s almost . . . longing.

Wherever she is, you’re pretty sure Aphrodite’s having a cosmic fucking laugh. And you’re sure she’s laughing double tonight.

The Aphrodite cabin is hosting some secret party for the older counsellors. You’re definitely of age to be a counsellor, but you’ve never been made one because that would probably make half the campers drop out. Chiron and Mr. D don’t know what to do with you. You’re sure you’ll be kicked out of camp soon for good.

But you’re here anyways, for a reason you don’t want to admit, and you stay tucked in a corner as the world around you mingles. Luke is on the other side of the room, lovely as always, laughing with a few other counsellors. He brings a drink up to his lips, and you have a startling thought of what it would be like to kiss him. And you’re fucked. You’re so fucked. Because for the first time in your life you want something tangible, something real. You want to hear him and feel him and pry him apart, and a part of you wants him to actually see you, see all the awful things that might make you the same. You feel like a teenage girl with a crush, and it is infuriating.

An Aphrodite girl comes up to you with a foolish smile. “Hey, sorry, you want a drink?”

“Fuck off, you idiot,” you snarl.

You wait for her to leave. She doesn’t. “You know, you don’t have to be so mean all the time,” she says evenly. “If you’re here, you might as well enjoy it. So yes, I want to give you a drink.”

“Have you ever thought that I’m not being mean? Maybe I just am.”

You glare at her. She looks you up and down. “Sure,” she shrugs, walking away. There’s a vivid picture in your mind of her falling through a hole in the cabin floor. It doesn’t soothe you, but at least the fantasy is there.

The night drones on. You’re sick of the smells and the laughs and the heat. And you’re sick of yourself. You can’t believe, underneath all your sourness, you came here to stare at a boy you barely know, and you don’t even know why. He’s fascinating, and you resent him, and he’s also beautiful. But he’s looked back at you all of three times tonight and you’re sick of the way your skin crawls when he does.

Leaving the cabin brings the relief of the cool night air, and the singularity of your body. You are the only one who feels this rage. You are the only one who hates.

To stave off your discomfort you walk around to the back of the cabin, to the crest of the hill facing the water. The stars above twinkle at you in spite. There’s a bitterness in your throat you want to wash down with something worse (maybe you should have taken that drink), but you know it won’t matter. Nothing matters. Those stars and whatever they hide are apparently the only important things in the universe, so why should anyone care about anything?

They stars only get brighter. It’s probably their goal to piss you off. You grunt, “Oh, fuck you,” to them. It’s not enough, never nearly enough to expel the rotten part of you. “Fuck you. Fuck off!” You groan at the sky. Nothing happens. Until:

“I’m guessing you’re not having a fun night.”

You whirl around. It’s hard to see in the dark, but whatever light is left catches a long scar on a cheek. Your stomach knots.

“Yeah, me neither,” Luke Castellan says, hands in his pockets as he meanders towards you.

Even when he’s close enough, you don’t say anything. If you do, you’re afraid it’ll be something ugly. Like I kind of want to make out with you. Are you awful too? I need a lobotomy.

The thoughts almost make you laugh. Been a long time since you’ve been funny.

He nods at the sky. “Those things don’t talk. You do know that, right?” He’s still so captivating, so self-assured, even when there’s no one around but you.

“Gods, you’re the worst,” you scoff. You really mean it, so you can’t look him in the eye.

“Then why have you been staring at me all night?”

It catches you so off-guard that you whip back to face him. He has an eyebrow raised and the itch of a smile that makes you burn with shame. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He shrugs, leaning against the cabin wall. “I’m not stupid. You’ve been brooding in the corner watching me the second you came in.” He cocks his head to the side, adding, “Actually, you stare at me all the time. At meals and stuff. I really hope you don’t think you’re being subtle.”

You huff. “Okay, if we’re really being honest here, you started that! You do it too! All the time!”

His hands shot up like he was being arrested. “Hey, I never said I minded it. A guy’s . . . just gotta wonder. What’s up with you spying on me when I’m training alone, anyways?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You watch me when there’s nobody else around. I’m not blind. It’s weird. If you want tips you can just ask me. Or if you like what you’re looking at, at least be upfront about it.”

You speak before you can take in that last sentence, or the way his smile took pride in itself when he said it, or how embarrassed you should probably feel. “You didn’t answer my question about why you started staring at me first.”

The anger (shame) blinding you made you forget how close you are to him right now. Close enough to touch, but not enough to see. But almost there. Almost.

“People think you’re mean,” Luke says after a moment, his dark eyes probing you. The words curl out of his mouth slowly, like he’s choosing them all with care. “You’re rude. You never listen to anyone. You judge everything. They all think you’re awful.” Again, he looks you over. “I’m not so sure.”

“If I’m awful, then you’re awful,” you spit before he can say anything else.

He just shrugs. “Well, I guess that’s why I’m not sure.”

It’s irritating, his calmness. He has the same anger you do. How come he can just . . . shove it down? You try to unearth any fury in his eyes, but it’s too far back. Simmering. “Jesus,” you mutter, “You’re worse than me.”

He looks genuinely taken aback by this. His scar deepens when his brows wrinkle. “What?”

“You’re a pretender—that’s what you are.” It’s your turn now, to step closer, to make his skin crawl. “Look at you. Everyone loves you. You’re this perfect golden boy and you’re sweet and attentive and whatever the fuck but you know it’s one giant lie. At least I’m honest, but you just sit pretty and act like you don’t have that . . . thing that I have. Resentment. Insanity. Whatever you want to call it. We’re the same, but I’m the only one getting shit for it.”

Now, you are close enough to really see him. The patterns on the wood behind him frame the vision of his ever-shifting face. You realize that this, like most things are to Luke Castellan, is a challenge. You also can’t remember the last time you saw him lose one.

But when you play, you play to win.

“You don’t know that,” he dares.

“Oh, I do. You’re rotten, Castellan,” you sneer, index finger jabbed into his chest. You can feel his heartbeat if you concentrate. “And you’re not owning up to it, so you’re also a coward.”

However scathing you look, it isn’t enough. If anything it only makes Luke’s manner more playful. Nothing feels playful anymore. Everything, inside and outside of your mind, feels like constant, exhausting war. Maybe that’s why you don’t slap his hand off you when it wraps around your wrist, keeping it pressed to the middle of his chest. His heartbeat thrums through you.

He tilts his face towards you, grinning, “Then why do you want to kiss me?”

All right. What the fuck. It feels like you’ve been electrocuted.

“What the—what are you talking about?” You blunder, but he knows, of course he knows, because there’s something between the two of you that has been formed and understood by eye contact alone. He can probably read your mind. As much as you don’t want to admit it, you’d like to read his just as much.

He cocks his head. “I mean, you did call me pretty,” he teases, and it’s almost endearing. “You’re pretty like this too.” His other hand comes up to your face, and you’re surprised you don’t flinch when his thumb gently smooths the crease in your eyebrows. “Don’t call me a coward, heathen. Then we’ll both be embarrassed.”

The nickname makes you want to fight, but the touch makes you dizzy. “You don’t want to kiss me, Luke,” you say with all the control you have, which, right now, is increasingly sparse.

“You’ve gotta stop telling people what they want,” he muses. The hand on your wrist traces further down your forearm. The one on your face snakes around your hips. “One of your more disagreeable qualities.”

His words fan over you. That fire simmering in his eyes has finally come to the surface.

“One of?” You challenge.

“You let me make out with you and I’ll give you a whole list.”

You snort, hoping it hides the shortness in your breath. “What a charmer you are.”

His lips brush yours. “Well, that’s what makes me so rotten, isn’t it?”

There’s hardly time to unravel if that’s a question or a statement because you grab a fistful of his shirt and he kisses you. Your heart detonates. It is not rotten in the slightest.

His body is warm and firm. You smell the cabin wood and the drink on his breath. It all matters, and none of it does. You’re warm everywhere as he wraps both arms around your back, and the way he kisses is, unfortunately, exactly how you thought he would. Your hands are tentative in his hair. So is your mouth on his. But Luke is so deliberate in the way he kisses that you know he’s thought about this, too. It makes you all the warmer.

His hand takes your jaw and tilts it up. You know your neck is shaky with breath, and you’re pretty sure he’s admiring it. You don’t complain when he presses a kiss to your jaw, then another one, like he’s testing the waters. “You’re so nice like this,” he mutters almost to himself, thumb running across your neck. “If only people could see you.”

“Then they’d see how mean you are too, no?” You huff. “You don’t want that.”

Another kiss to your jaw. “Not yet, sweetheart.”

Whatever feeling is harbouring in your body right now, it’s so fulfilling it almost makes you uncomfortable. You want to reject it. You’re not supposed to want things. Worse, you’re not supposed to get things. Luke starts marking a path down your neck and you are so determined to enjoy this that you’d kiss a fucking baby if someone asked you to. You might as well be a saint.

He bites the pulse point on your neck, sure to leave a mark, and a shudder rips through you. You’re pretty sure the bastard starts laughing. You hit his shoulder in retaliation.

“Easy, heathen,” he reprimands in your ear, and you know he’s still smiling.

“Don’t—don’t call me that.” You hate that you start to smile, too, and that your stomach burgeons with butterflies when he pulls back to look at you.

He touches the corner of your upturned mouth, kiss-bitten and red. His expression is boyish. “Hard to when it makes your face do that,” he goads. “I thought it was impossible for you to smile.”

“Be quiet.” You thread a hand through his camp necklace and bring him closer. You can almost taste his mouth on yours, but he sweeps past you at the last minute.

He gently tugs your earlobe with his teeth and whispers, “Yes ma’am.”

Fuck him. Seriously. You might have to.

It’s a tangle of teeth and hands and smiles kept hidden, as you slip your fingertips beneath his shirt and he does the same, and you’re both angry and greedy and incredibly destructive, but it doesn’t matter yet. Now you’re just teenagers fooling around at the back of a party, and it’s the first good thing either of you have had in a long time. Luke leaves you gasping whenever his mouth hits certain places, maybe too many places, and he teases you accordingly. “So sensitive,” he taunts, pressing his knee between your legs so he can see you squirm. You rake your nails through his scalp and he tilts his head back to groan. It shuts him up for a while.

He bites your neck until you say his name. You trace lines on his stomach till he takes your hand in his own. You’ve been hungry for something your whole life, and you finally have something to sink your teeth into. For better or for worse.

After Hades knows how long, laughter floats out from the front of the cabin. Sounds of feet tripping over each other and muffled goodbyes. You pull away from Luke, chests heaving together. His hair is wild, his shirt crumpled, and he looks entirely satisfied with it. Smug little shit. “Party’s letting out,” you mutter.

“What a damn shame.” His hand rubs your jaw, and it’s too tender a gesture so you angle your head away to peek over the side of the cabin. You barely pay attention to the kids straggling back to their bunks.

“Is now the time you tell me all my horrible qualities?” You ask once you’re ready to look at him again.

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Actually, I came up with more since I said that so I’m pretty sure it’ll take more than one night.” He fakes a wince, “Might have to spread it out for a few days.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh, you ass.”

“I’ll give you one for starters.” You feel like a tornado when he kisses the juncture between your jaw and your neck. “Your hands are too cold.” They’re tucked underneath his shirt right now, pressed against his back. You don’t move them. “And,” he adds, “you’re incredibly crass.”

“Thanks, dipshit.”

“Thank you for proving my point, heathen.”

The commotion at the front gets louder, and you know your time to go undiscovered runs short. “You meet me again tomorrow, and I start telling you the rest?” He raises his brows.

The prospect both repulses and excites you, although perhaps they’re hand-in-hand. You tentatively reach up to trace the scar on his face. A faint, jagged line that holds scripture within it. His eyes flutter shut for a moment. “Even though I’m rotten?” You ask, and there’s an echo of mischief in your voice, too.

He’s got a strange expression when he looks at you. “That’s not true.”

He leans down, angles his head to kiss you. It’s slow, but bitter, and he bites down on your lip until you’re pretty sure there’s blood. “Luke,” you murmur, and he kisses you softer. You lean into him like a hapless, lovesick fool.

After you part, he loosens his grip on you. The bumbling campers have gotten louder. He stares at you, and you see the chasm in his eyes again, brimming with fire. Same as yours. You know you’ll see him tomorrow.

He says, “You’re not rotten. You’re right.”

And damn it, you really do believe him.

[yesimwriting]

OKAY idk if you keep taking thoughts but this IS the dynamic I had thought for Felix since DAY ONE, so of course I need more best friend!felix and maybe this one is a typical one but...

The jealousy??? like this man is very facial and expressive and protective, especially towards the reader.... so I thought about him watching any of his friends flirting with them? And maybe also being way too touchy? You can decide if reader is comfortable in all that or not (I think she wouldn't), but having him like trying not to be a dick but also like needing to, like they're my best friend shush so yeah, I'd love it if you could write something like that! thankss

a/n omg that one scene in saltburn where felix is like 'you're my friend,, you're supposed to be here with me' yeah i knew immediately

----

"Sorry, darling." Despite the soft, almost far off cadence of Farleigh's voice, his words manage to cut through the atmosphere of the party. He leans forward, handing off his half finished joint to the girl standing next to you. "This stuff's heavy, and I don't need Felix on me tonight."

You frown. His denial doesn't get to you as much as the way he's framing it. Like you're a child that needs to be looked after. Like you're Felix's property.

If you weren't already a few drinks in, you'd dismiss Farleigh's words with an eye roll. The buzz burning in your veins latches onto that pinch of irritation. The full sounding giggle that comes from the nameless girl by your side only amplifies the feeling. "I don't do everything Felix says."

"No," he agrees, "You do just enough to be a good, little pet." You cross your arms in front of your chest, tilting your head to better glare at him.

The feel of something touching your shoulder cracks the tension. Your head turns. Felix. Despite your annoyance, Felix's sudden appearance at your side has you easing. He leans forward, pressing a kiss against your cheek near the corner of your mouth. "I was looking for you."

You smile, placing your hand over the one Felix still has on your shoulder. "You seemed busy, decided to take a lap."

He brushes his thumb against your shoulder. "Never too busy for you, darling." Felix has a way of making things that should feel just polite sound genuine. "How're you doing?"

"Farleigh's being mean."

"Didn't let her smoke." Farleigh explains flatly, taking the joint back from the girl. "After the way you reacted last time, it wasn't worth it."

Felix squeezes your arm. "That true?" You're not given a chance to respond. "You know how you get. Especially after drinking." You blink at him, eyes wide and lips pressed together. "Don't give me that look." It's too gentle to be a scolding. "We can smoke when you're sober, if you want."

You're not one to crave getting high too often. There's a sluggishness to it that you have to be in a certain mood for. But something about smoking with Felix, in his room with the window open and the two of you lounging like the only things that matter are what's within arm's reach, is unbelievably soothing.

Even in your current state, you're fully aware of the fact that you're getting the better end of the deal. But with Farleigh's smug comment and that random girl that laughed still paying attention, you don't feel comfortable agreeing in front of everyone.

"You're looking for an excuse to argue." Ugh. The way he reads you is almost eerie. You press your lips together to keep from giggling, watching him carefully. You shake your head, a flimsy attempt at denial. "Yes." Felix leans closer, grinning. He drapes an arm around your back, pulling you against his chest. " I can see it in your eyes."

"My eyes are innocent."

