#questions about them' because i have /unanswered questions from the last time/'

[ichorblossoms]

hehehoho 5+11 for grimm pleasee

good fucking LORD this took so fucking long to answer hihihi thank you for asking this all those months ago <3

5. Does your OC have a signature weapon and/or attack? How long did they train to master it?

while it can use a variety of weapons, grimm's best with a revolver. their ideal fight is one where they don't get hurt, so they got really good with a gun over the years to keep as much distance between them and anyone wanting to cause damage. it didn't deliberately seek to get really good with its revolver in particular, but it's a small enough gun and doesn't take up much space on its person, so its skill is a combination of deliberate training/target practice and years of familiarity

grimm's not the sentimental sort, but the gun itself is meaningful to them; i haven't teased out the exact history behind it or if it has several guns over the years, but the gun is symbolic of the "freedom" they earned for themself as well. it takes care of its few belongings.

(i model theirs off a smith & wesson .44 magnum 29 for literally no reason, i just think the shape looked neat. also i've been drawing the holster on their right thigh when they're left-handed so i'm torn between drawing the holster on the left thigh now or making them ambidextrous when they shoot. i dunno)

and then, of course, there is also the

i talked abt grimm n wrench awhile ago here (which you prolly remember bc you asked that hgkdfhl) as far as that goes everything there is still canon for the time being. aside from scars, wrench is really the only thing grimm still has from the several years they spent under the thumb of the casimir family. i think a word is escaping me here because while they were a bodyguard, they were also part of a group of humods trained to carry out all sorts of dirty work for the family from tracking people down, intimidating adversaries, finishing people off, etc. etc.

as it stands in my mind now, there were five coyote humods all outfit with their own dogs who formed a "pack". i've yet to figure out how close this group was because on one hand, they're all enduring the same shit, but on the other hand it would be in the interest of the casimir family to keep their small unit of well-trained attack dogs bickering and fighting with one another instead of banding together. they were together for....~3ish years? give or take and trained with/against one another

the armor/animal tech is uncommon, especially in the desert where machines in general are uncommon, so while this is a sort of "signature" thing only grimm and a few others can do, i don't think they've mastered it, especially since it goes about a decade or so without resorting to using wrench in that way. it's more of a "use only in dire circumstances" sort of thing. but the muscle memory is still there

11. What does your OC believe in? God(s)? Monsters? Love? The power of unbreakable bonds of friendship to overcome any obstacle? The ability of money to open any door? Or are they indifferent?

i answered this one here ages ago [dies on the floor] BUT grimm's internal belief system is a fascinating thing so. let's take a little walk. for a very long time, grimm believes the world is apathetic, that everything and everyone only cares about fulfilling the base impulse to survive, and the only thing that can guarantee your own survival is yourself. it is an animal, and part of the food chain, and it will make itself into a hunter before being hunted.

at the same time, it travels, it knows things like friends and love and family exist in this world, and what people do in the names of them. but it's not a person anymore, it's an animal, and it's not practical to think about what could have been, so it doesn't.

now, yarrow is not the first person to treat grimm like a person, but the way he did—and does—it without really thinking, consistently, rattles grimm, who never expected it in the first place. and so grimm falls in love.

which, it does believe in love. but love to it is a death more than a joy, a disfigurement of the self into whatever the person you love wants you to be, because you're an animal only pretending to be a person. of course yarrow doesn't really know about any of this, and grimm slowly realizes there's nothing yarrow is asking them to be aside from themself and they slowly, slowly begin to reconfigure their belief in love as something that can be good, not a chain. except grimm's perception of love is scrambled so it never quite separates love from unerring devotion

this is such a fascinating question to me bc grimm n yarrow's beliefs change over the course of the story, and in no small part because of one another (i'd argue grimm's is more bc of yarrow directly and yarrow's is more from their own experiences, which they never would have had if not for grimm), so it's sometimes difficult for me to pin down beliefs of theirs that remain fully consistent. i think the most broad way of putting it is yarrow believes people are all we have in this world and grimm believes in you are the only thing you have, but at the same time, yarrow hesitates to trust people with himself past a certain level of closeness, and grimm will trust itself in the hands of someone who treats it well

[not-a-snowman]

I see your “Paul is Pokotho’s favorite” theory and raise you “Paul is Pokotho’s nemesis”

So here’s the thing about Pokey: he hates any voice that isn’t his own. He sees Hatchetfield and all their drama and he feels superior because he KNOWS there’s not a single person in this world whose part he can’t play better than them.

He knows their little wants and deepest desires. He understands their character motivations more deeply than those miserable ants ever could. 

Except here’s the thing. Thousands of timelines, countless different scenarios he and his brothers have dreamed up, and in all of that there’s still one question that remains unanswered:

Who the fuck is Paul?

No seriously who the hell is this guy. Like, he’s in every story but what’s his deal. What does Paul want? He wants a date with a barista. And seemingly, that’s it.

Great. Fucking riveting.

The man is nothing, he’s set dressing, he’s a total non sequitur. Plot threads walk up to him and he goes “no thanks I have better things to do” and prattles off

He doesn’t have better things to do. He never has better things to do. He’s going to go home and browse Wikipedia for an hour and then go to bed. Pokey goddamn checked. 

Even in the universe where he gets replaced with a goddamn time traveling clone, that clone’s ambition start and end with marrying that same fucking barista because he is seemingly programmed in his DNA to be BORING

He doesn’t even like musicals, the uncultured cuck.

But now Paul’s gone and made Pokey waste valuable brainpower pondering the inner life of stupid nothing mortal like he’s fucking Tinky. And Pokey’s not gonna stand for that kind of slight. 

Paul’s just like every other worthless person in his universe and Pokey’s going to prove it. He’ll wrench a story from Paul’s bloody corpse if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. 

And he’s going to do it in SONG

[ggukivrse]

THE ART OF PRETENDING - JJK | 06

summary. when you and jungkook show up to your much anticipated graduation trip and realise neither of you had the guts to tell your friends about your recent break up, there’s only one thing you can do to keep the trip from falling apart: pretend.

but somewhere between fake kisses and real feelings, you start to wonder if letting go was ever the right choice at all.

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre/warnings: exes to lovers, fake dating, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, swearing, fluff, angst, arguing :’(, jk’s an asshole in this i’m sorry, (eventual) explicit sexual content ( mdni ! ), ft. seokjin, namjoon, hoseok, jimin, taehyung, yoongi + four female ocs

word count: 4.6k

notes: okay first of all, i’m SO sorry for the wait. second of all, this chapter was meant to be much longer but i split it into two :< anyways, likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are sooo appreciated!! enjoy (?) reading my angels <33 (and pls don’t hate me </3)

⤷ chapter six — tv

“and i’ll be in denial for at least a little while / what about the plans we made.”

The kitchen is quiet, only filled by the soft buzz of the fridge and the distant sound of waves. You take a slow sip from your mug, fingers curled around the ceramic.

The coffee's still warm, just the way you like it — strong, slightly bitter, just enough milk to soften the edge. You’d made Jungkook’s the same way you always have. You didn’t even think about it. Just moved through the motions like you’ve done a hundred mornings before.

But that was nearly half an hour ago.

His mug is still sitting on the counter. Steam long gone, surface barely warm. You glance at it for the third — maybe fourth — time, as if expecting it to have vanished. It hasn’t. It’s still there, untouched.

And so is the space beside you.

You haven’t seen him since waking up.

You’d stirred sometime around eight, alone. No arm slung over your waist, no weight shifting the mattress beside you, no sleepy grumble against your shoulder. Just cold sheets and a quiet room. The fan was still spinning overhead lazily, and the only thing on the nightstand that hadn’t been yours was a single bottle of water.

You’d stared at the ceiling for a few minutes after that.

It would’ve been easier if you hadn’t let yourself get used to waking up like that again. If you hadn’t let it feel like something.

But you did, because you always do, with him. Even now.

So when you eventually got out of bed, you made two cups of coffee. One for you. One for him.

You tell yourself it was just habit. But that’s only half-true.

Because the other half — the part you don’t say out loud — is that you were kind of hoping he’d show up.

That you could sit across from him, trade casual conversation, build your way back into something steady enough to finally ask the things you’ve been swallowing down since the breakup. Finally ask the things you wanted to ignore last night when you kissed him.

What happened?

What changed?

Why did it feel like he was ready to spend the rest of your life with you, and then suddenly, he wasn't?

You’ve been sitting with those questions for weeks. Letting them settle into your bones. Last night had started to smooth out the edges. That kiss, the way he held you, the weight of him tucked against your back — none of it felt like someone who’d let go for good.

But this morning?

This morning feels like the reset button was hit again. Like you’re back at square one.

And it’s starting to scare you.

You take another sip from your mug.

It’s not just that he left. It’s the fact that you have no idea where he went, or why, or when he’s coming back. It’s that your questions are still sitting in your chest, unanswered. It’s that his coffee is still sitting in front of you, lukewarm.

It’s that you keep hoping for something that keeps slipping away.

And sure, it could be nothing. He could walk into the kitchen any minute and prove that all of your overthinking was for nothing and place a kiss against your temple as he silently confirms that you guys are finally okay again. But as you stare down at nothing in specific, eyes unfocused on the ground, you can't ignore the feeling that it's not going to be that easy.

A hand waving in front of your face breaks you out of your thoughts.

“Hello? Earth to ___?"

You blink and turn to find Kiara standing in front of you, one brow raised, one hand waving dramatically in front of your face.

“Fuck,” you mutter, pulling back a little, caught off guard. “You scared me.”

She grins. “I said your name twice. Thought you died standing up.”

You force a breath through your nose, trying to ease the tension from your shoulders. “Sorry. I zoned out.”

“Clearly,” Kiara says, folding her arms as she leans back against the island across from you. “You were staring at that coffee like you were possessed or something.”

You glance back down at Jungkook’s mug. The coffee inside has gone a dull, murky brown. It's oddly fitting.

“Just thinking,” you murmur.

Kiara gives you a long look, tilting her head slightly. She doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches.

You expect her to pivot the conversation, maybe ask what time you’re heading to the beach, or what’s for breakfast.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she says, softer now, “Is everything okay with you and Jungkook?”

Your stomach drops, and you're too slow to catch the surprise on your face before it shows.

She doesn’t look accusatory. Just curious. Maybe a little concerned.

You think about what Jungkook said — that your acting sucks.

Clearly, he was more right than you gave him credit for if this is the second time someone has thought that something was off between you two.

You give Kiara a tight smile, trying to play it off. “Of course we’re okay. Why wouldn’t we be?”

Your voice cracks slightly at the end and Kiara’s face shifts. Her eyes narrow, expression flattening just a little.

God. You suck at this.

She doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you.

And when you glance past her, you realise Ari and Yasmine are both in the kitchen now too. You didn’t even hear them come in. They're hovering by the counter, not pretending they didn’t hear the conversation. Yasmine raises her eyebrows at you as if to say, Really? That’s the best you’ve got?

You laugh, the sound a little too loud and a little too fake.

“No, seriously. There’s nothing going on. We’re totally fine,” you insist. You try to make it sound breezy, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. But there’s this edge of strain in your tone that even you can hear now.

Yasmine exchanges a quick glance with Ari. Ari raises a single brow.

“____,” Kiara says, and her voice almost sympathetic. “We love you to death. If anything if going on, you can tell us. We will fight that man if needed.”

You snort at the ridiculousness of the offer, trying to ignore the way they're all watching you.

“Okay, maybe don’t plan my best friend’s murder right in front of me,” Jimin says around a half-yawn, wandering into the kitchen. His hair is a mess — flattened on one side and fluffy on the other — and his hoodie is inside out. His expression, though, is amused as hell.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. It’s half a laugh, really — short and quiet, but enough to break the tension hanging over you. Your shoulders drop just slightly.

“No one said murder,” Kiara replies, looking entirely unbothered. “We said ‘fight.’ With fists. Maybe knees.”

“Maybe a little arson,” Yasmine adds, chewing on the edge of a strawberry she pulled from the fridge.

Jimin walks past them and reaches up to grab a granola bar from the top shelf. “You know I’m contractually obligated to defend Jungkook’s honour,” he says through a yawn, unwrapping the bar. “Even if he’s being an idiot. Which, to be fair, is frequent.”

“Then maybe pass that message along,” Ari says, deadpan.

He finally glances toward you then, eyes briefly scanning your face. He doesn’t say anything — and thankfully, he doesn’t ask — but something in his expression softens. Like he can see the way you’re slightly curled in on yourself, even if you’re trying to fake calm.

The semi-circle of concern around you shifts a little to make room for him, and he steps into it without hesitation, granola bar still in hand. It’s oddly comforting, how casually he folds into the space — like maybe if he acts normal, things will be normal.

And you’re grateful for it. The way attention slides off you and onto Jimin’s sudden presence.

You sip your coffee again, and it tastes slightly better now. Or maybe it’s just that your heart’s not pounding against your ribs anymore.

“Actually, I actually need to tell you guys something,” Jimin says once he’s halfway through the bar, mouth still kind of full. “Before everyone disappears into the sand for the rest of the day.”

You tilt your head, turning slightly more in his direction.

Jimin finishes chewing, wipes his hands on the front of his hoodie — inside-out tag flipping up in the process — and leans casually against the counter.

“Okay,” he starts, tone turning slightly serious. “This doesn’t leave this room. At least not yet.”

Immediately, all of you perk up.

“Oh my god,” Kiara says, leaning in. “Are we finally getting the tea?”

“Someone’s pregnant,” Yasmine whispers like it’s a wild theory, eyes wide.

“Wrong group,” Ari deadpans.

You snort.

“No one’s pregnant,” Jimin says. “But something is happening. And it’s big. So, swear you won’t say anything to Haeun.”

You all nod in varying degrees of seriousness. A chorus of “obviously” and “duh”s.

“Seokjin’s proposing.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. Not because no one saw it coming — but because even when you expect something, hearing it said out loud hits differently.

“No way,” Ari breathes.

“Finally,” Yasmine grins, clapping once. “She’s going to lose it.”

“I knew it,” Kiara says, not even pretending to be surprised. “He’s been acting weird since we got here.”

“Super obvious,” Ari agrees. “He kept spacing out yesterday during volleyball. I asked him if he was okay and he just said, ‘Just picturing things.’ I thought he meant, like… strategy?”

You set your coffee down, half-smiling. “That man has never strategised a day in his life.”

Jimin nods, serious. “Exactly. So, the plan is— he’s gonna do it tomorrow. Right at sunset. On the back deck. He wants to keep it lowkey but still romantic. Just the group, nothing flashy. He’s got this whole thing with the fairy lights and stuff. It’s very... Jin.”

Yasmine clasps her hands together with a little squeal. “Do we get to be part of it?”

“Yeah,” he says, glancing at her. “Actually, he wants you to take pictures. Nothing major. Just candids. And the rest of us just need to, like, not make it weird.”

“What do you mean not make it weird?” Ari asks.

“I mean like… don’t swarm them,” Jimin says. “Don’t make it a whole scene. Just let it happen and then we can scream after she says yes.”

You all nod.

“God, they’re gonna be so annoying and in love,” Kiara sighs. “Good for them. Can’t wait.”

Jimin’s expression softens as he talks — and you can tell how much this means to him. How long he’s probably been sitting on it. How relieved he is to finally let it out. He’s one of Jin’s closest friends — the fact that Jin looped him in says everything.

“Wait, does Haeun know anything?” Ari asks.

“Not a clue,” Jimin says, grinning. “She thinks she’s just getting a sunset drink on the deck with Jin tomorrow before dinner. Meanwhile, he’s been carrying around the ring like it’s a live bomb.”

“She’s gonna be a mess,” you say quietly, voice warm.

"They're both gonna be a mess," Kiara replies, and you smile.

Honestly, it feels good to think about something else — to imagine someone else’s future for a while. One that's good and certain.

Not murky. Not lukewarm. Not tangled up in old habits and unfinished questions.

And just as that lightness settles in — just as you feel your chest unclench, just a little — the glass doors behind you slide open with a low hiss.

Everyone freezes.

The sliding door clicks back into place, the sound of it too sharp in the sudden stillness. Jimin’s eyes dart past you. Kiara, mid-sip of her drink, lowers her glass. No one says anything.

Your breath catches as you look over Yasmine's shoulder.

Please not Haeun, you think. Pleasepleaseplease.

Jungkook.

Helmet in one hand, motorbike keys hooked around two fingers on the other.

You're heart tugs with relief.

You’re glad he’s here.

Not because things are fine. Not because you know what you’re going to say. But because not knowing where he was all morning had started to eat at you, slow and annoying and persistent. Like something you couldn’t scratch out of your skin.

Jimin’s the first to speak.

“Fuck, man,” he says, twisting toward the door. “You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were Haeun.”

Jungkook’s mouth twitches, the barest hint of a smile. “Sorry.”

He steps further into the kitchen, the door soft-clicking shut behind him, and sets the helmet down on the island with a dull thud. The keys land beside it with a jingle. The whole group relaxes and the conversation starts backs up, but you’re barely tracking it.

Your eyes stay on Jungkook.

And his eyes don’t quite stay on you, but they flicker. Once. Then back down.

He moves to the cabinet and pulls out a mug from the same shelf you used earlier.

You pause, glancing at the mug still sitting beside your own on the counter. You hesitate for a second before you slide it toward him with your fingertips.

“Here,” you say. “I made one for you already.”

He pauses mid-motion, the clean mug in his hand, and his eyes drop to the one you nudged forward, then back up at you.

“I’m fine. Thanks though." He gives you a tight-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

Oh.

Okay.

Maybe he just wants tea or something. You've never known him to be a tea person, but you don't dwell on it that much.

You're already moving to shrug it off when you catch a glance — just over the rim of your mug — of him moving back toward the coffee pot, and you watch, with a slow-burning disbelief, as he starts making the exact same cup of coffee that’s still sitting in front of him.

Same brand. Same scoop. Same splash of milk from the fridge. He reaches for the sugar and adds the same amount.

You stare.

Seriously?

You don’t say it out loud, but it hovers in your expression. Long enough that Ari, who’s been half-listening while peeling a clementine beside you, gives you the smallest nudge with her elbow.

You don’t even glance at her.

Your eyes are still on Jungkook.

He doesn’t notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t care.

The air shifts around you and it feels like you’ve suddenly dropped into a scene you weren’t given the script for. Because it’s not about the coffee, really. It’s never just about the coffee.

It’s about how easily he dismissed it. Dismissed you so easily, as if you were nothing more than a stranger.

And maybe it’s petty, but come on. You made that cup for him. It wasn’t some random gesture. You got up, went through the routine, thought about what he’d want, even left it sitting there like a peace offering. And he’d rather go through the whole process again himself than take what you’d already done for him?

Fine.

You sip your own drink again, and try tune back into the conversation.

Jimin is talking about how Seokjin tried to smuggle the ring through airport security without Haeun seeing. Kiara makes a joke about hiding it in his shampoo bottle. Yasmine laughs so hard she nearly drops her bowl of strawberries.

And for a moment, it’s fine.

You even smile a little. Force yourself to pull your eyes away from Jungkook and land somewhere safer — like Jimin’s dramatic re-enactment of Seokjin’s TSA panic face.

But when your gaze flicks back, just for a second, you find Jungkook leaning against the opposite counter, sipping his freshly made coffee like he didn’t just say a whole lot by saying nothing.

And you don’t say anything either. Because what are you going to do — call him out for rejecting your cup of coffee?

So you let the conversation keep moving. You nod along. You laugh in the right places. You keep your expression neutral. Maybe a little too neutral.

But your jaw is just the tiniest bit tight. And your fingers wrap around your mug a little firmer than before.

Guess you weren't just overthinking after all.

The rain starts as a mist before quickly turning into a steady downpour.

You and Haeun are halfway back from the beach by the time it hits properly. She doesn’t bother running, and neither do you. You just glance up once at the thick, grey sky and laugh a little under your breath. She grins beside you, jogging lightly as she shakes water out of her ponytail.

“I told you it was going to rain,” she says, smug.

You’d been adamant about it, insisting that it would be warm as usual when you asked Haeun to come swim with you. She’d shown you her weather app and you’d waved it off with a dramatic, “Those things are never right.” Now, soaked halfway to the bone and blinking through the drizzle, you’re starting to eat your words.

"Yeah yeah, whatever."

By the time you step inside the house through the glass sliding doors, your legs are lightly dusted with sand and your hair is sticking to the sides of your neck, still damp from the ocean, and now slightly tangled from the breeze.

It’s warmer in the house, and for the first time since the trip started, everyone is inside. No one has slipped off to the beach or disappeared with a book to some random corner of the deck.

You brush your fingers through your hair absently as you kick off your flip flops near the threshold. Haeun’s already moved toward the kitchen, mumbling something about tea, leaving you to linger for a second by the open space where the wooden floor transitions into the living room rug.

Jimin and Taehyung are on the floor by the coffee table, throwing popcorn into each other’s mouths with miserable aim and laughing at their failures. Ari’s curled up with Namjoon on one end of the abnormally large couch that takes up almost half of the room, the two of them watching something muted on the TV while Kiara and Yasmine scroll through their phones on the floor beside them, bickering about which photos to post later.

And there's Jungkook.

He's sitting on the other end of the couch, knees propped up, thumbing idly through something on his phone.

He looks calm. Not relaxed, exactly — Jungkook doesn’t really do relaxed when he’s spaced out, but his shoulders aren’t hunched like they were this morning, and his jaw isn’t clenched. He just sits there scrolling.

You hadn’t seen him on the beach. You’re not even sure where he’d gone off to all morning, after the coffee exchange that had been awkward enough to replay itself in your brain on loop.

It’s not that you’re trying to obsess, but it’s hard not to notice when someone you used to know inside out starts moving like a stranger.

You take a slow breath, brushing your hand down your thigh once — a nervous gesture you don’t bother disguising — and cross the rest of the living room, stepping carefully over Taehyung’s outstretched legs as you make your way toward the couch.

There’s an open space beside Jungkook and you decide take it.

But before you can even properly sit down or bring up your knees to get comfortable, Jungkook's already standing.

You watch as he crosses the living room and drops down into the armchair beside Yoongi without a single word, disbelief painting your features for a second before reel your expression back to neutral.

You don’t look at anyone.

You definitely don’t look at Jungkook.

Instead, you keep your gaze pinned to the muted television in front of you — some vaguely familiar movie playing with the subtitles on — and try to ignore the way your heartbeat has picked up in your ears.

It’s not a big deal. Not technically. Maybe he just wanted to sit by Yoongi. Maybe you’re reading too much into it. Again.

But still.

Still.

You cross one leg over the other, trying to breathe through the stiffness now crawling up the back of your neck. You can feel a strand of hair clinging to your collarbone. You reach up and tuck it behind your ear just to do something with your hands.

“Hey,” Jimin says suddenly from the floor, glancing back toward you, “you two get caught in the rain?”

You force your mouth into a small smile. “A little.”

“Dumbasses,” Taehyung says fondly, tossing a kernel of popcorn that smacks Jimin square in the cheek. “Told you it was gonna pour.”

“It’s barely even raining,” Haeun calls from the kitchen, voice slightly muffled from the distance.

You hum in agreement, mostly to say something, but your voice barely makes it out. You don’t think anyone notices.

Except maybe Kiara, who glances at you briefly from the corner of her eye. She doesn’t say anything, but it’s enough to make you shift in your seat.

You try not to look again. At him.

You fail.

Jungkook’s posture hasn’t changed — one arm resting on the armrest, the other slung low in his lap. He’s facing the TV, but his gaze isn’t fixed on anything in particular.

This isn’t normal. Not even close.

Not that anything has been normal since the breakup, but this is different. Cold in a way he’s never been with you — even when you fought. Even when you broke up.

It’s the kind of distance that doesn’t come from anger. It’s more deliberate than that.

And you really don’t know what you did to deserve it.

The rain doesn’t last. It trails off sometime after the movie ends — not that you can remember a single scene of it — and by the time it does, the sky outside is starting to dip in colour.

You keep your eyes on your hands, loosely folded in your lap, while the rest of the group starts to migrate back outside into the pool and the beach. Someone tugs open the back door and lets the salt-heavy breeze rush back in. Kiara walks past and ruffles your hair lightly, says something about joining them soon. You nod, even though you’re not sure you will.

You don’t even register Jungkook until he’s moving past the arm of the couch.

“Jungkook,” you say.

He stops just in front of the door to the front.

He doesn’t turn fully. Just glances over his shoulder, enough to let you know he heard.

You stand before your courage can second-guess you. “Can we talk?”

A beat of silence passes. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, but doesn’t look at you.

“I don’t think there’s much to talk about.”

It takes you a second to process his words.

“What?” you ask, brows knitting.

“I just—” Jungkook shifts, hand flexing at his side like he’s trying not to clench it. “I think we’re handling things fine. Everyone still believes us, right? That’s the whole point.”

You stare at him.

“That’s not what I meant.”

He exhales, but doesn't respond.

“I’m not talking about the deal. I’m talking about you— us— and the fact that you’ve been ignoring me all day.”

“I haven’t—”

“Yes, you have,” you cut in, voice firmer now. “You wouldn’t even look at me this morning. You’ve barely said more than three words since last night.”

“I thought you wanted space,” he says quietly, finally turning around to face you. “I figured, after yesterday, that it’d be easier if I just gave you room.”

“Easier?” you echo. “For who?”

He swallows. His gaze drops. You can see the tension in the way his shoulders pull in slightly, like he’s trying to fold himself smaller.

“I’m just trying not to make this harder than it already is."

Your chest tightens, something sharp rising behind your ribs. There’s a line between being careful and being cowardly, and you don’t know when Jungkook crossed it — only that he’s already miles past it now, still walking away from a conversation he won’t even let you have.

“And moving when I sit beside you— what’s that supposed to be?” you ask. “Because if that’s you being careful, it really fucking sucks.”

His jaw twitches.

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like, Jungkook? Because you’re not talking to me. You won’t even look at me.”

His lips part like he wants to say something before he stops himself.

You wait, but he doesn’t answer.

He just stands there in silence, eyes unreadable, like he’s scared whatever comes out of his mouth next will be the wrong thing.

And that frustrates you more than anything else.

Because you just want the truth, not silence. Even if it hurts. Even if it means hearing him say that he doesn't love you anymore. Because at least, then you’d know.

You cross your arms slowly, swallowing the lump that has started forming in your throat.

“You can’t just fucking kiss me one day and ignore me the next.”

“Look, I’m—” He exhales harshly. “I’m sorry the kiss didn’t mean anything, okay?

You freeze.

Something inside you falters, buckles under the weight of it. You try to breathe around the burn clawing up your throat, but the room suddenly feels too stuffy.

You press your nails into your palms. You can feel your pulse there — quick, shallow, and it’s the only thing anchoring you to the moment. You don't trust yourself to speak, so you don't.

Jungkook's voice is soft when he eventually speaks. “We only have to do this shit for one more day. That’s it. I’ll stay out of your way until then, and when it’s over, we can pack our bags, go home, and you never have to talk to me again.”

You stand there for half a second too long. Long enough for the silence to feel thick again. Long enough to think — maybe he’ll take it back, or stop you. Maybe he’ll say something else.

But he doesn’t, so you turn.

You walk away, footsteps too loud against the hardwood. Your throat is tight, your chest worse. You make your way outside and up the stairs into you room, shutting the door with a quiet click — not because you're calm, but because slamming it would mean he still matters enough to make you angry.

And right now, you're trying not to let him matter at all.

You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the blank wall, trying to will yourself not to cry.

You don’t win that one. Not completely.

But you wipe away your tears before they can stain your face, because if anyone comes looking, you’ll lie. If he comes looking, you won’t open the door.

Still, you wait for the sound of footsteps outside the room.

None come.

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[seresinhangmanjake]

Forgetting

Jake Seresin x reader

Summary: Jake forgets to pick you up at the airport because of his ex, and for the first time, you think maybe you and Jake aren't mean to be.

Notes/Warnings: Angst, but ends fluffy. Fighting. Cursing. This was a request that I said I'd have done in a couple days and it took me a week and a half. Sorry about that. Also, please be gentle. I haven't written for Jake in what feels like a millennium.

Words: 2700

Jake Seresin Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

As much as it would kill you to know that he could be hurt, you hope he’s hurt. You hope he’s on his way to the hospital to receive life-saving treatment because if he’s not hurt, if he’s not receiving life-saving treatment, then he simply forgot about you. And that makes your heart want to claw its way out of your chest and scamper across the floor until it’s well out of your range to catch it. 

Your call goes to voicemail for the fourth time. You send your twelfth text: I hope you’re ok. I landed an hour ago. Please call me. Nothing different than the eleven other messages that have gone unanswered. Forty-five more minutes pass of you sitting on a bench by the airport exit before you finally surrender your last shred of hope and call Bradley to come save you. 

Within the hour, you’re sighing in relief, the sight of a friendly face almost bringing you to tears. He approaches you with open arms and you fall right into the embrace, comforted by the hug that should be in your boyfriend’s arms, and the warmth that should be from your boyfriend’s body, and the forehead kiss that should be from your boyfriend’s lips. 

“Please tell me he’s ok,” you say against your friend’s chest. 

A heavy palm rubs up and down your back. “No one could get ahold of him.”

Your head jerks back so you can meet his eyes. “Oh my god!”

“I’m sure he’s fine, kid. Don’t worry.”

“How can you say that? He was supposed to be here and he’s not and–” You pause when Bradley looks away from you, and a hefty stone settles in your gut. You know your friend well. He’s a good man, honest but sensitive, and when that honestly meets that sensitivity, it results in his inability to look someone in the eye if he thinks the truth might hurt them. You’ve seen it a hundred times, but never with you. 

Your posture wavers with your lengthy exhale. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Another great thing about Bradley: he doesn’t make you play any games. You don’t have to jump through hoops. You don’t have to ask the right questions in the right way in order to get what you need out of him, unlike many men, your boyfriend included, who recently has found ways to skitter around telling the full truth. 

“Javy said he saw him a couple of hours ago,” Bradley says.

Your back teeth clench. Your mind shoots to one conclusion. “With her?” you ask. Bradley’s eyes drift from yours again and you nod, a tear at the ready to leak down your cheek. “He forgot about me because he’s with her.”

