#and GOD it is not a sin to want things because sometimes the world wants us to want things that we shouldn't want

[revasserium]

狐と蛍の物語 (the story of the fox and the firefly)

harrison; 4,064 words; fluff and angst a/n: for @violettduchess and @aquagirl1978's summer days, sultry nights event -- prompt "fireflies" (obviously); i'm also gonna say this counts for my 31 days of au prompt -- reincarnation!au; inspired by hotarubi no mori e and catheryn m valente's deathless and honestly, i'm so proud and happy with this one that i'd encourage you to read it even if you have no idea of the fandom/character. u__u i would love, love, love to know what you guys think!

once upon a time, a long, long time ago, there lived a girl who only danced to the firefly’s light and a fox who could tell nothing but lies.

01.

for as long as you can remember, there’s always been the wood. and it has always been behind your house, it’s leaves and branches foreboding in the winter wind, and somehow less so in the simmer of mid-summer afternoons, when the sunlight dappled light across the soft, forest floor. it isn’t a very large wood, but it’s a wood nevertheless, and deserves all the respect and fear afforded to bigger woods in faraway places. woods that warn of teeth and terrors, woods that hide both dreams and monsters.

you’d been wandering the wood from when you were a little girl, and to you, there’s not a single rock you don’t know, a single tree you haven’t tried to climb. and the forest knows you, as forests do the people who frequent them, and it welcomes you with open arms, it cradles you to its chest, whispers stories into your ears, carves itself open to show you it’s secrets —

“you’re late.”

you crinkle your nose at the familiar voice, letting out a huffing breath as you drop your picnic basket in the middle of the small, sun-lit clearing, taking your time with laying out the checked picnic blanket and two cups and saucers for tea, and finally, pulling out a tray of confections, covered by a thin, linen baking towel.

“no, i’m not! you just want me to think i am so i’ll give you more than half of the sweets.”

a boy settles over the picnic blanket, cocking his head at you before you narrow your eyes.

“well? isn’t that true?”

“ahh… i wonder if it is…” he says, but you can hear the grin in his voice, even through the material of his fox-faced mask, which, after a few more seconds of posturing, he pushes up onto his forehead. he shakes out his milk-tea hair and slates you a poison-ivy grin. you know that grin like you know the woods— and you know the woods like you know the backs of your own hands. better, even, you think sometimes.

because for as long as there’s been the woods, and as long as you have wandered it’s depths, the boy with the fox-faced mask has always been there.

“there were fresh strawberries at farmer’s market today,” you say, setting up the tea service as you nudge the opened picnic basket towards the boy with a foot. he peers in with wide, curious eyes before letting out a soft noise of contentment as he reaches in to pull out a slice of freshly baked strawberry cream cake.

“your grandmama makes the best pastries in the world,” he says, and there’s such sincerity in his voice that for a moment, you almost believe him.

but you nod and take the compliment in stride, “she sure does!”

he digs in with gusto even when you tut that the tea hasn’t steeped properly, but you laugh as he smears a large dollop of whipped cream across his cheeks. you point it out to him with a dainty finger, and as always, you fight the urge to reach over and wipe it off for him. instead, you hold yourself still and sigh as he finally gets to it, smudging a bit into his hair in the process.

“clumsy fox,” you giggle, pressing a hand up to your lips.

“picky girl,” he snipes back, but there’s that full, sated grin on his own lips as he leans back, his elbows propped up on the soft grasses of the clearing.

after a moment of pleasant silence during which the leaves sang on their trees and the grasses swayed beneath the breeze, the boy turns towards you.

“so. no dancing today?”

you turn your head towards him before casting your eyes up towards the still bright blue sky.

“you know it’s not time yet.”

the boy heaves a melodramatic sigh, sound much bigger and larger than his 14-year old body should be able to hold.

“ah… right, right — because you can —”

“— only dance by the fireflies’ light — yep!”

the boy regards you with an imperious sort of look before breaking into a fit of bright, open laughter.

“you’re the strangest girl i’ve ever met!”

