#I’m sure this has been done before but oh well

[rebouks]

Carlo: Papi, can I have some money for a sandwich? Kaden: From where? Carlo: That stall over there. Kaden: We’ll eat on the way home. Anita: Can I have some for a goldfish? Kaden: Wha-.. from where? Anita: There’s a fish shop down that ramp. Kaden: [sighs] You can look. Anita: Pfft. Kaden: Pardon? Anita: Nothing!

Kaden: You’ve got kids, right? Oscar: Uh-huh. Kaden: Just the one? Oscar: Four. Kaden: So, you understand-.. I have five myself. Oscar: Congrats. Kaden: Hm, shall we?

Oscar: I don’t wanna sit n’ have a fucking chin-wag with you, Kaden.. say what you wanna say n’ be done with it. Kaden: Alright, I’m sure you can guess why I’m here. Oscar: You wanna make sure we don’t have any conflicting interests. Kaden: You were never stupid; I’ll give you that.

Oscar: I’m not interested in whatever it is you do n’ I’m not involved in anything like that anymore either. Me n’ Ivan had no idea what we’d find in Oasis Springs, but neither of us assumed it’d be you. Kaden: I thought as much. Oscar: I’m a legit freelancer minding my business with my family, okay? That’s it-.. besides, Ames was right. Kaden: Oh?

Oscar: Whatever fucked up shit you’re involved with happens everywhere, all the time; but it’s not my job to sniff it out, nor to fix it. I’ve made my peace with that over the years-.. as much as I can, anyway. Kaden: Forgive me for wanting to be sure. Oscar: I suppose I get it. Kaden: If you’re not interested in me, then I’m not interested in you-.. neither of you ought to worry. Oscar: Thanks.

Kaden: It’s not the same, for what it’s worth. Oscar: I’m not sure I wanna know… Kaden: Drugs, protection, weapons here and there-.. you know how it is. I have daughters, a wife-.. she’d kill me herself if I so much as looked down that road. I never agreed with Arturo on that.

Oscar: So, that’s why you kept your hands clean of it? Kaden: We had an agreement-.. you did me a favour in the end, you know.

Oscar remained silent, raising a brow. Kaden: I was bound to Arturo by my late father’s loyalty, his death finally severed that. It gave me the freedom to focus on my own family entirely. Oscar: You could’ve left whenever you wanted. Kaden: It wasn’t that simple.

Oscar: I guess you’re welcome then-.. or perhaps you should thank Leah. Kaden: Hm, maybe.. I won’t lie to you, Oscar, I’m no saint either. I’m comfortable with many things that’d make the average person squirm beneath whatever morals they hold themselves to, but I care about my family, my friends, and my community. I’m not another Arturo.

Oscar would’ve loved to point out the hypocrisy of Kaden’s career choice vs his words, but he’d never change his mind, and he really didn’t want to get involved; he’d already been there once, and the shitty t-shirt almost wasn’t worth it.

He was still proud of what he’d accomplished in the past, but there was no way in hell he’d walk that tightrope again, however much it pained him to imagine what went on in the seedier parts of this world.

Kaden: I think we can agree to forget about one another, don’t you? Oscar: Easier for some than others… Kaden: Ivan will move on eventually. His daughter would never be in any danger, by the way; should she want to visit. The kids have no idea about anything that goes on behind closed doors, as far as they’re aware it’s just “business”. Oscar: [scoffs] Not my decision. Kaden: I still think you should mention it to him, a man has a right to see his children. Oscar: Yeah, well.. she’s not technically Bruno’s child. Kaden: Blood is blood, but we choose our own families too-.. he’s still her father. Oscar: Bruno made his choice n’ so did Ivan, I’m not getting involved.

Kaden: Inform him, regardless. I don’t think he’d take it well from me. Oscar: Fine.

Kaden nodded curtly before curling his thumb and index finger against his lips, whistling sharply to corral his children-.. like an authoritative, uppity shepherd.

Kaden: I underestimated you once, but I won’t do so again-.. not that I think you’re lying. Oscar: I’m not. Kaden: Well.. in the nicest possible way, let’s hope we never see each other again. Oscar: We won’t. Kaden: Good.

Previous // Next

[cjrights]

Ight so somehow people wanted more of these? Y’all asked and tbh I’m still obsessed so here we gooooooooooooooooo. Sidenote mostly just fluff, but def some angst on the third one. Read at your own risk pls and thx. Hope you enjoy!

Paige Bueckers x Softball player reader hcs! (Part 2)

Consistently takes advantage of whenever you get dressed.

Luckily for Paige softball players needed to layer a lot, meaning it took a very long time to get dressed. Tall socks first, then sliding shorts, then undershirt or jersey depending on weather, then pants, and finally a belt. Needless to say, it took a good few minutes and your clingy blonde girlfriend positively loved it.

Today started like most game days, waking up with all four of Paige’s limbs wrapped around you, her whining at you for trying to get up without waking her (something about needing her morning kisses), and then eating breakfast together at the table.

Now you were sitting on the edge of your bed, clad in just a sports bra and sliding shorts, pulling on your socks, thankful you were about to be done with the long process. Until Paige decided to interfere.

“Babbbbbe,” she called as she walked in, blue eyes lighting up immediately when she spotted you half undressed.

“Don’t give me that look. You know I’ll be late.”

Blatantly ignoring you she all but leapt on top of you, crushing your figure down in the most gently powerful way someone who was 6’ could’ve. You groan and immediately go flat on your back. Your girlfriend seemed to forget she was basically six feet of muscle and seven inches taller than you.

“Paige!” You yelp irritated, looking down at your girlfriend. Who was now cuddled up against your bare skin, pressing into you as tight as humanely possible. “I’ve got to get dressed, coach will kill me if I’m late! You know I have to warm up the pitchers!”

“Well first warm me up! I’ve been freezing all morning and instead of cuddling with me, my girlfriend has been neglecting me!” she whines, burying her face into your boobs, tightening her hold.

You roll your eyes, “you sure we’re not just in a relationship because you love my boobs?”

“That’s part of the reason…but back to the point! I’ve been neglected so let me snuggle you!” she demands, pressing you back  down as you try to pry her off.

You scoff lightly, “yeah right because us showering together last night, spooning all night after that, and then eating breakfast together this morning is real neglectful, isn’t it?” You question sarcastically, biting back the urge to smile as she looks up at you with puppy dog eyes for a moment, then nuzzling back into your boobs in an effort to make you forget about it. “No Paigey, its time for me to get ready.”

“But I never got my good morning kisses. Just some stupid alarm.”

You blink slowly. Shit, you had forgotten her morning kisses. Each morning you woke her up with a flurry of soft kisses on her cheeks, nose, and forehead. Anywhere but her lips, that was only for when she was fully awake. “I’m sorry love,” you murmur, pressing kisses around her forehead, seeing a smile flutter on her lips, as she closes her eyes, falling into ‘sleep’.  You moved onto her cheeks, this time fully feeling the smile on her face. finally her nose, which scrunched up slightly and she finally opened her ice blue eyes, pressing her lips to yours which you eagerly accepted.

“Good mornin,” she mumbles, suddenly much peppier. “How’d you sleep?”

You smack her lightly on the back of the head. “Oh, shut it Bueckers.” Fully nudging her off you pull your jersey over your head, not missing her pout once your boobs went away. “Simmer down woman, you can cuddle them later,” you roll your eyes.

“You know if doing this every time you have a game works, I’m going to keep doing it. rig up that alarm to go off a few minutes before you wake up, so that way you have to rush and can’t give me kisses till now, definitely worth being a few minutes late.”

“Paige!”

She’ll pretend like she knows what she’s doing- she doesn’t and your coach forces you to educate her.

Paige growls slightly under her breath seeing you come up to bat again. It was a game against Florida State University. Not that the other team was the problem- no it was the umpire. In her eyes he was giving you a hard time, you and your teammates. Quite honestly he wasn’t just had a larger strike zone than usual. There had been a few calls that had been at your knees and should’ve been balls that weren’t. Not the worst call you’d seen made but definitely not an amazing one.

It was the bottom of the forth inning and your third time at the plate. Uconn was up by two runs and you’d been up twice, only go out on a dicy, but definitely a strike pitch that you’d had no choice but to swing at. Now you went up again and did the same thing, going out swinging on a 1-2 count.

And that had been enough to set off your girlfriend. She tried to keep her cool, she really had. Tried listening to the massive group of softball dads who’d somehow befriended her after two games into the season, tried the deep breathing exercises, tried to reassure herself you wouldn’t be upset. But nope.

“That was a bullshit call blue!” you almost do a double take at hearing the voice that no doubt belonged to your overprotective girlfriend. What in the hell was she doing?! The ump had made the right call, it just wasn’t apparent to someone who hadn’t played.

“Jesus Christ, has your girlfriend never watched softball?” questions one of your teammates as you head back into the dugout, popping off your batters helmet, and exchanging it for your catchers.

“Look she’s good at basketball I’m good at softball,” you mutter, feeling your cheeks tinge pink as you buckle the straps on your white shin guards.

“Excuses, excuses,” she teases lightly, before going off to talk with someone else in the dugout.

As you pull your chest piece over your head a sudden shadow overtakes you. Looking up you see your coach looking down at you, facial expression mixed with annoyance and amusement. “Uh hey coach, can I help you?” you ask cautiously, not knowing if he was upset with your last at bat or something, and feeling nervousness grow as you tested the waters.

“look I aint mad at you. What I am mad at is how your girlfriend talks about all this shit she thinks she knows. She doesn’t play softball and quite honestly it makes some of us look bad. Get it under control.” He finishes.

“yes coach,” you mumble, knowing paige would insist she didn’t need help and make this whole thing ten times more difficult.

He smiles and slaps you on the back, “that’s a girl! Now, go out there and make sure nothing gets by you.”

“So why are we driving to some random park?” paige questions, for what feels like the hundredth time in the past ten minutes, not taking her eyes off the road.

You sigh, “I told you before, we’re going to watch some softball and teach you some of the basics.”

“But I know the basics! And I know that ump wasn’t calling strikes well!” she pouts slightly.

Rolling your eye at her delusion you pat her thigh lightly. “no baby, no you don’t. Now come on!” you state hopping out of the car once she’d pulled into a spot. You’d been lucky to know about the local youth ballpark. They hosted plenty of rec league tournaments for baseball and softball alike, perfect for when you had to teach your girlfriend.

“A youth park?” she questions, slightly mystified.

“Yup. You want to learn softball? You start from the littlest level. Which in this case is our ten U team!”

You gesture at all of the girls, each one dressed in black pants a bright pink jersey sporting a panthers logo on it. they were quite cute to watch, all of them throwing grounders and pop-flys to their partners, then giglging madly when it went between their legs.

Paige felt herself smile as well, “well at least their kind of cute…” she mumbles, letting you lead her over to a set of metal bleachers, where you watch the girls warmup and explain some basics to her.

“So first, strike range, where is that to you?”

“Erm I don’t know, maybe here?” she makes a vague gesture at her torso and puts out her arms to show home base borders.

“Not quite,” you tighten her square up, narrowing down the plate significantly, then pushing her zone from her shoulders to her knees.

Her jaw drops. “How the hell can you hit it there?!” she demands.

You shrug, “just the way games work baby, the umpire says the strike zone and we adjust to it. course it varies slightly to each ump, but this is the general zone.”

As you explain realization slowly dawns on her face, eyes widening, “so when I yelled at that ump for his calls…”

You nod sympathetically, “you were yelling at him for something that was my fault.”

“Ah.”

“And now, your going to see it in action. Because these ten year olds somehow know the basics better than my twenty-one year old girlfriend,” you mutter, rolling your eyes.

“Is this really necessary? I mean it wasn’t that bad…”

“Yes Paigey, it was that bad. Now let the little ones show you how to do it.”

She grumbles softly but watches none the less. Thankfully, she seemed to learn rather quickly. Not that it was hard, in tenU most pitches either went right down the middle, straight in the dirt, or right over the catchers head.  “Well obviously its easier to tell now when the pitchings this bad.” She huffs grumpily, failing to realize the pitcher was walking directly in front of her, and heard the comment.

“My pitchings bad?” whimpered the little girl, seeming close to tears.

Paige’s eyes widened and she shakes her head rapidly. “What! No no! your doing great im just used to seeing it at a higher level and I just I-“ she goes on rambling, as the girl tears up even harder before bolting away from the crowd. “Wait hold on- hold this for me!” she shoves something into your arms then proceeds to take off across the ball ground at full pelt after the little girl.

As you sit, you see the parents giving you a dirty look, and slowly want to crawl inside your skin and never see the light of day again. It felt like hours you’d been sitting there when Paige finally returned, surprisingly with the pitcher, who was holding a bomb pop and chatting it up with your girlfriend. Happily, she scrambled back to her mom, as your frazzled girlfriend returned to your side, burying her face into your shoulder.

You giggle, “what happened to my big tough girlfriend?”

“She made a kid feel bad and didn’t know what else to do besides buy her the biggest popsicle at the concession stand and swear up and down she didn’t mean what she meant,” she mumbled into your shoulder, looking red as a beet, as the little girl talked to her mom and sucked at her slightly dripping bomb pop. “And offering to get her lots of autographs, hope your teammates don’t mind signing a ball.”

You roll your eyes, as idiotic as she was your girlfriend was quite sweet.

“If we ever have kids, please help me not be an idiot.”

“You got it Paigey, you got it.”

Post game routine after a loss.

You walk into the apartment all but chucking your coat down onto the floor and forcefully ripping your keys of your neck. Uconn had been defeated in a 9-7 loss against North Carolina State. You hadn’t played bad either; hell you’d an amazing game. Only one ball managed to get through you and you’d been quick enough to nab it before the runner of third seized her chance to advance. You hadn’t had a bad day at the plate either going 3-1, you’d gotten a dead ball to the back the first time, which now hurt like a motherfucker and didn’t let you lean against anything without hissing. Second time around you’d buried a base hit into right field, making it to first without problem. Easily after you’d stolen second and then third, where your teammate managed to snag a double and bring you in for the third run of the game. The last at bat had been similar, except instead of a grounder it was a line drive that smashed into the pitcher so hard she dropped it, giving you just enough time to bolt into first base, nearly taking out the baseman as you did so.

So you had done well. Why were you so pissy about the game? Probably because your teammates just gave up. You didn’t know what the hell had gotten into them in the dugout, you got down by one run and all of a sudden it was like a giant raincloud was over the dugout. They didn’t get back up either, they lost the battle the second NC State was. It had been horrendous, and when you went out to take the field you knew everyone could tell. Obviously, you couldn’t carry the entire team on your shoulders (although you certainly had tried). And so you lost.

“Babe?” Paige called cautiously. She hadn’t been able to go the game, NC was a long driver and she’d had exams that week. She’d watched the entire game on tv and knew that after a game like that and more than twelve hours on a bus, you’d either be sobbing or ready to kill anything that moved or both when you walked in the door.

Paige appeared around the corner, blonde hair pulled into a loose pony tail, clad in Uconn sweats and her matching sweatshirt.

When you saw her you felt all of your anger start melting off, slowly turning into a giant pool of stress and sadness that seemed to weigh down your entire body. “Hey,” you rasped, exhaustion hitting like a brick.

Crossing the room in a few short strides, her arms were around you, pulling you against her chest and nose nuzzling against my hair. “You did so good baby, even if you lost. You were so amazing, I mean those blocks and the base running,” she mumbles softly.