“We don’t know that for sure, and–”

Your hand scrubbing down your face cuts him off. Your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose before you suck in your whimper and say, “Rooster, why did he even ask me to come here?”

“Because he…I mean, we thought he–”

“You thought he gave a fuck about me.”

“He does,” Bradley says, stressing his words in an attempt to reassure you. “He never shuts up about you.”

“Sure,” you say. “He gives so much of a fuck that he forgot about me to be with his ex. How can you explain that?”

Rooster sighs. His hands slip into his jeans pockets just to have something to do with them. “I can’t.”

“Exactly.” 

No one can explain it. Not you, not Bradley, not Jake. Everyone you know back home would be telling you to run for the hills right now. They were already wary of this ‘Navy guy’ that they’d only met twice around the holidays, who lives a decent distance away from your entire life and who constantly requests that you be the one to hop on a plane rather than the other way around. 

For the duration of your time together, you’ve been understanding of that sacrifice. You know his schedule doesn’t allow impromptu trips out of state, but that hasn’t made it any less exhausting for you. And maybe that’s a sign. Another sign. A nail in the coffin. Maybe you and Jake aren’t meant to be. And why would you be? You met him on a brief vacation to visit a friend who doesn’t even live in the same town anymore, and somehow, during those few days, he convinced you to take a chance on him. So you took the leap. But being that bold doesn’t guarantee you won’t fall flat on your face, and you think that’s exactly what’s happening. You’ve tripped over a guy only to realize he doesn’t care about you to the same degree that you care about him. 

However, you’re not the type to avoid confrontation. If Jake Seresin is going to mistreat you because of his ex, then he is going to do it to your face. He’s going to look you in the eye when he shows himself to be the liar he is. It may hurt more to go to him rather than get on the next plane home without so much as taking in a breath of fresh Californian air, but you’re too upset to let that thought fully develop, and a moment later, Rooster is following your stomps out the door. 

—

You find him at the Hard Deck, standing at a hightop with a beer glass in his hand that clinks against the one in his ex’s before he takes a sip. Bradley’s comforting hand lands on your back in solidarity. You only met him because of Jake, but the two of you bonded despite their differences, and having him by your side now makes him nothing short of a life-saver. 

He helps guide you through the crowd to the table, and when Jake spots you, he chokes around the liquid going down his throat. His blown-out emerald eyes rival saucers and his mouth gapes like a fish, but then his stare flicks to Bradley, and those eyes shrink into narrow slits. His face heats to a boiling red. 

“What the fuck!” Jake snaps, shocking the composure right out of his ex’s poised stance. Bar patrons close by turn their heads but quickly return to their own conversations. Jake steps away from the table, coming to a halt in front of you and his squadmate. “What the hell is this?”

You figured he’d be bothered if you showed up with Bradley in tow. And good, that’s what you feel he deserves. Jake’s been wary of the other Dagger’s closeness to you for a while, and even though you know—as does Bradley—that it’s an asinine concern, you have no problem using it against him now. But still, the intensity of his reaction manages to surprise you. You didn’t think he would be this angered by the sight of you with another man that it would have him overlooking his mistake of forgetting you.

Your arms cross. “This is your girlfriend and the guy who saved her when her damn boyfriend left her stranded at the airport.”

“Excuse me?”

Jake’s ex’s prying gaze tugs at your attention, but when you glance over his shoulder to catch her in the act, she quickly looks away—just more proof that whatever the fuck she’s doing with your boyfriend is something to be ashamed of. 

Bradley’s saying something. You can’t quite hear him over the anger-induced fuzzing in your ears, but you’re pretty sure it’s a scolding based on the twisting of Jake’s features as he shoots back his own words of aggression. And then your hand is in his and you’re being pulled through the bar, out the back door, and onto the deck where the only intrusive sound is the lapping of waves on the shore. 

“Why are you here?” he asks. 

You scoff to mask the heartbreak that comes with that question. “Because you asked me to be here.”

“Tomorrow.”

“What?”

“It’s Wednesday,” he says. 

“It’s Thursday, Jake.”

“No, it’s—” he freezes, and you don’t know if he’s tipsy or stupid, but it takes him a minute to come to the same conclusion: it is indeed Thursday. “Fuck,” he mutters.

Your lower back meets the edge of the railing, and you sigh, thankfully keeping in the tears. “What are you doing with her?”

“What the fuck are you doing with Rooster?” he returns much more forcefully. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I called, I texted, I left voicemails,” you tell him, “But clearly, she was more important.”

Jake’s hands pat down his pockets, mouth setting in a frown when he can’t find his phone.

“Don’t bother. Phone or no phone, you forgot about me because of her. Last time I was here, you were late for one of our dates because of her. You spent fifty percent of our time together stepping away to take her phone calls,” you say, trying and failing to avoid the bitter taste on your tongue. “Just fuck her, Jake, if you haven’t already. I only came here to tell you that she can have you.”

You’ve never seen him fall apart the way he does. You’ve never seen the blood drain from his cocky face. You’ve never seen his features break and crack and contort into the vision of pure devastation as they do. His parted mouth must’ve gone dry because his next words come out slightly hoarse.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, but it’s more of a plea than anything. “Why…Why would you–” He swallows. A wrinkle forms between his brows and he shakes his head. “You love me. You didn’t mean to say that.”

You do love him—terribly so—but you’re willing to be one of those people who won’t view love as enough if it also means laying you out as a fool. “Jake–”

“Take it back,” he says. His steps are quick, and then you’re trapped where you stand, his hands on either side of your body, gripping the rail. Eyes drill into yours, and for a second, you feel a pang of guilt. “Please, baby, take it back. She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“And I mean less.”

“No!” he says. “That’s not true. You’re everything, ok? You mean everything to me. She was just helping me, that’s all.”

“Helping you,” you mimic with a roll of your eyes. “Helping you what? Get off?”

With a little whine, Jake’s head drops between his shoulders, his blond hair brushing your collarbone. “Please. Please quit saying things like that.” His hands slide closer to your body and land on your hips. You don’t push him away—you can't—and his touch softens you ever so slightly.

“Then tell me the truth,” you say. “Right now. I’m giving you one shot.”

His head snaps up. His eyes flick back and forth between yours, ironically searching for your honesty, as if you’re the liar on trial here. 

“It was a surprise,” he tells you. “She’s a realtor now, and for the last few months she’s been helping me find a new place, one that’s bigger than what I’ve got because I was going to ask you to move in with me.” Your heartbeat stutters. A layer of goosebumps coats your arms. When you don’t respond, he continues, “I hate missing you. I hate how unfair it is that you’re always the one to come here because I can’t fly out at the drop of a hat. I know it’s a big step, but I figured if I had a place, I could show you how great things could be. That’s why she and I came here. We were celebrating because I’m signing on a house first thing tomorrow,” he says. “Well, that’s why I’m celebrating, anyway. She’s probably celebrating because she just made a decent commission.”

It’s almost unfair how that new information doesn’t make you feel any less of a fool. Had he told you that under any other circumstances, you’d be leaping into his arms, kissing him like you’ve been deprived of him for years, repeating ‘yes’ over and over between those kisses, but you can’t. You can’t because his explanation doesn’t fix everything. 

“That still doesn’t change that it’s Thursday, not Wednesday,” you say.

“I know, baby. That’s my fault. I was so excited, and I was thinking how perfect the timing was that I would be able to pick you up tomorrow and drive you by the house now that it’s officially mine, but I fucked it up.”

Jake’s thumbs press into your hips, and you’re instantly reminded of each moment in your relationship when you’ve felt that same light pressure on your skin. A gentle claiming. The same pressure you felt when you agreed to be his girlfriend. The same pressure you feel whenever you’re in bed together. 

You sense eyes on you other than your boyfriend’s, and when you turn your head, you find his ex staring right at you, an expression on her face that you wish you could say wasn’t one of distress, but it is. And worse, it’s obviously not distress for herself, but for Jake, as if she’s hoping she wasn’t just a contributor to a bomb dropping on his life. 

Jake’s busy staring at you despite your averted gaze, and in a monotone voice, you say, “She feels bad.”

He doesn’t follow your eyes. “Because she knows I’ve been doing this all for you.”

You blink. Your hand runs down your face before sifting through the strands of your hair. “You really want me to live with you?”

“Of course I do,” he tells you. He’s shaking his head, but you know it’s because he thinks any idea that he wouldn’t want you to be blasphemous. His hand cups your chin. “I love you.”

With a sigh, you push aside the rollercoaster of emotions, the misunderstandings that lead to frustration and hurt, and look him directly in the eye. And where moments ago you thought you saw lies, you see honestly. Where you thought you saw betrayal, you see love. 

“Can I see it?”

—

It’s small—a two-bedroom with a little driveway, the shingle siding painted a blue-gray shade that is more blue than gray; bundles of flowers bloom in the boxes under the windows; a bay window protrudes from the side of the structure facing the beach. And it’s perfect.

You can imagine building a life here. You can picture a dog that you’ll have to build a fence for and children years later that will have you reinforcing the fence because they’ll probably be like their father, and Jake didn’t choose to be a pilot because of his lack of adventurous nature. You look at this house and you can see the core of a family. A house that, no matter how far you go for Jake’s job, will always be home base.

Jake is leaning around you so you can both watch the house from the passenger seat window. “I’d offer to show you around, but I don’t get the keys until morning.”

“It’s ok,” you tell him. “I don’t need to see inside.”

When you say that, he falls back into his seat. The back of his head presses against the headrest. His fingers squeeze the steering wheel with his sigh of defeat. “You don’t like it.”

Shifting your body to face him, you say, “Jake, I love it.”

Just like that, his eyes brighten like a pouting child who was just offered a lollipop, and you can’t help but chuckle. You can’t help but forget everything that happened earlier in the night, all of it seeming so insignificant now, even though you know it’s not, and you both know that if he ever makes the same mistake again, he’ll have hell to pay. But something tells you that won’t be a problem. 

“Enough to live with me?” he asks.

You nod. “Enough to live with you.”

---

A/N: Thanks for reading! Comments make my entire world, so if you liked it, let me know? Thanks :)

[elikajinnie]

Wisdom And Death - N.R

P: DemiGod!Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Teasing, Sword fighting, Tension, Obsessive Behaviour (no literally), Jealousy if you squint, Park Wonbin Cameo.

Synopsis: You’ve just discovered you're the daughter of Athena, goddess of wisdom, and now you’re at Camp Half-Blood. You struggle to survive—but now Ni-ki, son of Hades seems to have taken an interest in you.

a/n: already done harry potter, why not try out percy jackson as well? i dont expect this to do good tbh..

--

You were a daughter of Athena, goddess of wisdom and strategy. It was a truth you had only recently learned, and not in the way you might have expected. Your father—distant, aloof, and perpetually overworked—had dropped the bombshell on you like it was just another item on his to-do list. For years, he had told you that your mother had died in childbirth, a tragic story you’d grown up swallowing whole. But then, out of nowhere, he decided it was time you knew the truth.

At first, you didn’t believe him. Who would? The idea of being the child of a literal goddess sounded absurd, like something out of one of those cheesy fantasy movies you used to watch. But your dad wouldn’t let you argue. He brushed off your questions with the same detached efficiency he used for everything else and, before you knew it, you were being shoved into the backseat of a car with a suitcase in one hand and a head full of unanswered questions.

That’s how you ended up here: a camp in the middle of the woods with a wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze. You tilted your head to read it, the letters etched deep into the grain: Camp Half-Blood.

"Right," you muttered to yourself. "Because Camp Mythological Heritage would’ve been too on the nose."

Still, there was no turning back now. With a shrug, you stepped past the entrance and into a world that felt like something out of a fever dream. Kids your age—and younger—were scattered across the campgrounds, each of them doing something more insane than the last. One kid was scaling a rock wall that was on fire, while another sparred with a partner using what looked like actual swords. Over by the lake, a group of campers were... were those horses? No, centaurs. Actual centaurs.

You stood frozen, your mouth slightly ajar. It was like stepping into a fantasy novel. Or a madhouse. You hadn’t decided which one yet.

“Well,” you muttered to yourself, “this is either going to be the best thing that ever happened to me... or the absolute worst.”

You made your way toward the center of the camp, still trying to process the sheer chaos unfolding around you. Everyone seemed so... at home here. But you, well, you felt like an outsider. Your entire life had been one thing, and now it was completely turned upside down. As you walked, you tried to ignore the tiny pit of unease growing in your stomach. This wasn’t what you had imagined. Then again, you hadn’t imagined much of anything.

Before you could spiral too much, a voice broke through your thoughts. "You must be the daughter of Athena," it said, smooth and calm, yet somehow with a touch of familiarity, as if it had known you your whole life.

You blinked up at the speaker, startled. Standing before you was a centaur—half man, half horse—his chest broad and dignified, and his eyes sharp, like he could see right through you. He was somehow... kind. A strange contrast to the world you had just walked into.

“Welcome,” he continued, extending a hand that you shook uncertainly. “I’m Chiron. I know this must be overwhelming, but we’re here to help.”

You raised an eyebrow. "Chiron? Like, the Chiron from Greek mythology?"

"That would be me," he said with a small chuckle. "But I’ve been around for a long time, you'll find the name a bit more casual in a place like this."

You blinked again, not sure how to react. This wasn’t the kind of welcome you had expected, but then again, nothing about this situation was what you’d imagined.

As Chiron began to explain the camp, his words flowed with an ease that made everything sound... normal. Like discovering you were the child of a goddess wasn’t as monumental as it seemed. He explained the demigod life with a sense of nonchalance, detailing the training you’d undergo. Everything had a rhythm to it, like a battle plan carefully constructed and laid out.

"Your mother, Athena," he said, his gaze softening for a moment, "she's one of the most revered of the Olympian gods. Intelligence, strategy, wisdom—they all run through her blood, and now, through yours."

You had to hold back a sigh. You’d heard about your mother’s legacy, but it felt distant, like a story told to you by someone who didn’t quite know the ending. Chiron, however, spoke like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"And here," he gestured grandly, "is where you’ll be staying."

You followed his gaze to a modest cabin that seemed to exude an aura of quiet authority. It was simple, yet elegant in its design, with the unmistakable feeling that it had been built for both function and beauty.

“This is the Athena cabin,” Chiron said, his voice low, respectful. “It’s where the children of Athena reside. You’ll find it to be a place of study, of strategy. And you’ll find that, like your mother, you will be expected to think and lead carefully.”

You stood before it, still unsure of how you were supposed to feel. "I’m supposed to live here now?" you asked, voice almost too small to be your own.

"Yes," Chiron replied, his smile gentle. “And while it may take some time to get used to, you'll find that the family you never knew you had is here. The other daughters of Athena will become your sisters—your allies in this world.”

You nodded, though you couldn’t help the doubts swirling in your mind. Could you really belong here? Could you live up to this legacy, to the expectations of a goddess you barely knew?

“Come,” Chiron said, turning toward the cabin. “Let’s get you settled in. And don’t worry, we’ve all been through this transition. You're not alone.”

The inside of the Athena cabin was everything you expected and more. Rows of bookshelves lined the walls, crammed with texts on strategy, philosophy, mythology, and other subjects you couldn’t even begin to comprehend. The air smelled faintly of parchment and ink, with a touch of something herbal—maybe mint or rosemary. There were maps and blueprints pinned to corkboards, some of them marked with notes in handwriting so precise it could have been printed. A large table dominated the center of the room, strewn with scrolls, chessboards, and what looked like the half-finished plans for a miniature catapult.

Several campers were scattered around the room, their heads bent in concentration. Some were reading, others sketching battle tactics, and a few were locked in intense chess matches. They didn’t look up as you entered, but you could feel their awareness. It was as if they had already sized you up without even glancing your way.

“This is your home now,” Chiron said, his voice low as he gestured around the room. “The children of Athena value intellect, strategy, and wisdom. You’ll find that everyone here has their own strengths, and soon, you’ll discover yours as well.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say. The room was intimidating in a way you couldn’t quite put into words. It wasn’t the weapons or the books or even the aura of focus—it was the expectation. The unspoken weight that came with being Athena’s child.

One of the campers finally looked up, a girl with sharp features and dark hair pulled into a braid. She stood, crossing her arms as she approached. “New kid?” she asked, her tone more curious than unkind. Her eyes seemed to assess you in an instant.

“Yes,” Chiron answered before you could. “This is Athena’s newest appointed daughter.”

The girl’s expression shifted slightly, softening just enough to put you at ease. She extended a hand. “I’m Sophia. Welcome to the Athena cabin.”

You shook her hand, her grip firm but not overwhelming. “Uh, thanks. I’m—”

“Don’t worry,” Sophia interrupted, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “We’ll learn your name soon enough. For now, let’s just focus on getting you settled in.” She turned back to Chiron. “We’ll take it from here.”

Chiron nodded, his expression approving. “Good. I’ll leave you to it, then.” He placed a hand on your shoulder briefly, his presence steadying. “You’re in good hands here. I’ll check in with you later.”

And with that, he left, his hooves clopping softly against the wooden floor as he disappeared out the door.

Sophia turned back to you, her smirk widening. “Well, newbie, let’s get this over with. You’ll be bunking over here.” She led you to a bed near the back of the cabin, neatly made with gray blankets and pillows. A small wooden trunk sat at the foot of it, clearly meant for your belongings. “It’s not much, but you’ll get used to it.”

You set your bag down, glancing around at the other bunks. Everything was organized, almost militaristically so. No stray clothes, no clutter—just a quiet efficiency that made your own messy habits feel glaringly obvious.

Sophia must have noticed your hesitation because she raised an eyebrow. “Don’t worry. We don’t bite. Much.” She tilted her head toward the other campers. “Most of us are too busy with our projects to bother anyone. Just don’t touch anyone’s stuff without asking, and you’ll be fine.”

You nodded, sitting on the edge of your bed. “So… what now?”

“Now,” Sophia said, crossing her arms again, “you try to survive. Training starts tomorrow morning, bright and early. Hope you’re ready to learn how to wield a weapon, because monsters won’t care how good you are at chess.”

Your stomach flipped at the mention of monsters, but you tried not to let it show. “Great,” you muttered. “Sounds fun.”

Sophia chuckled, shaking her head. “Don’t worry, newbie. We’ve all been where you are. You’ll find your place soon enough.”

With that, she walked off, leaving you alone to process everything. You lay back on the bed, staring up at the wooden ceiling. The sounds of the camp filtered in through the open windows—laughter, the clang of swords, the steady rhythm of feet pounding the ground.

You exhaled slowly, trying to let the noises outside soothe the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. It didn’t work. How could it, when the weight of everything that had happened in the past few days pressed down on you like a lead blanket? You were the daughter of a goddess. A literal goddess. How were you supposed to live up to that? You didn’t feel particularly wise or strategic. You felt... normal. Average. Like a fish suddenly thrown into a sea of sharks.

A knock on the doorframe startled you out of your thoughts. You sat up quickly, your heart skipping a beat as you looked toward the entrance. A boy stood there, leaning casually against the frame with his arms crossed. His sandy blonde hair was messy, like he’d just come from sparring, and there was a faint smear of dirt on his cheek. He looked about your age, maybe a little older, with an easy confidence that made you feel even more out of place.

“Hey,” he said, his voice light but curious. “You’re the new Athena kid, huh?”

You nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

He grinned, pushing off the doorframe and stepping inside. “Figures. You’ve got that look about you.”

You frowned, tilting your head. “What look?”

“You know,” he said, gesturing vaguely, “all serious and... thinking about ten things at once. Classic Athena kid behavior.”

You weren’t sure if that was a compliment or not. “And you are?”

“Jake,” he said, sticking out a hand. “Son of Apollo.”

You hesitated for half a second before shaking his hand. His grip was firm but friendly, and his smile was disarming. “Nice to meet you, I guess.”

“Guess?” he repeated with a mock pout. “Wow, tough crowd.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little, despite yourself. There was something about him that put you at ease, even if his confidence was a little overwhelming.

“So,” he said, glancing around the cabin before turning back to you, “how’s your first day going? Overwhelmed yet?”

“More like completely lost,” you admitted. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Jake nodded knowingly. “Yeah, that’s pretty normal. Everyone feels like that at first. But don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it. Just... try not to overthink everything. I know it’s, like, in your DNA or whatever, but trust me, this place is way easier to deal with if you just roll with the punches.”

“Right,” you said, not entirely convinced. “Easy for you to say. You’ve probably been here forever.”

“Three years,” he said, shrugging. “But it feels like forever sometimes. You’ll get used to it, though. And if you ever need someone to show you the ropes, I’m your guy.”

Before you could respond, there was a loud clang from outside, followed by a chorus of cheers. Jake glanced toward the window, his grin widening.

“Looks like the sparring matches are heating up,” he said. “You should come watch. It’s a good way to see what you’re up against.”

You hesitated, glancing back at your bed. Part of you wanted to stay there, to retreat into yourself and avoid the chaos outside for just a little longer. But another part of you—smaller, quieter, but undeniably there—wanted to see what this world was really about.

“Alright,” you said finally, standing up. “Lead the way.”

Jake’s grin grew wider, and he gestured for you to follow him. “That’s the spirit. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, newbie. Time to see what you’re made of.”

You stepped out of the cabin, squinting against the sunlight as Jake led the way toward an open training area. The sounds of sparring filled the air—the clash of metal against metal, the thud of bodies hitting the ground, and the occasional shout of victory.

The training ground was a wide, dusty circle surrounded by spectators, most of them campers who were either waiting their turn or simply enjoying the show. In the middle, pairs of campers were locked in combat. Some used swords and shields, while some fought barehanded, relying on strength, agility, and strategy to try and knock each other down.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Jake said, glancing over his shoulder at you.

You nodded, your eyes wide as you took in the scene. “Yeah. Intense, though.”

Jake chuckled. “You get used to it. Let’s introduce you to some of the gang. You’re going to be seeing a lot of these faces, so might as well start remembering names.”

He led you over to a group of campers who were sitting on a bench, watching the matches with keen interest. They turned as you approached, their expressions ranging from curious to welcoming.

“This is Soobin,” Jake said, gesturing to a tall boy with jet-black hair and kind eyes. He offered you a small smile, his voice calm as he spoke. “Son of Apollo.”

You nodded, trying to commit his name and face to memory. “Nice to meet you, Soobin.”

Next, Jake pointed to a girl with short, choppy hair dyed a silvery gray. Her arms were crossed, and she had a confident smirk that told you she didn’t take herself too seriously. “This is Chaewon, daughter of Ares. She’s one of the best fighters here, so don’t get on her bad side.”

Chaewon snorted. “I’m not that scary.” She winked at you. “Unless you’re dumb enough to challenge me, of course.”

You laughed nervously, making a mental note to stay far away from her during sparring sessions.

Jake moved on to a pair of twins who were practically radiating energy. They had identical bright smiles and matching dimples. “These two are Jiwoo and Jiyeon, daughters of Hermes. If anything goes missing, it’s probably their fault.”

“Hey!” Jiyeon protested, though her grin didn’t waver. “We’ve been so well-behaved lately.”

“Relatively,” Jiwoo added with a wink.

You couldn’t help but smile at their playful energy. “Got it. Keep my stuff locked up.”

“Smart girl,” Jiwoo said approvingly.

Jake led you around the rest of the training ground, introducing you to more campers.

There was Minho, son of Hephaestus, a quiet boy with soot-streaked hands and a shy smile who loved to tinker with weapons and gadgets. “If you need a custom weapon or armor, come find me,” he said softly.

Then there was Yeji, daughter of Demeter, who was tending to a small garden on the outskirts of the training area. She wiped her hands on her jeans and smiled warmly. “If camp food gets boring, I can help you find the best fruits and veggies around.”

And finally, Jake introduced you to Seungmin, son of Dionysus, who was leaning against a tree with his arms crossed. “Good luck surviving your first week.”

“Uh, thanks?” you said, not entirely sure if that was encouragement or a warning.

By the time Jake finished the introductions, your head was spinning with names, faces, and parentage. You did your best to commit them all to memory, but you had a feeling it was going to take a while before you got them all straight.

Jake clapped you on the shoulder, grinning. “Not so bad, right? Everyone’s pretty chill once you get to know them.”

“Sure,” you said, though you still felt a little overwhelmed. “But it’s a lot to take in.”

“Trust me, you’ll be fine,” Jake said confidently. He nodded toward the sparring ring. “Now, want to watch a match or two? Or are you feeling brave enough to give it a try yourself?”

You glanced at the campers sparring in the ring, their movements fast and fierce. Part of you wanted to jump in, to prove to yourself that you could handle this new life. But another part wasn’t quite ready.

“I think I’ll stick to watching for now,” you said with a small laugh.

Jake nodded, his grin never fading. “Fair enough. Let’s find a good spot, then. You’re going to want to pay attention—there’s a lot you can learn just from watching.”

Jake led you to a shaded spot under a tree with a perfect view of the sparring ring. He plopped down on the ground, motioning for you to do the same. You settled in beside him, your eyes fixed on the action.

"See that?" Jake nudged you, pointing at one of the fighters. "That’s Hyunjin, son of Aphrodite."

You nodded, watching as Hyunjin disarmed his opponent with a flourish that looked almost effortless.

The match ended with a loud cheer, and you were about to ask Jake a question when the atmosphere in the training ground shifted as someone new stepped into the ring.

He was tall—easily the tallest person you’d seen so far—and carried himself with a quiet confidence that was somehow more intimidating than if he’d been loud and boastful. His dark hair fell just over his sharp eyes, and in his hand, he twirled a sword with the kind of ease that made it look like an extension of his arm.

“Who’s that?” you leaned over and whispered to Jake, unable to tear your eyes away from the newcomer.

Jake followed your gaze and chuckled softly. “That’s Ni-ki,” he said. “Son of Hades. Don’t feel bad if he gives you the chills—he does that to everyone.”

You didn’t respond. You were too focused on Ni-ki as he stepped into the center of the ring, his gaze cool and unbothered as he sized up his opponent. The person across from him was someone you didn’t recognize—a stocky boy who looked strong but not nearly as composed.

The match began, and from the very first move, it was clear that Ni-ki was on a completely different level. He didn’t just fight—he dominated. His movements were precise, calculated, almost lazy in their efficiency. Every swing of his sword, every step he took, was purposeful. It was like he was playing a game of chess, except the pieces were his opponent’s mistakes, and he was three moves ahead the entire time.

You found yourself holding your breath as you watched. The other boy lunged, swinging his weapon with all his might, but Ni-ki sidestepped effortlessly, his expression bored. With a flick of his wrist, he disarmed the boy, sending his weapon skidding across the ground.

The fight ended in seconds. Ni-ki didn’t gloat, didn’t smile—he simply turned and walked away, his sword resting on his shoulder as if it weighed nothing.

The crowd erupted into cheers and murmurs, but you were still frozen in place, your eyes following Ni-ki as he disappeared toward the edge of the training area.

“You okay?” Jake asked, nudging you lightly.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, though your voice felt distant even to your own ears.

Jake smirked knowingly. “Yeah, he has that effect on people. Don’t let him intimidate you too much, though. He’s not as scary as he looks.”

You glanced at Jake, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Okay, maybe he is,” Jake admitted with a laugh. “But he’s not all bad. He’s just... intense.”

Intense. That felt like an understatement. You looked back toward where Ni-ki had gone, half expecting him to be watching from the shadows. But he was gone, leaving you with a strange, lingering curiosity that you couldn’t quite shake.

As the sparring matches wound down, you decided to take the chance to explore more of the camp. There was so much to take in—the cabins, the armory, the various training areas—it all felt like a strange blend of summer camp and battlefield.

You were just passing by the archery range when something zipped by your head, close enough that you felt the breeze as it passed. You yelped, instinctively ducking as the arrow thudded into a target a few feet away.

“Oh my gods, I’m so sorry!” a voice called out.

You turned toward the source of the voice, your heart still racing, and froze. The guy jogging toward you was... well, there was no other way to put it: stunning. He had soft, wavy hair that caught the sunlight just right, warm brown eyes, and a jawline that looked like it had been carved by one of the gods themselves. Was everyone here this ridiculously attractive?

“Uh, it’s okay,” you managed to say, brushing off the shock. “I dodged in time.”

He let out a huff of relief, running a hand through his hair. “Phew. For a second there, I thought I’d actually hit you. That would’ve been one heck of a first impression.”

You laughed nervously, trying not to stare too hard. “Yeah, not exactly the warmest welcome, but I’ll survive.”

He grinned, his confidence shining through. “Still, almost hitting the newbie? That’s got to be a new low for me.” He extended a hand toward you. “I’m Wonbin, son of Aphrodite. And before you say anything, yes, I’m that good-looking because of my mom. Comes with the territory.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his candor as you shook his hand. “I’m Y/N. Daughter of Athena.”

“Ah, an Athena kid,” he said, his grin turning into a smirk. “Figures. You’ve got that sharp, calculating look in your eyes. Kind of intimidating, actually.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Intimidating? Me? You’re the one firing arrows at innocent bystanders.”

Wonbin laughed, the sound light and easy. “Fair point. I’ll owe you one for that—free archery lessons, maybe? You know, to keep you from dodging arrows next time.”

You rolled your eyes, but the offer didn’t sound half-bad. “I’ll think about it.”

“Do that,” he said with a wink. “Anyway, I should probably get back to practice before Chiron yells at me again. See you around, newbie.”

As he walked back toward the range, you couldn’t help but shake your head with a smile. If nothing else, Camp Half-Blood was full of... colorful personalities.

--

Your aimless wandering had brought you to the edge of the camp, where the cabins grew more spaced out and quiet. One cabin in particular caught your attention—it was darker than the others, its aura foreboding and unnervingly still. The door was closed, and the windows were tinted, making it impossible to see inside. You tilted your head, curiosity tugging at you as you wondered which camper called this place home.

“You’re pretty far from your cabin.”

The sudden voice made you jump, and you whipped around quickly, heart thudding in your chest.

Oh.

It was Ni-ki.

He stood there like a shadow given form, his dark eyes glinting in the dim light. His expression was unreadable, and he seemed even taller up close—towering over you with an intensity that made you instinctively take a step back.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, his voice low and even, though there was a hint of something in his tone—amusement, maybe? Or just curiosity?

