#badly written oop

[reel-fear]

people who still make Joey the ink demon despite canon steering far away from that being the case this is for you I am sending u kisses XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO <3

People who make Joey well-meaning, sympathetic, a lighter shade of morally grey than canon I am also sending u lots of love <3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3!!

And people who generally steer wildly from the direction Bendy takes with its characters and has fun with it I hope to see more from all of ur aus and rewrites!!

[carbonfiction]

Dark Desires

older, best friends dad!Logan x reader

summary: a week ago you found yourself drunk texting your best friends dad; something that should've been a mistake, but you were sure in that drunken moment that Logan would know everything you'd kept from him all those years. You'd been thinking about it for longer than you'd care to admit; adding to the fantasy. so what happens when logan finally indulges you..

warnings: Swearing, dirty talk, F!Receiving oral, PIV smut, prone bone and missionary, Somnophilla (technically??), daddy kink, roleplay?? pussy sniffing?? Kind of voyeurism? But the person is very much asleep. Also tagging this for dubcon but it’s more pre established consent/free use and slight CNC vibes depending on how you view it? Tagged this the best i believe i can but ultimately you are responsible for your media consumption.

A/N: i don't know where this came from, other than i had a glass of wine and a naughty thought. i tried real hard on this and its a little darker than i usually write- not to mention longer- but i hope yall enjoy a filth filled piece of my intoxicated brain anyway. Et voilà.

Masterlist Words: little over 4k (oop- longest thing ive ever written.. i got carried away..)

Your heart is hammering away inside of your chest so insistently that it feels like your ribs are bruised and your breasts are trying to punch their way out of your dress.

You're still wearing the stupid thing and Laura is drinking another mimosa. Part of you is grateful for that. Yet while you want her drunk and snoring tonight, part of you can't help trying to stop her.

You make eye contact, give her the look. Tell her to slow down because you two have been down this road before. She gets wild, has fun for half an hour, and then spends the rest of the night dizzy in a bathroom asking deep philosophical questions like why do my eyes hurt? And why do guys suck? And do i still have puke in my hair?

But if she's drunk tonight, just enough to sleep like the dead, then what?

You set your own drink aside to check your phone for what feels like the hundredth time this hour and lift a shaky thumb to your texts.

You've read the thread again and again and again, and still you don't quite believe it. The party swirls around you. A hurricane of sound and the smell of cocktails is sour in your nose. You feel the heat of your friends, your fellow graduates. one day lawyers, doctors, professors, professionals in their field; and yet here you are reading over the texts again.

You feel like a little girl and yet simultaneously the most grown of women because you have a secret, a dirty little secret.

You were nearly as drunk as Laura is now when you sent the first text a week ago. You were celebrating the end of finals and you were curled up in bed after a long night out.

One of your other friends had flirted with the bartender. You'd told the girl to stop and Laura had reached from her stool and pinched your leg. Asking if you'd ever needed something so badly that you actually made a bad decision.

Everyone had laughed, all except you.

You know she was teasing and complimenting in the same breath. You're a good girl and everybody knows it. Reliable, honest and never involved with the wrong kind of guys.. Always a reason to why you were too busy to bother. You were studying, too busy hanging out with Laura. Too busy prepping for school, internships and the next two decades of your life.

You're no angel, although of course, no one was. You've had your share of regrettable hookups and disappointing boyfriends, but nothing that set your world alight. Nothing worth risking anything for.

But maybe what Laura had said thread under your skin more than you'd like to admit. Maybe you were just drunk enough to ignore the obvious risk.. Or was it that you'd been thinking about him for an indecently long amount of time?

So with finals over, diploma practically in hand. There was nothing preventing years of pent up lust from sending a jolt down between your legs, setting a crackling fire in your heart and making you sweat. Dripping down your neck, stomach, that spot on your lower back, they all tingled as you crouched on the corner of your bed and wrote a single text.

You: I need something.

You sent it. Had forced yourself to before you chickened out and immediately regretted it. You thought you'd worded it in such a way that you could play it off, pretend it didn't happen.

But you were sure in that drunken moment that Logan would read those three words and know everything you'd kept from him all those years. Every dirty thought, every horny fantasy, everything.

It was all right there in the text. 2am on a Thursday night and truly it could only mean one thing. You put the phone down, tried to make yourself go to sleep.

Logan was an older man with a life. A job, house and a child- your best friend- and you were sure he wouldn't even see the stupid thing until the morning when you could say you meant to message Laura. Not him, not her father. But then you picked up the phone again, half panicked and ready to change your mind, when you'd saw those little dots.

That meant he was writing something back, at 2am on a Thursday night, either in bed or his limo.

Logan: You need to go to sleep

Of course.. Responsible. That was the responsible thing to do. And you would do just that. But first you'd just write a quick text to apologize. Say it was the wrong number and sleep this off; pretend it didn't happen for the rest of your lives.

But.. what if, for once in your life, it could be easy? What if Logan did know everything? What if.. There was something else? Because that was how this all started, hadn't it?

You'd always felt something more, saw something different in his worn eyes, his gruff demeanor. Heard something he was saying when he really wasn't saying anything at all.

Or.. Was it all in your head? Was this only ever a one way infatuation? A young woman's crush, a dark fantasy that only grew darker with each new kink you discovered in yourself? Losing all confidence, you texted back.

You: sorry. Wrong number.

And that was that- or it should've been that- If it was only ever a one way street. You put the phone down, tried desperately to keep your eyes closed, but the moment you heard the phone buzz again you peek.

Logan: Is that true sweetheart?

Oh no, no. it wasn't true at all. You knew he knew exactly who'd texted and why; what you wanted him to do. You'd been thinking about it for years. Adding to the fantasy. Soaking your sheets in the middle of the night when you couldn't sleep, all that brought a temporary relief. If only for a little while; So, you text back.

You: No

Just that. A simple No.

Logan: You telling a lie?

You: Not exactly

Logan: So you wanted my attention then?

You: Wanted? No Logan.. Need.

And yes, you know need is a very strong word.

Logan: You feel very strongly about that huh? Strong feelings can be dangerous sweetheart.

You: what if i want something dangerous.

You answered back with the most honest thing you could say. And then there was a pause, a very long pause, in which you could see no dots, and even started to wonder if he'd abandoned you. Left you on read.

A thousand images erupted in your mind, different versions of him sitting and staring at your number- your words. Those cheap reading glasses perched on his nose as he wondered if this was some kind of game.

But if it was a game.. Logan was ready to play and after a few minutes your phone dings again.

Logan: you're being a real bad girl tonight, aren't you?

And then it wasn't your best friend's father you were texting. Well, it very much was- that was the crux of it, wasn't it? But now it was also the man. The man on the other side of the phone who was paying close attention.

You: Yes, daddy. very, very bad.

Now, In the darkness of his daughter's room, You imagine colors swirling on her ceiling. Your heart restless like a caged animal and there is a knot in your stomach twisting tighter and tighter by the second.

You don't know how long you've been lying here. 5 minutes or 5 hours. But you know you can't possibly wait another moment... But then you do, because you have to.

You haven't heard from Logan all day and that makes you afraid. Really genuinely afraid that He's forgotten or changed his mind.

Because, well, it's just you and Laura in here, isn't it? You're lying on the floor, a lumpy pillow under your head, and a spare, slightly musty blanket folded under your breasts.

Laura is snoring away in her bed, her limbs tangled with a stuffed animal almost the size of her- one you'd won her from a carnival. It was like old times, she slurred drunkenly. The three of you huddled together in her bed, giggling and watching some crappy reality show.

She'd tried to get you to join her and the animal in the bed, but you'd said no. Insisted that it was too hot tonight. That you'd rather be able to spread out on the floor. Fortunately, by the time you made it up to Laura's room, she was too far gone to argue.

Unfortunately, now though, there's a very drunk girl in her bed beside you, a possible witness to your depravity. And so you lie there, staring at the ceiling and forcing yourself not to text. Not to call. To just ignore the nagging doubt in your gut.

And yet again, you still find yourself opening the text thread. Reading through the things you told him, the things he'd told you. A formed plan and line after line of you promising things. All of the 'Yes, daddy I want this' the 'Please do that to me' The repetitive 'ill be a good girl, Promise' And then, at the very bottom, a safe word. It was when you'd agreed on the safe word that you knew this was for real. Not a fiction in a book or a fantasy playing out in a movie.

The word. Kitty. An inside joke from years ago. The word proof that all the little confidences and conversations held an attraction you were both willing to hide for the sake of decency

But.. you don't want to be decent anymore. You'd confided your fantasy, one that you had dreamt so many nights. Wished for it in the hot, comfortable haven of Laura's bed every time you'd stayed over. The thought of her older, attractively gruff father coming to you in the night and making you submit to his secret lust.

Of him pulling your panties to the side while Laura slept untroubled. Logan ravishing you while you whispered and mewled 'please, daddy, make me your filthy slut'

You've always been his filthy slut, haven't you? Deep In your heart. The thought is turning the wet spot between your legs into a soggen menace. You've been horny before, You've been needy before, but never like this- because you've never tried something like this.

Never wanted something badly enough to ask for it; or even beg for it. This was a dream, a dirty desire, a secret yearning never to be true.

Then you'd drunk texted. You told him and he'd responded, not with shock or disgust, but enthusiasm, cautious enthusiasm. But it was still only text messages. You haven't spoken to him yet, not properly at least. Even when you saw him walk in at the party, or in the limo on the way back to Laura's. You couldn't bring yourself to say a word. Your mouth was so dry, cheeks so hot. Laura had laughed and said you were flushed in the backseat- a lightweight to end all lightweights- when in fact you haven't had a drop to drink tonight.

You're going to throw your phone at the wall, you swear it. But No, that would probably wake her up. Instead, you conclude that you're going to find your pants, and you're going to leave this house and never come back. You love Laura but you can't bear it, can't believe you trusted him with this. You can't lie here and torment yourself about your decisions a minute longer about your need.

Then, your heart leaps into your throat. phone dropping onto your chest with a soft thud. Quickly you brush it off and turn onto your stomach. Your head hitting the pillow, eyes squeezed shut and pulse racing like you've run a marathon.

Through your closed eyelids, you see the glow of the hall light from the open door, only for it to vanish moments later. Either the door has closed or the light's been turned off, but you're not sure which because blood is racing so loudly in your ears. Breath escaping in overwhelming gasps.

Do you hear calculated heavy footsteps or is that your imagination? You struggle to listen for Laura. Is she awake or still sleeping? The tension so tight in your chest that you begin to feel dizzy, almost nauseous. Then comes the creak of the floor at the foot of your makeshift bed, the unmistakable presence of another person in the room, their eyes on you.

You can't stop your body from trembling slightly as the sheet is softly yanked away. Adrenaline courses through your veins, making your body buzz with anticipation.

Your legs are bare the cool air of Laura's bedroom. You're laying on your stomach. Face pushed into the pillow, eyes clenched shut as if you're locked into a deep, drunken sleep- like you should be.

Your legs are splayed out, dark lacey panties riding up the crevice of your ass. One of your ass cheek's indecently exposed... then a rough touch caresses over the swell of that exposed cheek, two big exploring hands, gliding over you.

You hear the grunt of a man, and you know it can only be Logan. He's the only other person home.

Your heart is beating so hard you're afraid you're going to pass out. Laura is on the bed, sleeping mere feet away, and her father is groping you in your supposed sleep.

So the question becomes: are you dreaming now? or are you praying this is as far as he'll go?

when Logan pull's the fabric of your panties to the side, you know he's willing to go much further. He's quiet in the darkness around you, but he's big and the house is old; the floor creaking and groaning as he readjust's his heavy weight.

Your panties are roughly hiked over one cheek of your ass, the sound of ripping lace filling your ears. Logan's hot breath roll's over your ass and the tremble in your limbs becomes a full shiver.

You can feel his scruffy face so close to your body, Feel his nose against the crevice of your ass as he roves lower. Dipping further until his mouth- his nose - is pressed into the folds of your bared cunt.

You hear how he inhales deeply, toes curling in response. Your fingers lay over Laura's spare pillow, the case tight in your grip. He's smelling you, nuzzling against your dampening skin not once, but many times. Lewdly breathing in your scent like a dog that's found something it likes.

His calloused hands spread you open so he can breathe deeper still and when hes as deep into your cunt as his face will allow, his wet tongue slides out to lick at you. You cannot stifle your moan at the feeling, immediately biting your lip to keep from growing any louder.

But with this the culmination of so many fevered late night fantasies, you dont know if you are dreaming.

His wide tongue laps at your swollen clit, swiping open the seam of your pussy and to the point just shy of your tighter hole. You hear logan growl into your wet slit like a monster unleashed from beneath the bed. Feeling how how his licks grow stronger, longer and twice as ravenous as he steadily turn your pussy into a drooling, dripping mess.

He laps at you in the quiet darkness of Laura's room, calculated and experienced as you fight to not to cry out. The pressure of an impending orgasm building so tight in your body that it feels time you woke up.

And so you take a deep breath, a rough gasped sound falling out too. Your fingers claw at the pillow as you flex your lower half.

"Hmm?"You grumble, pretending to bat away the cobwebs of sleep. "Wha-whats happening, What are you doing?" You ask, voice thick with mock confusion.

Within moments you feel Logan's tongue retreat from your pussy, a weight so much heavier than your own crawl over your half naked body. You feel him pressed tight against you, still clothed if the scratchy fabric tells you anything, but an unmistakable bulge is hidden inside. Hard and large against your ass you feel Logan's arm rub against your shoulder. A big hand sliding over your mouth.

"Quiet, sweetheart" he growls in your ear. "Daddy's had enough of your teasing"

Another large hand slides beneath your sleep shirt to cup your tender tits, The nipples diamond hard against Logan's palm. You cant help but moan into his hand as you plead.

"Please. Didn't mean to tease" its a wine, petulant in tone.

"Course you didnt.. Shame S' Too late now" he whispers against your ear, teeth biting into your earlobe. The hand on your breast trails down. Right the way down to his slacks.

"B-but Laura" You warn him in a whispered panic, hearing the sound of a zipper sliding down. you struggle teasingly, hips bucking back against him. Its not enough to cause a scene or enough to wake your sleeping friend- his sleeping daughter- but just enough to make him pin your body down. Enough for you to feel a fraction of his real strength.

Logan's muscles bulge from the effort of caging you against the floor and spreading your legs.

"Nuh uh, Stay still. Stay right where ive got you" he murmurs darkly in your ear, voice a low rumble. the words fire through you like liquid lightning as you bite into his palm, not to fight but to restrain a high pitched moan that you fear could wake the neighbors- not just Laura.

"nothing you can do now sweetheart, just gotta take it" Logan says and you hear the mocking smile in the words, feel the throb of his thick cock as it emerges from the confines of his pants. "Kept telling me you were a good girl, so show me"

With your stomach flat against the ground, legs spread wide beneath him, you can do nothing but tremble as his cock slips between your legs. The cock belonging to your best friend's father sliding deliciously across that little bundle of nerves that sparks a whimper of pleasure.

Your eyes roll back as Logans hips buck, cock brushing your clit again, running up and down your slit torturously slow. "fuuuck, you feel that? How hard you've got my cock?"

You're kicking your legs now, moving your hips. It could be viewed as a struggle but its not, not really, you're just so desperately excited you can't keep still.

"Don't need to fight me baby. Just let daddy in hm? let it happen sweetheart."

And then he's pushing inside your body in one heavy thrust; slow and impossibly deep. The weight of him inside your cunt making you mewl against his palm. All the years of secret yearning, wet fantasies and subtle flirtations have all led to this moment.

It doesn't take many thrusts before your tongue is rolling out of your mouth, licking wetly against his palm like a grateful dog- a bitch in heat. You try to use it to muffle the moan that follows, a pitiful sound mixed with pleasure, like you're ashamed to be in the situation.

Used and humiliated around logans cock.

Its push followed by retreat, a half thrust and then withdrawal over and over. "So fucking tight" Logan growls as you wiggle your ass, not certain if your trying to squirm further in to his grip or out.

He's stretching your walls apart, the burn of his size delicious with each heavy he offers. Each bringing a pulsing throb on your clit. "Yeaaaa, that's it, take it like a good girl.." he groans. "S' what you wanted isn't it."

Logans right, this is exactly what you wanted and more. His body trembles atop yours from the exertion, balls squeezed against your ass, his hand on and off clenching around your breast. His thrusts picking up in pace as you struggle and squirm to keep quiet even under his palm

"L-logan" you whimper as he pushes particularly deep, pussy squelching lewdly from your arousal, his hand barley muffling the word. He knows your close before you do, can feel your cunt clenching desperately.

"Getting fucked so good your gonna cum sweetheart?" he rasps in your ear, panting into it. "C'mon, tell daddy how good his cock feels."

"S-so good.. F-fuck yes daddy, please"

You whine and It is a struggle to pry his strong hand off your mouth to get the words out.

