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janaispunk · 2 days
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little lion
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pairing: Oberyn Martell x OFC
word count: 394
tags/warnings: alcohol consumption, i think that’s it?
a/n: @catchallfangirl gave me the prompt “finally, something we can agree on”, oberyn and thirty minutes to write. this is the result :)
follow @janaispunknotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here!
dividers by @plum98 <3
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She sips her wine, tuning out her father who is rambling on about uniting houses and how much good it would do for the people of the realm.
It’s not about the realm, let alone the people living in it. She knows it, he knows it, everybody in the room knows it. It’s about power. It’s about the iron throne and ensuring who will sit on it.
The man two tables over from hers catches her wandering gaze and raises his own cup in a quiet toast. As he drinks, he winks at her. She hates the blush creeping up on her cheeks, hates the fact that he can see it, even in the candlelight, if the smug look on his handsome features is any indication. She hates his dark eyes, the glinting of the golden chain around his neck, the way it accentuates the panes of his strong chest, his golden skin, visible through his robe.
She needs some air.
Quietly excusing herself, she rises to her feet and leaves the hall, climbing stairs until she reaches one of the higher floors where the thick stony walls open into big windows, overlooking the city below them.
Lights are twinkling in the darkness of the night, until the city gives way to the ocean, moonlight reflecting off of its surface.
She feels his presence before she hears his quiet steps behind her.
“Prince Oberyn.”
“Hello, little lion.”
Goosebumps form on her neck. He’s closer than she anticipated, she can almost feel his breath on her skin. His voice is low, gravely behind her, his accent wrapping around the pet name. The stupid pet name that he won’t stop using and that sounds way too good from his lips.
“I told you not to call me that.”
He tuts gently, twirling one of the long blonde curls of her hair between his fingers, before giving it a light tug.
“Why did you leave?”
“I was bored.”
It might not be the whole truth, but it’s not necessarily a lie, either. He chuckles, still playing with her hair.
“Finally, something we can agree on.”
She turns her head towards him, eyes searching his. He’s much too close. He gently trails one finger over her cheekbone.
“We shall leave the talking to your father and my brother. Let me walk you to your chambers, little lion.”
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thank you for reading! if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask. interaction is what keeps writers going <3
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starflungwaddledee · 4 months
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offering three cookies 🍪🍪🍪
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(<< part 1)
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bytebun · 3 months
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corrodedcoughin · 1 year
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X
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vulpinesaint · 5 months
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classmate who told me that they thought i might be a poser bc i wore "too much black" a couple weeks ago told me this week, slightly horrified, that they thought i might be "kind of a dark person" after i delightedly scrolled through stick figure violence images to show them + our other group member. no matter what at least i am still fucked up and strange in the eyes of normal people...
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micamicster · 1 year
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What’s while you were sleeping? I can’t find it on your ao3 but as someone who recently made New York subways a personality trait, I’m intrigued
Hi honey thanks for your interest! Unfortunately while you were sleeping is still a wip (that i was procrastinating working on by making those covers haha) and so it's not up there yet. I like to have stuff like 75% written before I start posting, but of course i need constant attention to motivate me to write, so i incessantly vague blog about all my wips sorry to get your hopes up
That particular wip is actually a while you were sleeping au of the untamed set partially on the Manhattan-Queens F train! It is possibly the most distant au i've ever written (even more than the load out if you can believe that) and is a project that came out of absolutely nowhere and blindsided me by being like 40k long. help. I hope that's the sort of thing that sounds fun to you?
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babygirlharrington · 2 years
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ok so i actually had asks turned off but they’re back on again! pls give me writing prompts for steddie i promise i will deliver 😭 (unless your prompt is morally dubious then no) xoxo
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ailendolin · 2 years
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Whump Wednesday - 27 - BBC Ghosts
Title: A Good Thing [AO3]
Fandom: BBC Ghosts
Characters: Thomas/Nigel, Julian (mentioned)
Prompt: Nigel giving Thomas a massage - by this lovely anon here.
A/N: It's been such a joy to finally write some Norne again - I missed the boys! Thank you so much for this prompt, anon! Your fic went into a different direction than I originally thought but I hope you enjoy what I came up with.
Prompts are open, so if you want me to write a story for you as well just send me an ask with the fandom, characters and your prompt. I’m writing for Ghosts, Yonderland, Horrible Histories and Bill at the moment.
Six Idiots Whump Wednesday / Fluff Friday masterlist is here.
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A Good Thing
Nigel found him by the lake.
It was always a bad day when Thomas sought refuge there, far away from the others. He only did that when he was truly upset, truly hurt, so whatever had happened, whatever the others had said or done, must have gone beyond their usual mockery.
At least he’s not in the lake, Nigel thought to himself as he carefully approached Thomas. He had been afraid of lakes for as long as he could remember, ever since that day the children in his village had thrown him into one trying to teach him to swim and he’d nearly drowned. While Nigel would walk into hell and back for Thomas – and yes, that included the lake – he very much preferred to talk about whatever had brought Thomas here today with both of his feet firmly planted on dry land.
He reached Thomas’s side and softly cleared his throat, not wanting to startle him.
“There you are,” he said quietly. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Without glancing up, Thomas curled in on himself and whispered a barely audible, “Sorry.”
“Hey,” Nigel said softly. He sat down next to him. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” Thomas mumbled before he turned away and hugged his legs close to his chest – the very picture of misery.
If Nigel hadn’t been worried before he definitely would be worried now. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember even a single instance where Thomas had turned away from him like that. He loved spending time together. It didn’t matter if they were sitting next to each other on the lawn at night, watching the sky for shooting stars, or standing on opposite ends of the common room, each of them lost in a conversation with someone else but still acutely aware of the other’s presence just a few feet away. Thomas was always drawn to him, especially when they were alone and away from prying eyes. Then nothing stopped him from gazing at Nigel’s face with unabashed love and letting his fingertips slowly, reverently trail down its side, mapping every line and scar and sore without shame while waxing poetic about Nigel’s eyes and comparing them to a summer’s day or the ocean’s waves reflecting the sun.
Nigel loved those moments. There was something incredibly sweet about the way the words all but tumbled out of Thomas’s mouth whenever they were together. Thomas loved with every ghostly cell of his body; utterly, completely and leaving no room for doubt whether his affections were genuine or not. No one had ever looked at Nigel the way Thomas had, neither in life nor in death, and it broke Nigel’s heart to see him shrink away from him now as if Nigel was the last person he wanted to see right now.
Fearing he had done something to upset Thomas, Nigel thought back to their last interaction that day but nothing stood out. It had been a perfectly ordinary morning like any other – well, ordinary since the beginning of their courtship, that is. They had woken up together in Thomas’s room where Nigel spent most of his nights now. He could still feel the weight of Thomas’s head resting on his chest and the sensation of Thomas’s lovely curls tickling his chin if he concentrated hard enough. His cowl had still been around Thomas’s shoulders – “It’s almost like having a blanket again,” Thomas had sighed blissfully the first time Nigel had wrapped it around him – and Thomas had smiled up at him in that sweet way of his that Nigel loved so much when he woke up. Feeling his heart swell with love, Nigel had leaned down and captured that smile with a kiss.
They had joined Alison for breakfast a few kisses later and then gone their separate ways like they often did during the day. Nigel had followed Walter and the other villagers outside to the gardens for yet another one of Mick’s renditions of the day he’d met the king while Thomas had been ushered to the common room by Pat and the Captain for What I Would Wear If I Could Today Club. They had meant to meet up in the kitchen again at noon – only Thomas had never shown up so Nigel had gone looking for him.
Except now that he had found him he was at a complete loss as to what to do. He was so used to Thomas wearing his heart on his sleeves all the time that he had no idea how to approach him when he was like this, all closed off and distant. Perhaps he shouldn’t have approached him at all. Maybe Thomas just needed to be alone for a while. He got like that sometimes; quiet and reflecting. He wouldn’t utter a single word for hours but still welcomed Nigel’s silent presence next to him, his gentle touch.