His freehand moves to hold your chin, angling your head to better look you in the eye. He's focused, exuding more concentration than the moment warrants. That's the thing about Felix, crowded room or empty dorm, it doesn't matter. He has a talent for making anyone feel like the only person in the world.

"Hm," he hums, "You pass." Despite coming to a conclusion, he makes no effort to move away from you. "Want to get another drink?"

You nod, "Yeah."

"C'mon, then." He drops one arm, waving a halfhearted goodbye to Farleigh before guiding you forward.

Felix keeps an arm around your shoulders as you maneuver through the chaos of the party. It's instinct to accept his lead, a part of you more glad for it than usual. You're starting to feel fuzzy, and with Felix guiding you, it's safer to accept the sensation.

"Oh my god!" A squeal and then your name.

You turn your head, eyes landing on a familiar face from your lit class. "Daphne!" She's a newer friend that you mainly know from exchanging lecture notes and working on essays together. A part of you is surprised to see her here, but you guess you shouldn't be. Now that you're thinking about it, you feel like you've seen her around Felix's friends before. "Hey."

Daphne approaches you with a wide grin. "I didn't know you were here." She then glances to Felix, and then Felix's arm, and then back to Felix. "Hi, Felix."

If he notices Daphne's curious scrutiny, he gives no indication of it. "Hi, Daphne," he greets, confirming that they do run in the same circles.

She smiles politely before turning her attention back to you, "It's been a minute since I've seen you." Daphne tosses a glossy strand of hair over her shoulder. "We need to catch up, I found out the best thing about the girl that sits in the front row that always tells everyone her grades."

"Bragger girl? She's the worst."

"Oh, you have no idea."

Felix squeezes your arm, turning your attention back towards him. "I'll get you your drink, you catch up with your friend." You beam at him as his arm gently moves off your shoulder.

As soon as he's disappeared into the crowd, Daphne gasps, "Oh my god, whatever's going on there is better than my bragger girl story."

You blink. "What?" Confusion and Felix's absence make you feel slightly off balance. It takes you a moment to catch up. "Oh, Felix? We're friend." Daphne presses her lips together, the look she's giving you not entirely convinced. "C'mon, tell me about bragger girl."

"Okay." Daphne gestures to an empty coach that's been pushed against a wall. "Let's sit?"

The two of you make it to the edge of the room. Daphne's not shy about taking up space, letting her long legs extend into the start of where people might walk. She trusts the world to move for her. It hits you then that your friendship with Daphne, like your relationships with a lot of people you've been spending time with recently, doesn't make make sense on paper.

You sit, grateful for the chance to lean against something sturdy.

"Alright," Daphne starts, angling her body towards you, "Bragger girl--never's gotten an imperfect score girl--" She cuts herself off with a soft, tipsy giggle. "Is hooking up with the TA."

Oh, you're fully hooked. "What?" Daphne nods, expression satisfied. "No way." There's no way to prove the connection between that girl always managing to beat your scores by a few points and any of her personal relationships, but come on. "Wait--with--with which one--the tall one or--or the one with the--" You're too out of it to recall a good descriptor, "Hair."

Daphne laughs again, "Hair?" You shrug at her. "Doesn't matter how little sense that makes, because that's the--the best part of the story." You nod, urging her. "She's hooking up with both of them."

You gasp. Oh my god, you cannot wait for Felix to get back so you can reiterate every detail of this. "Really?" Daphne giggles, nodding her head. "How do you know?"

"Okay," she crosses her legs, "So, I was at this ba--"

"Hey, Daphne," the voice is low and clumsy, over extending the second half of Daphne's name. Daphne looks up in time to see a guy sit on the couch's cushioned arm. "Who's your friend?"

Daphne throws you an apologetic look before turning back to the stranger. "Hi, John." She then introduces the two of you politely, presenting you as a friend from her intro to western lit class and John as someone from her econ class.

John doesn't even attempt to hide the fact that he's looking you over. You're not sure if it's the slightly glazed over quality to his eyes or his lack of shame gets to you. All you know is that some instinct tells you to be wary.

He tries your name on his lips, slurring slightly. "Why've I never seen you around?"

"Oh, I don't know," you try, tone much more sober than it was a moment ago, "I'm around, I guess. Here and there."

It's not your best small talk, but the only part of you that seems to be clinging to sobriety doesn't feel right. He's friends with Daphne, you tell yourself, you have no reason to believe he has bad intentions just because seems like he's had too much of whatever he's been having tonight.

John laughs, like your words were some obscure joke that he wants you to know he decoded. "So what do you do when you're not getting out?" He angles himself towards you, disregarding Daphne entirely. "I'm having a hard time picturing you in a library."

It's almost ironic enough to get you to laugh. John sees you here, he sees how you're dressed, and who you're with and just assumes that this is your regular state. And while there's nothing wrong with being the party girl type (some of your favorite people are that kind of person), it's just not who you are every night of the week.

"Actually, John," Daphne interjects, "She's really smart, like basically certified genius smart." You throw her a not so subtle look that says you feel like she's exaggerating. "What? I said basically." You don't look like you agree, "C'mon, even Dr. Alvero's said it, and he can't stand anyone."

"Really?" John moves to stand. "Dr. Alvero. His class is bloody murder." He takes a step towards you. "Maybe you could help me study sometime." You're too aware of the length of your dress, of your legs. "I'd pay you for your time."

There's something about the way he tacks on the reference to finances, an implication that burrows beneath your skin. That's the worst part of Oxford's elite, they assume that if you don't run in the same circles...that if you don't come from generational money, you have nothing. That you're in a position to bend to their every whim for what they consider petty cash.

"John," Daphne tries, voice hard.

"What?" John takes another step forward. "I said I'd pay her."

Indignance and nerves bond uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach. As much as you want to tell him off, the way he's looking at you leaves you frozen, and it's not like the two of you are in a private area. You don't want to be labeled as a hysterical drunk.

"Sweetheart." Felix is within reach.

You turn your head instinctually. He's less than a foot from the couch, holding a solo cup. Despite directly addressing you, Felix's attention is fully focused on John, who seems to have finally remembered the concept of personal space.

Felix walks past him without a second glance before sitting next to you. It's a squeeze, Felix's knee pressing into yours. "They ran out of cups, so I thought we could share." Felix extends his arm slightly, gesturing to his drink. "Have some."

You lift a hand to reach for the cup, but Felix shifts before you can actually attempt to take it. Confusion has you dropping your hand back to your lap. You don't get where he's going with this until he gently tilts the cup in a silent question. You nod.

Felix brings the drink to your lips, gently tilting the cup until its contents are down your throat. The alcohol burns slightly, but not overbearingly so, and the flavor is familiar. Your favorite drink.

He pulls the cup away, a drop of liquid sliding down the corner of your mouth. Felix's thumb wipes it away before it can reach your chin. He then brings his still damp thumb towards his mouth to clean it.

Heat roots itself in your chest and crawls up your neck. All of your discomfort, all of your worry from before feels far and abstract until Felix asks, "So, who's your friend?"

"Oh, uh--this is Daphne's friend, John."

Daphne nods, leaning forward to join your conversation, "Yeah, I know him from my econ class."

"Yeah, good to finally meet you, man. " Felix finally looks back at John. "I think my step-mother's friends with your mum."

Felix places an arm against the back of the couch, giving you space to relax against his side. A more sober you would have thought twice about giving in so quickly, but you're starting to feel light again. "Uh--Cindy Marin."

"Right!" John exhales, relieved, "Right."

Felix nods once before turning his attention back to you. "You ready to get out of here?" There's an assuredness in the way he asks the question that makes it seem like there's nothing of value left at a party that hasn't at all since he sat down. You nod. Felix leans towards you so that he can better look over your shoulder. "See you around, Daphne."

"Yeah, see you."

Felix gets up, immediately stealing the warmth and comfort he'd been providing while next to you. Something that you only very minorly resent him for. He offers you his hand as you stand, and that makes up for most of it.

You turn your head to say goodbye to Daphne. Now that Felix isn't looking, she grins at you before mouthing: that was hot.

You roll your eyes, hoping your feigned irritation is enough to cover any signs of being flustered. Especially when Felix pulls an arm around your shoulders.

"Bye, John," he mumbles, "Congratulate your step-mum for me, yeah?"

Felix guides you out of the party. Once the two of you are exposed to the cool, night air, Felix lets go of you. There's a stiffness to his release that gets to you.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box of cigarettes.

"Can I?" Your voice is smaller than you thought it'd be.

Felix pauses, thinking through your request before handing you the box. You smile as Felix leans towards you. You don't smoke--with the exception of an occasional drag from one of Felix's cigarettes--but you like lighting them for him.

You pull one from the box and place it between his parted lips. He hands you his lighter next. You spark it to life, bringing the flame to the cigarette's end. Felix takes a deep breath, letting the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling. He doesn't attempt to take your hand or place an arm around you again.

"Are you--" You're not even sure how to word it, "...Okay?"

He takes the cigarette between two fingers as he breathes out. "Fine." Felix inhales another drag. "Just didn't love the way that guy talked to you."

"If it helps, neither did I."

Felix glances over at you, eyebrows pulling together. "Then it's a good thing your best friend was there."

You roll your eyes fondly, fighting a grin, "You're always a good thing."

He looks down, his fingers brush against yours. You intertwine them, pulling his palm against yours. "Someone loves me."

You attempt to glare at him, but the look feels too sickeningly fond to come off as menacing. "Don't start."

His smile broadens. He squeezes your hand, thumb brushing against your knuckles. "Want to stay over tonight?"

"Yeah." You grin, body subconsciously leaning against his a little more. "Are you tired?"

Felix eyes you with exaggerated skepticism, "Why?"

"Wanted to know if you were in the mood to read to me tonight."

He smiles, angling his head to press a kiss against the top of your head. "Anything you want, lovie."

----

felix: oh my god,, i can't believe people treat you like that!! maybe you should borrow my last name for a little, just so that they leave you alone

taglist; @vader-is-hot @spiritofbuddha @getosangie @freyafriggafrey @ilovehyperfixating @aryiannarae @willowpains

[wheneverfeasible]

🧠🪱Wriggly Wednesday🪱🧠

Thank you for the tags my lovelies! @queenie-ofthe-void @steviewashere

So we all know the florist/tattooist trope, yeah? Steve is the pretty little florist and Eddie is the tough looking tattoo artist, maybe their shops are even next door to each other, or at least nearby. It’s a great trope.

Except…

Eddie is the florist and Steve is the tattoo artist.

A bit of modern AU here too maybe but…Eddie got in trouble as a kid selling stuff , okay? He ended up in juvie for a bit, and he was terrified that this was it and his uncle would finally declare him a lost cause just like his father, but…he doesn’t. He encourages Eddie, knows his nephew could be better than any other Munson, and it helps. Eddie wants to be better.

He handles juvie well, gives up dealing, and serves community service helping out at the local garden (it wasn’t his initial choice, but he takes to it almost immediately). After everything is all said and done, community service over and he’s fully free once more, he still volunteers at the gardens.

Eddie, he discovers, likes flowers. He likes discovering the meaning behind them, the totally rad Latin names of them, and he likes growing something from nothing and watching them bloom. Eventually, when he’s older, he opens his own little shop.

He doesn’t look like your typical florist, all dark colored clothes and long hair and tattoos and piercings, but he’s knowledgeable in what he does and his flowers always look so pretty and nice and he’s happy.

Steve was a pampered rich kid, until he wasn’t. He did sports, and he liked them, but not enough to make a career out of it. He never felt that pull towards anything. He did like babysitting well enough, even if the kids were more like friends than clients, but it wasn’t something he wanted to do forever either.

Will, one of the kids he babysat, was an artist. He sketched and painted and even took up a bit of pottery for a while, though that phase passed quickly. But Steve was intrigued by the drawings Will made. He tried to recreate them, and Will actually helped his technique a little, but it still wasn’t quite what Steve wanted to do.

And then one day, bored while waiting for his little friends to finish gawking at the nerd store he took them to in the city, Steve grabbed a pen from the counter and started his little doodles on his own arm, since he didn’t have any paper. And…he kind of liked that. One of the kids, Jane, noticed his drawing and held out her own arm for him to draw on. And he liked that a lot better.

After that, Steve began noticing tattoos on people. Permanent drawings that didn’t wash off, and things his father absolutely hated. And there were a lot of different styles, he noticed. And soon Steve was purchasing books about tattoo techniques and styles, about the history of tattoos in different cultures, and, with the last money he ever got from his father, he bought himself tattoo equipment and fake skin to practice on.

Steve really likes drawing, but he loves tattooing more. He looks nothing like your typical tattoo artist though, with his pastels and polos and styled hair that still speaks of his prep upbringing. He’s not covered in tattoos or piercings, but he slowly makes a name for himself. He gets a job in a studio, attends conventions and things, growing in skill and practice until one day he can afford his own little shop all his own.

When a new tattoo parlor opens up right next door to Eddie’s flower shop, he’s ecstatic at first. He could use a new tattoo. Then he meets the owner and there’s no way this jock looking pretty boy can handle the sort of ink that Eddie wants. He sees the work the man does, pretty watercolor flowers and cliché anchors, and figures the guy would run screaming for the hills if he had to tattoo a screaming skull or something.

Maybe they kind of snip at each other in passing, though Steve seems to enjoy it and laughs at Eddie’s sarcasm, and Eddie…Eddie likes his laugh and his smile. Maybe Steve buys a single flower one day, then tucks it into Eddie’s hair with a smirk before leaving silently, and Eddie…doesn’t know what to do with that.

Maybe one day Eddie sees an original piece Steve is working on, a bipedal monstrous creature with slimy looking skin and a head that opened into petals full of teeth. It was metal as fuck. Steve explains it’s his own interpretation of a monster from this game these kids (not kids anymore) he used to babysit would play, and Eddie…Eddie realizes he’s in very real danger of falling in love with this man.

Lucky for him, Steve is already smitten with the metalhead florist who works next door; he’s just been waiting for Eddie to catch up.

For their first date, Steve tattoos him for free, then they go and get honest to Satan milkshakes afterwards. Their next date, Eddie takes him to the local public gardens and tells him all about the flora there, their scientific names and history, and afterwards they get coffee and talk about what they want in life. Their third date they go to a vintage drive-in movie, though neither could tell you what it was they went to see, far too busy with…other pursuits.

A few years later, after Eddie says yes to the ring, they get matching tattoos of the other’s initials in the petals of a flower with teeth. When they get married, they get the date they met tattooed to their inner wrist.

Later, they add the date the little girl they adopt officially becomes part of their family. A few years after that, that same little girl grins as she watches a new date be added to their wrists, holding the boy who just became her little brother.

By the time Eddie and Steve retire, their wrists are full of dates. Eddie tends to a little garden outside their home, their kids helping out whenever they visit with the grandkids, taking over when Eddie just wants to sit and enjoy the flowers. Steve is there with him, a canvas open as he sketches and later paints Eddie and their family amongst the flowers.

Sometimes, as a little treat, he’ll even add a little demogorgon hidden amongst the blooms for Eddie to find. Eddie always likes those ones the best.

-

No pressure tags: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @fkinkindagauche @sp0o0kylights @skitchskatchbat and you guessed it, tagging you first 😤 @stervrucht

[lowkeyrobin]

HII so I was reading your who you write for and saw you write for Charlie Bushnell, so I was wondering if I could get like reader and Charlie at like the an interview???