You don’t reply for a moment, just grip her sweatshirt and sniffle into it.

“I know baby, I know it hurts, let it out.”

Finally your walls crash down on top of you, and Paige feels the first tears wetting the fabric. “I don’t understand it. I don’t know why they all just stopped caring,” you whimper confusedly. “We came to play at Uconn because we loved softball and wanted to win. But then they all just give up and look at me like I’m supposed to be some superhero who can save them all! And I can’t!” you fully break into sobs at this point, feeling every ounce of pent of feelings come crashing straight into the hoodie.

“I know sweet girl, I know,” Paige mumbles, pressing kisses to the top of your head, swaying slightly back in forth in a soothing rhythm. “You do so much for all of them.” truthfully she knew exactly where you were coming from, it was a feeling any sports team would meet regardless of how good or bad they were. “I’ve got you baby, I’ve got you,” she murmurs soothingly, not letting go of you as you clutch her sweatshirt like it’s a damn lifeline.

By the time your done crying, your eyes have puffed out and Paiges are reddened from crying right along with you. She hated seeing you like this, and honestly it reminded her of herself during basketball, on how badly she would take the fault for the error of the team. Your eye black had been ruined, tear tracks dripping through the cross shaped marks on each cheek. And your game hair was mess. Instead of two neat Dutch braids it had turned into a tangled rats nest both from playing softball and then tugging at it out of stresson the bus ride home, an old habit from when you were a child that you were certain you’d never break. “How about a shower yeah?” Paige suggests gently, “get cleaned up and get some food before bed, yeah?” she questions soflty. You had all the control in the situation right now, she would do anything to ease your feelings.

“Y-yeah a shower sounds good.” You agree, inwardly cringing at the way you stutter. You were a captain, you were supposed to be the strong and brave one of the team, the catcher everyone could always count on, not some cowardly girl who stuttered and balwed her eyes out after a loss.

Paige helped you get undressed and into the shower, turning it on to almost scalding hot, the way you liked it. Gently she began working the shampoo into your hair.

“Sorry about that…” you mumble under your breath. “Its been a long day I guess,” a lame excuse but whatever.

“Hey, no, no, no, no, no, no.” she states, putting more emphasis on each no as she goes. Lightly she grabs your chin tilting it up to look at her. “Baby, I know you hold yourself to a high standard but you are a human being, not a superhero. Quite frankly, your teammates are dicks if they can’t recognize the problem.”

You open your mouth to say something but she doesn’t let you get a word out.

“And before you start some big speech about how its not my problem and how I don’t need to do this I want to. So shush up and let me take care of you.”

You smile, a good real smile for the first time in the last two hours. “I love you Paigey, so much.”

“I love you too.”

The water sprays down your back, Paige’s hand blocking whatever shampoo suds threatened to get into your eyes. She grabs you both a towel, stepping out first and quickly wrapping you up. Then, not giving you a chance to protest, your scooped up bridal style and carried to your bed. She flops down next to you, smiling as you nuzzle into her.

“So, my girl feeling a little bit better?” Paige asks, pressing a kiss against your damp collar bone. She’d helped you change into pajamas, just one of her old hoodies then carefully detangled your hair, which had been a little messed up from its braids. Needless to say, a bit of one on one time and pampering had definitely helped.

You pressed closer to her, burying her face into her chest before mumbling a reply. “I’m always ok with you by my side.”

-This is sea otter anon, i just can't get to my emoji cause I'm on a laptop, but i swear im still sea otter (pls don't take me emoji i love it)

WOWWW you just get it every time babeee

this is beautiful i need more if you got it in you 🙌🏻🙌🏻🙌🏻

[halfhissandwich]

@analoginceweek Day Five: “Here is where we shall stay.”

Story below! (Part two to Day Four)

“Hey, Virge, I need to go, Thomas is getting tired and I’m on dream duty tonight.” Roman informs Virgil of his situation. “Can… can you stay here and make sure our Perfect Professor is okay?”

“Nice alliteration… and yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll stay.” Virgil mumbles that last sentence more to himself than to Roman, but the prince gets the message regardless, and appears grateful as he pecks Virgil’s lips, causing the latter’s eyeshadow to quickly turn a sparkly purple color before he pulls away, lightheartedly slapping Roman’s arm. “You dork!”

“Haha! You know you love me, Virgil!” Roman playfully winks at him and Virgil’s face flushes when he finds that he can’t refute that claim. So he responds with a simple roll of his eyes. “I- oh, crap, I gotta go. You’ll be okay here?” Roman asks quickly, and when he gets a nod in response, he kisses Virgil’s cheek. “Bye V, tell Logan I said bye, I love both of you!” Roman takes a bow and sinks out.

Drama prince.

Virgil sits outside of Logan’s room for about 2 minutes before Logan finally opens the door, just a crack. Virgil jumps in surprise, looking at the door to find that Logan had in fact opened it… but Logan isn’t in the position that he had hoped. He still looked sad but on top of that, his eyes were a bright orange color, a sign that Virgil knew the significance of. “Logan…?” Virgil slowly speaks, trying not to provoke him.

Upon hearing Virgil say his name, Logan bursts into tears and falls down to his knees, babbling incoherent apologies to Virgil’s surprise. “I’m so- sorry- sor-” Logan practically chokes on his own sobs, prompting Virgil to kneel beside him and place his hands on Logan’s shoulders, observing the dark eyeshadow under Logan’s eyes. “L-Logan, hey, hey. Shhhh… look at me.” Virgil is unable to keep his own voice from shaking as he tries to get Logan’s attention, but Logan miraculously looks up at Virgil, breaking his heart with his terrified expression. “Do something for me. I want you to name five things you can see.” Virgil instructs, surprising Logan with the exercise that Logan had guided Virgil through before.

Shaking somewhat violently, Logan’s eyes shoot around the room, trying to decide what to say. “I-I can see… my- my bookshelf, I see… I s-see your s-sweatshirt… and your shirt… and I also see the lights in my room… and my blanket… was that five…?” Logan asks, gently fidgeting with the strings of Virgil’s hoodie, causing a warm smile to appear on Virgil’s face.

“Well done, Logan, that was five, very good.” Virgil praises Logan, keeping his hands steady on Logan’s shoulders, his own anxiety dying down with Logan’s success, which seems to also help Logan feel better. “Four things you can touch?”

As Logan continues through the exercise with Virgil’s guidance, Logan slowly finds himself being more and more grounded, and at the exercise’s conclusion, his newly orange eyes gaze into Virgil’s purple ones with hesitance, yet still with admiration. “You… you remembered.” Logan observes.

“Of course I did.” Virgil assures. “I still use that exercise a lot when I start feeling overwhelmed by my anxiety. It’s nice to have different options, know what I mean?” Logan nods wordlessly. Virgil looks at Logan’s eyes, then down at his hands as he takes them in his own, finally observing the elephant in the room. “So… he’s been bothering you.”

Logan averts his gaze, tears threatening to fall again as he nods. “He has… but not just him.” Logan starts, trying to find the courage to tell Virgil what had happened. Virgil, seeming to understand Logan’s feelings, squeezes his hands in order to give Logan the reassurance he needs. It proves successful as Logan continues talking. “When… when Thomas was cleaning, Remus showed up and started doing… doing his thing. I gave Thomas different methods to make himself feel better about how Remus was bothering him, but then he… he…” Logan clears his throat in an attempt to continue speaking. Nothing happens when he tries again. He clears his throat and tries to speak again. Nothing happens.

“What did Remus do, Logan?” Virgil asks, being as gentle with his question as possible, and struggling to hide his surprise when Logan yells. “HE MADE ME MAD! I- … I felt… so angry. He was ignoring me when I was trying to talk some sense and it felt like my blood was burning. And then he was right! The second that Nico called Thomas, Thomas started completely ignoring my efforts to tell him that implementing this damn schedule!” Logan rises, pulls out the schedule he had worked so hard to create with Thomas, a relic of how valuable he is, and rips it apart.

Upon seeing Virgil tense up at Logan’s outburst, Logan sighs and sits back down. “I’m sorry, Virgil… I just… I feel…” Logan begins, but trails off. Virgil holds his hand, wanting him to finish speaking. “I f-feel… sad. And mad.” Logan admits, lacking the appropriate emotional vocabulary to put a precise name to his feelings. “And I… something about Roman… he kept making me think about Remus. Like, I would see Roman but also see Remus. And I know that’s terrible! He’s nothing like Remus, I know that! Roman is bright, and intelligent, and funny, and… clean.” Logan looks down, avoiding meeting Virgil’s tense gaze.

“… I get it. When I first came to the light side, Roman did usually, well… remind me of Remus.” Virgil admits. “Granted, I barely knew Roman and I grew up with Remus, but still… We both know how amazing Roman is now, and we know that while he is similar to his brother, he’s different in all the ways that matter. He’s kind, he respects the space of others, he is able to reflect on his actions and take accountability and feel guilt when he makes mistakes, and well… when he makes us angry, there are good intentions behind it, right?” Virgil asks, prompting Logan to nod.

“I had a feeling that my brother was behind this somehow.”

Virgil and Logan both jump in terror realizing that Roman had returned, apparently done with his duties in creating a dream for Thomas. Virgil waves hello, but Logan is frozen as he desperately tries to explain himself to the prince, who was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and a neutral expression on his face. “Oh my god…” Logan tears up. “Oh god, Roman, I’m so sorry… I swear, I didn’t mean to compare you to Remus, I promise, I… you… you aren’t mad, are you?”

“Mad? Oh I am absolutely furious, but not at you, mi amor.” Roman takes one of Logan’s hands in both of his own. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I… I haven’t? But… I thought I hated when-” Logan starts.

“I hate when people imply that the only thing keeping me from being the evil twin is a mustache.” Roman clarifies with a small jab at Janus. “My brother and I are very similar, Logan, I know that. And I understand that if there are two Creativities, then they will naturally be connected. But you weren’t even comparing us, Logan, you looked at me and you were reminded of an event that really hurt you less than an hour prior.”

Listening to Roman’s voice was enough to completely soothe Logan’s tense body, his shoulders relaxing and his breathing slowing to a relaxed pattern. “May I hold you, Logan?” Virgil smiles, to which Logan snuggles up to him, letting himself be vulnerable in his partner’s arms as Roman maintains his hold on Logan’s hand. “Is there anything I can do to help you?” Roman asks. Logan looks at him, then down at the ripped piece of paper he had left at his feet. He pauses.

“Can you give me some tape?”

[bastetwastaken]

Hi friends ^.^

I've been absent for a while, and there are multiple reasons for that, but long story short- I lost all my writing motivation and any joy I ever had for creating. I worried that it would never come back. I still worry that it won't ever return to the way it used to be but I can happily say that it's not quite as bad now.

Unexpectedly the passion for writing came back yesterday, out of nowhere, just bam, you can write again! So I've been slowly working on the next chapter of Area of Effect and just wanted to share a little piece of it with you. <3 <3

Thank you to those of you who have been supporting me through what has been an honestly awful time, and thank you for your patience.

.............

“What are we playing for?” He asked.

Atem laughed as he handed him a can, sitting down on the floor opposite him. 

“Do you only play when stakes are involved?” Atem asked him. 

“I do when someone questions my abilities.” He huffed. 

“Oh yeah?” Atem smirked, leaning back on his hands as he looked back at him. “Well then, perhaps we should make things more interesting, hm?” 

“I’m keen to hear what you’re thinking.” He said with a smile, taking a sip of the drink he’d been given. 

Atem hummed, looking around the room then back at the board between them. 

“Hang on.” Atem said, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees, crawling a few paces to the shelves against the wall where he began to rummage for something. Yami decided to sip his drink again and try to keep his eyes off Atems ass. He failed. “Ah. Here.” 

Atem returned to his spot opposite him and placed a box of playing cards between them. He looked up at Atem and raised an eyebrow.

“Can you play poker?” Atem asked him. 

“Yeah.” He laughed. “Although it might not be the best choice, I’d hate to take all of your money.” 

Atems lips pulled up into a confident smirk, his eyes held the promise of a challenge and Yami felt his stomach turn in excitement. 

“Oh I wasn’t thinking we’d play for money.” Atem told him. “I was thinking about something else we could both lose…” 

He tilted his head to the side, placing his drink down on the floor next to him. He couldn’t think of anything else they could bet, maybe it was just a matter of pride? Maybe that's all Atem meant. 

“Like what?” He asked. 

“Ever played strip poker?” Atem asked.

Yami almost choked on his own breath, that was something he hadn’t expected to hear at all…but maybe it would be a good idea… he would like to see Atem wearing significantly less than he was right now after all. 

“You’re sure about that?” He said. 

“I am.” Atem smiled at him. “But are you? I’ve been told I’m quite good at this game.” 

“I guess we’ll see about that.” He said with a laugh. “I’m in.” 

“Wonderful.” Atem grinned at him then pushed the board and game pieces to the side that they’d been using previously. He watched as Atem opened the box of cards, tipped them out and shuffled them deftly. 

Atem had clearly done this many times before, and perhaps Yami would have been impressed by the way he moved the cards effortlessly between his hands, how he fanned them out and slid them back together, but no…his mind was firmly in the gutter as he wondered just how those hands would feel on him. 

He cleared his throat awkwardly and took another sip of his drink, although they both knew they were very clearly interested in each other, they hadn’t quite managed to talk about what they wanted from this yet. 

But here they were, about to play strip poker and he was going to lose his mind he was sure. 

Their cards were dealt and the game began. Unexpectedly, he lost the first round. With a sigh, he reached up to his hair, pulling out his hair tie and dropping it to the floor between them. 

He picked up his can and took another sip before he caught the way Atem was looking at him. “What?” He asked as he lowered the can. 

“You do know the rules of this game, right?” Atem asked, eyebrows raised. 

“Of course I do.” He scoffed. “Do you?” 

The noise Atem made was a mix of shock and irritation. “So tell me how a hair tie counts as clothing.” 

He smirked, placing his can on the ground and leaning back on his hands, looking back at Atem, allowing himself just a moment more to enjoy the look on his face. 

“Well clothing is something you wear, right?” He paused, Atem nodded. “And what do you do with a hair tie? You wear it. So I’d say that meets the definition of clothing.” 

There was a moment where Atem said nothing, he just stared at him, then a smile tugged at his lips and he laughed. 

“I knew there was a reason I liked you.” Atem said, shaking his head and chuckling as he shuffled the cards again. “Oh, this is going to be fun.” 

He grinned as Atem dealt the next hand.

...........

Want to read the fic so far? You can on Ao3 ^.^

[rosewaterandivy]

Summary: ease your armor where you stand, the flashing helmet and plate of bronze, take the spear and return the lyre.

Pairing: s.h. x f!oc

W.C.: 5.3k

Warnings: 19th century etiquette and decorum, Jason Carver jumpscare, god forbid a woman do anything 🙄

m.list | playlist

II. Traîner quelqu’un dans le boue

The debut of Miss Eleanor Fairchild was wildly successful in that it certainly gave the blue bloods of New York something to talk about over the Christmas holidays. In fact, the Fairchild manse was positively filled to the brim with floral arrangements and the silver dish in the foyer is overflowing with calling cards.

Marian radiates in pride, her first major ball thrown with ample aplomb. Her husband, Christopher, is more wary of it all.

“Aren’t things supposed to calm down over the holidays?” He grouses from behind his newspaper once morning at the end of December.