That he didn’t welcome it now did not exactly reassure Nigel it wasn’t somehow his fault that Thomas was out here right now, alone and struggling.
“Thomas?” he asked carefully, knowing he had to fix this – whatever this was. “Do you want to me to go?”
Thomas shook his head and Nigel breathed a sigh of relief.
“All right,” he whispered. “Is it okay if I touch you?”
He interpreted the one-shouldered shrug as permission and lightly placed his hand against Thomas’s back. The muscles under his palm were so tense and taut it wouldn’t have surprised Nigel if Thomas was one wrong move away from springing to his feet and taking off. He slowly raised his other hand and let it rest next to the first for a moment before he gently began to knead the tension away. He started at Thomas’s shoulders and then slowly made his way down his spine, careful not to stray too close to the edges of his wound, knowing how self-conscious Thomas was about it; and how much it could hurt him.
“What are you doing?” Thomas asked at last when Nigel’s hands moved back up his spine again. His voice was quiet, almost brittle and he shuddered under the gentle ministrations. Nigel eased up on the pressure a little.
“Making you feel a bit better, hopefully.”
The noise Thomas made was not quite a laugh but close enough that Nigel felt some of his own tension bleed away. When Thomas let his head hang, allowing him access to his neck, he took the hint and lightly grazed his fingers over the sensitive, vulnerable skin there, just like he knew Thomas liked it.
“You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong,” Nigel said after a moment. He allowed his fingers to trail under Thomas’s collar, just a little. “But I want you to know you don’t have to pretend with me either. It’s okay if you’re upset – especially if it’s because of me.”
Thomas looked at him over his shoulder. Despite the sheen of tears, his eyes were warm and loving when he said, “You haven’t done anything to upset me, Nigel. I don’t think you possibly could.”
Feeling light with relief and emboldened by Thomas’s words, Nigel leaned forward and brought their foreheads together. “Just give it a few decades. I have it on good authority I can be quite annoying after a while.”
Thomas closed his eyes. He suddenly looked very tired. “Walter, I presume?”
Nigel chuckled. “Who else?”
“He wouldn’t know a good thing if it hit him in the face,” Thomas murmured before he pulled back. Then he added bitterly, “And neither would the others.”
So this was about him, Nigel thought, just not in the way he’d originally assumed.
He continued with his tender touches, hoping they would help soothe a little of the anger he could feel boiling under Thomas’s skin – anger that wasn’t directed at him like he’d feared but actually existed on his behalf. Nigel could barely remember the last time someone had cared so much to be so furious over something someone else had said about him. It was merely a guess, of course, but he was now pretty sure the others had something to do with the pinched look on Thomas’s face. They hadn’t been exactly happy when Nigel and the rest of the villagers had come to live upstairs, after all, and protested the move loudly. While things had significantly died down since then with only the odd rude comment here or there, Thomas’s bowed head and defeated posture told a different story – namely, that things hadn’t died down at all when Nigel and the others weren’t around.
Everything suddenly made a lot more sense – Thomas’s reluctance to tell the others about their relationship, the distance, greater than strictly necessary, he kept between them whenever someone else was in the room, the tension radiating off him every time Nigel and his family joined one of the Clubs.
Nigel had never minded keeping their relationship a secret. The other villagers knew, of course – there was no hiding anything from Jean, not to mention Mick had caught them kissing goodnight in front of the basement door once, back before Nigel had chosen to sleep in Thomas’s room. But the upstairs lot were another matter. Nigel was very much aware of what they thought of him and the others, and he’d never faulted Thomas for being wary of their reaction and rather not wanting to say anything.
Which was why Thomas’s next words took him completely by surprise.
“I was planning on telling them about us today,” Thomas said softly, staring out over the lake.
Nigel’s leapt into his throat. His hands faltered on Thomas’s back. “You were?”
“Yes,” Thomas whispered. He swallowed audibly. “It’s been months since we began our courtship and I thought it was time. But when I chose your cowl as my item to wear today Julian laughed and made a rather … unsavoury comment about it. About you.”
Nigel winced. He could very well imagine what Julian might have said. It was probably something along the lines of, “Oh, that ratty old, flea-and-plague-infested thing? Your standards have really gone to the dogs, mate.”
“After that,” Thomas continued quietly, voice full of shame, “I … I couldn’t find the courage to tell them anymore. I’m sorry, Nigel.”
The apology was uttered in a whisper so miserable Nigel couldn’t help but lean forward and press a lingering, soothing kiss against the exposed skin of Thomas’s neck.
“Don’t apologise,” he murmured softly. “You have done nothing wrong.”
“Then why do I feel like I have” Thomas asked, breath hitching. “You make me so happy, Nigel – happier than I ever thought I could be, than I could ever hope to put into words. And yet I can’t even hold your hand when someone’s around because no one knows.”
Nigel gently rubbed his back. “You know I don’t mind that – them not knowing.”
“But I do, Nigel!” Thomas exclaimed. “Your family knows. Mine – mine should too, shouldn’t they?”
“Why let Julian’s comment stop you, then?” Nigel asked softly.
Thomas made a wounded noise that went straight to his heart. “Because I don’t know how to stop them from saying all these awful things about you and the others. It’s like they took one look at you all those years ago and decided you were –“
“Barely human,” Nigel finished for him.
Thomas nodded and visibly fought with his emotions. “I told Julian he was wrong, about you, about them but he just kept laughing at me and – Nigel, I don’t want you to have to face that every day. Not because of me.”
His voice broke on the last word and he curled in on himself, choking down a sob. Nigel stared at the trembling shoulders in front of him and felt tears prick at his own eyes when he realised that all this time, Thomas had been trying to protect him as best as he could. Keeping their relationship a secret had never been about him being scared of what the others might think. It had always been about his fear that the constant mockery would be too much for Nigel to bear – would perhaps be something Nigel wouldn’t want to bear for him.
Oh Thomas, Nigel thought, his heart both heavy and light with love at once. He reached for Thomas’s hand and intertwined their fingers.
“I will gladly face all their ridicule if it means I get to hold your hand in front of them like this–“
He pulled Thomas backwards, very gently, against his chest.
 “–if I get to hold you in my arms during Film Club–”
Thomas let out a broken sound and leaned into the embrace like a man finding dry land after being lost on the open ocean for days.  
“–if I get to kiss you whenever I like.”
Thomas’s skin tasted like the sea beneath his lips.
“I love you,” Nigel whispered fiercely and pressed another kiss to Thomas’s cheek. “I don’t care what anyone says or thinks – my feelings are not going to change just because Julian Fawcett is making fun of the way I look.”
Thomas sniffed and turned slightly in his arms. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, Nigel. Not for me. I ... I don’t think I could bear that.”
He placed his hand over his wound, unconsciously perhaps, but Nigel understood what he meant: Don’t make the same mistake I did. There is no happiness to be found in self-sacrifice.
He covered Thomas’s hand with his own.
“If we stay quiet, nothing will ever change,” he said softly.
“I know,” Thomas sighed and closed his eyes. He looked terribly exhausted and Nigel wished he knew how to ease this burden that seemed to rest so heavily on his shoulders. “So what now?”
“Now,” Nigel said, reaching up to unfasten the cowl. “Now we watch the sunset together and you get to wear what you wanted.”
He wrapped the fabric around Thomas’s shoulder as best as he could with one hand. When Thomas’s hand came up to hold it in place, their fingers touched.
“That wasn’t what I meant but – thank you,” Thomas said.
Nigel felt the gentle press of soft lips against his collarbone and smiled. He rested his chin on Thomas’s head and looked out over the lake. The dark waters were already glimmering golden in the warm light of the setting sun, creating sparkles that danced over the lake’s surface like stars.
“We’ll tell the others tonight,” Nigel said. “Together.”