Thank you -🍄

hell yeah of course 🙏🙏 ; thank you 🍄anon, hope you enjoy 🫶🫶 ; i dunno how but this got a little off topic?? I apologize

CHARLIE BUSHNELL ; the interview

summary ; youre a journalist, he's an actor

warnings ; language, little cringe kissing scene (totally sfw dw)

disclaimers ; I said "scandalous ankles" because back in the olden days ankles and showing any skin was considered scandalous, for anyone who didn't know. reader is described to be not into fitness stuff, also don't mind me not knowing shit about fitness/weightlifting

word count ; 883

masterlist

"Hi, welc-hum inside." You smile, waving to Charlie as he enters the room. You then cringe at yourself in embarrassment. "Sorry, hi, welcome." You awkwardly chuckle, "I apologize, my words are all tangled today"

"You're good" He waves, a comforting smile on his face. He wears a black t-shirt with a logo in the corner and design on the back, paired with some jorts and sneakers like he just came from the gym. You didn't mind though, you urged your guests to come comfortable over casual.

Video interviews that weren't in front of a live crowd were the best for both of you, thank God. Meeting this Godsend of a man nearly gave you a heart attack. Just looking at his gorgeous eyes and his perfect features, nothing was wrong with him whatsoever. He was genuinely a 10/10.

He sits down in the guest chair across from yours, watching you sift through a desk a few feet away, looking for something. Your dress pants rise at the ankles every time you make a step, revealing more of your scandalous ankles, covered by socks.

You finally sit down, apologizing for taking so long to find your notebook where you held a few questions and conversation starters. The cameras begin rolling, and you introduce yourself and Charlie as per usual.

"So, what's it like being on set, with all the cameras, lights, props, and green screens? What are the action scenes like?"

Charlie lightly smiles as he gives you an answer, using his hands to talk a little bit. He seemed a little tense and nervous, but you didn't point it out or blame him, it took you years to be fully comfortable where you sat.

"What even are you? Cause like, you're an interviewer but also a journalist, what do you prefer being called?" The curly haired boy asks you.

You shrug, "Journalist, I guess. Interviewer could be put like, inside the circle of journalism, I'd say. I'm a journalist before I'm an interviewer"

He nods, giving you a gorgeous smile that you had to quickly look away for. You discreetly hide your flushed face, looking down at your notebook.

You write down some memorable quotes as you sit and chat with him, bringing up some interesting conversation and learning more about being on set and the production behind media.

After the cameras are off, you thank him and invite him to stay for some aftertalk and lunch. You came in with a large bowl of taco salad you needed to finish before it went bad and were offering it to anyone who wanted it. He accepts the offer, staying back in the break room with you to eat some of that salad you'd brought in. In his words, it was very much better than whatever fast food he was going to go get before returning home.

Your conversation quickly turns into one regarding music and working out, although you weren't too into fitness, the occasional jog here and there keeping you healthy, apparently.

You both stand up, setting your bowls and forks in the dishwasher to get them cleaned. You stand against the counter as he leans his hand against it a couple feet away.

He pulls up his t-shirt sleeve, flexing his arm to show off his muscles. He's trying to impress you, mostly, but you had asked how frequently he worked out. Not his fault.

"Usually lift about 145"

You nod, paying more attention to his face than his muscles. Not exactly your question, but you'd take it.

"You okay?" He asks, seeing you zoned out staring at him.

"Yeah, sorry-"

"Am I that handsome to you?" He asks, lightly teasing you.

"Wh- I mean, hey now-"

He lightly giggles, stepping forward a bit.

You stare into his brown eyes, colored like a dark chocolate mocha. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, seeing your eyes almost glimmer as they stare into his.

He's just a guy, you're an interviewer, a journalist. This is weird, isn't it? Is it not?

"May I?..." He whispers, looking down at your lips, then up at your eyes.

Triangle Theory.

You nod, a soft smile painting your face.

He quickly embraces your lips with his, hands resting on your waist. You melt into his kiss, your bodies tied together. He picks you up, hands resting behind your thighs, placing you on the counter.

You quickly pull away, hands on his shoulders as he stands between your legs. "Okay, what the fuck? Do that again"

He smiles, looking up at you. His arms are now loosely wrapped around your hips and waist area, his curls falling into place like dominoes.

"You're an interesting one"

"Says you, actor guy"

"Don't try and play me at my own game"

You open your mouth to speak, but shut yourself up, seeing the smug look on his face.

He holds your left hand in his right, a slight panic running through both of your heads as he rubs your knuckles with his thumb.

You speak up now, finding your stomach filled with butterflies.

"You make me want to grab a dictionary and manually find the words I'm looking for to describe you and how attractive that was."

He lightly laughs, kissing your hand.

"Whatever you say, journalist"

[mcu-coworkers]

Enough for you

Summary: You realized that maybe Miguel isn't who you thought he was.

Word count:1k+

warnings: Sad reader, Sad Miguel:(

Tag list: @ahopelessromanticwritersworld  @munixumai  @deputy-videogamer  @blueberry-thrawn  @neteyamsluvts  @um-well @stinygirl009​  @marcswife21 @maladaptivedaydreamingbum​  @juleshadalittlelamb​  @taygrls​  @tanchosanke​  @chuckle-nuts​

A/n: Hello everyone and welcome to part two of “you?” I will most positively be making a part three coming very soon! Thank you all for reading! (I listened to the sour album while writing this series rough drafts)

Parts: One  Two^ Three Four

Credits to the creator^

That night you cried yourself to sleep.

Partially because Miguel completely shot you down and partially because you left your friends and suit forever.

You couldn't bear to bring back the suit or go back to HQ knowing what you knew.

You could never face Miguel or any spider again.

You wanted to so desperately let it all go and forget.

But above all else there was a city that needed you and you’d always be there for them no matter what heartbreak comes your way.

In this moment, you wished you were as heartless as miguel.

Back at HQ Miguel was looking through endless security footage on all possible earths miles could have been on.

Truth was he needed a second pair of eyes.

“Lyla.” he barked out.

“Yes, boss.” she responded, appearing on his shoulder.

“Call y/n.” he said, pausing the footage to rub his eyes.

He could take advantage of this time to apologize.

“No can do.” she replied being short with him. To be fully honest Lyla had also had enough of his shit.

“What? Lyla it wasn't a question go get me Y/n. Now.” he said, not having the energy to deal with her jokes.

“No. Miguel, you don’t-” she tried again but he cut her off.

“Fine.  I  ‘ll go get her my fucking self.” he said swinging towards the door.

“She's gone, Miguel. And it's all your fault.” Lyla said behind him.

He froze,“What?” finding your watch and your suit he stopped thinking.

“She quit. Not just the spider society, she quit being a spider entirely. Because of what you said.” Lyla finished.

“ I   didnt-  I   didnt mean it..” he said, clutching your suit in his hand.

“Well you said it anyway and it hurt her.” She responded, “And if  I   were her  I‘d probably never come back too, she deserved better Miguel. Why did you lie?” she asked confused as to why he denied himself the chance of love.

“ I   was angry  I   wasn’t thinking straight.  I  didn’t mean it.” he said barely above a whisper.

“Yeah well you sold it as far as keeping up an act goes.” she said, sighing.

Miguel could always fix his mistakes. This would be a first.

Sighing he stood straight and turned back to his desk.

Miguel had a decision to make, you or the fate of the multiverse.

It's like he said, there's no room for that kind of stuff for guys like him.

Once again he was right.

“Get Ben and Jess in here and have them start with earth 42.” he said, sounding more defeated than ever.

Still, he was clutching your suit as if you were still in it. Your scent lingering.

“Yes, boss.” was all Lyla could muster up at the moment.

Her artificial heart was breaking for the both of you. He was so close to telling you she could feel it.

It just wasn't his strongest moment.

Neither was this one as he took out his anger on the poor monitor that happened to be in his way.

Back at home you laid in bed trying to find the motivation to get back up but the truth was you didn't want to.

Everytime you tried to create a new suit you just heard Miguel's abusive words like it was the first time all over again.

And it just made you want to hide under the blankets forever.

Your spidey senses went off and then there came the portal.

You knew it wasn't Miguel, he could never.

“Hey webby? You alright in there?” you heard.

Peter.

Taking the covers off you came face to face with an exhausted Peter and a sleeping May Day.

“Heard what happened at HQ  just wanted to check in if that's okay.” he added wondering if he could take a step closer.

“ I   really screwed it up this time pete.” you said wiping the tears away for the millionth time.

God you felt pathetic.

“No way kid, that was all him. You know that right.” he said sitting next to you.

“ I   should’ve been there. But even if  I   was, I don't know if  I‘d be on his side. Miles is just a kid, We’ve all been there right?” you asked. Thinking this way makes you feel guilty.

You should stand behind Miguel at all times.

But now what did it matter you’d never step foot in HQ ever again anyways.

“You're allowed to think whatever you want. He can't take that from you.” Peter reassured me.

He was right.

“You think you’ll ever come back?” he asked, he almost entirely knew the answer but he still held out hope for you.

“ I   don't think so Pete,  I‘m sorry.” you said looking down in shame.

The reality was you could never face him again.

“Don’t be  I   wouldn't stand for that either  I  ‘m pretty sure a lot of us are done for too anyways but listen, you’re never going to be alone.” he said putting a hand on your shoulder.

“If you ever decide to come back not just as spider woman, but to the society, just know you have people in your corner.” he said, giving you a warm smile.

“Thanks pete.” you said as he stood opening a portal.

“Hey pete?” you called out.

Turning back to you he waited for you to continue.

“Don’t ever stop sending me Pictures of May Day. I need my daily serotonin boost.” you said with a soft smile earning yourself a chuckle in return.

“Never kid.” he said as he walked his way into the portal.

A soon as he was gone you went back under the covers and took a deep breath.

Peeking your head out from under the cover you looked at the picture you had framed on your wall.

It was of you receiving the key to the city.

Your city, the one you saved day and night.

Whenever it called for you.

You earned that key the same way you earned the title of spider-woman.

And you weren’t gonna let some words take that from you.

Wiping the fresh tears away you got out of bed putting Miguel's words in the back of your head and got to designing.

You were bigger than his words and you’d prove it.

In that moment you promised you’d make him regret ever  making you feel like you’re not good enough.

One day he’s gonna feel sorry for himself.

And one day you’ll be everything to somebody else.

And he’ll be the one who's crying.

Yeah, one day.

*If you’d like to be added to the tagslist just let me know I am more than happy to :)

[levithestripper]

would they peel an orange for you

masterlist

warnings: gender-neutral reader, none

included characters: yuji itadori, megumi fushiguro, toge inumaki, yuta okkotsu, and kokichi muta (mechamaru).

length: 1.2k || read on ao3 || join my taglist

a/n: i just finished both seasons of jjk and gege owes me money for therapy

— Yuji Itadori

Yuji wouldn’t need to be asked to peel an orange for you. He’d be making himself a snack and decides to bring you something too, ‘cause he knows you’ll sneak stuff off his plate anyway, so why not get you your own snack? He also peels your orange nicely, even picking off that icky white string you hate. Yuju brings it to you on a plate, and the gesture makes you smile as he snuggles next to you on the couch in the common area. 

“An orange?” you ask, looking up at him from your seat on the sofa. You’re covered up to your chin in a fluffy blanket, warding off the chill you felt due to Yuji’s absence. You swear the man’s like a walking furnace. 

“I was getting myself a snack, so I thought I’d get you something, too!” Yuji replies with a smile so bright that it rivals the sun. “I know you like oranges, and you haven’t had one in a while, so I thought you’d like one!” He sits next to you again, wriggling underneath the blanket, putting his cold feet on your bare legs, making you squeal. 

You take the plate from him after he stops torturing you with his maliciously cold toes. “Yu!” Yuji just kisses your cheek happily, tangling his legs with yours. Now that he’s had fun, Yuji’s careful not to get his cold feet on you.

— Megumi Fushiguro

Megumi would also peel you an orange, but you’d have to ask him first. You’ll be sitting in his room together, with you on his bed and him at his desk. Last time he was out in the city, Megumi bought a mini fridge for his dorm room so he doesn’t have to walk all the way to the kitchens when he’s hungry late at night. 

“Hey, Megs?” you gaze over at him, your head hanging off the edge of his bed, hair dangling upside down with you. 

He turns to meet your gaze, chin in his palm. “Yes, my love?” The afternoon sunlight filtering through the windows illuminates Megumi’s pretty features, beautifully highlighting his dark chocolate eyes. 

“Could you get me an orange from the mini fridge?”

He nods, silently leaning over and snagging a clementine out of the fridge. Pushing his homework out of the way and unfolding a napkin, Megumi fully peels it in just a few strips, tossing the rind in the trash can underneath his desk. With a soft smile, he wraps your orange in the napkin, placing it in your outstretched hand.

“Thank you, Megs,” you return his smile, moving to sit crisscross. You giddily eat your orange slices, the fruit tasting much better since your boyfriend prepared it. Megumi watches you eat, his chin returning to his palm like before. His oversized cream-colored sweater makes him look like a soft, snuggly teddy bear. “You should take a break, baby. You’ve been working for hours!” you exaggerate, making him giggle quietly. 

Megumi sighs with a smile before joining you on his bed, curling up beside you like a cat, resting his head on your shoulder. “I don’t think it’s been hours, love,” he chuckles, stealing an orange slice. 

“Hey!”

“Payment, babe.”

You roll your eyes at him but pretend to not see Megumi steal another slice a few moments later.

— Toge Inumaki

Toge also would need to be asked to peel an orange for you. He’s more than happy to do it, as one of his love languages is acts of service. He peels it while sitting on the couch beside you, watching whatever you had on the television. He may or may not take a few pieces for himself in the process. 

You lean against him, your head on his shoulder, watching Toge’s nimble fingers fix a snack for you. He separates the orange into individual slices, making it easier to eat as you watch TV. When he hands you the plate, you find a few slices missing, only to see Toge eating them.

“Toge! Those’re mine!” you exclaim, looking at him as if he had deliberately kicked one of your stuffed animals off the bed. 

He makes a face at you. “Fish flakes.”

“Oh, don’t fish flakes me, Toge,” you grumble, “No more eating my snacks!”

Toge makes another face at you, teasing you in that silent way he’s gotten good at. He snags another slice before you can move your plate away, a stupid grin spreading across his lips.

— Yuta Okkotsu

Yuta will peel your orange for you, but he’d be sassy about it the entire time. He’s happy to do it, but he’ll be teasing you while he does it. Standing by the counter, Yuta’s peeling your orange in small bits, tossing the skin on a paper towel. “You need me to peel your grapes, too, angel?” he teases, and you stick your tongue out at him. 

“You don’t peel grapes, dumbass.”

“You peel them for babies,” Yuta smirks.

You shoot him a warning glare like you’re daring him to continue that train of thought.

He giggles as he finishes sectioning the orange. “I’m not above chucking this at you, angel.”

“Shut up and give me my damn orange,” you snark at him, leaving him in the kitchen to make yourself comfy on the sectional in the common room. The second year’s dorm rooms have better amenities than the first-year dorms. 

He sits beside you, throwing a blanket across both of your laps. “You’re so demanding.” 

“And you’re annoying.”

“And you love it,” Yuta grins, kissing your cheek.

