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supercutszns · 3 months

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bitter to the taste; luke castellan

series masterlist

wc + pairing: 5.5k, luke castellan x f!reader

synopsis: a sharp blade, a black eye, and (more than) two kisses.

warnings: this is even sluttier than the last one, language, sword fighting, sharp objects, blood/injuries, reader is still a horrible person and so is luke but he's also a loooser, making out, allusions/mentions of sex but no super explicit descriptions, kind of fluffy at the end

notes: i’m starting to hate this bc i think i’ve been staring at it too long sorry if this is not as good as pt.1 but i have plans for this series ok. also READER AND LUKE ARE NOT GOOD PEOPLE!!! THEIR RELATIONSHIP WILL NOT ALWAYS BE GOOD!!! THEY SUCK!! they are also not real but keep that in mind :) synopsis inspired by crush by ethel cain; designated song for this fic is unpunishable by ethel cain (i’ve got a whole chronological playlist for these freaks like it’s serious)

You’ve always had a taste for violence. And an equally powerful penchant for sloth.

You prefer to watch the carnage, not participate. It satisfies something inside you that you know, if it wasn’t for your laziness, could cause something irrevocable. Who the hell has time for that?. You’d rather lie back and watch instead.

This flaw of yours is the only reason you haven’t stirred more trouble, you think. It’s the reason you never attend camp games or sparring lessons. Sometimes, when you do, a dark muscle flexes inside your heart to curl out of its slumber, forming a hunger you don’t have otherwise. The second it starts to pry you have to rear yourself back and tuck the monster in. Banish the need for something more.

You don’t want to feed it. You don’t know what happens if you do. So you let other people do the feeding for you.

Luke cuts through two dummy heads in one swoop. It’s fucking gorgeous. The moon reflects off his sword, a silver sheen casting his face when he’s in the right spot. His brows are set, eyes so dark they blend with the night. Every motion is ruthless. Satisfying.

You don’t know how many times you’ve watched him like this. He called you out for it last night, but you’re sure he doesn’t know the half of it. The shadows are a sacred cloak to you, and you wait inside them until you want your presence known.

Meet me tomorrow.

It runs through your head like a broken record. You can still feel his breath on your lips and your neck is still tender—had to wear a sweater in the blazing heat to hide the marks. Since you were created you’ve accepted a universal truth about yourself: you don’t harbour affection for anyone or anything. There’s not a single thing you’ve felt drawn to or protective over but yourself. It’s solitary, yes, and lonely, yes, but that’s the way you’re supposed to be.

But you think about last night. You think about the moments between the kisses and the rush. When he teased you against your ear. When his hand brushed a certain spot on your back and something much lighter fluttered inside of you. When you crawled into sleep and thought about him, those were the moments that struck you the strangest.

His gaze pans over the treeline every once in a while, the anger diluted. Then it comes back twice as hard as he shreds another dummy to pieces.

He’s waiting for you. Oh, this is rich! A better person would probably turn around and go spoon their offerings into the bonfire the second they understand what they’re doing is incredibly destructive. But who are we kidding? You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.

So you take a step forward, slip out of the comfort of the dark, and the next time he looks to the treeline he knows you’re there. He can’t see you, but he knows.

You wait. His strikes are less tenuous, much smoother. It almost makes you laugh. Some fucking showman he is.

Eventually, he buries his blade in the dirt and wipes his brow. “Are you gonna come talk to me or are you gonna stare at me all night like an owl?”

You relish in the feeling of shedding the darkness, coming into the light of the moon. “Hi,” you say flatly, but there’s a tiny smile on his face when he sees you that almost puts you off.

“Hello, rotten.” He tries to lean on the hilt of his sword but it isn’t quite tall enough so he stumbles. It’s so pathetic it almost makes you laugh.

“Don’t call me that,” you grimace.

“Okay, back to heathen?”

“Don’t call me that either.”

“Well, you don’t seem too happy when people call you by your name so pick your poison here.”

You don’t say anything, your mouth set in a scowl. “All right, both it is,” Luke shrugs.

He’s different from last night. Less impatient. You hope it’s not because he thinks he has you now—he’s got another thing coming. “I almost thought you weren’t gonna come,” he says with a crooked grin, neither bashful nor ashamed.

You’ve made your way closer to him, the soft grass turning to dusty earth. “Don’t know why I did,” you mutter crassly.

Having abandoned his sword, Luke chuckles wryly. “Yes, you do.”

That bitterness he hides from everyone else pierces through. He tilts your face up like he did yesterday, the press of his fingers beneath your chin almost burning you. You know he’s peering at the marks on your neck.

“If you made me come here just to hook up with me you’re delusional,” you glare.

“What, like that’s not why you’re here?” He pushes your face up a little higher, grinning a little when you add resistance. “I’m a gentleman, you know. I can be patient.”

This guy is full of fucking shit.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you snipe. The only point of contact you have is his hand on your chin, but you’re a hair’s breadth away from having everything else. The air drifting between you is almost palpable, shrinking smaller and smaller like it’s terrified of being trapped between you.

He keeps your face still. He’s studying you, and you’re suddenly curious about what he sees. You remember all those looks you’d share at the dinner tables that made this happen in the first place. What did he see then?

“You wanna fight?”

It takes you a second to react. “What?”

“You want to fight. Pick up a sword, let’s go.” He smiles as he finally lets you go, waltzing away from you to unbury his sword from the dirt. His touch permeates through your skin and you hate it.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I can’t fight.”

“Sure you can,” he replies, grabbing another sword from the training rack. “You need to burn off a little steam.”

You laugh sharply. “And you think me waving a sword around is gonna do that?”

“Uh, yeah,” he grins. “It’s the method that lets us keep the most clothes on.”

You glare at him. His smirk is a mile wide. The way your stomach is simmering almost makes you sick; it’s like gorging yourself on candy except this time the candy has a sword and maybe wants to fuck you.

You just watch as he hands you his sword, and the moonlight glinting off the metal has you believing it’s not the kind used for training. “I’ll use the dull one,” he assures. “C’mon, heathen. I know you’ve used a sword before, they force us to.”

“I usually skip those classes.”

He laughs. You can’t tell if it’s at you or with you. “Of course you do.”

You don’t like following orders, but oh, what the hell. Luke knows something about you, just like you know something about him. You’re only a little curious about it.

“Straighten your back,” is the first thing he says once you’ve taken your stance across from him. The blunt of his sword reaches out to tap your hip.

You begrudgingly do as you’re told. He watches you mirthfully, and the press of his sword against you starts to feel like a substitute for his hand. All the closeness you’re hungry for, dampened by cold steel. It still makes you buzz.

He gives you the barebones—the right grip, how to maneuver, the proper balance. But long gone is his easy disposition. The motor inside him that powered all those dummy beheadings and disembowelments is running again, except this time it’s for you. He wants a fight. This is his battlefield. All right, you’ll bite.

You start to spar with the skill of an overgrown toddler. The sword feels like an unnatural ligament hanging off your body. Luke is precise, convicting, far more enthusiastic than you. “You can do better than that,” he prods after your swords clash lazily for the billionth time. “Stop going easy.”

“You’re going easy,” you shoot back.

“Yeah, but I’d really rather not. Come on.”

There’s a moment of hesitation. You think about that dark thing you keep harboured. A muscle aching to be used.

“Come on,” he says again, and he almost sounds pissed. “All of a sudden you’re playing nice? What are you afraid of?”

Something flares inside you. “Nothing!”

“Then pick up the sword and fight me.”

You huff and roll your eyes, but your next swing is far more inspired. Luke blocks it easily, but you don’t care. “There we go,” he nods. “Again.”

This is more than you bargained for when you decided to come see him. All you want is to make out with this hot, awful person and have him tell you hot, awful things about yourself you probably already know. Why do you have to fight to get it?

He keeps provoking you no matter how hard you try. Your temper picks up the more you swing, discordant clangs bruising the air, but it’s still not enough. Luke doesn’t let up. Of course the one time you try to be nice, you’re not allowed to. On second thought, why are you reigning yourself in for Luke? The only other person in camp with a real, consuming viciousness? If anything you should hit him twice as hard, since he’s so sure he can take it.

“No wonder you’re so angry all the time,” Luke heaves out, and it gives you a swell of satisfaction. “You don’t have a proper outlet. Maybe you’d be nicer if you didn’t sit around and complain all day.”

“Shut up,” you gnash your teeth.

“Just saying, maybe you should do something about it.”

You’re getting lost in the rhythm of the swords, the adrenaline, the sweat passing the scar on his cheek. Every swing you think less and less, and that dark muscle flexes more and more. It feels like home to you. Like a good meal. Your bones ache and the world has darkened, but that rotten pit inside you cracks open in full bloom.

Luke keeps egging you on but you can’t hear him. Not like he still needs to. You think you’re smiling, or huffing furiously, or both. The sharpness of the sword intrigues you. A million terrible things reflect off its blade and you imagine them, all at once, until you are out of your body and the black hole inside you has properly wedged itself open.

Luke jabs at you and you bring your sword down with a vengeance. But it’s a little too low. You only notice when he drops his weapon to the side and staggers back.

The fog of violence falters. It fades almost completely when he hisses long and hard, eyes screwed shut, and you see the tear in his shirt. In his skin.

“Shit,” you say. “Fuck.”

You don’t sound sorry, you don’t think you are sorry, especially when he laughs. It’s a wheezy one through his teeth as you come up to him, but a laugh nonetheless. “Knew you were going easy,” he remarks through a wince.

You ignore him, looking down at the injury. A gash across his abdomen. It’s bleeding a little, but not enough for it to drip. You did that. Just looking at the blood, you feel the bitter taste of it in your mouth, the reward a temporary hunger for carnage brought you. This is why you don’t play camp games.

“I’ve got thick skin. I’m fine,” Luke says casually. “I’ve got a medical kit under that tree over there in case I beat myself up too bad.” He’s no longer scrunched in pain, and you’ve got a feeling he’s telling the truth. So you go fetch the kit where he said it was. You need to wrap that slash. Not because you’re sorry for him, but because looking at it makes you angry.

You kneel and pop the lid of the small tin kit, covered in dirt. It’s mostly gauze and bandages. Rubbing alcohol too. “Just give me the gauze, that’s all I need,” Luke gestures.

“Shut the fuck up, I’m doing it myself.” You’ve already torn off some gauze, sitting all the way up on your knees.

“Most people just say sorry.”

“You pushed me,” you spit back, surprisingly forceful. Luke’s smile drops. You take a deep breath, adjusting yourself to get eye level with the injury. “I told you I don’t fight.”

You’re not sure what makes Luke give in, but he doesn’t say a word as you lift the hem of his torn shirt and he holds it up. There’s no proud remark about your eyes lingering on his stomach, or the hesitation in your hands. You stare at the wound. It really is shallow. Your thumb presses at the skin around it and he winces. “My bad,” you mutter.

As you sterilize the cut and wrap the gauze around his torso, you try not to let your fingertips cling to the warmth on his skin. You try not to notice the other scars littered there, most faded to the point they should be impossible to pick up even in the sun. It’s obvious he’s staring at you. Your neck is crawling with warmth. But you don’t engage, you just wrap the gauze a few times and do your best not to notice the rise and fall beneath his muscles as he breathes. Then you fasten things neatly and put everything away so you can get up. Any second. Come on.

“Good?” You ask instead, exhaling.

“Good,” he affirms. He slides a hand under your forearm and gets you up. It stays there once you’re standing. The night stills.

“I’m guessing you’re adding ‘attempted killer’ to your list of horrible qualities,” you go on to break the silence.

He holds your gaze unyieldingly. “I’d consider that a pro, actually.”

You are entirely fed up with this drawn out evening, but you can’t bring yourself to speed anything up any more than stepping closer so your chests brush. “I will give you one, though,” he continues, craning down to your ear. You smell his skin and it sends you back to the position you were in yesterday.

He finally kisses your jaw, just once, then your neck. You shiver. “You’re too tense.” Another kiss behind your ear. It’s not enough. “Do you even know how to have fun?”

“I don’t want to have fun,” you reply bitterly. I just want to make out with you, asshat.

Luke’s breath frosts over your face when he chuckles, but before he can get any further away you catch his mouth with yours. Almost instinctively his arm winds around you to pull you in closer, your hand looping through his curls. It's a relief, knowing last night wasn't some freak accident. This does feel good, actually, and it can happen. Everything you felt yesterday is only more urgent now, hungrier, and you're pretty sure the way you kiss him gives that away.

He indulges you, squeezing the base of your hips as his other hand thumbs across the marks on your neck. This is so fucking embarassing—you think you whine when he bites down on your bottom lip. You’ve never needed something this bad, you’ve never needed anything. But you press yourself as close to him as you can manage and his hand runs lower, slips against your inner thighs, and it’s difficult to worry about anything else.

Until he pulls away. Like a dick.

He doesn’t go far, his forehead pressed to yours, but you feel like pulling out all his hair. It’s a muddling mix of frustration and longing you’re starting to associate with him. “Dude,” you groan, an inner coil only starting to unwind begrudgingly compressing.

“Let’s go for a swim,” he says. The enthusiasm is almost alarming. Almost makes him look younger.

You’re homicidal. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes, heathen. Let’s go for a swim, come on.”

He’s rubbing circles on your thigh, which only makes you want to strangle him. “But I—I don’t have my bathing suit,” you string out.

The smile gets more boyish. “Wow, whatever shall we do?”

It’s another challenge. Another dare. And he knows what you want, fucking jerk. You’re going to kill him.

“Fine,” you grunt, and the second the words leave your lips you’re pulled to the lake.

It’s a warm, sticky evening, only made worse with the sweat and the half-assed kissing, so the water doesn’t seem all that bad. Unfortunately, you don’t like giving into demands. So you stare ghoulishly at your fingernails as Luke tosses off his ripped shirt and his shorts so he can plunge into the lake. “Aren’t you going to at least come in?” He asks, but you don’t look at him.

“I don’t like swimming,” you lie.

“At least your feet. It’s nice, I swear!”

A splash, like smoke moving through wind chimes. You look up and Luke has completely submerged, popping his head up closer to the mouth of the dock. “Please,” he says with such conviction your resolve turns to butter. Gods, what is happening to you? You still need that lobotomy!

You sigh, roll your eyes, turn your back to him. “Fuck this,” you mutter under your breath. You undress to your undergarments and you’re not sure if you want Luke to be watching or not. The moon touches your bare skin and a chill trickles through you.

You take a seat at the edge of the dock, knees tucked to your chest. Luke swims over for you right away. His hair is dripping against his skin, and you hate how beautiful it looks. The waterline is high tonight, almost ridiculously so, so he props his elbows up on the dock with no problem. “Come in,” he urges.

“No.”

“Just your legs?”

“No.”

“Gods, I’ll make it worth it, just throw your damn legs in!”

Your eyebrows shoot up. His face is stubbornly pink. Oh, so now he wants something. You take your time uncurling yourself and Luke wades away from the dock so you can put your feet in. The water goes up to your calves, and you shiver. “So fucking difficult,” he mutters, and your pulse flickers.

“Sorry, what was that?” You let yourself grin for the first time all night.

“Nothing,” he hums. This time when he comes to the dock, he wraps his hands around your calves. You’re pretty sure he can stand here because he stops treading. The warmth of the water seems to spread further, long past the threshold of your knees.

He rests his chin just above your knee, water pooling on your skin. “Stop dripping on me,” you complain.

“Sorry.” He fake pouts when he kisses the damp spot. You see, ever so faintly, a diabolic shift in his expression. He nudges your leg with the point of his nose, then kisses it, then starts to move it aside. “Feel bad about teasing you all night,” he murmurs, still with an edge. He presses more kisses on your legs. “I really did want to see you.”

The irony that he’s still teasing is not lost on you. You’re not loving how desperately warm you’re starting to feel. “Why’s that?” You lean back on your palms.

“You’re a very interesting person,” he quips innocently. His hands are cupping the backs of your calves. He’s pulled you a lot closer to the water, and somehow you’ve just noticed. Another blistering kiss on the inside of your thigh.

“You’re fucking evil,” you scathe.

He looks up at you from between your legs. “You have literally done nothing but berate and injure me this whole evening.”

“Yeah, and right after I patch you up you jump in the water for shits. You’re playing infection roulette, Castellan.”

“See? You’re so mean.” He sighs, and in a move that almost surprises you to death, he hoists both your legs over his shoulders and they dangle into the river behind him. “And here I am anyway, making it up to you.”

You are suddenly illuminated on the purpose of this situation. Why Luke is between your legs. Your heart jolts. “Luke, you can’t be serious.”

“Mmhm.” He leans forward to kiss right under your navel.

You hate how much you want him to do it again, how your body burns, but you avert your eyes. “Someone’s gonna—someone’s gonna hear us.”

He snorts, “No they won’t. Either this or you come in the water with me. Or both. We’ll see.”

A huge smile cracks across your face before you push it back down. You’re going to spend a lot of time coming back to this moment, this night, wondering why. “What is wrong with you.”

It comes out like a compliment when it leaves you. You want to vanish. Luke chuckles, and something foreign to the both of you buzzes through the air.

“Are you going to be nice?” He asks against your skin.

“Are you going to be quick?”

His mouth finds your hip bones and yeah, why the hell would you say no to this? He nods, “Swear.”

That’s all you need. You let your eyes slide shut and your head tilts towards the sky. Luke takes your permission and runs with it, pries you open with his mouth until the stars soak through the black of your eyelids.

You discover pretty quickly neither of you are good at keeping promises.

The next time you need Luke’s med kit, he’s already awake.

It’s been happening more and more often. You lurking around camp past moonrise and finding Luke outside his cabin, going for a walk or a stretch or a … something with you.

“Do you ever sleep?” You ask him sometimes between flurries of kisses with your back against a tree.

“Could ask you the same thing, heathen,” he squeezes your hips and nips at your neck, but never answers the question. And neither do you, so you’re both okay with it. You’d hate to give up this feeling, but he doesn’t need to know that.