You cleared your throat, hoping he didn’t notice how startled you were. “I, uh… I was just exploring. Didn’t mean to wander this far.”

Ni-ki’s gaze flicked to the dark cabin behind you, and for a moment, his expression softened—just barely. “This isn’t exactly the friendliest part of camp,” he said. “Especially for someone new.”

You glanced back at the cabin, suddenly feeling a little foolish for standing there. “Whose cabin is it?”

“It’s mine,” Ni-ki said simply.

Your eyes widened slightly as you looked back at him. “Yours? Oh.”

He raised an eyebrow at your reaction, crossing his arms over his chest. “What, expecting a skull on the door or something?”

“No,” you said quickly, then hesitated. “Well, maybe.”

Ni-ki huffed a quiet laugh, though it was more like a sharp exhale. “Relax. It’s just a cabin, not the gates of the Underworld.”

You weren’t entirely sure about that, given the eerie vibe the place gave off, but you decided not to push it. “Right. Sorry for… lurking.”

He studied you for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were trying to figure you out. The silence stretched just long enough to feel uncomfortable before he finally spoke again.

“You’re the new Athena kid, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Jake doesn’t shut up,” he said bluntly, though there was the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

You let out a nervous laugh, unsure of how to respond. Ni-ki didn’t seem like the kind of person you could easily read—or impress, for that matter.

“Well,” he said, shifting his weight slightly, “if you’re done wandering, you should probably head back to your cabin. This side of camp isn’t exactly the best place to hang out.”

“Why?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Ni-ki’s expression darkened, and for a split second, you thought he wasn’t going to answer. But then he stepped closer—just enough to make you aware of how much taller he was—and said quietly, “Let’s just say not everything here is as safe as it looks.”

A chill ran down your spine at his words, and you swallowed hard, nodding. “Got it. Heading back now.”

Ni-ki stepped aside, gesturing for you to go. As you walked past him, you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder. He was still standing there, watching you with an unreadable expression, the dark cabin looming behind him like a shadow.

Something about him lingered in your mind as you made your way back to your own cabin.

When you pushed open the door to the Athena cabin and paused. Inside, the girls were gathered in a tight circle on the floor, their heads close together, whispering and giggling in a way that seemed almost conspiratorial. Books, notebooks, and even a small chalkboard sat in the middle of the ring, covered in scrawled notes and diagrams.

The moment you stepped in, all eyes turned to you. You froze under their collective gaze, unsure of whether you’d just walked into something secret or sacred.

“What are you doing?” you asked hesitantly, glancing between them.

Sophia, the girl who’d first greeted you when you arrived, smiled and gestured for you to sit beside her. “Come join us. We’re just quizzing each other—it’s kind of a thing we do regularly.”

You hesitated for a moment before shrugging and stepping forward. Sophia shifted to make space for you, and as you sat down, you noticed the mix of curiosity and warmth in the girls’ faces.

“We’ll start a new round for you,” said Haewon, her voice steady but kind. She had a book open in her lap, the pages filled with notes in tiny, precise handwriting. “Do you want to give it a try?”

“Sure,” you said, unsure of what exactly you were getting yourself into but willing to play along.

Ryujin grinned, leaning back on her hands. “Alright, let’s see if the new girl can keep up.”

Yunjin nudged her with a playful glare. “Be nice.”

The first question came from Soyeon, who looked at you with sharp, calculating eyes. “Who was the mother of Perseus?”

Your brain scrambled for the answer, and you barely managed to get it out. “Danaë.”

Soyeon nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Good. Next.”

The questions came rapid-fire after that, bouncing between Greek mythology, mathematical equations, Roman history, and even abstract, theoretical problems.

“What’s the square root of 729?”

“27.”

“Who was the first Roman emperor?”

“Augustus.”

“If a tree falls in the forest and no one’s around to hear it, does it make a sound?”

“…Uh, depends on your definition of ‘sound.’”

The girls laughed at that one, even Leeseo, who had been scribbling furiously in a notebook the entire time.

Every time you got an answer right, you felt a surge of pride, and when you got one wrong, the girls explained it without a hint of judgment.

Sophia leaned over at one point, nudging you with her shoulder. “You’re doing better than I did my first time.”

“Really?” you asked, half-laughing as Haewon fired off another question about theoretical physics.

“Really,” Sophia said with a grin. “You’ll fit right in.”

You had proven it to yourself. You were one of them.

--

The morning light filtered through the trees, as you stood in the training area, still feeling the weight of the armor strapped to your body. It wasn’t much—light armor, a sword, and a shield—but it was enough to make you feel like you were suddenly expected to be someone else, someone capable of defending themselves.

You awkwardly adjusted the straps, wondering just how much of a disaster your first training session would be. You didn’t even know what to do with the sword yet—let alone how to hold the shield properly.

That’s when you felt it—someone’s gaze on you. You turned, and your eyes locked with a guy standing just a few paces away. You recognized him immediately. It was hard not to—he was a son of Ares, and he looked the part. Broad-shouldered, with a sharp, aggressive expression, his dark eyes narrowed as he sized you up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Are you just going to stand there all day, or are you going to learn how to use that thing?” he called out, his tone sharp, almost challenging.

You straightened up, heart racing. “Uh… I’m not really sure what to do…”

He snorted, clearly unimpressed. “Yeah, I figured. Don’t worry, kid. You’re about to find out.”

Before you could react, he was on you—his movements swift and brutal as he lunged forward, his sword aimed directly at your chest. You barely had time to raise your shield, the force of the blow almost knocking you off your feet.

Your heart pounded in your ears, and for a moment, you wondered if you should just give up—if maybe you weren’t cut out for this. But then, a quiet voice in the back of your mind reminded you who your mother was. Athena. Goddess of wisdom and strategy. You weren’t just any camper here. You had the blood of a warrior in you, even if it felt distant.

“Focus,” you whispered to yourself, trying to steady your breathing.

The son of Ares swung again, but this time you were ready. You sidestepped, your body moving almost instinctively as your shield blocked the next attack. You could feel the heat from his strikes, the raw power behind each one.

“Not bad,” he grunted, clearly surprised by your ability to dodge. “But don’t just block—counterattack!”

Counterattack. You barely had time to think before another strike came at you, but this time, your instincts took over. You shifted, raising your sword and parrying his strike. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to push him off balance. You swung back, though he easily blocked it with his own shield.

This continued for a few more rounds, the fight becoming more of a dance between the two of you, until you found yourself growing more comfortable, your movements becoming sharper and more deliberate. The son of Ares didn’t give you an inch, but you were beginning to see the patterns in his strikes—predicting where his next attack would come from, even as your breath grew heavier.

You didn’t win the sparring match—he was still faster, stronger, and more experienced—but by the time it ended, you felt greatful to be alive.

“Not bad for a newbie,” the son of Ares said, stepping back and giving you a nod of approval. “You’ve got some guts.”

You wiped the sweat from your brow, your heart still racing. “I... I didn’t think I could do that.”

He gave you a look that was almost approving, though his face still carried that rough edge. “You’re a daughter of Athena, right? You should’ve known you had it in you.”

You nodded, though doubt still lingered in the back of your mind. Were you really your mother’s daughter? Sure, you’d dodged and blocked the attacks, but did that make you a true warrior?

The son of Ares turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your sword in hand and your shield still raised, as the sounds of camp life continued around you.

Just as you were trying to catch your breath, still processing the son of Ares’ brutal training session, you heard a voice—a familiar, mocking tone that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Well, well, looks like you’re still standing,” Ni-ki said, his voice smooth and teasing.

You looked up, and there he was. He was dressed in light armor like you, a sword and shield strapped to his side, his posture relaxed as he twirled his sword in his hand, almost as if he were showing off. The corner of his lips curled into a smirk as he locked eyes with you.

“What? You’re gonna just stand there?” Ni-ki teased, his tone light but laced with challenge.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could even form a sentence, Ni-ki moved.

His sword came down fast and hard, the sharp clang of metal on metal ringing through the air as you barely managed to raise your shield in time to deflect the blow. Your heart raced, your hands still shaky from the last sparring session, and now here he was—moving with a confidence and skill that was hard to match.

“Come on, I thought Athena’s kids were supposed to be smarter than this,” Ni-ki called out, his voice laced with amusement as he swung again. You had no choice but to dodge, the blade narrowly missing your side.

His attacks came rapid-fire, each one pushing you to the edge. It was like he was anticipating every move you made. You were barely keeping up, forced to sidestep and block with everything you had. He kept moving, his footwork impeccable as he darted around you, only giving you brief moments to catch your breath.

“Come on, you’re not still getting outclassed, are you?” Ni-ki called, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he swung again. You could feel the heat of the sword as it sliced through the air.

Frustration burned in your chest. You couldn’t keep dodging forever.

Without hesitation, you swung your sword at him, a wild, almost desperate strike aimed at his torso.

Ni-ki parried the blow effortlessly, deflecting it with a flick of his wrist. Then, he stopped and actually clapped.

“Well, at least you’re trying now,” he said, his smirk widening.

You froze for a moment, bewildered by his nonchalant attitude. Before you could process, he vanished.

One second he was in front of you, and the next—he was behind you. You didn’t even have time to react before you felt the lightest push to your back, and you were sent tumbling to the ground.

You gasped, staring up at Ni-ki as he stood over you. “What… what was that?”

Ni-ki simply raised an eyebrow, his gaze cool and almost bored. “That? Oh, just a little trick I picked up from my dad.”

Your mind raced, trying to comprehend what had just happened. “A trick?” you asked, still on the ground, trying to push yourself up.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice casual. “It’s an ability. Using shadows to teleport short distances, just like that.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. Teleporting? From his father, Hades? It was the kind of power you’d only heard about in stories, something that seemed impossible to even imagine.

“Right…” you muttered, still on the ground, looking up at him in a mix of awe and frustration.

Ni-ki simply shrugged, his expression unreadable. “Not bad, though. You’ll catch up eventually. If you don’t want to end up on the floor every time.”

With that, he turned on his heel and walked off, leaving you sitting there in the dirt, your sword and shield at your side. You could feel the sting of both your physical exhaustion and your bruised pride.

He made it look so easy���effortless.

You stood up, brushing off the dirt from your armor with a frustrated sigh, your fingers lingering on the spots where the ground had scraped your skin. You were still catching your breath, but it was clear—combat wasn’t going to be your immediate strong suit, not like it was for some of the others.

“Yeah, I may have a long way to go with combat,” you muttered under your breath, “but there’s still other stuff I’m good at.”

That thought pushed you forward, and soon you were walking toward the archery range, a small glimmer of determination lighting the way. The bow had always felt more natural to you than the sword and shield, even before you knew about your mother.

The sound of arrows hitting targets echoed through the area as you arrived. The archery range was lined with targets, some already peppered with arrows, others waiting for their turn. A few campers were already practicing, some with impressive skill, others just beginning to find their rhythm.

You walked to one of the nearby racks, grabbing a bow and quiver of arrows. It was lighter than you remembered, but sturdy in your hands. You took a moment to steady yourself, feeling the familiar grip, testing the tension in your fingers.

"Mind if I join?" you asked, glancing at the nearest archer—a tall, lean girl with long black hair who was effortlessly nailing the bullseye on her target.

She turned to you, her eyes scanning your form before giving a small nod. “Sure, go ahead.”

You didn’t say anything more. You simply nocked an arrow, drew it back, and aimed. Your focus sharpened, everything around you fading away as you lined up your shot. A deep breath, and then you released the arrow.

It flew true, hitting the target dead center.

The girl raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. “Okay, I admit it. You’ve got skill.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. It wasn’t combat, but this—that felt like something you could excel at.

“Thanks,” you said, adjusting your stance and preparing for another shot. “I’ve always been better with a bow.”

You didn’t have the strength or speed that the others seemed to carry so naturally, but this was something you could control, something that felt more like you.

For a while, you just kept shooting, blocking out everything except the pull of the string, the release, and the thrill of hitting your target. It was grounding, in a way.

After a few more rounds, the girl who had been watching you approached again. She was still eyeing your shots, but this time with more interest.

“You’ve got good instincts,” she said, a hint of respect in her voice. “I’m Emily, daughter of Ares.”

You smiled at her, setting down the bow for a moment. “Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N. Daughter of Athena.”

Seoyeon nodded. “I can see that. You definitely have the focus of your mom.”

You didn’t know if it was a compliment or just an observation, but it felt like the first time someone actually saw the connection between you and Athena in a positive way.

“Thanks,” you said again, feeling a sense of pride. Maybe you still had a lot to prove, but you were starting to see the things you were good at.

A few days passed, and you’d settled into a routine at Camp Half-Blood. Though you weren’t great with a sword yet, you’d at least stopped embarrassing yourself entirely.

One morning, while heading back from the archery range, you spotted a familiar face lounging near the stables. Wonbin. He wasn’t holding a bow this time, nor was he causing chaos by almost hitting you with an arrow. Instead, he was leaning against a post, his arms crossed casually as he watched a group of campers walk by.

You hesitated for a moment before walking over, unsure of what to expect.

"Still dodging arrows, or have you gotten better?" he teased as you approached, a playful grin spreading across his face.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “I’m not dodging anything anymore. And, for the record, I’m actually pretty good with a bow.”

“Oh, I know. I saw you at the range yesterday,” he said, surprising you. “Not bad for a newbie.”

“Wow, high praise coming from you,” you shot back, crossing your arms.

Wonbin laughed, the sound light and easy, and for a moment, you realized just how relaxed he seemed compared to some of the other campers.

“You’re fun to mess with, you know,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “But I’m not just here to tease you. You looked a little stiff when you were sparring the other day. Want some help?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “You want to help me?”

“Why not? Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t embarrass yourself in front of everyone,” he said with a wink. “Besides, I’m a great teacher.”

You snorted but nodded. “Alright, fine. Show me what you’ve got.”

The two of you made your way to the training grounds, where it was surprisingly quiet for the time of day. Wonbin handed you a wooden training sword, the weight of it familiar but still slightly awkward in your hand.

“Okay, first things first,” Wonbin said, stepping in front of you. “Stop gripping it like it’s a lifeline. You’re not strangling the sword. Loosen up a bit.”

You adjusted your grip, and he nodded in approval.

“Good. Now, let’s see how you move.”

He took you through a few basic drills, correcting your stance and showing you how to shift your weight when you swung. Unlike the other demigods, Wonbin was patient. He didn’t push too hard or make you feel like you were failing every time you messed up. Instead, he laughed when you tripped over your own feet and offered encouragement when you got it right.

“You’re getting there,” he said after a particularly decent swing. “But you’re thinking too much. Stop trying to overanalyze every move.”

“Thinking is kind of my thing,” you muttered, adjusting your stance again.

“Well, turn it off for a bit. Just feel the movement. Trust me, it’ll click eventually.”

And to your surprise, it did start to click. Slowly but surely, the awkwardness of holding a sword began to fade, replaced by a sense of control you hadn’t felt before.

“You’re actually pretty good at this,” you admitted after a while, lowering your sword to wipe the sweat from your brow.

“Told you I’m a great teacher,” Wonbin said with a smirk. “But you’re not bad yourself. You’ve got potential. Just stop overthinking.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Easier said than done.”

The two of you sat down for a break, and you found yourself relaxing in his company. Wonbin was suprisingly easy to talk to.

“You know,” you said after a moment, “you’re actually kind of fun to be around. When you’re not shooting arrows at me, I mean.”

Wonbin grinned, leaning back on his hands. “I’ll take that as a compliment. And, for the record, I wasn’t trying to hit you. Just keeping you on your toes.”

“Sure you were,” you said, rolling your eyes.

While laughing at one of Wonbin’s jokes, you suddenly felt a strange sensation, like the weight of someone’s gaze on you. It was sharp, unrelenting, and impossible to ignore. You turned your head, scanning the area, and that’s when your eyes locked onto him.

Ni-ki.

He was leaning casually against a tree not far from the training grounds, an apple in one hand as he bit into it with an air of complete indifference. But his eyes told a different story. He wasn’t just looking at you; he was staring.

For a moment, you froze, caught in his intense gaze. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in the way he was watching you that made your stomach flip.

“Uh, hello?” Wonbin’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You still with me, or did you just see a ghost?”

You blinked, tearing your eyes away from Ni-ki to look back at Wonbin. “What? No, I’m fine. Just… thought I saw something.”

Wonbin followed your gaze and immediately caught sight of Ni-ki. He let out a low whistle. “Ohhh, I see. Tall, dark, and broody over there, huh? That’s Ni-ki for you. Likes to stare people down for no reason. Don’t let him get to you.”

“I’m not letting him get to me,” you said quickly, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you.

Wonbin grinned, clearly amused. “Sure, sure. Just saying, he’s got that whole mysterious bad boy thing going on, doesn’t he? It’s kind of his signature.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool, but your curiosity was already piqued. Without realizing it, your gaze drifted back to Ni-ki.

This time, he smirked. Just the faintest twitch of his lips, but it was there, and it made your heart skip a beat. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Wonbin caught the exchange and snorted. “Oh, this is gonna be interesting. You two haven’t even talked yet, have you?”

“Not really,” you admitted, feeling a little self-conscious.

“Well, you better get used to it,” Wonbin said, leaning back on his hands. “Ni-ki doesn’t just stare at people for fun. If he’s looking at you like that, he’s either curious or he’s decided you’re worth messing with. Either way, good luck.”

You swallowed hard, stealing one last glance at Ni-ki before turning your attention back to Wonbin.

“Yeah, thanks,” you muttered, trying to shake the strange mix of nerves and intrigue Ni-ki had sparked in you.

You found yourself staring back at Ni-ki, unable to stop. His gaze was unwavering, sharp, and entirely unapologetic. There was a challenge in it, though you couldn’t tell what kind. Instead of looking away, you tilted your head slightly, trying to match his intensity, as if silently asking, What? What do you want?

Ni-ki took another bite of his apple, his eyes never leaving yours. That smirk tugged at his lips again, subtle but undeniably there, like he found your silent defiance amusing.

Meanwhile, Wonbin was still talking. Something about strategy, sparring tips, or maybe camp gossip—you weren’t really sure. His voice had faded into the background, your attention too firmly locked on Ni-ki.

“...and that’s why you never spar with a son of Hermes if they’re smiling,” Wonbin said with a laugh, nudging your arm lightly. “You listening?”

“Mm-hmm,” you mumbled, not breaking eye contact with Ni-ki.

Wonbin followed your line of sight and let out a low chuckle. “You’re still looking at him? Wow, he’s really got you hooked, huh?”

That snapped you out of it. You turned back to Wonbin, your cheeks heating up. “I’m not—! I was just—!”

Wonbin grinned, cutting you off with a knowing look. “Relax, I’m just messing with you. But seriously, if you’re gonna have a staring contest with Ni-ki, you better prepare to lose."

You glanced back toward the tree, but Ni-ki was no longer leaning there. He had disappeared, as silently as he’d been watching you, leaving nothing behind but the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze.

“See? Creepy, right?” Wonbin said, shaking his head. “He’s like a shadow.”

You frowned, a mix of confusion and curiosity bubbling in your chest. “He’s… something, alright.”

Wonbin laughed and stood, brushing dirt off his pants. “Come on. If you keep thinking about him, you’ll drive yourself crazy. Let’s hit the dining pavilion before lunch is gone.”

You followed him, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Ni-ki. There was something about him, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

--

You swore life had a vendetta or something against you. Beacuse no matter where you went, no matter how much you tried to focus on your surroundings, he was there.

It wasn’t just his presence that was getting to you—it was how he lived in your head now, too. Every time your mind wandered, it seemed to settle on him.

Ni-ki, leaning against a tree.

Ni-ki, passing by with that ever-present smirk.

Ni-ki, sparring in the distance and throwing a glance your way like he knew you’d been watching.

It was irritating, frustrating, and honestly a little confusing. You didn’t even know the guy, but somehow, he’d gotten under your skin.

Finally, you decided you needed to clear your head. Without telling anyone, you set off on a walk, leaving the noisy heart of camp behind. The greenery stretched out around you, tall trees swaying gently in the breeze. It was quiet here, save for the rustling of leaves and the occasional birdcall.

You didn’t have a destination in mind, nor did you need one. All you wanted was space to breathe, to think without distractions, without Ni-ki lurking in your peripheral vision.

The further you walked, the more you began to relax. The sunlight filtering through the leaves painted dappled patterns on the ground, and the earthy smell of the forest calmed your racing thoughts.

You found yourself stopping by a small clearing, where the grass was soft and the air felt lighter. Sitting down, you let out a long sigh, letting yourself unwind. For the first time in days, your mind felt quiet.

But of course, the peace didn’t last.

“Running away from something?”

The voice was low, smooth, and instantly recognizable. Your eyes shot open, and sure enough, there he was—Ni-ki, standing at the edge of the clearing, hands tucked casually into his pockets.

You groaned, throwing your head back. “Seriously? Do you just appear everywhere, or do you follow me on purpose?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Why would I follow you? You’re the one who always looks at me.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you scrambled to your feet. “I do not always look at you!”

Ni-ki stepped closer, the smirk on his face growing. “You sure about that?”

“Yes!” you snapped, though the heat in your face betrayed you.

For a moment, he said nothing, just studying you with that unreadable expression of his. Then, he shrugged. “If you say so.”

“Why are you even here?” you asked, crossing your arms. “Don’t you have someone else to bother?”

Ni-ki shrugged, the corner of his mouth curling up in that signature smirk. “Probably. But where’s the fun in that?”

He started walking, slow and deliberate, circling around you like a predator sizing up its prey. His steps were light, almost lazy, but his eyes—sharp and dark—never left yours.

“You make it too easy,” he continued, his tone teasing. “The way you get all flustered? Kind of entertaining.”

Your arms tightened over your chest as you turned to keep him in your line of sight. “I’m not flustered.”

He stopped just behind you, leaning in slightly. “You sure about that?”

The hair on the back of your neck stood up as his voice dropped lower, teasing and amused. You spun around to face him, trying to hold your ground.

“Yes, I’m sure!” you snapped, glaring at him.

Ni-ki raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Alright, if you say so.” He resumed his slow pacing, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. “But, you know, you’re kind of fun to mess with.”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “Why me, though? There are literally dozens of other people you could annoy.”

“True,” he said, tilting his head as if he were considering it. “But they’re boring. You’re… different.”

“Different how?” you demanded, narrowing your eyes at him.

He stopped in front of you, leaning slightly to meet your gaze. “I haven’t figured that out yet,” he said, his voice soft but still laced with that infuriating teasing edge. “But I will.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he stepped back, cutting you off before you could speak.

“Anyway,” he said casually, stretching his arms over his head, “don’t let me stop you from enjoying your little walk.”

He turned to leave, but just as he passed by, he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “Try not to miss me too much.”

Your jaw dropped, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “Miss you? I—”

But Ni-ki was already walking away, his soft laughter trailing behind him as he disappeared into the trees.

You stood there, fists clenched at your sides, your face burning with frustration. “Unbelievable,” you muttered under your breath, walking away while muttering a string of complaints that only the trees around you could hear. “Unbelievable. Who does he think he is? ‘Try not to miss me too much.’ Ugh, I’ll show him who’s missing who.” You kicked at a stray rock on the path, watching it skitter off into the grass.

Your footsteps were heavier now, fueled by frustration, and your face was still hot from the way Ni-ki had managed to get under your skin again. It wasn’t just his teasing; it was how effortlessly he seemed to read you, like he knew exactly which buttons to press to rile you up.

“Stupid smirk. Stupid comments. Stupid Ni-ki,” you mumbled, rolling your eyes. You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t realize you were stomping deeper into the forest until the sound of laughter and chatter from camp faded into the distance.

You stopped, taking a deep breath to calm yourself. The forest around you was quiet and peaceful, the sunlight filtering softly through the trees. It was supposed to help, but instead, your mind kept replaying the look on his face—the way his smirk seemed permanently etched there, like he knew he’d won whatever game he thought you were playing.

You let out a frustrated groan and plopped down on a mossy rock. “Why does he even care?” you muttered, staring at the ground. “Why can’t he just leave me alone?”

The forest offered no answers, just the distant rustle of leaves in the breeze. You stayed there for a moment, trying to push thoughts of Ni-ki out of your head. But of course, it was easier said than done.

After a while, you sighed and stood up, brushing the dirt off your clothes. “Fine. Whatever. Let him play his little games,” you said, mostly to yourself. “I’ve got better things to do than worry about him.”

With that, you turned back toward camp, determined to focus on literally anything other than Ni-ki. But as you walked, you couldn’t help but feel like this wasn’t the last time he’d find a way to cross your path—and your thoughts.

And you stuck to your decision. You ignored Ni-ki completely, refusing to give him even a shred of your attention. No glances, no responses, no reactions. If he was leaning against a tree in your line of sight, you’d look the other way. If he passed by during training, you’d keep your eyes locked on your target. If he tried to make one of his smug comments, you’d act like he wasn’t even there.

It wasn’t easy—he had a way of commanding attention whether you wanted to give it to him or not—but you were determined to win this silent battle.

But of course, Ni-ki figured out your plan quickly.

And now? Now he seemed more determined than ever to get under your skin.

“Awfully quiet today, aren’t you?” he’d say as he casually strolled by during your sword training, his voice laced with amusement.

You’d grit your teeth and keep practicing, ignoring him completely.

“Oh, come on, are we doing the whole ‘silent treatment’ thing now?” he teased another time, walking alongside you as you headed to the dining pavilion.

You didn’t even glance at him, speeding up your steps instead. He just chuckled, easily matching your pace.

And the more you ignored him, the harder he tried.

He’d pop up in the middle of your archery sessions, leaning casually against a tree just within your peripheral vision. He never said anything, just stood there with that maddening smirk, watching you until you missed a shot.

“Looks like you’re distracted,” he’d comment, his tone smug.

Still, you wouldn’t take the bait.

But Ni-ki didn’t give up.

One afternoon, during a strategy session with your cabinmates, you were deep in thought, discussing battle plans with Sophia when you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“I bet I could come up with something better,” Ni-ki said casually.

You tensed but kept your eyes on the map in front of you.

Sophia glanced between the two of you, her brows raised. “Uh… should we be concerned about this?”

“No,” you replied firmly, not even turning around.

Ni-ki leaned closer, his presence annoyingly obvious even though you refused to look at him. “Really? You’re just going to ignore me like that?”

“Yes,” you snapped before you could stop yourself.

Damn it.

Ni-ki straightened up, a victorious grin spreading across his face. “Ah, there you are. I was starting to think I’d lost my touch.”

You glared at him now, your resolve cracking. “What do you want, Ni-ki?”

He shrugged, his grin never fading. “Nothing, really. Just nice to know you’re still paying attention.”

You groaned and turned back to the map, pointedly ignoring his laughter as he walked away.

--

From the moment Ni-ki first laid eyes on you, something inside him shifted—something he didn’t recognize, didn’t fully understand, but couldn’t ignore. You were standing there, looking so out of place in your awkwardness, clutching a sword and shield like you had no idea what to do with them. You didn’t seem particularly strong, or fast, or even confident. And yet, he couldn’t stop staring.

It wasn’t just the way you looked—though that certainly didn’t hurt. There was something about your presence, something about the way you held yourself, even when you were nervous and uncertain. You didn’t cower, didn’t shrink away. You were stubborn in a way that amused and intrigued him.

Ni-ki had never believed in love at first sight. His father made it very clear that love—real love—was a dangerous thing, a distraction at best, a weakness at worst. But this? Whatever this was? It wasn’t weakness.

It was craving.

The kind of craving that gnawed at him, that made his chest tighten and his mind race. He wanted you, needed you, and it wasn’t just physical—though that was certainly part of it. It was deeper than that, more consuming. He wanted to know you, to unravel every layer of who you were, to understand what made you tick.

And he wanted to own you.

Not in a controlling, possessive way (or maybe it was, a little), but in the way that he wanted you to think of him the same way he thought of you. He wanted to occupy your every thought, to haunt your dreams and distract you during the day.

The rational part of him—the part that listened to his father’s warnings and tried to follow the unspoken rules—knew he shouldn’t feel this way. It was dangerous. Relationships between demigods were complicated enough, and this? This felt like it had the potential to destroy him.

But Ni-ki didn’t care.

Screw his father’s advice. Screw the rules. He’d never cared much for them anyway. All that mattered was you.

At first, he tried to keep his distance, watching from afar as you stumbled your way through camp life. He thought he could resist it, thought he could just… observe. But that only made it worse. The more he saw you—the way you laughed with others, the determined furrow of your brow during training, the moments when you thought no one was looking and let your guard down—the more he wanted you.

No, not wanted. Needed.

So he started testing you. Little things, at first. A teasing comment here, a smirk there, just to see how you’d react. And when you fired back, when you glared at him with that spark of defiance in your eyes, it only made him want you more.

You didn’t shy away from him like others did. You didn’t try to impress him or avoid him. You stood your ground, even when you were clearly annoyed—or flustered.

That was when he knew he was done for.

Was it love? Infatuation? Obsession? Ni-ki didn’t know, and he didn’t care to figure it out. All he knew was that you consumed him, and no amount of time or distance seemed to lessen the pull you had on him.

He couldn’t help it. You were the challenge he couldn’t resist, the flame he couldn’t stop himself from chasing.

And one way or another, he was going to have you. Even if it meant burning himself in the process.

--

You hadn’t really delved much into Greek mythology before. Sure, you’d heard the basics—Zeus, Hera, Poseidon—but the details? The stories? All the little quirks and scandals of the gods? None of that had ever crossed your radar. But now, you decided it was better late than never.

So, you borrowed—or, well, stole—a few books from one of your half-sisters. She probably wouldn’t miss them for a while anyway. Clutching the worn leather covers to your chest, you found a quiet place by the water, a spot where the trees cast long shadows and the sound of the camp faded into the background.

Settling down on a smooth rock, you cracked open the first book, its pages yellowed and filled with ornate text. As you began reading, the stories unfolded like vivid dreams in your mind. The gods were… messy, to put it lightly. Petty, dramatic, and surprisingly human for beings who supposedly ruled the cosmos.

It was fascinating, though. Each page gave you a little more insight into the world you were now a part of—the powers at play, the legacy you carried. You lingered on the pages about Athena, your mother. The goddess of wisdom, strategy, and war.