— Kokichi Muta

Kokichi would one hundred percent hands down peel an orange for you. He’s so incredibly grateful to be with you in person that he’d probably kill someone for you if you asked. So yeah, he’d peel you an orange. He’d probably peel you two oranges. Kokichi would try to peel it into a heart shape, but if it didn’t work the way he wanted, he’d just arrange the longest scraps into a vague heart shape the best he could.

Sitting at the breakfast counter, you watch Kokichi prepare a lovely breakfast for both of you. Bacon sizzles on the stove next to a pan of over-easy eggs. While he waits for the bacon to finish, Kokichi plates the eggs and toast before grabbing a bag of fruit from the fridge. He washes a handful of red and green grapes and sets them in a bowl, now quickly peeling two oranges, one for you and one for him. He places the fruit on your plate, careful to keep it from touching your eggs.

You didn’t expect Kokichi to prepare your fruit for you; no one besides your parents when you were little had ever done that before. “Oh, Chi, you didn’t have to do that for me,” you say, affection warming your chest.

He smiles at you sweetly, his scar stretching slightly. “I know. I wanted to.” Kokichi lifts the bacon pan off the stove, holding it over the counter while he splits it evenly on each plate. “I know you don’t like the feeling of the peel underneath your nails.”

Kokichi’s words fill you with so much love and other indescribable emotions that it makes you want to scream. You pull him to lean over the counter for a kiss. “What did I do to deserve you, Chi?”

He grins against your lips, kissing you back with all the passion bubbling inside his chest as well. “You deserve all this and more, you know. But we’ve gotta eat before our eggs get cold.”

[sanguineterrain]

i'm sure you have plenty of requests, but do you write part 2's/continuations of blurbs?? bc i'm FULLY invested in the bodyguard!jason au and i need to know what else transpires in their time together. does he read to the reader?? does reader take him clubbing with him subsequently losing them in the crowd?? is he their unofficial date to the countless galas and social gatherings they're invited to?? what is their sleeping arrangement? the people demand politely request answers!

the people shall get their answers!

bodyguard!jason todd x gn!reader. pt 2 to this. tw reader punches a rich asshole, pining, tension, etc. jason is a sweetheart as always! all fics are reblogged to @sanguinelibrary

****

Galas suck.

You swish champagne in your glass and watch it fizz. Then you do it again. And again.

A man's loud laughter carries over the delicate string quartet. You glower in his direction for a second. Then you rest your head on the wall behind you.

"I'm bored to tears, Red," you say.

Hood is playing wallflower with you, except he actually has an excuse.

"To tears, huh?" he says. "Maybe you should try being social. I believe that's what these shindigs are for."

Your head lolls in his direction, brows rising. "That's pretty rich coming from you. You're the least social person I know."

"Well, I do shoot people for a living. Tends to put others off. Go figure."

You stop a passing waiter and pluck a vegetable croquette from tray, then pop it into your mouth. "You haven't shot anybody in months."

Hood sighs. "Yeah. Sad stuff."

"You could shoot somebody here."

"Not without good reason," he says.

"How 'bout for being an entitled, elitist prick?"

"I'm afraid I need a little more reason than that. For legal purposes. But I do love shooting entitled, elitist pricks."

"Fine. Give me the gun."

Hood hums. "I think I'm a bad influence on you, trouble."

"You're the best influence on me," you say. "Give me your gun. I can be trusted."

"That's a negative."

You finish the croquette and edge closer to him, your shoulders touching. You tap him on the shoulder. He leans in, ear near your mouth.

"Ye-es?" he asks, eyes flicking to you. Wow. You've never gotten used to Hood's laser focus on you.

"What if I said you're the wind in the trees and the music of the birds and all of my dreams come to life?" you ask, only exaggerating a little.

"I'd probably check for a concussion," says Hood. You can tell he's smiling behind his mask.

"What if I said you're too sexy for your shirt?"

"Hm. Can't disagree there. Still no gun, though."

"Bastard."

Hood bumps your shoulder and straightens. "Sorry, trouble. Looks like we'll have to soldier through without sending anyone to Emergency."

You suck your teeth. "Man. Will you dance with me, at least?"

Hood snorts.

"I'm not joking," you say. "I headcanon you to have secret waltz and tango skills."

"You headcanon me?"

"Yes. I write headcanons about you on my blog." You gulp down the rest of your champagne. "So, what do you say?"

"Dancing isn't in my job description, trouble. 'Sides, there's plenty virile, eligible bachelors here for you to rumba the night away with."

You wrinkle your nose. "Who describes people as virile? They're not lab mice."

"Sorry." Hood clears his throat, then cocks his hip. "They're hot and totally into you!" he says in a peppy voice. "Better?"

You shiver. "Don't do that again. Gave me the heebie jeebies."

"'Gives the heebie jeebies' is actually on my resume," Hood says. "Right after 'scares the shit out of people.'"

The music slows to a finish. The dancers clap. You groan, leaning against the wall.

"Maybe I can pull the fire alarm," you say.

"Excuse me!"

An old, small man in an expensive suit with white, thin hair struts over. You squint at him as he comes to a stop in front of you.

"Isn't your father that ambassador?" he asks, eyes roving over you. You know that gaze. It's the gaze that's deciding whether or not you're worth speaking to.

"Yes, he is," you say. "May I help you?"

He sniffs. "Terrible business, that. He very nearly cost that young woman her life at that banquet."

Hood brushes past you, stepping forward. "Sir, I need you to back up. Safety measures and all that."

Your jaw tightens. This is literally the last conversation you want to have, talking about your tightass, selfish father. You've done enough of that in therapy.

You hide a smile behind his back.

The man peers at Hood, mouth curling. "What business have you, bringing threatening men like him in here? This is a private event."

You step around Hood. "He's my bodyguard. He's not a threat."

"He certainly looks like one. He's dressed like a hoodlum."

"Hence the name," Hood says cheerfully.

The man sneers. "Those scars of yours are hideous, young man. I can't believe you accompany your charge in public looking like you do."

"What the hell did you say?" you ask, stepping to him. "Huh?"

"Trouble," Hood says quietly, touching your shoulder. "It's fine—"

"No, because what the fuck? Where the fuck do you get off?" you say, invading his personal space. How fucking dare he?

The asshole's bulldog eyebrows rise. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. Red's being perfectly professional. Won't even eat the hors d'oeuvres. And you're commenting on his body? Are you insane? Did all that corruption eat your brain?"

His face is now a nice shade of beetroot. Hood clears his throat behind you.

"C'mon, ease up," Hood says. "Don't do this f'me."

"Yes, listen to your mutt," the man says, sneering. "Seems he's got a modicum of sense, unlike you. It looks like all of his house training has a promising future."

Your fist connects with cartilage.

It's a blur after that. Someone pulls you away—Hood—and your now-sworn enemy screams bloody murder, red dripping down his suit. Your hand kind of hurts, and your head really hurts.

Hood herds you through a set of French doors, into a garden. Cool, night air fans your face.

"Well, 'm glad I didn't give you a gun," Hood says, walking you to a bench by the fountain in the center of the garden.

Sweet scents of lilac and rose waft through the air. You look away as Hood carefully inspects your hand.

"Hm. Just a little bruised. No injury."

"I tucked my thumb like you taught me," you say.

"I see. Think you broke his nose."

Is that pride you hear in his voice?

Hood sighs, releasing your hand. "But you shouldn't have done that."

You start to shake, anger shooting through you all over. You curl into yourself.

"I'm not apologizing to that shithead. He's a gutless, no-good, gutter snipe. Nothing under that hideous toupee but air."

Hood laughs. "Easy, Sundance. Y'know guys like him are full of hot air. Surprised you let him get to you. You don't care what those rich assholes say."

You turn around to look at Hood. "Someone had to take him down a peg. What he said was horrible."

"You've heard so much worse, trouble. You take it all with a grin and then get back at 'em later. 'S how you always do it."

"Yeah, well... well, I was sick of what he was saying. He can say all he wants about me, I don't give a shit. But when I'm in the room, no one talks about my bodyguard."

Hood is quiet for a long moment. There's only the sound of the babbling fountain and crickets. You rub your sore hand and stare at a rose bush.

"Y'don't need t'defend me," he says. "People have said far worse, and I definitely don't want you puttin' your reputation on the line for me, trouble."

"Fuck my reputation!" you say, scooting closer to him. "You're important to me, Red. Everyone should know not to say a damn thing about you when I'm around."

He shakes his head. "I'm just your bodyguard."

"No, you're my friend. Right?"

Hood looks up at you. "I—yeah, of course, but—"

"Well, friends defend each other."

"So some rich guy doesn't wanna look at my ugly mug," Hood says. "Big deal."

"You aren't ugly," you say, brow furrowing. "Don't say that."

"Trouble. Sweetness. Look at me. Tyra Banks would call me a lost cause."

"Don't be a dummy, Red. You're hot and mysterious, and you have pretty eyes. You're a fantasy protagonist's wet dream."

Hood leans in. Your heart picks up. Oh, you're nervous. You're getting nervous again. A tornado siren wails in your head. Danger! Danger!

"So you're sayin' I'm too sexy for my shirt?" he asks.

"So sexy it hurts," you say, voice slightly uneven.

"Mm." He looks you over. His lashes are so long. Damn. "Y'haven't even seen my whole face."

"I don't need to," you say instantly. "I'm an excellent judge of good looks."

He laughs. You smile.

"Think you can sneak us out?" you ask. "For my safety, of course."

"Mm, of course." Hood looks over the garden. "Yeah, I think I can manage that."

"I'll get us burgers," you say. "I'm starved."

"Taking me out, huh?"

It's a joke, but God, what if? What if you could go on a date with Hood, without masks or politics? What if you could see his smile? Feel his smile?

"If I did, I'd take you someplace nice," you say. "Not just a burger joint."

Hood is quiet as you go to the edge of the garden and he prepares to get you both over the balcony. He holds out a hand and puts his other on your waist so you can climb. Your faces are close. You smile, a little nervous.

"For the record," he says, not letting go until you're safely on the grass below. "I'd be content eating anywhere with you, trouble."

Hood easily vaults over the balcony, landing on his feet. He gestures with his arm.

"You lead," he says, eyes dancing.

God, you're in so much trouble.

[wonysugar]

self indulgent drabble because 1. writer’s block is truly eating my ass and 2. i just got struck with an idea as i heard an audio and i need to get it out of my system before i lose my motivation.. AND WHAT BETTER WAY TO DO THAT THAN WITH BELLEEE?!?

cw!! cheating(??) just to be safe, fem!reader is dating someone that’s amab! mentions of threesomes, lots, lots of dick mentions and dick sucking, if you don’t like dick at all this isn’t for you i’m really sorry</3

psst, by the way, p/n stands for partner name!

you and your partner have an amazing relationship, and an even better sex life, that much was obvious. although you both were content, you couldn’t help but feel the desire to improve your technique in certain.. aspects, of your love-making, mainly in terms of oral sex.

google was definitely not helping, and you were a bit too embarrassed to go and ask your significant other on feedback after having sex with them (despite how normal that actually is, contrary to popular belief.)

so, naturally, receiving your friend annabelle in your apartment a few days after having scheduled a, in her wise words, ‘important meeting’ wasn’t at all a surprise for you, especially since you made sure that p/n wasn’t at home at that time.

“hii!” belle stepped foot into your home as soon as you opened the door, immediately giving you a warm hug, thankful you even called her in here in the first place.

after politely offering her a cup of water and a bowl of snacks as thanks, she quickly got to work.

“alright, you were too nervous to explain it through text, so go ahead. what are the specifics here?” she asked, comically very serious about this whole thing.

you sighed, feeling the embarrassment leaving with each breath you exhaled, “it’s just— i think i have a problem when it comes to… you know.. my gag reflex, and all.”

“ah, i see..” she hummed, “‘problem’ is definitely a strong word though, no? oral sex isn’t a requirement, you know that better than anyone else, considering you’ve been with your partner for a while with no issues. i’m assuming you just want to learn to get them more riled up, huh?”

you stared, almost innocently, then nodded at the words.

“have you ever sucked dick before?” she continued, speaking as if this were a real professional appointment.

she chuckled upon seeing you reluctantly shake your head, “don’t worry sweetheart, by the time that we’re done, you’ll be able to take cock better than any porn star has.”

reaching for her large, seemingly filled-up backpack you had noticed her holding whilst walking in before digging into it. after a few seconds of anticipation, you saw your friend pull out a medium sized dildo, a slightly longer one and a much larger and more girthy than the previous ones.

“y-you brought stuff!?”

noticing how your blood rushed to your now fully covered face, she giggled, “of course i brought stuff y/n, i don’t think you realize how serious i’m actually taking this.” proceeding to pull out one more interesting looking item, “come on, you asked me for help, right? no need to get embarrassed now, girl.”

so you listened, and watched as she finished up preparing the materials, placing them in a line.

“alright, listen up.” she zipped the bag closed, threw it somewhere on the couch you two were sat on and sat up straight, motioning for you to do the same, and pointed to the first thing, “this is throat relaxant spray, like the name suggests, it relaxes your throat and your gag reflex, making it easier. now, i don’t really use it considering my gag reflex is practically non-existent,” you nodded at her words, your eyes fixed on said spray.

“but i did bring it thinking you’d maybe wanna start off slow just to be safe? maybe get used to the feeling of it in your mouth before going in raw and everything, but it’s honestly all up to you and what you wanna do.”

several minutes of her overexplaining the reasoning behind bringing each sanitized and differently sized dildo later, you eventually chose the format you found most similar to your partner’s and decided to opt out of the relaxant spray, much to annabelle’s pleasant surprise.

it didn’t take long before she stuck the phallic object to your wall and instructed you to suck on it the same way you would any other day. “don’t be nervous, i’m here to help.” she said, and that was somehow enough to put you at ease.

you began to do what you were told, fully aware that her attention was set on you, and you only. your lips wrapped around the head, you sucked and left gentle kisses whilst she watched you work your magic on the dildo. you heard occasional hums from beside you as you kept your mouth around the same area of the dick.

“you’re doing good, but, aren’t you spending a little bit too much time on the head?” she placed, making you pull away from the object before you, “i know you’ll gag, but try to give some attention to the entirety of the dick. here, let me show you.”

she scooted towards you, and you simply stared at her, “oh— we’re using the same.. dildo?”

“..yeah? it’s just a little spit.” her lips formed a smirk, “just watch me, okay?”

you nodded and sat there, watching her demonstrate her blowjob technique and feeling yourself get… weirdly turned on by the sight, instead of feeling ‘taught’, in a sense. the way she slowly worked her way up from kissing and licking the head to fitting the entire shaft into her mouth, almost effortlessly, got you thinking about how she’d give your partner head, guiding you on how to pleasure them further than you usually do— alright let’s not get ridiculous, you internally scolded yourself, leave the dirty fantasies for later, when you aren’t trying to learn from her.

“see how i did that? you can’t just focus on the head forever, that’s why i like to slightly pump the shaft with my hand whenever i’m not throating.”

“honestly just sounds like you’re just trying to brag, at this point.” you joked, faking an annoyed expression. that earned a laugh from her.

then, after a constant cycle that consisted of her explaining things and you doing them, annabelle had taken the dildo off of the wall whilst wearing a mischievous expression on her face. “now, let’s kick things up a notch; get on your knees.”

your eyebrows furrowed and eyes widened ever so slightly at her words, you stuttered, “excuse… excuse me?—“

“i said, get on your knees.”

and despite getting no further explanations, you still, for some unknown reason, did exactly as you were told. now sitting on the ground facing the sofa, you waited for further instructions.

