#she's intelligent enough to know who to and who not to fall in love with

[the-oblivious-writer]

It's Only Love

Shauna Shipman x Female Reader

One-shot

summary: what starts as a routine calculus tutoring session in a quiet library becomes something deeper when shauna's academic frustrations give way to vulnerable conversations about trust, fear, and what it means to be worth staying for.

warnings: college/modern/no crash au, established relationship, fratboy shauna x tutor reader, academic stress/anxiety, brief reference to past breakup and self-harm (punching a wall), the label "girlfriend" being thrown around, mild intimacy, and themes of self-doubt and abandonment fears.

note(s): this one-shot is long overdue but better late than never ig. this was originally gonna be an angst/no happy ending but i figured i'd give you a break.

The library's third floor was practically deserted at seven PM on a Thursday, which made it perfect for your weekly tutoring sessions with Shauna. She'd claimed the corner table by the windows weeks ago, spreading her textbooks and notebooks across the surface like she was marking territory. You'd learned to arrive a few minutes early just to watch her ritual - the way she'd arrange her pens in a perfect line, check her phone twice, then immediately look annoyed at herself for the nervous habit.

Tonight was no different. You spotted her from across the room, dark hair falling like a curtain as she hunched over her calculus homework. Even from a distance, you could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her free hand kept fidgeting with the sleeve of her oversized sweatshirt - one she'd definitely stolen from some frat guy's closet, though she'd never admit it.

"Starting without me?" you asked, sliding into the chair beside her.

She glanced up, and you caught that micro-expression she always wore when she first saw you - relief mixed with something softer that she tried to hide behind a smirk. "Figured I should at least pretend to attempt these problems before you see how hopeless I am."

"You're not hopeless." You pulled your own notebook from your bag, deliberately brushing her arm as you reached across the table. "You just think in different ways than the textbook expects."

"Right." She rolled her eyes, but shifted slightly closer to you, her knee bumping against yours under the table. "That's a very diplomatic way of saying I'm bad at math."

The thing about Shauna was that she wore her intelligence like armor - quick wit and cutting observations designed to deflect before anyone could find the soft spots underneath. But you'd been doing this long enough to recognize the pattern. The jokes always came right before she had to admit she didn't understand something.

"Show me what you've got so far," you said, leaning in to look at her work.

Her handwriting was surprisingly neat for someone who claimed to hate the subject, though you could see where she'd erased and rewritten the same equation multiple times. The frustration was evident in the slightly harder pressure of her pencil, the way certain numbers were traced over until they were bold against the page.

"This is where I got stuck." She pointed to a derivative problem, her finger hovering just above the paper. "I know I'm supposed to use the chain rule, but every time I try to work through it, I end up with something completely different than what's in the back of the book."

You studied the problem, acutely aware of how close she was sitting. Close enough that you could smell her shampoo - something floral that didn't quite match her deliberately careless image. Close enough to notice the small scar on her knuckle that she'd gotten from punching a wall freshman year after a particularly brutal breakup.

"Okay, so you've got the right idea with the chain rule," you said, reaching for your own pencil. "But you're overcomplicating this step here. Can I?"

She nodded, and you started writing out the solution step by step, talking through each part of the process. This was the part of tutoring you actually enjoyed - not just the math itself, but the way Shauna's face changed when something clicked. How her eyebrows would relax and her mouth would form a small 'oh' of understanding.

"Wait, so you're telling me I just had to multiply by the derivative of the inside function?" She grabbed the pencil from your hand, her fingers brushing yours in the exchange. "That's it?"

"That's it."

"I've been staring at this for an hour." She shook her head, but she was smiling now - a real smile, not the carefully constructed ones she used in social situations. "God, I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot." You bumped her shoulder with yours. "You're just stubborn. There's a difference."

"Oh, is that your professional tutoring opinion?"

"That's my girlfriend opinion."

The word still felt new enough that saying it out loud gave you a small thrill. You'd been officially together for about six weeks now, though the flirting and tension had been building for months before that. It had started innocently enough - Shauna needed help with calculus, you needed the tutoring money, and the math department had paired you up. But somewhere between explaining derivatives and watching her celebration dance after acing her first exam, innocent had stopped being the right word for whatever was happening between you.

"Your girlfriend opinion, huh?" She set down her pencil and turned to face you fully, one leg tucking up under her in the chair. "And what does my girlfriend think about the fact that I've been procrastinating on the rest of this problem set all week?"

"I think," you said, matching her position so you were facing each other, "that you've been avoiding it because you're scared you won't understand it."

Her smile faltered slightly. "I'm not scared of math."

"No, but you're scared of not being good at something." You reached out to play with the drawstring of her hoodie, a gesture that had become automatic over the past few weeks. "Which is different."

Shauna was quiet for a moment, her dark eyes studying your face like she was trying to decide how much truth she wanted to acknowledge. This was familiar territory too - the way she would retreat just slightly when conversations got too close to real feelings.

"Maybe," she said finally. "But can we focus on derivatives before we psychoanalyze my academic anxiety?"

"Fair enough." You grinned and turned back to the textbook. "But I'm billing you extra for the therapy session."

"Add it to my tab."

The next hour passed easily, falling into the rhythm you'd established over months of these sessions. Shauna worked through problems while you provided guidance and encouragement, occasionally stealing her pen to demonstrate a concept or sketch out a graph. The library around you grew quieter as other students filtered out, leaving you in a bubble of soft lamplight and whispered explanations.

You'd always been good at math, but teaching it to Shauna had made you better. She asked questions that forced you to think about concepts from different angles, to find new ways to explain things that seemed obvious to you. And watching her face light up when she solved a particularly challenging problem was better than any grade you'd ever received.

"Okay, last one," she said, pointing to the final problem on the page. "And then I'm buying you dinner as payment for not letting me drop this class."

"You were never going to drop the class."

"I thought about it. Extensively." She started working through the problem, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration. "Remember that night I called you at midnight crying about my upcoming exam?"

"You weren't crying."

"I was very close to crying."

"You were frustrated. There's a difference."

She paused in her calculations to look at you. "Do you always have to be so rational about everything?"

"Someone has to be, when you're being dramatic."

"I am not dramatic." But she was fighting a smile as she said it.

"Shauna, you once told me that calculus was a personal attack on your soul."

"And I stand by that statement."

You laughed, and the sound echoed softly in the empty corner of the library. This was what you'd grown to love most about your relationship with Shauna - the way she could make you laugh even when she was complaining, the way her dramatics were always laced with self-awareness.

"There," she said, setting down her pencil with a flourish. "Done. And I'm pretty sure I actually understood that one."

You leaned over to check her work, nodding approvingly. "Perfect. See? You're not hopeless."

"Don't get carried away." But she was smiling as she started packing up her books. "I still have to survive the midterm next week."

"You'll be fine. We'll do a review session this weekend."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

The library was almost empty now, just a few dedicated students scattered across the main floor below. You helped Shauna gather her things, a process that always took longer than it should because she had a habit of spreading her belongings across every available surface.

"God, I'm starving," she said, shouldering her backpack. "Please tell me you don't have plans tonight."

"Just dinner with my girlfriend, apparently."

"Good answer."

You walked out of the library together, Shauna's hand finding yours as soon as you were through the doors. The October air was crisp, carrying the smell of fallen leaves and the promise of winter. Campus was quieter than usual for a Thursday night, most of the party crowd having migrated to the bars downtown.

"So where are we going?" you asked as you headed toward the dining hall.

"Wherever's still open. I'm not picky when I'm this hungry."

"Since when are you not picky about food?"

"Since I spent three hours staring at math problems and forgot to eat lunch."

You stopped walking, tugging on her hand to make her turn around. "Shauna. You forgot to eat lunch?"

"Don't give me that look."

"What look?"

"That concerned girlfriend look. I'm fine."

But you were already digging through your backpack, pulling out a granola bar you'd thrown in that morning. "Here. Eat this before you pass out."

"I'm not going to pass out."

"Eat it anyway."

She took the granola bar with an exaggerated sigh, but you caught the way her expression softened. This was still new territory for both of you - the casual care, the way you'd started looking out for each other without really discussing it.

"Thank you," she said, quieter now.

"You're welcome."

The dining hall was mostly empty, just a few other late diners scattered around the cavernous space. You found a table by the windows, and Shauna immediately claimed the seat facing the door - a habit you'd noticed but never commented on. She always needed to see who was coming and going, always needed an escape route planned even in the most innocuous situations.

"So," she said, digging into her pasta with the intensity of someone who had actually forgotten to eat lunch, "tell me about your day. And don't say it was fine."

"It was fine."

"I'm serious. I spent the whole afternoon complaining about math. Your turn to talk."

This was another thing you were still getting used to - the way Shauna actually listened when you talked, the way she remembered small details from conversations you'd had weeks ago. It was such a contrast to the image she projected in public, where she was all sharp edges and carefully constructed indifference.

"I had that meeting with my advisor this morning," you said. "About graduate school applications."

"Right. How did that go?"

"Good, I think. She thinks I have a strong chance at getting into the programs I'm applying to."

"Of course you do." Shauna looked up from her food, fork paused halfway to her mouth. "You're brilliant."

"I'm not brilliant."

"You are. And stop arguing with me when I compliment you."

"I'm not arguing, I'm just—"

"Being modest. Which is sweet, but also annoying." She reached across the table to steal a piece of bread from your plate. "I'm dating a genius and I want everyone to know it."

"You're not dating a genius."

"Fine. I'm dating someone who's really good at math and explains things in ways that don't make me want to throw textbooks across the room. Better?"

"Better."

You ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the kind of quiet that had taken months to achieve. Early in your relationship, you had felt the need to fill every pause with conversation, as if silence meant something was wrong. But gradually, you'd both learned to appreciate these moments of peace.

"Can I ask you something?" she said eventually.

"Of course."

"Do you ever think about what happens after graduation?"

The question caught you off guard, partly because it was serious in a way that Shauna usually avoided, and partly because you'd been thinking about it more and more recently yourself.

"Sometimes," you said carefully. "Why?"

She shrugged, suddenly very interested in winding pasta around her fork. "I don't know. I guess I just wonder if we'll still... if this will still work when we're not seeing each other for tutoring sessions twice a week."

"Shauna." You waited until she looked up at you. "We're not together because of tutoring sessions."

"I know that. I just meant..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."

"No, talk to me. What did you mean?"

She was quiet for a long moment, and you could practically see her internal debate playing out across her face. Shauna had always been better at deflecting serious conversations than having them, but you'd learned to wait her out.

"I guess I'm just scared that when we don't have this built-in reason to spend time together, you'll realize that I'm not actually that interesting," she said finally.

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it?"

"Yes." You reached across the table to take her hand. "Shauna, I didn't start dating you because you needed help with calculus."

"Then why did you start dating me?"

The honest answer was complicated - because she made you laugh, because she was smarter than she gave herself credit for, because underneath all her carefully constructed defenses was someone genuinely kind. Because she asked thoughtful questions and remembered your coffee order and had strong opinions about movies you'd never heard of.

"Because you're you," you said instead. "All of you. Not just the parts you think are worth liking."

She looked down at your joined hands, her thumb tracing across your knuckles. "That's very romantic, but it doesn't really answer my question."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. Something that will make me stop worrying that you're going to get tired of me."

The vulnerability in her voice made your chest ache. This was the thing about Shauna that most people never got to see - how deeply she worried about being left behind, how much energy she spent trying to be interesting enough, entertaining enough, worth keeping around.

"I'm not going to get tired of you," you said. "And graduation is still eight months away. Can we worry about it then?"

"You want to put off discussing our future until the last minute?"

"I want to focus on right now. On this." You squeezed her hand. "On the fact that my girlfriend just survived another calculus assignment and we're having dinner together and tomorrow we get to do it all over again."

She smiled at that, the kind of smile that started small and gradually took over her entire face. "When did you become such an optimist?"

"When I started dating someone who expects the worst-case scenario in every situation."

"I do not expect the worst-case scenario."

"Shauna, you once told me you were surprised I showed up to our second tutoring session because you figured I'd realize you were hopeless and quit."

"That was a reasonable assumption."

"It really wasn't."

The dining hall was starting to close around you, workers beginning to clear tables and sweep floors. You finished your meals and gathered your things, the conversation settling back into easier territory as you argued about which movie to watch when you got back to Shauna's dorm.

The walk across campus was peaceful, your joined hands swinging between you as you debated the merits of romantic comedies versus horror movies. It was an old argument, one you'd been having since your third or fourth tutoring session, but you both enjoyed it too much to actually resolve it.

"I still don't understand how you can watch people getting brutally murdered and call it relaxing," you said as you climbed the stairs to her floor.

"And I don't understand how you can watch the same formulaic love story over and over again and not get bored."

"They're not formulaic. They're... structured."

"That's the same thing."

"It's really not."

Shauna's room was exactly what you'd expected when you first saw it months ago - perfectly organized on her side, with books arranged by subject and clothes hung. Her roommate's side looked like a tornado had hit it, but Shauna had long since given up trying to impose order on that chaos.

"Horror movie," she said, flopping down on her bed and patting the space beside her. "My room, my rules."

"That's not fair."

"Life's not fair. Deal with it."

But she was already pulling up Netflix on her laptop, and you knew from experience that she'd end up letting you pick something halfway through when she got bored of whatever slasher film she'd chosen.

You settled beside her, automatically rearranging yourselves until she was tucked against your side with her head on your shoulder. This had become your default position for movie nights - close enough that you could feel her reactions to whatever you were watching, her grip on your arm tightening during scary parts or her quiet laughter when something genuinely amused her.

"Thank you," she said quietly, about twenty minutes into a movie about teenagers being stalked by a masked killer.

"For what?"

"For tonight. For not letting me give up on that homework. For dinner. For..." She gestured vaguely. "All of it."

"You don't have to thank me for spending time with you."

"I know. But I want to."

You pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the familiar smell of her shampoo. "You're welcome."

The movie played on, but you found yourself paying more attention to Shauna than to the screen. The way she curled closer to you during tense scenes, the soft commentary she provided when characters made obviously stupid decisions, the warmth of her body against yours.

This was what you'd tried to explain to her at dinner - it wasn't about tutoring sessions or built-in excuses to spend time together. It was about all these small moments, the quiet intimacy of just existing in the same space. The way she trusted you enough to fall asleep against your shoulder, the way you'd learned to read her moods in the set of her shoulders or the tone of her voice.

"Hey," she said softly, tilting her head to look up at you. "You're not watching."

"I'm watching you."

"That's very sweet, but also creepy."

"Sorry."

"I didn't say I minded."

The movie forgotten, you shifted to face her properly, taking in the soft light from her desk lamp casting shadows across her face. She looked younger like this, without the armor of careful indifference she wore in public.

"Can I ask you something now?" you said.

"Shoot."

"What made you decide to trust me? Really trust me, not just with math help."

She was quiet for a moment, her fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. "You want the honest answer?"

"Always."

"That night I called you. When I was frustrated and tired and probably a little drunk." She paused, meeting your eyes. "You could have just talked me through the problems and hung up. But you stayed on the phone with me for two hours, and we ended up talking about everything except calculus."

You remembered that night - Shauna calling at midnight, her voice thick with frustration and something else you hadn't been able to identify at the time. You'd talked about her family, her fears about graduation, the way she felt like she was constantly pretending to be someone she wasn't.

"You listened," she continued. "Really listened, not just waiting for your turn to talk. And you didn't try to fix everything or give me advice I didn't ask for. You just... let me be upset."

"Of course I did."

"Not everyone would have."

"Then you've been spending time with the wrong people."

She smiled at that, the kind of smile that was just for you - soft and unguarded and completely genuine. "Good thing I found the right person."

"Good thing."

The space between you had gotten smaller without you noticing, close enough that you could count her eyelashes.

"We should probably finish the movie," she said, but she made no move to turn back to the screen.

"Probably."

"I mean, I did make you sit through my choice. It's only fair."

"Very fair."

"And it's getting to the good part. The part where they reveal who the killer is."

"Can't miss that."

But instead of turning back to the laptop, she shifted closer, her hand coming up to rest against your cheek. "Or," she said, "we could find something else to do."

"I like that option better."

She kissed you then, soft and sweet and tasting like the chocolate you'd shared for dessert. This was still new enough that it made your heart race, the way she sighed against your mouth when you pulled her closer.

"Much better than the movie," she murmured against your lips.

"Definitely."

You lost track of time after that, trading lazy kisses and quiet conversation until Shauna's roommate texted that she'd be back late. The movie played forgotten in the background, the sound of fake screaming and dramatic music a strange soundtrack to the gentle intimacy of learning each other all over again.

"I should probably head back soon," you said eventually, though you made no move to leave the warm circle of her arms.

"You should."

"Early class tomorrow."

"Right."

"And you have that economics exam to study for."

"I do."

Neither of you moved. Shauna's head was tucked against your neck, her breathing soft and even, and you were perfectly content to stay exactly where you were.

"Five more minutes?" she said.

"Five more minutes."

But five turned into ten, and ten turned into twenty, and eventually you gave up pretending you were going anywhere. This was what your relationship had become - small compromises and gentle negotiations, the kind of easy intimacy that came from actually liking each other as much as you loved each other.

"Next week," Shauna said sleepily, "when we do the review session for my midterm?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we do it here instead of the library?"

"Any particular reason?"

"Better study environment. Fewer distractions."

You laughed, pressing a kiss to her temple. "If you say so."

"I do say so."

"Then here it is."

She smiled against your neck, her arm tightening around your waist. "Good. Now stop talking and let me enjoy my five more minutes."

"It's been more than five minutes."

"Then let me enjoy my twenty more minutes."

"Deal."

Outside, the campus was settling into its late-night quiet, the sounds of distant parties and late-night conversations filtering through the window. But inside Shauna's room, wrapped up in each other and the soft glow of her desk lamp, the rest of the world felt very far away.

This was what you'd tried to tell her at dinner - it wasn't about tutoring sessions or academic schedules or any of the structured reasons you'd first started spending time together. It was about this, about the way she fit perfectly against your side, about the trust implicit in the way she let herself be vulnerable with you.

"Thank you," she said again, so quietly you almost missed it.

"For what this time?"

"For making me feel like I'm worth staying for."

Your chest tightened at the simple honesty in her voice, at the way she could devastate you with just a few words.

"You are," you said. "You absolutely are."

And lying there in the lamplight, her breathing soft and even against your neck, you meant it completely. Whatever came after graduation, whatever challenges the future held, you were exactly where you wanted to be.

Five more minutes turned into the whole night, and neither of you minded at all.

[deliajackson]

Snippet of a fic I will never write

"I... I've thought a lot about what you said," Apollo finally spoke after standing at that door in silence for quite some time.

Rhea lifted her eyes from the kitchen counter of her house, where she’d been toying with an orange—the cabin her father, Poseidon, had remodeled to look like a summer home.

"...And?"

"You know… for someone who was terrible at all my domains, you sure have a poetic way of saying you love me, Rhea. I’m flattered, by the way." The joke was weak. Rhea’s hand squeezed the orange so hard she felt the juice press against the peel.

"...Apollo..." Rhea began.

"I'm not a good man," Apollo interrupted. He rarely sounded solemn in all the time she’d known him, but now he did. "I’m not even a man, to begin with. Even if my father somehow made me… 'human.' I'm not really. This—this flesh?" Apollo gestured to himself, running a hand down his arm. "It’s clay he molded and confined me in, stripping me of who—what—I am."

"...I know that..."

"I know you do." Apollo interjected firmly. "You're smarter than people give you credit for, you always have been, and I’m not going to treat you like you’re not." Rhea bit her lip. He was one of the first to ever say that. Annabeth had always treated her like she was an idiot, and often, too many people agreed with her.

"I'm made of essence, Rhea. I was born and have existed for millennia. I was there when the first humans crawled from the mud. I was there when the Hellenes raised their first cities. I was there when Troy fell, when Alexander raised his army and invaded Hellas, when Plato twisted us into moral models, and when Socrates died. I saw the birth of Rome—and its fall. I saw Christ’s crucifixion and watched our temples crumble and fall when Christianity began its crusades. I saw humans cross the seas to the land you now call America. I saw Napoleon conquer Europe—and part of Egypt. I stood in the hall when he declared himself emperor. I witnessed the birth of the British Empire, the two Great Wars, and everything up to today. I have my hands on every page of history. As the God of Civilization, I was there—for better or for worse."

"What's the point you're trying to make, Apollo?"

When people say the worst someone can say is no, they’re lying.

"I'm saying I’ve done unspeakable things, Rhea. Some because I had to, yes—to keep the balance of the Cosmos, which is my duty—but many others? I did them because I was bored. Some out of pure sadism. Others just because I could."

"I know. I know the myths—not all, but enough..."

"The myths aren’t entirely true. And they’re only the tip of the iceberg. Many were lost because they were never recorded." Apollo shook his head. "And you might know them, but you didn’t live them. I’m not insulting your intelligence, Rhea. Just stating that the full weight of their cruelty escapes you." He gave a self-deprecating smile. "And out of selfishness, I hope it stays that way. Because despite your frankly terrible temper," he added with a soft snort, "you are a good person."