Thomas tensed in his arms. “Are you sure? Even though–?“
“Yes,” Nigel said. “Let them talk. Let them mock. I don’t care. I’m tired of pretending I don’t love you.”
To prove his point, he pressed a lingering kiss against Thomas’s curls. Thomas glanced up at him, his face open and terribly vulnerable for a second before he offered Nigel a smile, small but sincere and full of love. “I love you too.”
They shared a soft, gentle kiss before Thomas relaxed against Nigel’s chest and turned his head back towards the lake. His fingers were still curled around the rough fabric of the cowl, and Nigel smiled. As the sun slowly crept towards the horizon, he silently prayed the conversation with the others would go well later.
The last thing he wanted was to see Thomas cry twice in one day because of Julian Fawcett.
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johannabarkerrs · 2 years
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johnny depp's not gonna fuck you <3 he'll just beat the shit out of you <3
First off when did I ever say I wanted to sleep with him <3
Second off get off my blog Amber. Can’t wait for justice to be served. <3
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sohelish · 7 months
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@spekiasynja asked: “I think your piloting license needs to be revoked.”
Hel turned her head slowly as if she were a whimsical character from one of the horror movies considered by many to be on the trashier side.
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'What piloting license?' She asked cautiously, eyes narrowing. It dawned on her that there might have been a dire miscommunication in connection with the next few steps of the affair at hand.
'Are you saying I'm supposed to—?' That would have been problematic for multiple reasons. 'No. I thought you—'
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halcyone-of-the-sea · 9 months
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You're my favorite writer, and König is my favorite aussie man, so OF COURSE im making you write for him, hal, BEAR W ME !
Alright, what do you think about König with the “You’re here late.” prompt? The reader is part of KorTac and always worked alongside König, since they both entered about the same time, because of the readers personality, they are always fighting, one of these fights are specifically bad, leading the reader to go on a mission with another KorTac member, to help out somewhere else and take their mind off things, when the reader face a problem on the mission and ends up arriving late, König is furious.
Moths Hit the Window
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PAIRING: König x F!Reader
SYNOPSIS: Fights with König were always loud, but this time his comments went a bit too far.
WORD COUNT: 5.9k
WARNINGS: Verbal fighting, angst, high tension, blood & stitches, wounds, canon typical violence, guns/weapons, death, suggestive near the end, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc.
A/N: Huge thanks to @idocarealot for the German translations!! Also, König's wearing the arachnid skin in this because I love it sm - enjoy, Anon!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
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You seethe. If eyes could turn red yous would be a beautiful shade of crimson—bloody knives ripping out of the cornea to strike whoever happened to get too close. It was as if the very air boiled with the force of a raging tsunami as you stomped down the local military base’s hallways, covered in blood and guts. Never had you reconsidered working for KorTac more than at this very moment. 
Maybe I should just become a mercenary, you rip at the torn-apart gloves over your hands and jerk your arm out. Passerbyers quickly avert their eyes as you shove them into a garbage can and continue on with a growl. No shitty rules, no regulations—no fucking partners.
If people happened to slide past without noticing the steam coming out of your ears, they would have immediately locked eyes on the pure elephant of a man trailing fast behind. König’s eyes were goring into the back of your neck, gray and tan garb swaying as the packs and flash grenades on his combat vest bounced with every step. Accents of red do nothing in comparison to his visible flesh—the section of his eyes uncovered by his mask and head rig alight around his obsidian gaze. 
 König was muttering to himself far under his breath, curses and harsh comments all in German that he wouldn’t say to your face. At least not right now in view of others. 
“I can hear you, you dimwit,” you hiss over your shoulder, grinding your teeth as you both make your way to the armory, “curse me out quieter!” 
“You are making a scene!” The beast grunts, that heavily accented English striking your eardrums with its harsh dialect. 
“Oh, jeez!” You raise your voice even higher, turning back forward and clenching your hands into fists as blood and guts drip off your gear—none of it yours. “I’m just so damn embarrassed, König! I’m making such a large and obnoxious display. Whatever will I do?!” Sarcasm like a valuable drug is injected into the waves of your voice. People from open doorways look out with shock, brows pulled up. 
Everyone quickly darts back away when you snap your head in their direction and send them a scathing glare.
No one was surprised to find you and the Austrian going at it again but knew well enough to stay out of the crossfire. Lest someone get roped into it.
“Fuck off!” You spit the last curse into the burning air and shove past a soldier ahead of you.
König’s dark eyes flash dangerously, lips under his mask twisting into a sneer. The man’s shoulders seem to dig in even farther, spine curling over as if a brooding child. 
This had all started the second you’d joined up with KorTac. Fresh out of the military and eager to get back into the game after a good vacation the PMC group had been at the top of your list. But if you’d known you’d be paired up with this damn mountain every chance there was just because he’d got into the game at nearly the same time as you, you’d have put in your luck with SpecGru. 
“I do not see how this is appropriate behavior,” König follows as you place your palms on the black metal of the armory door, pressing with your shoulders. “I did what I was tasked to do—”
The masked man is cut off as you whirl on your heels, the door slamming shut as his body is shoved into it with strong arms. Dark eyes go wide in surprise, feeling the dig of your nails on his abdomen as your form presses into him and the chill of the door on his spine. You feel his skin bunch under his thick shirt and even if you want to stare him down that’s just not an option. Your warm figures shuffle together with panting breaths and dangerous glints in your eyes. 
“Bull,” you drag out the word, growling it right up into his neck; sniper hood caressing your chin. König’s breath hitches with shakes of swirling emotions. “Shit.”
Shoving once more so he gets the point, you push off of him and stalk away like a feral wolf, already unclipping grenades and medical packs from your vest. 
“You’re the damn reason the target got away!” Gear is thrown haphazardly to the long table in the center of the room. The Austrian watches with predatory eyes, hands clenched so hard that they quiver. He stays still, watching, as you send scathing glances. “The reason we’re going to be here for ten times longer than we’re supposed to be!” 
“It is not my fault you failed to properly check the perimeter before you rushed in like a fool.” Volatile couldn’t be used to describe this…this was nothing short of volcanic. It was as if there were two sides of a scale filled with bullets and gunpowder—fire in the middle that was equally heating both piles as they raised and lowered erratically. König’s voice grates over the air, “I did what I could to fix your scheiße plan!”
“Don’t you shit on my plan!” You point, voice bouncing off the weapon racks as you rip the rifle strap from over your chest, chucking it away. 
“I will shit on it—it was…it was…!”  König’s voice cuts out and he can’t find the words. The Austrian descends into visceral German ramblings. “Es war so ziemlich der schlechteste Plan, den ich je gehört hab. Welcher halbwegs vernünftige Mensch geht in eine heiße Zone ohne vorher alle Zielobjekte richtig zu markieren?! Ich kann dich und deine Rücksichtslosigkeit nicht mehr leiden — du bringst mich um meinen Verstand! Hast du überhaupt ein Gehirn in deinem Schädel?”
You shake your head to yourself, heart pounding. “You’re still the one that was supposed to focus on the HVT. I rushed so he would flush out, but, no,” taking out the magazine of the rifle you hold it in your hands like an accusatory ruler that a teacher would hold. König shoves off the door and stands to his full height; arms tensed and straining before they coil around his chest in a soothing gesture. 
He hated the fighting—the constant strain between the two of you. But when you were together it could never amount to anything else. The room felt like it was a million degrees.
Your eyes stab at him, “No! You had to go and focus on me! I hate to break this to you,  König,” feet come forward and you once again find yourself close to him—breathing the same air and taking in the scent of gunpowder and blood. You point the tip of the magazine into his chest. His unseen lips pull; jaw clenching with held-back fire. “But I am not your damn mutt to keep on a leash. I had it under control.”
It’s as if you don’t realize the Austrian could snap you in half with a single kick of his leg, as if the sheer size of König had slipped your mind as a whole. His hands could snap your neck in an instant, but that was only if he got ahold of you. 