"Go on sweetheart. Cum, coat my fuckin cock. Show me this cute little pussy is mine"

and then his big hand clamps back over your lips as he begins to fuck you into the floor. Your orgasm crashes over you in burning waves. Every stroke becoming an ecstatic agony, overstimulation starting to buzz over your bones. Its a constant struggle to hold your moans and neither of you can move properly for the risk of waking Laura .

But Logans hips remain unrelenting, Fucking you prone on your friends floor. His balls swinging, swatting unbearably at your clit with every entry. The heat of him and being trapped against the floor is almost unbearable, but so is having to keep your whimpers quiet. sweat beads hot on your brow

you can hear his own desperate attempts at staying quiet. Broken only by muffled groans, grunts of exertion, and primal chesty growls as your cunt clenches wetly around him.

Yet the discomfort of overstimulation is no match for the absolute bliss of your submission. Your toes curling so hard you're on the verge of a cramp.

The friction between your clit, Logan's cock and the floor builds to an intolerable pressure. Something must give way. The temptation to lose all control and scream his name too great. Now that possibility of you blacking out is too dangerous to ignore. So you say it the word.

"Kitty!"

Not because you want to, but because in this moment you have to. Almost as soon as the word leaves your lips and sinks into the pillow, wet from saliva and tears, you feel his body shudder. muscles seizing while a heavy groan sounding out into the skin of your neck.

"you okay?" he pants softly worry creasing his brow. "Was it too much?"

Your wordless and it worries him. Making him pull back, cock slipping free with a hushed hiss as he helps you shift onto your back, so he can look at you properly.

Your hands rise, fingers caressing his scruffy cheeks. "M'okay" you pant, eyes on him. "wasn't too much. Promise."

No, in fact, It was just right- before it all overwhelmed you that is. Now? now you just want to hold him, make love to him. Hold onto something- someone that isn't really yours. Eye to eye, your mouth slides back over his, legs spread back open, ready to welcome his length back inside. Without a word you buck your hips down, beckoning him to fuck you again.

Things are much quieter this time. Pace slowed to deep grinds rather than shallow thrusts, pleasure once again coiling in your gut as you lean up to watch his cock disappear inside.

"Feel so good sweetheart, my good girl" he coos, lips against yours as his hand slips back to cup your breast. "My good girl with a fuckin perfect body"

You keep your eyes on logan, blissful smile across your face, and for this moment he's not your best friends father. Not with the way he's gazing down at you with a mixture of lust and long held affection. "always wanted you" he whispers, hand moving back from your breast to cup your cheek. "But I would have kept that secret forever.."

You squeeze him to your chest, heart stuttering at the admission as you lock your arms behind his neck, legs tight around logans waist. You whimper back his name, a plea on your tongue.

"Want you to cum logan.. Please, need to feel it"

You want it more than anything, to feel his cum pushed inside you; for it to drip out later as a downright filthy reminder. You kiss his neck, then cheek, and finally his lips. You want Logan to claim you right here on the floor, right under her nose and you know it makes you a bad friend. Your eyes roll back, hands clawing down his chest as you feel yourself giving up all thought to the rush that flows down the center of your body. The one that begins and ends in the wet, sticky place between your legs, Where the sensitive bud of your clit pulses like a dying star.

it's then he growls much too loud, and you respond back in a whimper, lips pressing tight as you cum together in panted kisses. Him pumping hot heady ropes of cum inside your cunt without reservation or regret as you clench in a vice grip around him.

Tomorrow you will be sore, you know it for a fact. But Tonight.. Tonight You can revel in a fantasy made flesh, your flesh and Logans wrapped around each tight. You drag weak fingers down through his damp hair, then his back, feeling the way his shirt is soaked through with sweat.

Logans panting has subsided by now, breaths no longer crackling besides your ear. He plants mouthy kisses at the juncture of your neck, ever so gently, like a sated wolf nuzzling at the muzzle of his mate. You giggle quietly as those kisses grow fiercer, teeth nipping at your neck.

"my good, great, naughty girl" he murmurs against your skin, voice soft. "you feeling okay sweetheart? sure it wasn't too much?"

You nod and he can feel the enthusiasm seep from the move as you grasp his face again. "Mhm, better than okay. Was perfect" you hum sleeplily, content in his hold, in the scent of him. Your eyes flutter, lashes tickling his cheeks as you kiss him long and deep, until the rub of his beard hurts your face and sleep begins to take you under.

You both know tonight was the culmination of so many fevered dreams. The breaking point of lust and its power that can't be fully expressed in words. So he holds you close- just as you do him in your rest- for a little while longer, until light begins to filter soft through the curtains and the reality of what you'd both done really begins to set in.

thats it!! lemme know what you thought anddddd yea! asks are always open to shoot the shit, drabbles and more! <333

[fallenprophets]

◦⭐︎・love lost

Ekko x reader

Summary: once a Firelight and Ekko's partner, you are now a mercenary, dragging yourself through jobs to make enough money to pay for food. After one too many drinks, you take a job you can't handle, and get hurt. It's no shocker who comes to your rescue.

Set at undefined time, no use of Y/N, gender neutral reader

Warnings: gore (not too bad but be mindful), swearing, mentions of death/welcoming death. 3.2 K words (oops), not proofread as always

A/N: icl guys this is one of the longer fics I've written, and definitely the angstiest one. Again, for my best friend, @sahxrii (go check out her recs, they're SO good) who I do everything for, lets be honest.

You have always prided yourself for knowing your limits; stopping when you need to stop, being reasonable about your own abilities. This has kept you out of quite a lot of trouble- avoiding fights you could not have won, not provoking people who were clearly able to whoop your ass. 

This, however, is very different, and not a common occurrence. 

First of all, you might be a little drunk- you’ve just had to numb the sting of your day with a drink, just a small one, in a tiny grimy bar run by a tall man with bright orange skin. Second of all, you’re running on two hours of sleep and painkillers (the painkillers are slowly wearing off, to make matters worse). 

And lastly, you’re in a really bad fucking mood. 

So, when your handler slides you a note with a name and address written in ugly red letters, you think fuck it, and take the job. You should’ve known this was stupid- you should’ve done what the sober, not exhausted version of yourself would have done. But instead, you accept with a bleary nod, because, to be frank, all you want at that moment is to break something. 

So you take the note, drain your drink, and leave the bar, shrugging on your worn coat. Adrenaline is already starting to buzz beneath your skin, your knuckles tingling softly in anticipation. You had never been this excited about violence when you were younger- in fact, people might have described you as gentle, even. But now, with all the things you have witnessed, all the people you’ve lost, hitting people brought a kind of release you could find nowhere else. 

Besides, there’s no one who remembers you as that gentle person left, anyway, so who are you disappointing? Yourself? You chuckle drily into the cold air, thick with gas. 

You stop in front of the building, your hands tucked into your pockets. It is big, red, and ugly (like the ink the name had been written in, you thought), bright colourful light shining from the broken windows. A Zaunite haunt, typical for a wannabe drug lord- the kind of man you were often hired to beat up or kill. You kick into the dirt at your feet, take a deep breath. You have hardly sobered up on the walk here, so your vision is still somewhat blurry, everything swimming around you like you’re underwater. 

Broken memories of swimming in an underground lake with him flitter through your mind, and you dismiss them, muttering a curse between your teeth. You roll your shoulders and make your way inside, striding in like you own the goddamn place. 

“You can’t be here,” a goon dressed all in black calls from the top of badly painted stairs. You look at him, an ugly grin splitting your face. 

“Kick me out, then,” you say, your heart already beginning to beat a little faster. 

Before you know, goons are coming at you from the sides, cracking their knuckles. The twat at the top of the stairs sneers down at you, his teeth oily and black. 

“You don’t wanna do this,” a woman on your left growls. She’s twice as big as you, her arms covered in bright red, winding tattoos. 

“I think I do,” you answer, raising your hands, which are already curled into fists. 

She lunges first, and you catch her with a right hook in the jaw. She hardly falters, but you drive your knee into her stomach. Now, she stumbles, and you leap up, narrowly avoiding an attack from another goon. You grab goon number one- the woman- and smash your forehead into her face. Her nose explodes, red and white flying all over you as she falls backwards. You spin and grab the nearest object- a stool- and bring it smack into the second goon’s middle. He collapses, and you walk over to him, drop the stool on his head. He stops moving. 

You turn to the giant of a woman, who is standing and looking at you with pure, unadulterated hatred. Her face is broken into bits, blood and spit dribbling down her chin. “Come on, then,” you say, cracking your already sore knuckles. 

She throws herself at you, twice as angry as before. You dodge, but she catches you in the shoulder. Excruciating pain shoots through you, and you realise too late that she has wicked little claw-like contraptions on her fingers. She comes at you again, slashing wildly. You jump out of the way, once again catching a claw in the face. It slices open your left cheek; pain explodes all through the area, but you grin. A challenge- you’ve always liked that. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind, a child’s voice screams at you to stop, to leave, to give up. The goon from the top of the stairs is gone. You falter when you notice this- he must be warning his boss, who is your target. You double your efforts, lunging at the woman. You manage to punch her in the stomach, but your second hit, aimed at her throat, is knocked out of the way as she drives her claws into your wrist. You scream, not really in pain but in sheer shock at the sharp metal slivers protruding from your skin. 

“Should’ve left,” she sneers into your face. You spit into the bloody mess that was her nose and wrench your arm back, kicking her, hard, in the sternum. She stumbled backwards and you pull your weapon- a machete, sheathed against your back- out, spinning it around. She assesses you for a moment, with what you realise now are robotic eyes. 

Oh. 

Oh, fuck. 

You are not fighting a person, you’re fighting a robot. Or something that’s half half- the blood spilling from her face gives you the idea that she might be made of flesh and bones, but those eyes- you’ve seen them before. She’s assessing your fight patterns, and she’s going to win. 

You duck out of the way of another attack, but she manages to graze your neck with her claws. You slash wildly with your machete, to no avail- she avoids each blow easily, and the ones that do hit, she ignores happily. 

Finally, one of your attacks hits- you aim the blow upwards, and the machete carves straight through her face. Blood, huge quantities of the stuff, gushes all over you, bone shattering under the power of your blow. You yank the machete out, momentarily stunned as she stumbles to her knees, eyes fizzing out. 

“Fuck,” you pant, stumbling backwards, “fuck you.” 

Your victory is short lived. More goons are coming down the stairs, armed to the teeth. You raise your weapon, ready to fight them all if it kills you, when you feel something strange. Your shirt has been sliced open- cold hair breezes around your stomach. You look down, and are somewhat horrified to find blood; your own blood. 

All at once, you feel nausea hit. You stumble to your knees, gasping for air. She got you- you feel the pain shooting through now. She managed to sink her dirty claws into your stomach as if you were made of mist and gas. 

Everything flickers in front of you as the last few days finally hit. You’re in so much pain, it’s almost incredible- had you been an author, you would have liked to write about this one day. It’s like your insides have been ripped out (they kind of have, you suppose) and set on fire, stomped on, pissed on- you almost laugh at the thought as your head hits the ground. 

You can’t remember when you fell. 

Your vision goes dark, flickering in and out. You see the goons approach you, pick you up unceremoniously. You are outside your body, floating somewhere beyond, watching through your eyes as they drag you outside. It is raining- you wish you could feel the raindrops on your face, one last time. 

You laughed, holding out a hand. It had been a while since you had experienced rain- in the Firelights hideout, you are protected by the huge leaves of the tree; and the Firelights hideout has everything (and everyone) you could wish for, so why would you ever go outside? 

But, after hearing you sigh softly and murmur something about the only thing you miss about your old home being the rain, Ekko made it his mission to bring it back. As soon as it rained again, he took you by the arm, promising a wonderful surprise. He offered to blindfold you, but you kindly refused when you saw that he intended to take you up the tree. You had climbed together, him guiding you gently upwards; and as you’d ascended, you had heard a beautiful, soft patter; a sound that made your heart beat speed up and your throat close. Finally, you had reached the top, and he had lifted the leaves to reveal a little area above the canopy, partly shielded from the rain with a makeshift structure made of leaves and cloth. 

Now, you sat in this structure, your side flush against his, a hand held out to the pouring rain.  

“Do you like it?” He asked softly, looking at you. 

“Do I like it?” You cried, almost incredulous. “Yes, Ekko, I love it!” You turned to him, grinning so widely it almost hurt. “Thank you,” you added after a moment. “Thank you so much, Ekko.” He smiled too, and you took his face in your hands and kissed him, and Gods knew you’d never been happier. 

You’re lying in an alleyway. It’s like you can physically feel the blood leaking from you, your life draining from the gash in your stomach and the holes in your arm. The goons have left, convinced you are dead- why didn’t they check your pulse, stupid bastards? 

It has stopped raining, but you’re soaked to the bone, lying there in the dark. Someone has stolen your jacket and your machete. 

You groaned as you lifted the jacket up to the light. A bright fabric, the colour of the sunset, now stained with dark greenish grey goo. You should have known that wearing your favourite jacket down into the mines was a stupid idea, but you’d done it anyway. 

“Stupid,” you mumbled to yourself, dropping the jacket into a heap on the floor. You wondered briefly if it was salvageable, but deep down knew it wasn’t. You’d have to find a new one, which would be nowhere near as nice. 

Someone knocked on your door, and a soft voice spoke your name. 

“Come in,” you called, still staring sadly at your jacket. 

Ekko stepped inside, his presence like warm sunlight. Despite the grief caused by the ruined jacket, you smile, turning to him instantly relaxing as he wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“I hear your jacket got ruined,” he said softly. 

“Yeah,” you muttered in response. “Upsetting.” He laughed. “I have something for you.” You pulled away, moving your hands to his biceps and looking at him. “What, Ekko?” You already knew what he was going to show you, but it warmed your heart all the same. 

“It’s not exactly the same colour,” he said apologetically, “but-“ 

You put a hand over his mouth, beaming. “I don’t care,” you said. 

He smiled back at you, releasing you to pull something out of his bag. It was neatly folded, but he held it out to you. You shook it out, and found a jacket, almost identical to the one that you had just ruined; it was a slightly lighter shade of orange, and the pattern on the back was a tree instead of the flowers you’d had on your last one. 

“You’re insane,” you said, in awe. You put the jacket on- it was a little too big, but who gave a shit? It was your jacket, gifted to you by your boy. 

You blink back into consciousness, and almost screamed. The pain coursing through you is like nothing you’d ever imagined; like being electrocuted and burned and drowned all at the same time. Despite the gaping hole in you, you want to curl up, to shield yourself from the wet and cold and pain. 

“Please,” you whimper into the ground, “please, no.” 

It’s not that you don’t want to die. In fact, you welcome death- you see it as a release more than anything else, from the bullshit life you lead. But dying here, like this- 

You start to cry, and you gag and retch as tears spill mercilessly. 

You are about to give in- you have given in- when a bright light seems to fill your vision. It is green and orange and yellow and pink and warm and fills everything around you. For a moment you think you’ve died, and this is some kind deity welcoming you into the next life, whispering I forgive you don’t worry as it carries you away. But no, the truth is much harsher than that. 

A face hovers into your field of vision, and warm hands tug your shirt upwards. You want to protest, but your throat is dry from all the retching and sobbing you’ve been doing. A cloth presses down into the wound in your stomach and you howl, eyes rolling back in your head as the pain grabs you by the throat and fucking throttles you. 

“Stop,” you manage to whimper. “Why- why are you doing this?” Your voice is hoarse, you’re crying again as you try to shut out the pain. 

You hear shouting- words like help and home and quick- and black out again. 

When you come to, you are no longer lying wet and dying in an alleyway miles from home (where even is home anymore? It’s just you, and that orange jacket, which you don’t even have anymore). 

Your surroundings slowly swim into focus (swimming, your brain sings, swimming in an underwater cave, hands on your waist, kisses all over). You are lying down, mercifully dry and warm. Pain pumps through you in waves, mostly coming from your wrist and your stomach. You wonder, again, if this is some afterlife- if so, it is far less cruel than your parents described. 

But then, you turn your head, and pain sears through you. 

But that is not what makes you cry. 

He lifts his head instantly as he hears your quiet sobs, and he’s at your side, a hand carefully gripping yours (he’s avoiding the bloody bandage wrapped around your wrist, you realise), the other gently brushing soft fingers over your bruised face. “It’s okay,” he says, even though you think he doesn’t mean it. It’s not okay- you ran away, got yourself beat up, almost killed, and he’s had to rescue you. Of course it’s not okay.

“Ekko,” you whimper. 

“It’s okay,” he repeats, stroking your hair away from his face. Instinctively, you curl away, wanting to hide your injury from him. He shakes his head, his eyes brimming with tears (or maybe you’re delusional, because who would cry over you?) 

“I-“ Your words are lost in a pathetic sob, and you turn your face away from him. 

“Don’t,” he says. A pause. “How are you feeling?” 