“you need to get immersed.” she paused, then held up the dildo, “so, i’ll hold it for you and thrust it into your mouth while you suck it, alright? i won’t go fast or anything, so don’t worry about that.”

and of course, you obliged.

upon her signal, you immediately applied everything that she’s been teaching you throughout this entire session onto your technique, fueled by her occasional praise.

“remember to use your tongue, y/n.” she reminded, thrusting the cock in and out of your mouth, slowly, watching you as if she could feel it.

“suck the tip and—“ you bobbed your head down onto the shaft, taking in as much length as you could without gagging. “—work your way down, that’s it baby, slowly.”

oh man, that pet name definitely elicited a reaction from you that you did not expect; you felt butterflies in your stomach, almost certain that a pool was growing in between your legs.

she definitely noticed it, too. how could she miss it when you’re looking up at her like she was the one you were sucking off?

“awe, you’re getting excited, aren’t you?” she bit her lip as she tucked your hair behind your ear, “such an eager girl, suck on it baby.”

she let out quiet, airy moans as you worked your magic, in hopes to get you more and more immersed, and while it did, it also did nothing but get you riled up to a great extent. hell, you were practically drooling onto her— the cock at that point. “look at you, not even a few hours in and you’re already doing so good. mmh, you look so pretty taking it, too.”

that went on for a while, and what she didn’t tell you was that that dildo in particular, was an ejaculating one, you found that out by yourself later on.

needless to say, you felt especially different when you eventually walked her out of your apartment an hour later, and she couldn’t help but notice how still visibly embarrassed you were from that weirdly intimate interaction, but she found it amusing, endearing, almost.

“next time, you’ll invite p/n to tag along, won’t you?”

[luveline]

PLEASE I NEED MORE STRIPPER READER X AARON

cw reader is able to wear hotch's clothes, adult theme mdni

Your hands ache. You have calluses on your palm, unsightly, but if you were to soak them off you'd bleed. 

The club is practically dead. You can get away with a low effort routine —old men and day drunks don't care what you're doing so long as they can see your chest. The level of undress is your choice (though the girls willing to dance fully nude get the better slots, obviously), and you've been doing this for long enough that it doesn't really bother you when a patron shouts for you to take your bra off. Your hand is slipping behind your back for the clasp when you notice him near the bar. 

Agent Hotchner —you can call me Hotch— usually catches your attention and leaves. A quick nod after he's met your eyes, he'll wait for you to get dressed and meet him out front near his intimidating car. But today he watches even after you smile hello, and someone close by throws a ten at your feet like you'd been smiling for them. He's expressionless. 

It's far more difficult to finish your dance knowing he's watching. He doesn't stay for long, ten seconds at most, but those ten seconds are much longer than he's ever watched you perform before. 

You finish your dance, collect your tips, and trudge back to the dressing rooms. You would've made more money if you'd stripped down. Not much considering the small audience, but some. You can't explain why seeing Hotch had made you stay your hand, maybe because he's one of the only men you know who treats you like you're fully human. You don't want that to change.

It's colder outside than it was when you arrived. Traffic is picking up as people leave their jobs for the day, and the club will be busier in the night hours. You'll stay, hopefully make enough for food this week. 

"Are you warm enough?" he asks immediately. 

"I didn't bring my jacket." You shrug. "I'd rather be out here with you." Than go back inside, no matter how cold. 

He opens his trunk with a click of the key fob and disappears behind the tail end. You can see his arm move, a bundle of black fabric. His arm flexes as he closes the trunk, and his eyebrows have hooked together when he returns to you. 

"Here," he says, "it should fit." 

Just a simple charcoal quarter zip. You shrug it on over your clothes and find yourself immediately greeted by the smell of men's cologne. His cologne. 

"What can I help you with today, Mr. Hotchner?" you ask. You're flirting in that useless way where it doesn't mean a thing, and he knows that, because, as you've come to find about these special agents, they know everything. 

"I wanted to ask you to dinner." 

"Oh, I don't… I don't do the escort stuff," you say gently. 

"I know." He turns his head away from you. "I realise that it's unprofessional. I know it puts you in an uncomfortable position to say no. But I want to take you out for dinner, if you'd let me." 

You stare at him. "I won't sleep with you after one fancy dinner–" 

"It's not like that." He speaks so calmly, so quietly. 

It doesn't make any sense. He's a professional man in a successful career, with a son if you remember correctly, and a circle of peers his own age and status. If he doesn't want to fuck you, if he really wants to take you out for dinner, that's a date. 

"What, you want to be my boyfriend?" you ask, shaking your head, lips pulled down in a frustrated frown. 

"I– well, if things went well, I wouldn't be opposed to it." He laughs. 

"Are you messing with me?" 

"No, I'm sorry. I just wasn't prepared for the question." 

He meets you head on. Face to face and eye to eye, he looks at you with, for once, a completely readable expression. It's a bit startling. The slight lift to his brow and his half-smile, it's an expression that says, If you want to. It puts all the choice in your hands. 

"I know we don't know one another that well, I," —his eyes soften another shade, tenderness like no one's ever given you— "wanted to make my intentions clear to you. I didn't want to continue our professional relationship and then pull the rug out from under you later." 

You know Hotch through car rides, mostly. He's taken you home from a couple of places now, usually after he's asked you questions about someone or something to do with the sex trafficking ring currently being squashed in Virginia. He's nice. You've told him without fretting about the consequences that he's handsome. When you first met, you asked him why gentlemen like him didn't come to see you dance. 

You didn't think the answer was that they might grow to have feelings for you. 

You wonder if he's just lonely. But lonely Hotch could still have a number of women that aren't you, right? 

"Like you'd never get a handle on it?" you ask, subtly teasing.

He reacts to your tone visibly. His smile gets worse, which is to say better, and his voice sounds similarly teasing as he answers, "I tried to. That's exactly what you need, another old man with the wrong idea." 

"I don't think you have the wrong idea, Hotch." 

"But you don't reject that I'm old?" 

You leap to correct him through laughter, surprised at his quick wit, and he leaps to let you know he's kidding through his own. You tell him while things are warm that you'd like to go to dinner with him, if he really means it, and he holds one of your hands like a prince, thumb ghosting over your knuckles, unafraid of the calluses on your hands. He touches you like you're made of glass. 

You try to give him back his jacket before he leaves, but he insists you keep it. "If you freeze before I get to take you out, I won't forgive you." 

Huh, you think as he drives away, waving, the sleeve of his borrowed jacket falling down your arm. Who knew Special Agent Hotchner was a flirt? 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 9

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

You don’t go straight home. You don’t want to upset your mom. So, you wander the suburbs, walking around cul-de-sacs, some you’ve never been down, and circling around the avenues. You pass mothers and fathers with strollers and children running and yelling on green lawns. It’s as if you’re walking through a utopia, floating by like a cursed wraith. 

You glance down at the book in your hand. Maybe you should try some lighter reading. Your mind tends to go to dark places. 

When at last you let yourself go back to the house, you do so cautiously. You don’t see Steve or your mom. As you come to the front door, you wonder if you should knock. You quietly let yourself in, gently closing the door as you stand on the mat. You leave your shoes on the low rack and tiptoe down the hall. Your mom can’t be mad if she doesn’t know you’re there. 

“Hey, kiddo,” Steve’s voice as you tripping over your own feet. You turn to the archway as you pass and peer in. Your mother’s in her recliner, her eyes closed. Is she sleeping? You watch her warily. “How was your walk?” 

“Um,” you blink and shrug, “fine.” 

He stands by the window, his hand on the wall beside it. Did he see you come up? You hadn’t noticed him behind the curtain. 

“Breakfast for you in the oven. Won’t be very warm but if it’s no good, I can start a new batch,” he offers. 

“Don’t bother with all that,” your mother grumbles and shifts in her chair, groaning as she shakily rubs her cheek. Her eyes open only slightly. “She can warm ‘em up.” 

“Always better fresh,” Steve stands straight and faces you fully. 

“Thanks.” 

You leave them with the single word. You feel like an intruder. You stop by your bedroom and hover in indecision. You just want to hide but you would hate to be rude. Steve went to all that trouble and you know, even as your mother says he’s already done too much, she’d be even more upset if you wasted his effort. 

You put your book on the foot of your bed and go down to the kitchen. You take out the pancakes, content enough to have them cold. There’s a bottle of real maple syrup. Steve must’ve supplied that; you can’t afford the pure stuff. You don’t use very much, mindful of the expense of the sugary nectar. 

You grab cutlery and bring the plate to the table. You sit alone. You can hear the hum of the ceiling fan from the front room and the dulcet song of birds floating in through the windows. Steve’s low tone rolls through the din but you can’t make out his words. You mother answers his with short mutters. She’s not having a very good day. You're surprised he stayed this long. 

The pancakes are good, even at room temperature. They’re fluffy and taste richer than the frozen ones you get a bargain on. Is that blueberry too? With each bite, your hunger clenches your stomach tighter, mulching down the food greedily. When you finish, your body growls and aches. 

You wash off your plate and put it in the tray. The lull of the house thickens as you pad down to your room. You slow as you near the door frame. Had you closed it? You can’t recall. 

You turn into the room and let out a noise of surprise. Steve looks over as he stands over the folding table, his hand on your sketchbook, a page half-turned. Your heart drops as you clasp your hands together. 

“Sorry, er, didn’t mean to...” he rescinds his hand and lets the page flutter down, “It was open and...” you don’t know whether he means the door or the book. “You’re really talented.” 

Your forehead crinkles and you charge towards him. You step around him and shut the book, swiping it up. He leans back on his heel. 

“I didn’t... I wasn’t trying to...” he sputters, “I just wanted to pass something by you.” 

You hug your sketchbook at you face him. You stare at this chest. You feel violated. Not just that he’s in your space but he touched your stuff. The one thing that’s really yours; your drawings. 

“Me and your mom were talking, you know, and she said it would be good for you to get out, maybe make some extra money,” he explains, “and I’ll be around so you won’t need to worry about her so much.” 

You frown. You and your mother have had this talk a billion times. Get off your ass and get a job. It’s not like you haven’t tried. 

“So, I got some work you can do. Like I said, I gotta get that pool open,” he continues, “and there’s little things around the house. You got a good hand so maybe some painting here and there.” 

You push your shoulders up. You don’t think you can say no, especially if he’s already said as much to your mom. You half-suspect this is her doing. 

“Complementary milkshakes?” He offers breezily. 

You’re quiet. You have no choice. You know as much. 

“You know,” he softens his tone, “if I’m gonna... hang around with your mom, we should get to know each other. It’s a good opportunity for us.” 

“Fine,” you answer. 

“Fine? So that’s a yes?” He asks. 

You close your eyes and flick them open, “yes.” 

“Great. Well, when can you start? How about tomorrow? Supposed to be another sunny day.” 

“Okay,” you agree, “tomorrow.” 

He doesn’t move. You want him to leave. The conversation is over. He got what he wants and your mom too. He’ll pay you dimes to clean the pool and your mom will reap the profit. 

“You know, I draw a little too,” he points to your sketchbook, “maybe if we have time tomorrow, I can show you.” 

“Maybe,” you mutter. 

“Ah, uh,” he chuckles bashfully and rubs his neck, “right, I'm in your way. Well, er, I’ll leave ya be.” He turns and struts to the door. He stops just inside the frame and looks back, “oh, how were the pancakes?” 

You take a breath and stay staring at the wall, “good.” 

“Great, did you have some of the syrup? It’s Canadian.” 

“Yeah,” you turn and tuck your sketchbook into your dresser draw. “Thanks.” 

“No problem, sweetie,” he taps the wall and the door closes with a click. 

You sit on your bed and hunch over to hold your head. It’s still heavy from the night before and now you’re even more tired than before. You don’t know if it’s from being out in the sun or all the walking you did, but your eyelids feel dry and seem to cling with each blink. You yawn and bring your legs up, curling your body up near the edge of the bed. 

You know you shouldn’t sleep in the middle of the day, but you just can’t help yourself. 

🏠

You wake up in the haze of the late afternoon. Your eyes hurt and your limbs are achy. You lay on your back as the curtains stir with the lazy breeze. You look over to find them open but you don’t remember pulling them apart. You barely remember anything past your awkward morning stroll. 

It takes you a while to push through the stiffness. You never sleep on your back; it leaves it racked and your ribcage hurts. As you stand, you notice the door. It’s slightly open. 

You get up and go to it, pull it inch by inch. The house is quiet but for a soft rumble, rhythmic and rocky. You putter down the hall and look into the front room. Your mom’s asleep in her chair. She’s almost peaceful as she snores in the recliner. 

The scene strikes you as odd, almost dreamlike. Your mom’s never been much of a napper. In fact, she always nagged you about the habit. You think of waking her but think better of it. She won’t be happy to be awoken, even if she might be irritated later to know she slept away the day. 

Steve is gone. You search each room to be sure then go to the kitchen. It’s clean and everything is put away, even the dishes you left in the tray. The large bottle of syrup is gone as well. 

You mutter and go back to your room. Another soft wind drifts in. You stumble over to your bed and fall back onto it. You yawn again. Gosh, you’re so tired. 

[chubypotato]

@valenspuppy ! How are you?

I hope you're okay

I hope it's fine that I make a request.

What about Wind breaker boys being jealous? Like they're your boyfriend and saw you talking too friendly with some guys friends

I'm sorry for my English, it's not my first language 😭

Thanks you so much 😊

You guys are so sweet and so polite while making a request it's so cute. 😭

How the boys react when they are jealous.

Including Umemiya, Taiga, Sakura, Suo, Kiryu

Umemiya

I think Umemiya would be the jealous type. He fully trust you. Of course he doesn't like to see you being to friendly with other guys.

He makes very clear you're his and his is yours.

One day you guys were outside doing some shopping when a friend of yours came say hi to you. Since you guys were close you started speaking about a common interest of yours.

You started laughing while Umemiya was watching the scene. Of course at first he didn't mind that much but seeing you laugh like to another guy joke made him a bit angry.

That's when he decided to put his arm around you shoulder and introduce himself as your boyfriend. It was still friendly but with a touch of back up dude.

After that your friend left and you couldn't help yourself but to start laughing at Umemiya behavior.

It was jealousy but a cute one. You spend your time teasing him about that.

He had no problem to admit he was jealous if he feels that's way why denied it?

You spend your afternoon your arm hugging his arm.

Taiga

100%jealous. Dont know why i just feel it.

Would be the type of guy to give guys would talk to you the bombastic side eyes.

But towards you he would never admit it.

One day you guys were at the gym when a guy approached you. At first it was to ask if the machien was taken but then you started to talk.

Taiga turn around with a big smile to talk to you when he saw the guy. At that moment he lost his smile.

He walks toward you and hug you from behind while looking at the guy. He let you finish your conversation but not let go of you.

After a few minutes the guy finally leaves cause well the death glance of your boyfriend wasn't very welcoming.

After that he asked if you were ready to leave. So you guys leave.

While you were walking you decided to ask the final question aka are you jealous?

I think he would blush a bit before saying no which was obviously a lie. You spent the whole time teasing you he finally decided to buy you food so you would shut about it.