But that was a line the both of you were never planning to cross. Words were one thing in this profession, actions another. If you ever got into a physical fight, you’d both kill each other, no doubt. 
You’d like to think you’re a bit above that, but perhaps not.
König’s chest rises and falls deeply, taking in calming breaths as he tries to get his temper under control. “You didn’t,” he jeers out, “I saved your life, you Heißluftgebläse. And if you wanted to be treated less than a dog,” he grunts to you, head pulling down close to your face, harshly whispering out, “You could have simply asked me, yes?”
You both snarl at each other's throats like rabid animals, the world disappearing all around the obsidian eyes that match with yours; for a moment you get lost in the shining bits of silver in his iris that seem to burn with chilled iron. What little skin you can see is flushed and tight—hawk nose nearly poking out your eye as you’re leaned over like a giraffe near a bush.
Body vibrating, you sharply breathe, “I’m not even going to ask what that fucking means, you tool.”
“Good.” The words are bitten and fast, “because I am not telling you.”
“Great!”
“Perfekt!” You both were arguing like children. Hot faces and unwilling to let the other have the last word. If you got along it might have been funny. 
“I’m going to dump all of your Einspänner out on the tarmac.” Your sure voice echoes with a definitive promise to the tone. 
Pale lids widen in horror at the threat to the Austrian's favorite beverage, comfortably sitting in the Base’s fridge. 
“You would not,” König’s tone is deathly serious and you smirk, eyes dancing. “You…” a guttural growl meets the air, mind translating words and giving meanings, “beast of a woman!”
“Oh, is that the best you can fucking do?!” You yell, splaying your hands out widely and moving away from him. “Now that’s really a show stopper, König, I’m shaking in my damn boots.” 
“Ich komm mit dir nicht mehr klar.” König yells, moving back and placing both of his hands atop his head, knuckles white. “You’re rude—you do not even try to get along. You are loud and disrespectful; how do you live like this?!”
Your eyes slightly widen, watching the Austrian.
“Don’t try?” You echo, scoffing loudly. “What do you mean don’t try? I was the one to try and smooth things out between us in the beginning.”
“When?!” König spreads his hands out, knees slightly bent. “Because I have no recollection of such events.”
“Well of course you wouldn’t!” The heat was meeting a breaking point—words were getting more personal, sharper. Like a blade being honed for the kill slowly; being sharpened by rocks and whetstones of conviction. 
König points a finger at you, voice going low and thin, “I’ve had enough of you, yes?” His sniper hood moves rapidly with his fast ricochets of breath. “Just about enough. Would you have wanted me to let you die?”
“I had it,” your lips spit, nose scrunched, and forehead tight. The man’s chest vibrates with a mute growl. 
In all actuality, you’d never seen him this worked up before. König wasn’t above giving your quips back even if he obviously disliked it—most of that was due to the strange familiarity between the two of you. In large crowds, the man preferred to stay silent. This only added to his almost deadly aura with others, though you knew the muteness was because of social anxiety and not some built silence. He wasn’t shy per se, just afraid he’d say something wrong; mess up the conversation. You did most of the talking in meetings and you never minded it. Added him in when the topic was something he knew a lot about.
Your mind had addled it up to thinking it was cute, actually. How his feet would shuffle; his half-lidded gaze and his intense eye contact to let them know he was still listening. When he’d have to remind himself to look away with a pinch to his thigh because it was starting to seem threatening. It was endearing, even.
But around people König knew, well, he was going to speak his mind. No matter how long it takes his brain to catch up with his lips.
The only thing the two of you were good at was being moths—hitting the metaphorical window over and over on the same topics and tension points. Slamming heads and flapping wings. You were at the end of your rope just as he was.
“I should have never taken you as a partner!” He calls, feet splayed. “Should have gotten out of this the second you were assigned with me. Gott, ich hab wirklich versucht, dich zu verstehen — Ich hätte gleich aufgeben sollen.” Your lips thin, lungs stalling as all the air vacates the room. You stand still and listen to what he really thinks, fingers shaking.
König’s large form towers over all, great sparks of electricity flying out. His gear shakes as he moves, thigh straps pushing fabric to shift and conform to his body. Your blood pumps with brewing hesitance. 
Maybe this had gone too far. I’ve never seen him like this.
“I can’t stand you any longer! Pathetic squabbles that mean nothing, absolutely ludicrous plans that make little headway.” Your head bursts with aggression and what little warning signs you have are squashed. “I can’t keep saving you because you can’t do your job correctly!”
“You don’t have to save me at all!” You scream. “You can’t keep your damn eyes off of me for five seconds, König.” Feet move away quickly from the armory door as if someone had come to put away their stuff but thought better of it. The next words burst from you before you can think of the contents. “It’s like you fucking love me or something!”
König doesn’t miss a beat, but for months afterward, he wishes he had.
“Oh, do not make me laugh—” he scoffs ferally, adrenaline making him talk, “as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place.” 
Twin eyes widen and both parties immediately fall silent. A sharp inhale.
Too far.
Under the hood, König’s face goes an embarrassing shade of red all the way down to his chest. Fingers freeze. Jaw slackens.
You feel like your heart was just grasped in his grip and ripped out of your ribs with one violent motion—one sentence out of all the others enough to knock down the rebuttal that had formed on the tip of your tongue. Your throat closes up as you blink in shock.
“I-I…” König stutters, mind blanking as he struggles for words. But anger was easier than pain.
Numb fingers rip off the last of your weapons and belongings as you let them hit the floor with defining thuds as warm shame floods your cheeks. Shaky puffs of breath like a panting dog. Dark eyes watch with regretful panic, heart jumping and eyes flinching. The adrenaline it…it made him forget himself on occasion—how to properly act when not on the battlefield. It was like that with everyone but…but he hadn’t meant that.
Shame that it’s already too late.
Your fisted hand slams into his chest, brutal and unforgiving. König lets off a grunt but does nothing as you slither past, hissing into his ear, “Find yourself a new punching bag.”
His hand snaps to his breast where you had slammed your KorTac patch right into his heart, catching it. It’s many moments before he can think enough through the alarm; form words.
“I…I didn’t…oh, du blöde Kuh!” 
By the time the man composed himself, panicked tears burning in his eyes, the door had already slammed shut. His feet squeaked over the tile to an empty audience. 
Private Military Companies don’t have ranks. There are no Sergeants, Lieutenants, Generals or Colonels. Just people. Beyond the orders you’d been hired on, there was nothing keeping you in line with König on this mission. And those orders were loose at best.
Adhere to policy and listen to the Base’s COs. Shut up and get the job done. 
The Austrian and you weren’t due out for another week because of rotations. Since you’d failed to capture or kill the HVT that you were assigned, another group had picked up the tracks in the meantime. Like an oiled machine, the gears of this operation kept whirling. 
Evolve, or die. 
“Lieutenant!” You call to the geared-up man on the tarmac—the one heading that very same group. It had been only a few hours since the incident in the armory. You needed a distraction; blood was still running high and brain pounding for release. There were only so many times you could bruise your fists and legs on a punching bag before people started giving you nervous looks. “Need an extra hand?”
Your voice sounds strained, even to you. The man looks you over once and narrows his eyes. Nods not moments later. 
“Get tired of your big friend? Okay, how fast can you be ready for me?” You feel your shoulders loosen, a relieved sigh exiting your lips.
“Three minutes.”
“...get to it then. We move in five.” 
So that was how you found yourself backed into a corner five hours into the op from hell—bloody knife held tightly in your grip and mouth open in ragged pants. 
“Fuck,” your vest is torn and riddled with bullets; your entire chest must be bruised by now because it surely aches like it is. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
You really are reckless, just like König had said you were. Maybe you’d just never realized it because he always seemed to watch your six. This…this was really bad. The comms were awash with screaming orders and panic, ringing out across the abandoned mining factory that exploded with light from gunfire and the sounds that accompanied it. You knew for a fact three soldiers were down; two KIA. 