This is the first time in your punitive life you have felt alive. Like a person, with bones and flesh and soul, a real presence. Not a ghost of smoke and shadow. You are real.

Fooling around makes you feel like an actual teenager. You’re young, you remember when Luke joins you in the dark. You’re having fun. His hands under your shirt and his mouth on your collarbone, the way he bites down and winces when you do something a little too well, when you string out his name and he rewards you for it. You’re both greedy, insatiable people, so there’s a push and pull only the two of you would ever be able to handle. And nobody has to know. Despite all the bruises, the sleepless nights, the swollen lips, all you and Luke share in the daylight are noxious looks, and that's only if he can find you. A perfect crime. Camp Half-Blood’s angel and the vice that lives in the shadows. But in the dark, it’s hard to tell which is which.

“Luke,” you whisper. “Luke.”

“I’m up,” he grumbles, peering up at you. “You shouldn’t sneak into my cabin.” He was already sitting up in his bed when you slipped in, and he didn’t notice you were there till you were right in front of him.

“Worried someone will catch me? You should know better.”

He follows you outside so you don’t wake the other campers. There’s a thrill knowing just one interaction between the two of you could ruin both your reputations forever.

“What is it, heathen?” He asks as the door closes behind him. It’s so dark and your back is turned to him, but his voice is drenched in smugness. “You don’t usually want to put up with me more than once a night.”

“Don’t have a choice,” you mutter, staring out at the camp. You go to chew on your bottom lip, but you wince immediately. “Where’s your kit thingy? The one we used after I impaled you.”

“You mean after you lightly grazed me?”

“Just tell me where it is, Luke.”

Your sharpness could cut through any sleepy daze he possibly has. He’s silent behind you for a second. “Why?” He asks.

“Because I need it.”

His hand curls around your shoulder and before you can think to submerge yourself in darkness, he turns you around. When he sees you, his face breaks from something proud to something … you’re not sure you like. “Oh, heathen,” he murmurs. “What happened to you?”

You guess it’s a semi-appropriate reaction, although you expected at least a grimace. To put it lightly, your face looks gnarly as fuck. There’s a bruise on your cheekbone and your lip is split. But what really draws attention is the half-formed, garish black eye swelling up your right side.

“Just the usual. Pissed someone off.” It hurts the skin on your lip that’s caked with blood.

He rests his thumb on your unbruised cheek, but somehow it still stings. You know he can’t see much of you in the dark but he tries. The prolonged eye contact without the imminent promise of a kiss feels foreign. “You need to go to the Apollo cabin,” he concludes, brows pushed together.

A laugh slips past your broken lips. “No fucking shot. They would not help me.”

“Why not?”

“Because one of their shit-eaters did this!”

The words take a moment to register. You see them filtering through Luke’s brain. He blinks absurdly. “An Apollo guy beat you up?”

“Not beat up. Just … tussled.”

“How much tussling earns you a black eye, exactly? From Apollo kids.”

“Gods, just tell me where your kit is so you can go back to fucking sleep.”

His fingertips inch around the back of your neck, thumb still against your face. “Already wasn’t sleeping. I might as well help you,” he shrugs. “I move the kit every once in a while so some other campers don’t ravage it.”

“I don’t need help.”

Luke opens his mouth, then sighs deeply. He takes a firm hold of your arm and starts to tug you along. “Hey, what—” you swat at his arm.

“You’re ridiculous,” he huffs. “Come on.”

It’s strange. Luke’s never done you a favour before. At least not one like this. You’re disgruntled enough that you had to go ask him in the first place and now he’s dragging you around? “This isn’t such a big deal, Luke,” you badger. “I’m fine.”

“Sure, whatever. Wait right here.” He lets go of you and only then you realize you’re in front of the Apollo cabin. You grimace, and Luke must have noticed because he says, “Don’t worry, I’m just gonna go inside and grab some things. No one’s gonna jump you.”

You scowl at him, and he just laughs. A part of you hopes he hits his head on the way in. You hide anyway.

It’s a few minutes of waiting in the oppressive summer heat, until Luke emerges from the cabin with his hands full. He looks around, hesitantly calling, “Heathen?” Then again. You move out of your hiding spot and he jogs over to greet you.

“Nice haul,” you comment. There’s an ice pack, cotton pads, a few miscellaneous items. “How’d you get them?”

He smiles widely. “Everyone loves me, heathen. It’s not hard.”

“…So you stole them.”

“Yes, but only because I’m too tired to talk to people and I’m protesting for your sake,” he rattles off. “Now hold this ice pack before it gives me frostbite.”

The two of you make your way down to the docks again. It’s morphed into your usual meeting place, since the waves lapping at the shore mask when Luke gets a little too noisy just to piss you off. (At least that’s what he tells you.)

He’s stashed his little tin in a different tree this time. After he retrieves it he sets everything out like a chef preparing to make a meal out of gauze and rubbing alcohol.

Your head has been throbbing for the past few hours. You’re not proud that you antagonized the wrong Apollo kid and got a shiner for it. You’re less proud that you came to Luke for help. Just like everyone else does.

“Come,” he gestures, tugging at the waistband of your pants. You scoot closer to him and swallow the weight of your pulse when he touches you.

Luke slowly presses the ice pack to your black eye, letting you hold it. “What did you do to earn this, anyway?” He asks, head tilted to the side.

You’re hissing because of the ice, half-consciously shifting into him. “The usual. Spat at him. Made fun of his daddy a little too much. Tripped him so he landed face-first in his offerings.”

“You did not,” Luke laments as he dots alcohol onto a cotton pad.

“You’re allowed to say you’re proud of me, Saint Castellan. I won’t tell. You can be mean.” Your voice drips with irony, and you hope it bothers him. The flex in his jaw gives it away.

“You’re always gonna be meaner,” is all he says back. “This is gonna hurt.”

It’s all the warning he gives before he presses the pad against your lip. The sting envelops you immediately, and your good eye squeezes shut. “Shit, ow!”

“Stop moving your mouth.”

“Fuck,” you swear anyway. Your lip burns so hard you can feel it in your teeth.

Luke holds your jaw with his other hand so you can’t shy away. “I’ll kiss it better,” he teases. “Almost done.”

You roll your eyes, but Luke takes the pad off a few moments later. “Serious question. How are you so awful to people all the time?”

A groan tears through your throat with such force your head tilts back. “Not you too! I don’t need a fucking reason, there is no reason. Why doesn’t anyone get that?”

“I’m not asking why. I’m asking how.”

He’s oddly serious, the caress of his thumb on your cheek far slower. You hate it when people want a reason why you’re like this, just to help them sleep at night. But from the bags lining Luke’s eyes, sleep doesn’t seem to be on his radar.

“I just don’t care,” you admit, shrugging. “I don’t care about any of them. I don’t care about what they can do to me. I don’t care about anything.”

“…What about the Gods?”

It makes you cock your head. “Huh?”

“You wouldn’t care about them, either?”

You think, but only about which words to use. “No,” you decide, “They don’t scare me. They’re nothing. What are they gonna do to me?”

Luke snorts, almost nervously. “Uh, punish you for saying that, for one.”

You turn back to him, ice pack leaving your eye as you gesture. “How? By killing me? Pecking out my eyeballs? Burning me alive? I’m telling you, I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. It’s all just nothing to me. I’m fucking unpunishable, I’d like to see them try.”

Huffing, you look back up at the firmament of stars. Luke says nothing.

The grass rustles as he shifts, and his mouth ghosts over the bruise on your eye. “Unpunishable,” he murmurs, like he’s testing it out. Then he places an uncharacteristically gentle kiss just beneath your eye. And another just above. “We’ll see about that.”

You get that feeling again, the unbearable lightness in a place it shouldn’t be. Mixed with the poison lodged in your heart.

Luke kisses you, still so delicate that you wonder if he’s been body-snatched. If anything, your bleeding lip feels soothed against his. His hands cradle your face with no ferocity at all. It seems wrong.

“How do you feel?” He asks after pulling away, dark eyes nebulous and wide. The night usually sharpens his features. Now, they’ve been hushed.

“Um, better,” you reply.

He hums, laying a slow trail of kisses on your jaw. “Did you at least get the other guy?” He asks between kisses. “Like, did you hurt him?”

“Not really,” you divulge, wondering if you should feel shame.

“Why?” He’s made his way to your neck now, nudging your jaw up so he can kiss behind your ear.

“I’m not a fighter.” And, without warning, for a reason you will never, ever be able to explain, your tongue adds, “I’m a killer.”

Your own brows furrow. Luke pauses for a moment, but knocks his nose against your neck. “Guess one of us has to be.”

There’s no more fooling around. No snappy insults, no feverish kisses, no hunger to be satiated. Luke just checks you over a few more times, hides his med kit, and you both get up to sleep. But his hand wraps around your wrist, far less firm than when he dragged you here. “Stay in my bunk, heathen,” he offers. “Leave in the morning.”

You think you’re making a mistake when you agree, but it doesn’t feel like one.

The next day, after you’ve left Luke’s bunk, rumours float around camp that Luke Castellan accidentally butted some Apollo kid in the face with his sword during training. Caused a bloody, broken nose. Luke was very sorry, apologized profusely.

But you know, by the way he takes you behind the stables that night, that he didn’t mean a single damn word.

luke taglist: @sunniskyies @apollos-calliope @lillycore @sunny747 @m00ng4z3r @pabkeh @thaliagracesgf @theadventuresofanartist @bonnie-tz

rotten taglist: @thaliagracesgf

leave a pm/comment/ask if you'd like to be added to a taglist :)

#perrie’s fics #rotten to the touch #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan smut #luke castellan pjo #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #charlie bushnell #pjo x reader #luke castellan fic

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natalievoncatte · 2 months

Text

Lena didn’t have time for traffic. She looked up from her phone and glared at the back of her driver’s head.

“Frank, why is it taking so long?”

“I’m not Frank, Ma’am. He called out this morning.”

Lena sighed. “And your name?”

“Vincent, ma’am.”

“Vincent, why is this taking so long?”

He signed. “Traffic, ma’am. Sounds like there’s a few blocks downtown closed. Supergirl is fighting some monster or alien or something.”

Lena stopped herself from smiling softly. “Ah, well then. Anyway, might as well see if you can find us a way around. I just don’t like to stand still.”

The driver nodded.

“What do you think about Supergirl, ma’am?”

Lena sighed. “Forgive me, Vincent, but I do have some work to concentrate on, here. I’m not usually one for chitchat. I hope you don’t mind.”

She sank back into her seat and flicked to the next email. There were a lot of fires to put out. Upcoming product launches, grant applications, university partnerships, charity events, plus her own work. She was becoming so strained lately that she was seriously considering stepping down from the direct CEO role so she could spend more time in the lab, where her real passion was.

Sometimes she almost sympathized with Lex; the life of a CEO could easily drive someone insane. Lena would rather spend her days in a labcoat or doing charity work than listening to another entitled silver spoon-

“You’re going the wrong way,” Lena said, sharply.

“I’m finding a way around,” said the driver. “You know, you never answered my question, before. What do you think of Supergirl?”

Lena stuffed her phone in her pocket and thrust her hand in her jacket, freeing the concealed revolver she carried in a shoulder holster under her left arm. The partition was already going up, sealing her in.

“What are you doing?”

“Answer my question,” the driver said, through a speaker.

Lena swallowed hard. “I think she’s a hero but I don’t fully trust her. I work with her when I feel it will help people. That’s all.”

“That’s not what your mother thinks.”

“Isn’t it?” said Lena. “What does she think?”

“Are you fucking her?”

Lena barked out a laugh. “Are you serious? That’s her question?”

“Are you fucking her like you debased yourself with that little tart in boarding school?”

There was silent beat.

“She told me to say that. She made me practice saying ‘tart’.”

He sounded almost bored.

“Fuck you,” Lena snapped. “Whatever you’re going to do, do it.”

“Nothing personal,” said the driver.

Lena sighed, almost annoyed at the hiss as a thin, chemical smelling gas hissed into the car, rising around her. She forced herself to stay calm, stoic, even her pulse raced.

“I’m not afraid of you, or her,” said Lena.

She coughed twice as the world irises shut around her, dragging her down into a cold, dreamless sleep.

When she snapped awake, she was alone. The partition was open, but the gun was gone from her holster. She felt around for it, then decided to clamber into the front seat, rolling over the seats facing her. The driver was gone, of course. Heavy chains were padlocked around the car, pinning the front doors shut.

There was a tape recorder sitting on the front seat. Lena ignored it as she looked around. The car was surrounded by metal walls, and a creep sense of dread rose up Lena’s spine. She fought the panic down, dropping into the driver’s seat.

Placing the tape deck on the dash, she pushed the okay button.

“Hello, Lena,” Lilian said, in her smooth, posh tones. Lena could hear that smarmy smirk forming around her words.

“You’re probably expecting an ultimatum or an offer. There will be none. I’m through trying to bring my husband’s wayward bastard back into the fold. When you betrayed Lex again, you burned your last chance. It’s time to take out the trash, Lena. I wish I could have throttled you in the cradle, but I didn’t know about you and your mother until it was too late. It’s time to correct that. It’s too bad we won’t be there to watch.”

Watch what?

Lena sat and waited. Whoever was sent to murder her had no sense of dramatic timing. She began rifling through the car, trying to take stock of what she had, what she could use to effect an escape. Breaking the-

A sharp shriek of metal cut through her thoughts. The side walls inched forward with a screech of metal, and Lena froze, terror piercing through her like an icy spike.

Oh.

Oh God.

The walls moved slightly more, and the rear view mirrors on both sides of the car exploded. The mechanism pushing the walls strained and groaned, and that was the only mercy she had.

She was in a car crusher. In the car.

The armored structure of her town car was too heavy for the machine to simply crush, but she had minutes at most. Metal groaned in protest, shrieking around her, and the glass quivered in the doors.

Oh God. Oh God.

She wasn’t going to panic. She wasn’t going to panic. She ripped open every single compartment and cubby she could find, but found only monogrammed glassware and a bottle of champagne. There was nothing.

A random, forgotten Lexosuit would be really useful right about now.

With a sudden shriek, the car began to collapse. The bulletproof glass buckled and shattered, pelting the front seat as she rolled into the back, and the doors buckled in, tearing loose from their hinges as the floor and roof began to fold.

A sudden, ringing, frankly stupid thought came into her head, but it was her best play.

Lena Luthor filled her lungs. She took in the biggest, deepest breath of her life, a breath worthy of a championship deep diver, and screamed at the top of her lungs, until it hurt.

“SUPERGIRL!”

She had to scramble into the back seat as the engine began pushing through the dashboard, ripping apart plastic and leather, splintering buried wood. Lena ducked as the roof crumpled and dove in, like the roof of a dragon’s mouth crushing down to pulp her. She closed her eyes and curled in on herself, hoping it would at least be over fast.

A single ringing thought bit through the fear.

Oh God. Kara’s waiting for me at the restaurant.

Around her metal shrieked, and she heard the vast clang of rending machinery. The inexorable crushing stopped, the bucking limousine going still. Lena opened her eyes, peering through her fingers like a terrified child, and watched in awe as one of the crushed plates tore loose from its moorings and went flying off into the afternoon air.

Hands, strangely delicate, punched through armor plating as if it were cobwebs and ripped the broken shell of Lena’s limo apart, spreading it in every direction.

Lena had never seen Supergirl so panicked. Her eyes were too wide with abject terror, and she seized Lena in her arms, winding her cape around her, and rocketed loose from the car.

Lena’s words were lost to the wind. Supergirl was blasting into the air, flying incredibly fast- too fast. Helpless, she clung to the hero for dear life, feeling woozy as the blood drained from her skull.

She thought, oh, come on, as she passed out again.

When her eyes drifted open, Lena was lying on the ground. Groaning, she sat up slowly, feeling every movement, and realized she’d been lying on a spread red blanket with her suit jacket piled up under her head for a pillow, and she was in the woods. The sun had yielded to the sky, and someone had started a roaring fire a few feet away.

Grateful for the warmth, Lena edged closer. As she did, she realized that she was sitting not on a blanket but on Supergirl’s cape.

Blinking, she looked around.

Supergirl had her back to a tree, curled up on herself with her head hanging between her knees, arms wrapped around to cover her face, and she was sobbing quietly. Lena stared, open-mouthed.

“Supergirl?” she breathed.

Supergirl didn’t respond. Lena rose to her feet, wobbling, and discarded her heels before walking across a bed of soft leaves. She crouched in front of the weeping Kryptonian, stunned when the other woman flinched.

“Supergirl?”

“Lena?”

Her voice was small and soft, all the bravado and righteous authority gone. She sounded strangely human.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

“I think I am,” said Lena. “What about you? Are you hurt?”

“No,” she sniffed. “A Tauraxian hit me in the head with a greyhound bus. Tuesday afternoon at the office.”

Lena laughed softly, and sat down. “I’m sure. What just happened?”

Supergirl swallowed hard as she looked up. “I panicked. I saw what was happening and I lost control. I’m lucky I didn’t hurt you.”

Lena put a tentative hand in on her shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“More than you realize,” Supergirl sighed.

“I’m here,” said Lena.

She sat down. Supergirl looked away from her, staring I to the fire a few feet away. In starlight, with the firelight caressing her delicate features and sparkling in her blue eyes, it was impossible to miss how hauntingly beautiful she was… and how haunted herself. Supergirl looked older than her years, a deep sorrow in her eyes that Lena had never seen before.

“I’m claustrophobic,” Supergirl explained. “Not the kind of thing that you advertise.”

“We all have our fears. I have some of my own.”

Lena pushed down thoughts of a pale hand sliding beneath churning black water and shuddered.

With teary eyes, Supergirl looked at her.

“I can’t. I can’t have fears. I’m Supergirl. I have to be perfect, set an example, all that crap. I’m the perfect woman who came from the sky to do only good.”

The perfect woman, Lena thought, consuming the firelit beauty before her. No one would debate that.

Well, Lena would, maybe. There was someone more perfect, someone soft and kind with a devastating smile and laughing eyes tinged with strange sorrow. She hoped Kara wasn’t worrying about her.