"I'm not..."

"You are." He repeated, his blue eyes softening as he stepped closer. "I don’t say this lightly. Most people... they aren’t good or bad. They have moments of empathy, of cruelty, and pettiness. But at the end of the day, they’re neutral. That’s humanity. But you, Rhea, you are inherently good. A few moments of cruelty don’t erase the rest of the whole."

"You could’ve just said you weren’t interested, you know?" she muttered, annoyed. Apollo blinked, then let out a small laugh. A tiny tsunami stirred in Rhea’s chest, her hands clenching into fists.

"That’s not funny! I..."

"Rhea." He interrupted, placing a hand over her closed fist, finally exhaling. His face was flushed from laughing, half disbelieving. "I was willing to stay mortal for you."

Her anger vanished as fast as it came, and her eyes widened like two coins.

"W-What?" Apollo exhaled softly, stepping closer, his other hand brushing her cheek, wiping away a tear she hadn’t noticed falling.

"I was willing to give up my divinity," he repeated slowly, almost amused by the absurdity. "To live and grow... old." He snorted. "with you."

"...I... I..." Rhea was speechless. Apollo loved being a god. He loved it. It was who he was.

"I’d never ask that of you… You are who you are." she whispered.

"That’s exactly why I’d do it for you," he replied gently, brushing a loose strand behind her ear. "Do you remember the first time I saw you?"

"...On the train? Fred?"

"No." Apollo chuckled softly. "On Hephaestus’ TV. The Tunnel of Love."

Rhea grimaced.

"That?" she muttered.

"I was intensely curious. Among my many domains, prophecy was always… one of my favorites, you could say." He shrugged. "When I heard Poseidon had a forbidden child, I immediately wanted to know who. The Great Prophecy swirled around you. I remember seeing you and Annabeth in that ride, thinking you might die there. That the prophecy would shift to someone else. Another child." He snorted. "Then you screamed at her to jump. From a speeding cart. And you both survived."

"Funny how those were the simpler times."

"Being accused of stealing from the King of the Gods was... more peaceful, certainly." Apollo seemed terribly amused with irony. "And then I really saw you, when you entered Olympus."

"I didn’t see you that day." Apollo didn’t seem impressed with her statement.

"Of course you didn’t. You were all running around like lunatics, not paying attention to anything. But you were small then, and your fate lines were... foggy. I was fascinated. It’s why I sent you on ridiculous quest after ridiculous quest" — he echoed her words from a week ago, sounding genuinely amused — "all throughout your middle and high school. You were fun. Especially when I watched you biting your tongue, furious, trying not to curse me out like an especially grumpy kitten."

Rhea narrowed her eyes. Not impressed. But biting her tongue again. Apollo laughed softly. She probably had the same grumpy kitten face he liked so much. Gods, why did he fall for him again?

"Ha ha."

"Sorry about that."

"You're not sorry."

"I’m sorry for putting you in danger. But not for annoying you." Apollo declared with a huff. Then, more softly: "Rhea. What I’m saying is... I’ll do everything I can to heal you."

"...Apollo."

"Listen to me." Apollo said. "I’ll do everything. I’m the God of Healing, Rhea. There’s practically nothing I can’t fix. Even if souls aren’t my specialty, I’ll find a way once I get my divinity back."

Rhea looked away, but Apollo gently turned her face, not letting her eyes escape his. His gaze was so intense, so determined.

"And if you can’t?" she asked softly, hating how fragile her voice sounded. "What if it’s too late?"

"...Then I’ll never forget you," he declared, solemn and final. "Not that I think forgetting you is possible. Even if I hadn’t fallen in love with you—you’re still a living legend, my love. But according to our culture—my culture..." he corrected himself, "you’ll live on as long as someone remembers you. And I will remember you, for all my days, until every star in the sky burns out. I’ll remember you."

"...Apollo..." Rhea tried. Their foreheads were touching now, his arm around her waist. The orange had long been forgotten on the counter. Her hands rested on his chest, feeling that false heart pumping ink-like blood beneath her fingers. Ba-thump, ba-thump.

"You’ll never be forgotten, Rhea. I’ll carve you in stone and ink. Your legend will outlast millennia. They’ll know the warrior you were, how your heart was strong and kind. The leader and the strategist. How power flowed through your veins like a river. Your victories and feats."

His hand rose to her cheek, eyes never leaving hers — soul to soul.

"But not just that. They’ll know your love for blue cookies, your kindness and your compassion. They’ll know you baked to deal with stress. That you love skating and horseback riding. That you took time to help dryads, naiads, and sea animals caught in nets. They’ll remember how you struggle to go from E to A in any instrument you try to play."

Tears welled in Rhea’s eyes.

"They’ll know how your eyes shine and the dimple that appears when your smile is real. They’ll know how you put others first, and how I love and hate that about you." Apollo continued softly. "I will remember you, and I will make the world remember you. As long as your memory remains—you will never truly die. I swear to you, on the Styx. On my ichor. On all my domains. I will remember you."

Tears streamed down Rhea’s cheeks like little rivers as they shared the same breath. It was instinct that pulled her closer—hands rising to his neck, then his hair, before their lips met in a desperate dance.

His arm tightened around her, the hand on her cheek moved to her nape.

It wasn’t enough to express what she felt, but words wouldn’t do justice either. After a moment that felt far too short, they pulled apart, sharing the same breath, the same heartbeat—green eyes locked with blue, a moment that felt like eternity, before Rhea rested her head beneath Apollo’s chin.

"...Now I finally get where the title ‘God of Poetry’ came from." she joked, trying to hide the vulnerability.

Apollo let out a soft laugh into her hair.

[wrappedinpinklace]

Mismatched, Chapter Two.

(Authors note!! this chapter is kinda short, mainly because i’m working on other things as well, but i wanted to go ahead and get this out since i don’t have much posted about damian and im still working out how i want the jason todd fic to play out. i wish i could just copy and paste from my brain 😩. anywaysssss much love, angel!!)

“You guys,” you said dramatically, arms flung over the back of the Hufflepuff common room couch, “you are not going to believe what happened.”

Duke didn’t even look up from his Transfiguration essay. “Let me guess. You tripped into another fountain.”

“Or accidentally joined a secret dueling club,” Jon added, upside-down on the rug and halfway through a chocolate frog.

“Worse,” you said, your eyes wide with intensity. “Damian Wayne defended me.”

That got their attention.

Duke blinked.

Jon slowly sat up.

“No, he didn’t,” Duke said flatly.

“Okay, technically he didn’t say something super heroic or anything,” you admitted. “But one of his Slytherin friends said something mean—like real mean, like I was this annoying little bug who wandered into their pureblood tea party uninvited and Damian? He shut them down.”

Jon squinted. “What exactly did he say?”

You leapt off the couch, already full of energy and reenactment potential. “So there I was, standing like a lost lamb among the wolves, right? And Sasha was all ‘Do we know you?’ and I was just being my charming self, but then she started making fun of me for the glitter explosion! And Damian just… rose from the bench like the dark prince he is and said get this”

You lowered your voice, deep and broody. “‘She’s not talking to you.’”

Jon burst out laughing. Duke let his head fall into his hands. “Oh no.”

You pointed a finger. “You’re underestimating the gravity of the moment!”

“I’m underestimating how you’re retelling it like it was a marriage proposal,” Duke muttered.

“And then,” you said, ignoring him, “he looked at me. Like really looked at me. Not annoyed. Not dismissive. Just… intense. Like I startled something in him. Like like I crawled in through a crack in the stone wall of his soul and now he’s questioning everything.”

Jon wheezed. “That’s not what happened.”

“You weren’t there!” you said, spinning dramatically in your oversized jumper. “You didn’t see his eyes. He practically told his friends to shut up and bow before me!”

“She blinked at him once and he blinked back and now she’s naming their future children,” Duke said dryly.

You flopped back down beside them with a sigh, grinning at the ceiling. “His loss if he doesn’t realize how utterly amazing I am.”

At that moment, your familiar chose to leap onto the coffee table, scattering a pile of quills and parchment like confetti.

“Muffin!” you gasped. “Rude.”

Muffin, your gray, one-eyed cat with far too much attitude for something so round, settled proudly in the mess she’d made, curling her tail around her paws like a queen surveying her kingdom.

“She’s just like you,” Duke said. “Loud, unpredictable, kind of alarming.”

“She’s loyal,” you corrected, giving Muffin a scratch behind the ears. “And very emotionally intelligent. Aren’t you, baby? You can smell soulmates. Can’t you?”

Muffin sneezed.

“I’ll take that as confirmation.”

Jon giggled again, and Duke just shook his head, but neither of them were really annoyed. They knew you too well. This was just how your heart worked: fast, bright, and all-in. You loved easily, wildly, without caution. Your crushes burned quick and hot, but this one… this one lingered.

Even you felt the difference.

Maybe it was the way Damian hadn’t looked at you like everyone else did. Or maybe it was just that under all that cold and control, you saw something real.

Or maybe you were completely delusional. But it was fun to hope. And that was more than enough, for now.

————

You hated Astronomy

You hated charts. You hated planets. You hated trying to remember which constellation looked like a bow and which one looked like a deformed duck. Most of all, you hated calculating star paths, because apparently you needed math for that, and no one warned you.

“I just don’t get it,” you groaned, slumping in your chair dramatically. “How do you measure the position of a star that’s probably been dead for a million years?”

Duke sighed, resting his chin in his palm. “It’s not dead, it’s just—”

“Light-years away, I know,” you interrupted, flopping backward so hard your chair creaked. “But what if it is dead? What if it exploded and no one told us and I’m doing a whole star chart based on a ghost? I can’t fail Astronomy because I believe in haunted space.”

Jon giggled beside you, flipping through his notes. “That is both the most and least scientific thing I’ve ever heard.”

You let out a long, dramatic wail and dropped your head onto the open textbook in front of you. “Just leave me. Go to your classes. I’ll rot here among the moons and misery.”

“We’ve still got five minutes,” Duke muttered, scanning his notes like he could delay the inevitable.

But unfortunately, time refused to bend to your will—unlike your friends, who were about to leave you to die. As they started packing their things, you clutched the edge of Duke’s sleeve like he was about to set off for war.

“You can’t leave me!” you whispered fiercely. “This is a crime against friendship.”

“I’ve literally gone over the star chart with you four times,” he said, deadpan.

“I was emotionally unprepared.”

“You were doodling Saturn as a donut.”

“I stand by my artistic choices.”

Jon patted your shoulder with a pitying smile. “You’ll be fine. Maybe you’ll have a breakthrough while you’re alone.”

“More like a breakdown,” you muttered as they waved and hurried off to class, abandoning you to your fate.

The library settled into a hush, as it always did, calm and slightly dusty, with floating candles bobbing high above and scrolls unrolling themselves along shelves. You sighed dramatically into your folded arms, letting the textbook cradle your despair. You weren’t even sure what page you were on anymore.

And that’s when he walked in.

You didn’t notice at first. Damian Wayne moved quietly, like a shadow gliding between the bookshelves. He was scanning the aisles with that permanent look of mild disdain, his hands tucked into his Slytherin robes and his posture effortlessly perfect, because of course it was.

He hadn’t even meant to look your way. He was just checking for an open table.

But unfortunately for him, he lingered. Just a second too long. And that’s when you lifted your head. Your eyes locked.

It was too late.

Your entire face lit up. “Damian!”

He visibly considered turning around. Just for a moment. You saw the micro-debate behind his eyes: fight or flight.

You sat up straighter, brushing hair from your face and gesturing wildly to your book-covered table. “Oh thank Merlin. A friendly face. Come to rescue me from the cruel, infinite void of outer space?”

He didn’t move.

“…It’s Astronomy,” you added, as if that explained anything.

“I gathered.” Still, he didn’t leave.

You took that as a win.

“Duke and Jon abandoned me,” you said, propping your chin on your hand. “They said it was ‘class’ but honestly, I think they were just emotionally unprepared for how dumb I am when it comes to stars.”

“You’re not dumb,” he said automatically.

You blinked. “Wait..was that…a compliment?”

“It was a statement.”

“Which is one inch away from a compliment,” you grinned. “Careful, Damian. People will start to think you have a heart.”

He rolled his eyes and stepped toward your table anyway, hands still tucked into his pockets.

“Do you even know where Polaris is?”

“…That’s the one with the belt, right?”

Damian closed his eyes slowly like he was begging the universe for patience.

You beamed.

“You’re staying, aren’t you?”

He sighed. “Only because you clearly need help before you confuse the moon with a white dwarf.”

“See? I knew you were nice under all that brooding.”

“I’m not.”

“Sure,” you said, sliding a spare chair toward him with your foot. “Tell yourself whatever you need to sleep at night.”

Damian sat.

And you smiled at the stars for the first time that day.

————

“You’re actually a good teacher, you know,” you said, half in awe, half in disbelief, as Damian calmly redrew a constellation for the third time. “Strict. Kind of scary. But good.”

Damian didn’t look up. “You say that like it’s surprising.”

“Well, I assumed you’d be the type to throw my star chart into the fireplace and say something cutting about natural selection.”

He glanced up, expression dry. “You’re confusing me with Tim.”

You snorted. “Fair.”

It had been almost an hour since he sat down. And somehow, the world hadn’t ended. You hadn’t exploded anything. He hadn’t stormed off in a cloud of contempt. In fact, you were… learning.

Like, actually learning.

You’d even stopped dramatizing your own suffering for a solid ten minutes, which might’ve been a personal record.

Damian had shifted in his seat beside you, his robes neat and posture perfect even now. His sketchbook sat closed near his elbow, slightly askew atop his bag. You hadn’t noticed it at first, too distracted by being saved from the black hole of astronomy.

But now…

“Is that your sketchbook?” you asked, tilting your head.

He paused, hand still over the parchment he’d been writing on.

“…Yes.”

You smiled. “Can I see?”

He didn’t respond right away.

You didn’t press, even though your curiosity was bouncing up and down like Muffin at breakfast. You could tell it wasn’t the kind of thing he usually let people see. Which, of course, made you want to see it even more.

After a moment, Damian sighed—quiet, like something inside him gave way. Then, without a word, he reached for the sketchbook and flipped it open with slow, precise hands.

Page after page of beautiful linework, clean, detailed, controlled. You recognized some of the creatures from Care of Magical Creatures: a Hippogriff mid-flight, a sleeping Niffler curled on a pile of galleons, a Thestral rendered in haunting, delicate strokes.

“You’re amazing,” you breathed. “These look like they could walk off the page.”

He didn’t answer, but you saw his jaw shift—just the slightest tension, like your words had reached a place he didn’t know existed.

And then he turned the page again. And your breath caught. You stared. It was you.

Your hair falling over your shoulders. The curve of your smile mid-laugh. A leaf tangled in your hair. Your eyes were squinted shut, like you’d just said something ridiculous.

But the way he’d drawn you, soft and intricate and focused, made it feel like you were something important.

You looked up at him, blinking.

“Wait… is that—?”

The sketchbook slammed shut.

Damian stood so fast the chair scraped the stone floor. “I have class,” he said sharply, already reaching for his bag.

You blinked again, caught somewhere between stunned and confused. “Wait, what? Damian—”

“Don’t be late for Astronomy,” he said without looking at you. Then he turned and walked off, fast and stiff like something had short-circuited in his brain.

You sat there for a full minute, staring at the space he’d just occupied.

Muffin, who had been curled beneath the table unnoticed until now, peeked her head out and let out a very unimpressed mrrp.

“I know,” you whispered, dazed. “But… that looked like me. Right?”

The cat sneezed. You weren’t sure if that was a yes or a no.

You shook your head and tried to refocus, but the thought lingered like a spell gone wrong, fluttering around your heart, impossible to pin down.

Meanwhile, across the castle, Damian sat in the back of Charms class, staring straight ahead, unmoving.

He didn’t hear a word the professor said. His hand was tight around his quill, ink pooling on his parchment. It had been an accident. He hadn’t meant to show her. Hadn’t meant to draw her so many times, either.

She was just… always there. Loud. Clumsy. Infuriatingly sincere.

And somehow, she had managed, without any permission at all, to become the only person he couldn’t stop seeing.

He scowled.

This was exactly why he didn’t get involved.

[blitheringmcgonagall]

Of course Lily was ogling James (ruffling his stupid hair, showing off with the stupid snitch). Sirius laughs and says “Nah, she didn’t” hate James - especially when he deflated his head and was made Head Boy.

Lily is described as vivacious, cheeky and talented. She’s not scared of anyone - popular, big headed jocks (James) - she shouts at him to stop bullying Snape, she calls him a git and says she’d rather go out with the giant squid. She’s not scared of Sirius either - and he can be pretty caustic in canon. She’s not scared of wannabe death eater bigots (Snape) - after he insults her/calls her a slur, she tells him his pants need washing and refuses pointing blank to forgive him and go back to being friends, telling him it’s his choices that caused the end of their friendship, not hers. She’s not scared of Voldemort, refusing his offer to join him.

She’s well able to stand up to her sister too, turning teacups into rodents to annoy her.

She and James are soulmates, we are told that’s what matching/complimentary patronuses means. Sorry not sorry.

Jily are a BAMF couple, personally fighting Voldemort three times.

We see Lily and James laughing as Harry zooms around on his mini broom that his godfather gave him for his first birthday - James is rather anxiously running after him, Lily is just laughing.

On 31st Oct 1981, we see James playing with Harry and entertaining him with coloured puffs of smoke as a doting dad, just before he throws himself in front of Voldemort to try and save his wife and child.

Anyone who thinks someone with that personality would date anyone who she doesn’t like knows very very little about psychology (but guess who does know a lot? Uh-huh, exactly) / has very little common sense 🥰🥰🥰🥰

how tf do people think jily is toxic/abusive whatever???? like the idea that james blackmailed lily into dating him is so wild. he absolutely, very clearly, did NOT.

she didn't like him at first because he was an arrogant prat & was rude to her best friend. we know in 5th year james was crushing heavily on her but was still an arrogant prat being rude to her best friend. though lily in 5th year,, she picks up on all his little gestures & was clearly watching him when she was sitting with her friends by the lake (so like,,, very clearly was into him.. why else is she fucking just watching him play with a snitch instead of chat to her friends she was with). james makes that comment (A JOKE) that he'll leave severus alone if she goes on a date with her... ofc she goes off on him. rightfully so. if she wants to make james leave severus alone, then she can easily duel him (shes clearly duelled him before from the way sirius & james act when she gets her wand out) & then she stops being friends with severus because he called her a slur/his general blood supremacy getting more,, hardcore i suppose. and during sixth or seventh year her feelings for james intensifies i suppose, he matures a bit more, & they fall in love... very naturally & cute & sweet or whatever.

the idea that lily was forced/blackmailed into dating james is EXTREMELY sexist, framing her as some woman with no agency who can't defend herself against a man & 'sacrifices' herself to him to save another man from 'sexual assault'... that is absolutely not it.

lily is a talented witch & a highly skilled dueller, as well as stubborn & witty & brave & sticks up for herself and others.

[romanofftherealest]

Mistake

Summary: You can't make the same mistake twice.

Pairings: Professor Natasha Romanoff x College Student Female Reader

Word count: 4.2k

Tags | Warnings: +18 smut, ANGST, vile, mean, obsessive, hurt and dark Natasha, AMAB!Natasha, hate fuck, crying during sex (not dacryphilia), kind of dubcon, noncon breeding, pregnancy

Author's Note: Scheduled repost

⧗

"Isn't Y/N your rival since like 8th grade? You always hated the girl man! How come you're confessing your feelings to her on our graduation day?!" Rhodey groaned while rubbing his entire face as he talked to his best friend who just told his deep shocking secret.

"That's when I started loving her too." Tony simply replied.

You and Tony were actually schoolmates since grade school. And you have always been a top performing student ever since, while Tony only got to show his skills and intelligence not until high school—late bloomer as they say.

Who would imagine that the shy weird kid back in grade school would turn into a big massive fuckboy slash science freak in high school until college?

"So what's the plan, man?" Rhodey can only ask. He and Tony have been side by side since forever so there is no way he will not support him in getting to you. "Tony, as much as I want to support you in this…thing. You know your reputation. First, you are Y/N's acads rival, as long as there are numbers and letters and numbers and letters mixed together you are enemies and everybody knows that. Second, you have a reputation of sleeping with so many women. You know you didn't have your name cleared about the sleep night with the entire cheerleading team two years ago, in fact you didn't want your name cleared because you liked having that reputation."

"That was two years ago, I'm different now, at least I am trying too."

"I can't believe this. But honestly, I'd hit that." Rhodey smirked, showing your beach photo wearing a maxi skirt, a crochet top and the black glasses you always wore.

"Okay, enough of that! That's…that girl is mine, man. Please bro code." He snatched his friends' phone away from him and turned it off. Tony doesn't need to look at your photos anymore since he had memorized each photo of yours because he had been checking on your Instagram for at least twice a day.

"I was just joking! Of course I wouldn't." Rhodey chased his phone and was able to get it before Tony put it in his pocket. "So what's the plan? How will you…you know?" he shrugged while looking intently at his friend.