The Lieutenant is one of them. 
Your hand snaps to the radio strapped to your chest, one eye squinted in pain at the ragged slice across your left brow line. At your feet, two heavily armed men lay dead. 
“Pull back! They knew we were coming!” But your word didn’t carry weight here. Your face twists between pain and rage. König’s comment still rings in your ears as the onset of tinnitus does, as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place. It wasn’t ideal to be thinking about this now—it was detrimental that you didn’t. 
But König and the things he did often stained your brain. No matter how much you tried to distance yourself from that fact. 
Snapping the knife in your grasp down in an arch to dispel the blood from the blade, you take a steel-laced inhale and shove off the wall. Limping, but moving. Sprained ankle. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before.
The concrete under you is splattered with crimson viscera and you stumble over spasming bodies riddled with bullets. With a subdued shink you slip your knife into its thigh sheath, grabbing the FTac Recon strapped around your chest after slamming a fresh mag into it. With a numb calm overcoming you, you slip your forefinger into the trigger guard, poised over the easy press of the trigger itself. 
The long shadows spread over you; your head illuminated by the dull sheen of the moon as you pass under a stretch of open sky to slink into the building across the empty street. Feral yells still bounce off the air and you go to them readily, purpose settling in your veins. 
Pain flies to the back of your mind, displaced by adrenaline and the rabid puffs of breath that fall like grinding thunder from your lips.  
You wonder what König’s thinking right now—he’d without a doubt noticed that you were gone. He’d even probably gone to your barracks room to try and apologize and found it empty. That was just how he was. 
Would he be happy? You wondered. Relieved to see you out of his life? You’d both done nothing but fight, but there were moments of peace. Understanding. 
Shared meals and comfortable, yet sarcastic, comments; soft glances when the other wasn’t looking. Heat in your face and obviously shown on his when shy hands brushed. 
Your hold tightens on your gun, brows dripping with sweat as it dribbles down along with the blood. Gunfire flashes. 
Closer now.
Shadows scream on top of a raised walkway attached to an in-mountain compound, targets with trigger fingers firing on your fellows who take cover behind crumbling walls. Pinned down. You watch, unseen, from a broken window as dust and moths collide. 
Your eyes lock on the closest hostile and you raise your weapon slowly, barrel resting on the frame between shattered glass. You clock the distance and adjust accordingly; breaths falling steady. 
The small insect that keeps hitting the window plays in your mind over and over—drowning out the yells; the fire. 
Just a moth readily willing to smash into that barrier until it dies. You hum under your breath and rest the gun into the crook of your shoulder, cheek to stock. 
Your finger slams into the trigger. 
You stumble out of the loud infirmary with a bloody rag pressed deeply into your forehead, medical pouch under one arm. You hear rushing feet and barked orders from nurses and doctors just before the door closes, cutting off as you stake out on your own.
Limping, you reason there were others with more severe wounds than your own; as blood drips from your flooded rag, your feet take you deep into the base one broken step at a time. You’d figure it out yourself. 
Plus, the silence would give you time to think. Think about König. 
You just gritted your teeth and decided that was better than taking up space in the infirmary. 
In times like these, the Austrian would fix your wounds for you, just as you did his. While you had your disagreements and heated fights, he’d never made it as personal as he had hours beforehand. Never made it hurt. 
“Jesus,” you mutter, rubbing your other crusty hand over the mud along your chin. Everything ached and you don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. 
Flinching along like a downed bird, you shove through into the last door into the barracks; thoughts now stuck on finding a chair to sit down on before your legs gave out. The darkness of the common area was deep—staining your eyelids as you grunt, bumping into the back of the couch. 
It’s almost funny the way the lamp flicked on mere moments later. 
You hiss, eyes snapping shut as the rays attack your sight, rendering you blind for a moment. The shaking hand on your dripping rag tightens before the spark of pain makes you lighten the pressure. 
There’s a dark grunt just as you open your eyes back up.
“You are late.” König. 
He sits in one of the chairs—sniper hood still over his head yet only clothed in a large compression shirt and casual camo pants. Like a disappointed parent, the Austrian’s arms were crossed over his chest; feet resting out and crossed at the ankles. With such a big stature the look could strike fear into anyone. 
Anyone but you, that is. 
König’s dark eyes rove over you, stopping immediately on the fabric you keep to your forehead. The previous, furious, tone stops and the flash of very real concern takes precedence. His hands tighten on his biceps, thighs tensing over the cushion; spine just a little bit straighter. 
You watch and say nothing—dead-faced. 
Your heart suddenly skips beats, stuck into the framework of the man’s eyes. König’s brows peel back and a timid stutter stays in your breast.
“...Vögelchen?” Lids blink rapidly, and before you can register anything because of your blood loss and fatigue, you’re being dragged to the couch and forced to sit down. 
Strong hands encompass your shoulders and small breaths flutter in front of your face as König peels back to kneel in front of you; spying the medical pouch in your under-arm. 
“What is this?” He mutters to you, vision flinching along your body but always dragging back to the bloody rag on your face. “What did you do to yourself?” 
Scarred hands raise before pausing, obsidian eyes staring deeply into yours as if in frantic question. Your own gaze keeps him close, spying on his veiled fear at the sight of your blood and your disappearance. He’d heard about the mission, then, that much was upfront because of his earlier comment. 
The humvee had been late arriving back. Half an hour. 
“Fuck off,” you utter, shoving off the couch before you’re captured in an unyielding press again, shoved down. Your anger spikes along with your unease, “König! I don’t have the patience—”
“I’m sorry.” The fight leaves you. 
Fingers squeeze your biceps, hold lightly shaking with nerves. “I did not mean it.” Obsidian pierces you, “Please, Vögelchen, I am sorry. Utterly. I speak so fast I misplace words—get far more,” words fail as you stare so intently at him, a strange feeling swirling in your gut. König’s face was going crimson again, though not from anger. His tone was deep and honest, accent becoming more whole with emotion. The hands on your skin stay. “Rude than I intend. It is not an excuse, but…”
In the horizontal oval of his hood, you spy the dots of tiny freckles; the whispers of auburn hair. That hawk nose still points violently from behind the fabric. König never finishes his sentence, just takes a large breath and looks to the side after a moment of silence. 
Then he steals the medical pack from your grip and opens the zipper with firm fingers, taking out gloves and gauze. Needle and sutures. It’s all placed on the side table as the bear of an Austrian stays on his knees for you—bending and shifting as the bottom of his shirt rides up. 
It’s a tense affair of touching skin; warmth and hissed curses. Gentle shushing. But you say nothing through it. Until he’s up in your face trying off stitches with forceps and a needle holder, breath making his hood lightly caress your bloodless face. His fingers are large and firm, never second-guessing or stuttering over the course of directing tools that dig a needling and thread into your flesh. 
He’s warm and every motion elicits shivers. You see his form from the side of your eye; his face’s outline as the lamp light illuminates the hood’s fabric. Shadowy silhouette of König’s strong jaw that shifts with every other breath from his wide chest. 
“You’re an asshole for saying that to me, y’know.” you slip your gaze away just as he snaps over. “Adrenaline or not.” 
The needle pauses and a swift nod is given. 
“I…I know it was. No amount of apologizing can explain how very horrible I feel. It was like I was so…so…” An annoyed grunt was leveled at himself.
“Pissed off?” You offer quietly. 
“Yes! Pissed off.” Amused glances were shared, the air slowly smoothing out between the two of you. Dark eyes quickly look away from yours and König clears his throat terse-like. But softer, steadier, “I…could not bear it if I were to see you in harm and be unable to assist you. That…is why I was watching. Why I do watch you.”
Inside of you, it was like there was a pot of water on the stove, steadily boiling under the heat. Your eyes are delicately wide when the man’s hands leave your face; kneeling body still tall enough to stare into you.