You ran a finger over an illustration of her, dressed in shining armor, an owl perched on her shoulder. It was hard to believe you had any connection to her. She seemed so… perfect. So otherworldly. How could someone like that have a daughter like you?

Lost in thought, you barely noticed the sound of footsteps behind you until a shadow fell over the pages of your book.

"Stealing books now? You’re full of surprises," a familiar voice drawled.

You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Ni-ki,” you sighed, your tone flat. “What do you want?”

He crouched beside you, his sword dangling lazily from his belt, an apple in his hand—again. He took a bite and chewed slowly, like he had all the time in the world.

“Just curious,” he said, tilting his head to look at the book in your lap. “Ah, some light reading i see?”

You ignored him, turning the page and pretending to focus on the words in front of you. But you could feel his eyes on you, studying you like you were some kind of puzzle he was determined to solve.

After a moment of silence, he leaned closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “So, what are you reading about? Your mom?”

You gave him a sideways glance. “What’s it to you?”

He shrugged, taking another bite of his apple. “Just wondering if you’re finally starting to take this whole ‘demigod’ thing seriously.”

“I’ve always taken it seriously,” you shot back.

“Sure,” he said, his smirk widening. “That’s why you’re hiding out here instead of training.”

You snapped the book shut and turned to glare at him. “Do you ever get tired of bothering me?”

Ni-ki leaned back on his heels, his grin never fading. “Not really. You make it fun.”

You were about to turn and fire off a snarky comeback, something sharp to wipe that smug grin off his face, but the words got caught in your throat the moment you saw how close he was to you now.

When did he get so close?

Ni-ki had been leaning back a second ago, but now he was right there, barely a breath away. You could see the faint scar on his jawline, the sharp curve of his cheekbones, the way his dark eyes seemed to glint with something unreadable. It wasn’t just the physical proximity that unsettled you—it was the way he was looking at you, like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.

Your body stiffened, unsure whether to step back or hold your ground, but your body refused to move. You told yourself it was irritation, frustration with his endless teasing, but deep down, you weren’t so sure.

“Cat got your tongue?” Ni-ki asked softly, his voice low and teasing, but it didn’t carry the same playful edge as before. His gaze flicked to your lips for the briefest of moments before meeting your eyes again, his expression unreadable.

You blinked, finally snapping out of whatever strange trance you’d fallen into. “What—what are you doing?” you managed to ask, though your voice came out quieter than you’d intended.

Ni-ki tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth curving into that maddening smirk. “Just wondering what it’d take to finally shut you up,” he murmured, his tone light but carrying an underlying intensity that made your stomach flip.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but the words died on your tongue when a voice interrupted from behind.

“Hey, uh… am I interrupting something?”

Both you and Ni-ki turned at the same time, and there stood Wonbin, looking between the two of you with a slightly raised eyebrow. His expression was casual enough, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes as he took in the scene.

He didn’t linger on Ni-ki for long, though. His gaze settled on you, softening as he asked, “Do you want to grab something to eat? I was just heading to the pavilion, and, well… figured I’d ask if you wanted to come along.”

His voice held a hopeful edge, and you didn’t even hesitate.

“Yes!” you said, a little too quickly. You scrambled to your feet, brushing off the dirt and leaves. “Absolutely, I’m starving.”

Ni-ki raised an eyebrow, his smirk twitching as if he were trying to stifle a laugh. “Starving, huh?” he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement.

You shot him a glare but didn’t dignify him with a response. Instead, you walked over to Wonbin, grabbed his arm, and practically dragged him away before Ni-ki could say anything else.

“Let’s go,” you said, your voice a little sharper than intended as you pulled Wonbin toward the direction of the dining pavilion.

As you walked away, you could feel Ni-ki’s gaze burning into your back. You refused to look over your shoulder, but you didn’t have to. You could already picture the smug expression on his face, and it only made you grip Wonbin’s arm tighter.

Wonbin glanced down at you, a little surprised but clearly pleased. “Wow, I didn’t think you’d say yes that fast,” he said with a small chuckle. “Guess you were hungrier than I thought.”

You managed a smile, though your mind was still racing from the tension you’d just escaped. “Yeah, something like that,” you muttered, trying to shake off the lingering heat in your cheeks.

Wonbin didn’t press, simply walking beside you and chatting about something light—camp rumors, training schedules, the usual.

--

Ni-ki watched as you walked away, dragging Wonbin by the arm, your laughter drifting faintly on the breeze. It wasn’t loud or directed at him, but it still gnawed at him in a way that made his jaw clench.

Something primal and possessive stirred deep in his chest, demanding he act—run after you, grab your wrist, pull you away from Wonbin, from anyone, and keep you hidden where only he could reach you. The thought sent a dangerous thrill through him. He could do it. He had the power, the determination, the will.

But no. Not yet.

He leaned back against the tree, biting into the apple in his hand to mask the frustration clawing its way to the surface. His dark eyes stayed fixed on your retreating form, lingering on the way your head tilted toward Wonbin as if he deserved your attention, as if he could actually be worth something to you.

The thought was laughable.

Wonbin was nothing. Just another pretty face with a bow in hand. He didn’t know you—not the way Ni-ki did, not the way Ni-ki could. Wonbin didn’t see the sharp wit hidden behind your hesitance, the way your eyes lit up with determination when you put your mind to something, or the rare, fleeting smiles you gave when you thought no one was looking.

Ni-ki saw all of it. He memorized every moment, every word, every glance you spared him, even if it was in irritation. And the more he saw, the more he needed.

No, Wonbin couldn’t make you happy. Not the way Ni-ki could.

Ni-ki’s grip tightened on the apple, the fruit cracking under the pressure of his fingers. He’d go to the Underworld and back for you—literally, if it came to that. It was his realm, after all. His father may have warned him against becoming attached to others, especially demigods, but Ni-ki didn’t care. Whether it was love or infatuation didn’t matter. All he knew was that you belonged to him, and one day, you’d realize it too.

You just needed… a little push.

Ni-ki’s lips curved into a slow, dark smile as he took another bite of the apple, his gaze never leaving the direction you’d gone.

He could wait. He was patient, after all.

But he’d make sure you saw it soon enough. That he was better than any other guy in camp, better than Wonbin, better than anyone who thought they could have a place in your life.

And when that moment came, when you finally saw him for what he truly was—yours—there wouldn’t be anything or anyone that could take you away from him.

Ni-ki stayed by the tree long after you disappeared from view, his fingers idly turning the half-eaten apple over in his hand. His mind raced with thoughts of you, each one tightening the knot of desire and obsession in his chest.

He could picture it so clearly—the moment when you’d finally stop running from him, stop looking at him like he was some bothersome shadow in your life. One day, you’d see him as he saw you. One day, you’d understand that no one else could ever care for you, protect you, love you the way he could.

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax. There was no need to rush. The more you resisted him now, the more satisfying it would be when you eventually gave in.

Ni-ki tilted his head to the side, his dark eyes glinting with quiet determination. He knew what he needed to do.

First, he’d let you play your little game—ignoring him, giving your attention to others like Wonbin. It was amusing in its own way, watching you try to distance yourself from him, as if that would somehow change the pull between you.

Then, when the time was right, he’d push. Not too hard, not enough to scare you, but just enough to remind you who was really worth your time.

And finally? He’d make sure you understood that he wasn’t going anywhere.

It wasn’t just about winning you over. It was about showing you what you were missing—what life with him could be like. He’d keep you safe from everything and everyone that didn’t deserve you, even if that meant disobeying his father to ensure it.

Ni-ki straightened up, tossing the apple core to the ground as a small smirk tugged at his lips.

This wasn’t just about patience anymore. This was about strategy—something his own father had taught him well.

“Enjoy your little moments with Wonbin,” he murmured under his breath, the faintest trace of amusement lacing his voice. “It won’t matter in the end.”

With that, he turned and strode away from the tree, his mind already working on his next move.

You could try to ignore him. You could even try to hate him.

But it didn’t matter. Not to Ni-ki.

He’d seen the way your eyes lingered on him for a fraction too long when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. The way you always seemed to know exactly where he was, even when you claimed you didn’t care. You could tell yourself that you didn’t feel the pull between you, that his presence didn’t affect you, but Ni-ki knew better.

He always knew better.

He didn’t care how long it took, or how many distractions you tried to throw his way—Wonbin included. None of it mattered.

In the end, you’d come to him. You’d have to.

Because Ni-ki wasn’t the kind of person to lose, especially not when it came to something he wanted.

And he wanted you.

--

You were doomed—completely and utterly doomed—from the moment you were born. Your life would’ve been so much easier if your father had just fallen for a regular mortal instead of a literal Greek goddess. You could’ve gone through life oblivious to this whole other world of gods, monsters, and irritatingly attractive demigods. But no. Instead, he had to send you here, to this camp.

And because of that, you got to know Ni-ki.

You tried sticking by Wonbin. He was fun, charming, and easy to be around. He didn’t make your blood boil with irritation or tie your thoughts into knots that you couldn’t untangle, and you appreciated that. You told yourself that staying close to him was the best way to avoid the storm that was Ni-ki.

But it was no use.

No matter where you went, no matter what you did, Ni-ki was always there, lingering on the edges of your mind if not right in front of you. He wasn’t like Wonbin—he didn’t make small talk or try to keep the peace. Ni-ki thrived on chaos, on teasing you, testing you, pushing every button you had until you didn’t know whether you wanted to yell at him or… something else.

It was maddening, frustrating, exhausting.

You caught yourself looking for him more often than you cared to admit, your eyes darting around camp during training sessions or meals. Even when he wasn’t near, you could feel the weight of his presence, like a shadow always lurking just behind you. And when you did see him? The infuriating smirk on his face made your heart race in a way that left you cursing under your breath.

You sighed as you sat by the campfire that evening, staring into the flickering flames. Wonbin was beside you, laughing and chatting with a group of other campers, but his voice faded into the background. Your thoughts were elsewhere—on the dark-haired boy who had somehow managed to weave himself into every corner of your life without your permission.

“Why do you look like you’re plotting murder?” Wonbin asked suddenly, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You blinked, turning to look at him. “Huh?”

“You’re glaring at the fire like it insulted your family or something,” he teased, nudging your shoulder.

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “It’s nothing. Just thinking.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further, thankfully.

Still, your mind refused to settle. You were doomed, all right. Doomed because no matter how hard you tried to ignore Ni-ki, some part of you always ended up being pulled back to him. Like gravity.

And the worst part?

A small, treacherous voice in the back of your mind whispered that maybe you didn’t want to fight it as much as you pretended to.

In fact, it was growing louder with every interaction, every smirk, every time Ni-ki’s dark eyes locked with yours like he could see straight through you. It was infuriating. It was maddening. But it was also… impossible to ignore.

You tried to shake it off, focusing on anything else—Wonbin’s jokes, the camp’s bustling energy, even the endless stream of chores and training drills. But none of it worked. No matter what you did, Ni-ki was there, lingering at the edge of your thoughts like a shadow you couldn’t escape.

You hated it. You hated how much space he took up in your head, how his teasing smirk and smooth voice haunted you even when he wasn’t around.

But what you hated most of all?

The way your heart raced when he was around.

You let out a frustrated sigh, leaning back against the log by the campfire. The flames danced in front of you, but their warmth didn’t do much to ease the chill of confusion and frustration that settled in your chest.

You stood up abruptly, brushing the dirt off your hands. “I’m going to bed,” you mumbled, not really looking at anyone.

Wonbin glanced at you, concerned, but he didn’t say anything as you turned and headed toward the Athena cabin. The night air was cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the fire. You welcomed it, hoping it might clear your head.

When you pushed open the door to the cabin, you were surprised to find it empty. Normally, your half-sisters were gathered around, quietly reading.

You didn’t think too much about it as you made your way to your bed. Sitting down heavily, you groaned, letting your body relax for the first time all day. The mattress creaked under your weight, and you leaned back, staring up at the wooden ceiling.

Your mind, of course, wouldn’t quiet.

Ni-ki’s face flashed in your thoughts—his smirk, his sharp gaze, the way he always seemed so calm and in control, as if he knew exactly how to get under your skin. You groaned again, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes in frustration.

“What is wrong with me?” you muttered to yourself.

This wasn’t like you. You didn’t let people get to you like this, especially not guys like Ni-ki. He was aggravating, arrogant, and far too sure of himself.

And yet.

Your thoughts drifted back to the moments when his teasing tone softened just slightly, or the way his presence seemed to shift when it was just the two of you. It made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t want to admit.

You sat up abruptly, shaking your head as if that would somehow shake the thoughts loose. “No,” you said firmly, as if declaring it out loud would make it true. “I’m not doing this.”

The next day, you were in the middle of a match, your shield raised and your sword slicing through the air as you managed to disarm your opponent with a clean move. Breathing heavily, you stepped back and lowered your weapon, a small grin tugging at your lips.

Straightening up, you turned to face the group. “Alright,” you said, brushing a hand across your brow. “Who’s next?”

The crowd shifted slightly, and then you saw him.

Ni-ki, standing at the edge of the group, his hand raised lazily as that infuriating smirk spread across his face.

Your stomach sank.

“Me,” he said simply, stepping forward with a casual confidence that made you grit your teeth.

He unsheathed his sword, the metal glinting in the sunlight as he spun it once in his hand, almost lazily. “Don’t look so excited to see me,” he teased, his voice low and taunting.

You groaned audibly, earning a few chuckles from the others watching. “Of course it’s you,” you muttered under your breath, gripping your sword tightly.

Ni-ki’s grin widened as he stopped a few feet in front of you, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp. “Ready to show me what you’ve got?”

“Don’t you have anyone else to fight?” you shot back, raising your shield and positioning your sword defensively.

He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Nope,” he said with mock cheerfulness. “You’re my favorite target.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could fire off another retort, Ni-ki lunged. His sword came down fast, and you barely managed to block it with your shield. The force of the blow made your arm ache, but you quickly recovered, stepping to the side and swinging your sword toward him.

Ni-ki parried with ease, his movements fluid and almost effortless. “Not bad,” he said, circling you slowly. “You’ve been practicing.”

“Shut up and fight,” you snapped, aiming a quick thrust toward his side.

He dodged it easily, his smirk never faltering. “Feisty,” he teased, blocking your next strike with his sword. “I like it.”

You groaned in frustration, your swings becoming more aggressive as Ni-ki continued to block and dodge with maddening ease. He wasn’t even trying to land a hit yet—just toying with you, testing you, like a cat playing with its prey.

“Stop holding back!” you shouted, lunging forward with all your strength.

Ni-ki’s eyes flashed, and for a split second, his smirk turned into something more serious. He sidestepped your attack and, with a quick flick of his wrist, knocked your sword out of your hand.

Before you could react, he stepped closer, the tip of his blade resting lightly against your collarbone.

“Looks like I win,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear. His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away.

Your heart pounded, but whether it was from the fight or the way Ni-ki was looking at you, you couldn’t tell.

“Maybe next time,” he added, stepping back and lowering his sword.

You glared at him, your cheeks burning with a mix of frustration and something you didn’t want to name. “Don’t get used to it,” you muttered, bending down to pick up your weapon.

Ni-ki just chuckled, spinning his sword once before sheathing it. “I’m counting on it.”

--

The day had been long, exhausting even, but despite the ache in your muscles and the overwhelming need for rest, sleep refused to come. You lay in bed, staring at the wooden ceiling of the Athena cabin, your mind swirling with thoughts you couldn’t seem to shut off.

The cabin was quiet, the soft snores of your half-sisters filling the space. You should’ve felt comforted by the familiar surroundings, but instead, you felt restless. Like there was something pulling at you, demanding your attention.

With a frustrated sigh, you sat up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Maybe some fresh air would help clear your mind. You grabbed a light jacket and slipped out of the cabin as quietly as you could.

The camp was quieter now, most of the other demigods asleep, save for a few shadows moving by the campfire in the distance. You tugged your jacket closer around you and glanced up at the night sky.

The stars twinkled faintly above, scattered across the inky black canvas. You let out a soft sigh, your breath visible in the chill. “If you’re listening, Mom,” you murmured, tilting your head upward, “a little guidance would be nice right about now.”

Of course, there was no response. You didn’t expect one. Still, the act of asking felt oddly comforting, like maybe she was watching, even if she couldn’t answer.

You shook your head, trying to dispel the lingering frustration and confusion from your thoughts. Wandering through camp aimlessly wouldn’t help. You needed to do something. Anything.

Your gaze landed on the training grounds nearby. Rows of weapons were neatly arranged on the racks for the next day’s use, and your hand instinctively reached for a sword. It wasn’t the same one you had used earlier during training, but it felt good in your grip nonetheless.

Without a second thought, you made your way to a clearing a little farther from the cabins, away from prying eyes and the ever-present chatter of the other campers.

You adjusted your stance, gripping the sword tightly as you took a deep breath. Then you started practicing.

It was awkward at first—your swings too wide, your footing unsteady. But you didn’t stop. You moved through the motions you’d been taught, the echoes of Wonbin’s voice guiding you. The weight of the sword felt familiar in your hands now, and the repetition of each movement slowly began to calm your racing thoughts.

Slash. Step. Block. Pivot.

Each strike and parry chipped away at your frustration, leaving behind a faint sense of satisfaction. The rhythmic movements grounded you, a reminder that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as out of place here as you felt.

The clearing was quiet except for the sound of your blade slicing through the air and the occasional rustle of leaves. The stars above seemed to glow a little brighter, as if approving of your effort.

But then, a soft sound broke through your focus—a quiet crunch of leaves behind you.

You froze mid-swing, your heart skipping a beat as you turned around sharply, sword raised defensively.

There, leaning casually against a tree, was Ni-ki. His dark eyes reflected the moonlight, and his ever-present smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Practicing alone?” he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Didn’t think you’d be the type.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes as you turned back around. “Don’t you have something else to do?” you muttered, raising your sword to continue your practice.

The satisfying swoosh of the blade cutting through the air was short-lived, though, as another crunch of leaves sounded—closer this time.

You stiffened, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. Slowly, you turned back around, only to find Ni-ki standing much, much closer than before.

Too close.

You instinctively stepped back, gripping the hilt of your sword tighter. “What are you doing?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended.

Ni-ki didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he unsheathed his sword in one smooth motion, the blade catching the faint glow of the moonlight.

Without a word, his sword clashed against yours, the force of it sending a jolt up your arm.

“Training,” he said simply, his voice calm and deliberate.

Your breaths came faster as you struggled to hold your ground. His strength was undeniable, and the weight of his blade pressed hard against yours.

“You could’ve warned me,” you bit out, gritting your teeth as you pushed back against him.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Ni-ki replied smoothly, tilting his head as he studied you.

You narrowed your eyes, trying to focus on his movements as he pulled back slightly before swinging again. You barely managed to block the strike, the clash of metal ringing loudly in the quiet night.

“Stop holding back,” he said, his voice low and almost taunting. “Or are you scared?”

“I’m not scared,” you snapped, stepping forward to swing at him, only for him to parry your attack effortlessly.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he teased, his smirk growing wider.

Your frustration bubbled over as you struck again, this time with more force. Ni-ki blocked it easily, but instead of countering, he let his sword linger against yours, his face mere inches from yours now.

“See?” he murmured, his tone soft but no less infuriating. “You’re getting better already.”

His closeness made your heart race, and you hated that you couldn’t tell if it was from irritation or something else entirely. You pushed his sword away with a sharp motion and stepped back, glaring at him.

“Why are you even doing this?” you demanded, lowering your sword slightly.

Ni-ki tilted his head, his smirk fading just a fraction. For a moment, you thought he might actually answer seriously.

But then his lips curved again, and he stepped forward, his blade tapping lightly against yours.

“Because,” he said, his voice dropping into a near-whisper as he leaned in closer, “I like seeing you fight back.”

That was it. That little smirk, the taunting lilt in his voice—it was enough to light a fire under you. If he wanted a fight, you weren’t going to back down.

“Fine,” you snapped, gripping your sword tighter as you took a step forward. “Let’s see if you can handle it.”

Ni-ki’s grin widened, his dark eyes gleaming with excitement. “That’s more like it.”

He struck first, his movements sharp and calculated, but this time you were ready. You blocked his attack and retaliated quickly, your blade swinging toward him in a controlled arc. He parried with ease, the metallic clang of your swords echoing through the clearing.

The fight intensified, your strikes becoming faster, more precise. Ni-ki moved like a shadow, fluid and unpredictable, but you weren’t as easy to throw off now.

“You’re learning,” he said, his voice steady even as he blocked another one of your attacks. “But you’re still predictable.”

“Shut up,” you shot back, using your shield to deflect his next swing and stepping closer to try and land a blow. He sidestepped easily, his laughter low and infuriating.

“That temper of yours is going to get you in trouble,” he teased, but there was something almost approving in his tone.

You didn’t bother replying this time, focusing instead on matching his movements. You swung again, your blade aimed for his side, and for the first time, you saw the faintest flicker of surprise in his eyes as he blocked you just a fraction too late.

Your sword glanced off his armor, the impact making him take a half-step back.

“Not bad,” Ni-ki admitted, his smirk returning as he circled you. “You’re starting to make this interesting.”

The praise caught you off guard, and you couldn’t help the slight swell of pride that followed. But you didn’t let it distract you.

“Better than you expected, huh?” you said, unable to resist the jab as you pivoted to keep him in your line of sight.

Ni-ki’s grin turned sharp. “Don’t get cocky.”

He lunged suddenly, his movements faster and more aggressive. You barely managed to block him, your arms straining as he pressed his weight against your blade.

For a moment, you were locked together, his face inches from yours. His dark eyes bore into you, filled with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“You’re enjoying this,” he said softly, his voice teasing but laced with something deeper.

You didn’t deny it. Somehow, in the midst of the fight, you’d forgotten about your frustration, your doubts, even your irritation with him. All that mattered now was holding your ground against someone as skilled as Ni-ki.

“Maybe I am,” you admitted, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

Ni-ki blinked, momentarily caught off guard when your sudden, unexpected move knocked the sword clean out of his hand. The blade clattered to the ground a few feet away, and you straightened, your smirk growing wider as you stared at him triumphantly.

“Didn’t see that coming, did you?” you teased, the satisfaction in your voice clear.

For once, Ni-ki seemed genuinely surprised, his dark eyes flicking to the fallen sword before locking back onto you. “I’ll admit,” he said slowly, a hint of amusement coloring his tone, “that was clever.”

You were about to bask in your victory, perhaps even throw another jab his way, but before you could, Ni-ki’s leg swept out suddenly, catching you off guard.

Your balance gave way, and you stumbled backward, ready to hit the ground hard—except you didn’t.

In a flash, Ni-ki’s arm shot out, wrapping securely around your waist and pulling you back up against him. The world tilted for a moment, and when you opened your eyes, you realized how close you were.

Your noses brushed lightly, and his face was only inches from yours. His dark eyes bore into yours, filled with that maddening confidence and something else that made your breath hitch.

“You should never celebrate too early,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Your mind scrambled to process what was happening. His arm was still wrapped firmly around your waist, his other hand pressed lightly against the small of your back. You could feel the warmth radiating off him, the way his chest rose and fell with each steady breath.

You should’ve said something—anything. A snarky comeback, maybe, or even a protest about his unfair tactics. But instead, all you could do was stare at him, your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it.

Ni-ki tilted his head slightly, his smirk softening into something more curious. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.

That snapped you out of it, and you quickly shoved at his chest. “Let go of me,” you muttered, trying to sound annoyed despite the heat rising to your cheeks.

He chuckled but released you, stepping back just enough to give you space. His hand lingered for the briefest second before he let it fall to his side.

“Nice move, though,” he said, his tone almost genuine—almost. “But you’ll have to do better if you want to beat me.”

You scowled at him, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. “I did beat you. I knocked your sword out of your hand!”

“And yet,” Ni-ki said, bending down to retrieve his sword and twirling it effortlessly, “I still had the upper hand.”

You clenched your jaw, watching him looking too pleased with himself. The smugness on his face only made your frustration burn brighter.

“I don’t know how you can be so damn confident when you just got outplayed,” you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to hide the fact that your heart was still racing.

Ni-ki chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Outplayed, huh?” He took a step closer, still twirling his sword. “You’re getting better, I’ll give you that. But you’re not there yet.”

“You’re a cocky bastard, you know that?”

“I’m not cocky,” he said, the teasing tone never leaving his voice. “I’m just confident. And you’ll get used to it... if you’re smart.”

You raised an eyebrow, not backing down an inch. “Smart, huh?”

Ni-ki leaned in slightly, lowering his voice in a way that made your breath hitch again. “Yeah. Smart enough to realize that you’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”

“I never wanted to get rid of you,” you snapped, trying to regain your composure. “I just wanted to be left alone.”

Ni-ki took another step closer, and this time, you didn’t pull away. His presence was overwhelming—like he could consume you entirely if you let him. “You say that, but we both know that’s not true.” His lips curled into a smile as he tilted his head slightly. “You wouldn’t keep coming back to me if you didn’t want something.”

Your mouth went dry, and for a second, you forgot how to breathe. What was he getting at? Why was he suddenly so... intense? You didn’t know if it was the way he was looking at you or how close he was, but you felt something shift between you, something that made it harder to focus.

Before you could respond, Ni-ki backed away just enough to give you some space, but not before his gaze lingered on you with an unreadable expression. “You’ll figure it out eventually,” he said softly, almost like a challenge. “But for now, don’t forget—I'm always watching.”

He turned and walked off, leaving you standing there, breathless, a mix of anger and confusion swirling inside you. You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out.

What the hell was that?

Over the next few days, something between you and Ni-ki shifted. It wasn’t immediately obvious, but it was there, lingering.

At first, it was subtle. A glance that lingered just a second too long, a playful comment that felt just a little more personal than it used to be. He still teased you, still pushed your buttons the way only he could, but there was a new layer to it. Every time he sparred with you, there was something in his eyes—something that made your heart beat faster, something that made you feel like he was seeing right through you.

It was hard to tell whether you were imagining it, but you felt it, that strange connection you couldn’t shake. It wasn’t just the usual back-and-forth banter, the constant friction. No, this time, there was something deeper. Something charged. You found yourself waiting for his gaze across the training grounds, your stomach tightening whenever he’d casually stroll past you, like he was waiting for you to say something, anything.

One afternoon, you found yourself in the training yard again, sword in hand, working through some drills. You were trying to focus, trying to shut everything else out, but there he was—Ni-ki, watching you from the edge of the field, leaning casually against a tree. You tried to ignore him, but every few seconds, your eyes would wander over to him, and you’d catch him staring right back.

Finally, he pushed off from the tree and walked over. “You know,” he said, his voice drawing your attention even before he was close enough to speak, “you’ve gotten better. I’m impressed.”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to keep your composure. “Don’t get used to it,” you shot back, though the words came out more lightly than you’d intended.

Ni-ki smirked, his usual arrogance taking over. “Oh, I’m not. But you’re not as bad as I thought you’d be.”

You felt the familiar spark of irritation flare up. “And here I thought you might actually give me a compliment.”

“You really want one from me?” he teased, his voice lowering just slightly. It was almost like a challenge, but there was something else in his tone—something that made you pause.

You crossed your arms, forcing yourself to act unaffected. “What’s it going to take for you to just leave me alone?”

He took a step closer, that teasing smile still tugging at his lips. “You know, I don’t think I can do that.”

You didn’t know why, but you found yourself holding his gaze longer than usual. You were still mad at him for everything, for the way he always seemed to be in your face when you least wanted him to be. But there was also a strange pull, a curiosity that gnawed at you. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were starting to care about the things he said, about the way he looked at you.

You cleared your throat, breaking the moment. “Don’t get too cocky, Ni-ki. I’m not interested.”

He chuckled softly, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Maybe you’re not. But I don’t think you can ignore me forever.”

You took a step back, your heart pounding as you tried to collect yourself, but Ni-ki’s presence was magnetic, pulling you in with an intensity you couldn't fight.

"You're not as good at pretending as you think," he said, his tone a challenge, but there was something softer in it this time.

You clenched your jaw, irritated with yourself for letting him get under your skin. "I'm not pretending," you snapped, your words sharper than you intended. "And I’m definitely not the one who’s making this complicated."

His lips curved into a smile, and he moved just a little bit closer, his gaze intense, unwavering. "You always make things more complicated than they need to be," he said, almost like a confession, like he was admitting something without saying it outright.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. What could you even say? What was there to say when everything between you and him felt so tangled?

Ni-ki took a step forward, not giving you a chance to speak. "I know you feel it too," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You can’t keep pretending like you don’t want this."

Your breath hitched at his words, your chest tightening. You wanted to push him away, to tell him off like you always did, but this time, the thought didn’t come. Instead, you stood there, frozen, staring into his eyes, realizing that he was right. You couldn’t keep pretending, couldn’t keep pretending like it didn’t affect you, like his teasing and his relentless pursuit didn’t make something inside you stir.

A small, dangerous part of you wanted to give in, to let yourself feel whatever this was between you. But you couldn’t—could you? You weren’t sure what this was, what you were supposed to do with it.

Ni-ki took another step closer, and you found yourself backing up slightly, your heels hitting the soft earth beneath you. "You’re scared," he said, his voice softer now, like a quiet understanding. "But I won’t bite, not unless you want me to."

His words made your stomach twist, the light touch of a dare in his voice, a challenge you couldn’t quite ignore. You felt your pulse quicken, every nerve in your body alert, wanting to resist him, but at the same time, craving what he was offering, whatever that might be.

So why not act on it?

Your heart pounded in your chest as you acted on impulse, unable to resist the magnetic pull any longer. Before you could second-guess yourself, you reached up and grabbed his shirt, pulling him toward you. The suddenness of it caught him off guard, and for a split second, he froze, eyes wide in disbelief.

But then, almost as if a switch had been flipped, Ni-ki closed the distance between you, his hands finding your cheeks as he kissed you back. His lips were hungry, as if he had been waiting for this moment, and the intensity of his kiss made your head spin. You could feel the heat of his touch, the way his fingers slid through your hair, tugging you closer, as if trying to pull you into him.

Your mind was a blur, every thought drowned out by the sensation of him—his scent, the taste of his lips, the urgency that seemed to pulse between you both. It felt like something had shifted, like everything else had faded away, leaving only this moment, only him.