“just you saying that tells me it’s not true,” you stick out your tongue at him, even as heat washes up into your cheeks.

the boy shrugs, lying back down on the picnic basket, “i don’t always have to lie, y’know.”

and it’s your turn to regard him with the imperious look, and, a the cock of a singular eyebrow, his lips tug into a lopsided grin. his eyes flash, the color of budding spring.

“liar,” you say, but you’re smiling too as you lie back down to watch the clouds pass.

he makes no sound to correct you.

02.

once, you’d asked him what his name is and he simply shook his head and said —

“call me whatever you’d like.”

“but i want to call you by your name.”

“what’s in a name anyway?”

“uhm… nothing’s in it but…” you’d frowned then, your eight year old mind spinning to try and catch up with this strange, strange question and this strange, strange boy.

“see? so why should it matter what my name is? just… call me whatever!”

but you’d only frowned hard enough for him to roll his eyes.

“fine then — uhm — what’s the name of the current prince?”

you’d blinked, “harry.”

“then call me that.”

“but is that your name?”

“well, now it is.”

you hadn’t been convinced but you liked it better than not calling him anything at all.

“harry, then,” you’d said, smiling. and the boy — harry — had smiled too, slipping his fox-faced mask back in place as he led you further into the forest.

03.

“y’know…” harry says, his voice light as the sun dips beneath the horizon line, leaving behind a blaze of reds and pinks. you turn your head, eyes catching on the shape of him, inked out against the dying light.

“you’re the only person i’ve ever met who’s wanted to be cursed.”

you take a long breath and turn your eyes back up to the bleeding sky.

“well. you’re cursed, and you seem just fine to me,” you try to keep your voice strong, resolute and steady. grandmama had always said that if you keep your voice strong, people are more willing to believe your words. you wonder if that’s why harry’s voice is always soft, always lilting, his words slippery as moss-covered stone.

“yeah, but you can’t even touch me,” he says, and for once, his voice is harsh, his words sharp and hard as broken glass.

“that’s okay though — once i get my own curse, i’ll be able to touch you, right?”

harry fights back the urge to turn, to take you by the shoulders and shake you till you push him away. he wants to scream, to howl at the moon like the mother wolves and the hungry cubs that live in the heart of the wood. he wants to run through the woods, crash into things, climb up the trees and shake off all their branching leaves.

but he can’t, and so he doesn’t.

instead, he turns to look at you and look at you and look at you.

he wonders if it’s a strange thing, to like looking at someone so much, to find something new about a face every single time it’s looked upon — the wisps of hair fallen loose to frame your face from the velvet ribbons holding it back, the curve of your button nose, the dip of your cupid’s bow. he wonders if this is a normal thing, the thick weight of it in this chest, the truth of his curse sitting heavy on his tongue.

“yeah… probably,” he says — and the lie is smooth as milk, sweet as just-spun sugar.

“good. then we won’t have long to wait, hm?”

04.

there’s a story, so you’ve been told, of a fox that lives in the woods — and the fox can tell nothing but lies, lest the truth cut open it’s throat. and when it bleeds, because even monsters bleed (oh especially monsters), it will bleed in blue and silver, which everyone knows is the color of magic.

“but why would telling the truth kill it?” you’d asked, your eyes wide and round as the full-bellied moon.

your grandmama had sighed, rocking you in her lap as the forest outside shivers and shakes with the steps and breaths of creatures unseen.

“that’s what curses do, my sweetest… they’re unfair things, they are. and they don’t like to make a lot of sense.”

and that had been that. she’d moved onto a nicer story, a sweeter story, a story that was not so much truth and mostly lies — because the truth, as your grandmama had said, is sharp and unfair and makes so very little sense.

lies are much, much the better for the makings of stories.

05.

he has never complimented you on your dancing, not even once — not in all the years you’ve been dancing for him, by the light of a million and one fireflies.

you’d been eight when you made the promise, it’s been ten years since then.

and at eighteen, you wonder how many more years it’ll be before the moon or the forest or whatever it is that chooses people to curse will take pity on you.

it’s just after sunset, and you’d just finished your customary sunday afternoon picnic. harry is sprawled out on the picnic blanket, his fox-faced mask lying in the soft, long grasses, an arm thrown over his eyes. you wonder if he’s asleep, though you don’t think you’ve ever seen him fall asleep, not in all the time you’ve known him.