“You are…” König pauses, but not to find the words. To ready himself. He takes a long breath. “You are special to me, my Vögelchen. I can not see you hurt,” a gesture to your forehead and creased eyes. As if your pain was his own. “Not like this.”
“What are you saying, König?” You whisper, face twisted with hurt and confusion. Apprehension. “You’re giving me mixed signals. We always fight with each other. I’m not saying I’m blameless, but…c’mon, now. Look at us.” 
“Not…always.” He grumbled like a child, tools placed away and hands dripping blood before he slips the gloves off. They meet the side table with a tiny toss. The Austrian leans back onto his ankles, butt to heel. He begins to look at your forehead and you can practically hear his heart break. “I do not like arguing with you, you know that, yes?” 
“Me neither,” you whisper, fingers fiddling as a sheen of anxiousness sets in. “You just,” you pause, “confuse me.”
 König blinks in surprise, head tilting and large eyes shimmering. Your mind flashes to a curious cat and you try to explain with a burning face and fast lips.
“You say we’re partners but you never act like it,” he stares and listens. When had you both had a conversation like this before? “You make it seem like you can’t trust me to do the simplest task. I’m not,” your voice betrays you, cracking, “I’m not that useless, am I?” 
He freezes, muscles going taunt. 
“U-Useless? Nutzlos? No, no,” A hand comes to capture your chin and you let him move you where he wishes. Creased eyes lock on yours. “That is not right. You’re not useless to me—how could you be?” Pained brows move in, “did I make you think like this? Like I did not appreciate your skills?” 
Your eyes burn, and the aches from your wounds mix with the pure fatigue in your flesh to leave your emotions running between sanity and sadness. A moment later you’re turning your head away. 
König recaptures it, hands finding both sides of your cheeks. He looks shaky; desperate. 
“No, please, Vögelchen, please. I need you to look at me.”
“König, I don’t—” You close your mouth before you let out the beginnings of a sob. “I can’t keep fighting with you.”
“I know, oh, I know,” his hands are so grounding it’s like you’re the inner pages of a book, and his grip the thick leather cover—leather laced with shared scars and the same that had stitched you up countless times. This push and pull had to end. “I cannot fight with you either—it tears me apart. Oh, du weißt gar nicht, wie sehr es mich schmerzt, dein wunderschönes Gesicht anzuschreien. Mit dir zu streiten bedeutet, meinen Verstand und mein Herz gleichzeitig zu brechen.” König’s thumbs run up and down your skin, still bloody with dried flakes falling to the ground. He seems not to care a bit. 
“What can I do to fix this? Anything. Anything to get us to stop doing this to each other.” You stare into his eyes, both creased and glazed over. 
There’s a brief moment where you wonder if anyone truly even knew you as well as König did—there was no one else that you shared such a deep connection with. Years upon years of being stuck at his side. 
And someone else’s hands had never felt as good as his. They were hard and callused over but cupped your face as gently as one would cup water from a rippling stream. His eyes were stars; visible skin like porcelain, his breath raised a large and wide chest with a fast-paced heart. You could sense his throat trapping air. 
König kneeled to you and bared himself. 
Anything, he had said, to fix what he had said. To stop this. 
There was one way you could think to stop this—it might not have been smart, certainly not, but…hmm…You gradually raised your hand raised from your lap and slipped it under the front of König’s hood. 
Slowly, with all the delicateness of a glass dragonfly, your fingers strayed to the side of his neck to press into tight flesh. A rapid pulse.
The man goes to stone. It’s like you’ve stolen his nervous system. Dark eyes stay locked onto yours as you gaze back, hand dragging nails up with a light pressure near to the speed of a slug. 
König whispers your name into the empty space and the oxygen seems to dry up. Warm light from the lamp cast phantoms on walls and over skin in a small moment of foreign discoveries. The Austrian swallows saliva and you feel his neck flex. You don’t answer him, just watch and feel his own hands tighten on your cheeks in warning. 
But you never listen, do you? Reckless you were called. And König had been right.
You were reckless.
Your hand had now explored like a map the indents of hidden facial scars; long and short over jaw and lips. The hand that was doing this had hiked the sniper’s hood up around your wrist so that the man’s lashes were twitching as the fabric got too close to his eyes. And you watched. And so did he. 
A twin pair of moths hitting a glass window, staring from opposite sides at one another until they realized the break in the frame. 
“Anything?” You ask in a loose tone, barely heard above the flood in both of your ears. 
König was breathing heavily but didn’t pull away. Pupils wide and body heavy to your touch. His spine briefly straightened, until he realized he had moved back slightly and immediately hunched again if only to keep your hands on him. 
“I…” he grunts, “A…anything.” Fingers touch his nose, they spread under the hood to trace the bumps and marks he keeps hidden like buried treasure. Your vision takes in the otherworldly hue on his visible skin; the glaze of rapture in his eyes yet still that ingrained heat. 
Your body shivers at the gravel in his accented English. 
Fingers stall over his lips, hood showing you the pale being of König’s strong chin and jaw. You shift your touch to the side and find chapped lips revealed to you, a small palate scar that had healed to nothing more than a line up to his nostril. 
You spare it nothing more than a glance before you look back into obsidian. Dark ether and dead galaxies devoid of stars. Swallowed in a sea of pasts and futures. You look for hesitation; for disgust. 
You find none. 
“You said that no one could ever love someone like me,” your head leans in, and your breath mingles together with an intimacy that had never been shared between this type of partners. König, as if broken from a spell, takes down a swift inhale of air into his stiff lungs. He stares with far back lids. Flashes of unidentified emotions. “Why did you say that?”
A moment of silence and of rabid hearts. The man’s lips twitch over yours as he answers slowly, not breaking eye contact for a moment. As if he did he’d be turned to rock. As if he’d miss something amazing from happening. 
He speaks with a whispered confession.
“Because if they did—I would have to kill them. Because no other than I would be able to love you more.” Your world slows and your ears strain with the breathy words. 
Face burning your lips part with shock and awe. Violent to any other, but to you this was a confession from a man that could meet you blow for blow—calm you and infuriate you all in one. Challenge you, but knew when he’d gone too far and how to properly apologize. 
He’d waited in that chair for you all night, you’d realized. 
For you to come back to him. His partner. 
You press your lips to his and hear his pitiful sounds of gasped reassurance. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you let saliva drip off of your chins to splatter onto bent knees and shaking thighs.
König’s arms cage you; capture your waist and draw you closer, lips breaking apart before you both share a wide-eyed look of momentary pause. There was no room to breathe; to think. Chests hit together and fingers tighten to a tendon-visible hold.
The man's growing smile is wide from where you still hold his hood up by his nose, and with a lick of his red and wet lips, he reconnects your awaiting mouths. 
This time, you’re the one to gasp.
“Lass mich zeigen, wie leid es mir tut, Vögelchen.”
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steddio · 1 year
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surftrips · 3 months
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luke x daughter of aphrodite!! maybe a super cute fluff where they help luke show percy around and just their experience with percy!
-🥽 anon
stop this prompt is soo cute ! thanks for sending it in &lt;3
"You okay?" Luke asked the newest camper in his cabin.
"Super."
"We all have them, you know." Luke clicked his tongue. "Intense, recurring nightmares. That's normal here. For the first time in your life, you're just like everyone else."
"So are you also... Do you not know who your..." the blonde boy began to ask.
"Am I unclaimed?" Luke shook his head. "No, Hermes is my father. That doesn't matter though, we're all on the same team here."
"Why is it okay they ignore some of us?"
"Spend too much time figuring out what the gods do whatever it is they do, you'll drive yourself crazy. Sooner you can stop worrying about that, the sooner you can enjoy what this place actually does offer."
"And what's that?"
Luke smiled, guiding Percy out the door to show him the rest of camp.
The two boys ran into Clarisse and the Ares kids first. Luke explained to Percy that the Ares kids were always confrontational and brutally honest, but he had nothing to worry about, as long as he was around.