"Don't worry, I'm never running out of plans and pick up lines." He let out a laugh while also flexing his biceps

"Hey, hey! Friendly advice man? Just cut with your bad pick up lines and be a man. You just told me she's the girl you want to marry and she looks like the type who wouldn't fall for jokes or pick up lines. This isn't any romcoms, if you want her to fall in love with you, compliment and admire her mind—her intelligence."

"O…kay…where did that come from? That was a good one, Rhodey. I never thought I would hear that from you." Tony tried not to laugh his ass off, but the words of wisdom his friend just told him was something he needed.

Rhodey just shrugged, a genuine smile on his face showing as he looked at his friend. "I've always had it in me, Tony. It's just you never asked for some advice. Besides, you're different and so am I. And now, seeing you genuinely in love with this girl? I just know you need some unsolicited advice from mister lover boy right here."

"Hey, I'm a mister lover boy too." Tony pouted.

"You can be. But first, we have 8 minutes to get to Mr. Coulson's class."

The two sprinted out of the cafeteria, not even noticing Professor Romanoff sitting in the corner, her nails grazing hard against her own coffee mug.

⧗

"You're not gonna run for Latin?" you asked Tony, you were frustrated, you expected him to be your rival up until the end but when you knew you were the only one who filed for latin honors in your class, you were infuriated. You should be thankful, really, because you have no more competition but…

"I had 2.75 in molecular dynamics in 3rd year, if you didn't know. So basically, I'm not eligible to run for latin since then." You huffed at his reply, you don't know if it's out of disbelief or relief because he had that grade that made him not qualified for latin anymore.

"Did you purposely fail that class?" you asked him suspiciously. "Because I don't want to have it if you just basically gave it away. Like what you did in our elemag quiz bee during 10th grade, you said I only won because you basically let me, because you were just forced to join."

Tony pinched his nose, trying to hold a giggle. You are so cute, he thought to himself. Always so competitive and he loved every bit of it.

"I sucked at the subject, I promise, princess." He replied sincerely, not teasingly and provoking like he always was when he talks to you. Like when he tells you to calm yourself down before you internalize everything you had reviewed for a quiz bee, because it's just him you're gonna have to contend in some stupid quizzes.

You hated the man, but he's like a part of your system. You wouldn't function without him infuriating you—without him always competing with you.

"So…congratulations, summa cum laude." You were shocked at his words and genuineness but you didn't let him notice. For once, he didn't annoy you—for once—he's not your rival.

Before Tony could hand you the bouquet of tulips he was holding, a student suddenly rushed up to you.

"Hey, Y/N," the student said, her cheeks blushing as her eyes darted between you and Tony. "Professor Romanoff is asking for you in her office."

Hiding the tulips behind his back, Tony feigned nonchalance while you fought back your irritation. You couldn't believe it—even after all this time, he still had an effect on the women in your school. Unknown to you, the student had glimpsed the flowers he was secretly holding in his hands where she thought were for you.

"R-right now?" you stammered and the student nodded before bidding goodbye to the both of you.

“Are you alright?" Tony asked, noticing you turned pale.

As Tony asked you if you were okay, you found yourself blurting out, "Can you come with me?" you immediately regretted your words, silently cursing yourself for asking for help from the one person you loathed the most.

Despite the tension between the two of you, Tony agreed to accompany you to Professor Romanoff's office. As you walked, he fidgeted awkwardly, still holding the bouquet of flowers behind his back. Whenever you stole a glance in his direction, he'd turn away, so you wouldn't notice the bouquet peeking behind him.

The walk was filled with an uncomfortable silence, neither of you uttering a single word until you reached the professor's office.

Tony was about to reach for the door handle to Professor Romanoff's office, you quickly stopped him, passing him your bag. He shot you a questioning look, his eyes filled with concern as he asked, "Are you okay?"

You just gave him a small nod. He took your bag without protest and offered a reassuring nod in return.

"I'll wait for you here." He said, awkwardly holding your tote bag and wiggling his fingers as you go inside. His other arm was tired from having to hold the bouquet behind his back.

He could give it to you after, he thought.

⧗

You closed the door, but you deliberately left it unlocked. After a moment, Professor Romanoff emerged from the bathroom, her eyes scanning the room until they landed on you.

"Professor." You said, your head bowed in respect. Despite your fear and trepidation, you couldn't bring yourself to meet her gaze.

She walked towards you, your heart pounded in your chest, and you felt a cold sweat breaking out on your forehead. Your lips trembled, and your shoulders tensed up as if preparing yourself for the worst. Your shoulders grazed onto each other as she locked the door behind you, trapping you inside with her.

"Is the pictorial done for graduation?" she asked, it came out soft but cold.

You took a deep breath, gathering what little ounce of courage you had left and managed to stammer out, "Yes."

Professor Romanoff's eyes traveled down your body, scrutinizing your outfit. You were wearing a skirt that teetered on the edge of being too short, paired with a fitted white top and a cardigan. You fidgeted, feeling exposed and vulnerable under her stare.

"May I ask why I was being called, professor?" you asked, you bit your lip after for trembling too much.

"You're the only candidate for the Latin in our program. I talked to Professor Coulson and others in the faculty, and all of them said that your position is already secured for it not to drop below a 2," she stated. "Many professors are rooting for you to deliver your speech in 5 months."

And you? You desperately want to ask but you hold yourself back, keeping the question locked inside your mind. You wanted to speak less to her as much as possible, so you just nodded.

The room was filled with silence for several minutes, and you just stood there while she was still sitting in her office chair.

"I missed you."

Your heart literally dropped. The last time you had heard those words from her was two years ago, when you both had been caught up in a dirty secret affair.

"Didn't you miss me too? Detka?" you begged in your mind for her not to call you that russian pet names again, well, it's one of your weaknesses still after so long.

You shook your head side to side in denial and screwed your eyes shut, as if trying to block out the words and the memories they stirred up. The mere thought of admitting to missing her was too much for you to handle—because you did, you missed her so much and you hated yourself for it. So every time your heart flutters when you see her along the hallways, you move to a different direction just to avoid her or if your mind starts to think about her, you immerse yourself in studying which most of the time failed to work.

You tried to be strong and you think you're doing good at it. You told yourself as long as you're not going to be alone with her again, you'd be fine.

And you are definitely not fine right now...

"After you came back from your immersion program, you didn't talk to me anymore..." her voice was dark and tinged with hurt that had festered over the time you had spent away. "What happened to us?" she asked again. The question hung in the air, demanding an answer that you know yourself wouldn't be willing to give.

Because you just want to forget it, forget it all—forget her.

Her words echoed in the air, a single tear slipped down your cheek, your breath growing more labored with each passing second. You couldn't bring yourself to answer her, your throat tight and your body trembling.

"Did you even lo—"

You didn't let her finish, you don't want her to ask you that question because you're afraid about the answer that you had kept hidden, locked in the deep, dark corner of your heart.

"What I felt for you was…genuine."

What a nice way to put it.

"Genuine?" she huffed, she could take that one for now, Natasha thought. "If it's genuine then why am I a secret?"

"It was a mistake!" you rushed as if you were correcting your first statement. What would people think if they knew? That the top student in the university only got her achievements because she was basically a professor's cock sleeve?

"Nat—Professor…what…what happened before was a mistake. I told you that, right? And you know it too! We talked about it after I went to my immersion, that we'll stop. God, please, you know how wrong it was!" you cried desperately, it's not loud but it's enough for her to hear.

"Mistake?" she snapped and you can see the hurt in her eyes. "The bar, yes. That could be a mistake."

You cleared your throat awkwardly, memories of that night suddenly flooding your mind. The way the two of you danced, the way she laughed, how her lips tasted like whiskey...and then, the realization that hit you both when you're both sobered up. That was the night you first slept with her, so much for being drunk you didn't realize it was your professor—the professor you had a crush on.

"What about here?" she pointed to her desk, where she had pounded you for dear life after class because you had joked to her that if you get a perfect quiz then you'll have a reward from her—and you did, she had made you cum twice for the recitation and quiz she had prepared for class, specifically for you. "And there?" You looked towards her sofa, where a lot of things happened between you two. You sucking her off when she gets so frustrated during a meeting, riding her if she's too tired from paperworks—all the dirtiest kinks were done on that thing. Even the softest ones where you both cuddled up after you didn't win the regional college quiz bowl or when you straddled her while teaching her how to tie a necktie.

"Motels, my car, my apartment, here again in my office during prom where you begged me to fuck your ass while wearing your prom queen crown." Her voice grew darker, matching the intense memories playing out in her mind. "Tell me baby, were those a mistake too? It would really hurt my feelings if you said yes."

You sobbed, shaking your head side by side, trying to dispel the memories and she can see the fear and denial in your eyes. You can just walk right now and end this torturous reminiscing. But you felt trapped in place, trapped in those memories, and she was too—she was trapped in the need to make you remember.

"Please, stop." You hiccup, trying to hold back a sob. You continue to shake your head over and over.

"You can't just go around, fuck me up and then say that's it's just a mistake afterwards." She spat, standing to walk towards you.

She loomed over you, her tall frame casting a shadow, making you feel small and vulnerable. She could see you shaking, hear your ragged breathing and it only fueled her frustration.

"Bent over my desk with that perfect little ass in the air, waiting..." she moved closer, her hand reaching out to trace your collarbone.

She watched you scramble to your feet, a dark satisfaction gleaming in her eyes as you approached her desk. She followed close behind, her heels clicking on the floor. When you reached the desk, she pressed a firm hand between your shoulder blades, bending you over it.

As she bent you over, you let out a soft moan, your face pressed against the cool surface of the desk. She could see your body relax, falling into the familiar position. Her hand slowly inched up your skirt, feeling the soft fabric bunch under her fingers.

"You still remember, don't you?"

She stepped closer, pressing her length against your backside, feeling the thin barrier of her pants between you two. You found yourself grinding back against her feeling she was growing harder.

"Fuck you're still such a slut for my cock." She smirked as she gripped your waist. "Is it still a mistake? Huh? Slut? You grinding your slutty pussy back against my cock?"

You shook your head side by side, biting your lip to contain your moans.

"I need you to say it, slut." She spat.

"N-no, it's…it's not a mistake, professor." You said in a shaky tone.

Without warning, she reached down and unzipped her pants, pulling out her thick, hard cock. She wrapped her hand around it, stroking it slowly behind your back, the tip rubbing against your ass through your panties.

"Fuck, I've missed this," she pressed the head of her cock against your ass, rubbing it against your panties. "Gonna fuck this tight little pussy again, just like old times." She pushed aside your panties, revealing your vulnerable entrance, "Missed how perfectly you take me." In one smooth motion, she thrust forward, burying herself deep inside you.

"N-Nat!" your back arched even further as you cried out a breath.

"I missed you calling me by my name." She said in a ragged breath, "I want you to shout it so Stark can hear it behind those doors." Her other hand reached around to grab your hair, tangling it in her fist as she pulled your head back, forcing you to arch your back further and to look at the door of her office where Tony was waiting. You were too dumb to think how she even knew Tony was just outside the door.

"Ugh, ugh-gu—" your voice and moans only seemed to spur her on. She began pounding into you, the rhythm steady and intense. She pulled out slightly, just the tip still inside you, before slamming back in with renewed ferocity that made you cry.

"You made me struggle, everyday, seeing you walk around in those fucking skimpy clothes...and letting anyone touch you, but not me." Each word was punctuated by a brutal thrust. "I didn't reach you because I respect you so much, love you so fucking much. And I know you will run back to me eventually…"

"But you didn't…fuck, you didn't come back to me. Am I…am I that easy to let go, Y/N?" she asked with so much vulnerability and hate. "Do you know how hard it is to watch you go on for a day without me? When I couldn't?"

You felt some hot liquid dripping down onto your bare back, your clothes being bunched up…are those tears? You are too dumbed down to think but you noticed how Natasha held back a sob, covering up trying to sound cold and resentful towards you.

"Natasha…" you called out to her, you wanted to hold her against you but she snapped forward continuously and sloppily, hitting a spot inside you that made you whimper. "F-fuck!" you cried, it was loud and that made you cover up your own mouth.

Her climax hit and she buried herself to the hilt inside you, holding perfectly still as she rode out her orgasm. Waves of her hot cum filled your pussy, coating your insides, but she didn't say a word, she didn't tell you or even warn you. She just stayed frozen, her body shaking with the intensity of her release.

She gazed down, biting her trembling lip as she observed her cock, slick with both your arousal and her release, still buried deep inside you. A shudder ran through her as she felt the last drops of cum seep out on the tip of her shaft. Slowly pulling out, she couldn't help but moan softly at the erotic sight of her thick cum slowly oozing out of your well-used pussy. You innocently wiggle your ass as you move and it only intensified the lewd display.

You stood all by yourself and she calmly situated herself back into her leather office chair, cleaning herself up, refusing to look at your trembling form.

"N-Nat?" you called, a tear running down your cheeks. You saw her reddened eyes and flushed cheeks—you were right—she was crying, but so are you. You slowly backed away, frantically tugging at your disheveled clothes, you could feel her cum still dripping slowly into your panties. "Nat? Can we talk?" you tried again, you didn't like the feeling of this. You felt used.

"You can go now." She said flatly, her voice devoid of any emotion.

You walked towards the door, desperation etched on your face, hoping for some kind word, any sign of affection. You hated yourself for expecting some that you wanted to slap yourself. You frantically swiped at your wet cheeks, trying your best not to break down in front of her. But no matter how hard you rubbed, more tears spilled out. You couldn't catch a break, each blink bringing forth a new wave of salty drops.

And her? She just sat there, staring at her computer screen, her expression cold and heartless as if nothing happened.

She has done her plan for you anyways. So there is nothing to talk about anymore, the last thing on her list is you running back to her.

As you rushed your way out, you saw your bag on the chair with a bouquet of flowers. "Hey, Y/N. This is for you, I had to leave for the chess team. I really hate doing this but I'd like you to be my date on senior night. —T.S."

You could only huff, your brows pinching together to hold the tears that are threatening to fall again. But you weren't able to help it, you ended up having a breakdown outside her office, with the flowers on your arm and the evidence of what she did to you still oozing inside of you.

⧗

"Ladies and gentlemen, faculty, family, friends..." your voice cracked slightly, betraying your nerves, but you steadied yourself, refusing to let the ghosts of the past dictate this moment. "We've worked tirelessly, overcome obstacles, and in some cases, experienced pain both personal and academic."

You glanced down at your notes, a faint smile playing on your lips as you continued. "I'd like to thank my family and friends for their unwavering support, my blockmates for turning sleepless nights into unforgettable memories, and lastly, I want to express my deepest gratitude to the professors who have molded us into the graduates we are today."

As you scanned the audience, your gaze landed on Professor Romanoff, who sat upright, her expression unreadable. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. With a deep breath, you concluded your speech. "Thank you, and congratulations to the class of 2025!"

The graduation ceremony drew to a close, and the air was filled with joyous cheers and the clicking of cameras. As you mingled with your fellow graduates, collecting well-wishes and hugs, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. It seemed like everyone was drawn to you—your classmates, their families, even some of the professors. You were the center of attention, the summa cum laude, the valedictorian.

As you made your way through the crowd, congratulations ringing in your ears, a different sort of tension gripped you. You shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the growing pressure and the whispers that began to rise around you. Your swelling stomach was becoming more prominent by the second, stretching the fabric of your gown. You caught a few raised eyebrows and exchanged looks of confusion among your peers, their eyes glued to you.

The whispers grew louder, more urgent, as realization dawned on everyone. The batch valedictorian delivered her speech with a baby bump that had been concealed beneath flowing gowns and baggy clothes all semester, but now there was no hiding it. Exactly four months along, your secret was suddenly the most spoken topic at this joyous event.

Tony stood near enough to be seen by you, a bouquet of roses hiding behind his back. He had been about to confess his feelings, to tell you that your intellect and beauty had captivated him all these years you had been rivals. But now, as he noticed the unmistakable curve of your belly, while you noticed how he stepped back. His perfectly prepared speech shattered in his mind.

He walked away from you as if he was disappointed in you. At the same time you could feel the shift in the atmosphere, not just from him but the disappointment radiating off the crowd like a physical force.

You tried to smile at those around you to mask the dam that is going to break soon, but you still held your chin up with the little courage and confidence you had left in you.

"Mama, I'll just talk to someone. I'll meet you in the car." Your mother has been very supportive of you, yes, she scolded you when she got the news that you were pregnant. She always looked up and expected more from you, but still, she accepted and took care of you.

With a deep breath, you marched down the corridor towards her office. There were no people around and that's when it suddenly hit you. Tears started rushing down your cheek as your heels clicked urgently against the polished floor even though your OB gyne told you to stop wearing elevated shoes, you wiped them away frantically because you don't want to face her feeling vulnerable like this. The determination etched on your face chased away any lingering doubts. You were going to face this head-on, consequences be damned.

As you pushed open the door, she glanced up from her desk, surprise momentarily flashing across her features before smoothing into a smirk.

She leaned back in her leather chair, folding her hands atop the polished wood. "Y/N, to what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

"Natasha…" she is not your professor anymore, you are way past that now. Right at this moment, she is just Natasha. You stepped forward, your hand traveling down your stomach. Your built up mask breaks, feeling vulnerable and exposed in front of her. You held back your tears, shaming yourself. "I have never been with anyone but you. I'm pregnant…I-I think you got me—"

She got your message, of course she did. Because this is exactly how she planned it to be, her claiming you in a way you didn't expect, you running back to her all vulnerable, and her turn saying…

"It was a mistake."

[innerfare]

You’re Jealous

 Summary: You get jealous of someone else in his life.

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, and Kid

Genre: Slight Angst // Fluff

CW: None // SFW

——— 

Luffy:

He never told you Boa Hancock was in love with him, and when you find out, you have to remove yourself from the situation before you have an emotional outburst and start something with the Pirate Empress. The problem is, you don’t even know which emotion will spill out of you. Finding out the world’s most beautiful woman, and a powerful Warlord, no less, is desperate to marry Luffy is a whirlwind, to say the least. Luffy can seem clueless at times, but his emotional intelligence is through the roof, and he picks up on what has you upset almost straight away. He knows to give you some space, and when he senses you’re ready, he approaches you with a handful of wildflowers he picked. He doesn’t really say much, just pulls you into a hug, presses a few kisses into your cheek and temple, and says in your ear, “you’re my girl.” 

Zoro:

He didn’t mention Perona was also at Mihawk’s castle for those two years until a few months after the crew gets together. He tells a story that features her, and you realize there was a woman keeping him company. Your heart drops into your stomach. Zoro insists he didn’t mention her because he didn’t think she was relevant; the only thing Perona did those two years was annoy him. He’s actually the one who won’t let it go, not you (even though you are pretty jealous). Whereas you’d prefer not to talk about it, Zoro is wracked with guilt because he’d never considered the whole thing in a relationship context. Him fretting constantly over it actually heals your jealousy because you realize you’ve never seen him panic over the prospect of hurting anyone else’s feelings. 

Sanji:

Even with a third eye, Pudding is stunning. And Sanji almost married her. It was before you two were together, but listening to the stories from Whole Cake, hearing how close he came to marrying another woman, knowing she really did fall in love with his kind heart and wonderful cooking, turns you into a little green monster. You know you shouldn’t feel jealous of a woman you’ve never met before, a woman Sanji chose not to marry, but you can’t help it. Sanji is completely shocked that you would feel jealous over his relationship (if it could even be called that) with Pudding, though after thinking about it some more, he does realize why you might be jealous that he had a fiancé. His solution is to bring you a bouquet of roses and walk you through the dark details of his life, telling you things he’s never outright told anyone, so you understand the special place you have in his life. 

Ace:

He collects people without trying, and often times, without realizing, either. Ace thinks he’s just making friends, but you see the way the women he laughs and shares drinks with are drawn to him like plants to the sun. He promises them freedom and adventure (and he has a very nice laugh), and you can see how it excites them. You don’t really mind it, knowing Ace well enough to see the way he holds those women at arm’s length, even if he seems close with them (such is the magic of Fire First Ace). But Yamato makes you jealous. It’s not hearing the way they laughed together but hearing the way they fought that gets to you. You know how Ace lives to fight and even just roughhouse, you know how he’s a rough and tumble guy, and you worry you’re not tough enough. Should you be punching his arm when he makes a joke? Should you be trying to trip him out on deck? What should you be doing? When you finally come clean with Ace about what’s been bothering you, he actually laughs. “If I wanted to be with someone who gives me hell, I’d be sleeping in Marco’s cabin every night. Besides,” he says, scooping you up in his arms, “I like being able to manhandle you.” 

Sabo:

Sabo is a flirt, and you knew that going into your relationship. It actually doesn’t bother you when he flashes that charming smile of his at someone else or swoops in to save a damsel in distress (a speciality of his) and even serves to entertain, especially on the rare occasions his flirtations are rebuked. What does bother you, though, is his tight relationship with Koala. You know it’s ridiculous to be envious, you know Koala would sooner saw off her arm than kiss the man she considers her irksome big brother, but they’ve known each other since they were little kids, and Koala has been through so much with Sabo that the pair have such a close bond. It’s not the angry kind of jealousy that bubbles up in you when Koala mentions something about Sabo’s past that she assumes you know but you don’t, just the sad kind that you try to keep to yourself. Surprisingly, Sabo notices, though you don’t realize until he hugs you from behind and mumbles in your ear that he’s glad you’re the only one who knows he has a skincare routine, his silly words diffusing your mood and acting as the exact affirmation you needed. If it’s not enough, though, he’ll happily prove his loyalty to you by challenging Koala to a karate match, though.  