“music, please…” you announce to the clearing, and after a long pause, as if the forest itself is coming to life, the wind picks up — the leaves rustle on their branches, the birds sweep up into a twitter wingbeats and song, the grasses around the clearing hish and hush the thrumming baseline to a music that only you and harry and the forest can hear.

slowly, harry pushes himself up, making a show of rubbing his eyes, and in the darkness you can only see the shape of him.

you don’t see the prickle of tears at the edge of his eyes as he wipes them away.

instead, you close your own eyes and wait.

and wait.

and then — at the first flicker of a firefly’s light, you lift your hands and start to dance.

06.

once, you’d asked him how he’d gotten cursed in the first place.

“it’s a long story,” he’d said.

“i’ve got a long time,” you countered.

he’d crinkled his nose, pursing his lips as the pair of you hopped over a narrow stream, him watching as you teetered on the edge of the water.

“hm… well, if you do something a ton of times in the wood… the wood decides that that’s all your good for, and it becomes your curse!”

you’d blinked up at him from over your shoulder, a soft smear of mud on your cheeks.

“oh… it’s that easy?”

“easy?”

“i mean, to get a curse.”

he’d narrowed his eyes, “why would you want a curse?”

you’d straightened up, pressing your palms down your rather sullied dress.

“because — you said that i can’t touch you cause i’m human, right?”

“uh-huh…” harry had nodded, uncertain of where your child-logic had taken you.

“but other cursed things can touch you, right? like the wolves and the shadows and the queen of ravens.”

harry bit his lips. but you seemed to have taken his silence for consent and happily skipped off further into the forest. he’d never corrected you even as he heaved another world-weary sigh and followed after you. because technically, you hadn’t been totally wrong.

and his curse was only that he couldn’t correct you.

07.

your mind wanders as you begin to dance, and these days, it’s been doing a lot of that — wandering. so your grandmama says that it’s a part of growing up — learning when to let your mind wander and when to reign it back in, hold it on a tighter leash and tell it to wander no more. it’s a blessing to be able to let your mind wander, and so you do.

it’s just that these days, you can’t help but notice that it’s less of wandering and more of… well, a straight-shot descent to a well-known destination. and you know from a whole childhood of actual wandering that if you know the way and you know what you’ll find at the end, then it’s not wandering at all.

it’s just going.

but still, you let your mind go where it wants, and lately, it’s been going and going and going... to harry.

harry and his soul-soft laughter, harry and his knife-edge smiles, harry and his loose, lethargic movements, unhurried and always so certain. back when you were both still children, he’d led you through the forest with nothing but his voice, spouting out random facts that were much too outlandish to be true, and later, when you were both a bit older (and you’d long since memorized every bit of forest there was to memorize), he’d walk alongside you in companionable silence.

you knew his favorite trees, his favorite flowers, his favorite birds and colors, his favorite season, his favorite sweet, his favorite fruit and so many others.

and still, it feels as if you don’t know him at all, even though you’re certain he knows everything there is to know about you.

except…

you spin out on the long grasses, the light of a million and one fireflies dancing across your skin, dancing with you, singing with you as the forest does. and above you, a crescent moon cuts a sinister smile into a lonely, starless night.

years later, you’d wonder if the night had known — if the wood had known (of course, of course it had known, because there are no secrets the woods do not know, no secrets the waning moon doesn’t keep from the sleeping earth), if the entire world had conspired against you and for you that night.

when you finish dancing and the last of the fireflies flicker down to rest on the long, soft grasses, you’re breathless with exertion, luminous with exaltation and drunk on the song of the forest and a million and one lightless stars.

in the middle of the clearing, harry is smiling, you can see it even from here, and for the first time since you’d danced for him the very first time, he brings his hands together and claps.

“that was… beautiful,” he says, and his voice is deeper now, supple and sweet with the night air.

“th-thanks! phew — i really think that might do it,” you say, plopping down on the picnic blanket next to him, spreading wide your arms and staring up at the velveteen sky above you.