“Really darling, to hear you tell it one would think the entire endeavor was an abysmal failure,” His wife admonishes from her spot by the fireplace.

She catches Pierce’s eye as he steps into the room with a crisp envelope and is about to hand it over to Christopher until Marian daintily plucks it from his grasp. Thumbing it open, she reads it quickly before a gasp falls from her lips.

“Oh my.”

This gets her husband’s attention as he finally extricates himself from the morning paper. He stands behind his wife, one hand curling at her waist as he reads over her shoulder.

“The Astors,” He says after a moment. “Well, I’ll be.”

Marian, coming to her senses, calls to Pierce, “Have Miss Eleanor come down, please. We should get her to the dressmaker before they close for the day.”

She turns in Christopher’s grasp, color high in her cheeks. “She’s done better than we could have possibly hoped,” Her voice is soft, as if she’s afraid to break the spell the unexpected invitation has cast.

Chris drops a chaste kiss to her brow. “Well, she is rather clever, darling.”

“Yes, of course,” She says with a laugh, “But I wasn’t sure with all that business between Mr. Harrington and—”

“You called for me?”

Marian turns and steps from her husband at your entrance. She crosses the room with quick stride and take your hand in hers, giving it a loving squeeze. Her eyes are glassy as she gives a ladylike sniff to clear her sinuses.

“Yes, my dove.” She hands you a pristine card, watching as you read though it. “As you can see, we’ve been invited to Mrs. Astor’s January ball.”

Briefly, you grapple for what this could possibly mean. You thought the winter season was over, but less than a month later here’s another ball held by the Grand Dame herself. Refusal is clearly not an option, not if Marian’s emotional display was anything to go by.

“H-how wonderful,” You say, trying to weave in a note of cheer to your voice.

“Quite the feather in your cap,” Your brother pipes up from his chair as he settles down with the morning paper once more. “Marian says it’s all due to your debut.”

At this, Marian excuses herself to have Pierce ready the Harrington equipage and get the maids to gather the capes and hats. You assume that you’re soon to be whisked off to the dressmaker though you can hardly imagine how to yet another gown would fit into your already cramped wardrobe.

Settled in on the seat of the coach with Marian sitting across from you, your head spins. To be invited by the Grand Dame herself was an honor. And Marian was positively giddy over your good fortune, it would only secure your pristine reputation, according to her.

“Who knows, you may well be in the running to win the season.”

“I’m sorry, win?” A scoff escapes from your lips, “I was unaware entering into society was a competition.”

She laughs, “Oh no dear, not merely entering society,” She leans forward, as if to share a secret. “But catching the attention of Mrs. Astor and a few gentlemen of good breeding is.”

The thought makes your stomach roil.

“And what does winning the season look like?”

Marian leans back to her side of the coach, “Well a respectable marriage, of course.”

Your heart leaps to your throat.

“Right, of course.”

How could you have forgotten that?! If you continued to “succeed” as Marian was clearly hoping you would, by this time next year you’d be some man’s wife with a grand house of your own to run and fill with children.

Before your thoughts can run away with you, the driver slows to a stop in front of the dressmaker’s shop and you’re whisked away to be poked and prodded for a few hours while Marian and the seamstress held up various swaths of fabric to determine which one suited your coloring best.

And by the time you return home later that evening, two more letters are waiting in the foyer. One is an invitation from the newly minted Mrs. Vanderbilt to attend her masquerade ball, while the other is in the younger Mr. Harrington’s familiar hand.

Unfortunately, it is not addressed to you, but to Christopher.

But a new arrangement of flowers does greet you as you open your bedroom door—white carnations, pink peonies, and sprigs of lavender— faithfulness, bashfulness, and devotion. Accompanied by the Harrington stationary, and signed with a flourish, Cordially yours, S. Harrington.

Amelia Harrington all but hustles her son out of the door, “You are to return their repaired carriage and not linger like a lovelorn youth beneath Miss Fairchild’s window.”

For someone who was angling for her son to make an advantageous match, Amelia was sure going about it in a curious way.

Steve’s valet helps him into his coat before passing him his gloves and hat.

“Of course, mother.”

She flicks the imperceptible dust from his shoulders as she says, “You’re not as subtle as you think you are.” She steps back and raises her brow, “A fresh cutting of flowers weekly, I mean really Steven.”

He smiles to himself, mindful of his mother’s quiet admonishment.

“Who said I was trying to be subtle about it?”

His mother huffs indignantly. “Right, my mistake. It seems you truly are your father’s son.”

Steve leans over to brush a kiss to her powdered cheek and says teasingly, “And you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He leaves quickly before she can swat at him, and steps into the newly repaired Fairchild carriage.

Per his message to Christopher, Steve plans to deliver the repaired coach and leave with his equipage— the whole matter settled and put behind them. But if the Mrs. Fairchild just so happens to extend an invitation for tea, or if your brother wants to discuss business in his study… Well, how could he possibly refuse?

Steve is dismayed to learn that you’re dining with Miss Buckley and Miss Wheeler this evening and are subsequently absent upon his arrival. But, as luck may have it, Marian does extend an invitation for dinner and Christopher would, in fact, be keen to discuss some business over brandy.

And that is how Steve Harrington finds himself in a dimly lit corridor, about to make his way downstairs and out to his coach when he collides with someone in the hall. His hands dart out to steady them, this person shrouded in shadow, his fingers finding purchase on soft skin and beginnings of silk opera gloves.

There’s a crackle of heat between you, his hands lighting up your skin, your pulse quickening in his grasp.

You should step back, step away and make your apologies. Marie said she would only be a moment downstairs, where could that blasted girl be now? You can’t be alone with him, not like this, maybe not ever. And it’s not because Steven Harrington is bad news, because how could he be with the way Robin goes on about him?

His fingers skate down your arms following the seam of your gloves, and your mind goes fuzzy because he does that thing again. That seemingly simple thing that is enough to make your knees quiver and chest heave; he drags an elegant finger along the underside of your wrist and pauses right on your pulse. Almost as if he’s trying to keep time with it.

“Apologies,” He manages to get out, voice raspy from the liquor and cigars.

The scent of him is comforting, like wood smoke from the study and tobacco from the cigars your brother and late father favored. But there’s something else there, something distinctly him— sweet like amber, or maybe that’s just the brandy on his breath. Hopefully, he can’t smell the port on yours…

And, oh god, neither of you should be close enough to determine that.

You make to step back, but stumble as your heel catches the hem of your dress. But before you can fall to heap on the floor, Steve pulls you up and steadies you, one hand hovering at your waist, while the other remains resting on at the pulse on the underside of your wrist. His thumb rubs at the delicate bones there, and it would be soothing if you weren’t so embarrassed.

“I–I need to go,” You say, instead of thanks because, clearly, all the laws etiquette have flown right out of your head. “My lady’s maid isn’t—”

Steve tenses at that, his brow furrows as his fingers slip from your wrist. He nods and takes a step back, as a gentleman would. As he probably should have in the first place if he hadn’t been so concerned for you, so caught off guard at your sudden appearance in the dark corridor.

And if he was loathe to leave you at the ball, he’s even more so now. The easy smile you had entered with is gone, replaced with a tight one, eyes downcast and looking anywhere but him. It’s his fault, surely, he shouldn’t have taken such liberties with you and he definitely shouldn’t have had that last glass of brandy.

There’s a fussing noise from a few doors down that breaks the silence. You turn toward it and make your excuse:

“That’ll be my nephew, I should see where the nursemaid is at.”

He expects you to scamper back down the stairs to find the aforementioned woman, but instead you gather your skirt in one hand and walk off toward the wailing babe. The door, partially open, gives way easily under your hand. As you enter the nursery, your nephew’s squalling falls to simple fussing, seemingly delighted at your arrival.

The stairs just so happen to take Steve past the nursery door as he descends, the split second floor providing a gallery to peer down on the main level. Through the balustrade sees you coo at the babbling boy, heaving him up into your arms, and watches as the babe settles on your chest.

And in the back of his mind, Steve knows that he shouldn’t be seeing this moment, it’s far to intimate and familiar. But he really can’t bring himself to look away.

You nuzzle your nose against the downy hairs on the boy’s head, relishing in his sweet scent and warmth. You sway slowly, rocking him with a soft tune as you skate your fingers up and down his back. Steve’s never seen anything quite like it, and in that moment, something blooms in his chest and he finds himself smiling as he quietly slips out the door.

The Astor ball came and went like a dream, a wisp of something unexpectedly wonderful.

Marian was pleased at the good showing you’d made, the gentlemen's names that littered your dance card. And Christopher was more than happy to entertain the fathers of prominent families who asked after you.

Everything was coming up roses for the Fairchilds, or so it would seem.

While the men you’d shared dances with were nothing but respectful and kind, your heart plummeted once you noticed Mr. Harrington’s absence. And yes, it wasn’t a requirement, per se, for men to attend each ball or charity function, but it pained you all the same when the night drew to a close and your pulse lacked the familiar thrum that came from his attentive grasp.

The affable Mr. Byers offered up an explanation for Mr. Harrington’s absence:

“I believe the family is in Boston on business.”

Whereas, Mr. Munson was adamant:

“Checking up on that horse of his, I’d wager. The racing season soon will be upon us.”

Mr. Hargrove was less than helpful:

“I don’t make it a habit to keep up with the comings and goings of one Steven Harrington.”

But, Mr. Hagan luckily, was more than happy to report:

“Oh, Harrington? He’s checking in on the country house upstate.”

Well, at least that settled it. If only you didn’t have to endure four turns around the floor with four different men to get your answers. That being said, they had all also been warned by Mr. Harrington to not let you fall into the hands of—

“Jason Carver,” The blond man says with a bow as he takes your hand.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance Mr. Carver,” You reply automatically, the years of etiquette lessons doing their work as you drop into a curtsy.

The four gentlemen to your left look, understandably, concerned at this turn of events.

Mr. Carver goes to write his name in the final slot on your dance card, when someone careens into him, spilling a flute of champagne down the side of his lapel. Mr. Munson stumbles and attempts to right himself by swinging an arm around Mr. Carver’s shoulders.

“Apologies, my good man.” He says patting Mr. Carver’s chest and giving you a subtle wink. Then, when discovering the growing dampness on Mr. Carver’s tailcoat, he bemoans that fact that: “We can’t have you dancing with the belle of the ball looking like you’ve come in from the docks!” And finally, drags Mr. Carver out of the ballroom and into the smoking room to remedy the problem.

But before Mr. Hagan or Mr. Byers can secure your attention, another man has stepped forth to lay claim to your final dance.

He’s older and polished, yet somehow familiar as he brushes away the beginnings of Carver’s name to replace it with his own: Harrington.

You glance up, flummoxed, because the only Harrington you know is painfully absent this evening.

He gives you a comforting and paternal smile as he takes your hand in his for the final waltz. And after a few measures says, “It would appear that my son is rather taken with you, Miss Fairchild.”

The elder Mr. Harrington leads you with ease across the floor, his wife looking on with approval as she bends Marian’s ear. Christopher had retreated to the smoking room after Mr. Munson and Mr. Carver with a look of disapproval and had yet to return.

“That’s nice of you to say, Mr. Harrington.”

He turns you delicately, waiting until you're facing him again to ask, “And you? Are you fond of him Miss Fairchild?”

Suddenly, you feel quite dizzy and it’s not due to the turns of the waltz.

And in that moment, you realize you are being studied and scrutinized; it’s just as Marian had said, to win the season was to make an advantageous marriage. But, to your mind, it seemed all too quick for this to be unfolding.

“Your son has been…” You trail off, searching for the appropriate words. The ones that will keep you and your reputation safe. “He’s been exceedingly kind to me, Mr. Harrington.”

He nods, approvingly. “I would hope so, he well ought to be.”

The dance is quickly coming to a close, but there are few more turns around the floor to be had and more than a few tricks up Mr. Harrington’s sleeve. He asks after your education, your parents, and upbringing; inquires about your travels, your interests, and what you’re currently doing to pass the bitter New York winter.

“I’m re-reading the Greeks,” You supply, for that is how you’ve been prattling away the hours at present. “The Iliad as of today.”

He smiles and you can see vestiges of his son in his expression; there’s comfort in that.

“Ah yes, Achilles and his rage. A fascinating tale.”

You nod in agreement. “While Homer paints Achilles as a classic tragic hero, I find the story of the Trojans to evoke more pathos.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, of course,” You smile, luxuriating in a conversation about one of your favorite stories. “To see the dynasty and power of Troy fall in such a tragic way… I, for one, find it all the more compelling because they were deaf to the warnings of their doom.”

“Cassandra,” Mr. Harrington supplies.

“Yes, the women are quite something, that cannot be discounted.” He turns you again and you catch sight of Christopher joining his wife and Mrs. Harrington across the room. Facing your partner, you continue: “I realize that everyone favors Achilles because the gods favored him, but I find myself more fixated on his Trojan counterpart.”

The music hits its crescendo and begins to wind down, drawing the evening to a close.

“And why do you think that is, Miss Fairchild?”

“Oh well, it seems rather obvious to me.” Your feet follow his in the final steps of the waltz, you meet his gaze before taking a step back to curtsey and say: “Because Hector, above being a son of Troy and a leader of men, is an unfailingly good and brave man.”

The song ends, and polite applause is issued. You curtsy and the elder Harrington bows.

“Hmm, right you are Miss Fairchild.” And there’s that familiar smile again, “Right you are.”

He gingerly takes your arm in his and leads you off the floor toward your chaperones. Giving you a secret smile, he leans down to say, “I hope to hear more of your insights one day, my dear.”

And the night ends just as it began, as if you were waking from a dream.

Mrs. Alva Vanderbilt requests the honor of your company at her masquerade ball this Spring at La Petite Château. One must arrive wearing the costume supplied on the enclosed cards. Eligible bachelors are to don masks and their assigned partners are to unmask them. Dancing will begin at Eleven o’clock.

The icy winter gave way into a brisk spring, New York positively bustling with anticipation of the Vanderbilt ball. Invitations had been hand delivered by servants in livery, and young socialites had been practicing quadrilles for weeks on end. Dressmakers and cobblers were booked months ago, services secured soon after the invitations had arrived.

The costumes, by Marian’s own account, were to be as historically accurate as possible. And she thanked her good fortune for not having the stress of dressing as a fallen matriarch of France or a Russian tsarina.

The Fairchilds had lucked into the roles from Greek myth. Marian was to be the famed Helen of Troy, while Christopher was cast as the dashing Paris. You, meanwhile, were to dress as the lovelorn Andromache, with Gus as your son Astyanax.

Although it was rather an odd choice to have Marian and Chris playing one of literature’s infamous pairs star-crossed lovers, it was not for you to question Mrs. Vanderbilt’s judgement. Especially when it afforded you a rather needed respite from a gown with excessive ornamentation. Besides, you were rather fond of Andromache despite her tragic circumstances.

And because your brother was married, it only made sense that he be paired with his wife. While you, an unmarried woman in society, would be paired with an eligible bachelor. It’s a thought you choose not to linger on, content to let the dressmaker alter and shape the costume to her liking while Marian fusses with your hair and jewels.

“I hadn’t anticipated a need for gold this season, at least not until we were in Newport.”

Keeping to the historically accurate theme and to compliment the gown, Marian was on a mission to simpler gold and silver pieces rather than more readily available paste jewels or the more precious gems from your mother’s estate.