Law:

Dr. Law and Dr. Robin sure do get along well- so well, in fact, you can’t help but wonder if they are better suited to each other than you and him. Even if they didn’t have such good chemistry, it would be impossible not to feel a touch of jealousy toward the archeologist. She’s intelligent, beautiful, fiercely loyal, a member of the Straw Hats, and has an impressive bounty that she earned even before she became a pirate. Needless to say, you find yourself brooding when the Robin brings him a beer and sits down beside him to discuss the immune systems of fishmen, a topic both are rather interested in. Of course, you’re interested in that, too, thus the reason Law realizes something is wrong when you don’t participate in the conversation. He ends up excusing the two of you and taking you to bed, worrying you had too much to drink, the thought you may be jealous never once occurring to him. You end up not saying anything (many thing in your relationship with Law being unspoken) and just sleeping it off, the fact that he excused the two of you proof enough of his loyalty. 

Kid:

He doesn’t ever talk about his first love, Victoria. In fact, you didn’t even know she existed until Killer got drunk one night and began speaking of his dearly departed. What he didn’t mention was that Kid, too, had been in love with her. It only comes up the next night when you mention it to Wire, who mentions it was the death of his first love, Victoria, that put Kid on the war path and united the first four members of the Kid Pirates. Realizing Wire messed up, Heat chimes in to say, “he’d do the same for you.” But you’re not convinced, mainly because Kid never told you any of this. It tears you apart, leaves you tossing and turning for nights on end, until you finally burst into Kid’s workshop one night ranting about how he doesn’t trust you and holds you at arm’s length. “Heat says you’d do the same for me, but-” Kid cuts you off and says, “I wouldn’t do the same, I’d do worse. Much, much worse.” And from the wicked gleam in his eye, you’re inclined to believe him. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[loveemagicpeace]

Astro Notes

Scorpio & Virgo moon have the most difficult relationship with their mother and are usually critical. With Virgo moon, the mother is very critical and can make you feel like you are never enough and often compares you to relatives. And gives examples of how others are better than you. It can also be a mother who is a little possessive or strange. With Scorpio moon, the mother can be possessive, secretive. Maybe she wants to control you or tell you what's good for you in life. A relationship with her can be intense.

People with capricorn sun and rising their face, facial features, stand out a lot, also the jawline is very visible. They have very prominent bones. So when you look at them you can immediately see that they have a Capricorn. And many times their moon is not so noticeable on their face. Especially if they have a water moon, it is sometimes almost unnoticeable.

People with cancer and gemini in their chart are very goofy. Their moods can change quickly and they can go from laughing to crying. They like to do multiple things in a day and tend to be more introverted by nature. They like to make the most of their time at home and focus on themselves.

Aries placements mixed with 12th house -You can be very independent and self-centered. Know how to be yourself and enjoy your own company without feeling bad. It feels like you're floating above the clouds.

Mars in 12th house maybe you didn't notice it as much as you did as a child, but as you grow up, you can do a lot of things on your own and rely on yourself. Especially if you have Mars in a fire sign, you can find out a lot about yourself and your energy. Energetically, you can feel very good about yourself. When you are with yourself you can feel a calm and peaceful energy within yourself. Many things that you never imagined doing alone, you start to really enjoy over the years, for example: going for a coffee alone, going for a walk alone, enjoying the sea, writing by the sea, even traveling can be very enjoyable. Aries mars -When you are alone, you discover who you really are and you can connect deeply with your own energy. Leo mars-When you're alone, you can find out where you really shine and how you feel most seen, doing hobbies that make you happy. Sagittarius mars-When you are alone, you can discover what you truly believe in and you can find faith in yourself and a new path.

9th house placements people - They can find meaning in life through travel. Many times they can find a higher self and optimism through bad times. They can impart a lot of knowledge to others and can be very good motivators, teachers. They have a lot of knowledge and are very intelligent. Wise people who will always impart a lot of knowledge and advice to you that you will think about a lot. Very smart people, and they know how to impart knowledge and advice in such a way that when you talk to them you get a new perspective on yourself and life itself.

Moon and Mars they differ in what you need emotionally and where you energetically want to be and actually act. The moon is your safe space, your comfort zone, and where you feel very good. And what do you do to feel better emotionally. It can sometimes also represent an escape from the real world. But things are felt from within, the moon is really the most hidden planet - something you don't share with everyone. Also how you subconsciously feel and how you deal with emotions. Mars represents how you get things done and how your energy will manifest. Your response to your surroundings and how you will show your energy to others. Mars shows your response to conflict, anger, joy, sadness, pain.

You will get along best with the person whose Venus and Mars fall in open houses. This applies to friendships, partnerships - all relationships. Because Venus represents the kind of relationship you have, how you express love, or your general attitude towards each other (what you value and how you value things). When you and a person have a similar or identical love language, it's much easier. Mars indicates the energy between you and how you give it, where you give it. You will be interested in the same things and the energy between you will not be so draining. For ex.: mars in sagittarius in 12th house -You like to put your energy into things that bring you peace, joy, optimism, passion and at the same time spirituality. A feeling of calmness (that you are somewhere and you just exist). The person with mars in gemini in 11th house can quickly drain your energy because you will feel that the person is too much on all sides and that they are giving too much energy through mentality, socializing. The person with mars in taurus in 8th house could make you feel like sometimes you can only be in silence and enjoy the moment.

When Saturn moves into your 7th house your perspective on relationships changes a lot and you start to value completely different things than you did before. You start looking much more for stability and a relationship that you know will be serious and that you will feel good in. But it can also translate into loneliness and alienation from people. You can quickly feel lonely around people.

Saturn represents what you lack, what you fear, and where you are doing better over the years.What improves in your adult years. Saturn in Aries- Your mission is to find yourself, stand up for yourself (your desires, needs), show your energy outwardly without fear. To confidently approach problems and things and to present yourself in a courageous light. Choose yourself and not others. Saturn in Taurus -You have to find beauty and value within yourself, don't compare yourself to others. Saturn in Scorpio- Here are the things in your life that could be darker. You can also have a weird relationship with the unknown. There is also usually a bit of paranoia that  comes with this placement.

Venus in Capricorn is very tricky Venus, because you want a serious relationship and a partner with whom you can build and create a beautiful, pleasant relationship, you don't really demand much and you can be non-judgmental of partners. But you are often disappointed and hurt and this can lead to you closing yourself off and becoming sensitive, cautious. Many times it can also happen that you are rejected and that you are not chosen one. When true love comes, it can take a long time to let the person in. Many times they propose things (as a kind of "contract" that they make in a relationship with another person) but many times it happens that they then want to change things. Especially when they want things to be easy then suddenly they feel that they still want something serious. They will never want " fun things" even if they say so at the beginning, they actually want something different but it takes time for them and they want to build something with the person.

Taurus often owns a house or apartment. They are also very driven to create a life that is stable. Many Taurus are naturally attracted to the countryside. They usually always have a garden at home - they like to be surrounded by plants. In their free time, they like to watch their favorite series and meet up with friends for lunch. They value comfort.

Cancers like to spend time at home and close to people they know. Many Cancers live in the country or somewhere with a more peaceful environment and they don’t like too much stress, people and crowds. They like a place that is stable, comfortable and emotional. They also like to live in places that are connected to history and like to live by the water. Many Cancers collect antiques or historical items.

Leos always create a home they are proud of and add things that make their home shine. They also sometimes have the need to show off. They like to have the things they have - only they have them or to decorate a home with them, making it shinier than others. Sometimes they can be competitive with people for what they have and want to have something better than others. They like bright colors at home because too many neutral colors can make them depressed. They want their home to be as vibrant as possible. They do not tolerate poverty well.

-Rebekah💗🌊

[godjustkys]

PLEASEPLEADEPLEASE bottom Bucky Barnes......... maybe reader saving Bucky from Hydra, taking him home, offering care and affection. Reader doing all sorts of stuff for Bucky, finding him a good therapist, making sure he sleeps and eats well, giving him reassurance. It's just a matter of time before Bucky falls in love and shyly confesses, reader being eager to start a relationship.Relationship seemed to escalate quickly , from holding hands to kissing, typically reader making the first move. However, reader would find any excuse to not move it further to the bedroom. Bucky pent up and frustrated and one day takes the matter in his hands.

THEME: bucky wants you. he wants you bad.

CHARACTER: male reader x bucky barnes

NOTE: taking care of bucky in all the ways possible, yes I love it >:) plus an emotionally intelligent reader because WHO CAN STOP ME?

p.s. requests are always open!

WARNING: praise,, yearner!bucky,, eventual smut,, big dick!reader (i can't help it..),, pillow princess!bucky,, very light nipple play,, dirty talk,, creampie,, unprotected sex,,

bucky was.. in shambles, to say the least. he was sitting in your car after his therapy session, eyes a bit wide as he stared out of the windshield. you found him in distress near a hydra base. you took him in more than half a year ago. like some dog. you didn't care how hostile he was towards you, you took your time, you were patient. if you told bucky a year ago that he would actually fit into society, poor guy would never believe it. “how was it?” your voice cut his thoughts off and he gave you a small glance, blinking more times than necessary. “she was okay.” bucky muttered. okay? god, that therapist was amazing.

you had taken him to seven different therapists already. at first, with the first three, bucky came up with excuses on why they were awful to him because the thought of therapy made him uncomfortable and he didn’t think he needed it. though, soon enough, he realized you weren’t giving up and he was going to have to go to therapy either way. he did throw a couple hissy fits here and there, but then bucky found himself wanting to comply with what you ask of him. why? he didn’t know.

“that’s better than that ‘fuckass bitch’ of a therapist you went to see a couple months ago, right?” you quoted his words, keeping your eyes on the road as you smiled. bucky’s eyebrows furrowed slightly and he shifted in his seat. “yeah.” he uttered begrudgingly. he wasn’t lying, that one therapist seemed like he liked to play pretend, plus he was just downright awful and inconsiderate. and he charged a lot of money for a single fifty minute session. couldn’t even spare the last ten fucking minutes.

after you got home, you heated him up a meal that you made in the morning. considering he was a super soldier, you took your time making food for him that had enough calories to fulfill his hunger without making him overeat. bucky was sitting at the kitchen island on a stool, his hands on the counter itself as he oh so patiently waited for his meal. you would never get this out of him, but he loved the way you made his food and how you let him eat snacks he wants. bucky was swinging his feet off of the stool a bit, in an unconscious manner as he waited. after you set the plate of food down in front of him, bucky stared at you, watching you put the utensils next to the plate. “eat up,” you said softly, patting his shoulder a couple times. “yea. thanks.” he got out, his heart fluttering as he looked at his food.

after another week or so, bucky realized he was in love with you. like, he was down bad. sure, he was a bit behind on today’s society, given the circumstances of his situation, but he was no fool. he started getting more.. physical with you. more of touching, which you had avoided and tried to do as less as possible, once again, given how uncomfortable he was with it. the two of you were sitting on a couch, watching a movie. bucky was sitting not too far from you, eyeing you the whole time and not once looking at the TV screen. “can i- lie down?” he asked softly, his voice a whisper. oh yeah, these questions you got a lot of recently. “yea, ‘course, go ‘head.” you told him with a small nod. you had placed a pillow in your lap just because, but bucky used it as an opportunity. he laid his head down in your lap on the pillow, turning to his side and facing the TV. that wasn’t what you were expecting at all. you smiled, not saying a thing to avoid making bucky uncomfortable. he settled, his cheeks heating up barely. the feeling made his brows furrow but he ignored it. during the night, bucky barely slept. due to the nightmares and the fear of having those nightmares again. but now, he was completely content and asleep.

when he woke up, it was already dark out, but you were still there. his metal arm was placed just above your knee, gripping slightly. you didn’t move his hand. you trusted him. the realization sent a pang of affection through bucky and he started shifting. that was only one instance though. he had his own room, but he would come in the middle of the night to yours, holding a pillow in his hand, his hair messy and face scrunched up, asking if he could sleep with you for the night. even though he was so reluctant about it, and don’t forget snarky, he always got comfortable next to you, even if he was facing away. the more time passed, the more he started sleeping in your room.

“do you like me?” bucky blurted out, his voice flat as he stared at the plate of food. the two of you were having dinner in silence. until this moment, to be exact. you looked up at him and raised a brow. “i’m taking care of you, aren’t i? i wouldn’t be if I didn’t like you and who you were as a person.” you responded calmly after chewing your bite. “i meant like a.. a significant other,, or something. do you like me like that?” he made eye contact with you, his facial expression giving his nervousness away. you paused. “what makes you say that?”

“i like you.” bucky stated, his hands in his lap, fidgeting with his fingers as he looked at the table instead of you. “maybe I’m not supposed to. but i do. is that stupid?” he was starting to second-guess himself. almost immediately. “it’s not weird.” you reassured him. “i like you, too.” you placed your fork down. “do you want our relationship to change? or is the way that we are right now enough for you?” you inquired gently, not wanting to pressure him at all. “it’s okay for us to be together, right? It’s normal now?” his eyes met yours, his voice trembling just a slight bit. he was so nervous, so shy. for the first time around you, he was being vulnerable. “people are tolerant nowadays, it’s okay.” you, once again, reassured him.

“then, what.” bucky said. “what does that make us, if we’re in a relationship?” yeah, 40’s were a bit rough.. “boyfriends.” you gave him a simple answer. “we can be that.” he muttered, lifting up his fork and picking at the food with it for a moment. “okay, boyfriends it is.” you grinned, turning your attention back to your food. after this incident, cuddles ensued. seriously, bucky was sticking to you like velcro. at night, he would sleep soundly in your arms. when you went to the gym to work out, he would constantly ask you to spot him even though he never fucking needed it, he just wanted you there. he would have his arms wrapped around you as you made food. he would be glued to your side if you were sitting on the couch or he would he holding your hand whenever he could if you would be doing tasks around the house.

you started giving him gentle kisses; not on the lips, you thought it was too soon. On his forehead, on his cheek, on the corner of his mouth.. but.. after this kiss - the kiss you gave him just now, on the corner of his mouth, had him staring at you, his lips slightly parted. you noticed it, staring right back. “what?” you said. bucky shook his head ever so slightly, shrugging his shoulders. “nothin’..” he mumbled, his gaze shifting to your lips. ah, he wanted a real kiss? you gave in after a moment, the look on bucky’s face almost guilt-tripping you. pressing your lips to his in a tender and sweet kiss, bucky just stood there. after you pulled away and offered him a smile, bucky fucking folded. his abdomen tensed as he felt nothing but butterflies in his stomach.

that kiss heightened bucky’s bravery. he would kiss you in the most random moments possible; when you were on a phone call, when you were washing cups, when you were writing, in summary, whenever he wanted. you didn’t mind at all, to be honest. he was getting comfortable around you, opening up to his therapist more, sleeping better, eating better, all the good stuff. though, what started frustrating bucky was when you would avoid his advances. at first he thought you were uncomfortable with it and he was ready to stop trying to take it further. but no, you wouldn’t go along with it because you weren’t sure it was truly what he wanted. another week passed and bucky was reaching his limit. he kept muttering ‘i’m ready’ or ‘let’s do it’ to you when kissing turned to making out, but like every other time, you would stop him from taking it further.

you were sitting on the couch, watching a show. it was late at night and bucky already went to sleep. or so you thought. the only thing illuminating the living room was the TV. your attention shifted to the sound of footsteps, bucky’s bare feet barely even making noise. he stopped not too far from you, an exaggerated frown on his sleepy face, his hair messy. he was standing there, only in his boxers, dejected, his shoulders slumped and hunched forward slightly. “why aren’t you in bed.” he muttered grumpily, his voice groggy from sleep. oh, he must’ve woken up and not found you in bed yet. “i’ll be there in a minute, buck. i’m sorry.” you told him with a small apologetic smile, your gaze shifting back to the TV. bucky stood there for a moment, and once you made no move to get up and get in bed with him, he huffed. he waddled forward, stepping in front of you to climb into your lap, his knees on either sides of your thighs, arms wrapped around your shoulders and face buried in your neck. you almost shivered; due to his cold metallic arm. “bucky, c’mon.” you muttered, placing a hand on his back as he settled. he let out a small groan of protest, making himself comfortable. as if he wasn’t a 260 pound man. you placed your other hand on his waist, your touch light. bucky lifted his head up, pressing a short, slow peck to your lips. then again. and again. and again. until you were making out with him.

you hummed against his lips, both of your hands now on his hips, just holding him gently. “i’m ready.” bucky said between the kisses, which eventually turned sloppy due to the added tongues. “i’m fucking ready so just..” he paused, his tongue sliding against yours almost desperately, eyes shut tightly and eyebrows furrowed. he pulled back to speak. “just fuck me.” he breathed, his chest rising and falling as he regulated his oxygen intake. you were about to protest, like always, but bucky cut you off. “no bullshit, okay? you think— you think i won’t stop you if i don’t like something?” he said impatiently, his hips pressing more firmly to yours. you inhaled sharply at the sensation, eyes locked onto bucky’s.

carrying a man of pure muscle while feverishly kissing him wasn’t so easy, but you did it, placing him on the bed and crawling on top of him, your legs between his spread thighs. despite holding back, god did you want this for so long. “m’sorry i made you wait..” you muttered softly, your lips trailing down his neck to his chest, a soundless gasp leaving bucky’s lips. his hands were resting lightly on your shoulders, as your own were fixing his position up, pulling him closer to you by his thighs. he squirmed underneath you as your lips teasingly grazed his nipple. “ghh..” he groaned out, pressing his head to the pillow underneath. you teased the bud, swirling your tongue around it and sucking lightly. he squeezed your shoulder with his right hand, avoiding the use of his metallic one for now.

bucky’s chest was heaving, his half-lidded eyes staring down at your face as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. god, he was pretty. you pulled your mouth away, distracting bucky with small gentle kisses across his torso as you spoke. “don’t have lube.” you managed between your ministrations. “don’t care..” bucky breathed, his metal arm trailing up to the back of your head. his fingers grasped at your hair, letting out a soft pitiful whine. bucky’s chest was rising and falling in heavy, shaky breaths, his body already glistening with sweat. his hair was stuck to his forehead, lashes heavy as he looked up at you from where he laid spread open on the bed. he looked ruined — and you hadn’t even touched him properly yet. his metal hand tightened in your hair, keeping you close as your mouth pressed lazy kisses down to his inner thighs, just teasing him, savoring the way he twitched under you. bucky wasn’t trying to be tough tonight. he wanted to be touched. “you sure?” you asked quietly, sliding up his body, nudging his nose with yours. bucky nodded once, quickly, breath catching when your bulge brushed against his clothed cock. “yeah. i want it. just do it.”

you pressed your lips to his in a deep, slow, filthy kiss, reaching down to discard bucky’s boxers in a rather swift movement. he made soft little sounds against your mouth as he assisted you, the cool air making him shiver. after somehow stripping yourself down between the kisses, you stroked yourself a couple times, spreading the precum that was already on your tip; you couldn’t help it, he was just so perfect. you carefully lined yourself up, your hands moving to grip bucky’s thighs as you pushed in inch by inch, giving him time to breathe, to adjust. bucky’s back arched off the bed, his metal hand clawing at your scalp as his voice broke into a soft, desperate whimper. “Ahh—f-fuck..”

“relax, baby. i got you,” you whispered, brushing his hair back and out of his eyes, your lips dragging down his stubbly jaw. bucky whimpered again; a quiet, helpless sound. his muscles trembled under you as you sank in deeper. his legs wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer even though his eyes were already glassy with the painful stretch. “God, you’re— fuck—” he muttered, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. eventually, you bottomed out and stayed there, pressed deep inside, letting him feel all of you. your hands roamed all over his body slowly — his hips, his stomach, his chest; it grounded him. “you’re doing so good,” you said softly, kissing down his cheek to his throat. “you’re perfect like this. so tight, so warm…” bucky let out a soft moan at that, almost a sob, his hand clutching at you like he needed something to hold onto or he’d drift away. then you pulled back, just a little, and rolled your hips in a slow, grinding motion. “oh god—” bucky gasped out, nails digging into your back. “again.. don’t stop—”

you started fucking him slowly, letting the rhythm build, the slick sounds of skin on skin and bucky’s broken little moans filling the room. his mouth hung open, whimpering with every thrust, his head lolling back against the pillow. “you like that, buck?” you asked, fucking into him a little harder. “you like being filled up like this? is this what you wanted?”