It was funny how Lena always thought of Kara when Supergirl was around. Guilt, maybe. Foolish guilt; Kara was a far shore that Lena would never reach, even if she’d gladly sink in the attempt.

“Before I came to Earth, I drifted in the phantom zone in my pod. There were things outside. The pod was the size of a coffin, a tiny space to spend all that time. The phantoms would claw and slash at the canopy and the walls. I was awake for days hearing them trying to get in. Sometimes there were bigger things out there, wrapping arms around it and trying to crush their way in.”

Lena nodded. “That sounds beyond terrible. It’s okay for you to be scared after that.”

Supergirl nodded. “I can barely handle elevators sometimes.”

A jolt went through Lena, something familiar, like a word on the tip of her brain.

“I get scared when other people are enclosed, too,” said Supergirl. “When I saw something trying to crush you, I just lost it. It’s different when it’s you.”

Lena swallowed hard, trying to suppress the shiver that coursed through her body and made the small hairs on her arms stand on end.

“Back in high school, the other girls used to bully me,” said Supergirl. Once, they locked me in a closet in the locker room. I screamed and screamed until until someone let me out. Alex was furious, she…”

Supergirl went quiet, trailing off. Her eyes went wide and she jolted back.

Lena sat there for a second, unsure why…

Wait.

Alex?

High school? Supergirl went to high school?

With Alex? Alex Danvers?

Lena choked down a gasp, the wheels whirling in her head. She looked over and met Supergirl’s eyes, studying them. Her. The way the light played across her soft features, her honey hair, the little scar above her eye.

“Hi, Lena.”

“Hi, Kara,” Lena whispered.

Neither of them moved. Lena wondered briefly if Kara had ever planned to tell her, how she might have planned it. Probably not like this. Her throat bobbed.

Lena shifted closer, until they were hip to hip in a seated hug, Kara crying softly on Lena’s shoulder, powerful arms wrapped around her.

“I was scared,” said Lena. “I was afraid I was going to die and you’d be sitting at the table at the restaurant waiting for me.”

“Never,” said Kara. “I’ll always protect you.”

“And I’ll always protect you. Nobody is ever going to shove my Kara in a closet ever again.”

Kara let out a little gasp.

“Can we stay here for a while? Talk? Just you and me?”

Kara nodded. She stood and gathered up her cape as Lena moved close to the fire, and sat down, wrapping it around them both. Lena let her head fall on Kara’s shoulder.

“This makes a nice blanket.”

“It is a blanket. My cousin was swaddled in it when he came to Earth. Don’t worry, I washed it.”

Lena laughed softly, awkwardly trying to decide where to put her hands. She settled on being bold, and put her arm around Kara’s waist. Kara slipped her arms around her shoulder and pulled her in, and Lena hugged her back, tucking herself into Kara’s shoulder.

They sat for a while as the fire burned down low. It was full dark and the fire was nothing but coals.

“I was going to tell you. I wanted to.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Okay,” Kara sighed.

Lena swallowed hard, trying not to feel her blood rushing in her ears.

“You know,” she said. “You could kiss me right now, if you wanted. That seems like the kind of thing the hero does after saving the girl.”

“I could?” said Kara.

“You could.”

“Like this?”

Kara was trying to be smooth, and it made it hard for Lena not to giggle. She tipped Lena’s chin up with soft fingers and guided herself in, bringing their lips together. Kara kissed her softly, tentatively. Lena kissed her back just as softly, afraid this moment would shatter if she pressed too hard.

It was easy to shift herself into Kara’s lap, even before Kara lifted her there. Lena knew she was strong but not Kryptonian strong, and it it sent a thrill through her. She liked it.

She liked touching Kara, too. Liked feeling the bunching muscles flex under under hands, the softness of her hair, the way she gasped when she felt Lena’s lips on her throat.

“Never have I wished so badly for a tent and sleeping bags,” said Lena.

“And marshmallows to toast!” said Kara.

“Do you ever stop thinking about food?” Lena giggled.

Kara looked at her intently, and Lena shivered, not from the cold. She’d longed for Kara to see her like that, look at her like that.

“Sometimes,” Kara whispered. “Sometimes I think about other things.”

“We should probably go back,” said Lena. “We have people who are probably looking for us.”

Kara nodded.

“Do you want this to be… do you want us to be?”

“Kara,” said Lena, “I would have asked you out a year ago if I thought I had a chance. I thought you just wanted to be friends.”

Kara swallowed. “Are you saying you want to be my girlfriend?”

Lena smiled softly. “Yes.”

Kara rose and clasped her cape to her shoulders, then gently brought Lena to her feet and lifted her from the ground, holding her close.

“Not so fast this time, okay?”

“Okay,” said Kara, lifting them back into the sky.

#supercorp #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara x lena #karlena #supergirl fanfic #ficlet #campfire confession #accidental identity reveal #softcorp

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stevenose · 5 months

Text

so says i (18+)

more cowboy!steve bc he’s my shining star baby boy. contains reader with a vagina; use of the phrase ‘good girl’; impatient steve; lil rough fuckin; class disparity (reader is of a higher class); messy sort of spiteful yet also very fond of each other friends with benefits 🫶🏻 very brief mention of hunting + a gun also!

The problem - a problem - with Steve is that he isn’t quite a patient man. He can be, if necessary. He can be patient when waiting for the right moment to strike a wild bull with his lasso; patient when he’s hunting the coyote that’s been stalking his boss’ cattle; patient when he’s sweating his ass off and still has work to do in the high midwestern sun.

He does not have much patience when it comes to you.

He tries. Counts to ten, then twenty, then a hundred in his head. Grits his teeth. Flexes his jaw and wipes his nose when you get petty with him for what seems to be no real reason. When you laugh at his advances and then climb into his lap and ride him like you didn’t just make his blood come to a boil under his sunkissed skin.

And it’s been such a long day. Back-breaking. Tending to fields and animals by himself, nearly getting kicked in the head and all he wants is you. For whatever reason. It twists in his gut, makes him ache. He should have known coming to you would only make him more upset.

“Come here.” Steve has said it twice now.

You keep your back turned to him. He can’t see your face but he can sense the shit-eating grin plastered on it. “I’m busy.”

You are not. You only want to make him wait. So you polish the same silver spoon you were born with over and over again. As if you ever pull your silver out for anyone. Much less him.

“Don’t make me say it again.” His voice is low, a little threatening. Steve has no real threat to him. He winces when he shoots a gun and winces harder when he raises his own voice.

“What do you want, Steve?” you sigh. “Don’t you have a right hand?”

“Prefer that smart mouth, darlin’,” he says coolly. His fingers tap impatiently against the arms of the chair he sits in.

Impatient. What a vice.

Maybe he could handle you better with patience. But your ill-mannered behavior quickly has him pushing the large chair he sits in backwards, scraping against your pristine wooden floors. He really hopes it scratches, even though he’d be back tomorrow to buff it out.

“Your daddy ever teach you how to not be a petulant child?” he rasps, moving to trap you between his warm chest and the countertop.

You laugh. “I’m petulant?” You push your ass back against him and smile wider when he gasps. “When are you gonna learn I always get you right where I want you?”

It still rings true when he fucks into you harshly. Steve grits his teeth, his hips bucking into yours, sending your hipbones into the counter painfully. It’ll leave bruises, ones he’ll kiss and soothe the moment his anger subsides. For now, he’s relentless, holding your manicured hands under his calloused fingers so you can’t touch yourself. Get any relief. Only what he gives you.

“Maybe - this’ll - fuckin’ - teach you,” he hisses between thrusts, “to be a good - girl - for your man.”

Your giggle makes him see red.

“My man?” you breathe.

His fingers press down into yours a little harder. You squeal with delight when his thrusts become deeper, harder.

“Say it,” he moans, pressing his hot lips up against your ear. “Tell me - who’s this sweet little cunt belong to?”

You gasp at the vulgarity and it makes his cock throb, sends your pussy clenching around him hard.

“This clit, this li’l bundle,” he continues, moving a hand down towards it. “Who makes you cum? Who fills you up?”

You keen and moan, your little hand reaching down to grab his wrist.

“Uh-uh,” he tsks, though he’d certainly stop if you asked him to. “If I don’t make ya cum now, that dun’t erase what we’ve done, huh?”

Your fingernails dig into his skin. It feels good. You cry out again, arching your back a little harder.

“You don’t wanna say it?” Steve bites down on your pulse point til you squeal again. “That a dirty goddamn cowboy takes care of you?”

“Oh, shit,” you moan. Your lithe fingers reach backwards to tangle in his damp hair.

“What would yer folks say? Your friends?” The pads of his fingers work harder against your clit. “Knowin’ you let me cum in this upper class pussy?”

“Do it,” you rasp. “Steve, do it!”

“Who’s your man?”

It takes you a moment, overwhelmed. “You!”

Steve feels you begin to convulse and his patience returns, taking a more leisurely pace with you, forcing your pleasure to slow down and crash. “You’re goddamn right.”

#stevenose posts #steve harrington smut #steve x reader #ns/fw #cowboy!steve

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blorbocedes · 6 days

Note

BROCEDES! ROOMMATE AU + UNEXPECTED VIRGIN!

‘Take a shot if your body count is more than 5!’

Most of the crowd drinks, even those with obviously shifty eyes and guilty demeanours. Lewis drinks.

He was coursemates with Adrian the previous semester and had to hear his bitching and moaning about the bitches he gets – the lack thereof, spots him drinking too. Nico’s standing at the end of the couch, expensive loafers careful to step around the sticky spilled beer.

He nurses his red solo cup, untouched. Lewis frowns.

‘Take a shot if your body count is double digits!’

Fewer people drink this time. The crowd goes ‘ooh’ at the ones who do. Technically, Lewis’ is 7 – 8 if you count the blowjob and her getting her period at the last second, opting out. But college athletes have a reputation to maintain, so Lewis finishes off his cup.

This time, Nico is watching him. Smiles when their eyes meet and does a mock salute, lips still not grazing his drink.

What the fuck? What could it be? It bothers Lewis that Nico’s not being honest. He's seen Nico half-lidded hanging off some guy’s arm at a party or cuddled into some girl to know better. Although, since Nico has access to all the population instead of 50%, it would make sense if his count is twice as high.

A pretty girl in a low cut top and blonde highlights taps Lewis on the arm to dance with her, and all thoughts of his roommate and how many people he fucks are forgotten.

A few hours later, the party has died down. Cold pizza and the music is less in-your-face, more indie. A small group gather on the floor playing the laziest truth or dare with a half empty bottle of Bacardi. The guy beside Nico is in an obnoxious leather jacket and tight pants, and his hand rests on Nico’s thigh.

It falls on Lewis.

“So… Lew-iss,” Natalie? maybe asks, voice slurring a little. “Do you remember when you first met Nico?”

Nico raises an interested eyebrow. Of course he remembers. However, Lewis is aware they asked the question because people think him and Nico are secretly hooking up because they live together, and since Nico’s seen with everyone. His teammate Felipe and his girlfriend are within earshot.

“Nah, man. I don't remember shit like that. I remember when I like, lost my virginity.” Lewis offers as bait.

Nico frowns, it's cute on him. Brows wrinkled up.

Naomi(!) bites. “Tell us about how you lost your virginity.”

“That's two questions.” Lewis leans back, flashing his most charming gap-toothed smile. Everyone's too drunk to keep track of whose turn it is.

Nico disappears off with Mr. Skinny Jeans.

It's a little while later when Lewis has smoked a spliff to clear his head, rejecting the blonde highlights girl’s offer back to her dorms which is on the other side of campus, when Nico returns, hair mussed and shirt buttoned more than it was when he left.

“Home?” He asks. Lewis follows.

Nico’s a pretty chill roommate. He grew up with a silver spoon and an only child, so he has no concept of sharing. Instead, when he orders Thai, he makes sure to order for two so that Lewis doesn't try to eat any of his dumplings. Lewis gets to have the flat to himself a lot since Nico disappears for the night, returns at early hours of the night with glitter on his cheek or bite marks on his neck and a cheeky smile before collapsing on the couch. Lewis can't complain, it makes bringing girls over easier. And when Nico is studying, he keeps to himself. Lewis will know, because there will be an extra coffee for him. In turn, Lewis gets rids of the bugs in the flat – the first time Nico seeing a cockroach asking if they should call pest control or sue their landlord for unhygienic living conditions.

“Why didn't you drink? At the body count question?” Lewis asks, breaking the amiable silence of their walk home, and the lack of filter signalling he was drunker than he thought.

Nico hums thoughtfully. “Cause that would be a lie?”

Lewis tries to make sense of that, doing math in his head. “No…? It wasn't about the exact number, just if it's more than.”

“Yeah,” Nico smiles, unlocking the door and stepping side. “That would be a lie.”

Lewis rolls his eyes. Nico and his riddles and his games. “It would only be a lie if you're a virgin. Which you're not.” He snorts at the thought.

Nico’s eyes flash dangerously. “Yeah?” Nico turns around, effectively trapping Lewis between the door. “You think about who gets in my pants a lot, Hamilton?”

Lewis feels a flush rise in his neck. Thank god for melanin, if he were Nico he'd have two giant red spots on his cheek right now.

“I don't care who you sleep with. Or don't sleep with.” Lewis tries to go for gruff, chill, but it doesn't quite land. He gets out of Nico’s cornering, going to the couch. “It's just weird you’d lie considering Jenson–”

“Oh if Jenson said it, it must be true.” Nico’s sarcasm is shrill and annoyed, betraying how drunk he is.

It does make Lewis pause. Jenson has a habit of embellishing stories of his conquests. The fated twins threesome never happened, he had separately hooked up with twins. Lewis remembers Jenson bragging in the locker room how he rocked Britney’s world and Lewis had worn his his shin guards with a little more force than necessary.

“Rock my world?” Nico rolls his eyes, leaning against the wall. “Hardly. We made out for forty minutes until he came in his pants.”

TMI because now Lewis is inundated of images of Nico, mouth swollen and bodies entangled while fully clothed.

“So you're actually a virgin? What about all those people?” Lewis is still trying to wrap his head around it. Nico is the most sexual person he knows. He eats yoghurt off the spoon distractingly, and has no shame walking around the apartment naked. Very sexual liberation chic, and Lewis had to draw up boxers boundaries.

Nico wrinkles his nose. “So you get with the easiest lay on campus and you're the only person he won't fuck. Do you want to admit something's weird and wrong with you, or do you just go about inferring you had sex? It's not like I'm going to correct them.” He must see something on Lewis’ face because he interjects, defensively offensive, “Don't ask why it's better to have a reputation. I know your tells. You drank twice.”

Lewis chooses his words carefully, gentle like he's not trying to spook a wild cat. “I'm not judging. I'm just surprised. Nobody figured it out?”

Nico softens at the tone. He sinks on the couch beside Lewis. “Honestly, you're the first person to notice.”

Lewis finds that sad. “Hey, we don't need to talk about this if it's a sensitive topic. I'm sorry I –”

“Jeez, Lewis. I don't have trauma, I'm just frigid. A pricktease. Nothing bad ever happens to a Rosberg.” Nico works on the complicated laces of his boots. He hates being pitied.

Lewis leans over. “It's really not all that cracked up to be. The first time, at least. Cause you're bad at it and you don't know how to pace yourself. Lots of people wait until they're ready. My first time, it was this girl I was seeing after GCSEs. We couldn't find a place so we got in my dad’s old Subaru. Lasted like 30 seconds. Wiped the whole place down but I was convinced he would know somehow. Come Sunday, I went and told him. He hadn’t the slightest clue. So that was an awkward drive to church.”

Nico gawks him, crumpling into himself laughing. Lewis regrets being a vulnerable and oversharer of a drunk. Nico’s gelled hair has come undone from hours of partying and falls over his eyes. Lewis is never going to open up to anyone ever again.

“On God's day, Lewis?! And you think I should save myself until marriage? Find myself a nice, righteous wife?”

“Someone you trust. Someone you're into.” The room spins a little. Nico Rosberg is a virgin.

“Someone who’d remember when we first met?” Nico challenges. "That's not very nice, is it? I can't believe you forgot--"

“You were checking out an encyclopaedia on space at the library. I wanted the Senna autobiography. We were 12.”

Nico’s eyes go wide. Lewis holds his gaze.

#I love roommate aus :3 what if the object of ur desire was 1 room away and yet the distance is greater than oceans #I hope you catch all the little references. and please!!!! if you enjoy it let me know I'll lore dump #brocedes #f1 rpf #my fics #I love friendship tinged with desire. this could've gone into sex right after virgin reveal but I wanted them to be friends talking first #roommates au

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sodamnradd · 4 months

Text

4 times Draco & Hermione flirt with other people + 1 time they admit it’s driving them spare.

So Draco’s flirting with some hyper-blonde at the bar. So she’s draped all over him. So he just checked out her tits—Literally nobody could care less than Hermione does.

“It’s fine,” she says, steering Ginny to the opposite side of the bar. “We hooked up once. It wasn’t serious.”

“Yeah, but we all thought he was obsessed with you.” Ginny scowls in Malfoy’s direction. “Harry says he can’t shut up about you…” Her voice falters, and Hermione follows Ginny’s gaze to where Draco’s unlatching the woman’s arms from around his neck. His eyes are locked firmly on Hermione.

“Granger.” He slips beside her moments later, casting a swift kiss on her cheek. “You came.”

He laces their fingers together, pressing his chest to her spine, and whispers into her ear, “Dance with me,” breath tinged with firewhisky.

Ginny rolls her eyes as Hermione downs a quick shot of tequila and lets Malfoy lure her away.

Hermione shrugs and mouths, “We’re having fun.”

“Isn’t that wanker fifty or some shite?” Draco lowers his spoon, watching Hermione on the opposite side of the canteen, giggling like she’s drunk on Amortentia.

Harry says, “Apparently the term is ‘Silver Fox’. Something to look forward to in a few decades, I suppose.”

“I didn’t realize that’s what Granger’s into.” Draco pushes his tray back, appetite gone.