You croak out what should’ve been fuck but instead comes out as a bad imitation . You would’ve laughed, in any other situation. 

“What happened?” His voice is so soft, so kind, it makes you want to rip your eyeballs out and stuff them into your ears. 

You shake your head. You don’t want him to know what you’ve been up to since you left the Firelights. 

He lets go of your hand, and for a moment you think he’s leaving you. It wouldn’t surprise you, to be honest. But no, he doesn’t leave you. Instead, he leans over, inspects the bandages wrapped around your midsection. Your mind instantly flashes to him prodding it, digging his fingers into your wound and calling you names. You wouldn’t blame him. 

“You’re an idiot,” he says finally, still glaring at your bandaged stomach. 

“Excuse me?” That is the first full statement you manage to force past your shredded throat. 

“You’re an idiot,” he repeats with just as much gusto. “I mean, how could you just go and do this?” He gestures at your injuries. 

“I didn’t-“ 

“What, think? Yeah, I can tell.” His face is partly obscured, so you can’t tell what face he’s making. 

“I-“ 

“You’re so stupid. I mean, did you really think you could survive taking on all of the goons in that building?” He snorts to himself. “At least tell me the pay was worth it.” 

You’re somewhat incredulous. All the time you’ve known Ekko, he’s never been this outright mean to you. 

“What-“ you sputter, unable to find the words. 

“Did you not think for a moment that you might get killed?” He puts extra emphasis on the word killed, and it’s like a punch in the gut. When he turns his gaze onto you, you think you’d prefer to have the goons rip you apart than see him look at you like this ever again. 

“I’m sorry,” you manage to say through a fresh tightening in your throat. Your eyes sting and you’re about to turn away when you see his expression. 

He’s smiling. 

“What?” You almost choke out. “What is it?” 

His smile is the softest thing you’ve ever seen. It’s the sunlight, shining through the leaves of the tree; it’s the rain gently pattering on the roof of your childhood home. It’s the smell of old books and wood. 

It’s so painfully home. 

Your eyes sting, and you turn your face away from him, swallowing the bile rising in your throat. He still smiles at you like that, after everything you’ve done. 

He takes your hand again, his other beginning to gently trace patterns on the bandage on your stomach. It’s such a soft, kind gesture. He used to do that, you remember with a pang, when you two would lie in bed together: draw little patterns on your back with his fingers, when he thought you were asleep. 

“It’s okay,” he says, and for the first time, you wholeheartedly believe him. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, because those are the only words your throat will allow out. “I am.” 

“I know,” he murmurs. He hesitates, then leans forwards, kissing your forehead gently. “Just…” he trails off, his gaze now focused back on your bruised face. “Don’t do that again.” 

You promise him. Not with words, but with the feeling in your chest, the loosening of your lungs and throat as you watch him watch you. You promise him with the way your knuckles have stopped aching for more skin to break, with the way your eyes water again. 

You promise him with all that you have, because that is the least you can do for him. 

“I love you,” you mumble, almost sheepishly. 

“I love you too,” he answers; there is no hesitation, no layered but only if… behind the words. He says it back with the same confidence he gives orders, the words more of a declaration than softly spoken pretty things. 

“I’m sorry,” you add, after a few moments of just watching him breathe. 

“I love you,” is his answer. 

You shut your eyes, and he squeezes your hand. 

[optimisticmosquito]

What if Shen Yuan was transmigrated into Shang Yuan, youngest son in the merchant Shang family and Shang Qinghua's little brother.

At first Shang Qinghua doesn't put much thought into it. He never did write much of a backstory for the other peak lords, so it makes sense the world has kind of just, written itself? Shang Yuan is several years younger anyways (I'm thinking 7-10 years) so it's not like he has a lot in common with him either. Shang Qinghua even joined CQM when he was barely out of toddlerhood. Shang Qinghua was fully prepared to just slowly fade out of sight and mind in his new family, just like he had in his old one.

Except this kid just really hates his guts? He gets letters regularly from his family, telling him how a-Yuan has been asking about him. But every time he visits the brat just shouts and kicks him around. All out of sight of their parents so he can't even go and complain to them! In their eyes Shang Yuan is their perfect little angel.

Honestly, Shang Qinghua isn't even that surprised the original goods turned into a villain if this was how he grew up. And oops, did he say that out loud? Shang Qinghua peeks down at the rigid brat he's holding under his arm in an attempt to stop him from trying to beat him up. With big eyes the kid turns his head up and whispers "you're a transmigrator too?".

From that day on Shang Qinghua can't help but feel a little bit less lonely, and maybe even a little happy. Who would have thought his number 1 anti fan would transmigrate into his didi! They start writing letters, both complaining about the system, and Shang Qinghua about the sect and his martial siblings. When he starts working for Mobei-jun he tells Shang Yuan everything about it. He even has a reason to go back and visit his family!

Shang Qinhua quickly accepts his responsibility as gege. Helping (or trying to) his little didi grow up to a nice young man and giving tips when Shang Yuan starts cultivating as well. And despite Yuan-di's tsundere behavior, Shang Qinghua knows he has his back as well.

In his own badly written stallion novel, Shang Qinghua finally finds the family he didn't have in the real world.

Now as for pairings. Bingyuan would be hilarious just because I want Shang Qinghua to ask, with a shit eating grin, how long Shang Yuan has been coveting his own nephew. And then for Shang Yuan to try and beat the shit out of him for it.

Jiuyuan would also be an interesting pairing (it can always be a jiuyuan if you're brave enough). Shang Qinghua knows his scum villain is misunderstood and not as bad as the book and rumors portrays him to be. But also he knows Shen Jiu is at least a dozen traumas in a trenchcoat. Does it really have to be his didi helping Shen Jiu deal with all of that? Sure Shang Yuan doesn't seem to mind, but Shang Qinghua also knows his didi makes some really stupid choices if you take your eyes off him. But also he's too much of a coward to say anything to Shen Jiu's face.

Hm, better to keep an eye on that from a distance.

[cactus-cuddler]

𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒍𝒚 ✭ 𝑨𝒕𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: dom!Bucky Barnes x Sub! virgin female reader

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Plot: There is no specific plot. Bucky and the reader like tease and are both dangerously attracted to each other

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: explicit sex, use of nicknames as "good girl", "slut" and "whore". Daddy kink and dirty talk. I don't think there are any other warnings.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 4.5k (sorry)

-------- ≪ °✾° ≫ Author's note: sorry for any mistakes that may be there, English is not my first language! And sorry if the scenes may be badly written, it's been a long time since I wrote a smut between a woman and a man.

I write this ff because today I turn 18 (Happy Birthday to me!!) and I want so sign it. From today I can interact with all the "minor DNI" posts!!

I don't care if you are minors, read it if you want <3 ------------------------------------------------------------------------

James Buchanan Barnes. The very mention of this name can make your heart race, recalling his powerful presence, his toned physique, and the intense gaze he fixes on you whenever your paths cross. Your thoughts often wander to him, an obsession that fills your mind in the quietest hours of the night.

Yet, despite the thoughts that consume you, you're still a virgin. You’ve never found someone you were willing to give your heart to, let alone something more intimate. You've had relationships, but each time, you’ve held back, refusing to let things go beyond harmless flirtation. The thought of being vulnerable like that has always kept you at a distance. But with him, it’s different. There’s something about Bucky that makes you reconsider everything.

Your relationship with Bucky is hard to define. Sometimes you get along well, but other times, you find yourself wishing he would just disappear. And then there are moments when you wish he’d stop arguing with you altogether, using his frustration in ways that words can’t express. Is that too much to ask?

You’re curled up on your couch with a cup of hot chocolate in hand and a blanket to ward off the winter chill. As you flip through the channels, trying to find something to watch, your phone buzzes with incoming messages. Seeing his name on the screen sends a pang through your chest.

Teasing him has always been your favorite game. You start a random movie, not really caring about the plot, as you wait for him to arrive. The distant sound of a motorcycle engine signals that you're in trouble now.

When the doorbell rings, you open it, quickly masking your excitement. He’s standing there in his pajamas, and you can’t help but giggle. His pants have a childish space motif, and the matching sweatshirt does nothing to diminish his appeal. You’re wrapped in a blanket, so you're not much better off in his eyes.

"Popcorn?" he asks, and you invite him in. As he sees the movie already playing, he reminds you of his earlier request. You shrug and sit on the couch, munching on the popcorn he brought.

“You’re a bad girl,” he says, taking the remote to choose something else to watch.

“Just the way you like them,” you reply with a smirk.

You and Bucky work together in the same company, nothing out of the ordinary. You handle the computers and accounting, while Bucky works with metal. His vibranium arm would be perfect for his job, but he rarely uses it. "Oops, I’m right-handed, I do it without thinking," he says when someone asks why he doesn’t use his more powerful arm. You’ve seen how he looks at women, and it stirs something within you—a mix of jealousy and curiosity.

You first started talking after you accidentally spilled coffee on his white shirt a few months ago. To make amends, you offered to clean it, using a trick you’d read in a 1950s magazine titled "How to Be the Perfect Housewife." Not that you’re aiming for that role; you detest the idea of being confined by outdated gender roles. Patriarchy is disgusting! You would never want to marry a man in your life who confines you to a house with four children, a dog, three cats and a cactus to take care of alone.

Your conversations started off innocent enough, but things took a turn when you began texting late into the night. You both started teasing each other, pushing boundaries just to see how far the other would go. It became a game, one where neither of you wanted to lose face, even as feelings began to creep in.

So, how did he end up at your place tonight? You’re not sure, and it worries you. He’s never been to your house before. Sure, he’s given you rides home after work, a habit that started after the coffee incident. It became a routine, all because you playfully challenged his chivalry. “You? A gentleman? Don’t make me laugh,” you had texted him one morning. That very day, he was waiting outside your building, opening the car door for you. "It doesn’t mean anything," you had said to him in thanks. But tonight feels different.

The movie he picks is just awful. It’s filled with scenes of sex without sense.

“Is this too much for you? Should I change it?” he asks each time, and you just shake your head. In your life you see, read and write stuff more scandalous.

“How boring, if done like this even sex becomes boring," Bucky complains about another sex scene with the missionary position.

“You talk big, but I bet you couldn’t do any better,” you say, challenging him, not realizing what you’ve just started.

“With just one touch, I could make you scream my name,” he says, his voice low and intense. You can feel the heat rise to your cheeks, but you’re not backing down.

“I’d like to see you try,” you whisper, the challenge clear in your voice.

He looks at you, his gaze lingering, but then he sighs and turns back to the movie. “I’m a gentleman,” he says softly. “I wouldn’t take advantage of you like that.”

You feel a wave of frustration, mixed with a sense of longing that you can’t quite shake. You don’t want him to be a gentleman; you want him to see you as more. You’re a ruthless woman, you won’t give up easily. If you are not satisfied with him, well you will do it yourself. In front of his eyes.

You take off your blanket and lift your shirt up to your hips and pull your panties off throwing them on the floor. You lie down on your back and put your feet on his knees. You put two fingers in your mouth and suck them in front of him. ‘He provoked me’. You repeat yourself so you don’t feel guilty about what you’re about to do.

You do small circular movements on your clit and slowly start to sigh for the pleasure you are causing yourself.

“Bucky..." you say between moaning as you start to penetrate your little cunt with two fingers. Bucky is doing everything he can to hold himself back. His erection thills in his boxer asking to be released and enjoy for you and your warmth however he does not want to give up. It will not look but has solid moral principles and not taking your virginity is one of those.

“Bucky… please fuck me with your cock,” you say clenching your couch with fingers to hold back your spasms. This provocation has hit the mark, his erection is now painful and not releasing it could drive him crazy. Reach out to your face, sweat drops are playing on your forehead. He orders you to sit down and you perform. You are sitting one next to the other and you have your leg over his to allow him free access to your pussy.

"I won’t take your virginity," he announces by passing his thumb along your big lips. An unsatisfied grunt comes out of your lips, you want more. Much more than that.

“Why not?" you complain "I want you Bucky, I want to shout your name" add grumbling.

"It would be a nice show, believe me sweetheart but I can’t deprive you of your first time with someone you love," he says. In a flash all the previous excitement fades away as if in a spell. You close your legs and ask him to leave. "You can’t decide what’s right or wrong for me" you told him by pulling out your voice. He’s made his choice, and for tonight, that will have to be enough.

As he leaves, you find yourself wondering what it would take to bridge the gap between you. Because despite everything, one thing is clear: you want more from him, and you’re not sure how much longer you can wait.

The next morning, you wake up hoping that the night with Bucky was just a bad dream—a nightmare you could shake off with a shiver. But as you lie there, staring at the ceiling, you realize that it was all too real. The memory comes rushing back: you, vulnerable and exposed, touching yourself in front of him, moaning his name, only to be met with rejection. Your cheeks flush with a mix of shame and frustration. How could I have let myself go like that?

But there’s another thought that creeps in, unbidden. Despite everything, a part of you finds it almost sweet that Bucky doesn’t want to take your virginity unless it’s something more than just lust. He wants you to save it for someone you truly love. But the truth is, you do want it. You want him. The image of his lips on yours, his hands exploring every inch of your body, flashes through your mind, and you feel a pang of desire so intense it nearly takes your breath away. You’ve fantasized about him for so long—wondered if he could fulfill the dark, desperate needs you’ve kept buried. You’re sure you wouldn’t regret giving him your first time, so why should he?

‘Maybe he doesn’t want me,’ you think suddenly, the possibility of hitting you like a bucket of cold water. ‘Maybe I’m just a game to him, someone he can tease and torment without ever really wanting.’ The thought is unbearable, twisting in your gut like a knife.

You force yourself out of bed, deciding that you won’t let these thoughts ruin your day. Before work, you brew a hot cup of coffee, hoping the caffeine will give you the energy you need to push through. You can’t face Bucky today—not after last night. Instead, you opt for your favorite mode of transport, the one so many dismiss as the “poor man’s commute.” But you’ve always found the train comforting, a place where you can disappear into your thoughts without the pressure of small talk or the need to keep up appearances.

The ride is uneventful, the rhythmic clatter of the train soothing your nerves somewhat. When you arrive at your stop, your office is just a short walk away. You’re early—too early, really—so you take your time, letting your mind wander as you stroll. The morning air is crisp, and the world feels strangely peaceful. ‘Why can’t my mind be this calm?’ you wonder, but of course, it’s not that simple. Last night’s events linger, casting a shadow over everything.

Just as you’re about to step inside, your phone rings, the sound jolting you out of your thoughts. His name flashes on the screen, and your heart skips a beat. What does he want now?

"Y/N, come down now or we'll be late!" Bucky's voice snaps through the line, sharp with irritation. You can almost see the frown on his face, the way his brows would knit together. But with a calmness that surprises even you, you tell him you're already at the office, having taken the train.

"I hope you're joking," he growls, his voice low and husky, sending a familiar shiver down your spine. Even when he's angry, it's a voice that could melt you.

"Sorry, I should have warned you," you reply, hanging up before he can say more. The truth is, you didn't want to face him this morning, not after last night. The thought of seeing his cold blue eyes, remembering how they watched you with a mix of desire and restraint, makes your chest tighten.

You greet your colleagues warmly, slipping on your glasses as you sit at your desk, but your mind is elsewhere. The memory of Bucky's gaze, the way his hand almost trembled before he pulled away from you, keeps playing on a loop.

Hours pass in a blur of work until lunchtime, when Bucky suddenly appears at your usual spot in the break room. The moment you see him, your heart skips a beat. His presence fills the space, commanding and intense. You watch as he approaches, your colleagues' chatter fading into the background.

"I need to talk to you, Y/N," he says, his voice a mix of urgency and something deeper-something almost vulnerable. His eyes, however, are still guarded, a wall you've never been able to fully break through.

Your colleagues exchange knowing glances, smirking, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. Without a word, you follow Bucky out of the room, conscious of the curious eyes behind you.

He leads you to the women's bathroom, and as soon as the door closes, he turns to you, his expression unreadable. "I'm sorry," he begins, but the words seem empty, as if even he doesn't believe them.

"For what?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart is pounding now, and you don't know if it's from anger, confusion, or the mere proximity to him.

"For last night. I have no right to tell you who should take your virginity," he says, but you quickly cover his mouth with your hand, the heat of embarrassment rushing to your face.

"Don't say that out loud!" you hiss, glancing around as if someone might be listening. The idea that anyone might hear about your inexperience makes you cringe.

His lips curl into a smirk beneath your hand, and he gently removes it, his fingers brushing your skin in a way that sends a jolt of electricity through you. "Do you still want it?" he whispers, leaning in close enough that you can feel his breath on your neck. His voice is dark, teasing, but there's something else there too-a hint of uncertainty, as if he's afraid of your answer.

Your breath catches as he presses his knee between your legs, his hands firm on your hips. God, why does he have to be so confusing? You need him, but his mixed signals are driving you insane.