The costume itself was lovely, a simple gown resembling a pelpos in a lovely blue. The skirt only partially bustled so as to create a cascading drape of fabric. Fortunately, you would be able to get away with a looser more comfortable corset since the bodice differed from the fashionable bateau cut and would be secured with brooches at each shoulder.

Since you’d be carting around Gus all evening, you considered it a fair trade.

Your hair, Marian and Marie decided, would be braided at the crown with the rest pinned up, a few pieces left loose to frame your face and topped off with a simple gold coronet. Gold bangles would adorn one wrist with a matching cuff on the other. For footwear, handmade leather sandals with small heel would suffice. And you’d have a simple white stole to serve as a himation or cloak if you caught a chill.

The shop bell rings as the door opens.

“If only I cold find something for your coronet,” Marian fusses, thoroughly put out because she couldn’t seem to acquire the final piece for your costume.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine if I go without one,” You say, turning as the seamstress tells you to. “Really, Marian, the costume itself is lovely.”

She pouts, “But she was royalty, you should have a—”

At the sound of approaching footsteps, the seamstress hastily bundles you off to the back of the store, as Marian turns to see none other than Mrs. Harrington walk into the shop.

“Apologies,” She says, “It would seem I’m rather early for my appointment.” Her eyes trail two figures at the back of the store before one is hidden behind a dressing screen. “How do you do Mrs. Fairchild?”

“Oh very well, Mrs. Harrington. Just ticking off our list for the ball. And you?”

“Ah, I’m doing the very same.” She settles on the settee next to Marian. “The Misters Harrington are all set, but I have one final fitting for my costume.” Her lips pull in a jovial smile, “Oh to be a man without a care in the world.”

Marian can’t help but laugh along with the older woman. And that’s precisely what they’re doing when you emerge from the backroom.

“What a lovely surprise,” Mrs. Harrington greets, rising to take your hand. “I didn’t mean to snoop on your appointment dear, truly.”

You curtsy, “Of course not Mrs. Harrington, and we certainly didn’t mean to take so much of Elizabeth’s time today.”

“Think nothing of it,” She says with a smile, “But if I may be so bold, the sliver I saw of your costume was utterly enchanting.”

You thank her profusely, and say your goodbyes. Her eyes trailing after you as you step into the carriage. For some reason, your heart won’t stop racing.

Later that evening, Marie is called downstairs during dinner to take a delivery up to your room. She brushes down her skirt and apron, excusing herself from the servants' table. Pierce waits in his solemn way at the door with a finely crafted wooden box in his gloved hands.

Placing it into her hands he says, “This came for Miss Fairchild, she is to add it to her costume for the ball.”

Puzzled, she glances up. “No note?”

Pierce shakes his head, “None whatsoever.”

Slowly and carefully, Marie takes the stairs to deposit the jewelry box on your bureau for tomorrow. As she slides the box into its place of honor amongst the golden bracelets and brooches, her curiosity gets the better of her.

A soft gasp falls from her mouth as she quietly opens the box. For nestled among its indigo velvet lining rests a beautifully elegant and refined golden coronet.

Steve, it is clear once he’s arrived at the Vanderbilt manse, La Petite Château, has never been more nervous in his life. Not only is he attending a ball for which he must arrived masked only for his assigned partner to unmask him (what madness is that?!), but he is wearing leather sandals and a kilt with leather tassels in March.

He has never longed for trousers more than in this moment.

He exits the coach first and offers his hand to assist his mother as she descends. He’s carrying a bronze and horsehair helmet, currently propped against his hip. In lieu of a coat, he’s wearing a blood red cape, and armbands along with a breastplate of bronze. There’s also the matter of the sword at his other hip that keeps getting in his way, but that is neither here nor there.

His mother is a resplendent Hecuba to his father’s stoic King Priam.

Yes, they seem to have made a mighty fine showing for such a tragic tale.

Amelia brushes a few errant locks of hair from her son’s face before he can don the bronze helmet. A clever way around the masquerade requirement of the evening; and all the more dramatic for whomever was to unmask him.

“Now,” She says, voice soft and maternal, “Regardless of who unmasks you tonight…” Her fingers fuss with the red fabric at his shoulder. “You should find Miss Fairchild as soon you are able.”

Steve nods, finding his voice lodged somewhere in his throat at present.

“We’ll be summering in Newport soon, and I know you’d rather not wait until the end of the season to make your intentions known. The sooner we can secure the courtship, the better— your father are in agreement on that.”

“She’s a fine girl, son,” His father chimes in as Steve puts the helmet on. “A rare find.”

More carriages are arriving by the minute, so with that, the Harringtons make their way into the Vanderbilt ballroom.

The Fairchilds arrive not long after, and refreshments are served before the dancing can begin around eleven o’clock.

With Gus babbling at your hip, you don’t have much time to search for Mr. Harrington. In fact, you’re not even sure he would attend given his absence at the last ball. His parents, of course, would be there, his mother’s presence at the dressmakers guaranteed it.

Seated with your brother and Marian for dinner, you pass Gus off to his nursemaid who accompanied the family. She’s dressed as the milk mother to Astyanax, comely in her cream colored pelpos. He parts from you with a small fuss, and a part of you is already mourning his absence.

“You’re good with him,” Marian smiles conspiratorially, “He’s grown quite attached to you.”

You smile back serenely, “And I him.”

After the fanfare of dinner and drinks, Mrs. Alva Vanderbilt, who had quite stolen the evening with her costume of ‘electric light’ with a lit and battery-powered skirt, announced that the unmasking was to take place before the dancing would begin.

Everyone is ushered into the ballroom as the help begins to clear the table and refresh the drinks. The symphony begins to play softly in the background, the growing sound of voices rising over the music.

Gus, sated from his nap during dinner, grabs for you as the nursemaid passes him over. His chubby hands rest on the brooch at your shoulder, his little fingers skating along the golden disc. You will yourself to take deep breaths to alleviate the rising panic in your chest.

Logically, one would assume that the eligible gentlemen and ladies would be paired along a similar, if not the same theme. Unfortunately for you, there was no shortage of Greco-Roman costumes for the evening. Already you had surmised the presence of Cupid and Psyche, Echo and Narcissus; Janus with his two faces and Pandora with her box.

And nowhere had you caught sight of one Steven Harrington.

A few of the braver ladies step out from the crowd, inviting the gentlemen to do the same, and the games begin. Juliet finds her Romeo, Guinevere her Lancelot, and Isolde her Tristan. The numbers on the dancefloor keep dwindling, but you play your cards close to the vest as you entertain Gus at your hip.

The lone centurion that approaches is an immediate no go, as a jubilant Cleopatra eagerly reveals her Anthony.

But another soldier in regalia remains, as do a few other men, and you could’ve sworn that you’d spied a lone Oberon awaiting his Titania.

Cautiously, you step forward, ankle flashing briefly as your skirt moves with you. Gus is less sure of this turn of events, preferring to nuzzle against you as the stranger approaches, and you assess one another warily.

The helmet hides his face from view, but you take in the cocked angle of his head, how it allows his eyes to travel the length of you— from the hem of your dress to the coronet on your head. He’s slowly taking you in, as you are him, and it’d be almost a luxury if not for the pairs of eyes trained on you.

From across the way, you catch sight of Robin and Nancy, their cheeks flushed from the champagne and excitement of the evening. They’re whispering to each other behind Nancy’s fan, their eyes bright with mischief.

As if they are privy to something you are not.

A wail from Gus steals your attention, frightened by the helmet the stranger is sporting, and you know your time is up.

Surely, there must be some sign that this is Alva’s match for you? Some inkling or hint on his costume, maybe?

Shushing Gus with nonsense words and a low, soft voice, your eyes travel the length and breadth of this man before you. And there, on his breastplate of bronze, is the etching of a warhorse.

A smile breaks across your face as you take a step closer and raise your voice to say, “Well, if it isn’t Hector, breaker of horses.”

And it’s like a scene from a painting, or The Iliad itself, when the man goes to remove his horsehair helm. Gus, dressed as Hector’s son Scamandrius, stops his cries when the face of the man beneath is finally revealed.

It’s a sight that nearly steals your breath, because your match was clearly versed in the classics as well, and does just as Hector did— taking the infant from your grasp and holding him against his breastplate. Gus is thrilled by the change of venue; if your gold brooches were amusing than the breastplate, polished to a high sheen is fascinating. The baby laughs at his own reflection, eyes wide and curious.

A hush had fallen over the crowd as the scene unfolded before them. Amelia Harrington’s eyes fell to a familiar gold coronet, Samuel Harrington caught Christopher’s attention and nodded toward the smoking room for discussion, Marian’s eyes welled with happy tears, while Nancy and Robin took note of the pleasant and calm expression on your face.

No one was the wiser as your Hector, oh so discreetly, held your bangle-adorned wrist and skated a finger across your palm to rest against your thrumming pulse. He passed off Gus to the nursemaid and toed his helmet to the side.

“Andromache,” He says with a playful smile, “The honor is all mine.”

And with that, he pulls you into his arms as the first dance of the evening begins. You could swear that your feet never once touched the ground that evening as Steven Harrington spun you across the floor.

Miss Fairchild,

I must avail myself upon your good nature and express my deepest regrets for my behavior at the ball last night. It was not my intention to engage you so readily after your debut knowing, as I do, the feelings you harbor about the season, et al. If it is amenable, I would like to apologize to you personally— it is my most ardent hope that my recklessness not endanger our friendship. If that is agreeable to you, you can expect my call Sunday afternoon.

Very sincerely,

S. Harrington

_

Dearest reader,

It would seem that Mrs. Vanderbilt’s masquerade was quite the fête of the spring season. I even heard tell that our newly minted debutante was less than generous with her dancecard, more preoccupied with the city’s favorite bachelor and his furious pursuit.

Will there be an announcement before we decamp to Newport? Or will this infatuation prove to be just another passing fancy?

Keep your eyes and ears pealed, loyal readers, until then.

[okaybutmakeitgayer]

Caleb: do you ever want to talk about your emotions, Beau?

Beau: no

Jester: I do!

Caleb: I know, Jester

Jester: I’m sad

Caleb: I know, Jester

[sluttyten]

Fucking wild day at work today like what the fuck

[laomelettedufromage]

Oh boy guess who has to make decisions about their short term future soon😳

[chuluoyi]

✎ wedding anniversary

- gojo satoru x reader

seven years of dating, two years of wedded bliss, and gojo is having his greatest existential crisis yet... all because this year, you apparently have forgotten the most important day of your lives

genre: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—heavy smut, fingering, cunnilingus, p in v sex, slight breeding kink, crack, drunk, lovesick and possessive gojo (nanami is so very done with him), also fluff !!

note: back to chu's thirsting hour :') based on a fellow gojo fucker's very helpful brainrot (chiyo if you see this, hii!😗) pls give it some love bc this has gone through not showing up in the tags 5x already *sobs*

a part of gojo's love entries

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

To this day, it was still beyond Nanami why you, his very sensible former classmate, would have Gojo Satoru as your husband.

“She... doesn't—hic!—care about m-me... anymore!”

But well, to each their own.

“Gojo—”

“Today is our—hic!—anniversary!”

This is exhausting. It had been 30 minutes ever since the blindfolded shithead started rambling his sorrows. “She is probably just busy, you don't have to—”

“I r-really thought—hic!—she would at least n-not forget it l-like that!”

“Please, stop this nonse—”

Satoru snapped his head so swiftly that Nanami was startled, pointing out an accusatory finger at his face. “You stop!—you don't understand, Nanami!”

The said man flinched, taken aback, before feeling the surge of irritation coursing through his veins.

Sure, Nanami would gladly admit that he didn't understand. He neither had the time nor energy to. It was beyond him that he was even entertaining this blubbering idiot at this time of the day, in a bar no less. How did he get roped into this in the first place?

Actually, he had minus interest in your marital affairs, but Gojo was latching onto him all day, rambling about how excited he was for this day for weeks now, until you gave him a call, saying you would be home late and disregarded his very open anticipation. You broke his heart to pieces, apparently.

Amidst his heartbroken musings, Gojo followed him to his frequented bar, where he proceeded to down multiple glasses without any supervision.

“Am I really t-that lousy? Can’t be it… I’m s-strong, d-dashing… rich—”

Nanami released a guttural sigh, messaging his temples. How could this idiot have no shame while spouting all of this?

“Will s-she… divorce me next…?” he abruptly blurted, eyes widening as saucers and full of clarity all of a sudden. Satoru firmly tugged at his suit and forced him to face him. “Nanamin…! S-she won’t divorce me, r-right?!”

Oh, to hell with it. Nanami couldn’t take this anymore. He was done and he had no patience to tolerate it any longer.

He shrugged him off, and pulled out his phone to dial your number. “Hello? Please, come pick your husband. He’s a public nuisance!”

In fact, you didn’t forget your anniversary.

How could you? Satoru made it his point to drop hints about it almost every day, and you actually struggled to be indifferent about it because you also had things planned out.

A present—already taken care of thanks to your mail order of Rolex’s newest collection watch, and a treat—a two-tier mochi cake he had been staring at with literal stars in his eyes on your last date.

Which has become the problem. The bakery had mishandled your delivery and you had to wait for them to remake it. It was 8pm already and you couldn't help but worry. Satoru must be feeling utterly despondent by now, thinking you had forgotten a day that meant so much for both of you.

And so when you got a call from Nanami, you dropped everything to get him and told the bakery to arrange for the delivery tomorrow, because you knew... nothing good ever came out of Satoru getting drunk.

"I missed youuuu~! Dearest, darling— my universe!"

To Satoru, the everything around him was a blur of lights and hiccups when you came to retrieve him. Nanami was so eager to wash his hands off him, leaving you with a pointed grimace as if pitying you.

. . .

"A-are you going to—hic!—leave m-me?" Satoru slurred for the nth time now, stumbling inside your house with you propping him.

"For the last time, no, but I'm tempted to," you hissed, throwing him a glare. Your husband was a very unpleasant drunk because he wasn't even a drinker in the first place. "Satoru—walk properly!"

You managed to get him into your bedroom, where Satoru flopped onto the bed, dissolving into groans. You exhaled deeply and plucked the buttons of his shirt open, trying to get him change into his sleepwear.

"Ah... haaah," suddenly he caught your hand and placed it on his bare chest, his eyes blazing into yours, rambling, "Sweetheart—please. I c-can't live without you now... I'm sorry—I'm sorry for anything, or everything, I don't even know but—please don't hate me—"

"Satoru..." Your eyes widened slightly in surprise. Why was he this spooked? "I'm not leaving you, okay?"

"I promise you, I'll do better—" his voice was watery, as if his throat was clogged up. "I'll be better..." His voice then reduced into a whisper. The alcohol had stripped away his facade, leaving his raw emotions exposed.

Something inside you lurched. Throughout the nine years you have been with him, Gojo Satoru was always irritatingly self-assured, and so seeing him like this— so openly fragile, it did more than just churn your insides; it made you realize the depth of his feelings.

In that moment, you knew your reassurance meant everything.

"I'm not going anywhere, yeah?" you placed your other hand over his, offering him a genuine, soft smile. “Satoru, I’ve put up with your ass for more than nine years. So…” you shifted your eyes away, suddenly feeling embarrassed, before looking at him again. “I'm here... for you, always.”