Harry snorts.

“What?”

“She’s into you, you know.”

He’s desperate to prod Potter for more information, but he’s only slept with Granger twice, so they’re not serious. Explosive doesn’t mean serious, right? That’s what makes it explosive. That enigmatic ‘what if?’ hanging in the air during each encounter.

Draco looks on dejectedly, wondering if he’d prefer exclusive over explosive.

Seven times.

They have slept together seven times, and Draco is still acting like a total wanker, training that new Auror like it’s perfectly dignified to put his hands on her waist to adjust her posture. The girl is blushing so hard Hermione’s suffering from second-hand embarrassment just witnessing it.

Who can blame her? She knows how it feels to be trapped beneath the weight of that intense gaze. She also knows what they look like at the peak of climax. He looks at Hermione with more heat. But there’s no denying the glimmer of interest as he teaches the trainee basic self-defence charms. Damn him.

She slams the gymnasium door shut without looking back.

You can’t have breakup sex if you were never even together, right? But Draco swears there was something final about their last time.

Granger’s face is usually brimming with emotion, but once he helps her off the kitchen island, she goes cold. Detached. All the fire from their eighth time vanishes, and Draco is left wishing for something he thought he already had.

The next evening, she shows up to Potter’s birthday clutching Goldstein’s arm.

What the actual fuck? Is she sleeping with him, too? On the grand spectrum of Ministry blonds, what a prosaic downgrade.

Their eyes meet across the dinner table.

‘Meet me upstairs?’ mouths Draco, gut twisted a hundred times over.

Hermione hops onto the bathroom counter as Draco locks the door behind them.

“Why are you here with another bloke?” He crosses his arms, leaning against the door.

“Why are you flirting with trainees?” she fires back.

“Why are you chasing Silver Foxes?”

Heat crawls up Hermione’s neck. “Who taught you that?”

“Am I not good enough or something?”

“Clearly it’s the other way around.”

“What the hell are you on about?” Draco straightens out. “I can’t get enough of you, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Yes, but I’m not the only one.”

“But you are.”

Hermione pauses, flabbergasted. “You’ve been flirting with other people while you’ve been sleeping with me.”

“So have you.”

“Only because you were.”

“Because you were.”

“Oh my Gods.” Hermione huffs out an exaggerated sigh. “This is going absolutely nowhere.”

“You’re right,” Draco replies. “We’re making no progress, you and me.”

Hermione nods, sadness creeping into her eyes. “I guess that’s that.”

“What? No.” Draco steps forward, blanching. “Do you really mean that?”

“I don’t know. What else is there?”

“Exclusivity,” suggests Draco, point-blank.

“You don’t want that.”

“Says who?”

“Your reputation.”

“I’m pretty sure the entire office thinks I’m obsessed with you.” When Hermione doesn’t respond, having heard that rumour herself, Draco clears his throat and adds, “They might not be wrong.”

“Were you really only flirting with other people because I was because you were?”

He takes a second to reflect, but ultimately shakes his head. “I have no idea what you just said, but how about it? You and me. No trainees. No silver foxes.”

“No hyper-blondes at bars.”

“Course not,” he replies, pretending like he knows what she means. “And no dirty blonds at dinner parties.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” Draco grins, stepping forward to seal the deal.

Later, Draco’s relieved to discover exclusivity is just as explosive as the enigmatic ‘what if?’ Better even, because Granger is finally, without an inkling of doubt, his.

(854 words, cross-posted from twitter)

#dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #dhr #dramione drabble #drabble #sodamnrad #sodamnraddrabbles

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twilghtkoo · 9 months

Text

pairings. jungkook x reader (f)

genre. fluff, established relationship

warnings. mentions of the anime jujutsu kaisen, reader is a tease, one use of the word d3ad

notes. i’m still thinking about this live and i keep seeing clips of him on my fyp and i got an idea 💡 so enjoy this brain dump of vivian loving jungkooooook :3

[ masterlist ]

—

the sight you walked into was an amusing one, because why is your boyfriend in your kitchen vacuuming the air?

“what in the world are you doing?” you laugh out loud, startling him before he whips around and the loud noise of the appliance stops suddenly.

he relaxes once he sees it’s you, placing down the vacuum in its rightful spot.

“there was fruit flies in here, i told myself i’m not eating my lunch until all of them are gone.” he tells you, dragging his feet towards you to embrace you in his arms.

he dramatically drops his dead weight on you making you grunt. “oof- my big boy.” you coo, one hand is placed on his hip while the other is patting his head affectionately.

“always taking care of the critters in here, my hero!” you praise the man in your arms, knowing he thrives off it.

he giggles at that, releasing himself from you before sitting himself at the kitchen table. uncovering his plate of food that you assumed was to protect it from the annoying flies.

“you want some baby?” he generously asks you, his big doe eyes staring up at you patiently.

you hum, stepping towards him to peek at his food. “that does look yummy, can i just have a bite?”

jungkook scoots his chair back and widens his legs before patting his thigh for you to sit on.

you shake your head. “i just want a bite, i don’t want all of it.”

“i’m not giving you all my food dummy, i just want you to sit with me. please?” he pouts.

you roll your eyes but take a seat like he asked. he carefully picks up a ratio of each meat and rice before feeding you.

he doesn’t feast on his own til he sees that your satisfied with his creations, carefully gazing up at your eyes for any reactions.

“mmmm,” your eyes light up. “that’s delicious babe.”

he grins at that and eats a spoonful for himself. you throw your arm over his shoulders, rubbing his back and shoulders.

“we can start our anime today.” he says with his mouth full, something you always nag at him for because it’s gross. you don’t even have to say anything because you stare at him and he just quietly apologizes with his bunny teeth peeking out.

“oh yeah, jujutsu kaisen. we can watch that when you’re done, prepare snacks and everything and cuddle on the couch.” you clasp your hands together with excitement.

your eyes roam down to the silver chain dangling from his neck, a familiar silver ring hanging in the middle.

“oh you put it on a necklace,” you let out a small gasp, picking up the silver band from the chain with your thumb and pointer finger as you look closely at it.

the ring you gifted him on his birthday last year. not an engagement ring and not really a promise ring. but it does hold a lot of love from you to him.

“yeah, i didn’t really wanna wear rings today but i always wear this one so i decided to put it on one of my chains.”

you nod your head in a fond manner. “reminds me of yuta and rika.”

“except you’re not dead and i’m not cursed.” he points out.

you chuckle, “exactly.”

with the ring still between your fingers, you mindlessly loop your finger through it and lightly tug at it.

“baby, i’m trying to take a bite and you’re pulling me.”

you smirk, “give me a kiss and i’ll let you eat.”

you don’t have to tell him twice. he’d do anything to kiss you.

without a thought, he leans in and kisses you quickly, ending it with a loud ‘mwah’.

you scoff, tugging him with his necklace still looped around your finger. “what kind of kiss was that?”

“a jungkook one.”

you roll your eyes, tugging at the chain again to pull him closer towards you, both of you were so close that you just had to pucker your lips for yours to reach his. jungkook’s breath was wavering as he stared at your parted lips.

smirking, you slowly tilt your head and lean in watching as his eyes flutter shut and his lips parted, ready to kiss you the way you wanted to be kissed.

you gazed at him with a slick grin, enchanted by the look of lust on his face. when he kept leaning in, chasing for your lips until he couldn’t feel yours he pulls away frustratingly, opening his eyes.

he pouts, “what’re you doing? kiss me!” he whines out, poking your side making you jolt on his lap.

“okay, okay, sorry. you look cute before you kiss me by the way.” you grinned widely.

jungkook dead stares at you, growing impatient by the second.

“sorry baby,” you muttered before pulling him in for a hard kiss.

#yeow6n #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook oneshot #jungkook imagine #jungkook drabble #bts scenarios #bts drabble #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts fic #bts fanfic #boyfriend!jungkook #vivian loving jungkook hours

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ataraxiaspainting · 3 months

Text

Yan Phantom Troupe + Hisoka + Illumi / Darling Asking “What Am I To You?”.

Warnings: Yandere themes, stalking, kidnapping, implied violence, not SFW implications for Hisoka because he’s a creep (and a mention of M*lluki in Illumi’s section I’m sorry for your loss) and also for Nobunaga because he’s bleh, Nobunaga threatens to take out your teeth for biting him it's up to you whether or not to believe him, and manipulation.

Word Count: 4.5k. (literally how lmao)

*~*~*~*

Chrollo

“Hm…” The sound goes on for much longer than what you would have liked or at the very most could handle without sneering, the crescendo in his voice rising and rising like tulips sprouting from soil. “Hm…”

His tone was barely a whisper at first, but it soon evolved like some hideous, god-forsaken species outcasted to a deserted island or planet. If you did not have your forks and knives taken away for trying to pick and cut off the cuff and chain attached to your ankle, a consequence from last week’s horribly executed escape attempt, you would threaten to stab your eardrums if he didn’t actually answer your question. But part of you thinks that he would only find it funny, and simply hum for twice as long as he has already planned to. Or would he be petty about it, and a second cuff and chain will appear on your ankle along with having your only friend, a silver spoon, taken away? With Chrollo, you do not think you will ever be able to fully tell.

“Please answer me,” You decide on responding with a musical note of your own, a drone. It seems to be the safest option, all things considered. You stare at the soup in front of you instead of at him, playing with the idea of counting the precisely cut vegetables and small rings of pasta. You would have entertained the thought of throwing the boiling bowl at him, but you now know that his speed is beyond what you could ever hope to achieve.

You would never get that far, would you?

You would have to wait until he is gone for the time being to even be able to step on the welcome rug by the door. You managed to convince him to finally buy you hairpins yesterday, and they are safely tucked away in the corner of the table next to your side of the bed, hidden underneath a pile of neatly folded silk pajamas until further notice.

“Well, what do you think you are to me?” He asks, brushing his foot against yours underneath the dining table. It takes everything in you not to move your chair away. That would only make things worse, wouldn’t it? Or would this just further make him see you as an adorable little thing because he knows you would not get that far, not with the cuff and chain on your ankle and the several locks on the door and him here right in front of you?

Again, you cannot tell. When can you ever? Could anyone ever read him, you wonder?

His porcelain dish is already empty, with but a few drops of red broth and a few herbs swirling about. He moves his chair forward and gently grabs your hand, his thumb massaging circles into your palm. You don’t know whether or not to answer his question.

This life is like a torturous game of chess, and you aren’t a player at all. It is up to Chrollo to decide whether or not you are worthy of being a pawn or queen or king, and where you go.

Is this all you will ever be?

His fingers rise to your cheek as he stands up, the touch so light it is hard to decipher the intentions of it. Comfort? Ownership? A statement?

Without thinking, you shut your eyes and lean into it. You coo. You coo like a dove, a baby bird, something so small and fragile in the face of a predator that wants nothing more than to take off its wings so it can never fly away. Perhaps the predator in question is the parent of the chick, never wanting it to leave the nest and explore the big, scary world.

Is this all you ever will be? A helpless, silly little thing stuck way up high with no way down, something cute and small that needs to be protected and cared for because they cannot take care of themselves?

You finally look up at him and he leans in then. He coos back at you, and you want to go back to closing your eyes and trying to stop hearing whatever he will say as a response to your refusal to answer. But you can’t.

So, you think of an answer, something that would make him happy but also not have you speak too long because you don’t want to speak at all. You just want this to be over with, you just want Chrollo to for once respond to your question instead of rebutting with one of his own.

You don’t have a choice, as always.

“Something to possess,” Your voice is soft and hoarse because you never use it aside from when you cry. “Something… someone to keep for your pleasure and your pleasure alone.” He coos again. It is sweet and sticky and latching onto you like thick honey or candy.

“You’re halfway there.” There is an unspoken praise in the air, one so nectarous it’s suffocating and you almost can't breathe. It is like Chrollo’s hands are on your throat, squeezing and squeezing until you pop like a balloon. There is no escape.

He turns and gets his fingers off your face, but the feeling of freedom is quickly taken away by the sound of Chrollo’s footsteps approaching you.

“I suppose I see you as both above and below me at the same time.” He says. You want to run but he’ll catch you in no time before you could even execute the idea.

He is behind you now, grabbing your arms and tugging as your chair squeals and squeaks like a lamb cornered by one who will soon sell its tender meat. You want to scream like one because you too are cornered by someone who will never let you out of here alive.

One of his hands smoothly moves up like you are a violin, lightly pinching your chin and forcing you to look up at him. You just hope there is no encore after this. You hope that in the future there are no such things and that he will just answer your questions and be done with it, but that is so foolish of you, isn’t it?

“You are human and have humanity,” He murmurs, his eyes wider and more intense than you ever had seen them before. “And I would love nothing more than to steal that away.”

Nobunaga

“You’re so silly, you know that?” You recognize the rhetorical nature of the question and choose not to answer. This causes Nobunaga to toy with the thigh-high socks he insisted you wear after returning from another day of thievery.

Every time you tried to express yourself verbally, you were met with a laugh, a gentle touch, an embrace, a peck, or... something far more dreadful than any of those gestures. You preferred to steer clear of that type of affectionate act for as long as you could, even if it meant just a few days. It would be a noteworthy achievement. Of course, Nobunaga's libido would never wane, as he shows no mercy unintentionally to you and intentionally to anyone else in his life.

The way your food is placed on pink plastic plates with little sections of where to put vegetables and where to put a small dessert for a job well done of eating all the food, which is always raw or burnt to a crisp. The pastel frilly clothes you’re forced to wear always show too much skin. The threat to remove most of your teeth if you bite him again. The way he keeps touching your thighs, pinching and groaning and-

Nobunaga never answers your question, resuming to hand-feed you some severely undercooked cookies he baked himself. Well, you scooped the dough at least, and that’s the most you’ll ever do in the kitchen while you are held captive.

Still, raw cookie dough is better than burnt in your opinion.

Just like delusional Nobunaga is much, much better than angry, heartbroken Nobunaga.

Your broken pointer and middle fingers are proof of that.

Feitan

“...”

He blinks; once, twice, thrice… and then you stop counting. It’s pointless anyhow, he is most likely not going to answer your question yet again.

As anticipated, Feitan walks away wordlessly, descending to his basement without a single step on the stairs being audible.

Just as you believe he has vanished, he creeps up from behind, clutching an object in his palms, causing you to nearly shriek. He would find amusement in that if you did. Whenever you engage in any action he deems foolish, he chuckles. It is the closest semblance of happiness you have witnessed from him, his snickering.

“...Here.”

With trembling hands, you accept the concealed object from his grasp.

“...Well?” Feitan asks, raising his eyebrow, his coat hiding what is most likely a smirk of some kind. “Like it?”

Huh? It's... a ring, from a fancy jewelry shop that you had been setting aside money for. This shop happened to be the priciest in the city you grew up in, with all of its items being highly sought after.

“I do.”

Happiness is like the rarest star in the universe to you now, and you will never let it go, now that you have it once again.

“...Glad.”

After a few moments of silence, Feitan is the one who speaks again as you stare at the jewel’s beauty.

“Do you want the finger that came with it?”

(machi, hisoka, phinks, shalnark, franklin, shizuku, pakunoda, bonolenov, uvogin, kortopi, and illumi under cut!)

Machi

Somehow, Machi’s posture becomes even more tense. But it does not stop her from still pouring the pot of instant ramen into your plate, though hers remains empty.

In silence, she puts some edamame, still cold from the fridge, on top, along with some spinach and carrots.

With her bare hand, she pulls out one of the soft-boiled eggs from the bowl of ice water, rolling it on the table until its shell cracks and she takes it off. She then, along with the egg and vegetables, puts some seaweed on top.

When you lean in closer to the utensil drawer, Machi opens it before you can.

She doesn’t ask you which chopsticks you want. She already knows your favorite one by now. The wooden ones with purple handles with white rabbits on them. Hers are plain.

She puts yours in one hand and your food in the other, walking to the kitchen table and putting both down. It’s winter now, and so she makes you drink tea nonstop and thus has a cup of it in front of your chair too.

“…Do you think I hate you?” Her voice, while still cold, has an emotion in it this time; worry. “I don’t, I really don’t. I promise you.” With that, she cracks the other boiled egg and puts it into her empty bowl. “I promise.”

You feel horrible for asking. You just wanted to know. You never know what she is thinking, that is why. But you feel horrible. Now she does too. Both of you, here, in silence, pondering whether or not the other despises you.

“I know, I just… wanted to make sure.” You don’t know if you are lying, and neither does she.

She takes good care of you. But she also ties you up when she has to leave, and one time she had to take out the syringes when you got too aggressive.

So what exactly are you to her?

Hisoka

Hisoka, still standing over your sitting form, puts his right hand on you, squeezing it just barely enough for it to sting.

“Aw, come on [First], lighten up.” If it were possible, with his words Hisoka grows twice as large as he was before he said anything. “I still have lots to teach you.” He chuckles as his long nails, sharp enough to be daggers or a ferocious beast’s teeth you think, dig further into your shoulder. The message is clear. You’ll never be rid of him, as much as you try to.

Even now, when you move to a secluded village on the other side of the country, for just the slightest chance he would leave you alone.

Your basket of berries and herbs is still next to you, a reward for all the foraging you did just before Hisoka showed up again.

“I did your leaf-in-water test already for you.” Just before you ran for the hills, you finally gave into Hisoka essentially begging you to test what kind of Nen user you are, claiming that you were now his pupil. “The water tasted sweet. I’m a Transmuter. That’s what you wanted to know. There is nothing else you can do for me, you know I am no fighter.”

Hisoka nods, and you think that this is it. Maybe he will finally leave you alone and you can go about your life without knowing anything else about Nen. But instead, Hisoka sits next to you on the grass.

He takes a berry from your basket and squeezes it between his fingers before it turns into a sticky mush.

It’s red.

“I know, but there are other things I can indeed teach you, can’t I?”

You don’t want to know what he means, you don’t want to know what he wants to do to you, but before you can stop him he is already on top of you, pushing you behind the bush you were picking rose petals from. You kick and scream at him to let go and cry, but he, as always, is so much stronger than you’ll ever be.