"You have to understand, I don't want you to regret anything you do with me," he murmurs against your lips, finally adjusting his knee just where you need it. Your body responds instantly, a wave of heat pooling between your legs.

His words are laced with concern, but also with a promise of something darker. "Even though it may not seem like it, I really care about you," he continues, his thumb tracing circles on your cheek, a gesture so tender it makes your chest ache. You feel small under his gaze, like a puzzle he's trying to figure out. And yet, in this position, you're certain you could unravel completely in his hands.

"The day I fuck you, I want to hear words like 'I love you, Daddy' coming out of your mouth. I don't want it to be a simple one-night stand, okay?" he finishes, pulling back just as quickly as he came, leaving you breathless and reeling.

As the door closes behind him, you're left with the echo of his words, your thoughts spiraling. 'How can he have this much control over me?' you wonder, struggling to steady your breath. Your heart is racing, your body still humming with the desire he left behind. Until yesterday, you were convinced your relationship with Bucky was built on mutual dislike and a twisted game of dominance. But now, you're not so sure. There's something deeper-a need, an almost primal urge to possess and be possessed.

The day you finally give in to him won't be gentle. You can feel it in the way your bodies clash, in the intensity of his gaze. It will be raw, fierce, and everything you've secretly craved. And when it happens, you'll be ready to let him see every part of you-the parts you've never shown anyone else, not even yourself.

After work Bucky takes you home, you decide to let go of what happened because now you know that he wants you as much as you do. He wants to be there for you and give you everything you can give.

"I've been thinking about what you said all day," you admit, adjusting Bucky's seatbelt. It feels tighter than it should and you think it's the reason you're short of breath when in reality it's the man in the driver's seat who's gripping the wheel in a way that's too erotic for your tastes.

"What conclusion have you come to?" he asks without taking his eyes off the road. The way his jaw clenched when he spoke and the hint of a neat beard on his cheeks spark some very perverse thoughts in you.

"I want you Bucky, so much. It wouldn't be a one night stand, I know I'd be addicted to your body pressing against mine," you admit bravely and a smile lights up his face.

“Show me how much you want me,” he taunts you.

You decide to please him without using your sharp tongue and you reach out to the crotch of his pants to feel what you have dreamed of so much. Under your fingers you feel him slowly swelling and as you feel it you bite your lip to hold back the excitement that is growing inside you.

You unzip his pants while he is still driving, you notice that he has slowed down and on his face you notice the desire he has for you. As soon as you free his cock you notice that your fantasies did not do him justice. It is definitely bigger and thicker than the one you imagined you rode every night. You wet your hand with saliva - as you have seen done in many pornos - and you start to touch it enjoying the heat on your hand.

You make small movements with the palm of your hand and the idea that someone could see you does nothing but excite you more. You are not an expert, you do not know what he might like more but despite this the movements of your hand are decisive.

"I knew you were a good girl," Bucky says from behind the wheel. Seeing how he's reacting to your touch excites you even more. His breathing is no longer regular, you see his expression satisfied by your touch and when you notice that there are only a few meters left to your house you almost feel sorry.

You start to pump faster, you have decided to challenge yourself and you want to make him come before you get to your house. As your hand increases the speed his sighs become faster and faster and when you see from his look that he is close to that point you take off your belt and lower yourself towards his big cock and take his tip between your lips until your mouth is filled.

"Such a good girl," he says to you while parking the car and you look into his eyes smiling, swallowing all his seed and licking your lips to show him that you liked it.

He fixes his cock in his jeans and then follows you into your home. He intends to return the favor you have done him and will really make you scream as he always threatened while he was teasing you. Once the door is closed behind you, you begin to kiss with desire. Your tongues touch and search for each other and feeling your taste mixed with his cum gives him another throbbing erection despite the orgasm of a few minutes ago.

“I knew there was a whore inside you looking for my cock," he tells you in a hoarse voice. Your body is on fire, you need him to give you more. He makes you lie down on the same couch where he rejected you less than twenty-four hours ago and begins to undress you hastily without paying attention to your clothes. He scatters everything around the room and when you are finally naked in front of his gaze he admires you in amazement.

You are perfect. Your body is perfect in his eyes. Every little imperfection that you see in it are things that he loves. You are a Greek goddess in his eyes and every part of you belongs to him and you both know it. From the day you stained his white shirt with coffee you already knew it would end like this.

He starts taking your breasts with his big hands, only his mind knows how many times he has wanted to touch them, bite them and suck them and now everything is possible. With his metallic hand he holds one of your nipples tightly, the cold touch of his hand makes you arch your back with pleasure and in the meantime he sucks and bites the other nipple making you want even more. Your gasps are music to his ears, your body is like an instrument in his hands and with every touch he is able to let out those little sounds he loves.

“Bucky, please I want more,” you beg with the help of your needy gaze.

"What a needy whore, isn't you?" he sneers and you nod to agree with him. You want to be his whore for tonight and for all the nights to come. He leaves a trail of kisses all over your body and then lingers on your pussy. The place where you need him to focus.

With his thumb he begins to touch your clit and in the meantime his gaze is fixed on your face dominated by pleasure from that insignificant touch. While with his thumb he continues his work with his middle finger he begins to penetrate your cunt going deep to feel how wet you are just for him.

"What a wet pussy we have," he compliments and then licks your juices from his fingers and satisfied he licks his lips.

He makes you sit with your back to the backrest and positions himself between your legs, placing your legs on his shoulders. As he enters you with two fingers, he begins to lick your clit while your hands are firmly on his head. You push him closer to you while desperate cries escape from your lips. Before that, you had never felt anything more pleasurable. His tongue moves expertly on your tight pussy sucking the right spots and alternating with licking.

“Bucky… I’m about to come,” you tell him between sighs of pleasure.

"Good girls only come when they are told, you are a good girl aren't you?" he tells you after taking his tongue off the place he was devouring with pleasure. He puts his fingers in your mouth and you impulsively suck his fingers taking all your flavor away from him. Your pussy is sweet and the taste and smell make Bucky ecstatic. He starts to undress too, letting his erection come out, now it seems even bigger than before and you don't know if you'll be able to take it all. But you know you'll make it, you want to show Bucky that you're a good girl. Good girls can take all the cock.

Before filling your pussy Bucky positions himself between your breasts and you squeeze them around his hard and veiny member. He starts moving with restrained rhythms while you stick out your tongue to lick the tip when you have the chance.

"You have no idea how much I've dreamed of being between these tits," he tells you between thrusts. Your hot tits around his throbbing cock are an incredible sight. Then Bucky takes a condom from his jeans pocket and orders you to put it on him.

You tear it off with your fingers and place it on the tip of Bucky's cock and then with your lips you cover that member with the condom.

“You're my good girl," he says, caressing your cheek. Then with a brusque gesture he turns you around and you find yourself doggy style on the couch with your legs wide open. He spits on his fingers and lubricates your pussy and then he enters you. Slowly and trying to get you used to it, it's still your first time.

His thrusts are slow but firm. It's not enough for you, you want more.

"Bucky..." you say between sighs.

"I know, baby... let your pussy get at ease to my big cock," he replies, putting his hand around your neck and then touching your breasts with the nipples still hard and stained by him. As soon as he notices that you no longer feel any pain, he increases his speed. He fills you up completely, making you scream with pleasure, he doesn't give you time to make you understand that he's sending your mind into a spin.

"Bucky... I'm going to..." you can't finish your sentence because he slaps you on the right butt. The slap sends you into paradise.

"You can only come when daddy tells you to," he replies, slapping you again, this time on your left ass cheek making you scream in pleasure.

After many deep and fast thrusts you feel the orgasm inside you, holding it back is fucking hard but you don't want to disobey Bucky, or rather, your daddy. He has taken away all your sharp responses with his cock turning you into a perfect whore for him. Like you always dreamed.

"Come for daddy, doll," he orders you, he's almost ready to come too but he wants to do it to you. On top of your body. You don't have to be told twice and you come on his big cock and as soon as he comes out of you he takes off the condom and orders you to get on your knees in front of him.

He starts touching himself in front of you and explodes in an orgasm on your beautiful face throwing away every single ounce of purity you had left. You lick your lips hoping to be able to take some of his cum and be able to taste it again like in the car. He grabs your neck and kisses you with fury. Your mouths both taste like the sex you shared and you can't be happier.

“You did really well,” he tells you and you bite your lip at the compliment. “I'm proud of you," he adds, giving you another long, longing kiss.

You go to take a shower to wash your sweaty bodies but "by mistake" Bucky's cock enters your pussy again and fucks you in your shower again giving you the second orgasm of the day and again by mistake his cock ends up in your mouth and Bucky teaches you how to give a blowjob that satisfies him. As soon as you finish the shower you slip into your bed, he wants to be with you after what you have shared and once in bed you fall asleep hugging each other.

The next morning, thankfully a Sunday, you devour everything you have to eat. You were so into sex that you didn't have dinner last night and your arguments resume but end with you rolling around in bed.

This new perspective excites you more than it should, every argument now corresponds to a perfect fuck and now to shut you up Bucky will put his cock in your mouth. "What a beautiful whore you are when you suck it," and these dirty words help you get an orgasm. Bucky says good girls like to be called whores and you are one.

"You're all mine," he tells you while you're sitting at the kitchen table where you've just finished eating, he said he wanted dessert so you you decide to propose yourself as a meal. You took off your panties and without being asked he was between your legs sucking and licking his sweet dessert.

"I love you daddy," you say closer to your orgasm, those are Bucky's favorite words. They make him understand that everything about you is his, your heart, your perfect cunt, your mouth and the rest of your body.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐕𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊 | Teaser

He's a slave to his desires.

Tags/Warnings: Monster Hunter!Jungkook x ???Reader, Angst, Violence and murder, Romance, Strangers/Enemies to lovers, Fluff, Some comedy?, NSFW, Werewolf AU, Vampire AU, Magic AU

Wordcount: ??

A/N: This was originally meant to be a Halloween Special, but ended up growing way longer than just a 1k drabble as intended, oops. I hope you'll still like reading it- I'll attempt to write the chapters more 'stand-alone' so they can be read without an open ending, while still making you look forward to more.

-> Masterlist

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

The smell of blood is clear in the air. The sight of it is even more obvious.

Amongst the snow, his wounded prey tries to run from him, leaving drops of crimson against the white, a clear trail to follow. The gun in his hand is still warm, nozzle hot from the most recent firing, bullet most likely still lodged into skin and muscle. It was deserved, long coming, a fate decided, a task completed.

So why is he chasing you?

Because you were not his target.

The bullet in your body isn’t even his.

Jungkook is said to be cruel, unforgiving, ruthless and without mercy- but Namjoon, the only leader he respects enough to follow blindly, would deny that any day. Jungkook has a strong sense of justice, believes what he does is for the better, something that has to be done. So it wasn’t surprising that when he’d used the phone at the hideout of the guy, and called his leader, there had been a faint stutter in his words as he gives him the info he needs.

“He’s dead. I’ll leave him in the container for his people to find.” Jungkook says, well aware that this connection must be a hidden one- meaning that no one can tap into it and potentially listen in on what's said. If he wasn't sure of that, he would've never uttered his next words. “There’s.. the situation wasn’t what I expected, but it’s done.”

“how so?” namjoon asks over the phone. “You sound distracted.”

“I am.” Jungkook admits openly, though his voice stays rather monotonous. He knows he couldn’t lie even if he wanted to. “There’s been.. an uninvolved victim. I don’t think she belongs to his group- she was collared.”

“is she dead?” namjoon asks.

“I don’t know.” The younger man responds. “wounded. I’m not sure how badly, but there's a significant amount of blood.” He explains, as he looks from the red splotches on the floor in front of him, to outside the container into the woods, where you’ve run off.

Instinct, most likely. Lycans, Hybrids and Familiars alike tend to seek solitude when wounded badly, their minds controlled by instincts written in their DNA- and Jungkook has a good eye for determining one’s species just by a short moment of observation. What exactly you are he can't yet say for sure- but the tingling in the air and the bulky collar you wore were clear indications of you not being of the average human kind.

He'll find out soon enough.

“Do what you must.” Is what Namjoon tells him- and it's a gentle order, given to him with the freedom of choice. Jungkook has to now figure out if you're a threat- and if so, what your fate shall be. But no matter how friendly his leader's tone has been, it's an order to act nonetheless-

So he does as he's told, and hangs up the phone before he begins walking out the container into the wintery woods, following your trail of red.

[onesiesdaydream]

Like Old Times I Dazai Osamu x Platonic! Reader x Chuuya Nakahara (Headcanons)

Summary: you're the mediator friend in a trio of idiots, and one of those idiots just abandoned you.

A/N: Hi again, love @formiito!! 💌 Here’s the second part I promised—all the post-departure headcanons that Tumblr wouldn’t let me squeeze into one post because apparently my emotions are too powerful (or just too long-winded, oops). Thank you again for sending the request—it was such a joy to write and I hope it hit you right in the emotional kneecaps 💔💕 As always, feel free to scream in the replies or the inbox—I’ll be right there squealing like a badly written shoujo lead with you.

TW: Dazai being Dazai (sucidal), use of fem! pronouns, swearing.

MASTERLIST

Dazai leaves with no warning. Not a note, not a goodbye — just vanishes from the Port Mafia overnight.

You’re the first to realize he’s gone — his coat’s missing, his signature boots are gone from the hallway, and his usual sarcastic morning quips never come.

You tear the city apart trying to find him. At first, you think it’s a kidnapping.

When the truth hits — that he chose to leave — it crushes you.

You’re not just hurt — you feel like you failed. As his friend. As someone who thought she knew him.

You remember your final conversation. Something about the stars.

You had found him on HQ’s roof looking out at the Yokohama skyline after a rough day. He joked about offing himself as usual. 

It was a thought that terrified you, knowing there was always some level of truth behind his jokes. 

You told him, “Don’t vanish on me, yeah?”

He smiled. Said, “I’m too dramatic to vanish quietly.”

But that’s exactly what he did.

Why didn’t he tell you?

Why not you, of all people?

You’d been his closest friend. His confidante. The one who stitched him up at 3 AM and talked him out of worse.

You can’t talk to anyone about it except Chuuya.

When Chuuya finds out, he nearly destroys his office.

The rage isn’t just betrayal — it’s personal.

“He didn’t just leave. He left you. After everything. After we—”

He doesn’t finish. He pours himself a drink instead. A strong one.

Chuuya tries to keep it together for your sake, but he’s just as wrecked.

He gets in more fights, turns more violent.

But you know the truth: He’s grieving.

Not Dazai — but the version of the three of you that no longer exists.

One night, he barges into your apartment uninvited.

You’re sitting on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, staring at an old picture.

The three of you — Dazai holding up a victory sign, Chuuya yelling at him, you laughing between them.

They promised, long ago — the three of you, drunk off rooftop beers and too-young loyalty — to kill anyone who hurt the other two.

And now? Dazai became the very thing he swore to protect you from.

You and Chuuya find yourselves falling into old routines — bickering over small things, sharing late-night cigarettes on the rooftop — but the air feels heavier without Dazai’s irreverent jokes.

Chuuya starts showing cracks in his armor — rare moments when he lets his guard down in front of you, letting you see the exhaustion behind his glare.

You start sharing little details about your day, things you never thought to say before, filling the silence with new memories instead of old pain.

You crack a rare, tired smile when he teases you about something stupid, and it feels like a small victory.

Dazai allowed himself to be captured by the Port Mafia.

But Chuuya knows him. Knows he wouldn’t get caught unless he wanted to.

Still, it doesn’t stop the anger simmering beneath Chuuya’s skin as he marches down into the basement.

Dazai is hanging by his shackled wrists, smirk ready, eyes shadowed but sharp.

Chuuya enters with slow, deliberate steps. Doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at him.

The silence is vile.

“Chuuya~,” Dazai drawls, lifting his head lazily. “I was wondering when you'd show up. You’re late. I was starting to miss you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Chuuya snaps, slamming the door shut behind him with a sharp clang.

He steps closer, each footfall echoing off the concrete. His voice is cold.

“You got caught on purpose, didn’t you?”

Dazai grins, tilting his head slightly.

“You always were the smart one.”

Chuuya narrows his eyes.

“Cut the act. Tell me what you’re after.”

“Information. You know how it is,” he shrugs like it's nothing.

“Besides,” he adds, voice light, “I knew you’d figure it out eventually. I trust you.”

That’s when Chuuya’s expression darkens.

“Don’t. Don’t pull that trust crap. Not after what you did to her.” 

The room stills. Dazai’s smile falters, if only for a second. It’s the first time you are brought up.

“She spent weeks thinking you were dead,” Chuuya says, low and angry. “Barely slept. Took every suicide mission she could. You should’ve seen her, you bastard. You hurt her. And for what?”

Dazai doesn’t answer. He can’t. His eyes drop for a split second. Regret flickers. But he masks it fast.

“I couldn’t tell her,” he murmurs. “She would’ve tried to stop me.”