His grip on your hand loosened slightly, but the intensity in his gaze didn't wane, and you would've laughed when he hiccupped next if you weren't feeling the overwhelming warmth in your chest.

But oh you wouldn't have expected it, because one heartbeat later, he yanked you down to the bed— crashing his lips against yours.

“Mmmph!”

He tangled his nimble fingers on your hair, and his other hand slipped inside your blouse, unclasping your bra in one flick. You let out a gasp, "Satoru—! "

Before you could even gasp, in the next second, he flipped you over— seizing your puffy lips once more. His hands now moved with more urgency, squeezing your breasts rather roughly, flicking your nipples with the pads on his thumbs.

And soon, far sooner than you thought...

"Who else gets to see you like this?" Satoru inquired darkly after you were naked under him, his voice low and deep. He was no longer that stupid husband of yours, rather the wanton man of your nightly wonders.

Without warning, he slid one of his fingers into your folds, probing your walls, and a gasp escaped you as you arched your back, throwing your head back on the sheets.

"No— one," your voice came in a breathless moan, still reeling. "H-how can y-you ask me—" Stretching you out even further, he entered another finger and you wailed, "Mmgh!"

He had always loved the sounds you made and how you were so pretty squirming under him like this. And before you knew it, his face was inches from your cunt, blowing hot air into your sensitive flesh.

"Tell me, who is the only person who gets to see you like this?"

Your eyes rolled back, words died on your tongue as his skilled tongue ran down on your drenched pussy. You instinctively tried to close your legs around his head, but he firmly held them apart.

"You." Panting, your mind racing to form coherent thoughts. You managed to mutter, "Only you... No one else—hah—just y-you...!"

He suckled on your clit hungrily then, rewarding you for your honesty. Squelching noises echoed around your marital bed as your arousal pooled around his fingers— you being so incredibly, irrevocably close to your release.

"Haaah, ngh—mmph!—Satoru, I'm a-about to—!" but then, in one cruel twist, he withdrew his digits, and your pussy throbbed at the loss.

You muffled your whines, feeling betrayed and irritable. "What—why—!?"

"Don't think that I'll let you cum anywhere else but my cock," he stated gallantly with an unusually stern expression, blue eyes narrowing as he assessed your wetness. Right in front of your eyes, his cock sprung after he let it out of his pants.

"Soon, you'll feel me..." Your eyes shamelessly followed his long length as he placed it on your lower belly. "...there."

Everything about him using that taunting tone turned you on, and true to his words, he soon slid himself inside you. He let out a low grunt at the feeling of how your walls clenching around him and you whined, the pain of being stretched making you almost sob.

"Shit, hold still," Satoru groaned, pushing down on your belly. "You're so tight— relax for me a bit, sweetheart? You're doing so, so fucking well."

His words went through you, and you could feel yourself opening more to ease his intrusion. Next thing you knew, he was buried deep inside you, and his gaze met you once again.

"Are you okay?" he asked between breaths, voice softening. When you nodded in response, he planted a kiss on your chest.

"I love you," he said in a rasp, eyes piercing your soul. "I’ll give you anything. My body, heart, soul—you can have it all. In return, you just have to promise one thing." His eyes, now clearer, deprived of the earlier haze, boring straight into you like an arrow.

"Don't ever leave me."

"I won't," you replied resolutely, catching your breath. Your own eyes shone with your love for him, making it even. "For as long as I live, it's going to always be you."

Satoru gazed at you as if you were his skies and stars, and before he started pounding into you, he vowed—

"Then I'm yours."

And soon, you were a nothing more than a frenzy, hot mess. You couldn’t help the nasty moans flying out of your lips as he kept barreling into you. His grunts reverberated throughout the room, rutting you through your hazed mind.

And the way he was whispering provocations into your ear, pushing you further into ecstasy at the mere thought of—

"What if... I get you pregnant this time?" A thrust. "Just imagine—" Another. "My wife, all round—" Another. "—just because I—am doing this to her—!"

You were barely registering his rambles at this point. Your walls clenching around his girth impossibly tight and you let him claim you as his thoroughly, your legs locking around his waist.

"Ah—ngh, mmrgh! Satoru—more!"

This wasn't you, the usual you wouldn't be this daring— but even you'll be more than forgiven tonight.

Satoru's jaw tightened at the sheer pleasure you brought him, his ego stroked, and his heavenly eyes darkened as you begged and dug your nails into him. He was so close, he could feel it. Your moans was enough to lead him to cum right here and there.

But before that, he was determined to show you, to whom you truly belong.

“My wife.” He growled. A thrust.

“Mine.” You gasped. Harder.

“All mine.” Deeper.

"Yes," you cried. "Yours— all yours, so please—!"

And three deep thrusts later, Satoru finally busted his load inside you, spurts after spurts painting your wall white— filling you up so hard it was spilling out. And your orgasm followed in immediate effect along with your hitched screams of pleasure, before the two of you collapsed on each other, a mix of groans and sweat, entwined in cum, bliss and exhaustion.

"Love you, sweetheart," you heard him murmuring in your ears, enveloping you in a warm embrace as you drifted into sleep.

Next morning, you were awoken to soft hums in your ears.

"Oh, the sleeping beauty awakens." The first sight you saw was Satoru's cheeky grin, and him pecking you on the lips. "How are you?"

"Mmm..." you winced, feeling the slight twinge between your legs. He noticed it and gently untangled himself from you, fingers tracing your waist. "Don't move around too much, you're going to bother my little swimmers, you know."

It took you a few seconds to realize what he meant and you glared at him. "You horny weirdo. I just woke up."

“Heh heh heh~ Don't take it too seriously! I was just trying to get you to smile.” He pinched your cheeks and then mused, “Well, I'd actually be surprised if we made it last night...”

"You're not funny," you retorted. You had been feeling weird and that was when you saw it.

The dazzling, massive diamond ring. On your finger. Wait, is that Graff's Tribal Collection?

"Satoru..." you mumbled, lifting your hand in shock, your eyes fixed on the piece that likely cost more than your monthly wage. "You..."

"Do you like it?" his smile was so easy and light, adoring the sight of you. You were so adorable, marveling at the little gift he got you.

"What do you mean—" you stuttered, turning to him. "Are you crazy?! I can't wear something this expensive—!"

"But that's exactly my point. It's a gift, meant to spoil my wife."

"You are mad," warmth flooded your cheeks, your heart fluttering with joy. You were unbelievably giddy because your husband really knew the way to your heart, yet you'd be damned if you let the excitement show in front of him.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression souring, and with a mocking tone, he accused you, "Actually, you're the one who's gone mad. I can't believe you forgot our anniversary!"

"I didn't, you dummy. I was out picking up your favorite mochi cake before you got yourself wasted." You turned away from him, shyly. "And I got a gift for you too."

"Oh? Oooh! Really!? What is it?!"

He was back to his silly self again, and you could only shake your head, wondering how the sex god from last night and this fool was the same person.

Yet, you felt nothing but love. Your heart couldn't help but melt for him when you saw that carefree grin.

And you couldn't be more grateful to the stars for bringing him into your life.

. . .

Oh, and little did you know that his little swimmers also made the goal last night— as three weeks later, you found yourself clutching the first of your pregnancy tests, which was showing a positive.

[garoujo]

✩ ˛˚ . GOJO SATORU — sometimes your boyfriend’s want for you just seems to be insatiable.

ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ warnings! f!reader, mating press, breeding, biting, he loses control of his technique a teeny tiny bit at the end, im going absolutely insane. ♡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ note! hiii this is a lil mix of my gojo thoughts over the past few months, my sanity is slipping as u can tell <3

the way gojo satoru was in bed was exactly how he was in real life, absolutely merciless when he wanted to be, you realise with the dizzy haze in your mind and the pillow he’s shoved under your hips. there’s a pleasurable burn in your thighs where he’s got them folded into you, your ankles dangling by his ears as his hips press into your ass and the way he looks over you is needy, and a little wild.

but he only really got like this on on a few occasions, like after a gruelling mission, a boring mountain of paperwork or maybe you’d been teasing him. sometimes he’s just consumed by the idea of you carrying his kids— he’s so incredibly insatiable.

“you feel me right here, sweet thing, hm?” the snowy haired man above you hisses with a languid roll of his hips, deliberately pressing into the sweet spots inside of you that he always seems to be able to find so easily. but you can barely breathe, nevermind answer with how full you feel — your warm walls twitching around his heavy shaft before he’s giving you a few more thrusts.

“don’t hold out on me, it feels good, right?” gojo goads, chuckles when the next particularly deep kiss of his cock along your insides has your lips parting to moan, eyes squeezing shut as you wriggle underneath him.

“‘ts too deep, satoru! fuck—“ you manage, voice breaking under the weight of your own arousal but shit— he loves you like this. pliant and pretty and all his. you’re basically begging for him to give you his soul, to pour it into your body and your bones until you’re twitching— his stamina was limitless after all, an endless pool of energy.

“oh? but i’m sure you can take more..” gojo’s words are a low drawl as he curls over your folded figure, making your muscles scream for some sort of relief but he still manages to give you more. he begins a pace that’s so deep, so animalistic that you feel like you could black out with the way the pleasure rips through you, making your body clap against his as his balls smack loudly against your ass and suddenly he’s even deeper.

“see, i knew it.” it’s smug despite the the trembling undercurrent to his tone, breaking under the weight of his own arousal as his voice takes an octave higher. but you’re doing so well for him, your eyes are rolled back— lips parted and you’re basically begging for him to go harder when he leans into press his lips against yours, pushing his name between your lips as your hands grab at him for any sort of relief.

“almost there, right?” gojo groans against you with the next quiver of your walls; the next particularly heavy thrust makes your thighs tremble and he’s so deep it almost hurts, making something spark and burn along your inside as he fucks you into the mattress like a wild animal.

you whimper, barely— it’s a desperately pathetic little sound, wound up tight and it makes him pull away to look at you, crystalline eyes cloudy with lust before his lips are stretching into a smirk.

“oh, more?” gojo’s head cocks to the side and you know you’re done for when his pace picks up, every heavy thrust is driven by the muscles in his body and your pussy squelches loudly with every wet connection of his hips.

“oh, i’ll give you more, baby. so greedy f’ me, hm?” despite his teasing, he’s babbling— sweat beading along his skin as the snowy peaks of his hair frame his flushed features and fuck, the pretty sight above you only makes you feel even better. you’re so high off his desperation, every muscle in your body screams under his but the nerves in your body cry even louder with how good you feel— with how much your body craves him.

“‘ts so tight, you milkin’ me, sweet girl? how many you want, huh? give you as many as you need. wanna see you swollen f’ me, you want that, mhm?” gojo’s barely coherent but his words only make you squeeze around him tighter— a silent little invitation as every thrust has you crying more, more, more! satoru, want your cum—please! punched out little gasps and cries as he digs the orgasm out of you.

“oh, you’ll look so pretty f’ me—f-fuck!” his huge body is looming over yours, pressing you into the mattress and the pillows beneath you. your thighs are flush against his abdomen and chest, and your lungs feel like they quake on every exhale as your lips part to moan. he presses himself into you— face nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he grazes his teeth along the skin there, headboard screeching loudly in time with every smack of his hips.

“‘toru, please please please—‘m g’nna,” you tremble as you shake beneath gojo, thighs tensing tight against his body and he knows he’s got you exactly where he wants you as he smirks against your skin. your orgasm hits you so suddenly, so hard and good that your toes curl where they hang over his shoulders, your body stiffening beneath him and the first milking compression of your pussy makes his pace stutter, hugs him so tight he can’t help but bite so hard into the sensitive skin of your neck he draws blood.

“should see h-how pretty you look like this. tell me ‘ts all mine, y’ gonna make me a daddy, yeah? g’nna fill you up so good. oh, this pussy’s made f’ me, ain’t it?”

his body trembles as he pulls back slightly to watch your cream pool around the base of his cock, your slick smeared along his skin and your walls still throb with every unforgiving push of his hips. your orgasm feels like it stretches on forever as you gasp out broken yeah, yours, love you so much ‘toru, waves rolling through your body with the heat you feel pour and sting along your nerves. it only takes a few more clapping thrusts and your choked confessions before hes kissing you, just as he likes as his lips curl into you.

gojo cums hard, thick and heavy inside of you when he feels your tongue push against his, swallowing both of your groans into the kiss as he pushes his load into your puffy cunt. you’re both so lost in bliss, so unaware of the electricity across your boyfriends skin and the uncomfortable pressure that seems to suddenly weigh down on your intertwined bodies.

the bedroom light flickers but you don’t notice, he’s slurring curses against your lips as he almost pins your thighs to your chest completely, the air between you seems tighter— atoms trembling in the finate space. but he’s continuing to fuck into your sensitive pussy with tiny little thrusts you don’t notice the creek of your furniture as it twitches out of place— like it’s being pulled towards you both. the small flickers of purple fizzle out when you’re both spent and he’s collapsing on top of you with a low, breathy chuckle, making you whine with the cramp you feel in your body.

“‘toru! you’re heavy.” you grumble, voice worn and scratchy but it doesn’t move gojo as he cuddles deeper into you, leaving sweet little kisses along your skin with obnoxious kissy noises— a stark contrast to how filthy he was being a second ago.

you’re both breathing deep as you give up trying to escape from underneath him, opting to press your fingers through his damp hair instead before he finally moves. he pulls back, enough for his cock to push his cum out of your pussy as he does, squelching and dripping into the mattress beneath you both as you jolt slightly. “careful, ‘ts messy, ‘toru.”

gojo whistles lowly before he looks at you again, one of your legs still haphazardly thrown over his shoulder before he’s placing a sweet kiss to your ankle, then following it up with a painfully languid, experimental thrust as his crystalline eyes focus on the mess he’s made of you.

“come on, sweet girl. you’re not nearly full enough f’ me yet.”

© 2023 GAROUJO. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[surftrips]

SWEET NOTHING

pairing: luke castellan x reader

summary: y/n comforts luke after he sees percy claimed by poseidon.

word count: 600+

a/n: y'all i know. how many more morally grey characters can i write fics for? i couldn't help it, he's so bf in the first two episodes so this takes place in a world where he’s done nothing wrong <3

You watched as your boyfriend’s face changed after seeing the newest camp member, Percy Jackson, claimed by his father, Poseidon. 

Luke wasn’t one of the unclaimed kids, but he might as well have been. His relationship with his father Hermes was a strained one, but he pretended like it didn’t bother him. 

But now, it was hard not to notice the sadness and frustration that had clouded Luke’s face as he watched the trident appear above Percy’s head. Before you could go over to comfort him, he had already run away from the scene. 

You decided to give him some space, figuring that he had gone back to his cabin. As the other camp members slowly dispersed, you looked around for Annabeth. 

Upon laying your eyes on the dark-haired girl in the crowd of people, you beckoned her over. 

“Hey! Did you see that?” she asked you, excitedly.

“Yeah, that was crazy!” you admitted. “How’d you know he was Poseidon’s?”

“I’ve been watching him.”

“Of course,” you smiled. Luke had told you about Annabeth's desire to find “The Chosen One.” 

“Wait- where’s Luke?” she asked, as if on cue.

“I was gonna talk to you about that- I think he ran back to his cabin.”

“What- why?”

“I think he had some feelings about Percy being claimed, if you know what I mean.” 

“Oh,” Annabeth replied, putting the pieces together. 

“Yeah, I’m giving him some space right now, but do you have any advice on how to approach this? I don’t want to upset him any more.”