08.

once, you’d been told another story, though you don’t quite recall who you’d heard it from. maybe your grandmama, and maybe the old man who sits in the village square after all the longest days of the year, smoking his pipe and telling his stories.

“do you know why the cursed forest creatures can’t touch humans?”

“why?” a village boy had asked before you had the chance to.

“because… if a cursed creature touches human flesh, the cursed creature will die.”

“oh…” you said, clutching your hands to your chest, and you’d never really thought about dying. because really, what ten year old in their right mind would? but you knew of the concept from when grandmama talked about grandpapa — how he was there one day and then the next day he just… wasn’t.

“he died in his sleep,” she’d said, a tone of sadness in her voice that you’d never heard there before and wished you’d never have to hear again, “it was the best way to go.”

you’d wondered then if there’s really such thing as a “best” way to go. wouldn't the “best” thing to be not going at all?

“then… do the cursed creatures get to live forever?” you asked, before the village boy could cut in.

the old man took a long sip from his pipe and blew out a few concentric rings of smokes before coughing and waving it all away.

“no… you see, if the cursed creatures get to pass on their curses, they’d get to be reincarnated into being a human once more.”

09.

“do you… really want to be cursed?” harry asks as the pair of you share in the silence after your dance.

you suck in a long breath before pushing yourself up to sit in front of him, careful to keep your knees from bumping his.

“of course i do! it’s… it’s what i’ve been trying to do since i was like — eight!”

“but… why?” and harry’s voice is small, smaller than you’ve ever heard it, even though now, his eighteen year old body should carry a much heavier, harder sound.

“because,” you say, resolute as you’d always been, “once i’m cursed, i’ll be able to touch you.”

“and why… is that so important to you?”

harry casts his eyes towards you; you catch his gaze with yours, holding it steady. and in that moment, you mind lets go of the story that the old man told you. because it was a long time ago, and the story was so, so far away. and sometimes, the mind chooses which truths it wants to listen to, which truths it wants to believe in.

sometimes, it chooses truths that don’t look like truths from the outside in, but from the inside out — they’re the truest things to ever be true.

like this one —

“because i want to touch you. because… it’s what i’ve wanted since i was a little girl. because… sometimes, i think i want to do more than touch you — sometimes —” your voice catches on a hitched breath, lost somewhere in your chest, somewhere between your heart and your throat.

but then, darkness descends over your vision and it takes you a long moment to realize that you’re staring at the inside of a mask, thin but solid — the fox-faced mask that harry always wears.

and then pressure, and warmth, right where the fox’s dagger-carved grin usually is, so close to your own lips you can feel the heat.

it holds for a long, long moment, and then it’s gone.

the light returns as harry tugs the mask from you, grinning that teasing, lopsided grin of his, though there’s something about it tonight that makes your heart seize.

“tell me, one more time…” he says, and his voice is jagged with something that sounds painful and true and so, so terrible.

“i — i want the curse…” you say, before you really realize what you’re saying, and it takes you a moment to realize that this too, is the truth.

“okay then… it’s yours.”

and he leans in to press his lips to yours.

the truth, harry realizes, is always bitter, and harsh, and much too sharp. when he pulls back, he presses his palms to yours and lets the moon wash the clearing in blue and silver. you gasp as you feel the magic creeping into your bones, tugging you under, dragging you through the cracks in the world even as harry is tugged away from you back to the world of the living.

“w-was this all a lie?” you ask, because inside you, your heart is fighting for it’s last few beats.

“no,” harry says, his voice is pained, and his expression even more so, because every truth he tells cuts him a little deeper, and he feels his throat constrict over the words, “your dance really was beautiful… and…”

he swallows hard, feeling the knife-edge of this one final truth slicing through him, sharp as moonlight, sweet as the lightless stars.

“i love you. please… don’t forget me.”

and already, you can feel the truth starting to hurt, starting to constrict inside you like a curse. but still, you force it from you as harry flickers and fades along with the light of a million and one firefly lights.

“i — i won’t.”

10.