Sakura

The most jealous one. Baby would be so scared to loose you. He thinks you deserve better than him but he doesn't want you to leave.

Never admit he was jealous. It will hurt his pride so much.

One day you guys were coming back from school. You are not from the same school but he went pick you up.

While he was being praised by the neighborhood a guy approached you and started talking to you.

He came directly behind you looking at the guy and told him to get off.

You weren't even friendly with him or stuff like that but Sakura doesn't like you talking to people he s just so scared to loose you and doesn't know how to tell you.

While walking you started laughing and explaining to him that the guy just asked you the direction.

His face went red and he be saying stuff like "I'm not jealous huh"

Suo

Suo wouldnt be the jealous type like I think he would be chill about you talking to other guys cause he trusts you and he trust your relationship.

But one time just one time you were friendly with someone and he did not like it.

You and your boyfriend went out side just to take a little walk.

It was a nice moment when Suo told you he comeback and then procede to go inside a store.

You were waiting outside on your phone when an old friend of yours went to see you.

Neither of you expect to see each other again but here you are catching up after all this.

You started talking about old times laughing about some stuff you did back then. At this moment Suo came back with a bag in his arm.

When he saw you laughing with a guy he didn't seem to mind that much but when you gave your phone to him he couldn't help but to feel jealous.

Jealous was not one his usual feeling but this one was to much. He went beside you put his hand on your waist making you closer to him and introduced himself not worth his name but just with the fact his your boyfriend nothing more.

After that your friend left and you explained the whole situation to Suo who started to apologize.

Kiryu

He wouldn't be the jealous time but time to time he would be a bit jealous. I mean he just want you to give him all your attention.

But for the one who are brave or stupid enough to trying to get close to you are dead.

In fact he would reject them in such a gentleman way it would be humiliating for the guy.

One time you guys were at the arcade like usual when a guy went talk to you. Which was very stupid cause Kiryu was just beside you as always.

This man starting to talk to you and you answered with a smile on the face cause well you are very polite person.

But the conversation was kinda awkward cause the man didn't even acknowledge Kiryu who was just there.

After a moment Kiryu just took you hand and told the guy something like my lady needs something and just walk away.

You started to poke his cheeks asking him if he was jealous. He just hugged you so tight you didn't need an answer you already knew.

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・

[buttsmasher]

Gage (Edited)

Been trying to go through my old stories and slowly re-upload them after I give them a review. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Tags/Warnings: Fag bashing, face farting, willing victim turned to unwilling, asphyxiation by farts, fart torture

Gage is a grade A prick. You pretty much learned that the moment he moved into the house. Your other roommate literally moved out because he couldn’t stand him. The only reason you’ve stayed is because the rent is cheap and the landlord isn’t complete trash. The other reason is that you have a sort of hate crush on Gage.

You understand he’s a prick and he seems like a bit of a fag basher, but dude has a rockin bod. And he has no sense of other people’s personal boundaries. One time when you had friends over, he walked out of his room completely naked to get a beer out of the fridge. Which you didn’t mind too much because you got front row seats to watch his ass jiggle. Your lesbian friends were mortified of course. Especially when he started to shake his hips to make his dick flop around. After that, you’ve all decided to do movie night at their house now to avoid any more incidents.

The other thing about Gage is that he’s a literal gas bomb. The dude is constantly gassy and it may make your dick strain against your shorts when you’re both watching TV and he lifts a leg to let out a massive fart. And look, if you’re secretly there taking quiet inhales of his stinky gas then no one needs to know.

It all comes to a head today though. You keep a journal, and you may or may not have written all your dirty fantasies about Gage in them. Looking back at it, probably not the best idea, but too late to change that now. 

You’re in the kitchen making scrambled eggs when Gage comes into the kitchen. “Good morning.” You mumble to him, not fully expecting an answer. He opens the fridge and pours himself a glass of OJ as he plays on his phone. He laughs at something before walking towards the kitchen table. 

“Hey fart slut, what’s for breakfast?” You freeze. Did he really just say that? He snaps his fingers a couple of times. “Yo, fag, I’m talking to you.” You slowly turn to look at him.

“Uhm, Scr-scrambled eggs?” You don’t know why it came out as a question. 

“Cool, I want cheese on mine.” He doesn’t even look at you as he plays on his phone.

“Oh, uhhh, I didn’t make enough for the both of us.” You look at the pan and push it around. 

“It’s fine, just give me yours.” 

“What?” He locks eyes with you.

“Let me put it another way. Give me your breakfast and I don’t post your dirty fart fantasies online.” You try to stay calm but you’re freaking out. You turn back around fully and focus on finishing the eggs, throwing cheddar cheese on top right before you finish. Your hands are shaking as you plate the food and bring it over to Gage.

“Anything else?” You say nervously placing the food and a fork down in front of him.

“Tabasco.” He doesn’t look up from his phone, you just do as he says. “Sit.” He says as you go to make yourself more scrambled eggs. “I gotta say, you’re pretty nasty. I mean, to like that shit, you gotta have some serious problems.”

“Fuck off.”

“I mean, to want to get on your knees to sniff someone’s dirty ass. That’s some dog level shit.” You watch as he stuffs his mouth with eggs. “Tell me, how are you any better than a dog?”

“You’re an ass.” Your chair groans against the floor as you get up. 

“Sit back down.” Gage says firmly.

“No, fuck you. I don’t have to take this.”

PFFFFFBBRRRFFFFFF

You freeze as Gage rips a five second fart. The smell hits you from where you’re standing. You can hear Gage laughing from behind you and you can’t help the shame that wafts over you. “You’re pathetic. You get one whiff of my ass funk and you can’t walk away.” You take a deep breath and calmly begin to walk to your room. “I have more where that came from, you know?” You squeeze your eyes shut, wanting to ignore him. 

PFFFFFF

A high pitched fart hisses from his ass. “See? And they can be up your nose if you ask me nicely.” You’re not even looking at him and you can just see his cocky grin.

“What do you want?” You ask, knowing you’ve already lost.

“Heh, knew it.” You hear his chair scrape against the floor as he gets up. “You just need to beg.” He puts his hands on your shoulders. “Beg your daddy to fart up your nose.” He whispers in your ear.

“You’re an ass.”

“I know.” He turns you around and pushes you down onto your knees. “Beg doggy.” You lock eyes again, completely humiliated on the ground.

“Please, Gage, fart up my nose.” You say without enthusiasm. 

PFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTT

“Fuck, that was a big one you just missed out on. Beg.” You sigh.

“Please daddy, please make me your fart slut.” He laughs.

“Better.” He turns around giving you the view of his brief clad ass. “Get your face in it.” You do as he says, getting a whiff of the lingering scent of the last fart. “Just remember you wanted this.”

PFFFFFFFFFFFF PFFFFFFFFFFFF

Airy farts warm your face as your nose gets overwhelmed by the absolutely toxic smell. It’s not like anything you thought it’d be like. “Wait.” You manage to cough out. “Wait stop.” You go to pull away but he holds you firmly in place.

“You’re not going anywhere.” He hikes his leg up slightly.

PFFFFFFFFFFFBBRBRBFFFFFTTTTTT

“Oof, that one’s gonna be bad.” He wasn’t wrong. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you're forced to endure that blast of a ten second fart. It’s absolutely eggy, and your eyes are watering. “Definitely wouldn’t want to be down there. But you’re liking this right fag?” You frantically shake your head no, wanting to pull away. “Aww, I knew you’d love my ass. Here, I’ll blow you a kiss.”

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF PFFF

Another disgusting fart burns it’s way up your nose and down to your lungs. Your face is extremely warm and you can’t think straight. You strain to pull away from the toxic fumes constantly barraging your face but Gage’s hold is too strong.

PFFFFBRBRBRFFFFFFTTT

“Look, I know my brew is strong, but you’re the one who wanted this. And you begged oh so nicely for daddy to fart in your face. Who am I to get in your way of your dream?”

PFFFF PFF PFFFFFF PFFFFF

“It’s okay, I won’t judge you. Well maybe a little. Only cause you’re a fucked up a fag.” 

PFFBBRRRFFFTTT

It’s getting really hard to breathe down here. The only air you’re getting is Gage’s eggy farts. You’ve begun to uncontrollable cough and gag against his dirty briefs. 

“Man, imagine if I didn’t have these undies on. There’s no way you would survive that.” He laughs as he pulls his tight black briefs under his naked ass.

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF PFFFFFFFFFFFF PFFFFF

“Jesus, what did you put in those eggs? I bet you put in some extra fiber didn’t you?” 

“I know I’m a gassy guy, but damn, this is way worse than normal.” 

PFFFFFFFFBBBRRRRRRBRRRRR

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTT

Everything is spinning around you and you’re having a hard time staying conscious. 

“Is it everything you hoped for faggot?” 

PFFFFF PFFFFFFFF PFFFFTTT PFFFFF

You feel yourself slump further into his musky ass, no longer able to keep yourself upright. You can hear Gage laughing as everything fades to black. A final fart hits your nose as you finally lose consciousness. “Night night fag.” Gage lets your body hit the floor before leaving you there.

When you awake again, you’re still on the kitchen floor. The smell of Gage’s ass still lingering on you.

[starsstuddedsky]

Blonde Phase

Renjun x gn reader

summary: spontaneous hair decisions always end in regret. that's what you expect to hear when you tell renjun you're bleaching your hair, but instead you find support, and even his help. you should appreciate his wholehearted support but instead it has you wondering: why doesn't he care?

genre: fluff, minimal angst, technically they're in grad school but that's not particularly relevant, non idol au,

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, spontaneous hair decisions (i do not endorse), lmk if I missed any

wc: 4.4k

a/n: in the immortal words of charles boyle, the most intimate thing you can do with a lover is wash their hair. yknow i made fun of him for that until i wrote this. i see it. also its been so long since ive finishing anything, pls forgive me if this is bad. renjun i love u. as always I'd love to hear what you think <3

“I’m bleaching my hair.” If you say it fast enough, Renjun won’t be able to talk you out of it. The plastic bag swings around your wrist as you walk across the parking lot. “I’ve already bought the bleach and gloves and stuff, and I’m going to do it, today.”

He’s quiet for so long you check to make sure the call hasn’t dropped. “Okay.”

You almost drop your phone. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, drawing the word out. “Was I supposed to say something else?”

“Um, yeah?” You say. “You have opinions about literally everything. You talked me out of buying those pants two days ago.” You finally get to your car, tossing the bag onto the passenger seat and half-falling behind the wheel.

“That’s because they were made of polyester, and the thrift store was still charging $15,” he says immediately. “That was a scam.”

“Money is temporary, drip is forever.”

“Those pants would have lasted a year max, before they fell apart, and you still haven’t learned how to sew so you wouldn’t even be able to mend them or upcycle them.”

“You know what, I didn’t buy the pants, so this fight is moot,” you say. You set the phone on speaker, turning the engine on to blast the AC.

“Well, not moot. Technically I won,” Renjun says.

“I’d respect you more if you weren’t insufferable.”

“Here I was thinking you appreciated my insight,” he says. “You even asked for it.”

“I did not!”

“You literally asked about bleaching your hair.”

“I said I was surprised you didn’t have an opinion, not that I wanted to hear it,” you say.

“Semantics,” Renjun says. “So what time do you want to come over?”

You frown. “Tonight?”

“The roommates are out of town for the whole weekend, and I have way better ventilation,” he says. “I’d much rather bleach it without passing out.” He pauses. “You do want help, right?”

“Honestly, I was not expecting support. I was fully ready to fight you on this,” you say.

He snorts. “Come over whenever, I'm not doing anything today.”

“See you in twenty minutes.” You hang up, feeling a strange ball of tension roll around in your gut. That was… too easy? Renjun always has something to say about your admittedly impulsive tendencies. But if he’s going to help you’re not going to reject it—knowing Renjun he’s probably already watching Youtube videos and learning more than you will ever know about bleaching hair.

And it’s Renjun. When have you done anything without his help?

.

.

Renjun opens the door wearing a wearied expression. He doesn’t bother to greet you or even smile, just unlocks the door and steps to the side.

“Hi to you, too,” you say, trading your shoes for the spare slippers resting by the doormat. You follow Renjun into the space that serves as kitchen, dining room, living room, and Jaemin’s miniature gym, with weights and mats stacked next to the television.

“Who the hell clogs a toilet and then leaves for the weekend,” Renjun says.

You set down your plastic bag full of hair products and frown. “That’s disgusting.”

Renjun leans against the counter. “And you didn’t have to spend the last forty minutes trying to unclog it.”

“So which of the guys are you going to murder?” You try to guess, running through his roommates: you find it hard to believe Jaemin would do such a thing. Jeno maybe, and Donghyuck would certainly think it’s funny. But, in all honesty, it could have been any of them.

“Don’t know,” Renjun says, “but knowing them, they’ll make a pact to protect each other.”

“Seriously?”

Renjun pauses, gaze sheepish. “It’s what I did when I accidentally killed Jaemin’s little succulent that survived his college dorm.”

You fake a gasp, placing a hand over your chest. “Every day I learn something new about you. That’s devious.”

“I was drunk!” Renjun says, holding up a finger. “And Jeno and Donghyuck pushed me into it, so it was equally their fault.”

“If you say so.” You glance around the apartment. “Where are they all?”

“Jaemin’s visiting family, Jeno has a soccer tournament, and Donghyuck said he’s going camping with Yangyang.” Renjun says, counting off with his fingers.

“Donghyuck and Yangyang are friends?”

“Yeah, according to them they bonded over dealing with me.”

“Those were their exact words?”

“Dealing with my ‘stupid ass,’” Renjun says.

“That’s more on brand.”

Renjun nods.

You think about Yangyang, Renjun’s friend from when he was a kid. You’ve met him a few times now, especially since he’s moved half an hour away from Renjun. He’s fun, always bringing out a chaotic side of Renjun whether it’s dancing on a bar or bringing out angry-Renjun. But Yangyang and Donghyuck?

“That’s a terrible friendship. They’re going to ruin you.”

Renjun nods again, but you see the smile hiding in his eyes. He can rant all he wants, you know he’s excited his friends are getting closer with each other.

You point at the bag. “So where are we doing this?”

You half expect him to lecture you about rash hair decisions but he just gestures to the kitchen. “I figure right here should be fine. The tiles should be pretty easy to clean and probably could use some bleach anyway.”

He drags the chair with a rickety leg from the dining table. You dig through the bag and set everything on the counter. While Renjun cracks a window open, you begin to mix the developer and the bleach, curling your lip at the sharp scent. Renjun joins you, pulling on a pair of gloves.

“Wow that’s strong,” he says, wincing.

“Yeah,” you say. “Definitely a good idea to do it here.”

When the powder is finally combined, you sit on the chair, Renjun following behind you. You section off your hair together, then he grabs the bowl and the brush.

He holds the thick paintbrush brush up against your hair, glancing at you, giving you one last chance to back down. You give him the nod of approval and he shifts back to focusing on your hair, brushing the bleach into it as carefully as he spreads paint on a canvas. He works section by section, carefully drenching your hair with the creamy solution.

“So, are you going to tell me why you decided to do this?”

You can’t resist turning and glancing at him. “I thought you approved.”

“I didn’t try to talk you out of it,” he says, “that doesn’t mean I’m not curious about how you came to this decision.”

You nod until Renjun uses his gloved hand to hold your head straight. “I suppose that’s fair.”