“Look, Y/N, you’re his girlfriend. Just do your best to comfort him and I’m sure he’ll start to feel better.”

“I know, but you’re his sister! You know him best, what if I say the wrong thing?” 

“You can’t say the wrong thing. He loves you, Y/N. He just needs to see that someone is there for him.” 

“Okay, thank you, Annabeth,” you gave her a hug before heading in the direction of the Hermes cabin. 

You were relieved to find that the other campers had not gotten back yet. You gently pushed open the door and found yourself facing your boyfriend’s back sitting on his bed. 

“Luke?” you called out.

He turned to face you, hastily swiping at the tears that had fallen onto his cheeks. 

“Oh, sweet boy, come here,” you ran over to take him in your arms. He let his tears fall again, and your heart broke seeing him like this. You knew that he acted brave all the time, but deep down, he was hurting.

“Hey, it’s okay. Just let it out,” you attempted to calm him down. 

“Why doesn’t he care about me?” he cried.

“Baby, it’s okay. He doesn’t matter, alright? It has nothing to do with you.” 

“Yes, it does. Percy killed a minotaur and broke Clarisse’s spear and his dad just came swooping in.” 

“Look at me,” you pulled away to lift his face up. “You are so, so special. Anyone that knows you can say that. Hell, you’re the best swordsman in this camp. But you know what else? You’re kind, and caring, and you have all this compassion in your heart, despite it all. If he can’t see your worth in that, then that’s a reflection of him, not you.” 

Luke didn’t say anything, instead he worked on catching his breath as you continued to rub his back and lay kisses on his forehead. 

“Thank you,” he said after a moment, still sniffling. 

“For what, baby?” 

“For seeing me. And staying.”

“To know you is to love you, Luke Castellan,” you gave him another kiss, this time on his lips.

[erwinsvow]

An idea popped into my head that I feel you would write very well!

Rafe x virgin!reader. They are having a pretty heavy make out sesh, he slips his hand into her pants and then she just blurts it out? Like, "I'm a virgin," and she's like terrified. But rafe doesn't mind at all.

(also, is the 🪩 taken.)

oh my goodness!! I’m obsessed with this. no it is not taken omg welcome to the club!!!!!!!!!! ty so much for requesting 😚😚😚😚

your night with rafe had gone as perfect as any night could have, dinner by the beach, watching the sun go down while you ate dessert, and then heading back to tannyhill with him for the night, like you always did.

your nights with rafe always ended the same day, crawling into bed wearing one of his big shirts and then making out until you were soaking through your panties and rafe was hard beneath you. you're sure that rafe might have guessed you're a virgin by now, from the way everything he does is so new to your body, reacting primally to every touch. the two of you fall asleep like that, and you feel tingly from your head to your toes, waiting for rafe to say something about going further.

you're sure he would. there's no doubt in your mind that he's ready to, and he's probably done this with a million girls before you-a thought that makes you want to cry, but you put that aside. you're rafe's now, and you know that giving him your virginity is part of the deal. you're not sure just when that'll be, since he has you in your panties nearly every night.

maybe it'd be tonight. when the two of you get back to his room, you head for his dresser immediately to pull out a shirt, but rafe pushes you against the door. he leans down into a deep kiss, and you let it progress, hands snaking into his hair while he holds your waist tightly, his own hands running up and down the soft material of your sundress.

it's a little uncomfortable against the door like this, but rafe eases you up immediately, your legs wrapping around him while he pins you in place. you don't mean to start moving your hips, grinding down against him, it's just instinct, chasing that toe-curling feeling that you haven't been able to feel with rafe yet. his hands snake further down to the hem of your dress, and then slide underneath the material to the smooth skin of your legs.

rafe's hands keep traveling, gripping your thighs while he keeps you locked in a kiss that has you feeling dizzy, would have your knees weak if he wasn't holding you up. his tongue pokes into your mouth, and you moan around it, not even wanting to pull away to breathe.

you have to, though. rafe's hands are at the waistband of your panties, and just as he starts to grope, finding where he can yank them down so he can finally do what he wants to you, you pull away, hands resting flat on his chest.

he likes you like this--hair disheveled, lips red and swollen, the strap of your dress hanging off your shoulder. he leans in, pressing a kiss to your shoulder and then your collar, then up your neck.

"rafe," you whine, but it's easy to let him keep going. "we should stop-"

his eyes dart up to meet yours, pulling his face away from your neck.

"why would i do that, hm?" he kisses you again, but you turn your head away. "finally got you where i want you."

"i-well, i'm a virgin, rafe." it falls out of your mouth, even though you've spent countless hours thinking about the best way to tell him. you've thought everything through, how to say it, how to reply based on his response, how to deal with the embarrassment you're sure to feel.

"yeah?" he questions, pulling away to look at you in the eyes. still pushed against the wall, you can feel his hard dick pressed against you. the two of you don't move an inch, besides for the nodding of your head to answer his question.

"so, no one else has ever touched you where m'touching you?"

you shake your head.

"and no one's ever seen you like this?"

you shake again, feeling your eyes get watery.

"i'm sorry-"

"why're you saying sorry? told you to stop doin' that."

"because... because it's embarrassing."

"says who? hm?"

"says everyone. right?"

"no, kid. not me. you want me to stop?" your body melts into his grip. you shake your head again. "good girl. c'mon, get on the bed. not taking your virginity against this door."

[ahegato]

[NSFW] Obey Me - MC begs him to fill them up

I’m sorrrrrryyy I’m really not I had to do this

m.list

TW: unprotected sex, creampie, swearing Characters: demon bros Writer: ahegato

note: basically, it’s the first time MC and him are having sex without protection (it’s of course assumed that both are safe in this case), and at the end, MC asks him to finish inside of them. I can't possibly be the only one into this kinda thing, so here y'all go!

LUCIFER:

“hm?”

he stops and pretends he didn’t hear you, just to make you say it again

as much as his animalistic urges tell him to immediately do it - to physically claim you as his - he also can’t just immediately give in

so he makes you beg even more for it

all while he has a smirk on his lips

you whine as you repeat it again 

“really now?” 

he stares you down, watching you wiggle to get some friction, as he’s still not moving

“yes... please, Lucifer...”

the demon chuckles, gently palming your face with his hand

then he suddenly begins to roughly thrust into you again, leaving you starstruck, eyes rolling up into your skull as you mumble his name

on his very last thrust before reaching his orgasm, he whispers “you’re mine” in your ear, sending you over the edge as well

I wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to stay inside you for a while

during that time, he’s very affectionate and sweet, more than he usually is, basically drowning you in compliments and kisses

MAMMON:

starts to moan. like a lot

I mean he already was but it definitely got louder and more frequent

like imagine pornstar kind of moans

loud enough to possibly wake up Belphegor in the attic

his trembling knees nearly give in underneath him

he leans down until your noses are almost touching, whispering “i love you” over and over again between his moans

moans your name really loudly when he bottoms out in you, eyes rolling up into his skull as he fills you up

his arms are tightly wrapped around you, and he refuses to move his face currently buried in your neck

you rake your fingers through his hair as you ask him what he’s doing, and that’s when he lets out a sniffle

“i just love you so much” he cries, streams of happy tears running down his face

(post nut crying is surprisingly wholesome and it’s so fucking cute don’t @ me)

LEVIATHAN:

cums on the spot, letting out a whimper as he does so

mumbles incoherent words as he rides through his high

after finally calming down, he just kind of froze

you’re not sure if it’s because he realized what you asked for or because he accidentally finished without you

when it’s been about 10 seconds of complete silence, you start to genuinely get concerned

you’re about to ask if he’s okay when he bursts into a ramble where he profusely apologized, his face red as a tomato

won't look you in the eyes, burying his face into your chest

you try to reassure him that it’s okay and that you understand

…coyly adding that you’re just happy that you got what you wanted *wink wink*

he stares at you, his cheeks basically on fire at this point

guess who’s hard again 😏

SATAN:

slows his movement down

“oh? what was that? did my kitten just ask me to fill them up?”

you quickly nod, to which he leans down, feeling your shaky breath against his face

“who am I to refuse what you so desperately want?”

to which he speeds up again, rutting against you harder and faster, but also taking one of his hands down to stimulate you as well

as much as he desperately wants to release, he wants you to do so as well

won’t let himself finish until you’ve done it first

once you were pushed over the edge he couldn’t hold it back anymore, with your walls clenching around him, and he slams into you one last time before finally releasing

he will keep you in place until you’ve taken every single drop of him

ASMODEUS:

“mmm, of course. anything for you, my darling~”

I think he’d prefer the moment to be slow and deep rather than fast and hard, which usually isn’t the case

but you’re special to him, you’ve touched his heart in a way that no one else ever has

and he wants to show that through his actions

he wants to show that this is not him being the avatar of lust, this is him being absolutely infatuated by you

definitely holding at least one of your hands, the other most likely resting on one side of your face

he wants... no. he needs to see you

"look at me, sweetheart"

like Satan, he starts to touch you to bring you closer to the edge

he wants to finish together with you

the hand holding yours will tighten its grip as you both reach your climax, Asmodeus leaving moans and whines behind him as he does so

lusty boi is all about aftercare, so he brings you to the bathroom to shower off all the stickiness

then he'll snuggle with you in bed until you fall asleep

BEELZEBUB:

this boi has a breeding kink

so many people have mentioned it in their headcanons, and yeah I can kinda see it being true

“really? you really want it?” he asks with a look of surprise

once you confirm it, he wastes no time in speeding up his thrusts, gripping onto you even tighter from the pleasure

“I’m about to finish... I’m going to finish deep inside of you...” he huffs in your ear, “you’re going to be so full once I’m done”

you whine in response, moving into his thrusts to speed it up

with a deep guttural growl, he fills you up

...and I mean really fills you up 

the fluid quickly starts to seep out of you, even while he’s still inside

that’s how much we’re talking about here

he’ll probably change the position so you can snuggle, but he’ll stay inside for as long as you’ll let him

it might even lead to him getting hard again tbh

BELPHEGOR:

at first he doesn’t see it as a super big deal

like it’s definitely an exciting thing, but he’s not crazy about it like some of the others are

he’s still pretty pleased though

because that means there’ll be less for him to clean up

because it’s such a close and intimate thing

“you want it inside?” he whispers softly, and you quickly nod

speeding up his movements, he feels himself get close

he wasn’t prepared for it to feel this good, and he ends up being way louder than he thought

you guys are usually rather quiet, or at least he is

he's practically whining and moaning like a pornstar

it doesn’t take much more for him to get over the edge

“ah fuck MC, ” he moaned as he connected his hips with yours a few more times, letting out spurts of his cum as he did so

his orgasm lasts for way longer than usual, all he can do is let out a few whimpers from the sensation, gripping you tightly

someone definitely heard him

✦ written 06/2023 - 11/2023 ✦ posted 28/11/2023 ✦ ahegato ✦

[lovebugism]

if you're still looking for shy reader ones (with a hint of smuttiness) maybe Eddie finds shy reader's sex toys?

ty! — eddie munson stumbles upon your sex toy and shy!you learns to cope (shy!fem!r, fluff, allusions to smut 18+)

Twisted in thin sheets and Eddie’s Hellfire shirt, you fight for slumber in the honeyed haze of your bedroom. You rest on your stomach, arms wrenched around the pillow you clutch to your face. A heavy, comforting weight smooths over your back in the familiar shape of Eddie Munson. A lazy smile tugs at your lips.

“How are we supposed to nap if you won’t stop touching me?” you mumble as the boy sprinkles chaste kisses to your jaw and neck.

“Can’t help it. You’re too pretty,” he slurs, still sleepy but trying to fight it. 

The tip of his nose traces your pulse point when he moves down to kiss the bare skin of your shoulder — where the neck of your shirt has fallen slightly down. Chill bumps erupt beneath his touch. You feel his smile contort against your skin. 

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” Eddie teases. “I know you do.”

“Hm,” you hum, writhing slightly between the mattress and his body. “I do like it,” you confess in a half-muffled murmur.

“Yeah?”

You nod against the pillow. “Very much…”

His bare stomach settles flush against your back when he rises on his forearms. His crotch ruts subtly (only sort of unintentionally) against your ass — cock already half-hard and aching. His plush mouth brushes the shell of your ear. You fight back a shiver. 

“Have any rubbers?” he mumbles.

“Top drawer. On the right.”

Eddie scoffs and sits back on his haunches, taking his warmth and the covers with him. He swats your ass with a rough, but not unkind hand, before rising off the squeaking mattress. “You minx,” he chuckles. “What the hell do you have a pack of rubbers here for?”

You giggle weakly into the pillow. “The same reason everyone has ‘em, Eds.”

“Who else are you using them with, huh?”

You’d roll your eyes at him if they were open. “No one,” you scoff. “You’ll be pleased to find them unopened.”

With your eyes still shut, you only hear the squeaking of an opened drawer. You wait for the sound of Eddie ripping the box open like a total maniac, but it never comes. The strange silence makes your chest ache.

“Well…” Eddie scoffs in a teasing lilt. “What is this?”

You lift your heavy head from the pillow to glance at him over your shoulder. Squinting with tired eyes, you find the boy on the exact opposite side of the dresser you pointed him towards. Your veins flood with an ice-cold horror. 

“I said on the right!” you shout, rising from the mattress and rushing towards him with a newfound life.

“This is the right!” Eddie argues, then makes an L shape with both his hands. His brows raise beneath his fluffy bangs when he realizes he’s gotten them backwards. “…Oh.”

You slam the drawer shut, as if the damage hasn’t already been done. 

You’re not sure what’s more embarrassing, actually — the fact that your boyfriend’s just seen your drawer of sex toys, or the fact that they’re audibly jostling against one another while you try to hide them. Both equally make you so mortified you could die.

“Hey!” Eddie shouts. “I was looking at those!”

You glare at him. “Don’t make fun!”

“I’m not making fun!” he assures through a set of boyish giggles. He gestures wildly with ringed hands and tells you, “You’re a girl with needs, babe— I’m actually glad you’re taking care of yourself when I’m not around.”

“Eddie!” you shout, equal parts scolding and whining.

He laughs again, louder now but no less sincere. “I’m serious! You don’t have to be embarrassed about it, okay? It’s normal. And it doesn’t bother me. Alright? No big deal.” He tilts his wild head to his shoulder and smiles lazily down at you. “Well. As long as you’re not planning on trading me for Mr. Sparkling Pink Vibrator in there—”

You swat half-heartedly at his chest, face screwed with a distant horror. “I said don’t make fun!” you grouse and try to step back from him.

Eddie pulls you back by your wrists, making you stumble into his chest. He ducks down until the tip of his nose brushes the bridge of yours. With a bright pink and crooked beam, he tells you, “I’m kidding, alright? I’m just messin’. I’ll leave you alone about it, okay?”

“Promise?” you murmur in a mousy voice.

“Mhm. I promise,” he nods once, then can’t help but smirk. “Unless, you know, you ever wanna use ‘em together…”

Your nose scrunches at the offer. Not because you don’t like it (your stomach is warm and swirling at the thought), but because you didn’t like he would. “You’d wanna do that? With me?”

“Yeah. You know, whenever you want. No big deal…” he shrugs and tries to be cool about it. 

But the thought of pinning you beneath his body, piercing you with his cock, and holding the pretty vibrator to your clit while you scream for him — unable to decide whether you want more of his merciless pleasure or if you can’t take any of it anymore — makes his hands tremble with yearning. 