Chuuya’s jaw clenches.

“So you thought hurting her was better?” he spits. “You vanished, left her choking on silence, and I was the one picking up the fucking pieces!” 

He slams his fist into the wall right next to Dazai’s head. Dust shakes loose.

“You remember what we promised? That night on the roof? We said we’d kill anyone who hurt the others. You swore it too.”

“...I remember,” Dazai says quietly.

Chuuya punches him. Hard. Right in the ribs. Then follows it with a brutal kick to the gut that sends Dazai reeling against the restraints, breath knocked from his lungs.

After a long pause, Chuuya unlocks the cuffs. Doesn’t say a word about it. Just turns and heads for the door.

“You’re letting me go?” Dazai asks, voice raspy.

“You’re up to something,” Chuuya mutters without turning. “I’m not gonna stop you.”

Just before he steps out, Chuuya glances over his shoulder. His voice is low, raw.

“She still waits for you, you know,” he mutters. “Don’t make her wait forever.”

The door shuts behind him with a final click.

Dazai stays where he is — silent, bruised, eyes fixed on the floor.

The ache in his ribs is nothing compared to the one twisting in his chest.

The tension is palpable the moment all three of you stand side by side again.

You’re silent. Chuuya’s scowling. Dazai smiles like nothing ever happened.

It’s unbearable.

Dazai tries to crack a joke:

“It’s like old times, huh?”

You don’t even look at him. Chuuya mutters, “Don’t push it.”

They both seem to fall back into their old routine of banter soon enough but you can’t find it in you to try to stop them like you used to. 

The mission is chaos. Lovecraft is monstrous and nearly impossible to pin down.

You're giving everything just to dodge his tendrils and land shots.

The three of you fall into sync despite everything — the way you move, fight, shout orders.

The muscle memory is still there — like your bodies remember how to trust even if your hearts don’t.

They both know what has to be done with one glance — and you know that look between them.

“Don’t.”

“I have to,” he says, and that’s the end of it.

Watching Chuuya lose control of himself never gets easier. His power is beautiful and terrifying.

The explosion is massive. Lovecraft goes down.

Chuuya is wrecked — bleeding, limping, but still burning with energy and cackling while throwing gravity spheres everywhere.

He’s barely conscious when Dazai reaches him and cancels the ability with a tap of his hand.

You’re at Chuuya’s side in an instant, arms around him as he collapses.

“I’ve got you. You’re okay,” you murmur, voice tight, trying not to cry as you stroke back his sweaty hair.

Dazai kneels beside you. Quietly, almost too softly:

“He’ll be okay. I stopped it in time.”

Dazai stands a little ways back, watching — quiet, unreadable.

You finally glance at him. For the first time since he left, your eyes meet — no words, just raw, lingering tension and hurt.

There’s a pause. You swallow.

“...Thanks. For stopping it.”

Dazai blinks, almost surprised you’re talking to him at all.

You notice the cast on his arm, bruised and wrapped tightly just like it was when you saw him that morning.

Despite the bitterness still burning inside you, your voice softens with a hint of care:

“Is your arm... okay? That cast looks heavy.”

Dazai shrugs with a faint smirk, trying to keep the mood light:

“It’s nothing. Old wounds, new scars.”

You grit your teeth, biting back a retort about how he just vanishes and leaves scars everywhere — physical and otherwise.

Chuuya, still resting in your lap, groans quietly, his fingers twitching weakly against your shirt.

A gentle shush escapes your lips as you adjust your position on the floor, trying to make him a bit more comfortable.

Dazai takes a seat on the ground nearby, settling himself quietly.

Exhausted, you shift slightly, reluctant to move away from either of them.

Slowly, almost unconsciously, you rest your head on Dazai’s shoulder — a small act of comfort despite everything.

The weight of years and pain lingers, but for this moment, you allow yourself to feel a fragile kind of peace.

Dazai doesn’t move away. Instead, he lets out a soft sigh, his arm brushing lightly against yours.

Neither of you say anything more — words feel inadequate. But the silence between you is no longer hostile.

Chuuya mumbles something unintelligible but leans more heavily into your embrace, grounding you both.

The three of you aren’t fixed — not yet, and maybe not completely. But in this quiet moment, the walls between you start to crumble just enough to let hope sneak in.

[fantasywater]

An analysis of Octavia's and Blitz's callouts toward Stolas vs Stolas's against Stella

I've finally realized why Stolas's call out scene to Stella doesn't work,but Blitz's and Via's toward him does.

It's because Stolas is 100% in the wrong in all three of these cases.

When you're writing a take back my power scene then there must be proper buildup to it to induce catharsis when the scene happens.

Octavia's buildup of Child Neglect:

-Loolooland

-Ozzie's Song

-Seeing Stars

-Mastermind

Sinmas is the payoff.

Blitz's buildup of Sexual Extortion:

-Murder Family

-Loolooland

-Harvest Moon Festival

-TruthSeekers

-Ozzie's

-Oops

FullMoon is the payoff.

Stolas's buildup of Spousal Abuse:

In the Circus Stella says some brutally honest ribbing that morning, and then at the party to her two friends and yea that's it.

The Circus is the payoff.

The same episode that the badly written abuse is featured in and then never seen again.

The issue with Stolas's tormentor is that we were introduced to her as the wronged party. Then Stolas keeps wronging her in every episode he's featured in season one. So when he has his call out it falls flat because she is the one that was aggrieved by him.

Furthermore since the balcony scene happens directly after Ozzie's her trying to slap him is still in the vein of his adultery which is understandable. Her trying to kill him also falls under it.

It also helps her case that our main characters are assassins, and Murder Family featured a cheated on women being portrayed sympathetically for trying to do the exact thing Stella did.

So, except for saying some mean but true words in a flashback, all her aggressive actions towards Stolas are a direct result of his infidelity.

As a matter of fact her call out for his cheating in LooLooland is the one that seems more legitimate than his in the Circus because again she is the wronged party of his remorseless and repeated adultery.

Even in Loolooland all three of his victims are hostile toward him throughout the episode, and Via's call out on that apple cart cosigns her mother's anger earlier in the kitchen for the same offense.

Even Via's new call out in Sinmas touches on his infidelity again therefore further vindicating Stella.

I also love that the Stolitz fans final save has been squashed by Octavia in this same episode.

They thought that if Via found out her father martyred himself for her then she'll be on his side about Stella.

However, by finding the pills she came to the correct assumption that he stayed miserable (circus balcony scene) because of her, and that she was an obligation(arranged for an heir). Basically she became pissed at him about those revelations not sympathetic.

Blitz and Via's felt earned because they had proper buildup of being 100% the victim getting catharsis from their abuser Stolas. All Stella's present day actions against him are because of his adultery, and her only pre-infidelity meanness were some brutal honesty to her friends that came and went in the same episode. Therefore his catharsis scene felt forced just to justify him blowing up his family.

[aj-thegreatest]

Why Persephone and Minthe are (or could've been) Perfect Foils:

I’m starting this off with 3 things: 1) This’ll be less of an essay and more of a ramble, so apologies if this is messy! 2) I’m framing this as a “what if this was written in a non misogynistic way,” and less(?) based on canon. And 3) If an essay like this already exists…oops!

Ok. So we can all generally agree that Persephone and Minthe, as love rivals, function as foils for each other. Persephone is the sweet, young, and naive girl who doesn’t know what sex is. Minthe is the mature, sexy, and stone cold older woman who’s too sexually active. 

They both villainize and hurt each other, ignoring the man who’s actually perpetuating their suffering. The story makes it seem like they’re completely opposed characters, with Persephone being the “better” one. And to an extent, that’s true. 

But I think we could dive deeper! And away from Hades! Because he sucks!

If we compare Persephone and Minthe’s lives and how they view each other, you could make a strong case for them being foils. It’d honestly be brilliant if they reconciled in a meaningful way, BUT-

Let’s start with the basics: while Persephone grew up with an attentive mother, Minthe grew up largely ignored by hers. Persephone grew up around a supportive community, with most of her needs met. And while we only see a peek into Minthe’s childhood, it can be inferred those needs were not easily met. Minthe had to provide for herself, shown by her jobs before Underworld Corp. 

Meanwhile, a lot of Persephone’s opportunities were “handed” to her. Artemis offers to let Persephone stay with her. She gets inducted into TGOEM without any trouble. Demeter most likely is paying for her schooling. She gets placed in Underworld Corp, despite having no experience (and out of her control. Hera what the hell). And gets paid for her internship, something she gets because of her relationship with Hades.

Minthe has continually worked for everything. Persephone hasn’t worked for any of the stuff she gets. But she wants to! Persephone so badly wants to be independent. She dreams of living on her own, dressing the way she wants, being in a relationship. And who is the first being she sees that represents all of it for her?

Minthe is the physical manifestation of everything Persephone wants to be. It’s also why she dresses like her in later seasons. And Minthe is clearly jealous of Persephone. Is it because she’s flirting with Hades? To some extent, yes. But Minthe also feels Persephone is better than her. She’s the sweet goddess who everyone loves, especially Hades’ trusted allies (Hera, Hecate, etc). 

I think if they got to know each other, they’d be envious of what the other had. Minthe would love to have a mother like Demeter: someone who took care of her and gave her what she needed. She needs a support system and people to rely on. Not a toxic friend who prays on her downfall (Thetis what the hell). 

Persephone wants a mother who won’t hover over her. Control of her life, freedom, and the ability to be her true self. Wear whatever she wants. She doesn’t want to be the kind, sweet girl all the time. She wants to have sex! After marriage apparently because uh…yeah. 

A brief deviation: Even their aesthetics are contrasts. Persephone wears white and pink, while Minthe wears reds and blacks. Minthe’s clothes are revealing and conventionally sexy. Persephone’s are cute and conventionally girly. 

Both Minthe and Persephone are stuck in roles that feel inescapable. Which are enforced by Hades, the narrative, and the fandom (at the time). Something something Madonna Whore Complex.

In an ideal story, where they equally like all the women, Minthe and Persephone would’ve reconciled. Come to some understanding of the other and grow as a result. But…that doesn’t happen. 

Really, they just switch places. Minthe becomes accepted in the Mortal Realm. She gets all the support Persephone had. While Persephone gets all the glitz and glam Minthe supposedly had. It all works out! 

…I mean, not really but-

Like Minthe barely gets mentioned at the very end. Persephone spends most of it stressed, hated by her citizens. All the things Minthe feared at the start!

But then she gets her happy ending. Isn’t this great? The character who wanted independence from her mother and everyone, ends up stuck in a marriage without truly finding herself. And with kids we, the audience, don’t know if she wanted? 

All that matters is Hades wants kids. So Persephone needs to have them. Hades wants to break up with Minthe, so she gets planted and moves from his realm. Funny how everything works out for him, right? 

This doesn’t really have an ending. All I can say is, I wish Minthe and Persephone had a chance to stand on their own. And to talk to each other without a man getting in the way…

…which is why you should read my fanfic, PomengranMints-

[demigod-shenanigans]

Piper and Jason burn down the kitchen

Summary: “What even goes in a cake?”

“Flour and sugar, probably!” Piper tried to remember the last time she’d baked muffins with her dad. She’d been maybe six at the time. Somehow, that still made her more experienced than Jason. She pulled a bag of flour from a cabinet she could barely reach. Since the bag wasn’t closed, half of it exploded down the front of her shirt and all over the counter. “…oops.”

“Are we sure we shouldn’t just ask one of the plates for a cake?” Jason asked, cringing at the mess.

“Jason. Buddy. Rule number one: when you mess up this badly, you do not apologize with the demigod equivalent of store-bought cake.”

“Even if you don’t know what you’re doing?”

Piper nodded solemnly. “Especially then. We owe Leo a cake that’s made with love.”

Or: After realizing they forgot Leo’s birthday, Piper and Jason decide to bake him a cake. Sure, they may not have a recipe or any baking experience to speak of, but really, what’s the worst that could happen?

Word Count: 8k exactly! Rating: Teen and Up

Written for Free Space as my final @lost-trio-week piece! This is. Uh. Three months late! Oops. Well, we did say you could finish these later and it’d still be fine, so…

This is also part of the Fate and Other Technicalities-series, but the only bit of context you really need to understand what’s going on is that Jason and Piper broke up post-Cupid and Leo did not end up on Calypso’s island.

No heavy warnings for this one (it does get a little sad but not for long), however, Jason and Piper have no clue what they’re doing baking-wise and the result is awful, so keep that in mind if you’re sensitive when it comes to food stuff. These two morons should not be let within a five foot distance of an oven <3

———

It didn’t occur to Piper until Jason almost stabbed her by accident that maybe she hadn’t thought this through properly.

Considering Jason had been trained to fight monsters since he’d been two years old, as well as everything that had gone wrong on this particular quest, the fact that knocking on his cabin door yelling “emergency!” in the middle of the night would result in him jumping out with his sword drawn maybe should have been obvious in retrospect. Well, hindsight was 20/20.

Piper yelped, staring at the tip of Jason’s gladius, which was barely a hair’s breadth away from her chest. She backed up a step, jokingly holding up her hands in surrender as she tried to get her racing heart to still.

“I know you’ve had a rough few days, but please don’t stab me,” she commented, trying to lighten the mood.

Jason immediately pulled the weapon back, looking horrified. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Piper waved him off. 

“Nah.” She smiled teasingly at her friend. “Your aim needs work. You didn’t even graze me.”

“Sorry. I didn’t think- I wasn’t sure what we were dealing with, but a weapon felt like a good idea from the way you were yelling,” Jason muttered, shaking his head. He looked Piper over with obvious confusion on his face, probably taking in the fact that she was in casual clothes rather than dressed for battle, and that she wasn’t holding a weapon. “I’m… still not sure what we’re dealing with, actually. What happened? Are we in danger? Is anyone hurt?”

“It’s not that kind of emergency,” Piper said sheepishly, taking in her friend as he cautiously lowered his weapon. 

Jason’s whole body was tense. He looked as alert as she’d ever seen anyone look at three in the morning, but between the chest plate that had been hastily thrown over his pajamas, his sleep-mussed hair and the bags under his eyes, it was still obvious she’d woken him up.

Piper felt a little bad—she knew that between the disaster in Rome and his sexuality crisis, Jason hadn’t been getting a ton of sleep, and him unsuccessfully trying to sort out their problem with Notus wasn’t helping—but the current situation didn’t allow her to be as considerate of this as she would have been any other time.

“Waking you up like that maybe wasn’t my best idea. I was just on watch, so I’m admittedly not running on a whole lot of sleep right now,” she explained, yawning. “But this is important.”

“What’s going on?” Suddenly, his eyes went wide. Briefly, Piper wondered if he’d just realized the same thing that had occurred to her in cold sweat half an hour ago. “Wait, am I supposed to be on watch? Gods, I could have sworn that wasn’t until tomorrow.” He rubbed at his face like he had a headache.

“What? No. It’s technically sort of still my turn, but I asked Frank to take over for me.” She put a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell Hedge. He’s gonna freak if he finds out I left Hazel and Frank to their premarital hand-holding unsupervised.”

Jason laughed, some of the tension going out of his shoulders.

“So what is it?”

“We screwed up.” Piper bunched her hands in the hem of her shirt. “It’s the tenth of July as of three hours ago.”

“I- what?” Jason blinked at her. He was back to just looking confused. “Is there something happening on the tenth of July that I don’t know about?”

“No! Nothing’s happening on the tenth. That’s the problem!” Piper said, exasperated. She couldn’t believe the penny still hadn’t dropped. “Leo’s birthday was on the seventh.”

“Shit.” Jason’s expression cycled through the same series of emotions she’d gone through when she’d realized it earlier—surprise, then shock, then guilt. “He didn’t say anything.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Piper commented, raising an eyebrow at him. If it hadn’t been for the cornucopia spitting out baked goods in Rome, she’d have missed Jason’s birthday, too. She wanted to curse at the stupid horn for not giving Leo the same treatment, but it wasn’t like that would fix much of anything now. “Besides, why should Leo have to say anything? After he told us when his birthday was, it was on us to remember. That’s how that works.”

“I didn’t know. I never even asked him about his birthday,” Jason mumbled, guilt clear in his voice. He stared at the floorboards. “Gods, I’m awful. He’s my best friend, and somehow I had no idea.”

“Of course you knew,” Piper immediately protested. “He told us all the way back in Wilderness School, remember?”

“Piper…” Jason said quietly, the guilt in his voice even stronger now.

“It was a few weeks after you two became roommates. Right after Isabel pulled that awful stunt in gym class-” Piper went on, then stopped. It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her head when she realized her mistake. “You can’t remember because you weren’t there. That was the Mist version. It was just Leo and me,” she said, her voice quavering.

Jason hesitated—neither of them were entirely sure how these things worked now that they were broken up—but then he reached out to squeeze her shoulder, rubbing her arm comfortingly. “I’m sorry.”

Piper cursed. She should have known this. 