“but how exactly do you transfer a curse?” the village boy asked, his voice loud and jarring.

the old man takes another long sip of his pipe, puffs out a few more smoke rings.

“through a kiss,” he said.

you blinked. a kiss?

“ew!” the village boy recoiled then, shrinking back from the thought of kissing — because that’s what children are taught to do at such grown-up concepts as kissing.

you, on the other hand, you stayed right where you are, but a frown has creased your tiny, child-like brow.

“and the trick,” the old man continues, his smile going wide and a little lascivious, “is getting someone who will take their curse willingly… to accept the kiss.”

01.

for as long as harry can remember, there has always been the wood. and in the wood, there’s always been a girl with a fox-painted mask who danced to the light of the fireflies.

once, when he’d gone exploring (even though his grandpapa had warned him time and time again about going into the wood by himself), he’d nearly run into her and she’d cocked her head when he’d fallen face-first near the bank of a tiny stream, smearing mud across his cheeks.

“you’re strange little boy,” the girl said — and she could be no more than his age, harry thinks.

“and you’re a weird little girl,” he counters, his eyes catching on the bright red of the fox’s painted mouth.

there is magic at work here, harry knows, though he doesn’t know what kind, and all he really wants is to explore the woods behind his house, to know all there is to know of the world, and perhaps — he thinks as you turn and make your way deeper into the forest — to one day hold the hand of the girl with the fox-faced mask.

but that’s a wish for another day, he decides as he follows after you, jogging to catch up and ask for your name.

“ah… what’s in name,” you say, you voice light and languid, even as he frowns, “you can call me whatever you like.”

02.

once, harry had asked his grandpapa what the truest feeling in the whole wide world is.

and his grandpapa had answered —

“that, harry, would be falling in love…”

“falling in love?”

“yes, my dear boy — and the thing about love is that it’s like a curse… but it’s also like a blessing.”

“but… how can a thing be a curse and a blessing?”

then, his grandpapa had smiled, a smile that is starlight and wolfsong and all the secrets the forest ever has to tell.

“because we are doomed to always, always fall in love, my boy — and it will always, always be like handing someone and knife and asking them to cut open your throat.”

[peppertoastuniverse]

pep reads: fluffiest fluff edition

I've just been CONSUMING so many jjk fanfics... here are the softest fluffiest fic recommendations since I think we all need it right now. This list is in no particular order – there's so many talented writers out there! These ones just made me MELT extra hard. Mostly no smut, I just needed to be held.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

gojo satoru

☆ only you by Kaiseriin [A03: mini series] [status: unknown] [Cursed speech!reader] Other than Gojo, not many people understand the sign language you use to communicate as a cursed speech user. When some students from Kyoto arrive, one tries to learn so he can get closer to you.

☆ summer skies, winter lies by miyaspudding [A03: long fic!][status: ongoing]

"how cruel was fate? how much had he sinned in his past life, for the woman he loved to belong to his best friend? how little did god love him?"

in which gojo satoru learns that emotions are not weaknesses but consolations; and geto suguru realizes that he's always been a little too late for everything. because the furthest distance is an inch away, and the furthest thing from truth is "just friends".

☆best of luck. by reinerispretty [A03: one shot! part of a mini series] [status: unknown] In which Gojo Satoru shows up unannounced, twice.

☆Ah, you were both equally idiotic by Hiroka [A03: mini series] [status: unknown]

4 times others realized something was going on between Gojo and you, and 0 times you both realized it.

[Oneshots from the Old Beats Cinematic Universe]

☆ For A God, Shopping Is a New Adventure by Bun_sun [AO3] [status: on going!] [Baker!reader]

“Would you like anything else?” “Actually, yeah.” He flashes you a grin that only promises trouble, pushing his sunglasses down with a way too exaggerated flirty expression. “Can I get your number too?” “Haha, really funny Gojo. Now, I have more clients so...” But he's already getting his phone out, as if he hasn't listened to a single word you've said. “...Oh, you're for real.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Reader owns a small cafe with their own baked goods. Gojo comes in one day, and absolutely falls in love with their pastries (and with them).