"Come on, let's go figure out what you're good at."
After crossing off archery and metalworking, and dodging several near death experiences, they sat down for lunch.
"Is there a Greek god of disappointment?" Percy sighed.
"We're gonna find the thing you're good at, I know it," Luke reassured him. "We should try-"
Before he could finish his sentence, Luke's eyes lit up and a smile crossed his face, causing Percy to turn around.
A girl came over to Luke's side of the table and kissed the top of his head. "Hi, love."
Luke beamed, turning toward Percy. "Y/N, this is Percy, I'm giving him the tour. Percy, Y/N. She's in Aphrodite."
That much he could tell, Percy thought she was one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen.
"Ah, bonjour! Comment ça va?" she asked him.
Percy looked confused, only recognizing the first part of the sentence. "Uhhh... hello?"
Y/N smiled softly, "Guess he's not in Aphrodite then. Any luck finding out your skill, Percy?"
"No, unforunately," Percy grumbled.
"Aw, don't worry. Soon enough you'll be like Luke here," she had moved to sit in his lap by now, one of his arms curled around her waist. "Did you know he's the best swordsman at camp?"
She looked at Luke proudly, Percy swore he saw hearts instead of pupils in her eyes.
"I think it's come up once or twice," Percy responded.
The Aphrodite girl smiled again, "Have you shown Percy the lake yet?" she asked Luke.
"No, not yet. Do you want to come with us?"
"You mean, do I want to show him the place where we met? Is that even a question?"
The trio finished up their food and headed back outside. Y/N led the way, her presence enough to clear a path in the group of campers idling outside. Luke and Percy followed a few feet behind her.
"So... how long have you two been...?" Percy asked shyly.
"Three years. Since we were 16," Luke responded. Though Percy had only known Luke for about a day at this point, he couldn't help but notice how Luke's entire demeanor had changed since Y/N's arrival.
"Oh, wow. That's a long time."
"I got really lucky."
"What do you mean?"
"Before I got here, I had nobody. I mean, there was Annabeth and Thalia, but they're like my sisters. Y/N was the one that showed me what love is."
"Is that what you meant earlier? About enjoying what this place has to offer?"
He smiled. "You might be surprised, Percy."
"Are you boys coming or not?" Y/N called back toward them.
"Yes, ma'am!" Luke yelled back, jogging up to where she was. They were almost at the lake by then.
"So, Percy, anyone at camp catch your eye yet?" Y/N asked, her hand wrapped around Luke's arm.
"Babe, he just got here." Luke said.
"So? I knew I liked you the second we met."
Luke blushed, caught off guard by her sincerity. That was one thing he wasn't sure he would ever get over, her ability to express her emotions so unabashedly. It was something he still struggled with from time to time, but for her, he would let down all of his walls.
"I wouldn't say I have a crush on her or anything- she kinda just scares me but she did catch my attention," Percy interrupted Luke's thoughts.
"What's her name?" Y/N asked.
"Annabeth, I think."
Y/N nodded knowingly, looking over at Luke. "Well, I guess we'll just see if anything special blooms there. Anyway, we're here!"
The sun was beginning to set over the horizon now, painting the sky in beautiful hues of purple and pink. A gentle breeze accompanied the three as they sat down by the water.
Y/N leaned against Luke's body, savoring the warmth he offered. He absent-mindedly twirled a piece of her hair.
"Three years ago, I was sitting right here, when I saw someone a few feet away from me. He was throwing rocks into the lake and disturbing my peace," Y/N began. "When I looked over to see who it was-"
"You saw the most gorgeous man you've ever laid your eyes on," Luke cut in.
"Hey!" Y/N playfulled smacked his shoulder. "I know you've heard this story one hundred times but Percy hasn't yet."
"Yeah, I haven't yet!" Percy backed her up.
The two older campers laughed. "Thank you, Percy. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, I saw this boy with curly dark hair and soft brown eyes, and I thought that's him. He's the one. This was before I was claimed by Aphrodite, but I just had a feeling, you know?"
Percy nodded, even though he wasn't sure he had experienced that feeling yet.
"But anyway, this boy looked kind of sad, so I decided to sit next to him."
"I think that's why he was throwing rocks into the water," Percy broke in.
Y/N giggled and Luke nudged her shoulder to continue.
"You're right, Percy, I had the same thought. When I sat next to him, I sensed that he was annoyed."
"Okay, love, let me finish from here." Luke softly kissed her shoulder and she buried her head in the crook of his neck.
"I wasn't annoyed-" he clarified. "At least, not at you. I had just been claimed by my father, but I was still frustrated with the whole idea of gods having children and just ignoring them. Then, this angel sat next to me and for the first time, I felt seen."
Y/N looked up at her boyfriend, her face full of nothing but admiration. No matter how many times she heard this part of the story, she still couldn't believe how she got quite so lucky.
"Percy, our parents may never redeem themselves for their wrongdoings, but I thank the gods every day they sent me Y/N." With that, Luke gently placed his hand on her cheek and leaned in to kiss her.
"Hello! As lovely as this story is, still a minor here!" Percy waved his hand in front of their faces enthusiastically, causing all three of them to burst into laughter.
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tinyluvs · 8 months
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spencer reid cockwarming headcannons?!!! - 💫 anon
you read my mind i was just thinking about this *mdni!!*
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he takes his work so seriously but you're all whiny and clingy so he considers it a comprise of sorts, pushing your panties to the side without taking his eyes off of his paperwork
"y'wanna sit on it?" and "jus' keep it warm angel"
keeps an arm wrapped around your waist, guiding you downwards until he’s deep inside of you, barely even flinching when you instinctively tighten around him
he gives you a look, a warning, when you do try to move, hand pushing down on your thighs to keep you still
he is surprisingly good at ignoring your whimpers and whines, soft noises you make against his jaw that usually send him crazy
pretending to get comfy !! bucking his hips up and groaning while he stretches his neck, only wanting to watch the way your face changes and the soft gasps tumble past your lips
"keeping me so warm honey, thank you"
kisses on your neck and collarbone that could pass as sweet and caring if he wasn't smiling against your skin when you moan quietly
he pulls you up off of him, turning you around so your back is against his chest, dropping you down on him with a slight grunt
one arm resting against your thigh holding some paperwork he's reading and his free hand dragging up and down the inside of your other thigh, dangerously close to your cunt
“just a little longer sweetheart, you can take it"
he retaliates to you clenching around him by flexing, the slightest movements driving his cock deeper into you, the tip bumping your walls every single time
he finishes his work but doesn't tell you, pretending to continue reading something while he drops his hand to your clit rubbing soft gentle circles
“nearly there" he hums when you lean forward, hands planted on his desk and your thighs attempting to shut around his arm
it's just a lot of teasing honestly and he loves it
when he does decide to finish his work he's loud about it, gathering up papers and shutting books with a loud thud to build anticipation
his eyebrows raise when your eyes track his movements and your breathing speeds up, your wet cunt leaking faster around him
"did so good pretty girl," hands finding their place on your hips, "go on baby, take it, take what you need, been so good for me"
more often than not you don't get far before he's turning you back around and leaning back in his seat, watching your tits bounce as you ride him
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thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily ! send prompts to my ask box!
❥ spencer reid masterlist !!
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crheativity · 3 months
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Hello! Mind if I send in a request? How about some headcanons for the reader making cute little plushies for the overblot squad?
SUMMARY: You decide to make plushies for the overblot squad. How do they react?
WARNINGS: None that I am aware of!
COMMENTS: ANON I want you to know that this prompt randomly smacked me over the head at like 10 pm a couple nights ago and I have not been able to get it out since even though I haven’t been able to write until now. I hope you enjoy it!!
Part two - Prefect making the plushies clothes and accessories - can be found here. Part three - their reactions when the plushies are stolen - can be found here.