“yes,” he groaned, voice cracking, “yes, I love it— I love you, fuck—!”

you stilled barely for a moment, stunned, looking down at him. bucky’s eyes fluttered open, pupils blown wide and eyes wild. “i meant it,” he whispered softly, “i— i meant it.” with that sweet little reassurance, you kissed him hard, possessive, fucking him deeper now. bucky broke open under you completely, moaning with every thrust. “i love you, too. so much.” you rasped out, your hands resting on his ribs. “m’right here, buck. gonna fuck you nice and deep ‘til you forget everything else. just me and you. jus’ me ‘n you, sweetheart.” your voice got more slurred at the end, but for what it’s worth, it made bucky clutch you tight, as if wanting to mold his body against yours. pitiful, filthy sounds left his pretty lips as you dragged your cock out slowly, only to push back in just as deep, the force of your thrusts making the bed creak. your fingers were soothing his burning skin like you were trying to keep him together while tearing him apart. the way he stretched around your cock, no, forget that, the way he clenched when you pushed harder.. you were starting to regret waiting this long.

you were moving with control; the kind that made it worse for him. you weren’t speeding up, just fucking him deep, steady, and full. like you were trying to make his hole commit every singular inch of your cock to memory. “ghh— ah- i can’t—” bucky whined, his breath ragged, his hole clenching around your length. “you’re b— being mean,” he practically sobbed out, his eyes screwed shut. “more.. c’mon..” he added, his mouth right next to your ear. your stomach was filled with nothing but butterflies at the sound of bucky’s broken voice, so you did what you had to — you sped up, fucking him rougher. his whines turned more frantic, louder, his moans got higher pitched and sloppier, less controlled, eyes fluttering closed if he even managed to get them open. the cold metal arm let go of your scalp and his hand trailed to the nape of your neck, the chilly vibranium material just sending a shiver down your spine. you let soft groans and grunts leave your lips. both of your hands trailed to his thighs, pushing them up slightly so you could get a better angle. once you did; oh holy fucking shit.

bucky choked on your name, his whole body jumping. he gasped sharply, his hand clamping down on your wrist. “f-fuck—what was that?” he gasped out. you did it again, slower this time — dragging your motion until his breath caught and a helpless, broken sound escaped him. his metal fingers gripped the pillow, knuckles tight, chest heaving. “there,” you murmured. “right there. that’s it, isn’t it?” bucky nodded, moaning through gritted teeth as you kept up the pressure. his body trembled beneath you, thighs twitching. his voice was wrecked— low and breathy, falling apart with every grind. his thighs locked around you more tightly, fuck, he even tried to squirm away the more you hit his prostate. “no no no, right— here.. stay, baby.” you murmured breathlessly, holding onto him firmly. he asked for this. he’s getting it. bucky was getting restless; writhing, his toes curling, muscles tensing, chest arching up. a literal mess, that’s what he was. he whined helplessly, the sound broken, bordering on a sob. he let go of you completely, both of his hands finding purchase above, on the headboard — he grasped it, throwing his head back simultaneously. his cock was leaking and twitching so much it was almost embarrassing. bucky’s abs clenched as you continued to abuse his prostate. “ah-hahhaaah—” he cried out, tears filling his waterline as he scrunched his face up.

bucky was unraveling beneath you.

bucky’s voice had lost all control — gone was the sharp discipline, the soldier’s restraint. low, needy, guttural groans were pulled out of him with each rock of your hips. he wasn’t even speaking in full sentences, just fractured words. “gunna— gunna cum— shit, i can’t..” he rambled, his voice breathless and hoarse. when you continued the relentless fucking, his voice got more raw and desperate. somehow, the deeper you managed to get in him, the more you drew from bucky — he was gasping his way through it, he even started chanting your name under his breath, like it meant salvation. “please,” he whimpered, voice trembling. “don’t stop— don’t stop— please, m’so close—!” you kissed the edge of his jaw and whispered against his skin, “then let go for me, baby. let me hear you, make a mess.”

and he did.

with a shuddering sob, body so taut and shaking, bucky came hard, breath punched out of him, his moans spilling uncontrollably from his lips. his legs trembled as he clung to you, riding it out with soft, broken sounds and whispered curses. almost at the same time you came inside him, your cock twitching as your cum pooled deep inside him. the feeling earned another pathetic whine and he subconsciously rolled into you, his hips stuttering. his body was slick with sweat, drool on the corner of his mouth and down his chin. his hair was a mess, as he was himself. thank god he made that move, otherwise he would’ve missed out on being fucked so damn good.

[solxamber]

Mission: Emotionally Compromised || Jamil Viper

Jamil’s greatest failure as a spy? Falling head over heels for the person he was meant to destroy.

this one is for @chocolatebearstrawberry who made the divider i use here!! i love you <3

As the CEO of one of the most powerful tech companies in the world, you’ve always prided yourself on two things: your razor-sharp business acumen and your ability to sniff out deception from a mile away.

Your competitors, on the other hand, have prided themselves on one thing: trying (and failing) to steal your technology.

For years, you’ve played a high-stakes game of corporate cat and mouse, batting away industrial spies like a bored housecat knocking expensive wine glasses off the counter. You’ve watched billion-dollar corporations sink millions into elaborate heists, only for their agents to fail spectacularly. Frankly, it's getting a little embarrassing for them.

But now, thanks to the untimely departure of your longtime secretary (who swears their early retirement has nothing to do with being bribed into luxury exile), you suddenly have a vacancy.

And judging by the pile of applicants currently waiting in the lobby, every single one of them is a spy.

The Parade of Intelligence Failures™:

First up is Agent Steve (probably not his real name), whose résumé is written in Comic Sans and lists "lockpicking" under "special skills." When you ask him about his previous administrative experience, he stares at you blankly for three full seconds before blurting out, "I can type… very fast?"

Next is Ms. Definitely-Not-Wearing-a-Wire, who keeps touching her ear like she’s communicating with someone. Midway through the interview, you distinctly hear a whisper from her earpiece: "Ask about the security systems."

Then there’s Tech Bro #5, who brings a USB drive and, while maintaining full eye contact with you, tries to plug it into your computer. Your computer. The one sitting on your desk. Right in front of you.

By the time Mr. Fake-ID Falls Out of His Wallet stumbles in, you’re fighting the overwhelming urge to launch yourself out the nearest window.

This is getting pathetic.

You’ve sat through twenty interviews of barely competent corporate espionage, and you’re ready to set up a PowerPoint presentation titled, "How To Spy Without Immediately Getting Caught: A Workshop For Morons."

Do they think you built a billion-dollar empire by being stupid? Do they think your years of fending off corporate espionage haven’t honed your bullshit detector into a finely tuned death laser?

You start debating whether to just hire a golden retriever and call it a day—at least dogs have loyalty.

And then he walks in.

Enter: Jamil Viper.

The moment he steps into your office, you know this one is different.

For one thing, his résumé isn’t riddled with typos or hilariously obvious red flags. His credentials? Flawless. His demeanor? Polished and professional, with just the right amount of charm—not so much that it feels like he’s trying to butter you up, but just enough that you actually want to keep talking to him.

And his entrance exam? He aces it. Perfectly.

Too perfectly.

There is no way in hell that someone this competent just happens to be looking for a secretary position. You know he’s a spy.

But unlike the human disasters before him, Jamil Viper is actually good at his job.

And if someone is going to try and infiltrate your company, wouldn’t you rather it be someone who at least has the decency to be competent about it?

You lean back in your chair, watching him carefully as he sits across from you, his expression unreadable. You wonder how many layers of deception he’s hiding behind that composed facade.

Slowly, a smile creeps onto your lips.

This could be fun.

Because if Jamil Viper thinks he’s going to outmaneuver you, then clearly, no one has warned him that you love playing with fire.

You slide the contract across the desk, extending your hand.

"Congratulations, Mr. Viper," you say, amusement dancing in your voice. "Welcome to the company."

His fingers are warm when they clasp yours in a firm shake. His gaze, sharp and assessing, lingers for just a second too long.

And just like that, you hire a spy to be your personal assistant.

This is either the smartest or the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.

And honestly? You can’t wait to find out which.

Jamil has never questioned his assignments before. His role has always been straightforward—he is given a task, he completes it with precision, and he collects his payment. There is no room for personal involvement, no need for unnecessary complications.

This particular job should have been no different. His directive was clear: infiltrate one of the most formidable tech companies in the industry, assume the role of a secretary, gain the CEO’s trust, retrieve the necessary proprietary data, and exit without raising suspicion.

A simple, methodical process. He estimated it would take no more than a month, perhaps two if the CEO proved particularly cautious.

However, the moment he steps into your office, Jamil recognizes that this assignment will not proceed according to the standard operational model.

You are perceptive. That much is clear from the outset. Your interview questions are sharp, carefully constructed to gauge more than just his administrative skills. You are watching him—not just listening, but studying, assessing. There is a calculating glint in your eyes that suggests you have already categorized him in some way, and he does not yet know whether that categorization is in his favor.

Then comes the moment that shifts the trajectory of his expectations entirely.

You lean back in your chair, fingers steepled as you regard him with an almost amused expression. "So, Mr. Viper," you say, voice laced with something close to mischief, "are you a spy?"

The question is absurd in its directness, yet the casual way you pose it makes it clear that you are not expecting a confession—you are testing him. A lesser operative might have faltered, might have hesitated for the fraction of a second that would betray uncertainty. Jamil, however, meets your gaze evenly, offering a measured smile.

"If I were," he replies smoothly, "would I admit it?"

You laugh—not a dismissive scoff, but an actual, entertained laugh, as if you are thoroughly enjoying this game. And that is what makes Jamil's stomach twist slightly. Because he is beginning to suspect that you already know.

The contract slides across the desk, a silent challenge. He watches as you extend your hand, the motion deliberate, expectant.

He has been in the industry long enough to recognize a trap when he sees one. And yet, despite every internal alarm warning him to be cautious, he shakes your hand.

He has taken on countless assignments in his career, but this time is different.

This time, he is not just infiltrating a company. He is stepping into a game.

And for the first time in his life, Jamil wonders if he is the one being played.

Jamil Viper is, quite frankly, the best thing that has ever happened to you.

You have run this company for years, clawed your way to the top with sheer wit and willpower, and in all that time, you have never known peace. Your life has been a never-ending cycle of fires to put out, idiotic employees making mistakes, and backstabbing business partners who think “compromise” means “stealing your ideas and pretending it was a collaborative effort.”

But then Jamil arrives.

Jamil, with his quiet efficiency and terrifying competence. Jamil, who doesn’t ask you to repeat yourself because he actually listens the first time. Jamil, who doesn’t need reminders because he remembers everything, down to how you like your coffee and which pens mysteriously go missing when your CFO visits.

For the first time in your career, you are leaving work at a reasonable hour.

You actually saw the sunset yesterday. The sunset. Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve seen anything but the dim glow of your office lights at midnight? You don’t. You’re afraid to check.

Your skin? Clear.

Your inbox? Organized.

Your sleep schedule? Still questionable, but at least now it’s due to personal choices and not business emergencies.

You are so overcome with gratitude that you nearly burst into tears when you realize you no longer have to threaten your vendors personally because Jamil handles it all with a few well-placed emails.

He is better than any assistant you have ever had. Possibly better than some of your business partners. Hell, at this rate, you wouldn't be surprised if he could run the company better than you.

Which is exactly why you can’t afford to let him go.

You know why he’s here. You are not naïve. He is undoubtedly a spy, sent to steal your technology, your secrets, your life's work. But the problem is that he is too good. You cannot afford to lose him.

So, you make a decision.

You will convert him to your side.

It’s not just about protecting your company anymore. No, this has become personal. Jamil Viper is yours now. He just doesn’t know it yet.

The numbers didn’t make sense.

You were good at numbers. Numbers were the only thing in this world that didn’t lie. Numbers were solid, unyielding, completely immune to human deception. And yet.

Your CFO had to be skimming. You’d suspected it for a while—no one bought that many first-class flights for “business conferences” that didn’t exist—but now that you finally had the time to actually dig into the company’s finances, you could feel it in your bones. There was money missing. Not a lot at once, just enough that a lazier CEO wouldn’t notice.

But you noticed. And now, sitting in your dark office, practically feral with frustration, you were going to find it.

Jamil peeks into your office, and you see his brows furrow in irritation. He steps inside without invitation, eyes flicking to your desk, to the stacks of papers, to you, hunched over and pulling at your hair like a mad scientist on the brink of discovery.

“…Why are you still here?” His voice is level, but you detect the judgment beneath it. “I made sure your schedule was clear. You should have been home by five.”

You make a vague, distressed sound—somewhere between a whimper and the dying gasp of an overworked CEO. “I have a mouse to hunt,” you say, still frantically flipping through documents. “A very cunning mouse.”

Jamil, to his credit, does not roll his eyes. He does, however, step forward and pluck the file from your grasp before you can protest. His sharp eyes scan the pages, his fingers flipping through them with practiced ease.

You watch as his expression shifts into something thoughtful, his lips pursing slightly, his brows furrowing in deep concentration. You can see his mind working.

Jamil is infuriatingly intelligent. He always has been. You knew it the moment he walked into your office for his interview and answered every question with precision so perfect it was almost suspicious.

But this—this is something else. His eyes flick from one line to another, scanning, calculating, searching.

And then it hits you.

His hair.

His stupidly perfect, annoyingly silky, meticulously styled hair.

The way it’s always just slightly different every day. Some days it’s neater, tied back with care. Some days it’s looser, like he didn’t have time to properly tame it. Some days it’s so perfect it looks effortless, which means it probably took him ages to get it like that.

Your brain connects the dots.

Your CFO’s expenses had fluctuations that made no sense at first glance. But what if—what if the embezzlement wasn’t consistent? What if he only siphoned money on certain days—days when he needed to make the numbers look normal, like a fluctuation in operational costs?

Like how Jamil’s hair was slightly different depending on how rushed he was in the morning.

Your eyes widen. You grab Jamil’s arm.

“It’s the payroll processing days,” you say, the revelation clicking together. “The numbers don’t match on payroll weeks because he’s hiding them within the irregular adjustments! He’s only stealing when payroll is being processed because that’s when the accounts fluctuate naturally.”

Jamil blinks, then looks back at the files, and you see it—the exact moment he finds the irregularity, the way his eyes sharpen, the way the corner of his lips twitch in mild irritation.

“…Huh,” he says, flipping back to double-check.

You beam at him. “Jamil, I could kiss you.”

He does not react, but his ears turn slightly red. He hands the file back. “Don’t. Just fire your CFO.”

“Oh, I will.” You grin, stretching your arms behind your head. “And then I’m going to have so much fun ruining his career.”

Jamil gives you a look. You pretend not to see it.

Jamil has worked for a lot of powerful people before. He’s seen how they act—detached, ruthless, calculating. People who don’t say thank you unless there’s an audience, people who treat loyalty as a transaction rather than a virtue, people who see their employees as numbers on a spreadsheet rather than human beings.

And then there’s you.

You, who smile at every single employee as if they’re the most interesting person in the world.

You, who face betrayals with an easy grin, as if it’s just another puzzle to solve.

You, who refuse to be jaded, as if the sheer weight of your responsibilities isn’t trying to crush you every single day.

Jamil has worked as a secretary before, long enough to know that this is not normal. It’s not normal for a CEO to approve leave requests without question, to cover all medical expenses without a fight, to sit down at the employee cafeteria and listen to people’s grievances like a normal person.

It’s definitely not normal for you to turn to him at the end of a long, grueling day—after uncovering a massive embezzlement scandal in your own company—and say, “Let’s get dinner. My treat.”

Jamil expects a high-end restaurant. The kind of place where the portions are offensively small, the food is questionably pretentious, and the bill alone could sustain an entire household for a month. The kind of place where people like you—people with power, people with money—go to flaunt their superiority.

Instead, you take him to a tiny, hole-in-the-wall restaurant run by an elderly couple who clearly know you on a first-name basis.

“Ah, welcome back!” the old woman greets you warmly, eyes flicking to Jamil with curiosity. “And who’s this? A date?”

Jamil chokes on air.

You laugh—loudly—and wave off the comment. “Nah, just my secretary! He helped me catch a mouse today.”

Jamil doesn’t bother correcting you.

The menu is scrawled in barely legible handwriting on a whiteboard near the counter. You order the greasiest, most artery-clogging meal he’s ever seen in his life. Jamil orders something safer, something that won’t take five years off his lifespan.

When the food arrives, you practically vibrate in your seat, taking a bite with the enthusiasm of a child eating their first piece of candy.

Jamil stares at you in mild horror. “You eat this every day?”

You grin, already halfway through your meal. “Yeah.”

Jamil doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

But he eats. He eats, and he listens to you ramble about ridiculous workplace rumors, and he watches you laugh so hard you snort when you make a terrible joke.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, Jamil finds himself laughing too.

Not because your joke is funny—because it isn’t. It’s awful, actually.

But maybe because your eyes shine too brightly in the dim light.

Maybe because you seem so human right now, so painfully, vividly human.

Maybe because he knows he’ll have to leave you behind soon, and yet here he is, eating unhealthy food and smiling at you.

Jamil has never questioned his jobs before. He gets paid, he gets the work done. Simple.

So why does it feel so different this time?

Jamil has worked for some eccentric people before. Billionaires with more money than sense, CEOs who thought meditation on top of a glass skyscraper would give them divine insight, a director who once insisted that his morning coffee had to be stirred exactly 72 times counterclockwise or the stock market would crash. He’s seen it all. Or so he thought.

And then there was you.

You were a genius, of course. No one could deny that. You had single-handedly revolutionized an entire industry and kept your technology locked down so tightly that even the best corporate spies had walked away empty-handed.

But you were also—how to put this nicely?—completely, utterly unhinged. Eccentric was too mild a word. You were like a mad scientist and a particularly stubborn golden retriever had been fused together in a tragic yet strangely effective laboratory accident.

Jamil has had a front-row seat to your absurdity for months now, but today? Today takes the cake.

He enters the office expecting chaos, but he still isn't prepared to see a bouncy castle taking up the center of the room. It is massive. Garish. A primary-colored monstrosity that clashes violently with the sleek, modern aesthetic of your office. It is also, for some reason, fully inflated.

Jamil watches as you bounce in deep concentration, your tie undone, your shoes discarded somewhere in the corner. Your movements are precise, like each jump is a carefully calibrated equation.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dare I ask?”

You pause mid-bounce, floating for a second in the air like some kind of enlightened acrobat before landing gracefully and turning to him with a grin. “I needed to think.”

“…So naturally, you brought a bouncy castle.”

“Of course.” You wave a hand, as if this should be obvious. “Sometimes, when my brain gets stuck, I just need a little kinetic stimulation. You know, shake up the neurons.” You jump again, flailing slightly before catching yourself. “It’s like—have you ever had a word on the tip of your tongue, and then you do something completely different and suddenly it comes to you? Same concept. Except instead of drinking water or taking a walk, I jump on an inflatable castle like a responsible adult.”

Jamil stares. His headache is already forming. “You’re going to break your neck.”

“Nope! Tested the weight limits. We’re good.” You bounce again, then stop abruptly, eyes widening. Your entire posture shifts, shoulders straightening, expression sharpening. You scramble off the castle, grab a nearby notebook, and start writing furiously.

Jamil watches, baffled, as you tear through an entire page with equations and diagrams, the kind of thing that would take a normal person weeks to conceptualize. And then you stop, beaming like a kid who just cracked open a piñata full of gold.

“I GOT IT,” you declare, spinning the notebook around as if Jamil has the clearance—or the desire—to understand whatever ridiculous breakthrough you just had. “This is going to make everything ten times more efficient! Jamil, this is genius.”

Jamil, who has not slept properly in three days because of this mission, who has already accepted that this job is going to either kill him or make him reconsider every life decision he has ever made, just sighs. “Great. So was the bouncy castle necessary?”

You turn back to him, eyes bright, smile wider than he’s ever seen. “Absolutely.”

And the worst part? The part that truly makes him question if he’s losing his mind?

He almost believes you.

Meetings like this made you wonder if you could get away with legally replacing the entire board with three possums in a trench coat. These relics in overpriced suits had two working brain cells between them, and one was currently occupied with nursing last night’s hangover.

They thought that their decades of mismanaging money somehow gave them wisdom. You would almost find it impressive, the way they clung to their illusion of relevance, if it weren’t so unbearably tedious.

You could fire them all, of course. You could clear this room in five minutes, clean house with a snap of your fingers, but you had held back out of sheer pity. They were close to retirement—one foot in the grave and the other on a luxury cruise.

Let them ride out their last few years clutching their outdated business strategies and egos. It wasn’t like they actually did anything.

But today? Today, you were at your limit.

Jamil was standing behind you, stone-faced, but you could tell he wanted to be anywhere else. His exhaustion mirrored your own. You’d been sitting here for an hour while they droned on about numbers they clearly didn’t understand.

Internally, you begged for something—anything—to spontaneously combust just so you’d have an excuse to leave. A small fire? A sudden, mysterious blackout? A divine intervention from the heavens themselves?

And then, as if the universe had heard you and decided to throw you a different kind of entertainment, one of them made a mistake. A grave mistake.

“—not that it matters to someone like you,” one of the old fossils sneered, voice soaked in condescension. “You just sit there and look pretty. Maybe that’s why you keep your secretary around—eye candy to brighten your day, hm?”

Silence.