His hands were gentle but firm, holding your face as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing closer to yours.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily, the air between you thick with unspoken words. Ni-ki’s eyes were dark with something intense, something more than just the teasing that had always been there before. He stared at you for a moment, his fingers still lingering on your face as if he were trying to make sense of what had just happened.

“You…” He trailed off. “That’s one way to get my attention.”

You swallowed, your pulse still racing, but now with a new, more dangerous energy. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you’d actually kiss me back,” you whispered, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

Ni-ki chuckled, like he was both impressed and thrilled.

"You’re dangerous," you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them, not sure if you meant him or the situation.

Ni-ki smirked, leaning even closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "And you love it," he whispered, his voice sending a ripple of heat through your entire body.

You didn’t deny it. In fact, you didn’t have to.

"I’m not sure this is a good idea," you admitted instead, but there was a part of you that wasn’t sure if you were still trying to convince yourself or him.

Ni-ki’s grin grew wider, and he traced his thumb across your lips, almost teasing. "Good ideas are overrated," he said, his tone playful. "Besides, I’ve never been one to shy away from a little chaos."

You pulled back slightly, your breath catching as you tried to regain some semblance of control. "Our parents wouldn’t like this," you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Ni-ki's grin never faltered, and his eyes gleamed with mischief. "I never listened to my father," he said, the words casual, but you could hear the underlying truth in them. "And your mother? She has so many children to worry about. What’s one more mess to clean up?" He chuckled, the sound almost a challenge, as if daring you to argue with him.

Every logical thought you had was drowned out by his presence. You should have pulled away. You should have stopped this before it went any further.

But then Ni-ki was closer, so close that you could feel his breath on your skin, and all those thoughts faded into the background. You let him take that final step, let him kiss you again, as if the world outside didn’t exist.

His lips were urgent, almost demanding, and you found yourself responding, giving in to the pull.

He had won. There was no turning back now.

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[marvelwitchergilmore]

Nobody Important

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> When you first meet Logan you tell him you’re nobody important. But it soon becomes clear you are a lot more important than you say. 

Disclaimer: Contains descriptions of nightmares, couple of swear words, being drugged (nothing bad, just some chamomile tea). Mostly fluff moments with a hint of angst. I watched X-Men and wanted to write something for him. Reader has powers though they're not specified fully. Not Proof Read.

When Charles told Logan someone was going to pick him up from the airport, the last person he expected was, well, you. 

Compared to the pristine and fancy cars that were held at the school garage, you pulled up in a beat up old station wagon that looked like it had seen more than a couple of scratches in its time. And you weren’t dressed…like the rest of them. 

Rather than in some kind of pant-suit combo, you were wearing a long sleeve t-shirt, jeans, boots and a heavy brown leather overcoat. 

“Hey, sorry I’m late. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.” You began immediately as you stepped out onto the curb and rushed towards him. “I was at the back of the forest collecting some berries and lost track of time. Shall we get going?”

Logan looked you over. You seemed a lot more…energetic than he was. 

“Who are you?”

“Professor X sent me. To collect you. You are Logan, aren’t you?”

“That depends. Who are you?”

“Your ride to the school, unless you plan on walking for two hours in the freezing cold.”

Logan grunted and threw his bag into the backseat. You still hadn’t answered his question but the licence plate of your car matched that of the one Charles had told him to look out for. 

However, fifteen minutes into the drive, Logan asked once more. “Who are you?”

You smiled and looked at him for a moment before moving your gaze back to the road ahead. “Nobody important.”

“Okay, fine. What are you?”

You smiled again. “Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

“Alright, listen bub-”

“Logan, whatever information about me you think you’re gonna have me tell you; it’s not gonna happen. I work with Charles and that’s all you need to know.”

Logan furrowed his brows. “So you’re a telepath? Like him?”

“You don’t need to concern yourself with what or even who I am. But,” you reached down and pulled a file from the driver's side door before turning it over on the steering wheel and handed it over to him. “You should concern yourself about this.”

Logan took it, a little confused, and opened it up. 

“He wants you to know what you’re walking into when we get back.”

After that, the rest of the drive was silent save for one question from Logan, only to have you reply with; 

“All the answers you’re looking for are either in there or are with the Professor.”

He didn’t bother asking you another question after that. Not that you would have answered it anyway. 

Once you finally did pull up to the school, it seemed you were beside him one minute and went the next into some unknown corner of the school because he didn’t see you after that. 

But he still had questions. 

Unanswered questions. 

Like who the hell were you? 

A week later, he still didn’t have his answers. But he did run into you again. 

In the kitchens. 

The entire place was a lot messier than the communal kitchen. It looked like some mix between a witches cottage and a mess hall in a school cafeteria. But it didn't smell as bad. 

Instead it smelt of cinnamon, oranges, rosemary and cookies. 

And somehow

It was relaxing to him. 

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Logan looked up to find you standing at the other end of the kitchen, a bowl under one arm and a spoon in the other. Flour was dusted across your face and your hands were splotched with food colouring stains. Which matched the batch of rainbow coloured cookies behind you. 

“Err, no. I was just-”

“Here, sit. I’ll make you some tea.”

“I don’t really drink..tea.” 

Logan was still taking in the room. Every time he looked back to a spot, he found a new detail to it. Extra herbs, or ingredients, or even flowers. 

You smiled, placing down the bowl and spoon before moving across the kitchen to the simmering pot on the stove. 

“Here, try this.”

“Oh, I, uh-”

“Just drink it.” You sighed a little, with a light smile. Nobody would have to meet Logan to know he wasn’t a tea drinker. But he was also polite enough to accept a drink. 

And he did. 

“Is this where you work?”

You nodded, going back to the fresh batch of cookies you needed to start scooping out. 

“Do you usually work this late past midnight?”

You chuckled a little to yourself. “Sometimes. Mostly it’s because I think of a new recipe and want to try it out when no-one's gonna disturb me.”

“Am I disturbing you?”

“No. Plus, I heard you coming down the stairs. Figured it wouldn’t be long before you found another night owl.”

Logan grunted with a soft chuckle. “I don’t think it’s intentional being a night owl.”

You shrugged. “We all have our reasons.”

Logan nodded and took another gulp of his tea. If he thought he felt relaxed when he walked into the kitchen, he didn’t have a word for what he was feeling after the tea. 

“Hey, what’s in this tea?”

“Not much. Chamomile mostly.”

Logan nodded. But then something shifted. He was getting drowsy. Not relaxed. Not sleepy. Drowsy. 

“Hey, what did you put in this?”

Logan went to stand and repeat his question, but he was out like a light before he could finish. 

Logan, for the first time…ever, woke up slowly. From the light that came flooding in through his window, to slowly turning over and feeling the bones in his body crack just right to allow his joints to feel at ease, to not thinking a thing as his brain slowly turned back into gear. 

Then he jerked up. 

With a grunt, he looked around him. 

He was in his room. 

The last thing he could remember was your tea and the kitchen. 

Flinging the covers from him, he tore his way out of his room and down the hallways until he finally reached his destination. 

The Professor’s office. 

Walking inside, he found the situation entirely too calm. 

“Ah, good morning Logan. Glad to see you’re finally awake.”

“What the hell happened?” 

“You fell asleep. Y/n helped put you to bed before you collapsed on her kitchen floor.”

Logan turned at that moment to find you sat on the sofa by the window inside the office. 

“You.” Logan practically snarled. “You did something. What did you do?”

Logan approached you but where anyone else would have flinched, you didn’t. In fact, all you did was sit back further and smile up at him. 

“She didn’t do anything, Logan. You needed to sleep.”

Logan turned and looked at the Professor. “Don’t mean I have to be drugged.”

Then you stood. “It was just a little tea, Logan. The more exhausted you are, the faster and harder it works. But now you look more rested. Your skin looks less like you’ve been thrown into a washing machine for a couple spins.”

“Are you always this blunt?”

You smiled. “It’s part of my charm.”

“Ain’t nothing charming about this conversation, doll.”

“Really? Because I’m finding this thrilling.”

Professor X smiled. “Okay, that’s enough, you two.”

“She started it!”

You just smiled again. “You’re welcome. If you ever need more tea, you know where to find me.”

With a pat to his arm, you walked past him and said your goodbyes to the professor before heading for the door. 

“Don’t worry about it, you can keep your tea.”

“Have to admit, though. I did help.”

Internally, reluctantly, he did have to. Because despite everything, it was one of the best nights of sleep he’d ever had. 

Another week rolled by and despite Logan doing everything he could to avoid the woman that he still considered had drugged him to sleep, he seemed to see more of you. 

Turns out, you taught cooking and baking classes to the students so they could at least make themselves a decent meal every once in a while instead of quick ramen noodles. And you also taught outdoor survival skills which Xavier had Logan help sub in with. 

But this also meant, much to his chagrin, Logan was actually starting to like you. 

Rather than wanting to storm off in the other direction, he wasn’t annoyed by your presence in the room anymore and you definitely had a way with teaching a group of rowdy teenagers who would rather do anything other than learn normal “camp” things. 

It was actually entertaining watching you teach your students. And even he learnt a thing or two.

Another week passed and Logan found himself back in your kitchen, sitting at the kitchen island, watching you as you lent one palm on the counter top, a pencil between your teeth and two pens behind one of your ears. 

“Want some tea?” You asked him after a few minutes of content silence. 

“Are you going to drug me again?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s store bought, Logan. I just added a couple extra things.”

“Really, like what?”

Sighing, with a slight smirk, you turned around and pulled the box of tea from the cabinet before throwing it at Logan from over your shoulder. “Read it. It tells you what to add.”

“They actually sell this stuff?”

You turned back to your messy notebook with a smile. “It helps when your grandmother worked in the tea business for forty years. All the tricks of the trade, passed down through generations.”

Logan watched you work- no, dance around the kitchen. You didn’t even have to look at what you were doing and before he knew it, there was another tea in front of him, in a glass mug with hand-painted roasting logs on it. 

Logan looked at it for a moment and then you spoke up, without looking in his direction. “Being a night owl means different hobbies can be created. Glass painting was one of them.”

Logan shrugged with a nod before drinking his tea. The effects weren’t as quick or as “violent” as the first time. Instead, it was calming, then relaxing, then just plain and simple tiredness. 

“Go to bed, Logan. Before you crash into my floor again.”

“How did you get me to bed the last time? I’m not exactly all flesh and blood.”

You shrugged. “I’m stronger than I might look to you. But, go to bed, Logan.”

“Will you?”

“Will I do what?”

“Go to bed, too?”

You turned and faced him. “Soon. I want to finish this up first.”

“What are you even doing?”

“New recipe. I shouldn’t be long. Look, I promise. Twenty minutes, I’ll be in my bed, fast asleep.”

Logan raised his brow for a moment but then stood. If he waited any longer, he might actually crash onto the floor again. 

“Okay, fine.”

And you stuck to your word. Logan heard your footsteps coming up the stairs less than ten minutes later and after that…he didn’t remember much other than just complete calmness and sleep. 

The next couple of nights followed the same pattern. And even if he still wasn’t a tea drinker, Logan was growing a (small) taste for it. 

Until one night he walked in and found you stood in the corner, changing your t-shirt. 

You already wore a cami top underneath most of your t-shirts anyway – especially in the kitchen, but your first one had gotten too messy. So you were safe when changing. Except, you hadn’t expected Logan to walk in when he did. 

He paused for a minute by the door, a little apprehensive to make himself known but also trying to do so, so it wouldn’t seem like he was just watching you change your top t-shirt. But at the same time, he didn’t want you to know he was standing there because he could finally look at you. 

More so, when he saw your shoulder. 

From your left shoulder spread and faded over the top and to your right, a mark similar to a burn. The skin was scarred, yet healed over. A forgotten memory. The strap of your top cut through the larger scar that ran directly across the middle of the scarred skin, almost in a wave. Parts were redder than others but you didn’t seem to be in pain as you pulled the t-shirt over the top of your head and down your body, covering it back up. 

Logan coughed as he entered and you turned around, greeting him as you did every night. 

“New recipe?”

You nodded, looking at the messy t-shirt in your hand. “Yeah, it didn't go over too well with the mixer.”

“Better luck next time.”

And then you both just…talked. 

You were slowly telling him a little more about yourself each night, even if you didn’t know it yet. 

“I just remember being thrown into the wall and waking up like an hour later, completely covered in green brownie batter.”

You both laughed as you told him the story, but then he asked. 

“Is that where the scar is from? On your back?”

It was almost as if you had forgotten about it, having to take a moment to realise what he was talking about.

“Oh, that. No, that…that’s nothing important.”

Logan knew to drop his line of questioning. If you said it was nothing important, then there was no way of getting you to talk about it. 

Until the day he found you napping on the sofa. 

Everyone was outside for the day considering it was winter break and fresh snow had finally fallen on the ground. Except, you had opted to stay inside, and fell asleep on one of the central sofas in one of the quieter communal areas. 

The large windows let a lot of natural light flood in, and the fire that was crackling away in the fireplace was enough to heat the room, especially when the door was closed. 

And it wasn’t long before the quiet hum of the fire and odd crackle of the wood, mixed with the heat and your lack of sleep, overtook you and you fell asleep. You didn’t even wake when your book dropped from your hand and onto the floor. 

“Hey, Y/n, they’re all-”

Logan stopped in his tracks when he saw you. 

Fast asleep. 

He was careful to remain quiet as he walked over to you, cutting between you and the coffee table to pick up your fallen book and place it safely onto the table, where he sat on the edge and took a minute to just…memorise you. 

Since he met you, you had done nothing but be moving. All the time. From the crack of dawn to nightfall, you were constantly going and running and teaching and baking and doing and…hell, for all he knew, you could be something other than mutant or human – even those two needed sleep at some point. 

Hell, even he needed sleep. 

But you were just constantly forever going. 

Lay on your left side, your elbow tucked under your head, you were lightly snoring. Logan brushed the stray hairs that had fallen in front of your face, away, his hand rested on your cheek for a moment, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone for a second. 

You were fast asleep. 

Your worn Beatles band-tee was twisted slightly around your middle, whilst the waist of your jeans had twisted in the opposite direction a little, leaving a small gap that showed Logan the redness from the indent marks of where you had been lay, probably, on your other hip for a while. 

Logan thought about covering you up, and leaving you where you were, for a moment. But he also knew you could be like him when it came to sleep. And it was best to get it when you could. So, rather than chance the kids coming back in and waking you up, he made a decision. 

You flinched a little in your sleep as he spoke to you and lifted you from the sofa. It wasn’t long before he found your room and laid you into bed before covering you up. 

Once more, he brushed the hair from your eyes as you turned onto your side again. 

He looked around for a moment before finding what he was looking for. 

A heavy blanket. 

He lay it over the top of your bedcovers and you, before moving across the room to light the fireplace. 

Only, as he did so and placed the fireguard in front, you whimpered. 

He turned around but you were still. 

Then you whimpered again. 

“No,” you whispered. 

Logan moved over to you quickly and quietly as he could. You fell silent again. 

He let out a small breath and covered you up a little more before leaning down. He didn’t know why, but he pressed a small kiss to your temple before walking away. 

Except you reached out for his hand. 

Logan looked down at his hand that was connected with yours, then to you. You were still asleep. 

But it didn’t look like it was a good dream. 

You were shaking. Your entire body seemed to be paralysed with fear, all the while you were mumbling words Logan just couldn’t quite make out. 

Then the glass of water by your bed started shaking. Then the table it was on. Then your bed. Then the floor. Whatever was happening to you was spreading throughout your room. 

A picture that had been hanging on the wall outside, fell to the floor. 

Quickly turning back to you, Logan took hold of your shoulder. He kept calling your name but it was like you couldn’t hear him. 

“Please…please don’t hurt them. Please.” You screamed and then grunted in pain. Whatever was happening in your nightmare, you were being hurt. Badly. 

“Hey, Y/N! Hey, you’re okay! You’re safe! You’re in New York. You’re at school! It’s not real, Y/N. None of it is real.”

Your head shifted. You were searching. 

“I’m right here. None of it is real. You need to wake up.”

“L…Logan?” 

The violent shaking in your room slowed for a moment.

He was shocked. Maybe…

“Just follow my voice. It’s just a nightmare. I can’t get into your head and bring you out. Just…follow my voice.”

The shaking around your room gradually slowed, but you still were. Then your eyes opened. 

And glowed. 

They were still your eyes just…brighter. 

“Logan?!”

He had stopped speaking. You were panicking. 

“It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m right here.” Logan took hold of your hand and held it tighter. “You’re safe.”

The shaking slowed and your eyes closed again. 

Then everything stopped. 

Everything went silent. 

Logan looked at the glass of water beside your bed. It was like it had never moved. 

Then you gasped and shot up from your bed. You kicked your legs and brought your hands behind you to push yourself up and the covers from you. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey, hey, Y/n. Hey,” 

You were gasping for breath, dizzy from your nightmare. 

“Hey, it’s me. Whoa. Hey, look at me. It’s Logan.”

He took you by your shoulders then your face. 

“It’s Logan.”

You finally calmed a little, and he watched your eyes search his entire face until you finally recognised him. 

“Logan,” you breathed. 

“Yeah…”

Your shoulders relaxed and you leaned closer to him, wrapping your arms around him. His hand held the back of your head and his other round your back, pressing you further into him. He could still feel your body trembling. 

“What happened?”

“You had a nightmare.” Logan told you. “The room started shaking and I tried waking you up.”

You took a couple of breaths before moving back and pushed the hair from your face and curled your legs up closer to your chest. 

Logan, sat beside them, placed one of his hands on your knee and the other in your right hand. 

“What happened?”

You shook your head. “Nothing-”

“The entire room started shaking and your eyes glowed. That’s not ‘nothing important’, Y/n.”

You swallowed and nodded your head before dropping your gaze and shifting until you were sat up, crossed-legged. 

Logan remained where he was, sat on the edge of your bed. 

“Before I worked as a teacher and cook here, I was one of them.” The last four words came out slowly, almost like you had to convince yourself you were saying them out loud. “I was an X-Man. I was a part of the team.”

“So what happened?”

“The usual. A mission gone wrong.”

“And that’s what the nightmares…”

You nodded. “It was the mission that made me retire. They needed me to do a job, and I couldn’t do it. There were kids, mutants, being held captive. Some rich dick thought he could duplicate mutants. As the team went it, I was meant to be holding ground outside, helping them find their way through. Only, I didn’t shut off my power. We knew they had someone who could detect me if I didn’t. I got so focused on trying to find the kids, trying to make sure the team got to them that the team almost…”

You paused for a minute. You hadn’t told anyone this story. Ever. 

Logan took your hand. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”

You let Logan’s touch soak into your skin. A memory you’d never forget yet never truly remember why you never would forget. 

“They almost died, Logan.” You looked at him and he could see the tears behind your eyes, threatening to come forward and fall again. “Everyone almost died, because I didn’t shut it down. You asked about the scar, the one on my back?”

Logan nodded. He didn’t like where this was going. 

“It’s from that day. One of their scientists had set off some kind of power..thing. Sent me flying blocks away from where I was supposed to be. I crash landed into some old wooden panelling which knocked me down. But once I got up…their Superhuman had found me.”

“Was he the one that-”

You nodded, remembering it as if it was yesterday. “I was thrown, this time on my front. I tried to get up but then all I felt was pure fire. He was burning me. Giving me a reminder of why ‘someone like me, born with the powers of gods’ shouldn’t have them when I was clearly so ‘weak’. By the time he stopped, I realised where he was going. And by the time I got up, everything just…blew up.”

“Y/n, everyone’s safe. You’re all here. Don’t you teach some of those kids?”

You nodded. “Doesn’t mean I don’t forget that feeling. One of the kids had been watching the guards, tracking their materials to find a way out. If they hadn't done that…they wouldn’t have gotten out, Logan. And they almost didn’t. All because I couldn’t fight. I can’t be the reason why I lose my family and the people I love.”

The tears came forward now, streaming down your face at an unstoppable speed. 

“I just can’t.”

Logan shook his head, pushing himself closer to you to hold you. And you let him. Leaning into him, you felt his arms grow tighter around your body. There was a small security in his arms, one that you hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“None of that was your fault.” Logan told you. “I know you and I know this team. You would never intentionally hurt people. And forgetting to turn your powers off? We’ve all made mistakes in moments like that. Sometimes you get so focused on one person, you tend to lose all sense of self. But none of that was your fault. They got out. They’re all here. They’re all alive. And rich dick is spending his life as dust in the fucking wind.”

“Believe me, I’ll be the first to tell you changing your feelings on something won’t stop the nightmares.” Logan continued. “But you need to find a way to let it go. Don’t let them control you. Not when you won. Not when you’re here, with everyone, able to drug me with some store bought tea.”

You laughed a little at that, wiping your tears away before Logan did the same thing, brushing his thumb underneath your eye and across your cheek. Logan smiled a little. Others might have called it a muscle flex, but knowing Logan; it was a small, brief smile. 

“Don’t let them win.”

You nodded, your head still in his hands. 

“Logan? Will you…Can you stay?”

It seemed to take Logan a second to find his answer. What you couldn’t see was that most of that time, he was trying to figure out why his answer came as fast as it did for him. 

“You don’t-”

“I can stay.”

You looked up at him and nodded with a slight smile. 

Moments later, Logan had kicked his shoes off and was lying beside you in bed. 

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

You took his hand that lay between you both and turned your head to look at him. 

“Thank you for staying.”

It was his turn to turn his head and when he did, he felt something. The same feeling he’d been getting since the day you gave him his first cup of tea. 

Logan just nodded before lifting his arm. “Come here.”

You moved closer to him as he lifted the covers a little so you could do so. Then he dropped his arm around your back, his palm flush against its centre before it slid a little lower to hold you by your waist. 

As your head settled close to his chest, he dropped his head a little, leaning his jaw against the top of your head and as he felt you relax and close your eyes, he did the same thing. 

The moment your breathing became even, and he knew you were asleep, Logan settled back down and held you just a little tighter against him as he closed his eyes and joined you in a dreamless sleep. 

Hours passed and Charles hadn’t seen either you or Logan in hours. But when he spotted a picture frame that had fallen onto the floor, just outside of your room, he sped as quickly as he could down the hall, but paused when he saw the door open and a sight he didn’t think he’d get to witness for at least a few more months. 

From the hallway, Charles peered in to find the snow falling heavily outside of your window. The children and other teachers were still outside playing. The fire had died down a little, but even he could feel the heat from the room. 

And in the middle of the left hand wall through the door, was your bed. 

Where yourself and Logan slept soundly, almost as one. With your face and hand on his chest, and his arm around your waist, whilst his other hand held onto your arm in a soft grip, keeping your hand on him. 

Xavier could practically feel the serenity oozing from the pair of you. He knew Logan was troubled and that you yourself hadn’t felt safe or content in a long time. 

And he would never have to tell Logan of the change you brought to him, or the one he brought to you. The change that helped you feel safe again, content again. Happy again. Without the added feeling that something was about to go off kilter. 

Because Logan already knew. 

And so did you. 

And for Logan, no matter how many times you would tell him you were “nobody important”, you would always be important to him. 

[emmaxdelicate]

THE GREAT WAR | op81 x reader

summary: you and oscar fight about the growing distance between you two

pairings: oscar piastri x fem!girlfriend!reader

warnings: angst, hurt/no comfort, swearing, use of y/n (2 times only), intentional lowercase (lmk if i missed any!)

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i felt so bad writing this idk why😭, i already have a part 2 in my drafts lmao

masterlist

rain came in sheets of water, a downpour. it had been this way for days now: gray skies, unending clouds, heaviness that settled upon your chest like a lead weight.

you stood in the kitchen of yours and Oscar's shared apartment , staring blankly at the half-filled mug of tea on the counter. the liquid had long since gone cold, untouched in the chaos of the evening. you could hear Oscar moving in the living room; his footsteps quick and agitated, not as usual, each step was a subtle reminder of the distance that had grown between you.

the fight had started hours ago, even thought "fight" felt like the wrong term. it wasn't just one argument, not really. it was more of a culmination of days and weeks, months, even, of little fractures, cracks in the foundation of the house you had built together. and now, you weren't so sure if the pieces could be put back together.

you gatered some bravery and walked to the living room. Oscar was sitting on the couch, his head in his hands and his hair slightly disheveled, you stood at the door.

"so what? you think i don't care?" Oscar's voice cut suddenly, sharp and defensive. it wasn't the first time he'd asked the question tonight.

you watched him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. "that's not what i said."

"it's what you're implying tho," he shot back, his tone cutting. he rarely talked like this with anyone, let alone with you. this wasn't the oscar you spent days cuddling with, the one who whispered reassecurations in your ear each time something was wrong.

you sighed, running a hand through your hair. "i'm not insinuating anything, oscar. i'm telling you how I feel. and how I feel is—forgotten."

his expression shifted, a flicker of guilt crossing his face before it was replaced by frustration. "forgotten? that's ridiculous, y/n. do you have any idea how much i think about you? how much i care about you?"

"thinking about me is not the same as being here, oscar," you said, your voice trembling despite your best attempts at keeping it even. "you're always somewhere else, with the team, on the track, doing interviews. and i get it, okay? i really do know how much your career means to you, and that's amazing. but when was the last time you really saw me? when was the last time we had a conversation that didn't revolve around your schedule or your next race?"

oscar winced with your words; his jaw flexed. "that's not fair."

"isn't it?"

the question just hung in the air, heavy and unanswered. oscar slumped slightly into himself, his frustration giving way to something more subdued. "i'm doing my best," he said quietly.

your laugh was bitter, like a knife across the silence. "your best? oscar, your best is killing me." you took a step closer to him.

he recoiled as if you had hit him, his eyes wide with hurt. for a moment, you almost thought he might walk away-that he might turn around and leave the room, leave you standing there with your heart in pieces. but he stayed, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, like he was trying to keep himself from falling apart.

"what do you want me to do?" he asked finally, his voice strained. "tell me, because i don't know anymore. i'm trying to balance everything-my career, my life, you. i'm trying so hard. but it feels like no matter what i do, it's never enough."

"you never call me when you're away, only text me to tell me stupid shit instead of checking up on me. i can't be the only one doing that"

you felt the well of tears in your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. "i don't need you to be perfect, oscar. i just need you to be here. to show me that i matter, that we matter." you sat next to him.

"you do matter," he said, facing you, his voice breaking on the words. "more than anything."

"then why don't I feel it?

the question came out a whisper, but it was enough to shatter whatever fragile truce had existed between you. oscar turned away, raking a hand through his hair as he let out a frustrated sigh.

"i don't know," he admitted, his back to you. "i don't know how to make you feel it. i thought i was doing everything right, but clearly i'm not."

you took a shaking breath, hands trembling at your sides. "it's not about you being right, Oscar-it's about us, about what we're losing."

he turned back to you then, his face open and raw. "i don't want to lose you," he whispered.

"neither do i,"you told him. "then fight for me," you shot back, voice breaking. "because I'm tired of being the only one fighting."

the words hung in the air, a challenge, and for one second you thought oscar might rise to it. but instead, he looked away, his shoulders sagging under everything that was left unsaid.

"i don't know if i can," he finally said, barely in a whisper.

that was your final blow. it was a punch in the gut, knocking the wind from your lungs. you stared at him, heart breaking all over again, feeling for the first time the full weight of what this fight had cost you.

"then what are we doing, oscar?" you asked, voice shaking, a tear falling from your eye. "if you can't fight for this-for us-then what's the point?

he didn't say anything, and the silence that followed was deafening.

you looked away, hands grasping onto the edges of the couch. outside, the rain again picked up, its sound a harsh backdrop to the chaos inside your head.

"i think i need some air," you said finally, your voice barely above your breath.

oscar looked at you, his face contorting with something almost like panic. "y/n, wait-"

but you were already in motion, snatching your coat from the chair beside the door and out into the rain, wich was heavier than you expected. maybe it was the wrong choice, going out there and leaving oscar alone. or maybe the wrong choice was even trying to confront him in the first place. maybe you should've just dropped him. cold drops pelted your skin, soaking through your clothes in seconds, but you didn't care. the storm inside was far worse.

you walked aimlessly, your feet carrying you down the empty street without any real direction. your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, each one louder than the last.

how did you two wnd up like this? how had the love you once shared, the kind of love that felt undestructibl, turn into something so uncertain?

you remembered how oscar used to look at you, as if you were the center of his universe; you remembered your deep talks late at night, stolen kisses, and quiet times that made you believe you could go thru any storm as long as he was by your side.

but now, you thought of the missed calls, lonely nights, and the growing distance between you two. and no matter how much you tried, it was difficult to remove that feeling.

you didn't know how long you had walked around the neighborhood, but by the time you made your way back to the house, the rain had soaked through every layer of clothes. your hair was drenched and plastered to your face, and your fingers were numb from the cold.

oscar had been waiting for you when you walked through the door, watching as you came inside. he was sitting on the couch, still in the same position from before, looking up at you with a mix of relief and concern in his eyes.

"you're soaked," he said, quick to his feet to help you.

"i'm fine," you said dismissively, pushing past him toward the stairs.

"wait," he said, catching your wrist gently. "please, don't just walk away."

you turned to him, red-rimmed and tired, and said, "i don't know what else to do, Oscar."

his grip on your wrist tightened somewhat, his eyes pleading. "stay. talk to me. let's figure this out. please."

"we've been talking all night," you said, "and i still don't know where we stand."

He looked like he wanted to protest, but his hand fell instead to his side, slumping his shoulders in defeat.

"i love you," he whispered. "but i don't know if that's enough anymore."

it felt like someone had stabbed you in the chest, and for that moment, you weren't able to breathe. you looked at him, your heart breaking all over again, before you turned and went upstairs without saying another word.

you closed the door behind you and pressed your back against the wood. the tears came then, silent, without oscar to wipe them away, and you let them fall, your heart heavy with the weight of everything you'd brobably lost.

and for the first time ever, you weren't so sure if you and oscar would make it through.

© 2025 emmaxdelicate

[unreachablekitty]

(Who is stalking you? PAC) I will posess your heart..

I will be focusing on the energy that this person gives in general and also their potential Astro big three! Remember that if it does not apply let it fly!