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Riddle absolutely loves it, please don’t mistake his silence for displeasure. He thinks it is skilfully made and quite adorable, really! He’s just… a little concerned. Does making a plush toy of the Queen herself count as sacrilege…? He’s racking his brains for any rule or law that would prohibit this adorable little toy’s existence, yet none come to mind. Does that mean he gets to keep it…? He really hopes so.
After a few days of diligent research into the matter, he determines that keeping such a cute thing is not against the law, and is overjoyed to find that he gets to keep it. After some deliberation, he decides to leave it on his desk - out of view from Cater, who would almost certainly want to take some “cammable pics” for Magicam. This way, the toy can sit on his desk and remind him of his studies… and also of you. Almost every time he sits down, he finds his eyes wandering to it and can’t help but smile.
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Heh, this is kinda cute. He doesn’t mind the plushy at first - it’s cute, but he finds the expression on your face as you give it to him much cuter. Of course he’ll keep it - it’s soft and squishy enough to be a pillow, so he’s eager to try it. Especially if it means skipping class.
As he attempts to fall asleep next to said plushy, however, he realises something - the plushy smells like you. He’s a beastman, with a heightened sense of smell. Even if the plushy doesn’t smell at all, it still smells of you. As a result of this realisation, the plushy now lives on his bed. He begins to find it frustrating to sleep without it, although he’d never be caught dead sleeping in the grounds with it. You’ll just have to replace it then instead.
(Ruggie has so many blackmail photos of Leona sleeping with the toy prepared just in case)
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Prefect, this is magnificent! Imagine the money you could make off of these! Hm? What do you mean they aren’t for sale-? It’s just for him…? Oh. Give him a moment, his brain just crashed. He doesn’t quite know how to respond. He loves it, and he loves you even more, but that doesn’t mean his brain is capable of forming a response, especially when you give him a big smile. Give the poor guy a minute.
He leaves it on his bed. This man definitely cuddles it while he sleeps. He gets easily distressed when it isn’t there. After a rough day at work or school, he’ll talk quietly to the plush until he feels better. If worse comes to worst, he’ll hug the toy and cry as he needs to. He loves it so much. It’s almost a new friend to him - something he finds great comfort in.
(The Tweels are no longer allowed in his room. When they inevitably come in anyway, he swears them to secrecy.)
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Is that the Sorcerer of the Sands… as a plushy? For him? Thank you, Prefect. Jamil doesn’t have a whole lot of plushies - he never particularly saw the point. But he’s absolutely charmed by this one — and by you. And the fact that it’s the Sorcerer of the Sands? You definitely knew him well. He’s smiling and shaking his head as he takes the plushy. You’re so cute, it’s so endearing.
At first, Jamil isn’t quite sure what to do with it. He can’t quite sleep if it’s on his bed - it reminds him of you too strongly - so he settles with leaving it on his desk. Occasionally, in his rare free time, he’ll sit at his desk and play with it, like a grown adult finding a lost but treasured toy again. It always reminds him of you. When life calls him back, he’ll set the plushy aside for now and get to work. It will be waiting for him.
Just like you, he hopes.
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Prefect! He didn’t know you could sew. It looks amazing! It’s for him? You’re very sweet, he’s very in love. He loves the plush toy so much, no matter if it has any imperfections. It was made by you, of someone he looks up to, for him. He hates to sound like Rook, but to him, that makes it the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
He’s so proud of you. Vil is taking that plush EVERYWHERE. It’s always in his bag no matter where he’s going. Anytime someone questions it, he shuts them down immediately. No one will dare slander something that his beloved made for him. In fact, he uses every opportunity to sneak the plush into photos for Magicam. Whether he’s holding it, it’s nearby or in the background, it’s always there. People start looking for it in all of his pictures.
If you’re okay with the plush being online, that is.
If you’d rather it stay private, he’d kiss your forehead or hand and tell you he understands. The plush toy then stays in his room, on his vanity table. Looking at it makes him feel like a teenage schoolgirl. He supposes it’s alright to indulge in such silliness occasionally, hm?
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Wow, you made him a marketable plushy? Of one of the Great Seven? He wasn’t expecting you to have such a normie hobby. Oh, but that’s not a bad thing. He’s extremely grateful, but extremely awkward - does this mean he has to get you something now? What kinda thing would you like? Ah, wait, was that not the appropriate thing to say? Ortho’s giving him the “shut up and be polite” look.
Please don’t be offended if it seems like he doesn’t like it when he receives it. He actually really, really does. He decides to make it his new “gaming buddy”, making him a little custom headset and fake controller and sitting it next to him while he games. He’s stunned to silence when the lil guy’s presence improves his gacha rolls by, like, a LOT. He was already taking pretty good care of it, but now he’s being WAY more careful with it.
Occasionally, Ortho will catch him talking to it. Idia genuinely loves the plushy - and you - a lot. Even if Idia doesn’t quite know how to show it, Ortho does - by recording Idia’s conversations with the toy and showing them to you. Idia is mortified.
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Oh? My child of man made me this… adorable plushy? My, how generous of you. He’s absolutely in love. If you thought he was attached to his tamagotchi, just wait and see. Malleus is NEVER letting the plushy leave his presence. Lilia had to take it away to clean it once and it stormed for a week. He loves it so much - and you so much more.
He absolutely treats the plushy as a human, and asks the others to do the same. Occasionally, he (or rather, Lilia using his phone to assist him) will send you a photo of him and the plushy doing something together, such as having a tea party or a picnic. Almost always with the caption, “Dear Prefect, would you care to join us? Kind regards, Malleus.”
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♥Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!♥
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zhongrin · 1 year
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a new age-restricted chatroom just opened! ⚠ (minors dni) ⚠
↬ (click to view) missing you ↠
𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑚 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡
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◇ characters ◇ zhongli, childe, al haitham
◇ tags ◇ minors dni, modern!au, afab!reader, fem!reader, sexting (childe, zhongli), phone sex (zhongli, al haitham), established relationship, lots of dirty talking, abs & dick pics (digitally drawn/manga panel style), petnames (baby, babe, sweetheart, dear, darling, princess, love), praise (good girl), light degradation (slut, pervert), begging, brat taming (zhongli, al haitham), orgasm denial (zhongli), mentions of sex tape (zhongli), dom/sub relationship (zhongli), mentions of blowjob (childe), implied breeding kink (childe), sex toy (al haitham), no actual pics from 'your' side (pictures sent as ‘blank’ pic) from because everyone’s bodies are different &lt;3
◇ a/n ◇ yet another chatroom, and this time, a spicy one with a 'call' feature, as promised from wayyyy back last year lol i am praying and hoping and begging to rex lapis that this wasn't cringe or awkward but if it is then i will pretend not to hear and i will not perceive hskdjskdh also, al haitham’s part was inspired by this long-distance couple's sex toy.
◇ notes ◇ recommended to view via pc/laptop screen ◇ you will be prompted to give your name, but if you don’t feel comfortable you can skip them entirely - if you do give your name, the data will only be stored locally on your devices
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some little tidbits / notes:
yes, the wallpaper changes based on your local time.
(optional) send me screenshots of your favorite interactions or line lol
if you have yet to see ‘This chat has ended’ then- well, the chat has yet to end! be patient, it might take him some time to reply~ ;)
if the ui glitches, try turning the screen upright, back down, and then wait for a little (thanks @/prinrestcess for the tip!)
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© zhongrin | 2023 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!
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◇ taglist ◇ @thestarsofenkanomiya | @genshinparty | @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sophiethewitch1 | @why-am-i-here-someone-save-me | @sunnshineflxwer | @heartonthemoon | @yuutasbabe | @percyval-archives | @carbs-need-more-love | @rebeccka | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @herdrops | @diebischesther | @marina-and-the-memes | @angryhope | @mixed-kester | @shuangxo | @fiannee | @lordbugs | @anonymousficreader | @shizunxie | @ladylofspades | @sup-zfam | @ansy-tea
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