You pause, trying to find the right words. But you find yourself drifting back to Renjun. Why didn’t he ask this before the bleach was in your hair? It’s not like him to keep his opinions to himself. When you first met him, he was yelling at Donghyuck for going to a philosophy seminar just to fight with the notorious bigot of a professor (which Donghyuck did and then got kicked out, and proceeded to get the professor suspended). You only knew Mark back then, a friend from another class who invited you to meet some of his other friends in the dining hall. When Renjun turned to ask what you thought, you said Donghyuck should do what he thinks is right. Renjun didn’t hesitate to call you an idiot then. So why isn’t he calling you an idiot now?

To his credit Renjun doesn’t rush you. He continues to paint the bleach into your hair, content to wait for you to figure out an answer. Except you’re thinking about all the wrong questions. Like, seriously, why do you want him to call you an idiot?

“I want a change,” you finally say. “I’m stuck in a degree that will make me absolutely no money when I graduate, I can’t afford to break my lease, and don’t have any major relationships that need upheaving, so, hair.”

“‘A change?’” Renjun repeats. “Like, you woke up this morning and thought, today I’m going blonde?”

“Like, I have this feeling in my chest, this aching feeling that there’s something I need to do, someone I’m supposed to be, something more than the person I see in the mirror but I’ve made my decisions and I’m happy with my decisions and I genuinely like who I am. So, hair.”

You see Renjun’s hand falter out of the corner of your eye, halfway between the bleach mixture and your hair. He freezes for a heartbeat then continues to move, lifting some hair off your ear, careful not to brush the bleach onto your skin.

“‘So, hair,’” he says.

“Are you really going to repeat everything I say?”

This gets a short laugh from him. “I think the fumes are getting to me already.” He pauses, setting down the brush and stepping in front of you. “For what it’s worth, I like who you are, too. I’m really glad we’re friends.”

You smile at him. “Me too,” you say. “I definitely would have fucked up trying to bleach this on my own.”

.

.

“There’s still some bleach left,” Renjun says after he finishes with your roots. “You’re sure you don’t want your eyebrows to match?”

“Why don’t we do your eyebrows,” you say. “Better yet, why don’t we shave them off?”

Renjun sets down the brush. “Okay, no eyebrows.”

You grin at him. “That’s what I thought.”

He helps you get a plastic bag wrapped securely over your head, then sets the timer.

“What do you want to do for the next half hour?” You ask. “Preferably something that requires little to no movement.” You gesture to your head. “We’re not winning any frisbee tournaments tonight.”

“It was one time,” Renjun mutters, shaking his head and stepping around you plop down onto the couch. “We can watch something.”

You follow him, sitting on the other side, a cushion between you. The space feels strangely empty. Though you’ve spent plenty of time alone with Renjun, even alone with him at his apartment, the silence is usually interrupted by one of the guys getting bored of playing League, or coming back because they can’t go out to a bar without someone forgetting their ID, or in desperate need of Renjun’s expert advice (read: Jeno never remembers to ask Renjun to look over his submissions until 12 minutes before they’re due). The cushion between you never stays empty for long but the moments stretch on, only making the distance feel greater.

You wonder, not for the first time, how long it’s been since you’ve thought of Renjun as just a friend. If he was just a friend, you wouldn’t care so much about what he thinks. And if he was just a friend, you wouldn’t care so much that he suddenly doesn’t think.

You sneak a glance at him, fiddling with the remote for a couple seconds before realizing he grabbed the wrong one. He’s certainly always been handsome—that was undeniable from the moment you met him. But more than just being good looking, it’s Renjun himself. Not just those dark eyes, but the way they burn with passion (even when he’s arguing about the proper number of appetizers to order). It’s his perfectly shaped lips, the way they betray how he feels with a slight curve up or down—and his smile. Always, always his smile, beautiful and breathtaking even though you’ve seen it a thousand times.

He turns, a little furrow in his brow. “What?”

“Hm?”

“You’re looking at me funny,” he says. “Did I get bleach in my hair or something?”

You turn to face the TV, trying to pay attention to the show Renjun chose. “I wasn’t looking at you funny,” you say. “I wasn’t even looking at you.”

“If you say so,” Renjun says, “but if there’s a blonde spot anywhere in my hair, I’m so making you pay for it.”

You shake your head. Where the hell did those thoughts come from? Renjun, more than a friend? Sure, you’re close with him and sure, he’s objectively attractive, but you’ve never had those thoughts before. Well, at least not sober.

“Um, why are we watching Singles Inferno?”

“Because I asked and you were too busy not staring at me to answer, so I put it on,” Renjun says. “And don’t you dare try to tell me you don’t like it. I saw you rant on your Instagram story the other day.”

“Okay, but you don’t get it,” you say. “This bitch really has the audacity to to—”

“I saw your post,” Renjun says. “Believe me, I get it.”

“If you didn’t want to hear about it you should not have turned it on, because now I can’t stop,” you say. Renjun rolls his eyes but even as you delve into a full on essay about the horrible men particularly common in dating shows, you see the corners of his lips tilt up into a smile.

.

.

The timer goes off halfway through an episode.

“Saved by the buzzer,” Renjun says. “I’m putting a ban on anything reality TV related for the next three hours.”

“You’re the one that brought it up,” you mutter without any real annoyance. Despite his banter, Renjun dutifully listened to your rants, and even got mad along with you.

You drag a chair to the sink while Renjun drapes a towel over your shoulders. He puts on gloves and unwraps the bag, letting your hair fall into the empty sink.

“Close your eyes,” Renjun says gently. He tilts your head back, cupping the back of your head for a moment before pulling the head of the sink faucet out. He runs the water, long enough for you to peek your eyes open.

You’ve gotten used to seeing Renjun focused. He gets a little furrow in his brow, always glaring at his work. Before you were friends, you used to think he was actually angry, that his frowns and short tone were real. You’ve learned since then, it’s not his emotions, it’s his passion. The frown only comes out when he’s focused, trying to be perfect. When he cares.

“Unless you want bleach in them, close your eyes,” Renjun mutters, with absolutely no malice behind the words. His eyes shift to meet yours and that’s how you know you’re right. He can glare and bluster all he wants, he can’t hide his eyes, warm and shining. Like when he’s looking at his art, his gaze is a combination of soft and intense, creating something stronger than affection. Except he’s not looking at his art, he’s looking at you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your heartbeat pick up. Despite every attempt to shut down the thoughts, they race through your head, a stampede grown out of control. Renjun, who you’ve only known a year and a half but who has become one of your closest friends. Renjun, who never fails to share the only opinion you really care about. Renjun, who you can’t imagine life without. Renjun, who you’ve never dared to imagine life with.

He places a hand on your forehead, bringing the faucet closer to rinse your roots while keeping the water from pouring onto your face. You prepare for a cold shock but the water that soaks into your hair is the perfect temperature—not scalding hot, not freezing cold. Some water sprays over his hand, falling onto your eyelids and cheeks.

“Sorry,” Renjun murmurs. He holds the head farther away, running his fingers gently through the roots of your hair. He’s so close you can feel his breath, warm against your temple. You can feel his body, hovering over yours, and maybe it’s just your imagination, but warmth seems to emanate from it.

His friends would laugh at you if you described Renjun as soft to their face, but it’s the only adjective that captures the way he works the water through your hair. Soft and gentle and careful and nothing like the Renjun that has to corral everyone into his car at 3 in the morning. And yet this Renjun doesn’t feel like a stranger to you.

Washing your hair takes a lifetime, but as soon as he steps away and turns off the water, you miss it. You miss him, even though he’s only a couple feet away.

“You can open your eyes now,” he says. As soon as you do, he tosses a towel at you. It hits you in the face before you can get your hands up.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” Renjun says, not sounding sorry at all. He manages to hold back the laugh but still grins at you, unashamed. He steps forward and pats your face dry, with the same gentleness as before, though there’s still a mischievous glint in his eyes. You yank the towel away before he gets any ideas, drying off your face on your down and wrapping it around your hair. You wring it out a couple times before letting go, doing your best to get it to fall evenly around your head.

You raise your eyebrows at Renjun. “Okay, how bad is it?”

“Okay, first of all, I’m insulted that you think there’s any way I’d fuck up you hair,” Renjun says. “And it looks really good. Blonde suits you.”

You take a deep breath and pull out your phone, studying yourself in the mirror and… he’s right. The color is even, somewhere between blonde and orange that is unavoidable when using bleach. Radical hair changes generally end in tears but looking at yourself in the mirror, you don’t feel the usual dissonance. The hair is different but somehow more familiar than the “normal” you that doesn’t feel right anymore.

“I’m right,” Renjun says.

You smile. “Yeah, you are.” You put down your phone, meeting his eyes. “Thank you, Renjun.”

“For what?”

“Doing all of this for me,” you say.

“It’s the least I could do,” he mumbles. “You’re my friend.”

You shake your head. “Thank you anyways.”

Renjun just shrugs and grabs the bowl, rinsing out the bleach in the sink. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s avoiding your eyes.

You do your best to clean up the bleach from the floor, busying yourself until Renjun finishes. You wonder if you’re imagining the tiles getting a little bit whiter. Finally, he turns off the water and glances at you.

“You’re really happy with it?” He asks, sounding more like he doubts you rather than changing his opinion.

“Yeah,” you say, standing up. “I think it’s the ‘me’ of right now, you know?”

“Not really.”

“Like, I feel disjointed, and blonde hair is definitely not me, but it's the me that feels kind of all over the place, so even though it doesn’t look like me, it looks like me.” You wring your hands together, fingers tinged red.

“That makes no sense,” Renjun says, “but I think I get what you mean.” He smiles. “And I’m glad. I wouldn’t want you to have any regrets.”

So he did think this was a potential mistake? Why didn’t he say anything?

Renjun turns back to the sink, but before he can turn the water on, your voice calls his name. “Renjun?”

“Hm?” He doesn’t turn around.

“Why didn’t you fight me on this?”

He doesn’t move for a long moment. You wish you could see his face. “I have been told by certain people,” he begins, which is code for Donghyuck and Yangyang certified their position as Renjun’s worst nightmare. He turns to face you, wiping his hands on a towel.

“That I have a tendency to be overly opinionated in a generally negative direction. And I thought about it, and I realized I'm never really fully supportive, whether it’s a big decision, or, like, coffee, and I’ve always been this way, but, apparently, it’s especially… apparent with you.” He frowns. “This is all coming out wrong. I’m trying to say that it’s different when I’m around you. I’m different.”

Your eyes jump between his, trying to decipher what he’s saying. “Different?”

“I care a lot about you,” Renjun says, “more than anyone, actually.”

“Oh.” You blink once, twice. “Wait, you like me?”

Renjun’s eyes shift to the floor. “Yeah.”

You can’t help but let out a short laugh, reeling at the absurdity of it all. Renjun likes you? But he’s Renjun. Even though he’s the most common main character in your daydreams, you never once realistically thought he might be fantasizing about you too. But he likes you.

“I really didn’t want to say anything, I mean, before anything else you’re my friend, and I don’t want to ruin that,” Renjun says rapidly. “We’re good friends, and I really didn’t want to be the guy that pretends to be your friend but just wants to date you the whole time, that’s really not what I was trying to do, it’s just—”

“Renjun.” You put a hand on his shoulder and he freezes mid sentence, mouth still hanging open a little. Before he can move, you lean closer, the type of line you’d only dare to cross in your dreams.

“I’d like to kiss you,” you say softly. He blinks, eyes darting between your eyes and your lips.

“I’d like that,” he finally breathes. So you kiss him.

It starts light, his lips exactly as you imagined—soft and warm. His arm works its way around your waist, pulling you closer. The other works its way into your hair, still wet and sticking to your head. Renjun kisses like he’s been planning this for a long time, and maybe he has. Every movement is slow and careful, until he’s stolen all your air and even then you don’t want to pull away.

Your bravery fades the minute you meet his eyes. You bury your face into his chest, your cheek resting against your own hand. Renjun wraps both of his arms around you, holding you snugly in place.

“I like you, too,” you say into his chest. It’s the cowards route but if you look him in the eyes the words will never come out. “If it wasn’t obvious.”

“It wasn’t actually,” he says softly. “I think I drove all of my friends insane trying to figure out whether I should confess or not.”

“They all know?” You groan. “We’re never going to hear the end of this.”

“Yeah.” When Renjun laughs, it shakes your whole body. You can feel the rumbling, overtaking his heartbeat. “It’s okay though. It’s worth it.”

You turn your head, emerging from the sanctuary of his chest and tucking your head so that you can see his face. He smiles at you with the familiar warmth you’ve come to expect.

“Yeah,” you say, “it really is.”

Renjun grins.

“Your hair on the other hand…” He says.

“I thought you liked it!”

“I like it,” Renjun says, “but when has Donghyuck ever liked a single change to anyone’s hair?”

“Since when do you care what Donghyuck thinks?”

“I’m just saying now that we’re officially dating, my friends are going to be extra annoying,” Renjun says.

“Extra annoying? I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Don’t underestimate them.”

You groan, pressing your face back into his chest. “It’s not too late to get some hair dye.”

“You are not changing your hair because of my dumbass friends,” Renjun says.

“You like it?”

“You like it,” he says. “That’s the only opinion that really matters.” He pauses then adds, “But yeah. I like it.”

You grin, lifting your head to kiss his cheek. “Maybe we should dye your hair too.”

Renjun snorts. “Oh yeah?”

“We could have matching couples hair.”

He laughs out loud this time. “Maybe we should just get some shirts.”

“Three minutes of dating and you already want matching shirts? Huang Renjun, be honest.�� You push off of him until you can place your hands on his shoulders and look him in the eyes. “Are you obsessed with me?”

“Yes,” he says, layering his voice in sarcasm that still isn’t enough to hide the truth of the admission. “All day every day, all I think about is you.”

“Well, see, that can’t be true because if you were that obsessed and I’m this close, you would already be kissing me because—” You forget whatever you were going to say, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when Renjun is kissing you like this. Your hands at his shoulders slink around his neck, while his wrap around your waist, leaning so close to you, you feel your back begin to dip.

Huang Renjun is poison, the kind that turns into a heart-shaped puff of pink when the bottle is opened. You melt into his kiss and it’s still not enough. You could die, right this instant, and you don’t think you’d notice. Death itself wouldn’t be able to tear you away from this moment.

“Renjun!” Donghyuck’s voice thunders through the kitchen. “How dare you? You bastard, you’re cheating?”

You jump apart, turning to see him looming in the doorway. His glare settles on you, and you see the exact moment he realizes he recognizes you.

“Jesus Christ, you could have knocked or something,” Renjun says.

“I live here too,” Donghyuck says automatically. He squints, then looks at Renjun, then back at you. “YN? Your hair is blonde.”

For some reason, you raise your hand and wave at him. “Hey!”

“Oh my god!” Donghyuck cries. “Yangyang owes me thirty dollars!” He races back out the door, screaming something that’s lost as the door swings shut.

You glance at Renjun. “Cheating?”

He frowns at the door, still a crack open. “Did he… seriously think you were someone else? That I was cheating on my unrequited crush?”

His eyes shift to yours. A heartbeat passes and you burst into laughter. His friends might be annoying, but they’re still endearing. You press a messy, smile-infested kiss to his lips and wonder if you’ll ever get used to the giddy feeling.