When she consciously thought about it, she did know her hazy Wilderness School memories weren’t real. 

But when they were just background noise, well… it was a little harder than she would have liked to make her brain comprehend that the things she remembered hadn’t actually happened that way.

It frustrated Piper to no end—how much trying to reach those early memories of her friendship with Leo was like navigating a room she only vaguely remembered in the dark. If she got close enough, she could touch the furniture around her—recall the feel of it—but she could rarely make out more than vague shapes, and sometimes she couldn’t even manage that. 

The few scenes she did remember semi-clearly came in flashes—moving boxes she hadn’t seen until she was already tripping over them, contents spilling all over the floor.

That was what had happened when Hazel, anxious about their upcoming world-ending deadline, had mentioned the date during their watch earlier. 

The memory had come unbidden, striking her like one of Jason’s lightning bolts. 

“I don’t do birthdays. Tragic orphan, remember?” Leo had said, smirking at her and Jason. “Besides, you know I ended up here for being a serial runaway, right? No way in hell  I’m sticking around until my next birthday.”

“Then there’s no harm in telling us.”

And he had. He’d told her.

Just her.

Because Jason hadn’t actually been around at the time. It had just been the two of them. 

Piper could feel the weight of the memory—could tell it was significant—but most of the details still escaped her. It made her want to scream. It also made her really long to fist-fight Jason’s godly stepmom.

Piper buried her face in her hands. She kind of wanted to cry. She wished she could reach three days into the past and shake herself for being too caught up in everything else that was going on to pay attention to the date.

“I’m pretty sure I was the first person Leo told about his birthday in years. I can’t believe I forgot. I’m a horrible friend.”

“It’s not really your fault Juno messed with your memories,” Jason said gently. He was right, technically, but that didn’t make Piper feel much better. “Besides, at least you asked. Leo’s been my best friend for the better part of a year. He’s my favorite person. And somehow I never even thought to ask.” Jason’s voice had grown very quiet. He was still staring intently at the floor.

Piper knew him well enough to be able to tell he was spiraling, even without any more words spoken between them. 

They’d both been struggling with their roles as heroes with how much had gone wrong lately, but failing as friends felt worse in some fundamental way Piper couldn’t quite put into words.

“In your defense, you didn’t know when your own birthday was until last month. Are birthdays even a thing at Camp Jupiter?”

Jason blinked at her. “…yes? What kind of question is that?”

“I don’t know.” Piper gestured vaguely. “You guys are weird.”

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s just me,” Jason told her, casually enough that she almost started laughing. For a brief moment, he smiled, but his expression dimmed again almost immediately. “I can’t believe mine and Leo’s birthdays are only a week apart and we didn’t get to celebrate either one of them together.” He sounded absolutely devastated. “If this is the only chance we had-”

That knocked Piper right back into business mode immediately. “Shut up. None of that. No doomsday talk,” she interrupted him, glaring at Jason. She hadn’t woken Jason up so they could stand around and feel miserable about being bad friends to Leo. She definitely hadn’t woken Jason up so she could think about the fact that she might be losing one of her best friends by the end of all this. They couldn’t solve the prophecy or fix the fact that they hadn’t celebrated Leo’s birthday when they should have. But there was still something they could do. “We’re going to fix this. Leo’s done so much for us. He deserves to have a birthday party, even if it’s a little late. Help me bake him a cake?”

“That’s a great idea,” Jason said, lighting up just a little. “You know how to bake?”

“I mean… not really,” Piper admitted. “But I thought it’d be nice. We can probably figure it out. Can’t be harder than fighting Giants, right? Besides, Leo did it for my birthday.”

Remembering her own birthday made Piper feel even worse. Leo had been in the middle of making sure the Argo II was ready to set sail, and he’d been stressed out of his mind, but he’d still gone out of his way to bake her a cake. Strawberry shortcake—her favorite—made using the camp’s vast quantities of fresh strawberries. He’d left it beside her bed with a note to have a nice birthday and maybe share it with Jason. Instead, the three of them had sat on the floor of Bunker Nine together, sharing cake and the sandwiches Jason had brought because Leo had missed lunch again. 

“I remember,” Jason said. He suddenly seemed a million miles away. “Leo had whipped cream stuck in the corner of his mouth all afternoon. He could have just wiped it off, but he insisted he could get it with his tongue when he really couldn’t. Not for lack of trying, though.”

“So glad your most vivid memory of my birthday is what Leo was doing with his tongue,” Piper teased him, raising an eyebrow. “I can’t believe you didn’t consider that you might be into guys until a week ago.”

“It’s not...” Jason looked away, but Piper could tell he was blushing. “He smiled so much that afternoon. Leo’s been really hard on himself lately, and I just… I miss how it felt before we left on this quest. I want to see him smile like that again. It isn’t the same when I can tell he doesn’t mean it.”

Jason was right. The quest had been hard on all of them, but Leo had been drawing back from everyone lately, and it worried her, too. She cursed herself for being too caught up in her own problems to pick up on it sooner.

“Well, a birthday cake is as good a point as any to start cheering him up,” Piper said, forcing herself to focus. She couldn’t fixate on all the things she hadn’t done. There wasn’t much she could do to change the past. She had to focus on what she could still do. “If you’re down to sneak out of your room after curfew, that is,” she teased Jason. 

Piper knew how he was about sticking to the rules. For all the Wilderness School memories she couldn’t immediately identify as fake, she didn’t have to think very hard to remember Jason sneaking up onto the roof with her had never happened. Both because she was becoming increasingly sure she wasn’t actually interested in making out with guys on roofs, and because the Jason she’d met seven months ago would have perished at the mere suggestion that he may have broken a rule. There had been times he’d balked at the concept of jaywalking, despite the fact that they’d been chased by a monster.

Jason wasn’t quite as bad now—Leo and Piper had eased him into the whole rule breaking thing as gently as they could—but he was still stupid about it sometimes.

To her surprise, Jason nodded, straightening a little.

“It’s for Leo,” he said decisively. “Of course I’m down. Let’s do this.”

Piper could have pushed the issue. Kept on teasing him about the way his eyes lit up when he talked about Leo, and how he laughed at all of Leo’s terrible jokes. 

But she figured Jason would get there eventually. Besides, they had a cake to bake. So instead, she just grinned at him and said “we’ll make you into a troublemaker yet.”

~~~

“What even goes in a cake?” Jason asked as they spread out baking utensils across the kitchen counters fifteen minutes later.

He’d gotten dressed and traded his armor for an apron, which Piper was not entirely sure had been smart. It was becoming increasingly obvious that neither of them had the slightest idea what they were doing. She figured the chances of them blowing something up were about 50/50.  

“Flour and sugar, probably!” she decided, trying to remember the last time she’d baked muffins with her dad. She’d been maybe six years old at the time. Definitely not tall enough to reach the counters without standing on a stool. Somehow, that still made her a more experienced baker than Jason, who’d apparently never done it in his life.

She searched the cupboards. The plates could conjure up food out of thin air, sure, but she knew Leo cooked with ingredients sometimes, and they had to be somewhere.

“Aha!” she said triumphantly as she pulled a bag of flour from one of the upper cabinets that she could just barely reach.

She couldn’t quite grip the bag right, and since it wasn’t closed, about half of it exploded down the front of her shirt and all over the counter before Jason managed to catch the rest with his powers. “…oops.”

“Are we sure we shouldn’t just ask one of the plates for a cake?” Jason asked, cringing at the mess they’d already made before they’d even properly started. 

“Jason. Buddy. Rule number one: when you mess up this badly, you do not apologize with the demigod equivalent of store-bought cake,” Piper tutted, looking at her baking partner disapprovingly.

“Even if you don’t know what you’re doing?”

Piper nodded solemnly. “Especially then. We owe Leo a cake that’s made with love.”

“Okay.” Jason opened up another one of the cupboards. That one just held dishware. “Flour, sugar, love. Anything else you can think of for ingredients? Because I don’t think that’s enough.”

“I’m not sure.” Piper eyed the mixing bowl. “Let’s just pour it in and see what happens?”

“I’m assuming we’ll end up with ingredients in a mixing bowl?” Jason guessed, looking increasingly unsure about this entire operation. “Are you sure this is a good idea? We don’t even know how much of each ingredient we need.”

“Relax, Super Chef.” She poked him in the chest, leaving behind flour prints with her fingers. “We’ll figure it out. Besides, Leo knows we’re not professional bakers or anything. He’ll probably forgive us if we don’t end up with a perfect cake.”

Jason didn’t look very pleased at that thought—apparently he was really concerned that he’d fail his cake exams, or something—but he complied with a sigh.

They poured the remaining bag of flour that wasn’t all over the counter into the mixing bowl, since there wasn’t that much left, anyway. 

“Do we use more flour or more sugar?” Jason asked, unsure. “I mean, I know sugar makes things sweeter, but what does flour even taste like?”

He’d found the sugar and was pulling it out of the cabinet, much more careful than Piper had been with the flour. He didn’t spill any of it, but it wasn’t really a fair comparison—both because the bag was full and therefore closed, and because Jason was taller than her.

“I’m not sure, but-” Piper started, then stopped when she saw Jason scoop a bit of the spilled flour up off the counter and put it in his mouth. “What are you doing?”

“Figuring out what flour tastes like.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then grimaced. “Dry. Kind of like chalk. Are we sure this is supposed to go in food?”

“Yeah. That and sugar are the two ingredients I actually feel sure about.” She blinked. “Why do you know what chalk tastes like?”

“The rock climbing wall back at camp,” Jason said with a shrug, like that explained anything.

“I- are you saying you licked the rock climbing wall while I wasn’t looking?” Piper stared at him, horrified. “What the fuck?”

“What?” Jason burst out laughing. “No! You chalk your hands before climbing for a better grip. One time I apparently didn’t get the chalk off properly before dinner. Why was me licking the wall your first thought?”

“You just ate flour off the counter,” she commented, an eyebrow raised.

“For taste testing!” Jason protested. “Because apparently this goes in food. I don’t go around eating chalk!”

“Whatever you say, Wolf Boy,” Piper teased, grinning at him. They were still figuring out this whole post-breakup friendship, but so far, she thought they weren’t doing too badly. “So? What did your flour taste test reveal to you?”

“That if we’re sure this goes in the cake at all, we definitely need more sugar than flour,” Jason decided, still looking at the flour uncertainly.

Piper obediently dumped the entire bag of sugar into the bowl. 

“Alright!” She looked at the mixture—which, as Jason had predicted, was just flour and sugar in a bowl now. They were definitely missing something. “Oh, wait. I think there’s supposed to be eggs in this.”

“I don’t know if we even have eggs. I haven’t spotted any so far.” Jason hovered himself upwards so he could get a better look at the back of the upper cabinets. “There’s frosting in here. Considering it’s got a cake on the box, that’s probably for cakes, right?”

“Oh, yeah, we can use that later! Good job finding that!” Piper grinned. She was starting to wonder how Leo even reached half of these cabinets when he was cooking. The answer was probably him precariously balancing on chairs and/or climbing onto the counters. “Any luck finding eggs?”

“Nope.” Jason landed back on his feet, frosting in hand. “Now what?”

“Hmm. Maybe we could just ask the magic plates for some?” Piper suggested. “I don’t think it counts as cheating if we just ask for the ingredients instead of an actual cake.”

“Sure, that should work.” Jason took one of the plates out and placed it on the counter. “Can we have eggs, please?” 

A few seconds later, the plate provided them with a nice, warm serving of scrambled eggs.

Piper paused, thinking back to her very limited past baking experience. “I’m pretty sure they’re supposed to be raw?” She poked the plate. “Can you do raw eggs?”

The plate remained unmoved. Not a common breakfast food, then.

“Does that make a difference?”

“No idea.” Piper eyed the eggs, which smelled delicious, then shrugged. “I mean, eggs are eggs, right? It’s probably fine.”

“Alright.” Jason obediently dumped the eggs into the bowl. He still looked unsure. “How exactly is any of this supposed to mix? It looks really solid.”

Piper snapped her fingers. “Right! Liquid! We need some sort of liquid.” She was feeling way better about this whole thing now that she remembered more of the ingredients. “Water or milk should do.”

Jason’s face lit up. “Wait, would cocoa work? Leo loves hot cocoa.”

“That’s a great idea!” Piper patted his shoulder enthusiastically, leaving flour on his shirt in the process. “We should make it a chocolate cake! We can definitely ask the plates for chocolate.” 

The cocoa was a little more impractical to add than the other ingredients had been, but they just used one of the magic cups and had it fill up repeatedly until the liquidity of the batter looked vaguely right to Piper.

Then Jason chopped up two bars of chocolate to add it into the bowl. Miraculously, he kept all of his fingers.

Piper was the one in charge of properly mixing the ingredients—mostly because when Jason had tried, he’d held the mixer wrong and splattered a whole bunch of batter all over the counter, the walls and himself. At least they both looked like a mess now.

“Aw, look at us! We’re matching!” she joked, gesturing down at her own flour-covered clothes.

Jason snorted.

When Piper was done, she discovered that the mixture could pass as cake batter now. She stuck her finger in, trying a little of it. 

“Yeah, that definitely tastes like chocolate cake. It’s very sweet, but I don’t think Leo will mind that.” She grinned at Jason. “See? This wasn’t so bad!”

“Yeah, I guess not.” Jason smiled tentatively. He tried a bit of the batter himself, eyes widening in surprise. “You’re right, this actually tastes okay.”

“Told you so! Wasn’t this fun?” She bumped his shoulder with hers. “I think we’re finally getting the hang of this whole friendship thing. Only took us seven months and a whole failed relationship.”

That got a proper laugh out of Jason.

~~~

Leo was startled out of the nap he’d been taking in the engine room by the fire alarm going off.

He’d been dreaming about Nemesis and the stupid fortune cookie again, so it wasn’t a nap he’d usually have minded being interrupted, but considering all the memories the thought of uncontrolled fire brought back to him, he wasn’t sure this was an improvement.

He untangled himself from his blanket heap, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to get out of the engine room. 

“Festus, damage report?” he asked, ignoring the way his heart was hammering.

It wasn’t bad enough that there’d been any kind of ship-wide alarm—Festus had just woken him up, specifically—so the chances that they would fall out of the sky in a blaze of deadly fire didn’t seem that high, but he had to make sure.

‘Kitchen. Minor damage. No injuries,’ Festus replied immediately through the ship’s internal systems, though Leo thought his clicks sounded… almost amused?

Leo wasn’t sure what to make of that. It was a relief that no one was hurt, but he wasn’t thrilled at the thought of more damage to the ship that he might not be able to fix at the moment.

He glared down at his arm cast.

Stupid Khione and her stupid wind bomb. It had been a few days since the incident, but despite the ambrosia Leo had taken, his broken wrist still screamed and gave out every time he tried to lift anything heavy. Unfortunately, engine repairs required him to lift a bunch of heavy things. 

Leo hadn’t let that stop him at first, which was how he’d ended up with a re-fractured wrist and a very stern talking-to from Jason. 

So, for the past two days, Leo had just kind of been sitting around uselessly, doing minor repairs around the ship that wouldn't get them back up in the air as their deadline drew closer. 

‘Another grand performance by Leo Valdez,’ he thought, gritting his teeth. ‘You’ve got one jobaround here, and you can’t even do that right.’

He’d landed Percy and Annabeth in Tartarus, and now they wouldn’t even make it to Epirus to meet them because he couldn’t fix the fucking ship.

No wonder Jason and Piper would rather hang out with each other than with him.

Leo shook himself when he reached the kitchen door. That was enough feeling sorry for himself for one night. He had a fire to put out.

He pushed open the door and promptly froze.

The kitchen was a complete disaster zone. There wasn’t a fire anymore, but from the smell it was obvious that there had been one not too long ago. It looked like a flour tornado had moved through the kitchen, and dried batter was splattered over the counter, the wall and both of Leo’s best friends, who were standing in the middle of the mess.

Jason was directing smoke out of the kitchen window with his powers while Piper was busy dumping unholy amounts of frosting over… Leo actually couldn’t identify what it was she was putting them on. As best as he could tell from this distance, it might have been a large block of charcoal.

”Guys, what the fuck?”

“Leo? It’s four am. Why are you up?” Jason asked, startled.

He and Piper both looked up from their respective tasks. In Jason’s case, this wasn’t too bad. In Piper’s case, it meant she splattered frosting all over the already disastrous counter.

“Uh, Pipes, maybe put the bowl down?” Leo suggested, an eyebrow raised. She cursed, placing the bowl right in the middle of the mess she’d just made. That wasn’t what Leo had meant, but it was also the least of his worries right now. “Look. No shade to your couples’ night of… whatever the fuck it is you two are doing, but you set off Festus’ smoke detectors.”

”We weren’t…” Piper exchanged an unsure look with Jason. Then she took a deep breath and looked right at Leo. “Listen. I know we’re three days late, but… happy birthday. I’m really sorry I forgot.”