Jamil felt the shift before he saw it. The room, which had been filled with the usual underhanded comments and the shuffling of papers, went utterly still. The air thickened, tension snapping tight like a bowstring.

You moved, slow and deliberate, sitting up from your languid position and resting your elbows on the table. Then, with a sharp crack that echoed through the room, you slammed your hand against the polished wood. Jamil was pretty sure he saw the surface splinter.

And then, you smiled.

“Say,” you said, your voice honey-sweet, “how’s your son’s wedding prep going?”

The man blinked, startled by the sudden shift in topic. “Uh—fine?”

“That’s wonderful.” You laced your fingers together, tilting your head like a benevolent ruler addressing a particularly stupid peasant. “I hope he has a strong savings account. And you, too, for that matter.”

His confusion deepened. “Why would—?”

“Because as of right now, every single one of you is fired.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

You stood, straightening your sleeves, your expression as calm as if you’d just commented on the weather. The rest of the board gaped at you, struggling to process what had just happened.

“Pack your things,” you continued, tone still sickeningly pleasant. “Security will escort you out. Your pensions will remain untouched—I’m not a monster—but your presence is no longer required. Effective immediately.”

Then, without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and strolled out of the room.

Jamil took a moment to savor the stunned expressions, the way the old man who had made the comment looked like he was trying to compute his own downfall in real time. He had seen you be cunning, eccentric, absurd, even, but this was the first time he had seen you wield your power properly. It was—

Well.

He wasn’t about to admit it was impressive.

Or flattering.

Not even as he followed you out the door, suppressing the smallest, most insufferable urge to smile.

You’re good at reading people. That’s what makes you such a good CEO. You can tell when a business partner is about to backstab you. You can spot a bad deal from a mile away. You figured out your CFO was embezzling money based on a hunch and a particularly sleepless night.

So why the hell can’t you figure out what’s going on with Jamil right now?

Your day is over. Your work is done. You’re walking out of the building, feeling suspiciously well-rested for once, because Jamil is the best damn secretary you’ve ever had.

And there he is.

Standing near the exit, very much still here, despite having clocked out hours ago.

You stop. Blink. “Jamil? What are you doing here?”

He startles like you caught him committing a felony.

Which, honestly, makes you even more confused.

Jamil is the picture of composure in any situation. He could talk his way out of a hostage negotiation, probably. He could charm a boardroom full of old, corporate sharks into agreeing with his terms.

And yet, right now, he looks like he wants to evaporate.

You tilt your head. “What’s up? You good?”

Jamil scowls like you’ve offended his ancestors. And then, without meeting your gaze, he thrusts a box at you.

"Eat properly," he grumbles. "Heaven knows you can afford it."

And then he turns on his heel and almost sprints out of the building.

You stare at his retreating figure. Then you stare at the box in your hands.

What just happened.

You consider yourself a genius. You built an empire with your own two hands. You have patents worth billions. You have business rivals who would kill to know what goes on in your head.

And yet, this one interaction has you completely, utterly lost.

It’s only when you get home that you actually open the box.

Inside is a clearly homemade meal. Balanced, nutritious, and suspiciously catered to your exact tastes.

You crouch down. Laugh a little.

And then you pull out your phone.

You: thank you <3

Meanwhile, In Jamil’s car:

He hears the message notification. Opens it. Sees your text.

And immediately slams his forehead into the steering wheel.

The honk that follows is so obnoxiously loud that a street cat outside lets out an ungodly scream and scrambles away like it just witnessed a murder.

Jamil exhales sharply. He grips the wheel like it personally wronged him.

You’re going to be the death of him.

Jamil does not get sick.

It is a fact as ironclad as his ability to keep a secret, as certain as the sun rising in the east and setting behind your ridiculous office where you concoct new ways to stress him out.

Jamil does not get sick because sickness is a weakness—an opening in his otherwise airtight, bulletproof existence.

And yet.

Here he is.

Dying. Absolutely, irredeemably, spectacularly dying.

His body betrays him completely, weighed down by a fever that could probably fry an egg on his forehead. Every muscle aches as if he has been tossed into a meat grinder, his throat is raw, and his head is a battlefield of pain and regret.

He barely manages to lift his phone and call you, the only person who needs to know why he’s breaking protocol and skipping work for the first time in his entire life.

The phone rings. Once. Twice.

And then—

“Jamil! What’s up?”

Too loud. Why are you always so loud? He winces, nearly drops his phone on his face.

“I… I can’t come in today.” His voice is hoarse, unrecognizable. Disgusting. He clears his throat, which only makes it worse. “I’m sick.”

There is a long, stunned silence.

Then, very, very slowly—

“You’re what?”

Jamil closes his eyes. He does not have the strength for this conversation.

“Sick,” he repeats, barely suppressing the urge to just fade out of existence right then and there.

Another pause. Then, in a tone that is so soft he almost doesn’t recognize it coming from you—

“…Oh.”

Something about the way you say it makes his stomach twist—though that could also be the fever.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” you say, genuinely concerned. “Rest, drink water, and if you need anything—”

He does not hear the rest.

Because he blacks out.

Jamil is sick.

Jamil, your unshakable, hyper-competent, borderline immortal assistant—the man who somehow pulls miracles out of thin air while looking vaguely unimpressed—is sick.

You expected betrayals, corporate espionage, elaborate counter-strategies in your ongoing war to get him on your side.

You did not expect this.

And worse—he sounded awful.

Not just tired. Not just mildly inconvenienced.

You sit at your desk for approximately three minutes, trying to convince yourself that it’s fine, that Jamil is a grown man who can take care of himself.

Then you Google “how to care for a sick employee” and make the deeply logical decision to immediately drop everything and go check on him yourself.

Which is how you end up outside his apartment, ringing the doorbell like a maniac.

There is no response.

You ring again. And again.

Nothing.

A small, horrible thought creeps in. What if he passed out? What if he hit his head? What if he—

Just as you're about to kick down the door in a move that would absolutely get you arrested, it creaks open.

And Jamil is standing there.

Barely.

He looks terrible.

His usual sharp, careful composure? Gone. His hair is an absolute wreck, his eyes are dazed, and his entire body is actively betraying him by swaying on his feet like a tragic willow in a storm.

You are horrified.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, stepping forward before he can literally collapse. “Jamil, you look—”

Like death. Like the very concept of suffering incarnate.

But you do not say this out loud, because you are a good person.

Instead, you step into his space and grab him before he keels over.

“You’re burning up,” you mutter, steadying him. “When was the last time you ate?”

Jamil blinks at you very slowly, like his brain is buffering at dial-up speeds.

“…Food?”

That is not an answer.

You curse under your breath and haul him back inside, which is a feat of great strength because he is all lean muscle and fever deadweight.

How did this happen? Why did this happen? Who let this happen?

Oh. Right. Him.

Jamil is going to die.

Not from the fever, no. That would be merciful.

He is going to die from sheer embarrassment because you—his boss, his greatest headache, his most infuriating problem—are here, in his apartment, fussing over him like some kind of divine punishment.

He barely registers you pulling out a thermometer and shoving it into his mouth with all the grace of someone who has never done this before.

The numbers blink back at you ominously.

“You’re burning up,” you mutter. “Okay, I’m ordering soup. And you are not moving until you eat something.”

Jamil tries to protest. He does.

But then you press a cool towel against his forehead, and—

Oh.

Oh, that is nice.

His body betrays him once again by relaxing into your touch.

By the time the soup arrives, he is too weak to even lift the spoon properly.

So you—without hesitation, without a single ounce of normal human shame—just feed him.

Like a child.

Like he is some helpless, pathetic creature.

Which, okay, maybe right now, he is.

But still. This is humiliating.

It is also the best soup he has ever had in his life.

Jamil finally falls back asleep.

And you sit there, staring at his peaceful, fever-flushed face, wondering how the hell this became your life.

You were supposed to be running a company, not playing nurse to your best-paid spy.

You should not care this much.

And yet.

You check his temperature again. Still high, but better.

You sigh, raking a hand through your hair, and grab your phone.

“Okay,” you mutter into the receiver, pacing the room. “But what do I do if he wakes up and refuses to rest?”

A pause.

Your voice drops, quieter. “Yeah, I know. I just don’t want him to push himself again.”

Behind you, Jamil shifts.

You do not notice.

But he notices you.

Your hair is mussed, your usual sharp, teasing grin replaced with something softer.

You look worried. For him.

Jamil stares, something twisting in his chest.

Oh.

Oh, he is so incredibly doomed.

You always knew Jamil was a spy. That much was obvious.

The way he answered every question perfectly in his interview? Suspicious.

The way he executed his tasks with military precision? Suspicious.

The way he didn’t try to subtly flirt with you or brown-nose like all the other incompetent spies before him? Extremely suspicious.

But he was competent. So stupidly, ridiculously competent. And you’d rather keep an enemy that made your life easier than deal with another incompetent fool.

Besides, you like playing with fire. So you decided to see how far you could push him.

So tonight, you left your office unlocked. Oh no. What a terrible mistake. If only someone didn’t sneak in and steal your files.

And to make things more interesting, you left some semi-important files open on your computer. Documents that looked serious enough to be tempting but wouldn’t actually do much damage if leaked.

Right before you left, you made sure to sigh dramatically in front of Jamil and say, “Ugh, these files have been keeping me up at night. I sure hope they don’t get leaked or anything.”

Then, you went to your surveillance setup, made yourself some popcorn, and watched.

Because of course Jamil was going to take the bait.

And sure enough, there he was.

You watch as he sits down at your desk. Silent. Focused. The very picture of efficiency.

You lean forward as he navigates to the files. Click. Click. Scroll. His fingers hover over the copy button.

And then—

He just… stops.

Your eyebrows shoot up. Oh?

Jamil stares at the screen like it personally insulted his honor. His fingers twitch over the keyboard, hesitating.

Your interest piques. He should’ve copied them by now. He’s supposed to be a professional, isn’t he?

He clicks out of the important files.

Your jaw nearly drops. What.

He clicks out. He clicks out. He actively chooses not to take anything of worth.

Instead, you watch as he scrolls past all the confidential reports—

—bypasses all the juicy, corporate secrets—

—ignores all the schematics—

—and copies a single folder labeled “raccoons_for_a_rainy_day.zip.”

You almost choke on your popcorn.

Jamil pauses. Stares at the screen for a long, long moment.

Then, as if committing a terrible crime, he ejects the USB, tucks it away, and swiftly leaves your office.

You sit there, stunned.

Because out of everything in your company’s database, out of all the valuable information he could’ve stolen—

He took your emergency raccoon meme collection.

You blink. Once. Twice.

And then, slowly, a grin spreads across your face.

Oh. Oh, this is delightful.

You knew you were converting him to your side, but this? This is proof.

Jamil, the competent, efficient, dangerously intelligent spy, had a perfect chance to complete his mission. And instead of betraying you, he chose to betray his employer instead.

For you.

How flattering.

You had dealt with a lot of strange things in your life. A lot. But this? This was definitely one of the stupidest.

Your old secretary—the one who took a bribe and fled like a rat from a sinking ship—was currently sitting in front of you, begging for her job back. Why? Who the hell knew. You had been certain that the bribe she took would have lasted her a few years, maybe even bought her a cute little vacation somewhere far away, but apparently, money couldn’t buy wisdom. Or, in her case, common sense.

You leaned back in your chair, fingers steepled together, watching her ramble through increasingly desperate justifications. I’ve changed. I’ve grown. I’ve learned from my mistakes. You doubted it.

Jamil stood beside you, completely unreadable, but you knew him well enough by now to recognize the signs of his barely contained fury. His shoulders were stiff, his posture rigid, and—most damning of all—his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

Oh, interesting.

Obviously, you weren’t rehiring her. She wasn’t even ten percent as competent as Jamil, and unlike her, Jamil wasn’t stupid enough to take a bribe when you were the one offering him far more than money. But this? This was a perfect opportunity to test something.

So you sighed, long and dramatic, before rubbing your temples as if this decision physically pained you. “I’ll consider it,” you said finally. “I’ll call you back once I’ve made my decision.”

Her face lit up, all eager gratitude, and she left the office with a bounce in her step.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, you stood, intending to grab a file from your cabinet—but you didn’t get far.

Because Jamil blocked your path.

You blinked at him, more amused than anything, but your amusement flickered into something softer when you saw his face.

He looked wrecked.

Not in an angry way, not even in a controlled, simmering fury. No—this was something else entirely. His eyes searched yours like he was trying to find some sort of answer, his breath slightly uneven, his expression utterly betrayed. He looked like you had punched him in the gut.

You had seen Jamil irritated, seen him exasperated, seen him indulge in rare moments of smugness when his plans went exactly as intended. But this? This raw emotion spilling out of him like a dam breaking—this was new. And you couldn’t stop the way your heartbeat stuttered at the sight.

“Why?” His voice came out hoarse, like he barely trusted himself to speak. “Why would you… Why would you even consider hiring her back?”

You tilted your head, keeping your voice light. “Why does it bother you so much?”

Jamil’s mouth opened—then snapped shut. You could practically see his thoughts racing, running too fast for him to catch up, but something cracked inside of him, because once he started speaking, he couldn’t stop.

“Did I mess up?” he demanded, voice sharper than he probably intended. “Was I not good enough? Did I do something wrong? Why would you—” He cut himself off, exhaling shakily, his hands twitching at his sides like he desperately wanted to reach for you. “You know she isn’t competent. You know she isn’t better than me.”

You hummed, tilting your head in faux thoughtfulness. “Of course, I’ll give you a different position,” you mused. “No need to worry about job security.”

Jamil broke.

Before you could even register the movement, he grabbed you.

His hands found your face, his fingers curling against your skin like he needed to ground himself, like he needed to prove something—and then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t polite. It was desperate, burning with frustration and something deeper, something so much more vulnerable than you had ever expected from him.

And then, hypothesis proven, you kissed him back.

For a moment, you simply blinked.

Jamil pulls away like he just touched something scalding, his breath uneven, his eyes wide with something close to terror. You watch as realization sets in—his own actions hitting him all at once, like a dam finally bursting and drowning him in the consequences of his own emotions.

“I—” His voice is hoarse, almost shaky, but he’s trying to regain control, trying to salvage something, anything. “I’m not who you think I am.” He says it like a confession, like a last-ditch effort to make you see reason, to make you step back and realize that you shouldn’t want him, that you shouldn’t choose him. “I was hired to—”

“My dear, sweet spy,” you interrupt, voice dripping with amused affection, “won’t you be mine?”

Jamil freezes.

You can see the exact second it dawns on him. The way his expression shifts from confused horror to pure, unfiltered disbelief. You knew. You always knew. Of course you did. He should’ve realized it sooner. You were too sharp, too perceptive, too you to have been in the dark about something so crucial.

And yet, here you were. Choosing him anyway.

His lips twitch. His shoulders shake. And then, he laughs.

Not a small chuckle, not a bitter scoff, but a real laugh, something rare and unguarded, something so genuinely light that it catches even him off guard. He laughs so hard that he nearly doubles over, his forehead dropping against yours as he exhales shakily, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

You feel his breath ghost against your skin, feel the warmth of him so close, and yet, there is no hesitation anymore, no careful, measured distance.

He shakes his head, still breathless from laughing, and when he finally meets your gaze, his expression is something unreadable, something painfully soft.

And this time, when he kisses you, there’s no fear left.

“…Fine,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard it. “I’m yours.”

You wake up to the warmth of an arm draped over your waist, the steady rise and fall of a familiar chest behind you. It’s a rare thing—to wake before Jamil. He’s always been the early riser between you, slipping out of bed before the sun has even had the chance to settle into the sky. But today, for the first time in two years, you’re the one watching him sleep.

Two years since his terrified confession. Two years since you pulled him into the kind of love neither of you had ever expected to find. Two years of whispered promises, stolen kisses, and a loyalty that runs deeper than any mission, deeper than any past betrayal.

The early morning light filters in through the curtains, soft and golden, catching on the matching rings on your fingers. A quiet proof of what you’ve built together. The sight makes something tender settle in your chest, and you press a kiss to his forehead, gentle and lingering.

Jamil stirs, brow furrowing for just a moment before he instinctively pulls you closer, his grip tightening around your waist. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, voice thick with sleep as he murmurs, “Why’re you awake so early…?”

You smile, carding your fingers through his hair as you whisper, “Go back to sleep.”

And as the warmth of him lulls you back into slumber, a thought drifts lazily through your mind—

"You sleep too," he grumbles, but it’s lazy, half-hearted. You can already feel his breath evening out, his body relaxing against yours once more. You keep stroking his hair, slow and rhythmic, feeling the last bits of tension melt from his frame.

Maybe playing with fire was the smartest move you ever made.

Masterlist

[taiyouhimerich]

Odysseus first encounter with his future wife🩷

cr by: taiyouhime

tw: just pretty fluff, and only my hcs of this young sweet tooth nightmare (bcz hes so sweet i cant)

YoungKing!Odysseus who has really hard time after he inherited his throne while being very young and obviously so inexperienced in terms of ruling Ithaca even though his father prepared him for this and Athena was still helping him a lot with some of her advice.

YoungKing!Odysseus who keeps being told by all of the councillor that he has to find a proper girl to marry and the future queen of his to rule, and he’s really nervous about it because he’s told every young king in Greece are wooing Helen of Sparta so he’s now full spread ahead to Tyndareus’ kingdom.

YoungKing!Odysseus who has spent several hours at the most boooooring dinner surrounded by all the kings from all over Greece, and he turns out to be the youngest of them all! Like he’s only seventeen and everyone else are at their early twenties at least! And even though he proves himself as mature enough to participate, as great hunter and as cunning dealer, they still call him small and keep dangling his age in front of him!

YoungKing!Odysseus who stomps over the paths through the garden of Tyndareus’ palace into its depths, fuming about another discussion where his, his great and clever words are followed by complementing his intelligence and then goes some “not so bad for youngster” kind of stuff. King of Sparta is not even looking at him while the discussion is about what should be the way of choosing who gets Helen’s hand in marriage, isn’t he worth enough of at least being spoken to only because of his age? He’s the king, he’s a good athlete, he’s intelligent, he’s mature, he’s not worse than any of the other kings, he’s—!

The soft laughter in a distance interrupts his thoughts.

YoungKing!Odysseus who follows the source of this sound just from… curiosity maybe or wanting to leave this nasty feeling behind. He gets to the edge of the garden, reaching a beautiful olive grove. And he sees her, a girl, a very beautiful girl, with her hair done prettily that have wind playing with her locks, surrounded by a group of maids, considering their simple dresses. And then she looks around and meets his eyes and—

Okay. Maybe he’s not mature. Like not at all, because he can tell his face is blushing and his knees are trembling and he feels so little right now because she waves at him with this pretty smile and his heart is beating harder then after training Athena gives him and, and—

He can’t remember what was in between this and him standing in his room at palace of Sparta. YoungKing!Odysseus feels so stupid and weak while he keeps banging his head against his door because heaven strike him he just ran away! He just saw the prettiest girl in his life smiling at him and it was enough to make him flee like a coward!

He used to make fun of Eurylochus’ feelings for his sister, finding it absolutely silly how a strong, hard, bulky warrior can fall in love with a princess at one sight, but now, now YoungKing!Odysseus is sorry for all those words and wants to take all of them back because otherwise he is now blushing like a maiden caught bathing just over some kind of pretty girl who just hardly looked at him once as well….

YoungKing!Odysseus, who gets to embarrass himself even more when she and her father Icarius are attending the next dinner with other kings almost accidentally, and she recognises him and she waves at him again and he can swear she’s giggling and he just wants to run away again and—

But then she leans to Tyndareus to kiss his cheek and says goodbye to her dear uncle, and this is how it hits YoungKing!Odysseus. That she’s a princess and she’s suitable for the councillors of Ithaca to accept her as their future queen and most of all.

He now knows he wants to marry only her.

i gonna make several parts of this im still giggling hehehhee

[flwrkid14]

The Unreachable Heart of Tim Drake

Everyone wants to be Tim Drakes favorite, but not for the reasons you might think.

It’s not about Tim’s intelligence or his quick wit, though those things are undeniably impressive. It’s not about the way he somehow manages to hold the entire Bat-family together, even as they fray at the seams. It’s not even about the quiet warmth he offers, the small moments where he lets his guard down just enough to remind everyone that he’s human, too.

No.

They want to be his favorite because Tim gives and gives and gives—until there’s nothing left of him to take.

———

Bruce wants to be Tim’s favorite because it’s easier than admitting how badly he’s failed him.

Tim is a reminder of every mistake Bruce has made as a father, every time he turned his back or let Tim fall through the cracks. He wasn’t there when Tim needed him most, when Joker turned him into something unrecognizable, when Tim clawed his way back to himself alone. Bruce thinks if he could just be Tim’s favorite, maybe it would make up for all the times he wasn’t enough.

But it doesn’t.

It won’t.

And Bruce knows it.

———

Dick wants to be Tim’s favorite because he doesn’t know how to fix the distance between them.

It wasn’t always like this. Once upon a time, Dick was Tim’s hero, the person he looked up to more than anyone else. But things changed, and the closeness they shared shattered under the weight of misunderstandings and unspoken words. Dick misses the boy who idolized him, who trusted him without question.