There’s plenty messy in your life, plenty to doubt. But watching Yangyang and Donghyuck drag their backpacks in (apparently Donghyuck forgot his power bank and they decided to give up on camping) as they attempt to interrogate Renjun on every detail, you can’t help but feel like it doesn’t really matter. You don’t doubt Renjun. You don’t doubt blonde suits you. And you don’t doubt the power of a last minute hair decision, not anymore.

thank you for reading!! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated

[luboy7rt]

How Task Force 141 Characters Would Cook With You (Headcanons, GN - reader)

Note: (These can be seen as mostly platonic but can be seen as romantic and these are just my headcanons. (INCLUDES: John Price, John 'Soap' MacTavish, Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick and Simon 'Ghost' Riley)

___

Jonathan (John) Price:

- John is a great cook when working alone. When working with you, he tends to forget that you should help as well and ends up making a ‘game plan’ for the both of you on what tasks you will do, splitting it nicely into doing what you want to do, and John would do the tasks you don't want to do.

- If you don't want to help cook? That's fine with him. He is willing to let you sit and watch him cook a nice meal for the two of you.

- Definitely meal preps the day before, before he heads to bed, he likes to save time and have most of the work done before. Also does ask you what you want, ensuring you like the recipes he chooses out even if it's around the same five every day, occasionally switching it up to other recipes he finds throughout the weeks.

- He likes to relax while cooking, chuckling softly as he watches you move around, he likes talking as well. Any topics other than work.

- He does accidentally order you around a bit around the kitchen when he gets too focused, or sometimes he'll even follow your orders whoever is the ‘leader’ of the kitchen really. It just makes it easier for you both to work around each other and do what needs to get done.

- He will dance with you if you want to dance, and plays music in the background on very low volume. He wouldn't be able to stop the smile that spread across his face while watching you. If he doesn't dance with you, he would sway his hips absentmindedly, very subtly. 

- You want him to learn a specific meal? He'll go looking for a recipe on his own if you don't have one, it might take one or two tries to get it fully tasting right, but in the end he does it for you.

- He is a quick cook, getting things done efficiently and quickly. Over the years he decided it was better faster due to his time in the military so he could eat quicker and get tasks done swiftly after, somehow he doesn't burn anything.

John (Johnny) ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

- Soap can cook, but only from recipes he already knew/taught. He struggles with written recipes, but if you show him a video of doing all the steps once, he could cook it pretty decently.

- Without recipes he'll be lost, iust putting random stuff he thinks would taste good on whatever you both are cooking. Did you see flour go on the food instead of salt? Soap ignores the glance you give him as he already knew he screwed it up after realizing his holding flour instead of salt. 

- He jokes around when you start telling him what to do, ends up just following your lead on what to do and suddenly he gets a lot better when cooking. The food turns out excellent as you both grin and high five each other when you finish cooking.

- Soap likes to pull small harmless pranks on you as well, sprinkling a bit of flour On his hand then clasping your shoulder, laughs when you turn around and get a whiff of flour blowing in your face due to him blowin it on you. Runs off laughing if you chase, he takes off sprinting to get away if you don't, he comes back after three minutes with a grin.

- If you did chase him, you two forget about the time and end up burning whatever you were cooking and end up just buying take out to enjoy instead

- He ends up blasting music while grinning at you while you two bicker on what to do, what to add, how to cook whatever you are cooking. It basically is a lot of fun of just laughter, jokes, pranks and trying to cook and somehow succeeding despite it being so chaotic.

- If you are hungry, he stops ‘fooling’ around and actually gets done with a recipe he knows by heart, as always, it turns out very good!

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick: 

- There are three ways of cooking with Kyle, 1. You take the lead. 2. He takes the lead or 3. You both step on each other's feet and keep stumbling into each other to do the same tasks while cooking.

- This man puts research into finding recipes, whenever he finds one he thinks you would like it goes neatly Into a screenshot folder that is just filled with random recipes he thinks you would like. (If you end up liking it, it goes into a :) folder and if you don't it does into a :( folder) 

- It takes pride that he is indeed a good cook, he follows recipes to the T to ensure it comes out good, only adding stuff if he believes the meal would be better after having it/cooking it a handful of times.

- Sometimes if you don't want to cook, he pulls up a stool for you to simply sit and watch him cook. So the two of you can chat about anything really, the topics always range from gossip, to work, to new stuff one of you are doing.

- You two are actually managing to work eachother once you get into the ‘rhythm’ of it, managing to avoid any big issues while talking and teasing one another. Kyle’s eyes are sometimes on you when you get a bit close to the stove/over as If to ensure you didn't accidentally injure yourself as you two were a bit distracted by each other joking around.

- Kyle puts a lot of effort into cooking with you, he liked the moments of sudden calm. Ensuring to make you an amazing meal, as in the field he didn't get the best food and when home? He was making good food.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

- Simon is not a bad cook, but he's not a good cook either, he knows a handful of random cooking information. He's not lost in the kitchen, but if he was would you ever really know? No. He can fake his knowledge, and he's actually pretty good at faking knowing what he was doing.

- He allows you to tell him what to do, despite huffing about it to you, if your a bad cook? You're both screwed, he can't fake it if you also don't know what you both are doing.

- If you are a good cook? Great, he's watching you and stealing your techniques, managing to get by without questioning anything. You ask him to do a task, he got it.. doesn't know how but he'll figure it out without you knowing.

- Simon tends to try out new dad jokes on you, these handful of new jokes he came up with so he could tell them to the others if you laugh. You're the confirmation that the joke is good or not.

- Simon ends up sending you random recipes he finds online, (even if their ‘joke’ recipes you shouldn't eat), grinning at you behind his masked lips as you make a face. The hell you mean Simon wants a cockroach-themed green-slimed cake, and he wants to bake It? Simon doesn't even care he's to busy cackling about just imagining the cake.

- Cooking with Simon ends up going decent it's not the best food but it's not the worst either, he ends up ordering delivery for dessert, whatever you want really.

[chaostroberry1]

Where the sun can't shine. Apollo×male!reader

Warnings : reader is a little too possessive, Forced marriage, stolkholm syndrome, (No rape included🤬) and yeah. Pictures aren't mine! Sorry if anything is too random, I had to randomly make stuff up. like the scythe, lore, and everything else cus I wrote this till 5am. 😭

About M/N. M/n = reader.

When zues was saved from the clutches of his father, he was being taken care of by his grandmother Gaia, with the young baby getting fed goats milk. Then, Gaia had sprouted a little seedling from the ground, supposed to grow into a mini apple tree, it's purpose was to bear fruit for the young boy. But, one day, the young zues accidentally threw up some of the milk onto the seedling. And to his surprise, the seedling had turned into a full grown young god, named (m/n). Since (m/n) was already matured, Gaia had decided to give him a purpose. To train and take care of zues alongside her until he was fully matured. When the time came for zues' to fight against his father, as well as freeing his siblings—Gaia swallowed (m/n) into the earth, to let him rest for a while until the titanomochy was finished. Once everything was settled, Gaia would release (m/n), letting him out of the earth after his long slumber, and back with the other gods/deity's. Making him one of the strongest beings.—the god of destruction, the title stolen from perses.

•

(m/n), as a forever young god who stopped aging by the time he turned 18, needed to find love as a young man. Until one faithful day, he found an incredibly beautiful god, Named "Apollo", one of Zues' sons.

.

.

.

"that's outrageous! You can't just do this!" A loud cry came from zues, yelling as Hermes calmly served you some desserts. Giving you a respectful nod that you politely returned. "what is there that is so outrageous to you, dear Zues?" You munched on one of the desserts sitting on the table, your eyes showing no signs of fear, or care.

"There had been multiple complaints from the humans about occuring earthquakes, typhoons, volcanic eruptions, and so on! You know something about this, don't you?!" The old man grunted angrily, his hands flying around in the air, a funny sight. "Perhaps I do." He whines at your nerve wreckingly collected response, which was something very impressive nonetheless, your ability to stay calm in the face of challenges was both amazing and annoying to your fellow gods.

"You haven't returned my scythe back to me, dear Zues. This is my way of letting out steam. If you just hadn't lent it to dear Ares over there...which he so thoughtfully broke..then maybe I wouldn't be so pissed right now." You sneered, giving a glaring look towards the trembling figure that sat near zues, clearly wrecking his head for a response.

"I-i'm sorry, mister (m/n) sir! I accidentally just- slipped an-and broke it!" He spoke on the verge of tears, his speech now amusingly scrambled. You gave a sigh, withdrawing your gaze from the two, and sipping on some water.

"you'll have to make this up to me somehow, you know? I loved that scythe a lot." You moved yourself in a more laid-back sitting position, returning your gaze back to zues who cleared his throat, avoiding your eyes.

"yes yes... I will. I assure you that I shall repay you with something of much greater worth!" He boasted, making you raise a brow. What could he have meant by 'greater worth'? Better? Than your weapon?

"something of much greater worth? Which is what, exactly?"

"one of my children."

You stared in silence, before a vein slowly bulged on your face. The atmosphere of the room suddenly dropping. "Do you take me for a joke? Your children...greater worth than my scythe?" Zues chuckled at your angry response, while ares watched with an alarmed look. Panicking over how his dear father was testing the waters of death itself.

"of course i don't take you for a joke. But! I am quite confident that you'll be interested in picking one of them! How about it? Aphrodite? Or Athena? Maybe Artemis-"

"Apollo."

"..."

The room was now full of an eerie silence, all eyes on your figure, before laughter started booming from the old man. like he's heard the funniest joke to have ever been told after multiple centuries boredom. "Ahh! I see he has charmed you then?" You remained with a neutral expression on your face, staying composed as he laughed out loud like an asshole. Ares who just witnessed the whole thing go down, stared and blinked..He was not very used to hearing about marriage between two beings of the same sex. Not that it wasn't normal, but his half brother, and....The god of... destruction???? Getting married??? was he dreaming? Hermes who saw the look on his brother's face, maybe let out a little laugh, snickering to himself.

"you done laughing, old man?" You let out a defeated sigh, while he wiped his tears. "Alright then, but you have to stop the chaos going around! And forgive Ares for breaking your scythe. Then we have a deal."

"very well."

The next day, Apollo was brought in. The atmosphere of the room was incredibly different now that he had showed up, making things brighter than usual. "So? What was I brought here for?" He put his hands on his hips, his always confident smile plastered on his pretty face.

His eyes scanned the room, trying to read the situation at hand, before zues spoke. "Well, apollo, you see...we are kind of in a bad situation. And if we don't act on it quickly, humanity is doomed." He trails off slowly, checking Apollo's face for any signs of negativity.

The god raises a brow, tilting his head while he looks zues up and down, "Is that so? Do you want me to go down there and help them perhaps? I wouldn't mind."

"no no.....it's just..err..we just had a little..talk..with the god of destruction."

Apollo perks up, "lord (m/n)? For what exactly? And why am I included in such important matters?"

"that's the thing...we might've done something to anger the god. Which we decided to repay, for the sake of humanity. So I gave him an offer...which was to marry one of you and your siblings." Zues looked to Hermes who nodded in agreement, only sparking up Apollo's curiosity even more.

"and..?"

"and...I gave him choices....but he insisted on his future spouse being...well......you"

Apollo's eyes widen "no way!" He crossed his arms "I never consented to this! I'm not going to get married to him!" But who could blame him for being angry? He has never even seen the face of (m/n), but whenever the god's name was spoken, it would never fail to strike fear into those who hear it. The only thing Apollo has heard of was all the things the man has done, the power he holds, and why nobody dared defy him.

"I'm truly sorry, but I'm afraid we don't have a choice. He has already chosen you to be his his future spouse, and nothing shall get in the way. You know how he is. You have around 3 days to prepare for the wedding.. Don't worry, you'll both do it in private."

Apollo stormed out angrily, stomping away as he mumbled insults. How dare they do this to him. Without him knowing! He never planned on settling down for marriage, especially with a man he's never met! What has gotten into them?

Before he could think, he bumped into a tall figure, before looking up and staring into the male's eyes, instantly falling for the god before him.

"forgive me, are you okay?"

He nodded slowly, his smile slowly creeping back to his face. All the negative emotions were swallowed up by a tsunami of adoration and love. You looked a little older than him, but that's alright, you looked pretty hot to him anyway.

But Before he could speak, "Pretty little thing.." you mumbled, as your hand caressed his face, looking at him like he was a pretty trinket on display. One that you wanted to take and keep for yourself. Apollo who had just heard your comment, chuckled as he stared you in the eye, "what a bold comment for someone who's just met me."

"do you know who I am?" You grinned, as silence emerged, "I'm (m/n)." With those words alone, you received a gasp of realization from the poor god, who immediately took a step back, staring at you with wide eyes. "Say that again...?" He asked, his voice bearly above whisper.

"I'm (m/n)"

His face suddenly contorted into one of fear and disgust, immediately walking away, trying to breathe after being suffocated under your intense gaze. Unable to speak in your presence. But before he could walk away, he heard one last thing..

"pretty little thing.."

Those were the last words he heard before he opened his eyes. 3 days had passed and there he was, his hand held gently cradled by the same man that had been so disgustingly smitten by him to the point where he was forced into marriage. The only people that could watch their ceremony were a bunch of little imp creatures that looked like they were just taken out of hell. Thank (m/n) for asking hades. Then we have zues, and a few of Apollo's siblings, who all knew just as well as him—that if any of them interfered, their heads would be served on a platter at the dinner table.

He looked at you with sad eyes, before you caresses his face once again, whispering promises in his ear. How you would give him everything he could ever want, aside from a divorce...and all the things you'd do to him and his loved ones if he tried to leave.

"darling...you look absolutely stunning" you smiled, ignoring the tears forming on his face.

No response

"you must have put a lot of effort in choosing your clothes, huh?"

No response

And once you put the ring on his finger, you gave him a gentle kiss, one that he accepted without resistance. Knowing that one wrong move and all of Olympus was done for. All he could do was hope for the best, but a part of him couldn't bring himself to like you at all. You were sick in the head, and it disgusted him so much how you could kill an innocent life without giving a damn...or how you would punish those who angered you in any way.

You said he could still sleep with other people, as long as it isn't a committed relationship. But when they you get too jealous, someone will have to end up disappearing that same day. You brought to him everything he could ever ask for, that along with multiple gifts and beautiful jewelry. Only the best for your most prized possession, right?

Have I forgotten to mention that you were also a twisted enough person who always knows how to mess with his head? All your sick mind games, slowly forcing him to submit to you...before eventually seeing you in a new light. A new god.

You were both together now, and nothing could change that. So why not just...accept it? Yeah, why didn't he thinks about that from the start? It's not like he can do anything about it anyway.

With that, he began to open up, and eventually became head over heels in love with you, just as you are for him.

And now there he was, getting all pretty for you. Flowers on his hair as he dressed in the finest most beautiful robes. Getting ready to see you. He's finally come to his senses and learned to accept his new life. It wasn't that bad, he was just overreacting, and overwhelmed!

So it's all fine to him now, he's learned to accept this new life. Because no matter where he went, or where he tried to run...you'll always find him...

And drag him back to a place...where the sun can't shine.

____

Thanks for reading guys. And yes, I had to write literal lore for the reader just for this specific story. Did y'all notice that the title of the story was mentioned in the last part??? Cool right?? But anyway, that's all.