“This will hurt for a bit, but I promise you’ll feel very good, and you’ll want more.”

Phinks

Phinks stops pressing the buttons on the remote and stops reading the little synopsis on each of the shows he was thinking about watching with you, or each of the movies. You were not paying attention, instead looking at your fingers and playing with the dry skin by each nail.

He sets it aside, placing a hand on the back of his head and gently scratching. His gaze falls to the floor, and you follow suit.

He exudes nervousness. This comes as no surprise, as Phinks has always been one to shy away from openly displaying his romantic desires, as odd as it were to you when you were first brought here.

“Uh. Why do you ask? Isn’t… it kinda obvious? Um… you know I’m not exactly cut out for all this sappy bullshit… I… I… Um. Just… just forget it, okay? Just know that I see you as my partner… Wait, oh God, that sounds so bad…”

He keeps stuttering as he tries to explain everything. But, as funny as it would have been if you had known him outside of being your stalker and now current captor, his words only make you feel more hopeless.

Shalnark

He puts down his phone and stands up from his armchair. You’re in your pajamas, the fluffy pastel pink ones, standing in the doorway to Shalnark’s office area, where there are many computers and such on the walls and his large desk.

“Aw!” He murmurs, then gently pinches your cheeks upon approaching. He playfully rubs his nose against yours. Trying to distance yourself, instantly regretting seeking an answer of any sort from him, yet as always, his overpowering strength prevents any escape.

“C-Come on, Shal…” The nickname sometimes works when you ask for some dessert or a game of some kind, so maybe it will work in a situation like this too. “I wanna go to bed.” You nearly whine as he stretches your cheeks out further.

“But I still haven’t answered your question, sweetie!” He exclaims.

“F-Forget it.” You mutter, looking to the side. “It’s fine. Really. Get back to work.”

But he does not let go.

“Let me answer! Hmm… you’re so cute, like a kitten. You sure snuggle against me in bed like one!” Shalnark chuckles, and you can smell a mix of coffee and oranges in his breath. “So maybe… that’s the best analogy for it?” Some mint too. “Something to cuddle with? Something to keep safe.” He boops your nose. “Something too silly and adorable and airheaded to live on their own.”

You’re not sure if his words are supposed to hurt you or cheer you up.

“Yeah, I think something like that works!” After what seems like an endless amount of time, Shalnark releases his grasp on your face. “Just look at you.”

“O-Okay.” You murmur, turning away and attempting to make a beeline for the bedroom, regretting ever opening your mouth. “Sorry for asking. Good night-” Shalnark grabs your arm, making you stop moving before you even start.

“Come on, cutie! Spend some time with me. We can even play Wild World together again!”

He points to your 3DS, a rose gold color, and then to his, which is dark violet and covered in stickers referencing popular memes he saw on the internet. At least he has never made you see some particularly gruesome scene in the horror games he plays late at night out of impulse.

Franklin

As your words hang in the air, a silence so profound that you begin to question if he even registered your message, you find yourself fixating on your unfinished meal. Contemplating the merits and drawbacks of broaching the topic once more versus letting it go, you suddenly hear him put his cup of coffee down with a clatter as he almost slams it by accident.

“Where did this come from?” He asks. His tone almost seems concerned, you think, concerned for how you think of him when he is always so quiet or concerned for how you think he thinks of you, that one day he will simply not come back and find someone else more willing.

Franklin does not seem angry, not that he ever was. He is trying to appear neutral, to not scare you, like you were some sort of stray cat who he has yet to earn the trust of.

Though you don’t bite or scratch, you do hide from him.

“I… just want to know why you did all… this.”

Your eyes go everywhere, from the pots of plants he brought you recently by the barred windows to the blinking light above the stairs he promised to fix soon to Frank Herbert’s Dune laid across the couch next to your blanket.

“Franklin, since you claim to care about me… why can’t I go outside and be free?”

After a few more moments of silence, you look up at Franklin. He looks remorseful almost, from his visible frown to his eyes almost being closed to the way he does not look at you. Something akin to pity blooms in your chest.

“...Because unfortunately for both of us, I am… selfish, and you are too much for me to lose.”

Just like that, the pity dies similarly to the vase of flowers in the middle of the table.

Shizuku

You don’t know whether or not she will respond while knowing what you are and what she is. A captive. A captor. But you doubt it because every time she comes back she thinks you are here of your own volition and that you love her just as much as you know her.

Sometimes, you wish that you did, because whenever she sees you she looks at you like you were a gift that she had wanted for years.

Sometimes you wish that you did because that would make things oh so much easier for you. She sometimes forgets you are here, sometimes still goes to your actual home, and panics when she sees you are not there.

Shizuku merely chuckles, hugging you tighter. Perhaps she even forgot the slap she inflicted upon you earlier today for daring to say that you hate her, making you fly across the room.

“My love of course, silly!” Sometimes you hope that one day you will forget everything too because you envy Shizuku for never being cautious.

Pakunoda

“[First]...” Pakunoda’s eyes meet your own, one of her hands holding onto a chocolate-covered strawberry from the box she just got. Her other has a presence above one of your own, a presence so light you hardly recognize it is there.

She looks regretful and concerned.

The look fills you with so much guilt you immediately apologize and put the back of your head on her lap once again. It always works.

“You do know I care about you deeply, right, beloved?” Her long nails glide over your hair, making you close your eyes to calm yourself. You hope that look is gone because you aren’t sure how much longer you can take it before you break under its pressure fully. “I really do.”

You know she does, but it does not make the first days of your capture, which feels like an eternity ago, feel any less real, as much as Pakunoda denies the more horrifying parts of it all.

“I know, Paku.”

She smiles at the nickname.

The strawberry approaches your mouth, and you bite into it. Dark chocolate, you think this one is. Pakunoda loves her strawberries, but she loves parfaits just a little bit more. Maybe, to get her to forget your question, you can ask her to get some and feed them to her.

Soon, you fall asleep. Pakunoda opens her book back up after closing the box of sweets.

With one hand she caresses your hair, and in the other, she turns the pages of her novel. She loves evenings like this.

“I love you…” She murmurs, brushing some of your hair out of your face. “One day… you’ll love me too, fully, right?”

Half asleep, you agree without thinking. Once again, she smiles.

Bonolenov

With a sigh, he turns his head, momentarily interrupting your question. However, he quickly resumes dancing before you, delighting in your observation of his favorite pastime. Although you are unsure of the specific style of dance he is performing, you are confident that Bonolenov will soon enlighten you, taking the opportunity to boast about his expertise in this particular art form.

Listening to his animated explanations is always entertaining. His frequent rants make you feel as though he is a close friend rather than your captor if only that were true. Despite the circumstances, he treats you with kindness and respect. He believes that housing you in his home is an honor and privilege, a sentiment for which you hold some gratitude.

“A lover, because I do love you. You are simply wonderful to be around, after all.” In an alternate existence, were he not involved in criminal activities such as theft, kidnapping, stalking, and multiple murders, you might have developed an affection for him. This is due to your awareness of his deep affection for you and the kindness he exhibits towards you.

So you say such.

Bonolenov stays silent for a little while after that, along with the dancing that he often enjoys doing. Instead, he gazes through the windows, adorned with steel bars, and tenderly places small tokens that he knows bring you joy upon the table in the kitchen.

Uvogin

“Huh?”

Uvogin stops punching the claw machine, turning to you. It’s a mess, all because you said you wanted a corgi plush from it. But is it your fault, when you wanted to win it fair and square?

Maybe it’s not. Maybe it is. You know Uvogin is never one to have coins in his pockets. But, then again, he always seemed to have money when he was placing bets with Troupe members, especially with that Nobunaga person.

He seems confused, albeit he is hiding it behind a smirk. In one of his hands, covered in little shards of glass, is the stuffed animal you wanted.

“Come on, [First]!” He laughs, delusionally proud of himself. “I’m your boyfriend!” He wasn’t, but you would never voice that.

“...I-I know. But still… Do you like me?” You make an effort to convey your thoughts in the most diplomatic manner possible, being cautious not to provoke Uvogin's anger. Despite never having witnessed Uvogin's wrath, you remain steadfast in your desire to avoid it at all costs.

His smile widens.

“Of course I do!”

He presents you with the cuddly toy, having meticulously removed all the splinters of glass embedded within it.

“Do you really?” You ask, thinking of the time he threatened to break your legs if you ever attempted to run away from him again. He wasn’t even angry as he said the threat.

At another one of your questions, Uvogin says yes. But does he really? Or are you just something to hoard?

Do you really want to find out, you wonder?

Your heart tells you you don’t.

Kortopi

He turns his head, confused. It is one of the few expressions you can decipher from Kortopi because of the many strands of hair covering him. At the sight, you bow your head down.

He steps forward, and you step back.

He stops moving. So do you.

He retreats. You don’t speak for the rest of the day. You were used to it though. Kortopi hardly ever talks to you, but you don’t think he means it to be rude.

“Everything.” He mutters, standing above your bed. You sleep so peacefully, something you never were when you were awake. “You are everything.”

Illumi

Gently, he puts his teacup down with a little clatter of the saucer as he does so.

“Do you think I see you in a bad light, [First]?”

You simply look down at your teacup, smelling the lavender and chamomile to try to calm down a bit before answering Illumi.

The query has plagued your mind for an extended period. The exact duration remains elusive, as the days have merged into an indistinguishable blur. No matter your actions, pain will be inflicted upon you by someone, regardless of your conduct. Perhaps it will be Illumi's mother, administering a slightly sublethal, tasteless toxin with a syringe. Or it could be Illumi himself, subjecting you to days of confinement in a food and water-deprived closet. Regardless of your behavior, the inevitability of suffering looms.

With the intent of prolonging your exposure to the morning birdsong and granting yourself additional time in the garden, you opt to respond.

“N-No.” You lie. “You… keep me around to be molded into your perfect spouse, I know that, it is just… just…”

His smile sends chills down your spine, surpassing even the terror of Illumi's younger brother once launching into a lewd tirade about you in your presence.

“That is all there is to it; nothing more, nothing less.”

You sip the tea finally, and the burning sensation in your throat does not bother you anymore.

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madwomansapologist · 7 months

Text

a helping hand | nami

synopsis: Luffy should've know better than being so close to the edge of the ship. Of course he would fall, it was just a matter of time. After you saved him, getting soaked and shivering from the salty water, Nami was so kind to help you get into a hot bath. You just didn't expect her to keep you company. Or to insist on washing your skin for you. [2.4K]

warnings: smut. dubcon. voyeurism. groping. masturbation. fingering. manipulation. dumbification. nudity. body massage. tw: use of 'good girl'. soft dom!nami. yandere!nami? female!reader.

Humming an old song, you walked around the Going Merry deck gathering your scattered materials. You asked Zoro a zillion times to not touch your things but don't matter how much he tries to be blasé: Zoro has a weak point for shining things.

You dropped all the metal pieces on your construction table, and separated everything into piles that looked disorganized but made perfect sense to you.

Still humming, you grabbed your screwdriver and went back to work on your recent project. Explosives are easy to make, but your crew isn't exactly in a position to waste a lot of gunpowder. Just unscrew the right parts, gather the remaining gunpowder from the stray bullets on the deck, connect the right wires and that's it! Usopp will get so happy!

"I need opinions", Sanji entered your room without knocking on the door. He put a dish in front of you, something that smelled so good you didn't even thought about complaining.

You took the silver spoon from him, and you felt how soft the cake was when you cut it. You couldn't help but to close your eyes, enjoying the moment. "You said you needed compliments?"

Sanji almost held your new creation, but the thought of getting his hands dirty convinced him of doing otherwise. "You always know what to say, sweetheart."

"And you al-"

The sound of something heavy falling shut you up. You looked around, fearing that one of the bombs had fallen off your desk, but there was nothing wrong. Then you heard the excruciating scream.

"Luffy", you both said in sintony.

When you both made to the deck, nothing was there. You ran to the other side, but it was just as desolate. "Is everything fine?"

You came back to Sanji, you saw him starring at the ocean. You did the same thing, supporting your body on a rope, and saw. The straw hat was floating.

"Luffy!" Sanji yeled, but received no answers. "Luffy!"

"Why all that noise?" Zoro get out of his room, his wristband resting on top of his three katanas.

"I'm sorry for disturbing your beauty sleep but Luffy fell in the fucking ocean", Sanji started to prepare a floater, working on a strong knot.

Zoro walked towards the boat's ropes, and you kept on looking at the ocean. If you know Luffy well — and you do —, then his hat fell and he didn't thought twice before jumping. You stared at the floating hat, waiting to see a sign of him.

When his hand appeared, a loud gasp stretched your throat. You looked around. Both men were doing the best they could but it wasn't fast enough. So you did the only thing you knew would stop Luffy from drowning.

You dived.

The water was so cold you almost screamed, but you had a better goal in mind. Luffy, even not being able of entering the salty water, would've done the same for you or any of the crew. He wouldn't hesitate. And you can't be weak when your captain is in danger.

You went up to breathe and check where the hat was. Sanji and Zoro shouted, but you were in no condition to hear them. You dived again, this time towards the straw hat.

Luffy struggled, trying to swim upwards, but his body was so heavy. He saw his hands, the sun shining beyond the sea barrier, his hat in the distance. It became difficult to keep his eyes open. His breath had run out so long ago. Desperate, Luffy tried to stretch again.

Something grabbed him, and Luffy tried to fought. He was so lucky for not having the strenght to fight a dove at the moment, because when the thing pulled him to the surface Luffy could finally breath again.

He coughed until all the water inside his lungs were back in the sea. Luffy held onto you. That was the first time you saw him so vulnerable. So in need of help.

"I am here", you tried to calm him down. You put his hat on his head. "I am here, captain."

Your body ached, but you held him and made sure his head wasn't near the sea. Every muscle burned inside of you. They dropped the floater, you put it around Luffy's body. Zoro hoisted him up, you could hear Usopp helping.

When it came down again, you held onto it and let them help you. All your members were shaking, everything was so cold.

Zoro held you and helped you stand on the Going Merry. He was so strong, and yet so gentle. Zoro can try to hide it, but you know his heart is his best quality. Your legs betrayed you when he let you go, but Usopp grabbed you before you could hit the ground.

He helped you sat on the deck, right beside where Luffy layed down. You mirrorred him, facing the sky. You let the breeze invade your lungs, the sky hurt your eyelids, seagulls sang in the distance. Freedom. Absolute freedom. Just like Luffy promissed you.

You breath in, letting the air relax your muscles. A shadow covered you, probably a cloud floating in the atmosphere, the sun couldn't aim you anymore. "You're fine?"

"Are you some kind of hero?" Even with your eyes closed you were still able to see Luffy's smile. "An angel?"

You laughed. It hurted, but it was the kind of pain that don't really matter. "You were drowning."

"I'm talking about my straw hat. You saved it", you heard Luffy sitting. His spirit was back already. Good. Really good. "And she even called me captain!"

"Don't get used to it", you heard Nami. You blinked, trying to expel the salty water from your eyes. Just then you realized that it was her shadow that protect you from the sun. Kneeling by your side, Nami's concern was almost palpable. "You both could've died."

You gave her a beaming smile. "I'm not that easy to kill."

"Me neither!" Luffy jumped from the floor and get on his feet. "Still brand new."

"Annoyingly resilient", Sanji murmured to himself. He approached, another shade preventing the sun from bothering you, and extended his hand. "What a crew!"

Nami pushed his hand away, and extended hers. "Do you think you can walk, brave girl?" Sanji rolled his eyes and followed Luffy, probably to offer him food.

You grabbed her hand, and without effort Nami managed to lift you up. For a moment you felt like you were going to fall, gravity playing tricks on your perception, but Nami held you by the shoulders. You melt between her hands.

"Are you fine?" Nami asked. Her fingers carressed you soggy skin. She squeezed your arm, her warm hands contrasting your icy body. "Do you think you can take a bath?"

"I can't get back to work stinking of fish, can I? Don't worry, I can take care of myself."

"I know. You just don't need to."

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Leaning against the wall, you watched Nami preparing your bath. She boiled water, filled the bathtub, and now balanced the temperature with cold water. The way she was so exact, careful, made you smile.

She put her hand on the water. "Perfect", Nami murmured to herself. She turned to you, drying her hand on a towel. "Come here."

You were shivering, the clothes weighing you down. The closer you get, the more you felt how hot the water really was. You dipped your hand into the bathtub, an involuntary moan escaped your mouth. "Perfect. Thank you, Nami."

Nami walked away from the bathtub, taking the buckets with her. She placed them at the back of the bath area, and walked to the door. "Take off your clothes," Nami said. You heard the door being locked. "That way the water will cool down."

"Why are you still here?"

"I've told you. I will take care of you", Nami crossed her arms, walking slowly towards you. "Do you need help with you clothes?"

"No, I..." You held your wet clothes, the temperature of your body suddenly increasing. "I would rather not do this in front of you."

"Oh, I get it now", Nami smiled to you as if it was just a normal conversation. "We are girls. There's no need to be shy. Here, let me help you."

Nami touched the hem of your blouse. You tried to pull away, but she pulled you closer. Your chest collided with hers. "It's okay," she began to pull the soaked fabric up. "You trust me, don't you?"

"Of course", it was true. You trusted your life to her before, and you would do it again. You would've died for Luffy early if it was needed, and you would do the same for her. "You know that."

"Then let me help you, huh?" Nami purred against your ear. "Can you do that for me?"

You stopped fighting back. Nami gave your cheek a delicate kiss. "Good girl."

Nami pulled your shirt up, the sticky wet fabric giving you goosebumps as she slid it across your skin. She threw it on the floor, and admired you. You tried to cover your breasts, but Nami held your wrists. "No need to be embarrassed. You're beautiful."

Without being able to answer her, you just watched her kneel in front of you. She undid the buttons on your shorts and pulled them down. You leaned on her shoulders to take them off, Nami smiled at your gesture. She discarded it like the blouse, and rested her hands on your thigh.