Pile 1

Pile 1, you definitely know this person. I’m picking up a strong what goes around comes around energy. This could be someone from your past, perhaps a person you wronged or even an old romantic connection, like a failed talking stage. Signs Virgo, Aries rising, Mercury energy, for some of you even Gemini.

They’re watching you, whether online, at your workplace, or somewhere you frequent. And here’s the thing you found them attractive, didn’t you? Maybe even really attractive. There’s still an unspoken tension lingering in the air. For now, they remain in the shadows, observing from a distance, possibly even fantasizing about what could have been. They aren’t ready to step forward just yet, but their presence lingers.

Keep your enemies close and your friends closer because this one is watching.

Song Rec: Carmen-Lana Del Rey

Pile 2

If you’re like me and choose Pile 2, buckle up, you’re in for an interesting time.

The first image that flashed in my mind was a tiger. Something…or someone predatory is headed your way. They’re hungry, famished even, ready to consume you whole. And yes, that could mean exactly what you’re thinking. 😏

This person exudes an intense, flirtatious, magnetic energy. They want to hold you close, let you rest on their chest, and run their hands down your back. I see them cooking for you, guiding you, wanting to take control, not in a suffocating way, but to ease your burdens. They crave to lead, to protect, to devote themselves to you.

I’m getting major Capricorn Mars, Scorpio Rising,Scorpio Sun,and Taurus Sun energy here. And oddly enough, you may not even know them yet. Their energy feels playful, confident, and almost *too* good to be true at first. I keep hearing:

"Everything I do is for you."

"Baby, please don’t be like that."

It feels like, at first, you resist maybe even challenge them. There’s a push-and-pull, a power struggle. But soon, you realize… they aren’t here to overpower you. They’re here to help, to hold you up, to love you.

Song: High By The Beach-Lana del Rey

Pile 3

Alright, cuties, I'm picking up some serious co-worker energy here. Maybe it’s a colleague, a higher-up, or even your boss. Take a moment to reflect you probably already have someone in mind and just need confirmation.

This person stands out, but in an offbeat, effortlessly cool way. I’m sensing strong Pisces or Aquarius placements, perhaps a Neptune or Uranus-dominant chart. They move through life with a unique rhythm, and yet… something about you unsettles them. I keep hearing the word “hate”, but not in a simple, surface-level way. It’s layered. They might resent how freely you exist, how your kindness isn’t calculated but instinctual. It could even be the kind of “hate” that’s tangled up with admiration—or, dare I say, love? On the flip side, maybe you secretly can’t stand them.

I’m also getting the image of a train, which hints at movement physical distance, a commute, or even the idea of paths crossing at the right (or wrong) time. There’s an unfinished conversation here, a lingering “why?” hanging between you two, like a question left unanswered or feelings unspoken.

Oh, and one last thing… someone here *might* have a thing for feet. Do with that what you will. 👀

Song: You Found Me- The Fray

Thank you for stopping by Kitty’s Manifestation Pawlor🌙 Nya~ come back soon k!

[caramelpeaching]

STUDY SESSION — (nishimura riki)

pairing. ni-ki x collegestudent!reader

word count. 0.8k

genre. smut

warnings. established relationship, dom!riki, p in v, spanking (ass & pussy), praise, not degrading but he's rough

College always got the best of you. Sometimes it was just hard to stay focused with all of the upcomming tests, exams and projects, so when your boyfriend offered you help for the next important exam you had to at least give it a chance.

"I asked you a question. Go ahead and answer it before I change my hand for my belt." His voice was rough again, just like his words.

It has been like that for the whole study session, asking you questions so nicely, encouraging you to answer them correctly because 'you knew them' and 'you told him the answer a few questions ago'. But if you took more seconds to think about it than he liked, a little punishment was sure to come.

When Riki's palm landed once more at the lower part of your rear you gasped, biting your lip and closing your eyes to try and search for the answer everywhere in your mind.

And fuck, you had no idea about this one. You couldn't even remember writing it down on the class notes you gave him to get the questions from somewhere.

"You better answer, because this pretty thing is starting to get so so red. And I for sure feel bad for still going on with the spanking." You heard the sound of the stack of papers as he placed them at the edge of the bed and his little shift in position to crouch behind of your bending body. "I'll give you one more chance, alright?"

His lips pronounced the unanswered question again, this time returning to the soft voice and touch. But no matter how much you thought about it, you simply didn't know. "I don't remember, 'ki."

"You don't remember, baby?" You shook your head, your cheeks tinting pink from embarrassment.

You told him you studied so much, that was the only reason why he offered himself to help you this way, because you were meant to know every little question and he wouldn't have to spank you even once.

He grabbed the notes again just to throw them to you, making them land next to your head on the middle of the mattress. "Read it, I expect you to reply to me later with confidence."

Your hands switched from squeezing the sheets to hold onto the papers, scanning them to get the answer you needed. You'd remember it, you were sure of that. Because the sting you felt when he changed his whole palm for his fingers, and your rear for your clit was enough to make you close your legs immediately.

"That ain't no way of asking me to stop, is it?" His other hand caressed up and down your thigh, soothing you. "Keep them open and read, that's the only thing you need to do right now."

You sighed in defeat, slowly separating your thighs again just to be met with other two not too harsh slaps on your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your face fell flat over the sheets, screaming to him on repeat the answer you just read as your toes curled.

"That's it, that's it. I promise to give you a great reward once we're done with this."

Minutes passed and he said this would be the last round of questions, just to check that you indeed knew it all. But now it was slightly different, your belly was on top of one of your pillows while his cock got buried slowly inside of your velvety walls, making him groan from the expected tightness.

You could do nothing more than to moan when his hips started moving in a gentle motion and curse at him when he stopped because you took more than five seconds to answer correctly.

But that feeling of him moving again, rocking both of your bodies back and forth while his free hand explored all of your expossed skin drove you crazy enough to forget how mad you were at him for stopping.

"You can throw this to the trash, I swear I don't understand why you like this degree. We're done with it." The stack of your notes flew from his grasp, each one of the papers being spread on the bed right in front of your face. "I've been asking you that for the last hour and a half and I don't remember one thing."

You giggled, of course he didn't. To be fair, you were so shocked he agreed to parcitipate in this. "Well, I do. That's what matters."

"Oh, you don't know how mad I'mma be if your teacher fails you this one. Because I'm so damn proud of you." Riki leaned forward, cooing his words behind the shell of your ear. "Let's focus now on giving you the reward you deserve."

[hypertechnica]

exploring unexplained darkner lore: WHEN does a darkner gain consciousness, exactly?

alternate title: WOODY THEORY IS ACTUALLY RELEVANT BUT NOT IN THE WAY WE THOUGHT??? MAYBE???

there are so many unanswered questions regarding how darkners and dark worlds “work” and i’m really fascinated by the worldbuilding put out so far - but we still don’t really know what the deal is, not really.

the way ralsei explains dark worlds in chapter 3 basically tells us what we already know, but explicitly - darkners are objects in the light world. they’re not “real” and derive “purpose” from being needed by lightners (which is a whole can of worms.)

as evidenced by lancer’s “all gone!” reaction to susie asking where his dark world went in chapter 2, sealing dark fountains DOES effectively destroy the world, but not necessarily the people inside it (if you decide to recruit them.) there’s an obvious ethical dilemma here that’s been on people’s minds since chapter 1 came out. to me, the biggest question is:

does the dark world always exist, inaccessible to lightners, or is it physically created and destroyed on the same day? are the fountains portals or creators?

the repeated phrase “the unending pillar of darkness that gives my body form” (ralsei’s unused manual)/“the dark fountain that gives the world form” (tv time credits) (there might be more instances im forgetting idk) does imply the latter, as well as the descriptions of “creating fountains” “making dark worlds” as opposed to, say, “opening doors” to them.

but the concept of time here is… weird. darkners consistently refer to the past, every dark world we enter has history, darkners even speak of people from other dark worlds! and the histories always parallel what happened to their corresponding object and space in the light world. chaos king is bitter and hates lightners because they abandoned him and everyone else - because they’re toys left in an abandoned classroom. cyber city doesn’t have this problem because they’re situated in a computer library regularly used by lightners, but queen is struggling with the internet outage. kris’ living room is… a child of divorce. and chapter 4? man i don’t even know. the darkners in the church are so cryptic i haven’t been able to analyse it properly.

so if darkners remember their lives as objects, were they always alive, or were they created by the fountains and “implanted” with those memories? are they even “real” memories?

chapter 3 raises the most questions regarding this. tenna KNOWS kris, watched them grow up. ramb comments on how kris and their friends used to play make believe WITH THE SAME OBJECTS we know now - im failing to remember the line but i know it mentioned how queen and king were at war! and in chapter 4 it’s revealed that dark worlds are warped by the mind that creates them. this raises so many questions - are all objects in the light world sentient and able to communicate with each other, just invisible to lightners? or are objects “summoned” into consciousness with memories of their lives automatically created for them?

and that made me fucking realize. ARE DARKNERS LIKE THE TOYS IN FUCKING TOY STORY???? THINK ABOUT IT. TGINK ANBOUT IT

tenna’s past with spamton is a huge indicator of this - they were business partners, right? and they had a falling out because of a mutual misunderstanding involving the mysterious person calling spamton and making him a Big Shot. well, how the hell did spamton know tenna, if they’re from different dark worlds?

in what i’m fairly certain is game tenna’s last piece of dialogue in the sword route, he says “they never should have brought that computer home…”

spamton knows tenna and mike before tenna’s dark world is created. they communicated and had a relationship before ANY of the dark worlds were created if we take “1997” as the literal year of spamton being a big shot. all because the dreemurs brought a computer home, allowing tenna to meet spamton… now, you could argue that this is because the prophecy is controlling everything, but we already see ways in which the prophecy has been contradicted, so i’m uncertain if the prophecy has THAT strong of a hold on the world. (if that ages bad in the next ten years womp womp)

AND. although we don’t know if this is every object or just objects that have previously been animated via fountains, but tenna shows signs of sentience even in the light world!!! y’all know the line of dialogue with mettaton where he plays a “salacious music video”!!!! look!!!!! THE OBJECTS ARE SENTIENT ITS FUCKING TOY STORY

DARKNERS EITHER LITERALLY LIVE AS SENTIENT OBJECTS (LIKE TOY STORY, THE BRAVE LITTLE TOASTER, ETC) OR IN A MORE ETHEREAL SENSE LIVE ON A SEPARATE PLANE OF EXISTENCE AS DARKNERS BUT CAN ONLY DIRECTLY INTERACT W LIGHTNERS WHEN A FOUNTAIN GIVES THEM ANTHROPOMORPHIC FORM

WAITER! MORE WOODY THEORY PLEASE gets shot 57 times

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

Retired Mafia! Karina x Male reader, maybe a Sakamoto Days-esque fluff story? Maybe some aespa cameos too where aespa used to be the gang Karina lead and then all of them now are trying to have normal lives?

Love your stories !

“Katarina Days”

Synopsis: Your wife, Karina, used to be the deadliest assassin alive. Now she’s gone for a week — back in the shadows with her old crew to end the war once and for all. You stay behind at the café… but bad instincts don't die young.

Word Count: 5,521

Karina X Male Reader

The rain was heavy.

But what’s heavier?

Dragging a body.

Katarina, dressed in a black coat soaked to the lining, pulled the lifeless man through the alley with methodical, unhurried precision. His blood painted the pavement behind her like a ribbon of consequence, winding through puddles and cigarette butts. Another executive. Another open mouth. Another job done.

He'd begged.

They always did.

“I have kids,” he cried, breath wet with desperation. “I can pay you double. Triple—”

But Katarina didn't work for money. She worked for silence.

And he talked too much.

No one ever lived to tell the tale. Not because she enjoyed the kill—though she was good at it—but because gossip was the sharpest weapon in the world. Gossip unraveled empires. Toppled syndicates. And she wasn’t about to let some fool with a tie and a tendency to overshare take her down.

She dragged him behind an abandoned bakery and left him there. No one would check until morning. By then, the cameras would already be looped, the scent washed away, the city moving on like he never existed.

Katarina lit a cigarette and stood in the rain, the glow of the ember flickering against the sharp lines of her face. Cold eyes, sharper than any knife she owned. She had killed twenty-seven people this year. And that was on record.

Tonight was supposed to be her last job.

Not because she was tired. Not because she’d lost her edge. But because she was starting to wonder…

What came after perfection?

She turned off her phone. Let it die. Let the messages pile up, the unanswered questions from old clients and cautious allies.

She walked.

No destination. Just instinct. Just legs that didn’t know what rest meant. Every streetlamp that buzzed overhead seemed to whisper pieces of the life she’d buried — the faces, the codes, the cold nights curled beside a handgun instead of a lover.

Then she saw it.

A tiny bookstore. Sandwiched between a laundromat and a pawnshop. Warm yellow lights spilled from its windows like a secret invitation.

It wasn’t open late.

But the door was.

She pushed it open, slow.

Chime.

The bell above her head rang out softly — and for the first time in years, it felt like a welcome instead of a warning.

The warmth hit her first. Then the smell — aged pages, polished wood, faint lavender. Jazz trickled through the air like a lullaby in the dark. The world slowed. She blinked rain from her lashes and glanced around.

And then she saw you.

Behind the counter. Reading. Chin resting on your hand, a pen twirling lazily in the other. Your shirt was wrinkled. There was ink smudged on your cheek.

You didn’t even look up at first. Not until she stepped forward, her soaked boots leaving a faint print on the wooden floor.

You glanced at her, and you smiled.

No hesitation. No tension in your shoulders. No flicker of recognition. You smiled like she was a regular. Like she was someone.

“Hey,” you said casually. “Rough weather?”

She said nothing. Didn’t know how.

“Need any help?” you asked, setting your book down.

“…Mystery,” she murmured.

You tilted your head. “Like whodunits? Or spy thrillers?”

She stared.

What kind of question was that?

But you kept talking, easy. Effortless. Like the world hadn’t just shifted for her. Like she wasn’t a loaded gun disguised as a woman.

“Try this,” you said finally, walking around the counter. You didn’t even ask for her name. You just handed her a thin paperback. The Silent Patient.

“It’s not long. Got a killer twist at the end. Should suit your vibe.”

She looked down at the cover, then up at you.

Something warm curled in her stomach. Unfamiliar. Unwelcome. Dangerous.

You didn’t know what she was. You didn’t see the red on her hands.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t want to correct you.

Outside, the rain kept falling. Inside, Katarina stood in a pool of light and held a book like it might just save her life.

It had been thirty-two hours.

Katarina didn’t sleep.

Not because of a threat. Not because she was on edge. Not even because of guilt.

She was just… thinking.

About the man behind the bookstore counter. About his smile. His voice. The way he looked at her like she was just a stranger, and not a monster in disguise.

She stared at the book you gave her — The Silent Patient — for an hour before placing it gently on the table. She never opened it. She couldn't. Every time she reached for it, she’d see your face. That dumb, casual smile. Those ink-stained fingers. And then she’d feel something dangerous.

Something soft.

So she went back.

Same coat. Same boots. No knife this time. Not because she didn’t think she’d need it — but because she didn’t want to.

The bell above the bookstore chimed softly as she pushed the door open again.

There you were.

Hunched over a box of new stock. T-shirt hanging off one shoulder, sleeves rolled up, humming along to some indie band playing quietly in the background. You didn’t look up right away, but the moment the bell rang a second time, you turned.

Recognition flashed in your eyes. Then that same smile.

Like clockwork.

“You’re returnin’ this already?” you said, standing as she approached. “You either read fast… or never read it.”

You chuckled, warm, unbothered.

She froze. And for a second, the war machine in her head tried to pick a response.

Lie. Deflect. Walk out.

But she didn’t.

She held out the book, silent.

You took it gently, like you were afraid of bending the pages.

“I’m Y/N,” you said, offering your hand like you weren’t offering her a loaded gun. “And yours?”

Her mouth opened before she could think.

“…Katari—”

A breath caught. A reflex kicked in. Her real name nearly slipped out like blood from an old wound.

She swallowed it.

“…Karina,” she corrected quickly, voice flat, eyes unreadable.

“Karina,” you repeated, tasting the name like it belonged in a love poem. “Pretty. Suits you.”

No it doesn’t, she wanted to say.

You don’t know me.

But you just smiled again, turning to the side and waving her over.

“Well, Ms. Karina,” you said lightly, “how about round two? No pressure. But I’ve got another rec, and I promise this one’s got less psychological trauma. Probably.”

She hesitated.

Then, like a miracle or a mistake—she sat down.

It was supposed to be five minutes.

Ten at most.

She told herself that when she stepped through the door again. When the bell chimed and your voice floated in from somewhere behind the shelves, humming some forgotten 90s song like you were the last person alive in a dead city.

Just five minutes, she thought.

But five minutes turned into coffee.

Coffee turned into conversation.

And somewhere in between you asking, “Do you believe in soulmates?” and “What's your favorite action movie?”

“You don’t talk much,” you said, sipping slowly, seated across from her on the bookstore floor, legs crossed.

She stared at her untouched drink. Black. No sugar. You offered cream; she declined.

“Not used to talking,” she replied after a long pause.

You nodded. Like you understood. “Quiet’s fine too.”

That silence that followed was the kind that would’ve made other people uncomfortable.

Not you.

You sat in it like it was air. Let her exist without filling the void. Let her rest.

You didn’t ask what she did for a living. Didn’t question the faint bruises on her knuckles. Didn’t flinch when she casually flicked a fly off the table… with a precision that could slice glass.

“Hey,” you said after a while. “Just wondering…”

She looked up, eyes sharp. Ready.

“If you could disappear tomorrow… no debt, no drama, no unfinished business — where would you go?”

She blinked.

You smiled, lazy and thoughtful. “Sorry, it’s a dumb question. I ask people that sometimes. Not sure why.”

She didn’t answer at first. Didn’t know how.

Where would she go?

She’d never thought of leaving. Only surviving. Only silencing the noise.

But the question lingered. Grew roots. Hung between you like a promise.

“I don’t know,” she said finally. Her voice was softer now. Barely above a whisper.

“…Maybe somewhere it rains,” she added.

You grinned. “You’d like it here, then.”

Katarina stared at you.

And for a moment — one impossible moment — she wished she’d met you before she learned how to kill.

She left that night in the rain again.

But this time, she didn’t light a cigarette.

She just stood under the overhang of the bookstore, your number saved on her phone, her fingers hovering over it.

She didn’t text you.

She just smiled — the smallest smile — and walked into the night.

5 YEARS LATER.

The church was small. Hidden. White wood, pale blue trim, nestled between a cherry orchard and a hillside no GPS could find.

The kind of place no one could trace.

No suits. No guns. No assassins in the pews.

Just you, standing nervously at the front, your tie crooked and your palms sweaty. Your best man forgot the rings. The officiant was late.

And Karina — not Katarina — walked down the aisle alone, in a dress so simple it looked like peace. Hair tucked back. No makeup. No heels. Just her. Bare, human, free.

She looked terrified.

Not because she was unsure.

But because this — you — was the first thing she couldn’t kill if it ever hurt her.

You grinned when you saw her. Like always.

And she exhaled like the war was over.

“I never thought I’d get married,” she whispered at the altar, hands trembling only slightly in yours.

You squeezed them. “Yeah? I never thought I’d fall in love with a woman who knows exactly where to stab someone to make it look like a heart attack.”

She laughed.

Really laughed.

It was soft, breathless, and maybe a little dangerous.

“I love you,” she said simply. Honestly.

No guards. No code words.

Just the girl behind the ghost.

And when the rings finally came…

She slipped yours on like sealing a secret.

PRESENT DAY.

The smell of fresh coffee hit first.

Then ink. Toasted bread. Faint vanilla from the new candle you insisted on lighting every morning.

It was the kind of scent that didn’t exist in her old world. The kind of scent that didn’t mask blood or cordite or perfume sprayed over fear. It was honest. Warm. Human.

Karina leaned against the counter of the book café, hair tied loosely behind her head, apron slightly wrinkled from wiping flour on it when she thought no one was looking.

“Your handwriting’s getting worse,” she said, staring down at the chalkboard menu you’d written this morning.

You stood nearby, tucking books into a display rack labeled “Recommended by Him (Yes, He Cries Easily)”.

“Hey, those letters have charm,” you replied, grinning. “Also, you chose that handwriting two weeks ago. Don’t pretend like you didn’t say it was ‘romantically unpolished.’”

She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

It was always like this now.

Small. Soft. Safe.

Outside, the rain tapped lazily on the glass. Busan moved on without her. The city still pulsed — but she no longer needed to move with it.

Someone opened the café door. A chime rang out.

Karina didn’t even tense.

That still surprised her sometimes.

The woman who used to grip knives at every knock now greeted customers with napkins and warm tea. She didn’t check for escape routes anymore. Didn’t memorize shoe sizes in case she had to track someone through mud.

Now?

She remembered names.

Regulars.

The old man who always asked for books about jazz. The young college girl who ordered the same raspberry scone every Thursday. The kid who traded comics for free hot chocolate.

You came up behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist loosely, chin resting on her shoulder.

“She’s got that look again,” you whispered into her ear.

“What look?” she muttered, sipping her coffee.

“The "Legendary Katarina look.”

She smirked. “That’s just my face.”

“Well… I like your face.”

You kissed her cheek and she didn’t push you away.

Not this time. Not anymore.

Later that night, after closing, you watched her rearrange the shelves like it was an art form.

She wore glasses now. Just for reading. You loved them more than you should.

“You ever think about it?” you asked, sweeping up near the counter.

She didn’t need to ask what.

Her old life.

The throne. The name. The fear.

“Sometimes,” she answered truthfully. “Like a scar you forgot was there.”

You nodded.

Then: “Do you miss it?”

She turned, met your gaze. Quiet.

“No,” she said.

Just that. No.

Because it was true.

Outside, the rain kept falling.

Inside, the Queen of the Underworld brewed you a cup of chamomile, tucked her bare feet onto the couch, and rested her head on your shoulder.

THE NEXT DAY

“Excuse me…” The customer tilted their head, half-laughing, half-in-awe. “Sorry if this is weird, but—your knife skills are insane. Are you, like, a trained chef or something?”

Karina didn’t even look up.

The blade glided through the red bell pepper like silk. Perfectly even slices, each falling exactly the same width, stacked neatly like a deck of cards. She didn’t pause. Didn’t slow down.

Just kept cutting.

“Not a chef,” she replied coolly.

Just... accurate.

“Oh.” The customer blinked. “You should be.”

You watched the exchange from the other side of the counter, towel draped over your shoulder, sipping a cup of lukewarm coffee. You didn’t say anything.

You just smiled.

Because of course someone would notice.

She always chopped vegetables like they’d wronged her ancestors — with elegance, intensity, and laser-focused precision.

Karina finished the prep silently, hands smooth and steady, every move calculated but effortless. You swear she could turn a salad into a military operation.

When the customer walked away, still mumbling something about “auditioning for MasterChef,” you approached slowly, arms crossed.

“Still terrifying,” you said casually, nodding to the perfectly diced pile of onions.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she turned to you, flicked a piece of carrot at your chest with the tip of her knife (landing it squarely in your apron pocket), and smirked.

“Still married to me,” she quipped.

You leaned in, voice low and teasing. “Only ‘cause you threatened me with a whisk during vows.”

Her smile was soft now. More real. It always was, when you teased her like that.

She reached up, brushing a bit of flour off your cheek with her thumb — slow, deliberate.

“Whisks are dangerous,” she said.

“I like living on the edge.”

She didn’t kiss you.

But she looked at you like she might.

Later, after the rush died down, you both stood in the back kitchen, dishes soaking in the sink, jazz playing low on the speakers.

Your hands brushed against hers while drying mugs.

You didn’t pull away.

Neither did she.

Karina leaned her shoulder against yours, cheek resting briefly against your arm.

No words. Just warmth.

The café was quiet. Rain tapped lazily at the windows again. And somewhere between the smell of soap and cinnamon pastries cooling on the counter…

You dried the last plate, stacked it gently, then turned to her.

“Wanna try the new cookie recipe?”

She tilted her head. “Only if I get to use the good knife.”

You stared at her.

“…You mean the one you keep hidden in the spice rack?”

She smiled. “Old habits.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I’m lucky you’re not scared.”

And that — that little exchange — was everything.

SOMEDAY LATER

You were scrolling lazily behind the register while Karina wiped down the espresso machine like it had insulted her family. Your phone wasn’t even loud, but she caught the screen mid-swipe.

A cat-shaped latte.

Too fluffy. Too cute. Too… unnecessary.

“...I can do that,” she muttered.

You looked up. “What?”

“That,” she repeated, pointing. “The milk art. With the cat. It’s just foam. How hard can it be?”

You stared at her.

Katarina—who once removed a man’s ring finger without smudging her lipstick—wanted to make a frothy cartoon cat.

You grinned.

“Oh, babe,” you said. “This I gotta see.”

Attempt #1 You got… a ghost. Probably. A shapeless swirl with one dot in the middle. Possibly haunted.

Karina blinked down at the cup, unimpressed.

“…It’s cute, baby” you offered.

Attempt #2 Somehow worse. Looked like a crime scene.

“You killed the cat,” you said, nearly crying. “It’s dead.”

She glared at you, then quietly took a sip like nothing happened.

“I’m calibrating.”

Attempt #5 It almost looked like a bunny. You told her it was perfect. She stared at it for a long time. Said nothing.

Then:

“I’ve sniped a man from 400 meters with wind. But this… foam… it defies logic.”

You walked up behind her, hugged her from the waist.

“Babe,” you whispered, “I love that you’re more upset about latte foam than the 400-meter thing.”

She scoffed.

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re adorable.”

And she didn’t say anything else — just leaned back against you, hand still gripping the milk pitcher like it had personally offended her.

The next morning, you woke up to her whispering, “...It’s all about pour angle.”

She was watching latte tutorials at 5:12 a.m.

Two weeks later — rain again.

But this time, the atmosphere wasn’t warm.

A man walked into a bar somewhere in Osaka.

He didn’t give his name. Just ordered neat whiskey, removed a flash drive from his coat, and slid it across the table to someone in a pressed suit with cold eyes.

The man in the suit plugged it in.

A grainy photo appeared.

Surveillance. Low quality. But unmistakable.

Katarina.

Hair pulled back. No weapons visible. Wearing an apron. Smiling — smiling — behind a café counter next to a man they didn’t recognize.

The man in the suit leaned back slowly.

He hadn’t seen that face in years.

“She’s alive,” the whisper came, low and sharp. “We always thought she vanished. Went ghost. Now look…”

“She’s retired,” someone said from the shadows. “She’s nothing now.”

The man in the suit didn’t respond.

Instead, he tapped his fingers once.

Then twice.

A quiet code.

Within minutes, it was out.

Across screens. Across borders. Across old encrypted networks long thought dead.

The bounty appeared in blood-red text on a dark forum:

TARGET: KATARINA REWARD: ₩3,600,000,000.00 (alive preferred, dead acceptable) Location: Onkyodon Cafe.

And just like that—

The hunt began.

THE NEXT DAY

His name was Juno. Real name? Probably not. No one in the Association used theirs anymore.

He was 24. Broke. Cocky.

And convinced he was going to kill Katarina.

He walked into your café on a Tuesday.

Rain again. Always rain.

The chime above the door rang sweet and innocent. The smell of cinnamon, coffee, and fresh paper hit him like nostalgia. He almost forgot he was here to kill someone.

Almost.

“Welcome in,” you called from behind the counter, smiling at him.

You looked normal. Soft eyes. Flour on your shirt. A band-aid on one finger — a paper cut, maybe. You looked like someone who'd never held a gun.

Easy.

Juno smiled back. Stepped forward. Casually scanned the shop.

And then he saw her.

Tied-back hair. Simple black apron. Kneeling behind the glass pastry case, adjusting a row of lemon bars like they were priceless artifacts. Hands delicate. Back relaxed.

The air around her was still.

And wrong.

Like a lake that was too calm.

He double-checked the photo on his phone. Grainy. Pixelated. But the jawline was the same. The eyes — even lowered — had that same cold focus.

Katarina.

“Can I help you?” she said, standing slowly, brushing powdered sugar off her palms.

Her voice was soft.

Polite.

Juno smiled again. “Yeah. Uh… latte. No sugar.”

You nodded behind her. “Coming right up.”

Juno watched her closely. She turned her back, poured milk.

Didn’t flinch.

No tension in her shoulders. No signs of a weapon.

Too perfect.

He slid a small capsule under his tongue. Numbed his nerves. Light stimulant. He’d rehearsed this. Quick slash, immobilize, cut the tendons—

But then she spoke again.

“You’re wearing cheap leather.”

He blinked.

“…Huh?”

Karina didn’t turn around. Just kept frothing the milk.

“Those gloves,” she said. “New. Not broken in. Not yours. Bought for a job.”

He tensed.

“Also, you’ve been standing in a wide stance since you came in,” she continued, tone casual. “Like you're ready to draw.”

The steam hissed.

She turned around.

No blade. No gun. Just that look.

“I haven’t stretched in years,” she said softly, setting the mug down in front of him. “But you seem like the kind of idiot I can warm up with.”

Juno moved.

Fast.

But not faster than her.

Crash.

Cup shattered. Table flipped. Your stool screeched back.

Juno lunged with a hidden blade.

Karina sidestepped like wind, caught his wrist, twisted.

Crack.

He screamed.

Then silence.

She leaned close, her lips near his ear.

“One rule,” she whispered. “Never threaten what I love.”

She drove her knee into his gut. His head hit the corner of the counter on the way down.

Out cold.

You blinked.

“Aww man those glasses where expensive.”

“Rookie,” she muttered, already pulling the Closed sign.

She locked the door.

You stood there in the quiet, looking at the crumpled body of a would-be killer on the floor of your café.

Karina wiped her hands on a towel. Calm. Composed. Beautiful.

You stared.

“…You’re kind of hot when you’re like this.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You have a weird type.”

You shrugged. “I don’t mind, I knew you before this whole cafe thing”

She walked over. Kissed your cheek. Then whispered:

“Take out’s on you. I stretched. I’m done for the day.”

LATER THAT NIGHT.

You found her on the balcony, barefoot in your hoodie, hair loose, wind brushing against her face like it missed her.

She wasn’t crying. But the look in her eyes — that distant, calculating stare — it was the one she wore before she killed.