“Though… Now would be preferable.”

[too-deviant]

freaky friday

OR… that one time you woke up in luke castellan’s body, told from the perspective of percy jackson.

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Fem!Demeter!Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Content: the most loser loser!luke has ever loser-ed. this is sooo unserious like pls.

꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷

Percy Jackson had only been at camp for a day, but he was completely sure that something was wrong. 

It started early Sunday morning — well, when he thought back on it, he guessed it might have started late Saturday night, when he woke up to a few of the older campers (Luke included) sneaking off out of the cabin and not coming back until the sun was peeking through the horizon. 

But he didn’t really think about it until Sunday morning — when the thing that startled him out of sleep was a loud shout of  “Holy Fuck!” echoing from the bathroom. He sat up, startled, and eyed the door along with everyone else. Then there was a yelp. 

“Oh my gods. No — this is, this isn’t real. Am I still — oh don’t touch that. That’s not yours. Jesus, Luke — No. Stop looking. Oh my gods.” 

A few campers shared some wary glances, asking the silent question of who’s going to investigate? Eventually, Chris (Percy thought, one of Luke’s friends from yesterday), stood up with a sigh and a raised brow, stepping over sleeping bags until he stood outside of the door. He looked at them all, the curious eyes of literally every kid there, and knocked slightly. There was another yelp. 

“Uh…” Chris blew out a puff of air, “Are you okay in there?” 

A few seconds of tense silence, then the door cracked open and Luke Castellan stuck his head out. He looked at Chris, at all the kids staring at him, and smiled stiffly, “I’m good. Don’t worry about me.”

He shut the door once more, the force blowing Chris’ hair back for a brief moment. The boy shrugged and nodded at everyone else to start getting ready because it was almost time for breakfast. He headed over to Percy, asked how his first night was, and left him to gather his bearings before they had to leave. 

The kids attempted to forget about Luke’s debacle in the bathroom, but when they started to get impatient about his hogging it, all disregard of his personal business went flying out of the window. One kid mustered the balls to knock, and then another shouted through the wood for him to hurry up. 

Just as one of the Stoll brothers was about to pick the lock himself and check out the situation, the door flew open, and Luke frowned at them from the doorway, “I’m done, my gods.” 

They looked at him — he was leaning against the now open door, hip bucked out and not a care in the world that he was in nothing but his underwear. He glanced at them, then at the kid who Percy thought was called Conor, and sneered in his face until the kid flinched back. When he did, Luke pushed the bathroom door until it hit the wall and gestured dramatically inside, “In you go.” 

Percy didn’t think he was the only one who was shocked by Luke’s sudden show of attitude. Sure, he’d only known the guy for a day, but he’d been super nice the whole time. Even when Percy was ready to give up on finding his skill, Luke was supportive and kind. Now, he just looked irritated at everyone in the room. Maybe he wasn’t a morning person. 

Yeah, that was probably it. 

Percy decided to let him wake up a bit instead of irritating him with questions about how the morning routine at camp usually went. Instead, he followed the lead of the kids around him and got himself ready before lining up along the wall. His face bloomed red when someone had to tell him to go to the back because he was new, but other than that he was doing somewhat alright. 

Chris and Luke were arguing quietly in the corner, being careful to ensure nobody else could hear their murmurs. At one point, Luke stepped up so he was nose to nose with Chris and the boy put his hands on his chest to push him back — only for Luke to sharpen his eyes down at them with such a scandalised look that even Percy was slightly confused from where he stood and watched. Luke folded his arms over his chest indignantly and Chris sent him a dumb look before muttering something that made Luke straighten and drop his arms once more. 

When the boys ceased their conversation and walked over, the kids pretended as if they hadn’t been watching their entire time

“Okayyy.” Luke spoke, huffing out a breath. He shot his hands out and waved them, “Let’s go.” Nobody moved, and he furrowed his brows, “Uh, onwards and upwards? Hop to? En guarde?” Silence greeted him and he rolled his eyes, clapping loudly, “Can yall just fuckin’ move?”

The kids at the front flinched slightly, deciding it best to just leave rather than wait for him to say his usual morning pick-me-up. Clearly he was having a bad day and they chose to leave him to his own devices. Percy followed at the back, and couldn’t help but listen as Chris muttered to him once more from behind him. 

“Can you at least try to act like a normal person, please?” 

“I am acting normal.”

“Luke Normal.” He paused, waiting. Percy guessed Luke must’ve agreed silently because the next thing he said was, “Thank you. Now get to the front of the line like the cabin counsellor you are.” 

Luke huffed, pushing past Percy to get to the front of the line. Chris followed, whispering something about Luke having a bad day and to just ignore him before jogging to catch up. The blonde boy had never felt so awkward — the only friend he’d made and the guy was skulking around like he hated the world only twelve hours after they’d met. 

He tried to brush it off by focusing on his breakfast — blue pancakes, blue cherry coke. Okay, not the healthiest option but he was having a bad weekend, let him live. 

Chiron came to find him a bit after that, asking Percy how he was settling in and if he was ready for the Capture the Flag game they were playing later. 

After that, Percy tried to avoid the prying eyes of Annabeth by spending his free hour in the Hermes cabin where she couldn’t get to him — only to walk in on something a lot more awkward. 

Luke was lying on the floor, groaning in pain. The smiley Demeter girl he had introduced Percy to the day before was on top of him, also groaning in pain. 

“Uh, are you guys okay?”

They flinched, scrambling off each other and pulling themselves to their feet. Luke brushed himself off and looked at Percy wide eyed, “It’s not what it looks like!”

“Seriously.” The girl said when Percy raised his brow. She shook her head slowly, “We would never —“

“Yeah.” Luke scoffed, “Like never ever.” 

The girl — Percy was still trying to remember her name — turned her head and looked at him blankly, “Okay. That wasn’t needed.”

“I’m just clarifying.”

“You didn’t need to sound so disgusted about it, though.” 

“Oh my god.” Luke scoffed a chuckle, shaking his head, “You’re such a guy.”

Percy screwed up his face, and Luke suddenly backtracked, “Uh, I mean — such a lie…er.” Even he looked confused by what he’d said. He straightened up and scoffed, waving his hands, “She wants me so bad. Right? Bro?” He held out a fist, but Percy just looked at it. 

The girl, who had swiftly knocked his hand back to his side and stepped slightly in front of him, smiled kindly like she had yesterday when she’d asked how Percy was feeling about the sudden change in his life. “Sorry for scaring you, Perce. We’re just talking about something. Did you have a question?” 

“Yeah, actually.” He looked at her, “Are you in pyjamas?” 

She looked down at herself like she was just remembering her white tank top and fleece pyjama pants with bats printed on them, and Luke laughed into his fist. Upon hearing his chuckles, she swivelled back to glare at him, “Hey, don’t laugh at me! Would you rather me undress you?” 

“What?” Percy asked. He was ignored. 

Luke took a step back and held up one finger, “Uh, no. I don’t need you looking at my tits, perv.” 

“What?” Percy tried again. 

The girl scoffed, looking away from him and muttering under her breath, “Kinda hard not to when they get hot in the night and climb out of your shirt.” 

Luke gasped and put his hands to his chest, “Oh my gods.” 

“I tried not to look but they were right there — !”

"Well — " Luke stammered for a rebuttal, eventually pointing in accusation at the girl beside him, "You had morning wood!

"What — ?!"

“Hey, guys!” Percy finally interrupted, and they looked at him in surprise like they’d forgotten he’d been standing there the whole time. “What the hell is going on?”

The two shared a look, but it was you who stepped forward and looked at him kindly, “Nothing you should worry about. You’ve had a tough weekend already, just pretend you never saw us.” 

Percy was tempted to refuse and force them to spill the beans, but they were two older campers who could very well send him to detention or whatever it was they did here for punishment — he wasn’t keen on finding out. So he left with a nod and closed the door behind him. 

Your voice drifted through the window, “—can’t believe you wear batman pyjamas.”

“At least I wear pyjamas.” Luke responded, “You left very little to my imagination this morning.” 

He walked off before he could hear anymore. 

He didn’t see either of you again until just before lunch. He was walking through camp with Grover, half-listening to his friend yap about a blueberry bush he thought was cute, when they passed you and your sisters giggling about something near the forges. 

“Gods, he’s cute, though.” One of them was saying, eyeing up a boy with soot all over his face. Percy couldn’t see much of him to determine him as cute, but your sisters seemed to agree with a loud dreamy sigh. 

“He is, don’t get me wrong.” Another girl added, “But consider this: Lee Fletcher.”

“Oh, yeah.” 

“He’s got potential. He’s got potential.” 

Percy found himself slowing down, the teenage boy in him wondering if someone would mention his name. Of course they wouldn’t — he’s twelve, and they’re all around yours and Luke’s age, but a boy could dream. 

One of the girls clicked her tongue, looking at you, “Who was it you said was sorta dreamy the other day?”

Percy watched you freeze, suddenly looking very awkward. You took a deep breath in and pretended to think about what you were going to say, but one of your sisters chimed in for you.

“It was Astor. The Ares kid with the curly hair.” 

“Oh yeah!”

“What?” You exclaimed, scrunching up your face. When your sisters looked at you all confused, you backtracked, “Uh, I mean yeah he’s…cute.” You forced the word out with difficulty, “But, I dunno. There's cuter guys out there.”

“Oh?” Your sister said, interested, “Who are you thinking?”

Now you were on the spot. You swallowed, making these exaggerated facial expressions that Percy assumed were you trying to convince the girls that you had just come up with this idea, when you’d actually probably been wanting to say it the whole time you’d been talking and just needed an excuse, “Oh, I don’t know…” You shrugged, “Luke Castellan’s sorta…y’know?”

The girls looked between each other, and you watched with slight anticipation. Then one of them, the one who had mentioned Lee Fletcher earlier, said, “I swear you said he was too full of himself.”

“What —?”

“Yeah, she did.” The other chimed in, “You said he would be cuter if he didn’t — what was it? — flaunt around camp like he had the biggest cock out of all of ‘em.”

The girls laughed, and you attempted a weak chuckle, but it sorta looked like you were in pain. Percy thought it best to walk off after that, looking for Grover who had long since left him to his eavesdropping devices and presumably wandered off into the forest to look for Blue the blueberry bush. 

So maybe Percy should’ve pressed harder when he’d cornered you and Luke earlier that morning. He thought he could brush it off, even when he kept seeing Luke lift up the hem of his shirt and poke at his abs in wonder, or when he saw you pushing your hair out of your face once every ten seconds before finally putting it in the messiest ponytail he’d ever seen. It was as if you had lost all sense of self overnight, like you'd never actually seen your own bodies before. It creeped him out, but he held back on asking. Maybe it was a demigod thing he hadn't been taught yet.

The straw that broke the camel's back, however, was after dinner. Usually when the nymphs take the plates away and the campers start to trickle down to the campfire, a few odd groups would stay behind at their tables, gossiping or finishing their desert until they had to get up and go — not only were you and your siblings part of this group of people, but so were Luke and Chris (and, by default because he had nobody else to hang out with, Percy). 

So the newcomer had the fortunate opportunity to bear witness to possibly the greatest series of events he’d ever seen (and he once saw a rat the size of a small dog eating a small dog). 

It all started when a girl from the Aphrodite table stood up and walked over to where the boys were sitting. 

“So, if you do ever want to sneak out to the forests, don’t go through the pavilion.” Chris was explaining, “Mr D has a birds eye view of the whole place from his bedroom window, so you gotta sneak as close to the Big House as you can get. But make sure to duck under the windows just in case Chiron is trotting around in there.” 

“And be careful around cabin four.” Luke butted in, “They have vines that spring out of the floor whenever a non-Demeter kid gets too close during the night.”

Chris turned to his brother with a look, “How do you know that?”

“Oh, uh — ”

“Hey, Luke.” 

Three heads turned to the edge of the table where she was standing — a pretty girl with short blonde hair, a few strands dyed pink near the front. She was smiling at Luke cheekily and Percy noticed Chris send his brother a smirk. 

“Uh, hi…” Luke trailed off, squinting.

“Laura.” She finished with a frown.

“Laura!” He exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “I knew that. I did.”

“Cool.” She said slowly, brushing off the moment and bouncing around the table to sit next to him on the bench. She leaned on her elbows into his side and Percy watched him shuffle back, only for Chris to push him right back forward. “So, uh, I had fun…last night.” She side eyed Percy across the table, but the boy just pursed his lips awkwardly. 

“Really?” Luke responded, a little shocked. He nodded, “Well, uh, me too?”

Laura grinned widely at that, back straightening, “I’m so glad we agree.”

Percy wasn’t so sure Luke agreed, he wasn’t even sure the guy remembered whatever saucy interaction she was referring to. But he was pretending to, for her sake. He blinked at her silently, but she just looked as if she was waiting for him to say something — Percy was only young, but he’d seen enough movies to know that she was waiting for him to suggest they do it again sometime. 

He did not. Instead he twisted his body away from her and back towards Percy, smiling at him, “Wanna head to the campfire, get some good seats?”

The boy was moments away from responding, but Laura clearly wasn’t taking his silence as an answer. She pulled Luke back to face her by his arm and blinked up at him, “I was just about to suggest we skip the fire tonight. Just us, y’know?” 

Chris cleared his throat and stood, ushering for Percy to do the same, “Let’s go, lil bro.”

“Wait — “ Luke stood with them, staring back with a silent plea of help. Chris wasn’t having it, just grinning at him. 

“Have fun, Luke.” He snorted, “See you later.” 

“No, you can’t — ” He started, but Laura was yanking him back with a high pitched giggle. 

“You heard him, Luke.” She smirked, “No one's gonna notice we’re gone, loosen up.” She ran a slow finger down his torso, and Percy watched him visibly tense up. He didn’t understand why she hadn't taken the hint already. 

Chris seized Percy by the wrist and began to pull him away, occasionally looking back and giggling like a schoolgirl, with the odd snort. The younger boy didn’t really want to look back, but then when he heard Luke yelp like a girl, well…

He had to. And thank the gods he did.

Luke was sprawled on the table like a scared rabbit and Laura was standing with one hand hanging limply in the air, looking confusedly at his stance. Chris burst into loud laughter when he noticed Luke’s legs were spread and the boy was trying really hard not to look at his own crotch. 

They walked over when it was clear someone needed to intervene, and Percy noticed the Demeter girls from before joining them — you were at the front, looking panicked and slightly annoyed.

"What's going on?" You asked, looking between the two of them.

"Nothing." Laura said plainly, "We were just talking."

Luke looked at you, “She — uh, she grabbed your — uh, your — ” 

He gestured between his legs with a shaky hand. Percy raised a brow, as did everyone else at the scene. Except for Laura, who began to cackle loudly, bending over at the hips and bracing her hands on her thighs. The rest of the kids stared at the pair with varying expressions, and Laura straightened up, wiping under eyes with a giggle before pointing between you and Luke. 

“You guys — oh my gods — ” She laughed again, shaking her head and trying to breathe long enough to get her words out, “Holy Hades, Castellan. I’m — I’m sorry.” 

She held her hands up in surrender, looking at you now, “I am. I didn’t know you guys were dating. I guess I took mine and Luke’s conversation the wrong way, but — ” Another wheeze, “And I shouldn’t be laughing, but he just referred to his penis as yours, and I — ” 

“Laura, it’s not like — ” You stepped up with a wince, trying to alleviate the growing tension between the group. The Aphrodite girl wasn’t listening. 