He wants to be Tim’s favorite because he doesn’t know how to be his brother anymore.

———

Jason wants to be Tim’s favorite because he sees too much of himself in him.

He knows what it’s like to be the one everyone forgets, the one who carries the family’s burdens without complaint, even as the cracks start to show. Jason doesn’t want Tim to end up like him—bitter, angry, consumed by the feeling of being unwanted.

But Jason doesn’t know how to show that. So instead, he fights for Tim’s attention, picking at him, challenging him, pushing him away even as he tries to pull him closer.

He wants to be Tim’s favorite because it would mean Tim still has room in his heart for someone like him.

———-

Steph wants to be Tim’s favorite because he’s the one she always chooses.

She loves him. God, she loves him so much it hurts sometimes. But Steph also knows Tim has walls he doesn’t let anyone past—not even her. He hides himself behind his work, behind his role as Red Robin, behind the pieces of himself he’s convinced no one else will ever understand.

She wants to be Tim’s favorite because she doesn’t know if he’s capable of letting her be anything more.

———

Cass wants to be Tim’s favorite because she sees what the others don’t.

Tim is tired. So tired he’s cracking beneath the surface, even if he’s too stubborn to show it. Cass sees the way he pushes himself, the way he gives and gives and gives until there’s nothing left. She wants to shield him from it, from the weight he insists on carrying alone.

But Tim doesn’t let her.

He doesn’t let anyone.

Cass wants to be his favorite because maybe then he’d let her take some of the weight.

———

Duke wants to be Tim’s favorite because Tim makes him feel like he belongs.

Duke is still finding his place in the Bat-family, still figuring out where he fits in this patchwork of broken people trying to make something whole. But Tim? Tim treats him like he’s always been part of it, like he’s not someone on the outside trying to find his way in.

He wants to be Tim’s favorite because Tim makes him feel seen in a way no one else does. And maybe, just maybe, being his favorite would mean Duke could give that feeling back to him.

———

Damian wants to be Tim’s favorite because he doesn’t know how else to be a brother.

It’s not like he’ll ever admit it. Not out loud. But there’s a part of Damian that craves Tim’s approval, that wants to hear Tim say he’s proud of him, that he trusts him.

But Tim is cautious around Damian, careful in a way that feels like distance. And Damian hates it—hates that no matter how much he’s changed, no matter how hard he tries, there’s still something fractured between them.

He wants to be Tim’s favorite because he doesn’t know how else to prove that he cares.

———

The truth is, everyone wants to be Tim Drake’s favorite because they know they aren’t.

Tim doesn’t play favorites.

He’s too careful for that, too afraid of what it might mean, what it might cost. He keeps himself at arm’s length, even from the people who love him most.

They want to be Tim’s favorite because maybe then he’d stop being so afraid to let them in.

But Tim doesn’t know how to do that.

And maybe he never will.

[weirdleeenough]

Drabble, Genius

Love looks different for eveyone.

Especially the ones with big brains and bigger destinies.

It might even look a little frightening.

Intelligence, Observation, Third-Person (Shikaku's Perspective), Childhood Friends to Lovers, Protective Parent, Shikamaru is Too Smart for his Own Good.

Nara Shikamaru / You

Nara's were smart.

It was pre-determimed.

Like red hair for Uzumaki's, or eyes without pupils in Hyuuga's.

They'd be born brilliant, and a little quieter, and a lot sleepier. Naturally, Shikaku Nara had these expectations for his own son.

His son wasn't a fussy baby. As soon as Yoshino placed his little behind to bed, he was out like a light. He ate whatever he was given, liked playing in the grass, chewed on his toys and then some. But sometimes, Shikaku thinks his baby pretends to sleep. He'd notice it the first time, when a toy had fallen out of the crib. Casually, Shikaku had bent over to pick it up, and met the wide beaming eyes of his son.

Shikamaru would stare. Breathe a certain way, lay a certain way. He was an actor, but even then it didn't alarm Shikaku.

Nara's were smart.

If his son turned out to be a cut above the rest, who could deny his genetic destiny?

So when his son got old enough to play outside with others, he'd allow it. Because his son's pretense was a way of being kind. 'Don't be frightened, I'm normal,' it was his way of saying that.

His son went out to play. He befriended a giddy Choji, and they did whatever kids that age do at the park. Yes, all was well. Until one evening, his son came to him holding the hand of a doe-eyed little girl.

Her face was round, cheeks soft enough to melt right off the bone. She laughed like thunder, said her name and then hugged his son goodbye. After she was gone, Shikamaru stared at him expectantly. Like he wanted his opinion.

At the time, he'd made some offhanded comment of approval.

He didn't really understand tiny Shikamaru's intentions until ten years later. When he'd made a habit of bringing her over regularly. He'd sleep clinging onto her, play shogi only with her most days. Smile only when she was around.

It was even more startling because at times, it felt like he was pretending around you too. Like if his passing touches were accidental. The way he spoke, the words he used. Like he was approaching loving you with a strategy.

And that became the moment of realisation for Shikaku Nara.

Where he'd pulled you aside awkwardly with a careful smile, a warning ready. 'Be careful,' he'd wanted to say. But you'd looked at him, big round eyes,

"It's okay. I know."

That was it.

That was all he needed to know about his little genius and the girl he'd chosen to fall in love with.

[yetrop]

Good Omens is autistic—here’s why!

First off, there’s the angelic/demonic nature of the protagonists

They’re trying to blend in with humanity, but have to pick things up as they go along

Because of this, the way they interact with and view people is different from the expected norm

Which also means they're often confused by human customs and find it difficult to read social cues (think Aziraphale asking Maggie if she actually thinks she isn’t crying later on in this scene)

Crowley has to hide his eyes, a part of his identity, from everyone except Aziraphale and the other demons for fear of seeming different/threatening/not human (masking in the most literal sense of the word)

Muriel is concerned with acting and speaking “correctly” to be seen as human

Even though both main characters don’t fit in with humanity because of their angelic/demonic nature, they also don’t fit in with their respective sides, who view them both as strange and don’t understand them. The only place they find acceptance/belonging is with each other. If that isn’t a neurodivergent (and very queer) storyline, I don’t know what is.

Next up, there’s Aziraphale as a whole

The way he stims

Loves routine, dislikes change

Gets uncomfortable when he has to break rules/disrupt order

Taking things literally— “You can’t drive my Bentley.” “I can— I have a license!” (also, this scene is another example of his insistence on order and rules— he insisted on getting a license before they were even legally required)

Paces back and forth talking to himself, planning out what he’s going to say before a conversation (scripting)

The way he suppresses stimming around Heaven by clasping hands behind back, feels uncomfortable and overstimulated there

Bookshop is super cluttered, he has an organizational system that is comprehensible to basically exclusively him

Clumsy, often sucks at motor coordination

Easily startled

He loves alone time, especially when he’s in his own space— he does everything he can to keep customers away from his bookshop

Attaches a lot of sentimental value to inanimate objects (“I’ve kept this in tip-top condition for over 180 years!”)

Incredibly passionate about his interests, especially magic and books

Black and white thinking and rigid morality— He loves and trusts Crowley more than the other angels, but still has tendency to categorize Heaven, Hell, angels and demons as exclusively good or bad (“of course you didn’t go back to Hell— you’re the bad guys!”)

Crowley’s definitely got something neurodivergent going on too (leaning towards ADHD, but potentially AuDHD)

The way he sits in chairs

Hell, (…or Heaven, whatever…) even just the “ducks!” moment alone is enough to show that that his mind jumps around a lot to unexpected loose threads rather than focusing on the subject at hand

Impulsivity

Creative and has a vivid inner world. As pointed out by God Herself, he has what the other demons don’t— an imagination

Craves novelty, frequently changes appearance

Stimming starmaker

This one is from the book, but it’s too good not to point out: the way he idolizes characters like Bond and copies his behaviors off of what he thinks a cool human would do. He has a new computer because it’s “the sort of thing Crowley felt that the sort of human he tried to be would have” (pg 239)

His understanding of how humans fall in love is based on a Richard Curtis film he’s seen

His insistence on asking questions when things don’t make sense to him, knowing why things are the way they are rather than blindly accepting them

And of course, there’s the themes of the story

Black and white thinking vs shades of grey

Breaking away from a world that doesn’t accept you to find love, belonging, and safety

And, as demonstrated time and time again by our two protagonists: intelligence isn’t synonymous with interpersonal skills (…or common sense.)

Thanks for reading all of that! This isn’t the kind of post I normally make, but I have so many thoughts about this that have been on my mind for almost two years now, so I decided to share them.

While there are of course a lot of plot-related reasons for why they behave the way that they do and many of the traits I brushed on could be explained by other factors, I still find it interesting to explore it through a neurodivergent lens. I also think the existence of angels with physical disabilities (like Saraqueal) adds credibility to the idea that other types of disabilities or neurodivergence is at the very least possible for angels and demons in this universe.

Feel free to point out anything I forgot to include (which I have no doubt is a lot) and let me know your own thoughts in the comments or tags— I’d love to hear them!

[servicpop]

ITTO ⋆⋆⋆ x sub bottom m!reader

NSFW › itto is oblivious to reader's love for him, virgin itto, size difference, biting/marking, public / outside sex, breeding(?)

You and Itto were joint by the hip since little kids. You two did everything together. Exploring places you've never seen before, getting in trouble together, playing beetles together, bathing together. Your parents seemed hesitant at first when you brought little Itto over to your house, he was an oni, they weren't sure if Itto would be too rough when playing or would be a bad influence. But as time progressed, your parents eventually realised that Itto was nothing but a big softie who was a too dumb to actually hurt you.

As you grew older, Itto grew taller. Itto was always the taller one but now as you grew into an adult, he practically towered over you. Itto... didn't become any less of an airhead though, he still remained that same dumb softie from years ago.

When he offered you to join his gang, the Arataki Gang, you somewhat willingly decided to join. At first you thought by 'gang' he meant he'd do crimes and whatnot but then you thought about Itto as a person. There was no way he would be capable to make an elaborate enough plan to steal something or do any crime.

When you actually joined, you realised that it was basically just Itto and his friends hanging out but Kuki — the only one who had a semblance of braincells — that it was originally meant to be for people who were shunned out by society. However, in the process of trying to promote the Arataki Gang, due to the lack of intelligence, mischief and trouble seemed to follow the members like lost puppies. You can't count on your fingers how many times you had to bail them out.

Despite all the chaos in the Arataki Gang, you stuck closest to Itto, it was natural, you've been best friends since diapers. However, this evening when the sun of inazuma set, casting an orange and yellow hue on the land below, you and Kuki were strolling along the streets mindlessly. Itto had gone off somewhere with no contact — like he does sometimes — leaving you and Kuki to talk alone. You liked her, she was calmer than the rest and alot more intelligent.

"You like him don't you?"

Her words rang through your head like an achingly high pitched frequency as you stumbled in your step. Did you like Itto? Sure you sometimes fantasised about his big arms wrapping around you and sometimes your heart would race when he flashed you a toothy grin but—

"I notice the way you act around the boss,"

Kuki crosses her arms and leans her weight onto on leg as she looks at you. The cool evening breeze brushes past your face like a small caress and you find yourself speechless, not knowing how to respond. From your lack of words she continues,

"I was going to tell him but... I think its best if you do it yourself."

You force a small nod and she walks away, muttering something about needing to run an errand but her words fall short from your ears. You've never considered it until now how you always felt warm whenever with Itto and sometimes you even dreamt of Itto in ways that you'd never say outloud. Now looking back at how you felt around Itto... you were in love and Itto was completely oblivious to it.

You and Itto were laying down on a grassy hill, the tuffs of green tickling your back as Itto was settled next to you with his arms crossed behind his head. He was asleep. Itto had fallen asleep after causing whatever sort of mischief and called you over just to lie on a hill with him.

Silence filled the blue sky with the exception of birds chirping and leaves rustling in the wind. It was a secluded spot no one really came to, that's why Itto liked it. Away from all the judge-y eyes and incriminating stares. You watch as his chest rises and falls at a steady pace and you roll over onto your stomach, eyes still glued on Itto.

"I love you, Itto."

The words spill out of your mouth like a running faucet that doesn't shut off. You shuffle almost uncomfortably on the grass and you keep letting your confession roll from your tongue.

"I can't deny that... sometimes I get these dreams where you love me too and—"

It's too embarassing to admit that you've dreamt of Itto holding you and fucking you like there's no end but the implication is there.

"But I'll never say it to your face that I love you... I don't want to ruin our friendship." Your words hang heavy and you stare at Itto as if waiting for him to wake up and catch you but he doesn't. Your gaze falls to the ground, watching the blades of grass move along your arm from the wind. It's a ticklish sensation.

"You love me?"

That familiar hearty chuckle meets your ears and you can feel your whole world pause. Slowly turning your head, you meet Itto's gaze. He's propped up on one arm and he's staring at you with sparkles in his eyes like an oaf. Embarassment colors your cheeks as you quickly turn away; you're not sure how to face him after basically confessing how you've had a crush on him and had lewd dreams about him.

A small yelp is practically forced out of you when Itto wraps his arms around your waist securely, and suddenly he's ontop of you, holding you down. "Dreams? About me? The one and only?" Usually by now you'd groan and roll your eyes but when Itto is pressed against your body, you lose all your will to fight. "Wait wait wait wait, you've got me curious now, is it really that good?" You've always knew that Itto was a virgin, never had romantic partner before, never had a hook-up, nothing. So it was natural for the oni to be curious.

Itto's abnormally large and calloused hands roam and prod at your clothing. He doesn't know what he's doing and its clear from how mindlessly he's tugging at your pants. With a small chuckle, Itto clicks off your belt and pulls down your pants alongside with your boxers. Was he really planning to fuck right in the middle of a grass hill? "Woah, you're really small," you took offense to that and was about to retaliate until you remembered Itto was an oni, he was most likely double your size.

At this point your face was buried in the comfort of your own forearms, protecting yourself from the harsh grass below you. You hear a clink followed by a thud, indicating that Itto took off his belt and was doing the same with his pants. "You're trembling man, are you cold?" It was nice of Itto to ask but, you were mostly trembling in a mix of fear and anticipation. How would his cock actually feel inside of you? Would it be bigger than you expected?

Itto leans in and you feel something big poke at your hole. There was no way that was his cock. You glance back at him and your jaw drops to the floor. He was bigger than you expected, and his red markings trailed all the way to his tip. His hand palms at your ass, spreading it apart as he clumsily lines himself up, sometimes missing. The usually talkative Itto is now relatively quiet, his breathing becoming more exasperated as he slowly pushes inside of you.

It burns. The way he stretches you out and forces you to accommodate for his size burns but also feels addictingly good. His hands grab at your waist, squeezing the soft flesh of your body as he groans quietly. "W–What the hell... you're so tight," His boisterous ego stammers as he becomes a breathy mess, trying to push deeper inside of you. Itto's nails dig into your skin, leaving crescent shapes indents on your hip as his head falls forward. You can feel his dick throbbing inside of you and your body is completely filled with just him.

Without another word, Itto pulls out before slamming back in. He hits right at your prostate, making stars appear in your vision. "Wait Itto slow down! You're too big—" Your whines fail to reach his numb brain; all he can focus on is the way you're sucking him back in every time he pulls out. "A–ah it feels so good," Itto's teeth graze against your shoulder but he tries to resist biting down. What a sweetheart.

You feel him tremble on top of you, like he's resisting the urges to be rough and unforgiving. It was in his nature to breed. His grip tightens on you, and he has his arms firmly wrapped around your body like you're a plushie. Itto's hips piston into you causing a loud slapping sound from your skin making contact with his. He can't help but hold you close, otherwise you'd try to leave him! He's practically drooling all over your shoulder but you're too fucked-dumb to really care.

Itto's teeth finally sink into your shoulder, sucking softly as he marks you as his, "Sorry, can't– help it." His apologies are quiet as he stammers like he's acting against his own will. "Gonna... gonna cum," He whimpers, his fingers digging into your skin. That was sure to leave a mark the next day. You feel a pool of pleasure in your stomach; you're close too. The way he's hitting all the right spots with every thrust made your legs weak. Who would've thought the 'big bad oni' would be whimpering and groaning while fucking you senseless.

This was better than your dreams of him. Instead of having to groggily clean your pants every morning, you're shooting blanks out onto the grass as Itto slams his hips against your ass a few more times. He groans lowly into your ear before orgasming inside of you, filling you up to the brim. You feel his crushing weight suddenly crash down on you as he collapses from the bliss. "Itto! You're too heavy get off," you whine but your protests go unheard by the oni who's dazed out of his mind.

"What's going on with you two...?"

Kuki blinks blankly at you as she glances from your intertwined fingers with Itto and your blushing face. You weren't exactly the one for big public display of affection but Itto didn't seem to care at all. In fact, he's got you glued to his side with a big smile on his face.

"He's my boyfriend!"

a/n : big dumb itto ,, luv him

[wtfaniii]

My boy only breaks and repairs

Summary: When he found you, you were drowning in debt and sadness, he took your heart and made sure to put it together piece by piece until one day… that same man breaks it once again

Warning: age difference, not much, death, I wanted to write something sad, sorry, I was listening to the night we met while doing this.

Hwang In-ho x fem reader Sang-Woo's daughter

He promised you to come back, that he would not do anything reckless, but he never did, you knew that your father loved you despite the hard life he led, you knew that despite his firm and indifferent attitude he cared about you.

That's why your heart broke into pieces when a small black box with a pink ribbon appeared at your door that August morning. It was a bitter presentation for what that box contained, inside were your father's broken glasses, the glass was smashed and one of its supports was broken in half.

It was easy for you to deduce that something bad had happened to him, that he would probably never come back.

You were right.

That morning you collapsed hugging the broken glasses to your chest, trying to hold on to a vague memory where you were still happy with him, when you were still four years old and he carried you on his shoulders while you ate ice cream.

Your world fell apart that day, your grandmother couldn't talk to you again because you couldn't look her in the face knowing that her son was dead and not being able to tell her just so she wouldn't go through the same pain as you.

Despite your deep pain, the same people who followed Sang-Woo so that he would pay them what he owed them did not stop, they followed you for weeks so that you would pay, they did not believe you when you told them that he was dead, they thought that you were helping him hide, so all their threats and warnings fell on you.

A year later you were just as desperate as your father, his debts accumulated and your life was in danger, you were going to give up, you wanted to end the suffering you were going through so without having a completely clear mind you stood on the edge of a bridge in the middle of the night.

But just when you wanted to push yourself forward someone came from behind you and pulled your hand to the opposite side, making you fall onto the cold and wet pavement.

You quickly stood up, believing it was one of those thugs following you, but as soon as you looked up you saw a man completely unknown to you.

But you were not a stranger to him.

After the games in which player 456 was the winner, In-ho was curious about player 218, the most intelligent and cunning man he had seen in years. ¿How was it possible that when he was about to win, he decided to redeem himself?

he thought him was stupid.

But after having done extensive research on him, he came to the conclusion that he was not stupid, he was just a poor man desperate to survive but also motivated by his daughter who was waiting for him at home, Sang-Woo knew that if you found out the horrible way in which he obtained money, betraying and killing his friends and innocent people, you would never forgive him ¿What kind of example was he going to give you? That's why in his last breath he asked Gi-hun to take care of you, unfortunately the winner was also too traumatized and hurt to keep that specific promise.

So In-ho decided take the promise, something he had never done, he investigated you and reached out to you, he believed that giving you a memory of your father would be enough to calm your anguish, that's why he left you the glasses, but seeing that this caused your descent into sadness even more he decided to take a more drastic measure.

—¿Who are you? —You asked, looking at him carefully, he could see the mix of emotions you were experiencing through your tired eyes.

—I met your father

In-ho took a step closer to you and extended his hand, waiting for you to take it.

It was a small gesture but significant, no one had given you a hand to help you stand up in a long time, you hesitantly accepted the gesture and took his hand to get up but as soon as you did the tears escaped your eyes and that was when In-ho realized how broken you were.

You realized what you were about to do, the weight of your own actions fell on your shoulders and you realized how much your father missed you.

—I miss him a lot... —You murmured through tears as this man held you in his arms.

In-ho's heart squeezed in his chest when he saw you like that, it was strange, he barely knew you but inevitably the memories of his own pain after the death of his wife settled in his mind, he knew that feeling that the world was falling apart, as if millions of blades were stuck in his body every day, each memory and the impotence of not being able to do anything to end that feeling.

He didn't say anything, he knew you didn't want to hear encouraging words, you just wanted comfort and a shoulder to cry on, he connected with you through that pain, he silently hugged you and let you vent until you were tired of crying.

He told you his name, he gave you comfort, security and help, you were in a vulnerable moment and somehow that felt like the greatest gift anyone could give you.

He gained your trust and when you least realized it, you already loved this man who could be the same age as your father.

In-ho knew that seeing you in the city was dangerous, his brother knew who he was and what he did, if he found him it would be the end of an entire empire, so he asked you to accompany him to the island.