"Don't you feel better now?" Her fingers played with the seam of your panties. You closed your legs. "Without all that wet, heavy clothing. Don't you think I did the right thing?"

“I guess so”, you swallowed. When you felt her fingers pulling your panties, the movement so slow it bordered on torture, you closed your eyes tightly. "Nami, I..."

"Open your eyes."

You did as she said. Now naked, you just wanted to hide yourself. Nami smiled at you, her eyes shining. "Enter the water."

You turned to get into the bath, and you did it so quickly it was almost inhuman. Up to your chin in the water, you heard her approaching. She sat on the tube, and grabbed you by your chin. "Feeling good?"

You looked up at her and nodded. "Great", she said. Nami wet the soap and rubbed it on her hand. "Now I'm going to make you feel even better."

She started with your hands. Nami massaged them with so much devotion, so much care, that you almost forgot your shame. The affection rose to your arms. You felt the soap penetrating your skin, taking away the smell of salt. Her hands smooth out the knots in your muscles. When she focused on your shoulders it was impossible not to close your eyes. "Feels so good."

When her hands caressed your breasts, a part of you didn't want to complain or pull away. A part of you asked you to stay there, quiet, and let Nami do whatever she wanted. She always knew what was best for you. And that was the voice you heard.

She squeezed them lightly, slid her fingers through them, pinched your nipples. Nami soaped them, massaged them, worshiped them.

As she dropped her hands, you couldn't help but complain. "Patience, brave girl," Nami scratched your thighs. "Open your legs for me."

And you did as she asked you.

Her fingers ran down your thighs, squeezed your waist, played with your skin. Then they approached the hottest point on your body. The point that seemed to vibrate, boil under the water. You shivered when her finger touched your lips.

Nami's other hand went up your body, her nails scratching your skin, and ended up grabbing your hair. Your head fell back, exposing your neck, and Nami slid her nose against your damp skin. "My girl is so sensitive", she licked the junction of your neck and shoulder.

With her tongue working on your neck, playing with your sensitive skin, her fingers circled your lips. Your nerves screamed under her fingers, your mouth wouldn't stay closed. Nami could turn you over, smear you, twist you: you wouldn't complain.

Her thumb pressed against your clit, the bone slamming into your stiff nerve at an excruciating pace. Nami let go of your hair and moved her hand down to your breasts, playing with your sensitive nipples. You moaned, blurrs glowing in your closed eyelids, and you rolled your hips against her fingers.

Without needing to hear you ask, without even warning you, Nami penetrated you with two fingers. The sounds you made became louder, more needy, and with each movement of your fingers inside you, your body became hotter. You smiled, so immersed in the pleasure that you didn't even notice the lewd way Nami was looking at you.

She curled her fingers. The pressure massaging your walls became too much, and you grabbed her fist. "N-Nami, I..."

"Do it again", Nami bit your neck. She increased the speed of her fingers. As she thrust her fingers into you, her palm bumped against your clit. A shameful sound escaped your pussy. It was so good. So, so good. "Moan my name."

"Nami", you did as she demanded. It was impossible to say anything other than her name. Your moans were so loud, so shameful, you wouldn't think it was impossible for everyone on deck to hear you. But you didn't care. You didn't care about anything. "Don't stop."

Then Nami opened her fingers. She became even more brutal, her hand went back to your hair. She grabbed it tightly, almost really hurting you.

It started as a numbing wave. It passed through your pussy, up your belly, reached your breasts. All your limbs became useless, your mouth hung open, your eyes closed. And when the wave reached your head, you were already unable to breathe. You could only tremble against her fingers.

You squirmed, and it was Nami who kept you sitting down. She continued to fuck you, to torture your clit, to hurt your head. And when you became an empty doll, your mind blank and your body tired, Nami stopped. She didn't take her fingers out of you, feeling the way you still squeezed her. Tender kisses reached your cheeks.

You were the one who initiated the kiss. It was sloppy, you were too weak to do it any other way. You held her by the neck, trembling hands clinging to her soft skin. "Join me."

Nami smiled against your mouth. She stood up, still bent over to continue the kiss. "It will overflow."

"Do you care?"

She didn't.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

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sakkiichi · 10 months

Text

KISS IT OFF ME.

Ice cream always tasted better when it was from his lips.

Kaedehara Kazuha x gn! reader.

genre/cw: pure fluff, modern au, childhood friends to lovers.

word count: 1.8k.

Your first memory of him tastes of cool strawberries.

You were six, and through teary eyes, you first spotted him outlined against the afternoon sun, his hand extended to you.

You had fallen from your brand new bike, your knee scraped and bleeding.

“Are you okay?” A soft voice asks.

You sob loudly, sitting on the pavement, your bicycle toppled over by your side.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He says, offering you a hand.

You take it.

And when your cries die down, you’re convinced the boy before you is magical.

The softest eyes you’ve ever seen look back at you, rimmed by long lashes the color of starlight through clear clouds. His hair is like silken moonlight, a single vibrant red tuft sticking out, much like the setting sun behind him.

“Here,” the boy says, handing you a pink ice cream cone. “This will help you feel better.” He smiles, gently, closing your small hands around the cool cone.

You stare at him, enchanted, wondering who this boy that looks like an angel is and why do you feel so comforted next to him.

“My name is Kazuha, what’s your name?” He asks.

Through a mouthful of strawberry flavored sweetness, you introduce yourself.

“Then, I’m happy to know my new friend’s name, [Y/n].” The boy smiles again.

He seems to do that a lot. It’s nice. And you like the sound of your name when it comes from him.

While you hold your newly acquired ice cream, licking quickly to avoid it melting away, Kazuha picks up your bike, walking home beside you.

Under the stars that begin to illuminate the twilight sky, your friendship with your knight in shining armor is forged.

—

You are fifteen and nights are young and the summer seems endless.

A sea of city lights and distant stars hovers over you, as you sit on the rooftop.

Matching cookie ice cream cups in your hands, you and Kazuha share a comfortable quiet.

Silence with him always had that nature.

Taking the last spoonful, you lie down, over the baby blue blanket sprawled under you two.

You steal a glance in his direction, admiring the way the night breeze ruffles his hair and kisses his skin in ways you dream of every dawn.

He turns around, catching your gaze on him, pretty pink dusting his ears and cheeks.

“Is there anything on your mind?” Kazuha asks, clearing his throat.

You chuckle, his silhouette against a starry backdrop reflected in your eyes.

“Maybe…” You smile, taking his hand, tugging on it so he lies down with you.

“Mind telling me?” Your friend prompts, turning around to face you, his hand still in yours.

You hum, blinking against the starlight overhead.

“I hope that, ten years from now, we still have each other.” You utter, to him and the night.

Kazuha squeezes your hand, once to let you know he’s heard you, twice, his unspoken affirmation.

“We will.” He answers, with the constellations as witnesses of this unwritten pact. “That, I can promise.”

As the warm summer breeze wraps around you, your gaze helplessly orbits around Kazuha again.

Then, your sweet ice cream stained lips brush his cheek, a cool smudge in your wake, eliciting soft giggles from his lips, which you wish you could kiss instead.

“Thank you, Kazuha.” You breathe, closing your eyes, silver lined horizons announcing the approach of dawn.

—

Eighteen and you feel like you could stand on top of the world.

High school has finally ended and just in a few hours you’ll be taking your first steps into college.

Lady luck has smiled you this once, or perhaps it was fate, that landed you and your all-time friend Kazuha in the same college.

Friend.

That doesn’t even begin to cut it. There is no denying whatever’s going on between you two has gone past platonic for a while.

The last rays of the afternoon sun filter in through the windows of the apartment you’ll be sharing.

This moment, it reminds you of the day your path crossed Kazuha’s twelve years ago.

A small smile tugs at your lips at the memory, your eyes landing on Kazuha’s back as he carries a box with some of his belongings.

He is taller and stronger than back then, his hair considerably longer, tied back into a messy bun, droplets of sweat enticingly sliding down the back of his neck.

And yet, you still see the same kind angelic boy who rescued you with a strawberry ice cream in the scorching summer heat.

That gives you an idea.

With a fond smile, you head to the small kitchen, retrieving a tub of chocolate ice cream from the fridge.

“Kazuha,” you call him. “Why don’t we take a break? Here.” You show him the ice cream box, setting it on the cheap dining table.

“That certainly would be welcome, hummingbird.” He chuckles, wiping the sweat away from his brow with his forearm.

His white cotton t-shirt rides up his frame, exposing part of his recently inked maple themed tattoo.

You can’t deny the heat in your cheeks every time you see it, even though you were there with him when he got it.

“Say aaah.” You tease, offering Kazuha a spoonful of chilly chocolate.

His tempting lips take the spoon in his mouth, as his hand comes to rest over yours in the handle.

And all you can hear at that moment is your heartbeat loud in your ears.

The way he tucks his hair behind his ear with his free hand and the way his lashes flutter against his cheeks like flecks of moondust certainly are hypnotizing.

“Sweet.” Kazuha announces, once he’s swallowed the treat. “Your turn.” He prompts, burying the spoon in the cool sweet cream.

And yet, his eyes don’t leave yours.

And if you pay attention, they flit to your lips as the breeze outside ruffles the treetops, the sunlight filtering through them catching in the maple lakes reflected in Kazuha’s eyes.

And if you were aware of your own actions, you’d realize your gaze is magnetic on those lips that smile at you, that smiled at you all those years ago.

“Kazuha…” You manage, out of breath, your nose mere millimeters away from his.

He recites your name, his pupils blown in the molten sunsets of his gaze.

And then the collision of your mutual kiss makes your whole world stop spinning.

Kazuha’s hands cup your cheeks, his slightly calloused thumbs brushing against your skin, tracing patterns in verse, about the unrivaled love and care he holds for you, that he’s always held for you.

Your hands find themselves buried in his hair, gently tugging on the elastic holding it together, liquid stardust cascading over his shoulders.

The spoon clatters out of Kazuha’s grasp to the small table.

His lips are so sweet on yours, the chocolate flavor very much lingering, as you desperately, tentatively drink him in.

Kazuha and his smiles, his hugs, his poems and all the nights up by his side, every moment constellated and immortalized by the tender flames of innocent first love.

The sun sets, as the ice cream starts to melt and you keep kissing Kazuha for the first time.

Chocolate had never tasted so sweet.

—

Ten years have gone by since the promise he made on that summer night.

Your shift at work has just ended and you’re hurrying down the street, hoping you are not running too late or look too much like a mess.

Finally, the accorded ice cream parlor comes into view and there he stands.

Strands of hair seemingly weaved out of cottony clouds wisp around his face, some of them tied into a low side ponytail, the signature crimson strand almost glinting in the blue sky’s sun. One of his hands rests on his pants’ pocket, while the other waves at you, a new tattoo adorning his upper wrist now.

And as with the previous one, you were also there when he got it.

Doves. Because you were his.

You got maple leaves inked that time, on your wrist as well, they always reminded you of him.

Your gazes cross underneath the cerulean skies, and you quicken your steps.

“Kazuha!” You call, slightly out of breath. “Sorry, have you been waiting for long?”

Your boyfriend gives you a soft smile, tucking a rebel strand of hair away from your face.

His touch was always so gentle, since that day almost twenty years ago, when his outstretched hand pulled you up from the hard abrasive ground.

“Not at all.” Kazuha chuckles, hearth-like gaze dancing across your face. “I just got here, and no matter how long, I’ll always wait for you, my dove.” He utters, his forehead resting on yours, hands still lingering around your cheeks.

“You are too sweet, did you know that?” You whisper, inches apart.

He chuckles, that airy melodious sound you could never get tired of.

“Never as sweet as your presence.” He murmurs, his tender lips lingering on your temple.

As you gush over him, your cheeks ablaze, Kazuha’s hand finds yours; together, you head towards the ice cream shop, taking a sit on a secluded corner by the window.

Your matching vanilla ice creams arrive, yours, a cone, his, a cup.

“Do you still remember, Kazu?” You ask, tasting the sweet treat, refreshing you from the heat outside. “The first time we met?”

“Strawberry.” He answers, autumn eyes soft on yours. “I gave you strawberry ice cream.”

Your eyes widen, a bashful smile tugging at your lips.

“You still remember that detail?”

“I could never forget, even if I tried.” Kazuha’s free hand finds yours over the table, cool thumb from holding the ice cream tracing soothing circles over the back of your hand. “Cookies, the night we promised to stay together always.” A gentle squeeze. “Chocolate, our first kiss.” He brings your hand to his lips, the most tender kiss this world has seen landing on your skin, his warm gaze never once leaving yours.

You can feel your face heating up, droplets of vanilla sliding down the cookie cone.

You hurry up to salvage them before they can coat your fingers, perhaps as an excuse to compose yourself.

Then, tender fingers caress your jaw, slightly calloused.

“May I have a taste, my hummingbird?”

“Kazuha, you ordered the exact same flavor.”

“Not exactly the same.” He utters, leaning to kiss the ice cream off your lips.

And no matter what flavor you were having, none was as sweet as the feeling of those lips of his that often spoke in flowers, enveloping yours so tenderly. Kazuha’s kisses feel like fiery passion in soothing autumn waves, flakes of golden light overshadowing the world around you, making you forget about rainy stormy days.

You kiss him back, with as much fervor, a leaf desperately clinging to a tree branch on a late summer breeze.

Kazuha’s hand holding yours feels the stickiness of melted vanilla pooling on your fingers.

He hopes he can replace it by the ring safely tucked on his pocket very soon.

“Mine’s not as sweet.” Are your poet’s words when you two pull away, hands and gazes still linked.

And you can’t help but agree that ice cream did indeed always taste better with his lips on yours.

#kazuha x reader #genshin impact x reader #kaedehara kazuha x reader #kazuha x y/n #kazuha x you #kaedehara kazuha x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x y/n #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact fanfics #kazuha imagines #kazuha fanfic #kazuha fluff #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact oneshots #genshin impact scenarios #kazuha scenarios #kaedehara kazuha #genshin impact

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y2ashlee · 5 months

Text

Which spoon are they: Twisted Wonderland

Riddle: Big Spoon wants to be little spoon but his pride won’t let him.

Trey: Big Spoon but wouldn’t mind being the little spoon once in a while.

Cater: Little Spoon but would be Big Spoon if asked.

Deuce: Chopsticks to afraid to move regardless. Will hug back after awhile before getting to flustered.

Ace: Big spoon his ego wouldn’t allow it any other way.

Leona: Spatula he lays on you or you lay on him he might hug you back but very rarely so don’t get your hopes up.

Ruggie: Spork he’s ready for anything you wanna be big spoon he’ll let you.

Jack: Soup Spoon you will be engulfed in his arms and chest his tail will be wagging he but will deny it if asked if he does.

Azul: Normal regular spoon you hug him he hugs you perfect, takes time to get to that point though.

Jade: Knife you’ll never know what he’ll do maybe he’ll let you just hug him or maybe he’ll just hold your hand and maybe he’ll just wrap you up in his arms and legs.

Floyd: Whisk you’ll be stuck in his arms and legs as he’s wrapped around you. You might be able to make a break for it while he’s asleep.

Kalim: Big Spoon but likes being the little spoon.

Jamil: Spoon just hug him cuddle him he needs it he’s exhausted.

Vil: Fork will let you cuddle him but won’t do much cuddling if he has a busy schedule the next day.

Rook: Spork ready for anything but be careful what you ask for.

Epel: Little Spoon but don’t tell anyone it’ll break him.

Idia: Tea Spoon hug and cuddle him as much as you can just give him time to warm up to it every time.

Ortho: (Platonic) Blender you can hug him but it’ll probably hurt eventually since he’s a robot all his motors and fans will probably burn you after a while.

Malleus: Ladel is happy as along as you are in his arms. And good luck getting out of those arms.

Lilia: Potato Peeler good luck trying to get him to cuddle normally.

Silver: Palette Knife he’ll probably be asleep before you get into bed so hug him and he’ll probably hug you while he sleeps.

Sebek: Steak Knife good luck getting him to hug you back.

Crewel: Big Spoon plus bonus puppy dogs if you’re ok with that.

Vargas: The Biggest Spoon you can think of does this mean he’ll hug you back? Maybe? Probably.

Sam: Just Spoon he’ll hug you, you hug him win win he might try to sell you a special 40% off going once going twice deal of somesort.

Chenya: Plastic Spoon why is he doing that how is he doing that oh god just be normal!!! Just kidding he’s a table spoon he’ll lay on you like you are the bed.

Neige: Just a normal Spoon will cuddle you happily.

Rollo: Good luck getting him to let you sleep in the same bed you’ll be in the single bed 5 feet away from him like any normal godly couple.

Just kidding

Skewer you can cuddle him but he might bite back about it.