“I just think that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard since…” She took a moment to think, catching her breath and smiling at herself as she thought about it. Eventually, she gestured to you with a laugh, “Well, since last night when you called Graham Lee an extra-terrestrial ass-kisser.” 

Luke licked his lips, taking a deep breath in and pushing himself off the table and to his feet. He went to say something to Laura, face serious, but then he stopped and knocked his head back in a slight movement. He looked around at nothing, as if he was recollecting a memory, and then he gasped and pointed a finger at you, “I did do that.”

“You called Graham Lee an extra-terrestrial ass-kisser?” You tilted your head at Luke, “Why?”

Luke shrugged, “He grabbed my ass.” 

Laura scrunched up her face, looking between the pair of them, “Are you guys on drugs?”

"There aren't any drugs at this camp." You blanked. You brother laughed.

"Says the drug dealer."

You raised a brow in shock, like you'd had no idea about your own small business. You looked at Luke intensely -- Percy thought maybe you were trying to keep your drug dealing thing a secret, and Luke had gone and spilled the beans. That would explain why he suddenly looked so sheepish. It wouldn't explain why you then said, "Well I am not on drugs."

"Then what is wrong with you guys?" Someone finally asked the question Percy had been sitting on since he watched you hover your hands over your own boobs before retracting them quickly as if it was against some demigod rule to touch your own body — only for Luke to see from afar and have some very stern words to say about it.

Finally, after ten seconds of intense eye contact, you and Luke took in simultaneous breaths. It was you who spoke first, addressing the whole crowd — which consisted of Percy, Laura, Chris, and the Demeter kids — “We’re in eachother’s bodies.” 

The Demeter kids made grossed out faces, but Chris just snorted into his fist and let the conversation go on. Percy had never been more confused in his entire life — and he had once thought his dad was Jesus. 

Laura chuckled, “Yeah, we know that. His penis is yours, or whatever freaky shit yall are up to.” 

“What?”

“No — ” 

You and Luke spoke at once, each taking a single step forward. You paused, looking at each-other until you gestured at Luke with a sigh, letting him speak. He nodded, “We’re serious. We are in each other's bodies.”

“Freaky Friday style.” You jumped in before anyone could make a sex joke. You sent the group a sharp look, and then zeroed your eyes in on Percy, “That’s why we were acting so out of it earlier.”

It was silent for a long stretch — everyone looking between one another. Percy didn’t even know what to say. It did explain their strange behaviour, but —

“How the hell did you end up in each other’s bodies?” A demeter boy asked, holding a finger up like he was in class. The rest of them nodded, wondering the same. 

“Well…” Luke sighed (or You sighed, he guessed. He was still confused), “At first we had no idea, but now I think it was Graham Lee.”

Another Demeter girl hummed, “He is a Hecate kid. It’d make sense that he put some freaky spell on you after you insulted him.”

Chris coughed, still red in the face from laughing into his shirt, “Okay, but why Luke?” 

You shrugged, “Dunno. I’ve never done anything to the guy.”

Suddenly, Laura let out a long, “Oooohhhh.”

Everyone eyed her. She pursed her lips in embarrassment, although Percy definitely saw amusement in her eyes. She tucked some hair behind her ear and winced, “So, maybe we went to the clash together.”

“The what?” Percy asked, finally speaking up. The rest of the group looked at him as if only just realising he’d been standing there, suddenly looking sheepish. 

“Uh, it’s a party.” Chris scratched behind his ear, “Older campers only, but if you don’t tell anyone about ‘em you can come to the next one.” 

He shrugged, “Deal.”

“So, wait.” You pointed at Laura, “You went to the clash with Graham? Like with him?” 

“Yeah.” She folded her arms indignantly, “But he was literally staring at you the whole time, so I left to flirt with Luke.” 

Your cheeks dusted pink, and both Laura and Percy realised she was talking to Luke, not you. She turned to Luke, clearing her throat, “Sorry. He was staring at you the whole time. So I left to flirt with…uh, Luke.” 

A collective breath ran through the group, everyone putting the pieces together in their own heads. Percy was still a little unsure, but he had the gist (maybe). Just as he was about to suggest they go find this Graham guy and ask him to undo his spell, one of the Demeter girls Percy had seen talking to you earlier gasped and looked between you and Luke with wide eyes. 

“So when we were talking before…” She looked at you, “We were talking to Luke?” 

You — or Luke, but as you — stammered, and Percy couldn’t help but let out a little laugh. Luke looked on, confused, and the girl looked at him with a smirk, 

“Earlier, we were gossiping about hot guys.” She chuckled, pointing at you, “And Luke suggested his own name, as you!” 

“What?” Luke exclaimed at you, partially appalled but also holding in a laugh. 

You stammered for an excuse, but then her face contorted and she zeroed Luke with an accusatory stare, “Well, you said I walked around camp acting like I had the biggest cock out of them all!” 

Luke scoffed, “You do.” 

“I do not!”

“You kind do.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“You sorta do, man.”

You turned to Chris, scandalised, “Bro.”

The boy shrugged, “Sorry man. It’s true.”

Eventually, you managed to convince the kids to finally go to the campfire and leave Luke and yourself to fix your problem with Graham when you got down there. They agreed, although not without making as many jokes as they could on the walk down to the clearing. 

“So, how did you guys pee?”

“Have you seen each other all naked and stuff now?”

“Did Luke have morning woo — ?”

“Alright.” You smacked Chris hard on the back for that one. “To your sections, please.”

Percy sat down on the end of a log, and watched as the two of you walked over to Graham and spoke to him in hushed but harsh tones. At one point, Graham was looking between you two with the most genuine look of confusion and Percy assumed he only agreed to reverse the spell because it was making his mind go all wobbly just talking to you. 

When he saw Luke again, it was at lights out. Percy was tucking himself into his thin sleeping bag when the boy came over, crouching to his level and dropping something on his lap. 

He lifted the bag of coins to his eyeline and then raised a brow at Luke, “What’s this for?”

“Drachmas.” He explained, “Just enough to get you a new shirt at the camp store. Or a thicker pillow, some three ply toilet paper. Whatever you want, really.” He shrugged, “Partly a welcome to camp gift, partly hush money.”

“Right.” Percy lowered the bag and levelled Luke with a curious look, “How was being in another person’s body? Weird?”

“Oh yeah.” He nodded, looking into the distance like he was having some awful flashbacks. Percy remembered seeing you walk out of the bathroom earlier, a look of terror plastered in your eyes. 

He cleared his throat, “Well, thanks for the money.”

“No problem, kid.” He patted him on the shoulder, “Get some rest. It’s capture the flag day tomorrow and guess what?"

"What?"

"We're teaming up with Demeter."

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ Chapter 3 ] || [ Chapter 5 ]

Pairing: 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.6K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?

Chapter 4: John?

The lads sat in the common room of their floor at the base. Gaz and Soap had just finished a round of Gran Turismo on the PS4 they had set up, while Ghost sat at a table in the corner on his work laptop.

“Ye think the Captain’s married?” Soap mused aloud once he set down his controller on the coffee table.

“What kind of question-” Gaz quipped in confusion as he turned to look at Soap.

“He never talks about a missus Price...” Soap explained. “or second mister…” He added.

“That’s not a question you want the answer to.” Ghost said in a dismissive tone from his corner.

“Why not L.T.?” The Scot grumbled.

“People’s lives are private for a reason, Johnny.” Ghost said with a shrug and a tired look.

“Ye, but the Captain’s not like you, L.T.” Soap retorted with a chuckle.

“If anything, he’s worse, Johnny.” Gaz remarked as he looked at the two other men. “Simon’s reserved but Captain Price is pretty open.... except for that side of his.”

Soap went silent for a long moment, seeming to ponder what the other two were saying.

Then, the Scot shook his head. “If he was married, he’d be easier to deal with, I reckon.” He grumbled.  “And I think I’ve heard of him going out and getting laid before.” He added. “Last year, especially.”

“You’ve heard that too?” Gaz asked as he bounced a bit in his seat and straightened up, intrigued. “Fuckin’ hell, I thought it was just me. I’ve been dying trying to keep my mouth shut about it!” Gaz added.

“So d’ye think he hasn’t gotten laid lately, then?” Soap asked. “He’s been bloody moody since early last year with Shepherd and Graves…” He added.

“Oh, he definitely has a major case of blue balls.” Ghost remarked, drawing both the other men’s attention to him and causing their jaws to drop.

“L.T.!” Soap said with a surprised chuckle. “That’s bad of you! You’re not being the Captain’s good ol’ boy…” He joked.

“Oh, piss off. Just saying. It’s obvious the boss’ pent up.” Ghost remarked. 

“I say we get him laid.” Soap remarked with an impish expression.

“And how do you suggest we do that? We hire him a prostitute?” Gaz asked with raised brows.

“No? Obviously not!” Soap said with a head shake. 

“Good, can’t imagine the Captain appreciating that very much.” Gaz added.

“No, but we’ve gotta think of something! He’s impossible to deal with.” Soap remarked.

“I’ve told ‘im to his face and he asn’t done shit to fix it yet.” Ghost remarked from the corner.

“You’re kiddin’? L.T. you told him to get laid?!” Soap gasped in surprise.

“No, I’ve told ‘im to get ‘is ‘ead on straight.” The Mancunian quipped and shrugged, turning his attention back to the laptop in front of him.

“What about a dating app profile?” Gaz suggested and the Mancunian and the Scot both turned to look at Gaz with intrigued eyes.

“I’m getting my spare phone!” Soap announced as he got up and rushed out of the room.

“He has a second phone?” Gaz asked Ghost who simply shrugged.

-

It took almost an hour and a half and a few beers in their systems (thank God they were on break for the evening), but eventually tey had set up a fake profile for Price.

Sure, the pictures were grainy at best, but they worked well-enough. Courtesy of Soap having a habit of taking covert pictures for his snapchat and sometimes catching Price in them... (and other times just taking pictures of the man directly).

It had been mostly Soap and Gaz doing the work, however when it came down to writing the bio, Ghost gave quite the helpful input… By the time they were done, it genuinely looked like it had been Price writing it.

The lads high-fived each other. Even Ghost joined in! He looked to be in a good mood… Maybe it was the beer, or maybe something he was doing on his phone. Gaz had spotted him texting someone and chuckling to himself.

As Soap began swiping mindlessly across all the pictures of people on the Swiping page, Gaz sat next to him, peeking over his shoulder.

“People are going to read the part on the bio that says we are not Price, right? Because I don’t want ‘em to feel like we’re catfishing.” Gaz remarked.

“Don’t worry! If they don’t, we’ll unmatch!” Soap announced as he kept moving his finger repeatedly and quickly to the right. He was liking everyone, in order to get a fairly good sample size for Price. They didn’t know what kind of person the Captain liked after all…

Just as Soap’s finger is slowing down due to the amounts of profiles he liked… He spots it. And then Gaz does.

“No way!” Soap interjects. “I know this person! I matched with them on my own account!” He remarks as he clicks on your profile.

“Bloody hell, me too.” Gaz remarks, causing Soap’s head to turn and his jaw to drop.

“Wait, ye’ve got a Tinder too?” Soap asks to which Gaz nods.

“Yeah, to get laid.” He says with a shrug and a mischievous smirk. “Our chat was bloody funny.”

“Mine too!” Soap quips and chuckles. “Had a right laugh with them earlier.”

“Let me see?” Ghost asks, curious, and he slides over, bending over the back of the couch to look over Soap’s other shoulder.

“Small world. They matched with me too.” He remarks dismissively.

Both Gaz and Soap turn to look at Ghost like they’ve seen, well, a ghost.

“YE’VE GOT AN ACCOUNT TOO, L.T.?!” Soap shrieks, louder and more high-pitched than a grown man with his natural timber should.

“I’ve got a life, MacTavish.” Ghost retorts.

“No, we know that, sir.” Gaz says softly. 

“Just didn’t think ye’d be on dating apps.” Soap nods.

Ghost simply shrugs and pulls back, walking back to his corner, in an armchair which he took as his own in the last hour.

“Was that who was makin’ you laugh earlier, Simon?” Gaz adds.

Ghost simply gives him a look that can be interpreted as a tired ‘Yes’, before he looks away to keep working on his laptop.

“Should we Like their profile, then?” Soap asks with a chuckle.

“Uh… yes?” Gaz adds, laughing along. “I can’t wait to see their reaction to it being us behind the screen.” He adds.

Soap clicks the green heart button to Like your profile and then immediately hops on DM once it presents a Match. Before he can write some nonsense, Gaz steals the phone from his hand and starts typing on the cracked screen.

John: well hello again you: hello? you: how can it be again though? you: never saw your 'captain' before in my life. John: no but uve seen US John: sorry! allow us to introduce ourselves formally

“Sir, does your profile have you listed as Simon?” Gaz asked as he raised his eyes from the screen. Once Simon nodded, he resumed typing.

John: our names are kyle john and simon

“Johnny, not John, mate.” Soap corrected Gaz right after he hit send.

John: johnny* sorry

They could only imagine the look on your pretty face as you realized who they were.

you: get out! you: no way!!!!! you: all three of you?! John: ye you: wait is this what simon meant when he called himself a traveling consultant? is he a soldier like you?

“L.T. they’re already accusing ye of lying to them.” Soap quips, causing Ghost’s eyes to shoot up from his laptop.

“Lying? Huh?!” He asks in confusion as he puts his laptop aside and rushes over to the couch. He sits on the armrest next to Gaz so he can look at the screen.

He then snatches the phone from Gaz’s hand, pulls off his right glove, and types a reply with now bare fingers on the cracked screen. 

John: I wasn’t lying. John: I just omitted the truth. I don’t go about bragging about my career. you: sure sure sure ‘John’. you: sooo you: is this some kind of weird joke? are you playing a prank on me all matching me individually and then using a fake account?

Gaz snatched the phone from Ghost again.

John: kyle here and no John: we really want our boss to get laid John: he’s miserable you: well im not the one night stand type really you: its why i didnt accept to get together with any of you.

“L.T. YOU TRIED TO SLEEP WITH THEM?!” Johnny asked with another gasp.

“So did you!” Ghost retorted.

“I never thought you were the type!” Soap said with a smug little smirk on his lips.

“Oh piss off, they rejected us all.” Ghost retorted. “So it shouldn’t matter.”

As they kept bickering, Gaz remained laser-focused on texting you and, just as they got heated, he spoke up: “They accepted.”

“Wait wha-” Soap said as he whipped his head down to look at the screen, just narrowly dodging Gaz’s nose and Ghost’s head.

“Bloody hell they did!” Soap yelped as he pulled his head back.

“They wanna go out with Price and ‘see where it goes because he seems like a nice man that needs a break from the three of you’?” Ghost read from the DMs on the screen.

“Ow.” Soap quipped in mock-injury.

The three men raised their eyes and met each other’s, before all their faces morphed into confusion.

“Did they… Did they just reject all three of us for a man that isn’t even aware of this account?” Soap asked aloud, undoubtedly voicing the thoughts in all their minds.

“It seems that way.” Simon said as he looked away.

They all went quiet, each of them quietly contemplating all their life’s choices that led them to the moment they got rejected for a person that isn’t even ‘real’.

After long minutes, Gaz spoke up. “How are we going to tell the Captain he has a date?”

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