“I’m sorry, too.” Jason rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “We were trying to surprise you, but a fire alarm in the middle of the night wasn’t the surprise we were going for.”

Leo froze. The kitchen disaster in front of him rearranged itself into a completely different scene. He hadn’t picked up on it when he’d walked in—he’d admittedly been a little preoccupied with his friends trying to burn down the kitchen—but the small kitchen table that mainly existed for when Leo needed extra space to prep ingredients had been covered in a nice cloth and set with plates. There were what looked like hand-crafted streamers and tiny origami figurines sitting on top of it, like they’d started making decorations and not been able to put them up or arrange them nicely before they’d gotten into a fight with the oven.

Which meant the charcoal bits Piper had drowned in frosting... They’d been trying to bake him a cake.

Leo was trying so hard to keep it together. But then his friends started singing happy birthday—Piper’s incredible voice mixing disastrously with Jason’s best attempt at caterwauling—and he just started sobbing. 

Leo had been in an awful headspace lately. He’d barely even remembered his birthday himself. He hadn’t properly celebrated it in years—not since he’d been eight years old, getting chided by his laughing mom for sticking his hands in the frosting before he'd even bothered to blow out the candles.

A part of Leo had been relieved when the seventh had passed and no one had said a word about it. He’d fucked everything up. It was his fault they were stuck here, and his fault Percy and Annabeth were gone. He didn’t deserve to have a birthday party.

All of this… it was too much.

“Guys, I… I don’t even know what to say.”

Within a moment’s notice, the singing stopped, and then his friends were hugging him, getting him covered in all of their baking ingredients.

“I don’t think our singing was that bad,” Piper commented, and Leo laughed through his tears.

“No, it totally was,” he declared, enjoying the way he was tucked against his friends for a moment longer before he pulled back. “I’m also crying for the poor cake ingredients you guys used. What did you do to them?”

He took another look at the charcoal block drowned in frosting that was apparently supposed to be a cake. It was somehow even worse than it had seemed at first glance. It was burnt on the outside and drooping towards the middle, and the smell was absolutely horrendous.

“You haven’t even tried it yet,” Jason said, sounding seriously bummed out and giving Leo a look like a kicked puppy. “Sure, it’s a little burnt, but we tried our best.”

“It’s burnt enough to set off Festus’ smoke detectors,” Leo pointed out. “You guys know you could have saved yourselves the effort and just used the magic plates to make me a cake, right?”

“We didn’t want to save ourselves the effort!” Piper immediately protested. “We forgot your birthday! That called for something more meaningful than a summoned cake!” 

“Aw, so you decided to get me food poisoning instead? That’s so thoughtful!” Leo smiled at them. “No fucking thanks, though.”

“Can we at least cut it? I’ll try a piece if you won’t,” Jason told him, pouting a little.

“We can cut it, but you’re absolutely not eating any of that,” Leo told him immediately. 

He was genuinely both curious and terrified to find out how the cake looked on the inside, but nothing he could see right now suggested this thing was even slightly edible.

He got a sharp knife out of one of the drawers and cautiously cut off the end piece of the cake—which was difficult considering the outer layer had the consistency of a brick. Leo briefly wondered if he needed to get a saw (or maybe a hammer and chisel) out of his tool belt, but then the cake gave way with a gross squelching noise, and the knife slid through with worrying ease almost to the bottom, where it turned back into brick texture.

“What kind of monstrosity did you two create?”

Leo transferred the piece onto one of the plates with the care he would have handled a dangerous explosive with, poking at it cautiously. The outer layer was rock-solid, but the middle part was still visibly horrendously undercooked batter. He looked back at the rest of the cake, which looked much the same way. 

“Oh gods. How did we even manage that?” Piper asked, baffled. She didn’t look annoyed that Leo had teased them anymore. Honestly, she looked like she was struggling not to burst out laughing herself.

“I’m gonna try it,” Jason announced. “I think we should give it a fair shot.”

Leo and Piper exchanged an amused look, convinced Jason was kidding, which meant neither of them managed to stop him from biting off the edge of the piece that Leo had cut.

“Jason, what the hell?” Piper shrieked. “Don’t eat that!”

“Jase. Jase, spit that out this instant,” Leo said immediately. “I’m serious. You’re gonna make yourself so sick, and we can’t afford to have you out of commission for three weeks.”

“It actually tastes pretty decent,” Jason told them, still chewing. Something made an awful crunching noise. “Ow.”

“Spit it out,” Leo repeated, pointing towards the trash can. 

This time, Jason listened. 

“I think I chipped a tooth,” he said afterwards, wincing. “Maybe don’t try the cake.”

“Wasn’t going to. We may be fighting giants on a bi-weekly basis, but I don’t have that much of a death wish,” Leo told him. He gestured for Jason to sit down on one of the chairs and took his friend’s jaw into his good hand, gently tilting his head back and forth and inspecting his mouth. “Yeah, you chipped one of your molars pretty badly. Maybe avoid chewing on your right side until we can find you a dentist.” Leo winced in sympathy. “Also, I know you worry your lip a lot when you’re nervous, so try not to do that—unless you want to look like a vampire really likes drinking specifically from your lips. In which case, you know. You do you.”

“Thanks for checking.” Jason was blushing furiously. He looked mortified. “You can, uh. You can let go now.”

Leo nodded, dropping Jason’s jaw. He rummaged in his tool belt and took out a small vial of nectar. 

“Take a sip. It’s not gonna fix the tooth, but it should at least get the taste of cake and blood out, and if you did ingest any of the cake we should probably try to combat that early.”

Jason took the vial obediently, but he made a face when he drank from it. “It tastes weird.”

“Can’t taste any weirder than the cake,” Leo pointed out. 

“I genuinely thought it tasted okay,” Jason insisted. “Chipping my tooth was definitely bad, but I’m pretty sure I ate weirder things when I was living with Lupa as a toddler. It mostly tasted like very sweet, burnt chocolate with a bit of scrambled egg.”

“Even your description of that makes me want to throw up,” Piper told him. She looked a little green. 

Leo agreed with Piper’s sentiment, but he was also stuck on one specific part of what Jason had said. “What do you mean, it kind of tastes like scrambled egg? Why would it taste like scrambled egg?”

“Because we put scrambled egg in the cake,” Jason said casually, like this was a completely normal sentence and not one of the most cursed things Leo had ever heard in his life. “Wouldn’t it be weirder if it didn’t taste like it at all?”

Leo absolutely lost it.

“You put scrambled egg into the-” He was regretting his broken wrist again, mostly because this was the type of situation that, at minimum, required a two-handed face-palm. That did explain the weird yellow pieces Leo had seen in the undercooked batter, but he also desperately wished he could go back to not knowing that. He sighed, resigned. “Why do I even ask?”

“Why is that wrong?” Piper looked genuinely confused. “I know pretty much for sure that eggs are a common cake ingredient!”

“Yeah, but not scrambled eggs!” Leo burst out laughing and couldn’t get himself to stop. This was absolutely hysterical. “Forget celestial bronze and imperial gold. We should just weaponize this cake next time we fight a giant. Even if they do regenerate eventually, they’re never gonna dare to come near us again.”

He had to pause to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes—partially because he was genuinely really touched by the gesture, but mostly because the mental image of Jason and Piper dumping scrambled egg into a bowl of cake batter with completely straight faces was absolutely killing him. 

“The plates couldn’t do raw eggs. We tried,” Jason explained with a shrug. “We figured it wouldn’t make that much of a difference.”

“Yes, it does. What is wrong with you two?” Leo buried his face in his hand again, trying his hardest to catch his breath between bouts of laughter and failing miserably. “Also, we have raw eggs in the fridge. Why didn’t you just use those?”

Piper and Jason exchanged a look.

“Eggs go in the fridge?” Jason asked, dumbfounded.

“You people are hopeless.” 

“At this rate you’re not getting a cake at all next year,” Piper told him, crossing her arms.

“Thank the gods,” Leo said. He was shaking with laughter. “Do I even want to know the other ingredients if one of them was scrambled egg?”

“Sugar, flour, cocoa to add some liquid and two bars of chocolate,” Jason listed.

Huh. Unlike the scrambled egg, those seemed like pretty basic chocolate cake ingredients, and could actually have made for a decent cake, even though that sounded like way too much chocolate and Leo wouldn’t have put frosting on it. They’d probably gotten the ratios all wrong if they hadn’t had a recipe—and considering how the cake had turned out, they couldn’t have had one—but that didn’t explain why the outer layer of the cake had turned out hard enough to chip a tooth. Burnt cake didn’t usually do that.

Leo waited for Jason to continue listing ingredients. He didn’t. He just stood there, looking at him expectantly.

“…that’s it? No butter? No baking powder? No egg that wasn’t scrambled?” Leo was equal parts horrified and amused when his friends shook their heads. Ah. That would do it. “How did you guys manage to forget all of the ingredients that are supposed to make the cake less dense and somehow still end up with a liquid batter core? This whole thing should be a brick, not just the outer layer. I’m honestly almost impressed.”

“We didn’t know what temperature to put the oven on, but we figured just turning it all the way up and keeping an eye on it would work,” Piper explained. “Apparently it could have used a few more minutes.”

“Holy fuck. Yeah, that explains it. It also explains the fire.” Leo had been in the process of calming down at least a little, but now he doubled over laughing again. If being in the general proximity of this cake wasn’t going to kill him, his friends recounting their baking misadventures definitely would. “Whose idea was this?”

“I messed up the thing with the oven,” Jason admitted sheepishly. “The cake in general was Piper’s idea, though.”

“It was?”

Piper rubbed the back of her neck, looking somewhere between embarrassed and amused at just how badly this whole baking thing had turned out. “Evidently not my best call.”

Leo hugged her again.

“Thanks. You know, for remembering, even if it was a little late.”

Jason got pulled into the hug, too—for fairness’ sake, and because Leo knew it must have taken a lot out of him to break the rules and leave his room after curfew. 

As much fun as he made of the cake—which, in his defense, really did deserve it—Leo wanted his friends to know how much he appreciated that they’d tried. 

He felt warm all throughout his body.

“We’ll do it properly next time,” Piper promised when they broke apart. “Correct date and all. No cake, though,” she amended. “Not even cake mix. I will not stand for you laughing at our efforts.”

“And all the cake mixes in the world will thank you for it,” Leo teased.

It was hard to put into words what it meant to him to know that they were thinking of him, with how much he’d worried they would inevitably end up not caring anymore. That was the way it had always gone, even with the nicer foster families—inevitably, they’d all figured out he just wasn’t worth the effort. Eventually, he’d started running before it got to that point. 

It was a thought he’d been toying with a lot lately—ever since Nemesis had told him that he’d never belong with his friends. 

But something had shifted. 

Next year, Piper had said, and Leo believed her. 

He wanted a next year with her and Jason. And the year after, and the year after that one, until they were all old and gray. Until Gaia was nothing but a ridiculous story they told to their grandkids. 

‘Oh yeah, when we were teenagers the earth tried to kill us all. We kicked her ass. It was a whole thing. Now, have you seen my glasses?’

The thought of losing them scared Leo a whole lot more than the thought of staying did.

He didn’t put any of that into words, though. Instead, he decided he desperately needed to go back to teasing his friends, because all of these ridiculous emotions were too hard for him to deal with. 

“If nothing else, your ridiculous baking disaster did cheer me up a lot. I’m so gonna tell the others about this. They’re gonna lose it.” Leo smiled gleefully. “Also, please never set foot into my kitchen again. That goes for both of you. No more couples’ baking nights on the Argo, okay? The ship is wrecked enough as-is, and we can’t save the world if we’re all sleep deprived because you guys keep setting off the fire alarm.”

“You have nothing to worry about in that regard,” Piper told him. Leo didn’t really get why, but she was smiling.

“First baking experience was too traumatizing for you to ever try again?” he guessed, still struggling to keep a straight face.

“It’s not that. Despite the results, we actually had a pretty great time. It’s…” Piper gave Jason a questioning look. Whatever it was she’d asked, Jason nodded. “We’re just sort of done doing couples’ anything.”

“What does that even mean?” Leo looked from Piper to Jason in confusion. “Not sure if this is just me being sleep deprived, but is Pipes making any sense to you?”

“Yes,” Jason said, pausing for a moment before apparently figuring out that he should probably elaborate. “We broke up.”

That startled Leo so badly he almost caused a kitchen fire. “What? When? Guys, the cake may be awful, but it’s not bad enough to warrant a whole breakup.”

“A few days ago?” Piper shrugged. “It was mutual and we didn’t want to make a whole thing out of it. We’ve got more important problems right now.”

“Not the cake, then,” Leo concluded, too stunned to say anything else. 

His mind was whirring. What the hell had he missed? 

And why in the world was the main thing he felt relief? 

“Definitely not the cake,” Jason confirmed. “Don’t worry, we’re still friends. It’s a little weird, but we'll figure it out. You’re probably right that we should be banned from being baking buddies, though.”

He laughed.

They both seemed completely unbothered by the breakup. 

No, it was even weirder than that. Leo thought they genuinely looked happy about it. He had no idea what to make of that. 

Thankfully, Leo didn't have to know what to make of it. He could always just make jokes about it now and ask questions later.

“Oh, good. I’d hate to pick sides in the divorce. It’d suck if I only got to see Piper on the weekends.”

“Hang on, why am I the one who only gets weekends?” Piper whined, giving him an offended, deeply betrayed look. “You were my friend first!” 

”Jason genuinely thinks I’m funny, and he sat through all of the Transformers movies with me without complaining once. Sorry, Pipes,” Leo explained, grinning at her. “Besides, you admitted to this whole cake business being your idea, so that’s clearly child endangerment. You should be glad it’s not just supervised visitation.”

“You’re so lucky today is your make-up birthday, because otherwise I’d have some choice words for you, Mister,” Piper told him, pouting. “Anyway!” She clapped her hands. “Tonight is about you, not about our relationship status. I just wanted to make sure you don’t get the wrong idea. We were burning down the kitchen in a completely platonic manner.” 

“Right.” Leo snorted. “If today is my make-up birthday, does that mean I get to make a wish? And if so, can that wish be that we throw out your awful cake and eat magic plate cake instead?”

Piper and Jason were both pouting now, but Leo wouldn’t budge on this. They did not need to add food poisoning to their steadily growing list of problems.

Leo put the hazard of a cake into a box and stored it safely in his tool belt—getting rid of it at Notus’ palace might be considered a war declaration, which would not help their situation, but since they kept running into obstacles Leo was sure there’d be a monster they could kill with it in the future.

Then he made his friends clean up after themselves, because as much as his mom had been in favor of organized chaos in other spaces, she’d been very insistent when it came to tidying up after yourself in the kitchen.

Once that was done, Jason and Piper put up the decorations—streamers and tiny colorful origami dragons and all—and they all had a piece of unburnt cake without scrambled eggs, courtesy of the golden plates.

Afterwards, Leo voted they go hang out in Jason’s room, because Piper’s room was usually a disaster and his own was basically a workshop, neither of which was very cozy.

They collapsed onto Jason’s mattress, Leo tucked between his best friends, his injured arm resting on top of Jason so no one could roll onto it by accident. Jason didn't mind.

Leo picked out a movie—a new science fiction film neither of them had seen before, which turned out to be a mistake because the world-building was really complex and they were all sleepy as hell. None of them actually managed to follow the plot, and Piper barely made it half an hour into the movie before she dozed off.

“Last chance to throw us both out,” Leo said when realized Jason was starting to fall asleep, too. He didn’t have to bother with whispering. Piper slept like a log. 

“I won’t,” Jason told him, pulling Leo even closer for emphasis. “You’re so warm. This is nice.”

“You sure about this, Superman?” Leo teased, though he wasn’t complaining. “We’re gonna be in a lot of trouble if Hedge finds us like this. You really ready to deal with that?”

“It’s your birthday. Hedge can bite me,” Jason announced with a yawn. He pulled his blanket over all of them and wrapped an arm around Leo’s shoulder.

“Not how the wolf-goat food chain typically works, buddy,” Leo told him, letting his head drop onto Jason’s chest. He was halfway on top of his friend now, but Jason didn't seem to mind. Not like Leo had much of a choice, either—Piper kept moving closer to him, so moving to the other side was all Leo could do not to get squashed between them.

Jason laughed. The noise rumbled against Leo’s ear. It felt nice.

“How’s your tooth, by the way?”

“Would be a lot better if I could stop forgetting I’m not supposed to chew on that side,” Jason sighed, yawning again, “And before you ask, no, I’m not feeling sick. I told you, I’ve eaten weirder things than burnt cake before.”

“Somehow, this does not reassure me,” Leo commented. “We really need to talk to Lupa about appropriate toddler diets when we get back.”

Jason laughed again, but it was more subdued this time. This might have offended Leo—he was hilarious, thank you very much—but Jason was forgiven based on the fact that he was obviously completely beat.