I’m not counting adding the Birdman. I will not elaborate further.

~~~

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months

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Up All Night 1

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, narcissim, probably name calling and nasty words, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (older!reader)

Note: I wasn't serious about this but now I were. Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You rub your cheek as you check the time in the corner of the screen. You should’ve been gone an hour ago, you should have your bottle of shiraz and your episode of housewives to keep you company. You don’t know why you expected that, nothing ever goes to schedule, not with your boss.

You sigh at his empty office. You haven’t seen him for two days. He has an automatic reply that he’s ‘working remotely’. You know Mr. Drysdale well enough. He doesn’t work outside the office, he barely does anything at the office.

You go back to the PDF, your red notes in the margin of the manuscript. Big meeting tomorrow. Hopefully your boss got that message. You can only imagine what would happen if a publishing house missed their introductory conference with a major writer. That could mean thousands, if not millions, in losses. Somehow, you suspect you won’t have to imagine.

You finish the chapter and press your finger to your phone. It lights up but you don’t have anything more than the several reminders you set for yourself and automated notifications from apps you never use. Drysdale…

His last name rolls from your throat without meaning too. Something about him just irks you to the bone. Maybe it’s envy, or at very least, resent. You’ve worked all these years in the publishing business to become an assistant, all while he was born into his editor’s chair.

Another bubble pops up. You’re not the social media type. You never got much into it. Your generation came a bit too early for that, but you’ve found with men like Drysdale, narcissists really, it is a great tool.

You tap the notification and it opens the story. There he is, taking a shot with a pair of statuesque twins. Not the best look for an editor, on that night, of all nights.

You clamp your lips shut and flare your nostrils. Right. You close your laptop as you see Eugene making his sweep. Once security pops up, you know you’ve got to go. You pack up your things and say hello to the man in the blue uniform on your way out. He knows you by name too.

You shift your glasses on your nose, the little rubber pieces starting to squeeze your bridge. You come out the front of the building and make your way to the only car left in the lot. You throw your bag in the back and drop into the front seat.

No wine for you. You’ll have to stream the episode when it comes out on Prime. You set a new alarm for the morning, early enough for you to make sure Mr. Drysdale meets his obligations.

📗

As expected, you don’t have a single call from Drysdale. You’ve left several messages since your alarm blared and broke through your four hours of sleep. You see his last activity on Insta from three in the morning and you want to throttle your own phone. This isn’t good.

You have only enough time to get yourself ready. Your morning routine of a perfectly portioned breakfast and precisely brewed dark roast is nixed. You get in your car with coffee in a travel mug. You have only one thing on your mind.

As you draw up the long drive to the ultra-modern facade, the revulsion courses from your stomach into your throat. There’s something about his style that makes your eyes roll. So obnoxious and absurd. He’s exactly a caricature of a silver-spooned brat.

You park behind the beamer and take a draw from your insulated mug. Ugh, you need caffeine, you need strength and patience. You put it back in the cupholder and force yourself out of the peace of the front seat.

You stride up the white stone walkway and hit the doorbell. Once. Twice. Five times before you admit you will not receive an answer. You bring up the emergency file in your phone and key in the door code. Drysdale would shit if he knew his mother sent you it but she is a lot smarter than him. It makes you wonder how the apple rolled so far away after falling.

You let yourself in. It’s quiet but for the catch and skip of a forgotten record. You go into the front room. Open bottles of liquor forgotten on the glass table, a broken glass on the floor, and the record player crackling through the speaker.

You pull the needle off and pause to look out through the transparent wall that gives a clear view of the entire room. You know Drysdale to be shameless but really?

You put your phone away and approach the stares. The large gap between each gives a sense of vertigo to your ascent. You get to the top and head down the hall, glancing down over the entryway as you do.

You carry on and open a door; closet. The next, a bathroom, the other, a bedroom but not used. And finally, you find the door you’re looking for. On the other side, Mr. Drysdale sleeps with his ass naked in the room, upside down on the bed with his head hanging off the foot. The same woman from his Instagram are entwined with him as they sleep the right side up. Ugh, you don’t want to picture it.

You go into the en suite bathroom and take the sleek black plastic cup from beside the sink. You fill it with cold water and unhook the amber satin robe from the door as you pass. You march to the bed and dump the water onto Ransom’s head, watching it splash down his back.

He yipes and whips his head up with an unattractive snort, “what the fuck–”

“Robert Laing is due at nine. It’s ten to eight.” You drop the robe over him carelessly and spin on your heel, “let’s go., Mr. Drysdale.”

#ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale #dark!ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale fanfiction #drabble #au #up all night #series #the club #knives out

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oatmilk-vampire · 4 months

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Once Bitten, Twice Shy || Steddie (A/B/O)

Omega!Steve Harrington x Alpha!Eddie Munson

Summary: It's been a year since Steve and Eddie last saw one another. It's been a year since Steve broke Eddie's heart. Now they have to pretend like everything was fine at Christmas with all of their friends.

Based off of the best Christmas song EVER Last Christmas by Wham! Mostly because I've always been stuck on that one particular line I used for my title.

Word count: 4.4k of whump and happy ending.

TW: infertility

A/n: More subtle a/b/o dynamics, can almost be read as a slightly different human au.

Christmas was never special for Steve.

Not in the way it was for the rest of America’s children. One might think Steve had a fantastic holiday with how rich the Harringtons were. That he was spoiled rotten. Maybe he was. He wouldn’t deny having grown up with a literal silver spoon in his mouth, but his Christmases were filled with white lights and fancy dinner parties. Sure he got toys occasionally but not the kind he wanted. Toys his parents insisted would shape him up into a big, strong, proper alpha rather than the play kitchens and baby dolls he so wished for. He also wasn’t allowed to believe in Santa, he was well aware “Santa” was really just the kids’ own parents. He had no reason to be on the nice list because it didn’t exist. He’d get his presents no matter what. Plus why be good if he didn’t get what he actually wanted?

He also got preppy, snobbish clothes that he only just recently started getting away from and breaking into his own style.

His first real Christmas was when he dated Nancy, and each subsequent year only seemed to get better even after they broke up.

Until last Christmas.

After Steve’s parents disowned him for presenting as an omega, he feared his life was over. All his life he was raised to be an alpha, but no matter the rigorous conditioning he underwent you can’t control who you are. He was born this way. He couldn’t change who he was. He hated himself for a while there, thinking he really was as worthless as his parents had led him to believe but that all changed when he got to know Eddie.

Whereas Steve still acted as a fierce protector to the kids (even if it bordered on maternal), he didn’t ever have to be the de facto leader with Eddie. Eddie took it on naturally. Maybe that has to do with him being an alpha.

Unlike all the knothead alphas Steve associated himself with before he presented, Eddie was nothing like them. He was a gentle giant. He took his role as alpha very seriously, yes, but he would never dominate. He would never try to take advantage of any omega, especially Steve.

When everyone thought Steve was going to be an alpha, they all wanted a piece of him. Then when he was outed as an omega by none other than Tommy and Carol, all the alphas wanted a piece of him. They wanted to control the once king of Hawkins High. To mate him. To claim him.

It made Steve sick to think about what would have happened had Eddie not stepped in and effectively repelled all other alphas with his own cinnamon and pine scent that he constantly left all over Steve even if they were just together as friends.

Until they weren’t. After they both finally graduated high school Eddie asked to court Steve, and Steve wholeheartedly agreed. He knew he trusted Eddie with his life. He knew he could trust him with his heart. He loved him.

Loved.

What a strong word. It could mean everything, or nothing all the same depending on who uttered it.

Steve always meant it, and he’s pretty sure Eddie did too… Steve’s not sure when Eddie might have stopped, but he’s pretty sure it probably happened some time last Christmas.

They had been through three separate, unprotected, synced heats and ruts.

After the claiming bite is exchanged heats and cycles sync, after that the success rate of getting an omega pregnant during their heat is nearly unavoidable even with protections and birth control present. If it was unprotected then the omega was sure to fall pregnant.

At least that’s what the brochures taught Steve when he presented. That’s what the brochures taught Steve when he returned to the reproductive specialist. That’s what society taught him.

They all taught him he was, as he always feared, broken.

Because no matter how often Steve and Eddie mated, on their heats and ruts or off, Steve could not get pregnant.

It was virtually unheard of for an omega to face infertility. Infertility only really ran in betas, and even then it only ever affected one in six.

There’s no reason why Steve wasn’t able to give Eddie pups.

The doctors couldn’t even give him a reason or treatment plan to fix his unexplained infertility. He just had to cope with it.

Eddie tried to comfort Steve through it but Steve knew how hard it was on Eddie too. Steve knew Eddie deserved to have a big family of his own one day, little pups running around with messes of dark curls upon their heads.

Steve had hoped he’d be a part of that fantasy. He hoped his six little nuggets would have his eyes and Eddie’s hair, a combination of Steve’s athletic abilities and Eddie’s musical talent.

His dream turned into a never-ending nightmare in the blink of an eye.

As much as Eddie said all he needed was Steve, Steve knew better. He’s seen how Eddie was with Dustin and the rest of the Party. Eddie needed a big family, he deserved to be the good father he never got to have.

Which is why Steve did the unimaginable last Christmas.

It was Steve and Eddie’s first Christmas since learning they couldn’t mate, and Eddie was trying to make it memorable and good for them, a break from all the anguish they had been dealing with for the past few months.

Steve on the other hand gave Eddie the greatest gift of all: Freedom.

Eddie cried, begged, bargained, but Steve wouldn’t have any of it.

If Eddie was any other alpha, Steve knows he wouldn’t have been able to get away with walking out on them after they’d already each exchanged claiming bites. He might even end up dead for messing with an alpha like that, and the sheriffs wouldn’t even bat an eye. Except for maybe Hopper, but still.

But Eddie wasn’t any other alpha. Instead he let Steve go, knowing he wouldn’t force him to stay.

Eddie moved out, his decision, Steve was already leaving him. He wouldn’t make him physically leave their– his home too. Eddie returned to live with Uncle Wayne, the only one who learned of their separation.

They agreed to keep this secret, there was no reason to upset everyone or make them feel like they had to take sides. An alpha and omega separating after exchanging claiming marks was almost as unheard of as omega infertility anyway. They took turns going to events or games or parties, in some sick fashion it’s almost like they had joint custody or something.

When their heats and ruts approached they agreed to spend it with one another since they were still synced and it’s always safer to have a mate than not. Plus it was considerably more disastrous for them to be mated and not spend it with one another. They worked out a system, Eddie would let himself in the night before it was due to start for them and in the morning when it hit they’d sniff each other out and do what biology instructed them to. They could hardly remember the visits anyway. After it was over Eddie would slip back away undetected until the next time.

This Christmas would be the first time they see each other. This Christmas would be the first time they speak face to face. This Christmas would be the first time they had to pretend to be a couple in front of everyone.

Steve hadn’t used suppressants in a very long time but he did today. Eddie’s scent would forever be mingled with his, but that wouldn’t stop everyone from being able to sniff out the soured notes he’d take on due to his discomfort. Only the betas wouldn’t be able to smell his scent, but the young alphas and omegas they cared so much for were loud mouths and would be sure to ask what his problem is.

He wondered if Eddie would do the same.

He guesses he’ll find out soon enough.

He pulls into the Munson trailer driveway, leaving his car running so it’d be warm for Eddie as he approached the door.

Almost immediately after knocking on it it opened. He expects to see Eddie, but instead it’s Uncle Wayne.

Steve instantly feels embarrassed but he doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s because he broke his nephew’s heart and forced him to move back in with his uncle at the age of twenty-four.

“Steve, Merry Christmas!” He's just as happy to see him as he was the last time Steve saw him back when he and Eddie were still a happy couple and he hadn’t ruined everything.

“Merry Christmas, Un– Uh, um.” He clears his throat. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Munson.”

The older man shakes his head.

“Please, still call me Wayne. You’re family kid, even if you two are taking a break.”

It’s more than just a break. Steve thinks but nods and puts on a small smile.

“Thank you, Wayne.”

“Please, come in. He should be just a moment longer. You know how he is with his hair.” He rolls his eyes goodnaturedly and Steve can’t help but laugh, Wayne’s friendliness doing wonders at ebbing away at his nerves.

“Well, I’m the same way so I can’t really speak on that.” He touches his perfectly done hair. It’s not as big as he used to wear it, but he still used Faberge Organics and Farrah Fawcett spray.

“You boys, I swear.” He redirects his attention to the kitchen they just entered. “Would you like some eggnog?”

“Oh, is it spiked? I’m driving tonight so I better not…”

“Nonsense. I have both options for you. I’ll get you the regular kind.” He waved off his protests and brought down a glass and retrieved the carton from the fridge.

“Oh, thank you! I appreciate it.” For me? Surely he didn’t mean he actually got both options for me specifically…

“Of course. It’s the least I can do since you’re apparently going to be waiting here ‘til the new year.” He says a little louder so his nephew could hear.

“I’m coming! Jeez. Give a guy a break.” Eddie skids to a stop right in front of Steve and he has to rush to drink his eggnog so his mouth doesn’t do anything stupid like gape or drool or confess his darkest secrets like how he’s still very much in lo-

“Hi.” Eddie addresses him, “Merry Christmas, Stevie. You look handsome as ever.”

Steve suddenly wishes he had taken Wayne up on his original alcoholic ‘nog offer.

“Hi. Thanks, you too. Merry Christmas.” Steve says and definitely does not stutter, nope, not at all.

Eddie was wearing all black, his clothes looked new. Nothing he’d ever seen before and it didn’t even show the faded look black clothes get after just a few washes. Eddie dressed up for this.

He tries to ignore the thought but it comes anyway.

Eddie dressed up for me.

It hasn’t ever really happened before, but Steve feels underdressed in his classic Christmas sweater and Levi’s.

Steve breaths in and realizes he can’t smell Eddie’s scent either.

They stand in silence, lost in each other’s eyes until Uncle Wayne reminds them they had a party to attend to.

“Oh, right. Yeah, of course. We’re just… Running fashionably late.” Steve supplies as he suddenly remembers he left his engine running. “Oh shit. Yeah, we gotta go otherwise I may be out of gas or the battery will be dead or something.”

Eddie cocks his head to the side, “You having car troubles or something? You know I can fix them for you.”

Of course Steve knew Eddie could fix his car, but he wouldn’t have gone to him even if he was having car troubles.

“No, I just left it running so it’d be warm for you.”

Wayne laughs at his confession before pushing them both closer to the door.

“Well you better get a move on then.”

“See you later, Wayne.”

“Yeah see you la—” Steve stops himself, biting his lip before deciding to continue his sentence. He likely would see Wayne later, he did have to drop Eddie back off later anyway.

He clears his throat. “See you later. Merry Christmas.”

Wayne acts like he’s somehow read Steve’s mind, if the look on his face is any indication. “Merry Christmas, son. Real nice seeing you.”

Steve blinked rapidly to control his urge to cry. “You too.”

Steve practically rushes out to his car before he’s slamming his door shut and buckling up as he waits for Eddie to meander over like they had all the time in the world.

“You ran outta there like your ass was on fire.” his ex states as he slides into Steve’s passenger side.

“Just want to make sure we get there.”

“You do?”

“Well, yeah.” He puts his car in reverse before pulling out onto the road. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well you seemed to deliberately try to sabotage your car.”

“I did not. As I said, I was trying to be nice and keep it warm for you. Excuse me for trying not to be a dick, I see that role’s already taken by you.”

Eddie hummed but shook his head, “You’re seriously not bothered about tonight?”

“What about it?” It’s stupid for Steve to ask. Of course he knows what Eddie’s onto.

He’s been dreading it since Halloween.

“About us pretending like everything is okay between us. You don’t think they’ll know? Or at least ask questions?”

“What kind of questions?” Steve really needs to stop doing this to himself. Maybe he’s a masochist.

Eddie shoots him a look like he’s really trying to understand Steve, like he’s trying to look into his soul.

“About why we still don’t have any pups.”

Steve flinches as if Eddie had just hit him rather than state the obvious.

“I don’t know.”

“They’re going to ask.” Eddie insists.

“I know.”

“So what do we say?”

“I don’t know! Jesus, it feels like we’re going in circles here.” His hands tighten on the steering wheel as Eddie sighs.

“They’re not young and dumb anymore. Sure they’re still a little stupid, but they’ll know it’s out of the norm.”

Steve has to stop himself from quirking a smile at that. They were still a little stupid.

“We tell them research shows not every mated couple has pups right away. That there’s a benefit to waiting.” As if they had a choice.

“Will they believe that?”

“You said it yourself, they’re still a little stupid.”

Eddie laughs despite himself, easing the knot coiling in Steve’s stomach.

“What if they insist something’s wrong? They took Sex Ed, you know.”

“Then we tell them our sex life is none of their business. Then I’ll ask them if they want to know how big your–”

“Okay! Okay, you win.” He laughs again, much harder this time. “As much as I enjoy a little flattery, let’s maybe not traumatize them more than they already are.”

“Hey, you asked.”

They drive in silence for the rest of the ride, only looking to one another as they pull up to the bustling house alive with lights and decorations.

Steve hadn’t even put any up this year, and thinking back on it the Munson trailer was pretty lacking too – except for a wreath on the door.

Eddie must be feeling bit more festive that Steve because he quickly pulls on a black santa hat from seemingly nowhere.

Steve worries his lip, too lost in thought to notice Eddie unbuckling and exiting.

Was he going to leave him here?

Steve doesn’t stress for too long, though, because he soon realizes Eddie is only moving around the front to open Steve’s door for him.

“Oh, thank you.” Steve accepts the hand to help him out.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

Steve freezes at the term of endearment.

“Eddie,” he warns but Eddie only shakes his head.

“We’ll need to use them once we’re inside, right? I figured it’d be okay while we were outside too.”

Oh. Oh.

Of course it’s okay. Eddie was just playing along with Steve’s plan, after all, he’s the one who left him last Christmas. He’s the one who insisted they pretend like everything was okay.

“Right. Sorry. Just… Sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.” Steve almost jerks at how earnest Eddie sounds. Not that Eddie hasn’t been serious before, but he just wasn’t expecting this. Not here.

“It’s fine.” Steve mumbles, mentioning how they should head in is just on the tip of his tongue.

“It’s not. I’m sorry. I know last year was rough on us, but I thought we were handling it good. I’m sorry you felt the need to leave but I completely understand. You shouldn’t be with an alpha who can’t even give you pups. I’m sorry I couldn’t be that for you, Stevie. I’m so sorry.”

Steve’s jaw drops. Eddie blinks away tears.

Before Steve can respond, before he can explain to Eddie that he’s got it all wrong, they’re interrupted by the front door opening.