You hesitated a little but you finally accepted, you had nothing to lose and you definitely didn't want to be alone again, you hated the simple idea, your brain and all your instincts told you to oppose that request but your heart made the affirmative decision, you accompanied him.

You didn't know what he did, In-ho made sure to keep that part of his life a secret and told you that his job was a small organization that raised money funds to donate to those in need, what a bullshit lie.

Soon you began to smile more often, an expression on your face that you thought was dead, for In-ho your smile became a small ray of light that illuminated his dark life.

One day like any other you entered him office with a radiant smile and a yellow spring dress decorating your body.

—Well… ¿What do you think? —You asked, spinning on your heels in front of him, letting the bottom of your outfit rise a little in the air.

—You look beautiful —He admitted, looking away from the paperwork that filled his desk, documents about upcoming games but that you ignored —Yellow is your color.

You smiled happily at him and walked towards his desk, cautiously he hid some papers under others and let you hug him from behind as you usually did, your arms were warm and this way he could smell your wonderful perfume.

—¿Why can't you come with me? —You asked, leaving a kiss on his neck and hugging him closer to you, as if you never wanted to let him go and it was partly true, you clung to him as if he were your support for this life.

—I have a lot of work but I promise to go next time.

It was your father's birthday and you wanted to go visit him at the cemetery, although you put an empty box it was a way to honor and remember him, In-ho was the one who motivated you to do this because it also gave you a certain peace knowing that wherever your father was were sure that he knew how much you missed him.

—I'll be back in a few hours —You responded by leaving a warm kiss on him cheek.

Even though In-ho wanted to send some guards to take care of you, he knew that would be a risk, you could ask and discover the whole truth and that was the last thing he wanted, he believed that keeping you in ignorance was the best to protect your hurting heart.

You took a boat to leave the island and when you reached the mainland millions of memories hit your mind like a huge wave during a storm, you needed In-ho by your side but you recognized that you couldn't depend on him at all times, you also had to learn to manage these complex emotions that still threatened to sink you.

You bought a couple of flowers and headed to the cemetery where a tombstone was waiting for you on top of an empty place, deep down that still tormented your soul, not being able to find him to give him a dignified burial, not being able to hug him one last time or see him to say goodbye in person.

When you arrived at the sacred place you gave him a small bow and sat down in front of him.

—Hey… Sorry I didn't come earlier… —You said seeing the name "Cho Sang-Woo" written in stone —I just wasn't ready to come yet… Now I'm fine, I'm trying to move forward… In-ho, a friend of yours arrived at the moment when I needed someone the most, as if you had sent him.

A small smile appeared on your lips at that idea, a completely wrong idea of ​​what reality was.

—Happy Birthday… —You murmured with teary eyes, leaving the flowers on the tombstone, you sat there for a few more minutes talking to him to relieve your heart, somehow you managed to feel accompanied but you also constantly wondered what happened to him.

You said goodbye to him and walked through the cemetery until you reached the columbarium where the memorial of In-ho's previous wife was, he told you about her, he showed you that side of his life that had suffered a great loss just like you.

You respectfully approached the space where her name was carved in stone and you also left her a white flower that you had bought specifically for her, you didn't know why In-ho hadn't visited her in years, he told you himself and you didn't ask because you thought it was a wound that hadn't completely healed yet, however, the real reason was more than just pain.

Suddenly a male voice made you jump a little in your place.

—Excuse me… ¿Are you familiar? —When you turned your head you found a young man with straight black hair who looked at you curiously.

—Ohh no... I just... I heard about her —you explained with a soft smile, stepping aside to see him better and allow him to approach the niche —¿Did you know her?

—She was my brother's wife.

Him response caught you off guard, In-ho hadn't told you about any brother but you didn't question either, instead you smiled kindly and greeted him with a small polite bow.

—¡Oh! You are In-ho's brother —You said after introducing yourself with your name and ends with "In-ho and me are close"

Jun-ho looked at you with surprise, as if naming him had made some 'click' in his head, his silent gaze intimidated you so you bowed a little again to say goodbye and leave there but before you could take any steps him hand on your arm stopped you, making you even more tense.

—You should stay away from him, it's not safe for you.

—¿What? ¿Why?

—¿Do you know where he is now? ¿Where do you know him from? —The questions he asked you mixed with the firm grip on your arm raised some kind of alert so you pushed him to let go.

You didn't know him, you didn't know why he said that to you and you didn't trust him, so you left there walking as fast as could but behind you heard a "Stay away from him"

While you returned to the island on the boat you laughed internally at that strange encounter but as the minutes passed and you analyzed him words better in your head, doubt settled in your body, you trusted In-ho, you believed all the things he told you so blindly that you were sure that your father would be disappointed, he taught you to be intelligent and not let yourself be guided by anyone who speaks to you with nice words.

You never investigated him supposed organization further and you hadn't realized until now how much security he had on the island for it to just be a charity.

It was strange, even the time he saved you on that bridge, ¿how did he arrive just in time? It was almost one in the morning and few cars were passing through that area ¿Was he following you? he said he knew your father ¿how come he didn't even know your last name?

Your mind began to turn and turn the situation, your stomach turned and once again that feeling of anguish that had not been in you after a long time was present, meanwhile In-ho took advantage of the time you were gone to organize the next games quickly and safely, with you on the island it was difficult to do it without you discovering it but one of the many advantages it had was that you rarely questioned what they were really doing there.

Maybe it was because for you he was a hero, a ray of hope that came to take you out of your misery and without realizing it «or maybe he was too coward to admit it out loud» he took advantage of that to have you right where he wanted, like a good girl who didn't ask dangerous questions, you stayed right where he allowed you and went out whenever he wanted you to.

It was incredibly easy how could take a person drowning in their suffering and mold them into own world.

But now that you had doubts you weren't going to stay still, thanks to Jun-ho you would now start questioning everything he did.

Something that started to be a problem.

Until one day you finally discovered it, you woke up in the middle of the night and walked in silence to him office where you found a folder full of photographs and data of people who were just as drowned in debt as Sang-Woo was, but you did not stop there in your investigation, it was night, him guards in pink overalls that at some point you saw as security you now saw as hunters from whom you had to hide, cautiously, you moved through all the corridors until you reach a floor with golden and gray tones.

You walked in silence through each of the rooms and inspected every thing and compartment there without knowing that In-ho had already woken up when he did not feel your presence by his side.

You watched without stopping and the further you advanced your heart squeezed in your chest, this was not a charity, it was a slaughterhouse.

And the worst of all was that the man you trusted, the man you slept with, kissed and touched with love was the one who pulled the strings in this place.

You arrived at a dark room full of documents perfectly arranged by year and number on shelves, each sheet contained data about the previous people who arrived on this island and they were forced to play children's games with the promise that if they got out of there alive they would win a lot of money.

Your hands were shaking and you could practically feel your heartbeat in your throat.

Until you reached the section about the year your father disappeared, your heart stopped for a fraction of a second and your hands could barely hold the page you were reading in silence.

"Cho Sang-Woo, player 218, removed"

A painful moan escaped your throat as you looked at the photo of your father along with his information with eyes full of tears, you tried to remain silent and to drown your tears you bit your hand until felt the characteristic metallic taste on your tongue.

Your body shook and your breathing began to fail, you were scared, disappointed, overwhelmed and angry, In-ho had lied to you, he knew perfectly well what happened to your father and he pretended to be another friend in your life.

Once again your heart broke into millions of pieces.

In-ho had become vital in your life, you didn't know whether to hate him or love him, he hugged you every night when you woke up crying because of the pain of loss, he motivated you to get up and not let the suffering consume you, he even opened up to you and told you about his deceased wife.

You wanted to scream but instead you just stayed on the ground, biting your hand to suppress your cry, with your body shaking and breathing failing, you felt like you had been stabbed in the back.

You didn't even notice when In-ho walked up behind you with a loaded gun in him hand and a mental battle in his head.

You thought you knew him but in reality you had no idea what he was capable of doing.

[evieelyzabethh]

"chateu"

⭒is it a dream or is it all in the past, i just thought i'd ask"⭒ Arcane characters and comfort {fem reader}

cast ✧ Vi, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

cw☞ slightly pervy jayce, mentions of period sex, a bunch of fluff, that's about it

♞Vi♞

♞Vi's comfort is both physical and verbal. Vi is constantly in awe of you, she can't fathom the idea of you thinking you're less than, too dumb, not pretty enough, not worthy enough. She is also very aware. She's a watcher and a listener. She is very good at getting to the root of the rot, she knows that it's not just this one occurrence, it's a reaction caused by something deeper within you. I feel like Vi is much more emotionally intelligent than a lot of people give her credit for, it's just not knowing how to carry it out.

♞I feel like sometimes, she wouldn't get frustrated, but it would take a bit of a toll on her when you aren't as perceptive as she is. Sometimes it takes a lot of walking through the process to get you to understand what she's telling you. She is more than willing and does praise you until she's blue in the face, but she realizes that sometimes words from an outside source can't fix anything if you don't believe it yourself.

♞This applies to larger problems, but Vi would also be good on occasions if you were simply having a bad day. As someone who's had a bad life, she knows how you feel. You want to be left alone for a bit? She completely understands. You just want a hug? She is there with open arms and immediately chides you the second you try to apologize for getting snot on her jacket.

♞Speaking of which, Vi hugs are one of the most comforting hugs you can ever receive. She's just so warm and big and you are completely surrounded by her as she cradles your head into your chest and hums in your ear. She just has such a calming voice; her presence itself is comforting. I also think she would shed a few tears herself when comforting you. It heals the part of her that couldn't save Powder. She holds a lot of guilt about that, so much so that her comfort to you feels rehearsed, like she's been repeating those reassurances for years.

♞As much as you need comforting, Vi would need her fair share too. She never let go of that big sister/leader persona, she thinks her problems are too small compared to the world around her. She tries to fix her problems with logic to push down her feelings and most definitely is someone who thinks that letting those big feelings out is unproductive. This being said, you don't get a chance to comfort Vi until it becomes too much for even her to handle and she randomly breaks down.

♞Comfort is very foreign to her. The last time she received it consistently and healthily was from Vander and then her life went to shit, and she was thrown in prison for like a decade. Stillwater is not a nurturing environment, Zaun certainly wasn't either, even the comfort she received from Vander was more akin to tough love rather than something softer. She can be soft with you, but she finds it hard to accept it herself. It's a battle for her to just be in your arms and allow you to tell her its ok. She knows it'll be okay because she's gonna fight like hell to make sure it's ok. She hates feeling out of control. She's not used to someone trying to fix things for her; she's not used to someone being there for her.

♞She has a lot of tears to get out. Vi has built high walls of anger, but below that is a chasm of sorrow. When she finally breaks down, it feels like an endless stream of tears until she physically cannot cry anymore and is forced to heave in your arms until she either falls asleep or sits in silence, empty. It's very overwhelming, but she can't deny that when she can catch her breath, she feels brand new.

★Ekko★

★Ekko may not be a doctor, but he's a chef which makes the experience more than bearable. The second he sees your complexion get sickly, your wincing every time you move, and your coughs getting more and more phlegmy, he is immediately freaking out. He's running to get a thermometer, he's rifling through the medicine cabinet for whatever the canon equivalent of NyQuil is, he has a trash can set by the bedside in case you begin to feel nauseous.

★Despite his preparedness, I don't think Ekko is great at being sick or being around the sick. It feels like an utter waste of time, waiting around in the house for the illness to pass. Sickness is one of those issues you can't be active in fighting, the best action is to rest and sweat it out, and he is so antsy. It's a lot better if you're sick, you can't lie to him and try to pretend you're well when you aren't. Even if you try and fight him on it, you don't make it very far. Your achy joints keep you up at night, making you completely exhausted throughout the day. Your headache is so debilitating you have spots in your vision. Your throat is so sore, it physically pains you to argue with him about how you're totally not sick and he's being a complete mother hen.

★No; no matter how hard you protest, you are absolutely bed bound as Ekko works warm soup down your gullet even when you can't stomach it yourself but the rational part of you knows it'll make you feel better. The warm green tea he brings you has some tonic dissolved into it; the medicinal taste covered by a few tablespoons of sugar to avoid the bitter bite. He doesn't even flinch when you cough or sneeze into yet another tissue which is soon to be added to the growing pile in the trash. He only wraps you tighter, so you sweat out your fever faster while softly rubbing your aching shoulders. The thought of getting sick does cross his mind, but he's more preoccupied with his poor girl.

★A surprise to no one, Ekko gets sick right after you do, though he is far less compliant. He knows that you see right through his bullshit excuses. Babe, I don't have a fever, I always run hot. What do you mean I have a bad cough? I've just been clearing my throat. I don't get sick; I have too good of an immune system. I never been sick a day in my life. Even worse, he truly believes it himself. In truth, Ekko isn't someone who gets sick often, it's usually one bad bug every year or so. When he does get sick, it usually lasts a few weeks, the first being very mild and then eventually whittling him down to a bed-bound state.

★His bug only worsens the annoyance he feels when sick, you're almost glad when he loses the energy to argue back when you tell him to lie down. When Ekko's sick, it feels more like date nights than a hospital trip. Ekko can't stand silence or boredom which means a movie is playing for as long as he's bed bound. Aside from his mucous infested coughs, his constant shuddering through multiple layers of blankets, and a bowl of soup instead of popcorn; you could barely tell that this wasn't a movie date.

★If there is one thing Ekko enjoys about being sick, it's being taken care of. After he swallows his pride and that disgusting cough medicine, he can appreciate being doted on. Even though he's sick, he'll use a fake yawn as an excuse to wrap his arm around you and ask do you come 'round here often? His joking attitude is usually a good sign that his weeks in hell have finally passed and the light at the end of the tunnel (post sickness kisses) are finally on the table.

❂Jayce ❂

❂Someone once made a joke that Jayce would be the type to make a post on twitter like "I just found out about how bad period pain is. Can't believe our beautiful women go through that every month. If only I could go through periods for them, so they no longer have to suffer (I'm 6'7 btw)" and, well...yes! On a more serious note, I don't think he'd be the type to be super on top of it. He's too busy to have something like a calendar tracking it, though when the time comes, he's very quick to act. While he may be unprepared, he's not incompetent.

❂As soon as you tell him you started, he switches the light bed sheets to darker ones. All he needs is a list of your needs, your preference on pads or tampons or menstrual cups, if you wear them, what size pad you need, heating pads, pain meds, anything and everything you may need is currently being bought. He also isn't the type to be ashamed to go to the register with it, he truly does not think it's a big deal and is confused at any sort of weird stares he gets.

❂He is also over cautious. The second you look like a little woozy, he's right by your side asking if you need to sit down. He's standing around the bathroom while you shower genuinely scared you might pass out due to the amount of blood loss. I don't think he's squeamish around blood, but I do think he'd constantly worry that it's too much. Like how are you still alive after bleeding that much for like a week straight 12 times a year?! He thinks the female body is a scientific wonder.

❂He's also great when it comes to the emotional component. The second your hormones get out of whack, and you start to think too hard about your bloating or ragged you look or how weak you feel, he's right there with a large warm hand on your tummy telling you that you are being ridiculous. His very scientific brain comes in handy, something about his calming voice telling you exactly what your body is doing sounds enough like a documentary to put you to sleep.

❂If you work in the lab with him, he offers to let you skip work for the week, being completely surprised if you insist on still coming in. He does his best to accommodate you, going the extra mile to pack your lunch and making you sure you eat it, ensuring that you're staying on top of your water, he brings pain killers with him in case your cramps get too bad. You and Viktor roll your eyes a bit at his antics. You try to assure him you've had a period for years at this point and it's really not that big of a deal, but he insists on it anyway. All he knows is that you're in pain and he doesn't like that.

❂Now, pre-apocalypse Jayce does not do period sex. You're already hurting, and he while he read that sex can help with cramps, he also knows you're super sensitive and that stretch is going to hurt even worse. If you asked, he'd oblige, making sure to be extra soft and gentle, only pushing half-way in as he coos and brushes the hot tears from your eyes. Post-apocalypse Jayce is far less careful. I wouldn't say he doesn't care, but he understands the concept of a little bit of pain for a lot of pleasure. He's still sweet, carefully covering your sheets with layers of towels and folding a couple under your hips, but his strokes could convince you he's trying to fuck your period away. You'd be lying if you said you didn't feel better after, though.

☽Viktor☾

☽Viktor is not one to beat around the bush at all; he never even liked the man to begin with. It started with something small, like the lack of effort he put into dates or forgetting your birthday, and ever since then things just snowballed until every offense was break-up worthy to him. He didn't hold the door open? Break up with him. He was a bit too flirty with the waitress when you went out to eat? Break up with him! You caught him talking to his ex? BREAK UP WITH HIM!

☽Before the breakup, he is not soft about it at all. The first few gossip sessions were all fun and games but the more you talked about him, the more his dislike grows until he hates the guy and he's only physically seen him a couple times. He refuses to even be in the same room as the man, he says it's because the mere thought of him literally makes him sick and he's sure seeing his actual face will genuinely kill him.

☽He doesn't know what you see in him, and neither do you after the fact. Hindsight really is 20/20. Viktor truly isn't that great with comfort until he sees how seriously upset you are. You're crying over a tub of ice cream with a rom com playing in the background as you blubber about how all of your relationships fall apart and you just don't know where you went wrong, and he's truly confounded on how you're this upset over a toad.

☽This all being said, he's very supportive. It's a lot of work to swallow his sarcastic remarks and roll his eyes less, but the sincerity of his comfort is very easy. It's not instinctual for him to sit there while you cry in his arms, but the kind words he murmurs, you deserve better than that, you deserve a love greater than you even ask for, you deserve even more than the world, you deserve the better world he wants to create. And he doesn't want to sound smarmy or jealous, like some loser who was waiting in the wings for the breakup even Jayce saw coming from a mile away, but if he cared less about what you thought of him; he'd say you deserve him.

☽He realizes it's much too soon, so he buys you ice cream and tells you that you look pretty even when your mascara is running, and your hair is in a state of disarray, and he genuinely means it. He's most valuable for his honesty, it's why you came to Viktor in the first place. He was always honest about how he felt about your ex, even when he was holding his tongue, his expression said all the words he was too nice to say. So, when he tells you that yes, you're still pretty, he may be holding back.

☽It helps that he's funny and can be a tad impulsive. You want to slash his tires? Only slash 3 so that his insurance doesn't cover it. You wanna burn his clothes? He'll make you a pocket flamethrower just to do so. Even better than being open to violence and destruction, he's great at not getting caught. Though he doesn't believe in lying to you, dishonesty drips from his lips like honey.

☽When the crying and the disappointment fades and you feel good enough to joke about how you wasted too much of your time on a man outrunning wisdom, Viktor does slowly try to show you exactly what you deserve.

☼Mel☼

☼While Mel knows the importance of the exterior, she thinks its utterly ridiculous that you can think you aren't pretty enough. She knows insecurities are hard. 'The grass is greener on the other side' really isn't the comfort most people think it is. Sometimes it's well worth it to face the consequences of achieving what you've wanted. Whatever it is, acne, being flat chested, noticeable scars, being different is just hard. It doesn't matter how much your differences make you unique, it really is easier to be like everyone else.

☼She tells you every chance she gets how beautiful she thinks you are. To pretend that inside beauty is all that matters is simply a lie, she interacts daily with people whose heads are full of air, but people only respect them because they are a pretty face with full pockets. She knows it sounds untrue to you, but that's why she tells you so often. Not in despite of anything, not because of anything, you're just stunning.

☼Since you're already hyper-focused on your insecurity, I think she'd ignore it. Honestly, she doesn't think of it at all. It's about as noticeable to her as the color of your eyes or how tall you are, it's a miniscule detail that doesn't define you, it's just another feature. It's nothing important to her, and she wishes it didn't bother you.

☼While you are all adults, she knows that some lack the decorum necessary to not make their judgements known and it bothers her deeply. Anytime anyone speaks on it, she rolls her eyes. She thoroughly thinks it's beneath you to be bothered by it. Not only is it low-hanging fruit, but it's a sign of deficient intellect. They couldn't insult your intelligence, your competence, or anything about you that actually mattered, they had to go for your appearance, and she will tell them as such. She is very good at her professional insults.

☼As much as she compliments you, she emphasizes your other traits. If you're a writer, an artist, a dancer, any skill you have that you built for years or any talent you were just born with, she dedicates a lot of time to participating and validating it at any chance she gets. She wants you to take pride in something else, something that no one can take from you. Looks fade throughout the years, everyone is eventually going to be cast aside as their hairs grey and their teeth start to fall out. Knowledge never grows obsolete. Besides, people with legitimate interests and hobbies are too busy doing things they enjoy ruminating on how they look.

☼She knows it isn't what you want to hear, but it is what you need to hear sometimes. You are perfect just the way you are. She has never had any desire or want to change you. She has never imagined you any other way than the way you are. She doesn't want anyone who looks different than you, she doesn't want you because of the way you look. Of course, she thinks you're beautiful, but that doesn't matter to her. Never has and it never will. Just as she has faith that you aren't with her for how she looks, she hopes you have faith that you looks are not a determining factor for why she's with you. You are just you and she wouldn't want you any other way.