A moment later, he was out like a light, snoring quietly.

There, tucked between his two best friends, Leo felt… happy. Despite his stupid broken wrist, the last few hours had been the best Leo had felt in weeks.

As much as he preferred sleeping in the engine room over the quiet of his own room, there was something to be said about the comfort of an actual bed. He could still hear the machinery of the Argo II whirring around him here if he really focused on it, but his friends’ breaths and the other noises they made in their sleep were more than enough to combat the quiet even when he didn’t.

When sleep found him, Leo was vision- and nightmare-free for the first time in ages.

———

Some notes:

I doubt that’s gonna seriously bother anyone except for me, but if anyone is keeping track of the book timeline, you’ll realize it being July 10th a few days into the Notus situation doesn’t quite work.

For the sake of this fic, I’m choosing to ignore that, because if I didn’t, I’d either have to deal with awkward comphet jiper still being together (which I’ve tried and did not enjoy writing), take the fic out of this universe and make it a standalone (which I’ve also tried and didn’t like) or have them miss Leo’s birthday by a week, which feels a million times worse.

After I finally decided to just say “fuck the timeline, I can do what I want”, I managed to finish this fic I was stuck on for months in four days. And it somehow also ended up my longest lost trio week fic, which… how?

Also, Leo having a broken wrist in this fic is mostly because part of the reason they’re stuck with Notus in canon is that the Argo is wrecked and Leo isn’t there to fix it, so I had to find an excuse why he couldn’t fix it even though he was there in this universe.

If anyone wants to call shenanigans on the batter not tasting terrible, please just assume they didn’t taste any bit that had scrambled egg in it, LOL

Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Comments super appreciated as always!

[harmonyrae]

will we be seeing more crowfish &/or Sylus x Rafayel x reader ??? 👁️🫦👁️ i didn’t think I needed them so badly before BUT NOW I DO (i never really shipped the boys like that as long as mc/reader was included lowkey) BUT like just they way you’ve written their interactions and dynamics has me frothing at the mouth 🤲🤲🤲🤲

Yes, my spiciest Sylus x Reader x Rafayel scene is in Part 3. I didn't realize how much I fuck with crowfish until I decided to write Sylus into the story. Originally, the guy at the party was just a guy and my brain went WAIT A SECOND and thus crowfish made it's way into the story.

I think I will always include MC/reader in the dynamic because I like having that 3rd party making comments about them. And because I envision myself when writing OOP

I love writing for Rafayel & Sylus cause their personalities are very fun, but together? Diabolical.

Part 3 hopefully soon. Writers block has me atm (might also be period hormones telling me to sleep instead so...)

[misguidedswagger]

good man (touya todoroki/dabi x reader)

a/n: hi! god… it has been way too long since i’ve written, idk if anyone even remembers me at this point lol. but, i apologize for being gone for so long, i got a job LOL.  anyway, i finally got some time to sit down and write. you guys voted and Good Man by Devour The Day won the poll! i hope you guys enjoy some good ol’ touya angst!

this is a blurb bc i did not know if anyone would like what i was doing with this! lmk if anyone wants a part two lol warnings: swearing, cheating, female reader, the word cock, and idk if there’s anything else oops,  no good ending word count: 826 masterlist

i want to be a good man, 

“touya, baby, come back to bed,” your voice called softly, the sheets beside you already freezing cold despite your boyfriend only having left your side less than a minute ago, or so it seemed. 

i want to see god, 

touya was already in the bathroom, throwing on clothes from yesterday and spritzing himself with a cologne you’d bought him for your first valentine’s day together, ‘doll, ya shouldn’t have,’ his younger voice rang out in your head as the familiar scent hit your nose. he turned to you, grabbing his pack of cigarettes and lighter off of the nightstand as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. “sorry baby,” touya kissed your cheek before lightly pressing his lips against your soft pink lips, “ but shig told me to head over bright and early on tuesdays, you know that. i know you don’t want him to be up your ass either if he finds out you’re why i’m late,” he said teasingly, affectionately pinching your cheek.

i want to be faithful,

with a sigh and a pout, you sat up in bed, your hair tousled and touya’s shirt hanging past your shoulder and laying beautifully over your body. if touya were a good man, he would’ve taken you then and there, able to treat his woman in the way she deserved. 

but instead, touya gave you one more kiss and turned around, already texting the familiar unknown number he’d found himself repeatedly going to meet over the last month. 

but i know that i’m not, 

mei. that was the name of the woman who had stolen the time and attention of your boyfriend, touya. after he left, you tried to head back to sleep, but you couldn’t. there was an unusual pit  in your stomach. you sat up, suddenly feeling dizzy and nauseous, sipping some water to calm your sudden anxiety. something felt really off, but you calmed yourself and told yourself it was simply nerves from the day.

is there any good left in me?

touya’s tongue explored the younger woman’s mouth, his hands clutching onto her pale skin. she wasn’t y/n, there was no way in hell she could compare. no one could compare to y/n, so why was he here right now, ruining the last three years they’d spent together?

it’s getting harder and harder to see, if there’s any good left in me?

touya pulled away, a string of saliva connecting him and his mistress. she panted underneath him, confused at the fact that he had suddenly stopped. the red haired woman cupped touya’s face, rubbing her thumb over his cheek, 

“what’s wrong, dabi?” she asked, searching his eyes for an answer. he jerked his head away, lost in thought for a moment, imagining the look on y/n’s face when she found out about what he was doing. touya pulled his condom covered cock out of mei, much to her disdain, 

“dabi?” she asked softly, her eyes searching his still as she sat up, watching him discard the barely used condom and pull his pants back up. “did i-”

“i’m not gonna lie…you mean nothing to me, you’re pretty in the face i guess, but fucking you just now made me realize how big of a mistake i was making, this,” he awkwardly gestured between the two of them, “is over,”

touya left a barely clothed, crying,  mei in the alleyway, lighting a cigarette as he walked to headquarters for his meeting. 

the entire meeting, he couldn’t stop thinking about y/n and how badly he’d fucked up. she could never know, she would never forgive him, especially if she found out just how long he’d been fucking mei on the side. he couldn’t lose her, he knew that now, and he wished he had figured that out before hurting her in the way he did.

as soon as touya got home, he followed the scent of his girlfriend’s fragrance, a sweet and light scent that enveloped itself around touya’s head. he loved the scent , adored it even, it was one that he planned on buying her for their anniversary-

oh shit. 

touya rounded the corner, seeing a dolled up y/n with balloons hanging up behind her. there was a large silver balloon in the middle of the living room that read 4. it made touya’s breath catch in his throat, his guilt threatening to swallow him whole as his girlfriend ran forward, nearly knocking him over from the force of the hug. 

“happy anniversary, my love.” y/n said sweetly, pulled her boyfriend into a tight hug, completely unaware of the other woman who left a hair tie in the pocket of touya’s jacket. 

am i worth forgiveness, i can’t make myself believe 

touya swallowed thickly, his arms instinctively wrapping around the smaller woman in his arms. 

she can never know.

“h-happy anniversary…y/n…”

is there any good left in me? pt. 2

[caelisouls]

part two - cue the chaos

masterlist

prev ౨ৎ next

a/n: oop. confrontation is scary. and diluc is emotionally constipated lol. i hope yall are still following thru the badly written plot and somehow enjoying 💔 my inbox is open pls feel free to suggest shit or yap abt the story 💗

[confetti-smoker]

I ACCIDENTLY DELETED THE ASK but I screenshotted it we ball

Sorry Tumblr sucks with images? It wouldn’t let me format this? And I pressed the wrong delete oops, I shall @ the magical wizard instead @t3ch-wizard

Hello! Thank you so so much :D

Your right! She doesn’t have her throne stolen and rules SugarRush (like she would have if King Candy never showed up, because he doesn’t show up. lol)

BUT she has his role beyond ‘ruler of SugarRush’ stuff, this includes the whole ‘game jumping and dooming 2 games’ thing…

I know this fandom generally dislikes RBTI and for a good reason, I 100% agree, but the one thing it confirmed for me is that if Turbo wasn’t an obstacle Vanellope WOULD game-jump. If he never was a problem she would have gotten bored, and being a kid she wouldn’t really think about the consequences of game-jumping.

In this AU, TurboTime was unplugged the same time as RoadBlasters was plugged in, meaning Turbo never got a chance to get all jealous and commit his warcrimes,

So when SugarRush comes along, after a few years of ruling, Vanellope gets bored and decides to give her RoadBlaster’s neighbours a visit for a few days which ENDS BADLY FOR EVERYONE!

(It’s pretty similar to the whole ‘wow this slaughter race place is so cool…’ thing from RBTI, but within the arcade and doomed by the narrative. Disney princess I want song but you know what’s coming won’t be good.)

The same thing that happened with TurboTime/Roadblasters happens instead with SugarRush/Roadblasters, Vanellope barely makes it out and ends up with a glitch, no home, and most of the people in her life are gone. Yikes

Here’s a timeline I sketched up to help understand this lol

Turbo does come back :), as his game wasn’t broken just put in the back of the arcade, but he’s been gone for 25 years so he’s missed ALOT.

And like Turbo/King Candy, Vanellope decides to sneak into a new game and ‘take it over’, which just so happens to be Heros Duty. Scary bug game that will keep her entertained and also no one is going to want to visit because of how dangerous it is! It’s perfect for her!

Unlike King Candy, when Vanellope takes over Heros Duty it’s less of an explicitly evil takeover and more of a ‘I can handle this and do it right this time’ kind of thing, + some other stuff with Calhoun but this post is getting too long

(Oh also your right she totally did some hacking stuff, unlike Turbo she’s much more careful and considerate, weaving herself into the Hero’s Duty universe rather than ripping and tearing through everything like he did) (she still locked away memories though, specifically backstory stuff. Smiles at you :])

(Also she probably gives herself a new name in Hero’s Duty (like Turbo did with King Candy) the current ones I have written down are “Sargent Schweetz” or “Sargent Sprinkles”, sprinkles seems too silly and Schweetz would probably give her away, so I need a name for her if people have suggestions please tell me :D)

[autism-autobot]

Flower of a Poisonous Seed Part 22

Tw: slight drug mention

Part 21

"And....

NOW!!!"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY WUKONG!!!!!"

"Oh!... What am I looking at?"

"Oh, oops, we forgot to turn your wheelchair around. Sorry."

Wukong sat in his primrose themed pink gown with many petticoats dumbfounded.

The botanical garden was blooming in colors Wukong never thought possible. Streamers hung from the white gazebo in the center, flowing in every direction. The table underneath was filled with Wukong's favorite foods, and presents of various sizes littered the surrounding floor.

The cake in the center was a gorgeous raspberry cake topped with coconut shavings and the words "Happy Birthday Sun Wukong" written in icing along the sides. Candles shaped like a seven and three zeros sat unlit on the top tier.

SWK: This is amazing! When did you guys have time for all this?

RS: We had help. You see, M-

Mac: Can we PLEASE just eat the cake already?

Nezha: Dude. We just got here.

DBK: We can't have cake yet, we still have many activities planned!

Mac: But CAKE!!!

PIF: *raises her fan threateningly*

Mac: Fine!

~~~

A particular section of the garden held objects needed to preserve floral arrangements. Wukong made a scrapbook of the various flowers in the garden, each page filled with information about the individual species with poetry relating to the symbolism of each bloom.

Wukong always assigned a specific flower to each person he loves, and if that flower was in the garden, you better believe their picture was on the page with their flower.

Nezha tried his hand at making a painting of Wukong as he made the scrapbook. It turned out wonderfully.

Princess Iron Fan attempted to make a flower crown out of roses, but to no avail. Red Son, on the other hand, crafted a flower crown truly fit for the birthday king.

Wukong wore the crown the rest of the day.

~~~

PIF: IT'S NOT TIME FOR CAKE YET!!!!!

Mac: JUST ONE BITE, PLEASE!!!

DBK: No. *squirts him with a spray bottle*

~~~

Jing: Alright, time for cake and presents!

Mac: FINALLY!!!

Wukong sat in the Demon Bull King's hand mesmerizing by the candlelight. The cake smelled delicious. Wukong almost tuned out everyone's singing. He was zoned in just enough to know when to blow out the candles.

No one noticed Macaque grabbed a handful of cake until it was too late.

PIF: MACAQUE!!!!! *chases him with her fan raised*

Mac: *mouth full of cake* *muffled* I REGRET NOTHING!!!!

Nezha: Oh, for the love of-

RS: Let's eat the cake while he's distracted!

SWK: LET'S!!!!

~~~

After everyone had their fill (and Macaque had been turned black and blue), gifts were handed one by one to Wukong.

Demon Bull King could barely see his brother past all the wrapping paper by the end of it.

One present sat under the table almost forgotten.

Jing: Wait, there's one more!

Nezha: Here you go, Wukong.

SWK: Sweet, who's it from?

RS: It... It's from MK.

Wukong stared at the present and questioned whether he should open it.

He decided he should.

The card inside the box moved Wukong to tears. It was the first time he's cried since he started taking antidepressants. These weren't sad tears, however.

Wukong missed MK with all his heart and wanted so badly to take back every word he'd said.

It seemed like MK wanted the same.

Inside the present was a painting drawn by MK himself, depicting the two of them sitting together on Flower Fruit Mountain watching the fireworks on New Years.

Masterpost

It was the best present Wukong received that day.

Part 23:

@istopaskingmemate @weaverpop @swkbiggestdefender @starrclown @ainnur

[milkypompon]

pairing: Nathan Bateman x F!Reader

summary: Did you wake up in your boss' bed after a night together? Oops...

content: Fluff, morning after, talks of sex, sprinkles of smut

wc: 642

a/n: I am balls deep into Nathan Bateman... I'm rewatching Ex Machina and couldn't help but write for this pathetically genius man.

Main Masterlist

–

The bed underneath you was plush… too soft even.

You roll around in the sheets and still haven’t fallen off the single-sized mattress.

Oh, fuck. 

This was a king-sized mattress. 

And it wasn’t yours for that matter.

“You going to piss on my pillows next? C’mon, finish marking your territory.” A lilt of amusement hidden behind the gruff smirk catches you off-guard.

“I already did last night.” You throw said pillows at Nathan, he sidessteps each one. “Where’d you put my phone?”

Nathan chuckles and leans against the door frame, a towel wrapped low on his waist – freshly bathed with water droplets clinging to his chest. 

You knew that you’d be caught staring anyway, so you didn’t bother being discreet about it.

“Are you gonna take pictures to use as references for solo sessions?” He pushes up his glasses, making a show of it with his fingers. 

You rub the sleep out of your eyes, ineffectively stopping last night’s memories from seeping in. Those deliciously thick digits that plugged his cum back into your cunt, threatening to spill out to his annoyance. 

“Just give it back, Bateman. You and I got shit to do.”

Nathan pouts.

He fucking pouts.

You almost feel bad for wanting to leave but reality gave you a cold-wash of “you just slept with your boss”. 

“Quit thinking so hard, you’re gonna fry your brain.” He fishes your phone from god knows where because he certainly didn’t have pockets sewn into the towel.

“Was that between your ass cheeks?”

He tosses your phone back. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

The view is “not safe for work” to say the least. 

Your bare back is pressed against the bed, your stiffening nipples exposed to the cool air. The only thing covering you up right now was the thin sheet splayed across your pussy. (Damn rich people and their attraction to minimalism). 

But there was no point of decency now. He’d seen you on your knees and against the wall. 

There were a few places he’s yet to take you like his annoyingly neat desk that you wanted to mess up just for the sake of musing his workspace.

He said it’d be like straight out of a badly written porno. “Hot, billionaire boss fucks ditzy, sexy assistant on his desk during work hours.”

You rolled your eyes. “You sure the title shouldn’t be ‘assistant finds out her boss is actually the owner of PornHub’? How the hell did you come up with it so fast?”

His sweatpants were past his knees but he was rudely interrupted by a call with the board before he could pull your panties off. 

“Alright, sir. You’ve got a long day today.” You open up the Teams app, listing off his daily meetings. 

He plucks your phone and settles your head into the crook of his neck. “I knew you’d do this, pretending like it didn’t happen.”

“I can’t believe I slept with you.”

“I know, I was there.” 

You can’t help it when the corners of your lips curl at his stupid remark.

Nathan beams at drawing out a reaction. “Oh? Is that a smile I see?”

“No, you idiot.” You’re full-on grinning now, cheesing and all.

“Quit worrying about your pretty head, babe. You’re already working full-time at the facility, no one’s gonna know what you’re doing here. Besides, my dick is just a bonus.”

“Is your dick equivalent to a bar of gold? Because I’m gonna need that extra money once I get fired.”

“Now you’re just giving me ideas. Imagine that! A golden dildo molded from my cock.” He strokes his beard. “A true Midas’ touch.” 

You crane over to him, nudging your nose against his. “I’d never survive a day in your mind.”

“Well, you made it through a night with me, so I think it’s fair game.”

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