You didn’t say anything.

Just stepped behind her, wrapped your arms around her waist, and rested your chin on her shoulder.

“…Made your debut again?” you asked gently.

She didn’t answer at first.

Only the sound of distant traffic below. Rain hanging in the air, threatening to fall.

Finally, she spoke.

“They want me back.”

You tensed.

“What's the bounty this time?”

“₩3.6 billion,” she said.

You were quiet.

She turned to you slowly. Face close. Voice smaller than usual.

“I thought I could stay hidden. That they’d move on. But if they’re offering that much…”

She trailed off.

You reached up, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Do we run?”

She looked at you.

For a second, her old self flashed through — sharp, ruthless, untouchable.

“…No,” she said. “I’m not running from my own past. Not again.

Somewhere in Tokyo. Rooftop garden. High-rise under the name Y.Z. Imports — a shell company for blood.

Aeri, lounging in a velvet chair, wine glass in hand. Her expression unreadable. She was always Karina’s second — the tactician, the shadow.

Across from her stood Ning. Tall, sharp-eyed, humming softly to herself while polishing a blade she swore had tasted royalty.

Minjeong sat cross-legged on the edge of the balcony rail, wind whipping her short hair around. Calm. Still. That terrifying kind of still. Her expression blank, but her eyes—

Her eyes were mourning.

“She’s really alive,” Ning said flatly. “Living in Busan. With some boy.”

Minjeong didn’t blink.

“I want to see her,” she whispered.

Aeri gave her a look. “We’re not going to hug it out, Minjeong. She abandoned us.”

“She freed us,” Minjeong replied softly. “That’s why you’re still breathing.”

No one spoke after that.

Aeri tapped her nail against the wine glass.

“If we do this,” she said coldly, “we don’t walk away without blood.”

Minjeong nodded once.

“So excited,” she said.

It was late. Past 1 a.m.

You had gone to bed already. She promised she’d close the shop alone. Said she needed a little time, some silence.

Karina stood behind the counter, tying up the last bag of scones for tomorrow. The lights were dim, save for the warm golden glow above the espresso bar. Soft jazz played from the speaker. The world felt gentle.

She hadn’t felt this calm in days.

Then—

Chime.

The front door opened.

She didn’t even look up at first.

“We’re closed,” she said, brushing her hands off.

But then—

She heard the sound.

The way the door clicked shut.

The way the steps stopped short in front of the counter.

And a voice she hadn’t heard in years said:

“Didn’t think you of all people would settle for cinnamon scones.”

Karina froze.

Then looked up.

Three figures.

Aeri. All black. Hair long. Arms crossed, eyes sharp. Her voice was calm, but her presence screamed command.

Ning. Blade sheathed at her hip like it was still legal. Leaned casually against the wall, chewing gum, but her gaze never left Karina’s hands.

Minjeong. Soft sweater. Wide eyes. She looked like a ghost who hadn’t decided if it wanted to forgive or haunt.

Karina didn’t move. She didn’t speak. Not yet.

The café buzzed low. The air didn’t breathe.

Finally, Aeri spoke again.

“You really disappeared for a boy, huh?”

Karina stared.

Then calmly untied her apron. Folded it.

Placed it on the counter.

“I disappeared,” she said, “because I was tired of being owned.”

Ning scoffed. “So you opened a bakery. How poetic.”

“You think this is weakness?” Karina replied coolly. “I live without a knife under my pillow now. That’s strength.”

Minjeong stepped forward, quiet.

“We thought you were dead.”

Karina looked at her. Something cracked in her eyes.

“I was,” she whispered.

Silence.

Then: “You trained us,” Minjeong said. “You protected us. And then you vanished.”

“I left you alive,” Karina said. “That’s the only protection I could give.”

A beat.

Then, Aeri’s voice — colder now.

“The bounty’s real. There’s a war coming. They’ll burn this whole city to find you.”

“I know.”

“What are you going to do?”

Karina exhaled.

Walked slowly to the espresso machine.

“Make coffee,” she said.

“Then overthrow the whole association, if I have to.”

She handed Aeri a mug. Poured a glass of water for Minjeong. Tossed a biscotti toward Ning.

And just like that—

For one night only, the café became a war room.

No orders.

No guns.

Just the quiet reunion of four women who once ruled the world.

And might have to again.

The clock hit 2:42 a.m.

Rain tapped the windows. The espresso machine hissed softly in the background.

And at the corner table of your cozy little café, four of the deadliest women on Earth were casually planning how to dismantle an underground assassination network.

No bullets. No shouting. Just the soft scratching of pens and low, deadly whispers.

Karina sat at the head of the table. Calm. Collected. Sleeves rolled. Hair up.

Minjeong leaned over a rough map of Busan, drawing red Xs and circles over suspected safehouses. Ning tapped her knife rhythmically against her phone screen, syncing burner numbers to ex-members. Aeri flipped through a black notebook, her handwriting terrifyingly perfect.

The scent of jasmine tea lingered in the air.

No one spoke louder than necessary.

And then—

“Babe?”

All four turned.

You stood at the back hallway entrance, blinking sleepily, hair messy, wearing your favorite hoodie and one sock.

Rubbing your eye.

“…Are we being robbed?” you asked, deadpan.

Karina stood slowly. The other three tensed — instinctively, not aggressively.

“No,” she said softly, walking over to you. “Just…”

“A reunion.”

You looked past her.

At the knives. The maps. The empty espresso cups.

At the women who looked like they could kill you with a sugar packet.

“…Cool,” you said. “Anyone want toast or…?”

Ning actually laughed. Just once. A short, surprised snort.

Aeri closed her notebook. Minjeong gave you the smallest, warmest nod.

You just looked at Karina.

She looked… tired. But peaceful in a strange, steel-tipped way.

You stepped forward, brushing a hand against hers.

“Whatever this is,” you said softly, “I’m in. But you’re not doing it alone.”

Karina stared at you.

Then kissed your knuckles.

“You never had to be in,” she murmured. “But thank you for staying.”

Thirty minutes later…

You were in the kitchen making grilled cheese for four literal killers. Minjeong asked for extra cheese. Aeri said no crusts. Ning wanted hers cut diagonally or not at all.

"extra cheese? so much sodium for a late night snack."

Karina just stood beside you, watching like it was the first time she ever saw a home.

She packed light.

One hoodie. Two burner phones. A folded map. Three knives she didn’t bother hiding.

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. Watching.

She was quiet.

Karina didn’t say “I’m sorry.” She didn’t cry. That wasn’t her style.

But her hands trembled ever so slightly when she tied her hair back.

JUSTICE waited outside — Aeri behind the wheel of an unmarked van, Minjeong staring up at your windows like she wanted to say goodbye, Ning chewing gum like this was just another Tuesday.

You finally broke the silence.

“You said you were done with that world.”

Karina froze.

“I was.”

“Then why go back?”

She turned slowly. Her voice was calm — too calm.

“Because they found this world.”

She looked around the apartment. The plants. The socks you left on the couch. The photos taped to the fridge. Your life together.

“They found us.”

You walked toward her.

Stopped a few feet away.

“Do you promise to come back?”

She looked up.

Eyes steady. A little broken.

“I can’t promise safety.”

“Then lie to me.”

That made her smile. Barely.

She heard your voice.

Voice barely above a whisper. Not broken. Not strong.

Just real.

“I love you.”

Karina didn’t look up right away. Her hands paused at the knot. The city hummed quietly outside the window.

She stood slowly. Walked toward you. Stopped with only a breath between you both.

And for a second, her eyes flickered — not with fear, not with doubt.

But with weight.

Like she'd been carrying those three words for years but never found a moment quiet enough to lay them down.

She touched your face. Thumb brushed your cheek.

“I know,” she whispered. “I’ve loved you since the first time you made fun of my name and still offered me a coffee.”

You smiled. Just barely.

“It was a good name.”

“It was a dangerous one.”

“So was mine. Now we’re just... Karina and Y/N.”

“For now,” she said, smile sad but certain.

She kissed you.

Slow. Like it had to last the whole week.

Then she pulled away, hand lingering against your chest.

“When I come back,” she said, “you’ll hear it again. From me. For real.”

“That wasn’t real?” you teased.

She leaned in, nose brushing yours.

“No, that was me being selfish.”

She grinned. Finally.

“Real is coming home.”

And with that—

She turned.

Opened the door.

And left.

Not even an hour had past.

You stood in the quiet of the café.

The scent of her perfume still hung in the kitchen. The soft clink of mugs cooling in the sink. Outside, the van was long gone.

She was out there, fighting ghosts.

And here you were — apron still tied.

For a second, you stared at the photo pinned above the espresso bar. The one she didn’t know you’d taken — her asleep on the couch, flour on her cheek, curled into your hoodie.

You exhaled.

Then picked up your phone.

Scroll.

Tap.

[Dialing: “Mr. Ho”]

Two rings.

A voice answered. Groggy. Smug.

“Good Evening Sir, What can I do for you in this fine evening?”

You didn’t waste time.

“Wife’s gone for a week. I need you to take over the shop.”

A pause..

“Sure thing Sir, A vacation I suppose?”

“Something like that, Also remind everyone for a meeting..”

That got them quiet.

“As you wish Sir.”

You stepped behind the counter. Opened the drawer beneath the register. Pulled out a velvet box. Opened it.

Inside: not rings. Not photos.

But an old 9mm Pistol, still as shiny as the first time you killed someone with it.. And a phone. Still active. No apps. Just one function.

A dead channel coming back online.

“Sir,” another assistant said after a beat, voice lighter now. “You returning?”

Others quickly join the channel "Eh? A legend returning? what a beautiful world we really have."

You smiled softly.

“Not really. Just…”

Click. You slid the phone into your pocket. Took off the apron, pressing a button under the register and revealing a wall full of guns and gadgets.

“…Gotta make sure the wife’s safe is all. A husband’s duty, am I right?”

[livwritessometimes]

What Can I Say? I’ve Got That Charm

: Part 13 (Lando’s Version)

: Y/n and Lando film their first vlog together!

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As Y/n made her way upstairs, a chill ran down her spine. It was a cold night, which made her wonder what Lando was doing up there in the first place. Opening the door, she saw Lando peering over the city.

"Don't you think it's a little too cold for you to be here in a half shirt?" Y/n said as she adjusted the sleeves of her hoodie.

Lando turned to look at her, smiling softly as he said, "Maybe," before turning back to look at the city.

"So why are you here?" Y/n asked as she inched further towards where Lando was standing.

"Nothing, I just...like to come up here when I need to breathe," He said.

"Hmm," Y/n hummed as she stood directly next to him, resting her head on her arms.

It felt nice. It had been a while since Y/n had visited the rooftop; the last time was when she moved into the complex. It was nice to be up here–peaceful even.

So lost in her thought, Y/n almost missed what Lando was saying, "Huh," She said asking him to repeat his question.

"Do you ever think that maybe this isn't what you're supposed to do in life?" Lando asked, his voice low, leaving a heavy silence in the air.

"What do you mean?" Y/n asked, turning herself so that she was now facing the boy in front of her.

"Like, do you ever wonder how life would have been had you not taken the course that you did? If maybe you had done something that was more...valuable?" Lando asked, glancing at Y/n and then back at the view in front of him.

"Sometimes," Y/n answered truthfully. She continued, "I do think about what my life would have been like had I taken medicine like my mother or business like my dad."

Turning back to look at the city, Y/n said, "But you know what I've realized? There will always be these unanswered 'what ifs' that follow us all our lives. You can never escape that....the only thing you can do is have faith in your decisions, even if the future is uncertain. You just gotta believe you're doing the right thing."

Lando looked at Y/n, watching the city lights cast a soft glow over her face. "You know, I can be really philosophical sometimes. You just gotta spend more time with me Norris to know this side of mi-" Y/n was silenced as Lando cupped her face in his hands and pulled her into a kiss.

He could not help the sudden burst of emotions that took over him. Pulling away, he rested his forehead against hers. "Be my girlfriend," He said.

"What?" Y/n was thrown off guard by the sudden question. She could feel her heart racing in her chest as she waited for Lando to answer her.

"Be my girlfriend," Lando repeated this time, looking her right in the eye.

"Are you serious?" Y/n questioned. If you had told her a month ago that the noisy neighbor from the floor above her, whom she hated with a passion, would be standing in front of her asking her to be his girlfriend, she would have laughed in your face.

"As serious as I'll ever be," Lando said, his eyes glistening with sincerity.

"Yes," Y/n whispered, as she leaned in to close the gap between them.

...

Tags: @regalbanshee | @be-your-coffee-pot | @mrsbrxkkxr | @princessria127 | @moonraysandstars | @prettiest-at-the-party | @theblueblub | @magixpracticality | @slytherinholland | @overlyexcitedoutlaw | @marvel-at-stucky | @crumbssss | @a-beaverhausen | @felicityforyou | @gigigreens | @jas0nluvr | @khaylin27 | @imsiriuslyreal | @cwiphswmwasohmm | @wobblymug | @e-nonsense | @raizelchrysanderoctavius | @papaya-twinks | @vintagefucksstuff | @st4rg1rln | @redstappen | @iamred-iamyellow | @tashisgf | @ghost-of-student-sufferings | @saachiep81 | @lozzamez3 | @ravisinghs-wife | @elizamoe133 | @anthonylockwoodandco111 | @formulaal | @luvsforme | @annabellelee | @a-disturbing-self-reflection | @emryb | @grovelingmen | @illicit-affcirs | @iwilleatyourgod | @youre-on-your-ownkid | @originaldreamerdragon | @landorris | @mountvesuvu | @chezmardybum | @littlegrapejuice | @spitesfvl-blog | @juleshadalittlelamb | @vicurious28 | @niyu2208 |

[thoughtsfromlayla]

Lady Luck is Smiling - Chapter Seven

.☘︎ ݁˖ Fortes Fortuna Adiuvat - Fortuna Favors the Brave

Summary: When the Fates leave Morpheus' call unanswered, he gains insight into another goddess that may be able to help regain his lost tools. Lady Luck, as you go by now as opposed to Fortuna nor Tyche, is the second youngest of the Four Ladies. Morpheus is determined to learn how and what makes you smile, for your smile will allow luck to be on his side, and with any of it, will he find his tools.

Warnings/Tags: Flashback chapter, death of a (side) character, use of Y/N

Word count: 3.7k

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•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Previously, on LLIS:

You manage to choke out a scream when Lucifer pushes their nail into the soft side of your skull. When Morpheus shifted in your mind looking for information about Johanna, it felt like a finger carding through a long cabinet full of manilla folders. Lucifer, however, felt like opening your personal diary and ripping out the pages that didn’t entertain them hard enough. 

“Stop,” you say weakly, the breath of your protest turning into a wispy cloud of vapor in the cold castle. 

“Ah…” Lucifer smiles wickedly, ignoring your objection. “Here we go.”

Black fills your vision, your lips gaping open as you gasp for breath. Then, you smell it. 

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

475 A.D. - One year before the fall of the Roman Empire

Sea salt. 

You blink away tears, sniffling as you dig your fingers into the soft white sand beach of the Mediterranean Sea. Your head rests on your knees and you swallow back another tear that tries to escape. 

“There you are, Y/N,” your lady calls to you. Gods… how you have missed the sound of your own name. 

Her steps are quiet against the sand before she sits at your side. She preens at your hair as a show of comfort—plucking away the dying hydrangea petals from your scalp. 

“Why are you hiding now, little nymph?” Fortuna asks softly, watching your hair grow from sad blue to an angry red. 

“They pick on me again, my lady,” you grumble, digging your toes into the sand this time. 

“You know how jealous they can get. They only do it because they know you’re my favorite,” Fortuna replies, keeping her tone soft. “I, for one, think your magic is coming along swimmingly.”

Your sisters, mischievous little shits, have decided to completely ruin your flower bed after you went out to practice your divinations with her ladyship. You left it perfect when you woke up from it that morning—a distinct blend of lamb’s ears and camellias—only to return to it being ripped apart and replaced with dry, prickly twigs and dried cow dung. 

Last week, they teased and poked about your hair until the hydrangea petals turned into an ugly color of green from embarrassment. Fortuna found you by the alcove again trying to rip the flowers out from your scalp before managing to calm you down. 

It’s been going on like that for months ever since the goddess had decreed you her apprentice. Whatever the hell that really meant. All you’ve been doing is following her around the mediterranean running errands and watching her answer prayers for luck. But, rarely has there been any significant training to be done. Not really that you complained, it was fun following Fortuna around anyway. 

“You're my favorite, too,” you manage, sighing.

Your head falls onto Fortuna’s shoulder and your lady lets out a soft chuckle. Her hand moves from your hair and falls to your slumped shoulder, running it up and down to soothe you some more. The two of you stay like that for a while, silent in each other's company. Until Fortuna asks you a question.

“Can you feel the changes, little Y/N?”

You turn your nose to the wind, taking a few tentative sniffs. All you smell is the sea salt and your own hydrangeas. If only your nose wasn’t so clogged from crying, damn it. 

“Feel, little flower nymph. Not smell.” Fortuna laughs at your naivety. 

 “Then I feel nothing other than the breeze in my branches, my lady,” you respond. 

Fortuna nods, almost expecting that answer. “That is all right, Y/N. You need only know that there will soon be a time where I won’t be here for you anymore.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Do you believe Gods to be immortal?”

“Yes.”

“A common misconception. We exist only for the mortals who believe us. When modern man comes with modern ideals, the old—even their deities—will die with them.” 

“I don’t get it, my lady,” 

“You will. Sooner than you’d think.”

“I won’t let you die,” you promise fiercely, fingers fisted tightly. 

“Noble little flower nymph,” Fortuna chides, petting the bridge of your nose. “Thank you.”

A moment of silence passes between you. This time, however, it didn’t feel as lonely. 

“Shall we continue your lessons?” Fortuna asks soon after to which you nod. 

493 A.D.

You twirl a stem of hydrangeas around your finger as you follow Fortuna to the clearing. It was the week of Artemis’ hunt, where the goddess creates a mighty beast that the Gods and Goddesses try to subdue. There isn’t much of a prize other than bragging rights and most of the deities that attended only come for the food and drinks. 

There’s a faint outline of a spell around the forest clearing, a high-quality golden aura that shielded the space from mortal eyes and other dangers. Stepping across the written line of runes, the sound of laughter and general commotion greets you. 

Dionysus is the loudest amongst the bunch, slamming down another keg of wine. You can’t help the smile that splits on your face. A whole week without your sisters and only Fortuna’s attentions? Yes, please. Excitement jitters through your entire body, you can feel it shivering through your toes and the way you clench your teeth. 

“Fortuna,” Isis calls out, the Egyptian goddess of fertility slinking up and linking arms with your lady. “And you brought a pet today.”

“My Lady,” you respond respectfully, bowing your head. 

Isis’ cool finger lifts your chin, a smile gracing her lips. “Can I steal her?” 

“No.” Fortuna laughs like a chime. “I fear you cannot. This one is mine to protect.”

A warm feeling spreads through your chest and you puff it out with pride. Your hydrangea-petaled hair glows a soft pink as Fortuna wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you away from Isis and towards the long, prepared wooden table. 

A delectable spread is placed upon a linen cloth and you snatch a vine of grapes as Fortuna greets her other friends. You sigh happily as you feel the wind against your skin, it’s been too long since you’ve had a celebration like this.

Last year and a few months ago, Fortuna insisted that they didn’t celebrate the summer solstice. You were more angry at the lack of celebration and community than Fortuna ever was. For as long as you’ve been Fortuna’s apprentice and possibly years before, Fortuna is celebrated by young women nationwide on every 24th of June. 

You’re not entirely sure why, but it surely was a disappointment when you awoke on June 24th for it to be just like the day before. Fortuna acted odd throughout that day, even if she tried to hide it. She was lethargic—tired and sluggish, even when you tried to cheer her up. 

A shadow of a figure pulls you out of your reminiscent stupor. He stood at the edge of the clearing, keeping to himself in his black toga. You knew of him, even at a young age. Dream of the Endless was hard to miss, especially when his hair constantly looked like it was freshly ruffled by deep sleep. Though, at this time and age, he went by Onerios. 

Calliope stands by his side, regal as ever, the white of her toga pairs with her olive skin perfectly. You sent a gleeful wave at the muse, remembering the occasions she came to visit Fortuna near the sea. She had always been kind to you, seeking your company at the white sanded beach side when Fortuna was too busy for either of you. The muse smiles back at you, raising a brass goblet in your direction. 

Fortuna stops you before you could go over to her with a gentle hand. “Shall you get ready for tonight?” She redirects instead. 

“Yes, my lady.”

By the time the sun had set, and the center stage was lit with fireflies and melting honey candles, you have changed into dancing clothes. It copies the other nymphs nearby, with flowing and thin fabrics colored from different petals, moss, or vines. 

“You are beautiful, little flower nymph,” Fortuna praises, fixing a lopsided golden hair piece by your ear. 

“Thank you, my lady,” you beam, pride swelling in your chest. 

Fortuna nods before taking her seat by Isis, who nursed yet another glass of wine. You sweep your eyes across the audience of gods and goddesses that sat in their ornate chairs in a circle around the stage. The chairs themselves are like a work of stained glass art, made of different materials that reflect the gods themselves—sunstone, marble, obsidian, or coral all alike. The tables in front of them separate them from the dancers and is filled, yet again, with a spread of fruits, jams, and meats. 

Calliope sends a smile in your direction when your eyes meet again and you return it. You’ll dance for her tonight—to show how far you’ve gotten since the last she’s seen you practice. 

The moon rises higher in the sky by the time Apollo pulls out his lyre. Music swells and you move under the stage with the other nymphs. In a stir of flower petals, you rise above the stage with the other nymphs, delicate footed and graceful. The air suddenly took on a sweet smell. Honeysuckles, lavenders, roses, hydrangeas, and gardenias accompany the taste of drunken nectar in their brass goblets. 

Limbs move like willow branches in a soft breeze, following the fall and rise of Apollo’s music. Flowers bloom and wilt along with your movements. The dance is not one made by man, but rather a guide from Gaia herself. Where inspiration is pulled by the way seaweed would sway with the tide or how spring rain dewed on wild prairie tallgrass. 

Morpheus leans back in his obsidian chair, his eyes narrow as his attention focuses on you without your knowledge. He has seen the wonders of the universe with his starry eyes, he’s even created some of them, but something about your smile or the way your steps were softer than a lover’s sigh caught his attention. 

Calliope claps on beat by his side, enjoying the dance, but he is beyond enjoying. He is inspired. 

»» ──── .☘︎ ݁˖x ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

It’s the fourth day of the hunt and you’re beyond tired of company. It’s not to say you don’t like company, but it’s becoming overwhelming. There is only so much a nymph could drink wine before her branches cry out for some fresh water. Your petals have withered into sad, off-white balls on your head, which only causes your headache to grow. 

Fortuna is in a hunting group with a few other deities, leaving you alone in the relatively empty clearing. You manage to find a small pond nearby, and after making sure no one else was around, you strip yourself bare and jump in. 

The light dances across your eyes as you slowly sink into the clear pond. The sun permeates into the water in strips, ghosting across your skin in phantom warmth as the water distorts the light. Your flowers soak in the crisp, clean lakewater with relief and your headache slowly recedes. Bubbles escape your mouth as you let go of your breath before breaking the water’s surface. 

“Enjoying the time alone?” A voice asks as soon as you come up. 

Opening your eyes, you smile before you speak. “Calliope,” you say happily, treading closer to the lake’s edge. “You didn’t join the hunt today?” 

“No,” she responds. She removes her sandals and lifts her toga, dipping her feet into the lake by your side. “I believe I have lost all energies for partying.”

“I am the same. No one is surprised that the fermented wine from Dionysis’ own vineyard would not agree with a flower nymph such as I.” You let out a laugh, your hair fuller now that it’s rehydrated. “What of you?”

“Must be the child.”

“Child? What child?”

Calliope smiles at you and your eyes widen as it lands on her still flat stomach. “Oh, my Gods! You are with child!”

Her smile only widens which confirmed your exclaimed suspicion and you almost launch yourself at her, wet and all. But, you hold yourself back, instead letting out a soft squeal. “Does Onerios know?”

“Not yet,” Calliope admits. “I haven’t found the right time to tell him. He’s awfully busy as he often is. Even now Onerios is in the Dream Realm. ”

“I understand.” You lay your head on a propped hand. “Thank you for telling me. I bet you’ll be a great mother.”

Before Calliope could answer, a loud roar echoed through the clearing. The sound is startling enough for the birds to scatter and for you and Calliope to tense from the otherwise happy conversation. You pull yourself out of the lake, quickly tying the fabric of your dress around your body. 

The creature roars again, this time much closer. 

“We should definitely go,” you murmur urgently, grabbing Calliope’s hand as you start to make your way back towards the clearing and the protective wards surrounding it. 

The sound of trees tearing from their roots has your eyes casting East. The Beast resembles a disfigured boar as it emerges from the thicket of the forest like the physical embodiment of a nightmare. If it weren’t for the unbelievable danger you were in, you would admire the beauty of it. 

Its muscles are large and taut under a thick hide of wiry black fur. You watch with horror as its muscle ripple and its thunderous hooves begin to set its steadfast path towards you and Calliope. 

“Run,” you say weakly, your breath shaking as Artemis’ beasts lock eyes with you and Calliope. “Run!”

Hand in hand, you and Calliope fall into a sprint, your legs pumping faster and faster as you make your way towards the forest cleaning. 

The smell of damp, upturned Earth from its destructive path reaches your nose, the sound of its aggressive snorting and roars getting closer and closer no matter how fast you pick up your feet. 

Your feet make it across the barrier just in time for the Beast to ram its large head against the golden ward and you let out a terrified shriek. It bangs its head against the barrier again, the two types of godly magic clashing with each other. You stare in horror as the barrier begins to break. 

Lightning strike fissures appear and grow from the point of impact, cracking with deafening booms down the ward. Your blood is pumping through your ears, muffling the sound of Calliope calling your name as she pulls you further away from the Beast. 

They say there is always a defining moment in one’s life and the pinnacle splits in half what was known as “before” and what will be known as “after.” When the plan barely zaps into your head, you don’t know it was going to be the part of “before.”

You are Fortuna’s apprentice and therefore you also share her values. Fortuna, goddess of fortune and misfortune, was also a fertility goddess and protector of pregnant women. Calliope’s screams of your name fall on deaf ears as your blood pumps through your body again, pushing your bare feet against the fertile ground. 

So focused on the wailing Calliope, the boar-like beast doesn’t notice you until you’re past the barrier, the scent of your divinity wavering through the air. You stare it dead in its soul-crushing eyes and bring your fingers to your mouth, blowing hard. 

The whistle pierces through the dense forest, a clear signal and taunt. You have to bring Artemis’ beast away from the clearing and more importantly, away from Calliope. That is the first part of the plan, but anything past that, you don’t really get a chance to think through. 

You dodge a trunk that comes soaring towards you, the upheaved dirt covering your otherwise clean toga. The Beast was gaining on you as you continued to run amongst the open field. Part of the plan? Kill the Beast perhaps. 

You don’t have time to focus on the whispers of doubt that would take any opportunity to cloud your mind. Fortuna always said one needed a clear conscience before casting spells and that’s exactly what you need to do. 

You stop, watching the Beast make its way towards you still. “Clipeum,” you say with clarity, making the motions of a circle with your fingertips from the top of your head down to your naval. 

A giant circle of magic forms in front of you, creating a shield that formed just in time for the boar to ram its head at. You brace against it with your palm pressed against the surface, digging your feet into the ground to steady the spell. 

How the hell are you meant to kill a beast even a group of worshipped Gods and Goddesses cannot?

The doubt seeps into your mind and the shield cracks, sending the Beast ramming you backwards. You land against the soil, rolling before coming to a stop. You take in a wheezing breath, holding your ribs—you definitely hit a rock on that fall. Taking a deep break and shaking your head from any lingering doubts, you start your next spell. 

“Te caeco,” you say weakly. You let out a sharp cry as you lift your arm, your chest screaming out in protest as the pain stops you from casting the spell perfectly. 

The spell fizzles from your fingers. You could physically feel the magic within you wanting to perform it, but it lacked due to the wrong motions of your fingers. You take in a deep breath, holding it as you push through the pain of the motion and you repeat the divination. 

Your muscles tense as you raise your arm, your breath coming in sharp bursts. A spark emits from the tips of your fingers just as your vision starts to blur. Relief of the magic performing merges with the despair of your pain. 

The blinding light shoots for the boar’s eyes, but it doesn’t last long. In fact, it only made it more angry. Its eyes turn white with your blinding spell but it only causes the Beast to start charging at you aimlessly. 

Do you go for offensive maneuvers or defensive tactics? The spells in your head that Fortuna has taught you flip through like an open spellbook. There was one spell that your mind keeps returning to as the milliseconds ticks by. But, it’s dangerous and Fortuna has forbidden you to ever use it. 

In the face of impending death, is there really much of a choice?

You scream through the pain as you clap your hands above your head. “Vera visio: Mille Limbed Arbor.” 

What hurts more? A broken rib or growing three extra pairs of arms? 

As your branches of your small nymph body begin to groan in protest, the sizes of them shrinking and splitting, you’ll conclude the latter. But as you remember that you were doing this to save not only your friend, but also her unborn child, the pain numbs. 

Two arms is easy enough to control but you can’t really say the same about eight. You use the last of your consciousness to focus, bringing your arms down in intervals so it surrounds you. The moon rises, its soft light a comforting aura on your bark-like skin. 

“O Fortuna,” you begin with a prayer to your goddess. “fune fatali monstrum alliga, et in umbris perpetuis dele!” 

Runes etch themselves into your skin, your body burning with overflowing magic. Your will is strong, your conscience clear. But your experience is lacking. A spell this powerful requires multiple casters, but you’ve managed to do it yourself—only with the sacrifice of growing a few more arms. 

The heat expands inside of you, like a pot of water turning from a shimmer to a boil and then…

Nothing. 

The spell fizzles like a cruel twist of fate.

Frozen with pain, you merely watch as it comes lunging at you. This is it—your century of life ended by the hands of Artemis’ beast. 