“We’ve been watching you two flirt for five minutes, get inside and save it for the mistletoe!” Nancy shakes her head, curls bouncing all around, as the rest of their friends watch on from behind her or in the windows.

“We were just heading in!” Eddie calls back, big grin plastered on his face but only Steve saw how it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Come on, sweetheart.” he grabs Steve’s hand and pulls him along.

Steve is so fucked.

Luckily, dinner was ready for them when they got there. They’re friends all waiting on them to eat.

Robin eyes the fake couple, “What no surprise?”

“Um,” Steve looks to Eddie for help. “I thought we all agreed no presents?”

Nancy nods her head, “We did. But we thought there’d be a new member of the family by now. You could have at least brought a pie.”

“Oh. Um.”

Eddie scoffs, pulling Steve’s hand with him where he hadn’t let go yet to get away from the ambush.

“Hey, what we do in our spare time is our business not yours. Unless you want to know the details of our last time, Steve had–”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Don’t need details. Gross.” Robin scrunches her face up and quickly flees the room.

“Fair enough, come on, let’s eat. I hope you at least brought both of your appetites.” Nancy pats Steve and Eddie both on the back as she guides them to sit.

“Dinner, everyone!”

Steve and Eddie manage to get through their respective plates and even an array of desserts with mostly impersonal questions before Steve is excusing himself as he pushes his chair away from the table.

But to Steve’s misfortune Eddie excuses himself and follows behind him before they’re both being stopped by Robin.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Steve shifts uncomfortably as he takes in the nine pairs of eager eyes and grins looking up at him. “Um, to the den? Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Dustin points to the little poisonous plant dangling precariously above their heads.

“Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.”

Everyone chimes in, except Nancy who seems to realize something no one else has.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Steve really wishes Eddie hadn’t chosen to rise from his seat at the same time as him.

They make eye contact before Steve gives him a small nod, giving him the okay.

Eddie leans in capturing Steve’s chapped lips with his own for one chaste kiss.

“Oh, come on! My grandma kisses with more tongue than that.” Mike heckles them and the rest of the teens giggle along.

That doesn’t last long, though, because then Eddie is giving them a death glare making them all shut up.

Steve’s just about to escape when Eddie grabs his arm just light enough to get his attention. If Steve wanted to pull away he could.

“Can I talk to you outside?”

Steve sighs. He knew this was coming. “Yeah.”

“Oooh.” Max starts before they’re all giggling again but Eddie slams the door shut behind them, cutting off the laughter.

Muted colors wash over their faces, casting them in much more festive lights than Steve feels appropriate for this upcoming conversation.

“I keep my distance, but you still catch my eye.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I try to give you space, but I still see you ‘round, you know? The grocery store, when you go for your runs, the mall. I see you. You never see me.”

Steve usually feels like someone’s watching him, but he’s never picked up on Eddie’s scent. He must have worn suppressants. He hid from him.

“Eds,”

“Happy Christmas”

“Happy Christmas?”

“Yeah, I always kinda liked it better than merry. And it’s what it is, you know? Christmas. Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas. I’m sorry it’s not happier.”

“I’m sorry too. I know we said no presents...”

“Yeah?”

“I just had to get it for you, I couldn’t bear the thought that you didn’t have something to open. I know your parents are shit and the kids already weren’t doing anything. It’s just me. I had to.”

“Wait, you got me something?” Steve vaguely remembers receiving a package in the mail a week ago that he left buried under the junk mail and bills.

“Yeah, I did. You didn’t get it? I wrapped it up and sent it with–” he sighs, pulling off the black santa hat and running a hand through his hair. “With a note saying ‘I love you.’”

“Eddie,”

“I meant it, y’know? I love you. I meant it when I wrote it, I meant it when we made this whole thing official years ago. I mean it now.”

“What’d you get me?”

Eddie huffs a laugh more at himself than Steve, his face turning a deeper shade of red and Steve knew it wasn’t from the cold.

“A View-Master. But it has pictures of us from over the years. I know, it’s dumb. I just thought you’d see it and remember us.”

“That sound like it was incredibly hard to give me.”

“Oh, it was a bitch. But after I figured out how to get the tiny little pictures in the reel it was smooth sailing from there. The only thing I had to worry about was if you’d throw it out.”

Eddie misinterprets Steve’s silence and continues putting his foot in his mouth.

“Every time you kissed me I was convinced I must be dreaming. That I’d wake up some day and the version of you that loved me would have never existed. Eventually I started believing it but now I know what a fool I’ve been, but if you kissed me now, I know you’d fool me again.”

Steve couldn’t believe the words coming from Eddie’s mouth. He must be dreaming.

But he knows he’d not, because his dreams only ever showed them cuddled in bed in love. Or them with pups of their own. Or Eddie hating him, resenting him because they never separated.

This wasn’t a dream. This was Steve’s own personal nightmare.

He’d have to admit everything. He’d have to confront all of his feelings.

He’d have to deal with Eddie’s feelings, whether they be more heartbreak or the anger Steve’s been anticipating but never received.

“I was always supposed to be an alpha, or at least that’s what I was conditioned to be.” He starts, “When I presented as an omega, my life was shattered. Everything I was told I’d be was suddenly not possible anymore. But then you came into my life and everything made sense. I couldn’t imagine that other life anymore. All I knew was you and you were enough for me. All I wanted was for you to be happy.”

He wipes his palms on his jeans, realizing he forgot to grab his mitts. “Then when we… When I… When we realized… I was broken, you know? I am broken. First I’m not an alpha, but now I can’t even be a good omega? I left because you deserved better. I didn’t leave because I resented or blamed you! Eddie, I love you!” Steve’s mouth clamps shut as soon as the words leave it. There it is. Out in the open. The thing Steve had been trying to deny, the thing Eddie secretly still knew.

“You love me.” It wasn’t a question but Eddie still said it in disbelief.

“I love you.” Steve confirms, “Which is why I left you. I had to set you free.”

“Why?”

“If you love someone, you let them go. So that’s what I did.”

“I think you’re forgetting the very important part where if they come back to you then it’s meant to be. Stevie, I came back to you. So many times. I was practically nipping at your heels begging you to pay attention to me.”

“I forgot that part.”

Eddie’s brushing a curl of hair from Steve’s head, already planning his next words carefully.

“And I’d like to say, maybe if you’d let me, that you’ve come back to me too?”

Steve stepped closer, allowing Eddie to finally, finally wrap his arms around him. “It’s like I never left.”

“Good, because I choose you. Any day. Every day. For the rest of my life. No one could ever replace you, Stevie. I understand the life you want to give me, and trust me I wish i could give you that life too, but you’re who I want. The grass isn’t greener on the otherside. I know what I have here, in my arms, and I’m never letting you go.”

“I love you, Eddie. Thank you for loving me.”

“I love you too, Steve. You don’t have to thank me.” He kisses him with much more passion than he allowed himself just moments ago under the mistletoe.

When they break apart Eddie speaks again, “You can, however, thank me for the show I’m about to put on for those little peeping toms.”

He gestures at the window where heads duck on instinct.

Steve laughs, and Eddie thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s heard in a year, and it’s the best present he could ever receive.

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bittersweetarts · 6 months

Text

How to Disappear - Chapter 1

Soldier Boy (The Boys) x OC

Word count: 2389 words

Summary: Eden Reid can't help her curiosity, and Soldier Boy can't help but take advantage of that curiosity.

WARNINGS: Some depiction of violence, misogyny, and the usual TW for it being The Boys (Amazon)

Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - AO3 Page

Chapter 1: An Act of Kindness

Eden Reid was at the start of her daily fucking crack ass of the dawn morning jog across Laurance Harbor Beach, sandy-brown hair up in a high pony, dressed in her usual bland sweats and black running shoes, when she came across him, unconscious along the shoreline, the waves repeatedly caressing him, gently, before retreating.

As she stared at him, the young woman noticed his tattered costume and the bruising littered on his face and skin, and that he did not appear to be breathing. For a moment, Eden contemplated what to do, because she knew that she couldn’t take him to any emergency room or call 911.

Because she knew exactly who he was.

Of course, she knew exactly who he fucking was, pretty much most of the world knew who exactly he fucking was.

He was Soldier Boy, the old leader of Payback, fought in all those important wars in the last century, America’s first and greatest Supe, a man who was supposed to be dead and yet somehow was now alive, lying on the beach in front of her.

And apparently now a Super-Terrorist, according to the news outlets, who for the past week have only been reporting on the attack on the Seven Tower, and how Queen Maeve had successfully saved the country with her sacrificial takedown of Soviet-brainwashed Soldier Boy; his defeat was supposed to be symbolic of a new age for freedom and safety for the masses.

Unlike most of the people Eden knew though, she wasn’t blinded by the lies fed to the masses on a silver spoon by the media and corporations like Vought International.

Eden knew, Eden knew all too well that Supes were nothing but selfish bastards at best, and that none of them give a single fuck about saving others. Eden knew that the mainstream media hyperinflated the heroism of ‘heroes’, and failed to report the deaths of normal civilians, who were nothing more than simply collateral damage. And Eden knew that if she was told that unconscious man lying before her was nothing but a villain, then that was not the full story.

And she knew this all this because if her abilities were not so weak, she would have been just another Supe on Vought or some other fuck’s payroll, spouting the exact same bullshit.

But no, her ability of super strength was, ironically, too weak to even be considered as a D-list Supe, despite her family’s dreams for her, and now in her mid-twenties, she wastes her days away as a receptionist at a private clinic in East Brunswick. So much for the glamorous life of the ‘super-abled’.

However, her abilities were not weak enough apparently to carry the heavy ass man before her. Although he did not appear much taller than she was, he was at least twice her size, and as she lifted him up into her arms, Eden gave a silent prayer, hoping that she wouldn’t see a single living soul as she carried the unconscious vigilante to her car, and that the oversized grey zip that she draped over him concealed his appearance well enough.

What the fuck was is my problem? Eden thought as she dropped Soldier Boy into the trunk of Mazda, a black SUV she bought years ago when she moved out of her childhood home.

Eden didn’t need this shit. It’s been years since she dropped out of Godolkin and left behind the world of fucked up Supes and drugs, and she was at peace living in solitude at her cabin by Norvin Green Forest. She didn’t need to get herself involved in dangerous shit. So why had she gotten herself involved by kidnapping the unconscious man who was lying in the trunk of her vehicle?

Eden couldn’t explain it. To call it a curiosity would be an understatement; it was more like a compulsion. She had acted thoughtlessly, as though she were possessed by something, and now, on her half hour drive back to her home in the woods, Eden began to regret what she had done.

Days passed and life continued as normal for Eden. She kept her unconscious house guest in a spare bedroom of her small cabin, and went to her 9 to 5 throughout the work week as usual.

In a way, Eden hoped that if Soldier Boy woke up in her home, he would simply leave, and that she would not have to meet him or explain anything. But every evening, following her commute, Eden was greeted by her dark home, and when checking on her guest, she found him unconscious, but still alive and in her spare bed.

Eden often thought about whether she should call the cops or to dump the unconscious Supe back at the beach (or literally anywhere else). But she did not do that, because she knew that by this point, it would simply make her a walking target either for Vought or the government, and really, it was a miracle that she had not been caught transporting him to her place from the beach. For all she knew though, some government entity or Vought was spying on her this very minute.

So instead, the young woman resigned herself to the guest bedroom, where she left Soldier Boy to lay on the queen-sized bed, most of its real estate which he occupied. As he lay there motionless, Eden would periodically cleanse his face and exposed skin with a damp wash cloth (not knowing what else to do that would help him), before covering him with a light blanket. For the rest of the night, Eden would sit on the cream armchair by him, mindlessly watching the news on the small TV set in the room, on low volume, while thinking about anything and everything.

It's not that Eden did not have anything else to do, or that she had no one. Eden prefers to consider her lifestyle as a self-imposed exile, because she knew that she could not rely on anyone. Disconnecting herself from the world, being in nature, was healing to her, and even if she wanted to, she couldn’t get herself to trust anyone, not anymore.

And so, Eden spent several weeks like this, working during the day, going on her daily runs (though now in the forest rather than the beach), and barely sleeping at night, passively watching the news and her unconscious guest, who’s bruising slowly faded away. Soldier Boy looked exactly as he did in his old film, Red Thunder, Eden noticed, and had not aged in the slightest, which bewildered her.

But despite being the vision of health, Soldier Boy did not wake, and Eden did not know what to do.

More often than Eden would like to admit, Eden watched Soldier Boy, observing his long lashes and the way his now steady breathing never wavered – not even when Eden would wipe a damp wash cloth across his body – and she noticed how quickly his stubble grew into a fuller beard, but never to the point of the point of overgrowth, despite the lack of grooming.

Eden also noticed how humorous it was that practically the only topic on the news channels was Soldier Boy himself, and how it was reported that he was not a Super-Terrorist anymore, but an odd dichotomy of hero and victim to Soviet radicalization. And so, the narrative shifted, not that she believed it to be the full truth. Yet something Eden knew to be true was not on any news channel or online forum: Soldier Boy was not dead but alive, albeit unconscious in some cabin hidden away in the mountains.

Or rather that was the truth, until Soldier Boy regained consciousness.

It happened so quickly, and Eden was not entirely awake to even process exactly what happened.

One moment, Eden was drifting into sleep, in her usual seat on the armchair, with the lamp lights dim, the moonlight from the window behind filtering into the room, and the TV white noise drowning out the silence. The next moment, Eden found herself gasping for breath, suffocating, as two strong hands wrapped around her throat, pinning her to the armchair.

Eyes still half-asleep but now tearful, Eden met the vicious stare of her now-awakened guest, and suddenly, she came to her senses. Mustering up all her strength, Eden pushed against his chest, the supe-strength of which took her attacker by slight surprise. His hold on her throat relaxed slightly, and Eden quickly grabbed his wrists to keep his grip loose.

“Let me go –” Eden choked out, trying to breath.

As though confused, Soldier Boy tilted his head, but his expression remained in its remorselessly neutral expression. Fear shot through her veins when Eden realized that her strength did not affect him but rather spiked the smallest amount of curiosity.

“I was just trying to help you.” Eden sputtered out incoherently as she felt the grip began to tighten again. Soldier Boy narrowed his eyes at this, and then right on cue, something else caught his attention.

The tiny TV in the room switched to midnight rerun of The Cameron Coleman Hour on the Vought News Network, and broadcast invaded the room, with the image of Soldier Boy plastered over the screen.

“Good evening everybody, welcome back …” Cameron Coleman’s voice echoed throughout the room.

As it did, Soldier Boy loosened his grip on Eden’s throat, letting her go. Eden’s hand shot up to her neck, strands of her sandy-brown hair falling to her face as she gasped for more air. Her skin felt sore, and she knew that if she were a normal person, she would have been dead by now, at the very least from a broken neck.

“… and please welcome our guest of the evening, Defense Secretary Chris Barney.” The cheering track played on TV bounced off the walls in the guest room, while the camera panned from Cameron Coleman onto a burgeoned man his early-thirties, already balding, and Soldier Boy’s attention was entirely captivated by what was on TV.

“Mr. Secretary, thank you so much for joining us.” Chris Barney, in his mechanical voice, thanked his interviewer as well, and Eden, with her hands on her tender neck, watched as Soldier Boy was entirely captivated by the TV interview.

“I want to kick off by asking you to directly respond to the idea that Soldier Boy and this new age of Super-Terrorism, which involves Supes living in our country, should be the Pentagon and American public’s top concern.”

“See Cameron, I am not going to beat around the bush. Soldier Boy’s attack in Manhattan is an isolated incident, and the FBSA has taken great strides in tackling this matter, and in the mere weeks past, there is already a significant reduction in the number of violent incidences within the public, both super-abled and not. So to answer your question, no it is not a concern for both the Pentagon and America, especially as Soldier Boy is an isolated incident, and dead at that.”

Chris Barney’s voice bounced off the walls, and as it sounded off, and he answered follow up questions relating to terror attacks, which Soldier Boy ignored, as he began to speak over him, his voice both low but loud, full of contempt.

“So that’s it, huh – I’m dead. I’m fucking dead to the American people. Again.”

Eden did not know what to say, and took a step back, the back of her legs now pressed to the wooden side table by the bed.

“I fought for this country. I fucking gave up my life for this fucked up country, and what do I get in return? Fucking nothing.”

As he spoke, spitting out each syllable, Eden noticed how Soldier Boy clinched his fists tightly, and wondered whether he would just destroy her home, or kill her as well. She remained silent, not daring to even breath too loudly as though that would set him off. But Eden’s heart was beating at a million miles per minute, and she was sure that Soldier Boy could hear it.

Reminded of her presence, Soldier Boy turned around and glanced over Eden, as though he were a predator contemplating whether his prey was worthy of slaughter. His deliberation lasted only a few moments. With only two tall strides, Soldier Boy, in his tattered costume, came face-to-face with the young woman stood before him, brushing away a thick strand that had fallen in front of her eyes.

“What’s your name doll?”

Soldier Boy’s voice was deep, and though he did not swear or say anything malignant, Eden was still frightened, but willed herself to not shake in her fuzzy slippers.

“Eden,” Eden responded quietly, but Soldier Boy’s furrowed eyebrows made her paranoid that he either hadn’t heard her, or that she hadn’t actually said anything.

“Eden Reid, um, Sir.” Eden said once again, only slightly more audibly, while looking to the ground, so as to avoid his burning stare. At this, Soldier Boy chuckled and gently took push a hand to her chin, tilting her face upwards, making her look back at him again.

“Well, aren’t you sweet, Miss Reid.” Soldier Boy spoke, the side of his mouth tilting upwards. Inching his face closer, he continued speaking, his breath blowing over Eden’s face. “Have you got any pills, sweetheart?”

Eden shook her head slowly, now shaking slightly and regretting her personal stance on being drug-free.

“Weed?”

Eden shook her head again, and she felt her heart speed up anymore. At this, Soldier Boy turned away to let out a frustrated sigh, before facing her again.

“A good girl. Surely you can be resourceful and find something, doll. Age of feminism and all.”

Soldier Boy’s tone was condescending, but thankfully, Eden knew that her co-worker, Matt, had an affinity for her and substance abuse, so she might be able to score something from him. Pressing her lips together, Eden nodded, which made Soldier Boy smile. Letting go of her chi, Soldier Boy turned around and sat on the armchair to his right, paying attention to the TV again, which was still playing the Cameron Coleman interview rerun.

“Well then, chop-chop sweetheart. And afterwards, you can tell me where the fuck I am and why the fuck I’m here with you.”

Author's Note: This is an AU story where rather than getting captured, Soldier Boy/Ben ends up projecting himself into the Hudson River. I am not a Geography or Physics major, so none of this actually makes sense or is realistic.

– Chapter 2

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