“Y/N!” Your name is called in the distance, sharp spoken in a scream. An ensemble of the hunting group of gods and goddesses follow her as they find the tracks leading to the beast. The Hunt was coming to an end, finally. 

Fortuna’s flow of golden curls envelopes you as she wraps her arms around your broken body. You take in a sharp inhale of breath, the hug warm and welcome but pushing against the pain of your ribs. 

“My lady,” you breathe out in relief. Everything should be fine now, Fortuna was here. She always came when you needed her most. 

The warmth was fleeting, however, before Fortuna pushed you out of her arms. Your eyes widen with disbelief as your body falls backwards and confusion and betrayal wraps around your heart and squeezes. 

“I’m sorry.” The apology comes out of your mouth before you even know why.

Meeting Fortuna’s eyes felt the same as it always had—safe and homelike, just like the smell of sea salt in the air by the alcove of the Mediterranean Sea. Her lips press into a thin line, like she was accepting her fate.

Fortuna’s warmth touches you again, but this time it came in the color of liquid gold. Her divine blood spurts across your body and you watch with horror, the motion slow as it happens in front of you, as the tusk of the boar-like beast skewers her chest. 

Magic disperses, surrounding you like a heavy blanket. Fortuna lets out a small guttural noise as the beast pulls back and removes its tusk. The hunting group managed to kill it within that time, but that was irrelevant to you now. 

Fortuna lays in a lump on the ground and you find the strength to bring your aching and shaking legs towards her bleeding body. She wasn’t moving and the worst was starting to play through your head. 

Voices swirl in your mind, taking the form of dark creatures that whisper doubtful thoughts. “Your fault, your fault.”

You pull Fortuna’s head into your lap, tears blurring your eyes. You try to blink them away, you need to see if Fortuna was okay. “My Lady?”

Fortuna takes in a deep breath that has her body tensing, her eyes were glossy as they stare without focus at the blue sky above you. Panic seizes you, the feeling constricting around your chest and makes your feet and fingers tingle. Her wound is still gaping but divinity doesn’t bleed like mortals do. Yet, Fortuna is not immortal either. 

“I just wanted to help,” you say weakly, as if your excuse would reverse the damage. “Please, don’t punish me. I just wanted to help.”

“Do you recall your promise?” Fortuna says instead, words frail and gasping. 

“Promise?” 

“Your promise, do you promise?”

You can feel Fortuna grow weaker in your arms, your panic reaching its peak and feels like bile crawling up your throat. Never let Fortuna die, as you’ve stated a few years ago. Yet, here she laid before you, breaths shallow and crackling.

Her eyes begin to close, the liquid gold of her blood has stained your dress beyond repair. But how can you think of that when your ladyship is the one beyond repair before your very eyes? 

Morpheus had returned to the mortal realm, leaving behind his duties in the subconscious. It was not the cries of Calliope that had brought him forward, though it did play a suspicious part as to why he was called to return. 

His eyes take in the scene before him and he knew then that the changing of times have finally come for the goddess of fortune. There was a natural hierarchy amongst deities. There were those above The Endless, him and his siblings themselves, then gods and goddesses, then minor gods like nymphs and dyads and so on. 

Gods and Goddesses were nothing more than the physical manifestation of the dreams of Men. So, when Fortuna begins to sag against your lap, he knows that Men have decided to change their perceptions of who and what “fortune” represents. 

Gone was the Roman Empire and came alight the new era. Fortuna turns into a whirlwind of four-leaf clovers, her physical body will never exist past this day. Your hydrangea-petaled hair turns a mourning shade of blue, trying to grab at the small leaves as they slip between your fingers. 

The wind picks up, the magics of the universe mocking you in the whispers of the breeze as the clovers collect around you, circling you, taunting you.

“Fortuna’s apprentice.” You hear them whisper, the clovers swirling around you faster. “Does she know yet? Oh, Fortuna was too soft on her. Of course she doesn’t know.”

“Know what?” You ask the wind.

The clovers congregate together before you and before you know it, you see a body, an arm, and a couple of legs. They form a face, though not one of the person you have spent that past 100 years with. 

“Give her back to me!” 

“Give her back? Ha! What insolent demands from something no more than a mere child!”

“You mock me.”

“Perhaps. Nonetheless, what a pleasure it is to meet the new Goddess of Fortune.”

“What?”

Wind whistles through the cracks in the clover leaves, creating a high pitched whistle like a scream. They fly towards you again, plastering themselves to your skin, burning and burrowing beneath the bark. They fill every surface, they stick to your irises, they force themselves down your throat, they tickle themselves into your ears. The sound of the wind drowns out the sound of your screams. 

Images flash in your head almost all at once. The vision of the sun rising, the scream of a newly born child, the rise and fall of civilizations. The faceless mortals bowing before you in prayer. They call you Aje before they call you Lakshmi and they call you Nang Kwak. They’ve called you Caishen and they have called you Tyche and they have called you Fortuna. 

“Does it make sense now, new sister?” The voice comes again, closer to you. In your head.

As the clovers fall away, they peel away everything that you thought you were. Your hydrangea petals, your bark skin, your pointed ears. Your body falls to the floor, soaking in the golden blood of a once-goddess. Like a phoenix born from the ashes of who it once was, a new goddess is born from the blood of the last.

Lady Luck, we welcome you. 

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Dun, dun, duuuun. Also I forgot I had a taglist going I am so sorry

LLIS Tag List

@witchymomfrien @uniquehijo @navs-bhat @ireneserene @givingmyhearttoyou @v3lary0ns

Thanks for reading this weeks chapter :)

♡ Yours, Layla

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

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[itsgivingmami]

A Long Search Ended

Part Two— Lace and Leverage

Sugar mommy!rhea ripley x reader

Rhea wants to throw her phone at the wall.

It’s been a brutal morning.

Not chaotic—worse.

Slow. Grinding. A pressure cooker with no release valve.

She’s backstage at a media event she didn’t want to attend, arguing with a third assistant over a last-minute travel change that was supposed to be locked in last week. Her mic wire is crackling in her left ear and it’s driving her to near madness, snapping like static every time someone speaks too close. Her boots are too hot. The chains around her neck feel like they’re strangling her. And every voice around her is starting to blend into one long droning buzz—same questions, same bad lighting, same meaningless press filler she could recite in her sleep. She doesn’t care what city they’re headed to next. She doesn’t care about the sponsor banner behind her. And she definitely doesn’t care about which smiling intern thinks it’s a good idea to suggest she “loosen up.”

She wants to fight something.

Wants to walk out.

Wants quiet.

Her jaw is clenched so tight her teeth ache. She can feel the tension creeping up behind her eyes, like a migraine that hasn’t landed yet but is circling like a hawk. She hasn’t had coffee. She hasn’t had silence. Someone’s asking if she can push her time slot for a partner promo she never agreed to, and the only reason she hasn’t snapped yet is because her PR rep is standing ten feet away with a clipboard and an expression that says don’t you dare.

She’s two seconds from blowing the whole set.

Then—

Her phone buzzes in her back pocket.

She almost ignores it. Almost lets it go unanswered like every other unimportant thing she’s had to tune out today.

But her body knows before her mind catches up.

That buzz means you.

She glances down. Sees your name.

Then the photo loads.

And the entire room drops away.

You.

Standing at the end of your bed, wrapped in morning light and black tissue paper. One slip of silk clinging to your hips, the rest falling soft and quiet around you like smoke. No caption. No filter. No performance. Just you: poised, grounded, real. Confident. Playful. Kind. The kind of beauty that doesn’t scream—it hums. The kind that demands attention not with volume but with gravity, and Rhea, for all her edge and steel, finds herself pulled by it instantly.

It’s the kind of photo that should be casual, maybe even staged. But it isn’t. You didn’t try to look good for her. You just do. And that’s what floors her.

The kind of beauty that doesn’t ask for attention. That owns it. The kind she’s never had before—at least not like this. Not without having to coax it out. Not without promising softness she doesn’t always have in her. Not without pretending she had space in her day to care for someone too delicate to weather her silences. But you—you don’t need coaxing. You don’t need rescuing.

You’re not needy. You’re present. You give without demanding and play without clutching. There’s no fear in your expression. No performance. Just the quiet, radiant certainty of someone who knows how to be wanted without asking.

You know what this is—and still choose to make it beautiful.

Rhea stares at her screen.

And for the first time all morning—she smiles.

At the soft joy on your face. At the way the light touches your shoulders like it wants to memorize you. At the fact that you already look so at home in her world—even when she’s not in the room.

The exorbitant amount of money she paid to have everything boxed, packed, and on your doorstep before sunrise suddenly feels irrelevant. It was never about the price tag. It was about seeing this. Giving you something that made you feel like this.

Not the usual smirk or the wolfish edge she uses in every backstage hallway. Not the bite that comes before blood and victory.

A real smile.

Warm. Dangerous. Quietly feral.

Someone says her name. Someone taps her shoulder.

She doesn’t hear them.

Instead, she types:

Rhea:

Don’t move. I want a better look when I get five minutes to breathe.

—

You’re still standing at the foot of your bed when your phone buzzes, surrounded by tissue paper and ribbon like some soft, expensive ritual. The sunlight is climbing higher now, warming the floorboards, catching the gold in your hair, the gloss on your lips, the curve of your shoulder beneath the sheer fabric. The slip hugs you like a sigh. Your smile blooms slow—victory sweet and secret, not boastful. A smile meant for no one else but you.

“I want to find a reason to breathe out.”

Her voice from last night echoes through you, a remembered murmur pitched low and reverent. She hadn’t flirted with that line. Hadn’t offered it like bait. It landed like truth. Unpolished, unpracticed.

She’d meant it.

And this morning, you’ve given her one—casually, confidently, with the same unspoken promise she gave you when she handed over this part of herself. You let your phone rest on the bed beside the packaging without replying right away. She doesn’t need instant responses. She’s busy. You’re gracious with her time and possessive with yours.

Besides, you’re distracted.

Your fingers part the black tissue again—cool silk, soft stretch lace, delicate velvet ribbons. Everything feels more decadent in person, like the screen never did it justice. You’d picked the pieces, yes—but seeing them here, laid out and real, they feel curated. Like a gift selected from memory, not wishlists. Heavier. More intimate. More hers.

You’re halfway through deciding what to try next when your hand catches on something smaller.

A velvet pouch.

You tug the drawstrings loose. A delicate anklet spills into your palm—cool metal, a fine chain, and a black charm that glints in the morning light like a wink. It shines with intent. With possession—but not pressure. A suggestion, not a claim. Your breath catches, chest tight with quiet awe.

Inside the pouch is a small, square piece of cardstock. No note. No name. No instructions. Just a perfect matte-black lipstick print, stamped dead center like a seal.

You smile. Bite your bottom lip. You’d floated the game—let’s see how well you pay attention—and she didn’t just agree. She’s playing back. Not by your rules, but by hers.

And she’s winning.

You sit at the edge of your bed and fasten the anklet around your ankle with careful fingers. It fits like it was made to be there. Already, your steps feel different. Lighter. Like something precious is tethered to you now. You don’t bother reaching for another slip. Instead, you shrug into the robe—cool silk against warm skin, fabric catching in all the right places. It slides over your shoulders like water, gives you goosebumps when it kisses your collarbones.

You stand. Spin once. Let yourself feel how it moves with you, the way it flares and settles, the way it trails heat and intention down your thighs. You smooth it over your hips. Turn toward the mirror.

It’s falling off one shoulder again—deliberate now.

The charm at your ankle flashes like a promise.

—

Rhea ducks around the corner of the venue, chest tight with effort.

The second she’s out of sight, she drags a hand through her hair and lets out a low, frustrated growl. Not the dramatic kind meant to draw attention—but the kind that scratches its way up her throat and demands release. The kind that comes from being stretched too thin in every direction. From being surrounded by noise, by questions, by people who treat her time like it’s free and her patience like it’s infinite. The kind of sound she only makes when she knows no one is watching.

She leans back and lets the back of her skull hit the wall with a dull, satisfying thud.

She breathes.

One long, slow exhale.

It barely helps.

Her fingers are already curling around her phone before she registers the motion. She yanks it from her pocket with a tight grip, knuckles pale. Any more force and she’ll crack the damn case. She opens your thread like it’s the only thing that makes sense today, thumbs hovering.

Rhea:

I hope you are where I left you.

It’s sharper than she meant it to be. A little too clipped, a little too edged. But her chest is still tight, her head is still pounding, and nothing else has managed to ground her. It’s not exactly softness, but it’s the closest thing she can offer without losing the grip she has on what’s left of her composure. She hopes you’ll hear the truth underneath. The plea behind the command. The I want to picture you there, because it helps.

She can’t stop thinking about your face. The curve of your shoulders. The silk sliding over your thighs like something sacred. And somehow, you—sitting in your own space, wrapped in the things she gave you—calm her more than silence ever could.

It steadies her. The memory of you makes everything else less loud.

Because the truth is, despite the bodies bustling around her, none of them are really seeing her. None of them are saying anything they haven’t said to a dozen other wrestlers, pressing their clipboards and timelines and agendas into her orbit like she’s just another commodity on the schedule. No one in this hallway cares what kind of morning she’s had. No one asks.

But you—you—see her already.

You don’t ask for her time like you’re trying to take it. You just… receive it. And give back. Without pressure. Without angle.

She likes that everything about you is new. Not fresh like innocent. New like unfamiliar in all the ways that matter. You’re present. Capable. You don’t pull at her. You don’t need her to babysit your confidence. You aren’t asking her to prove anything—just to be, and she hadn’t realized how rare that was until right now.

Her phone buzzes again.

She opens it fast. Too fast.

And then—everything slows.

You. Again. But somehow more.

You’re on the floor this time, relaxed and entirely unbothered. The robe has slipped down your arm, baring the smooth skin of one shoulder. Your hair is tousled—messy in the deliberate kind of way that makes her mouth go dry. The hem of the slip peeks out between your bent knees, lace tracing the edge of your thigh like a secret she isn’t meant to know yet. The anklet glints under your ankle, catching the light with every subtle movement.

You look like you know what you’re doing to her.

You:

More or less,

She stares.

Takes it in like a hit of something addictive.

She has half a dozen messages to return. A call scheduled in six minutes. Someone’s waiting on her cue around the corner.

She doesn’t care.

Instead, she types:

Rhea:

You’re in more.

But I wouldn’t be upset with less.

—

You’re still sitting on the floor, back against your bed, one hand resting on your thigh where the slip has started to ride up. The anklet catches the light again, its glint like punctuation to a sentence neither of you is brave enough to say out loud—yet. The robe drapes off one shoulder, silk pooling at your side, refusing to behave. The whole scene feels curated without effort, luxurious without trying. Like indulgence found you on accident.

Rhea’s reply lights the screen.

You read it once.

Then again.

You’re in more.

But I wouldn’t be upset with less.

Your breath flutters—low and slow, deep in your ribs, like your lungs haven’t fully settled since last night. You don’t respond right away. Part of you wants her to sit with that silence. To wonder if you’re still stretched across the floor, waiting. Or already reaching for another slip.

She’s been so careful not to make demands. Not because she isn’t used to control—but because she understands the value of choosing something without force. The power of letting someone want what you give. It’s rare in this dynamic. Rarer still from someone like her—used to having everything taken, or earned through blood and bite.

You glance down at your legs, cross your ankles. Let the robe slide higher on your thighs. You consider taking another picture. A different one. But then—your phone buzzes again.

Rhea:

I want to see you tonight.

There’s a pause.

You sit up straighter. Wait.

Another buzz.

Rhea:

Dinner. I’ll send a car. Wear the dress I left in your cart.

Your heart gives a sharp little kick. Not panic. Not nerves. Anticipation.

You hadn’t even noticed the dress.

You’d filled the cart last night—slips, lingerie, loungewear, small things that whispered pleasure instead of screamed it—but you hadn’t scrolled to the bottom. Somewhere between the anklet and a delicate robe, she’d tucked in one more piece. Silently. Thoughtfully. A suggestion made not in words, but in fabric.

You cross the room and reach for the garment bag, still waiting in the corner of the box. Unzipping it feels intimate. Like opening something private meant only for your hands.

The dress is black.

Simple in shape. Sinful in effect.

Bias-cut silk with delicate straps, a deep cowl neckline that dips low enough to make your breath catch, and a slit high enough to demand attention. You run your fingers along the hem, letting it slip through your hands. It smells faintly like vanilla and salt.

Your phone buzzes again.

Rhea:

Don’t make me ask twice, sweetheart.

It’s not aggressive. Not even impatient.

It’s just… decided. Velvet steel. A command dressed as a reminder.

Your stomach tightens. Not from nerves. From want. Want to be seen. To be chosen. To be the reason someone like her spends hours searching silk swatches just to make sure it lands at your door by morning.

You reach for your phone. Type with careful fingers.

You:

What time should I be ready?

It takes seconds.

Rhea:

7:30, baby.

You swallow. The nickname lands with weight, but not the kind that makes you shrink. It settles into your skin like something she’s allowed to use—because she’s earned the right to. You let it sit there. Let yourself want it. Then you grin.

You tap your reply—simple, intentional.

You:

See you tonight, Mami.

—

Across the city, she’s preparing for a call. Probably pacing some hallway, tension thick in her shoulders, hair half-tamed, rings cold from where they’ve clinked against water glasses and microphones all day. You picture the exact moment she sees your message. The way her eyes narrow. The way her mouth curves.

You:

I feel exquisite.

Thank you.

You send it before you second-guess the softness. Before you temper it down into something cool or clever.

Because the truth is—she made you feel that way. And it deserves to be said.

—

Her head drops forward, breath catching in her throat.

For all her control, her dominance, her undeniable command of every room she walks into—that is what undoes the knots in her shoulders.

Not praise. Not submission.

Gratitude.

Simple. Earned. Real.

She pulls the back of her hand up to rest against her mouth, hiding the smirk she can’t bite down fast enough. A quiet, private grin that spreads without permission. It settles deep, somewhere near her chest, where your words landed and took root.

There isn’t a soul in this building who could’ve calmed her like that. Not the staff scrambling for her attention, not the agents calling in favors, not the fans waiting for the match card drop. No one. It comes with a realization so soft it hurts a little.

No one else has ever made her feel so capable of doing something good.

Not impressive. Not strong.

Good.

Her thumb hovers over the keyboard only for a second. The reply is easy. It’s already there, waiting to be said.

Rhea:

You are.

She doesn’t dress it up. Doesn’t dilute it with wit or deflection. Just gives it plain. Steady. True. She pockets her phone without hesitation, but the weight of it feels different now. Heavier—but not burdensome. Weighted with meaning. With you.

She runs a hand through her hair once more, shoulders loose for the first time all day, and makes her way back down the hallway. Each step feels a little more anchored. Like she’s not walking back into chaos, but just through it. Like the storm can’t touch her if she’s already thinking about your smile in that robe, the way you thanked her like it mattered.

Because no matter how shit the rest of the day looks—no matter what calls or promos or travel delays are waiting on the other side of that door—

She knows exactly how the day ends.

—

The sun is beginning to lower when the car pulls up.

You spot it through the front window—sleek, deep black, the kind of quiet luxury that doesn’t bother announcing itself. It hums more than it idles, like it has nowhere to be except exactly where you are.

Just like her.

Your heart gives a deliberate thud.

You don’t rush. You don’t need to.

You smooth the front of your dress—black silk falling over your curves like it was poured there, thin straps warmed by your skin, neckline dipping in a soft, deliberate tease. The slit at your thigh parts slightly when you move, and you don’t fix it.

You fasten the anklet again, the tiny charm brushing your skin like a kiss only she’s allowed to give.

The car’s interior is silent. Not the kind of silence that feels cold—this one feels curated. Designed. The kind that says: you were expected.

Leather, dark as dusk. Tinted windows turning every streetlight into gold. The world outside moves past in a blur, barely able to reach you through the tinted glass. You sit back, legs crossed at the knee, fingers tracing the edge of your phone as you wait.

It rings once.

Then again.

You answer on the third. Not in a rush.

“Hello?”

A low, velvet hum threads through the speaker. Then—

“How’s the fit?”

Her voice is like heat over bare skin. Smooth. Confident. Laced in low curiosity but not need. She doesn’t pretend at hello. She says what she wants. And she always expects you to do the same.

You glance down at yourself, at the way the silk hugs your hips and skims your thighs. You smile, lips parting.

“Tailored,” you say, a soft laugh escaping with it. “Either you guessed right, or you’ve been paying very close attention.”

Silence hums gently on the other end. Then the faint sound of murmured voices and distant clinking. A restaurant, probably. Or a bar tucked into the side of something exclusive. But her attention is on you.

“I didn’t guess.”

Your lips part slightly. There’s no smirk behind it. No flirt.

Just truth. It lands like something intentional.

You shift in your seat, silk whispering as it moves. “It feels like it was made for me.”

“It was picked for you,” she says. “Quality isn’t hard to afford. Comfort isn’t either. But knowing what belongs to you before you put your hands on it—that’s a little rarer.”

You squint at her choice of words before grinning and licking your lips, You exhale through your nose. The honesty in her tone makes you press your knees tighter together. From the way she says things like they matter.

From the way she hasn’t even seen you tonight and you still feel held.

“Then I guess you’re doing something right,” you murmur.

There’s a pause on her end, one you can feel her smiling through, even if she doesn’t say it.

“Good,” she replies. “Because I want to spoil you. No games. No tests. You want something? Ask. You like something? I’ll remember. You think of something halfway through dinner? It’ll be at your door by morning.”

The car takes a turn, smooth and silent. The city outside hums on. But inside this car, all you hear is her.

You trace the edge of the charm on your ankle with one finger.

“I’ve never had it like this,” you admit, a rare moment of vulnerability peaking from behind the luxurious walls you’ve built. “Not without strings. Not without someone acting like it buys them something I don’t want to give,”

“It doesn’t,” she replies. No hesitation. “I don’t spend money to earn my way into your bed. I spend it to make sure you don’t waste your energy worrying.”

Another pause.

Then her voice dips, lower than it’s been all call.

“I want to give you the kind of quiet I’ve never had and I will never ask you for more than you’re willing to give,”

You don’t say anything at first. You let that sit. Let the weight of it settle over your shoulders like her jacket might.

“I believe you.”

It’s soft. Honest. And that’s what gets her. Not your dress. Not the risky photos or the soft flirting. The way you said that like a gift. Like you know how rare that offering is.

The silence crackles for a moment.

Then—low, just above a whisper:

“You look good in silk,” she says. “But I think you look better when you know what you’re worth. Don’t forget.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You shift again.

The city glows against the windows. But you’re already burning.

“Are you always this good at this?” you ask. Not teasing. Just wondering.

“No,” she replies. “Just when someone makes it easy to want to be.”

—

Listen I know this is mostly nothing… but we’re building up okay. Part 3 incoming soon.

Comments, likes and reblogs always appreciated💜

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[glassrowboat]

Fill My Emptiness With Love. Anaxa.

Author's note: So, for the Anaxa lovers out there, I just want to remind you of the Japanese pottery art Kintsugi.

Anaxa had come to you with cracks when he first arrived back from the Grove. You hadn't dared comment on it then, too scared to learn where this change came from, but a part of you already knew the truth when you had taken his face in your hands and pulled him into you. He was as cold as stone, and his lips tinted blue when you had stumbled back into your home with your hands on him.

At first, you had expected Anaxa to press kisses to your neck to allow his touch to wander as he traced each spot that has you quivering under his touch - he loved to take advantage of your weak points from the moment he learned about them. But this.... When he pulled your shirt over your head, Anaxa pressed his ear to his chest and simply held you.

Each beat was savored.

You could feel his lashes fluttering against your skin in time with your heart as if he was desperate to sync himself with the very thing that beat life through you, only to give up with an annoyed grumble. He was a primarily resevered man, one who preferred the company of books over people, but you had been given the chance to know him well. Along with all his quirks. You knew with just one look when he was annoyed because of a senseless comment a student made all the way to his festering hatred for Aglaea suddenly sparking to life again, but you didn't know this.

You stared at him, wide-eyed when Anaxa had finally shirked his own clothing off to take him in. You barely even registered the way he tossed a shut up over his shoulder, almost like he was talking to someone when you reached out to touch his chest.

Cold. It was so cold. The same way a gravestone was after a winter night.

You had tried to run your fingers over the cracks before you, but Anaxa had taken your hand and lifted it to his lips to press a kiss to your digits. In his hold, you could see them shaking.

"Don't mind it." He reassured before pulling you back into his arms to connect his lips with yours.

Even in the throws of passion, you had managed to avoid each crack, and when he had left you stared down at the sheets of your bed - suddenly covered in a thin layer of rock flour.

"What happened to you, Anaxa?" You asked yourself, only able to voice the words aloud when you knew he couldn't deliver an answer that would devastate you. After all, he valued truth, from discovering the secrets of this world to ensuring others wouldn't lie in a bed made of false hope.

With a hoarse swallow, you brushed it all away.

A regret you would hold onto until the day Amphoreus finally fell to the black tide.

For as your knees buckled before you, crashing to the floor and leaving you covered in scrapes, you struggled to breathe. What had gone wrong? If it was important, surely he would have told you that day he came back and you greeted him with an "I love you," right?

With a lowered head, you reached out before you, feeling the harsh edges of the stone like body before you. It was as beautiful as him, soft and exuding, and hair of unspoken wisdom. And yet- He was broken, flaking before you and leaving your hands covered in powdered dust you couldn't bring yourself to even think of washing away. It coated your clothes as you gathered him in your arms, holding Anaxa's cold body even after your sobs had stopped and you were left clutching at a man spilling golden blood that filled the cracks of his body, but not your broken heart.

What you would do to tear it out of your chest and place it in his so you too could lay your head to him and feel one last ephemeral beat.

But you were left with nothing but unanswered questions and tears in your eyes.

[urmommysfavkisserrr]

Is This Our Final Goodbye?

°•☆•° - Paige Bueckers x Fem Reader

°•☆•° - hey so um I just wrote this in an hour while actually sobbing so hard I threw up so...enjoy! It’s more of a letter than a story? But I had an idea and ran with it so.

°•☆•° - 1063 words.

°•°•☆°•°•°•☆•°•°•°☆•°•°

It started slowly, subtly.

Your daily calls switching to every other day, then every two days, then once a week, up until they just stopped all together.

Then it spread to your texts.

They’d go unanswered for a day or two, then you’d get a big apology text back after it hit the 24-hour mark.

You knew college took most of her time, the blend of classes and practice, plus the games, home and away, that you were the least of her worries to think about, so at first, you didn’t question it. 

At first.

Then the unanswered texts stretched out to three days or even four, then after that, it had gone up to a week. Then it had jumped to three weeks at a time, sometimes four.

You’d send her texts every day. Little updates about things that had happened, or when you had seen something that reminded you of her. At times, you’d even send them once an hour, but they’d never get a response, never get read, acknowledged.

When you did get an answer, it was just some half-assed apology paragraph that had things repeated from the last time you had gotten one, along with the complaint of how much she had to get done. 

Sometimes you’d even get a story of something she had gone out and done with her friends over the weekend, or super late at night, things you knew she would have never done with you if you asked. 

Like the time her roommate had gotten so high and was craving four different fast food places, so she stopped what she was doing and went out to get it. If you had asked her to do that, she’d laugh and say something about how her parents didn’t want her taking the car out and wasting gas.

Or the time you had been trying to get a hold of her all day, because you just needed the support of your best fucking friend, and all you got was the notification that she had left her dorm from Life360, then a picture around midnight of her holding a bunch of books in a bookstore.

Things she had time to put her school work aside and go out to do, but not enough time to text you back, even though the drive would last over an hour. She admitted that one time in one of her rants.

Then she went radio silent. Completely no contact. No matter what you texted her.

°•°•☆°•°•°•☆•°•°•°☆•°•°

By the time it hit the two-month mark, you lost hope. Completely. 

Your best friend, whom you had known since fourth grade and spent so much time together that people thought you were related, was gone. Just…gone. And that was it.

You had made yourself sick spending every waking hour trying to figure out what you had done wrong. What you had said, did, seen, commented on, anything that would give you an answer.

You never got one.

Not after you found out things, like that her old babysitter died, from her little brother, while you both happened to be up late one night playing Roblox and joined the same game. 

Not after you met up with an old mutual friend from middle and high school, and found out she’s still talking to him every time he texts or calls her while she’s actively ignoring you. 

Not after you cried the entire way home from that hangout with him, then cried yourself to sleep. For the sixth time that week.

By now, you had resorted to blaming it all on yourself. 

Maybe you had blacked out and said something mean, and you don’t remember. 

Maybe you had been too greedy, too overbearing. 

Maybe she just finally got sick of you. 

Maybe you had just always been a god awful friend, and the second she got the chance to get away from you, she took it. 

Maybe she’s scared of how you’ll react. 

Maybe, maybe all the years of being attached at the hip, being so close with her family that you went to family events with them, even doctors' appointments, she was done with it.

Maybe, just fucking maybe, all those time’s she called you her sister, and her soulmate, were just lies to keep you around so she could suck every inch of your fucking soul dry, then just leave when you have nothing left to give.

You’d spend nights curled up on the floor in her hoodie and holding the ‘Best Friends’ stuffed wolf she had gotten you one year for Valentine's Day, just crying. Cursing out the wolf even though he had done nothing, because it was supposed to symbolize your friendship. To be the one to comfort and hold you when she couldn’t.

Sometimes you’d have music playing, sad and slow songs, songs you had dedicated to each other. Repeating the same words over and over, feeling the same twist in your gut every time the words matched up perfectly to something in your friendship.

Sometimes you’d scroll through old texts and messages, still trying to figure out what you had done wrong. Thinking about how maybe you shouldn’t have said anything at all. Or way’s you could have worded the text differently to sound nicer. Ways you could have been more supportive and just agreed with whatever shit she had said just to make her happy.

Other times, you’d just stare at the wall. Your tears blurring the lines between what was actually in front of you and what was swimming around in your head. The lies, the memories, the laughter, the heartbreak. The promises you had made that you always swore would last a lifetime, the plans you had made for your future, for your kids.

Then sometimes, just sometimes, you’d sit down in front of your laptop and type out the story. Type out the words and thoughts in your head, to take them from your brain and put them out on paper, because you can’t say them to her yourself.

Just like you are right now.