☆ I Want to Kiss You / キスしたい by arminsumi [A03][status: unknown]

You and Satoru falling in love despite a language barrier.

You've come to visit Japan to meet these two boys you met online. Though Satoru can't speak English and you can't speak Japanese, the two of you still fall in love. There's seems to be romantic tension between you and Suguru, too.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

geto suguru

it's so hard to find suguru fics without him being used as a plot device for gojo

☆ gentle glow / deep thought by waffiez [AO3: one shot] [status: completed] "I thought about you, you know." Despite the softness of his voice, it cut through the otherwise silent atmosphere profoundly and made your heart skip a beat. "Is that so?" "It is." ☆☆☆ in which you awake to your best friend suguru asleep at the edge of your bed, having returned from a lengthy mission and only really wanting to see you.

☆ unnamed drabble by @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat [tumblr: drabble] [status: completed]

comfy fluff w sleepy needy sugu <33)

☆ Wash It Away by @shadowsandshapes [A03/tumblr: drabble][status: completed]

Sometimes you forget Geto is just a guy. But then he shows a sense of vulnerability that surprises you. After a particularly emotionally draining battle, you run him a warm bath and take care of his aches. ☆ Wisteria and Ciabatta by @hayakawalove [A03/tumblr: mini fic!][status: completed, chapter 2 has smut!]

Traveling merchant Suguru has led a relatively tame life thus far. Growing his flowers, baking his bread. One day, when he ventures out further than normal he comes across something more beautiful than all the flowers in the world. You. ☆ the paint doesn't move the way the light reflects by @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat [tumblr: long oneshot!] [status: completed]

when the king puts you under the supervision of a dashing knight, you promise to make his job as difficult as possible. unfortunately, suguru geto is the patient sort.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

bonus!

☆ Digest Your Feelings (DYF) – First Years! by @whalesforhands [A03/tumblr: part of a longer series of fics] [status: completed] new classmates, new life, new friends(?). a look into the life of the dyf au characters in their first year.

[bluerosefox]

Ghost Marriage Allows More Than One!

Tim wakes up in a hotel room in Vegas snuggled against a chest but he wasn't surprised.

He had been in the Sin City for a WE meeting and had brought Bernard along the trip since Tim's birthday was just shy a few days into it and well he wanted to spend time with his boyfriend since most of his family were off world (Dick, Jason, and Bruce all had important missions and they all apologized for missing out and Tim couldn't blame them he understood and he himself couldn't get out of the Vegas meetings no matter what he tried to do.) Or couldn't come to join him (Damian had school as did Duke and Alfred was taking care of them while the others were gone. Steph and Cass were out of country working with some important things with Babs and again he understood.) (Did it still sting yes but they all promised to make it up when they got back, Alfred even promised a coffee cake just for him)

So yeah, Vegas meeting trip turned somewhat birthday fun with his boyfriend. And since Bernard has always been good with encouraging Tim to try things it came to no surprise that during their stay he had managed to convince Tim to try drinking for the night.

Yes terrible influence Bernard was sometimes, but he did make a point. Tim was an adult now and sometimes it's okay to at least try adult dumb stuff, he didn't have to like it and could stop if he really didnt want to but he can at least say he tried it once. That it was okay for Tim to let go of his vigilante brain and just have fun in the one city that was made for it.

So try Tim did. Just for the night.

So yeah, Tim wasn't really surprised when he woke up the next morning, alcohol aftertaste on his breath, head pounding, nose scrunched up from the light of the sun peeking in from the curtains, and snuggling himself into a rather chilly chest...

Wait...

Chilly?

Tim opened his eyes when he realized that. Bernard never felt cold to Tim when they would snuggle, no he was always warm, like a warm heating blanket. It was why Tim loved snuggling him. Why was he-

Tim's eyes widened when he saw not blonde hair on the body in the bed with him but black hair. He almost flung himself off the bed from him startling awake and watched the one he had been snuggled next to mumble in his sleep and turn over.

Tim felt pure dread as he continued to stare, his stomach turning as his thoughts got bad, oh god..God... did he... oh no, no, no no. Oh where was Bernard- FUCK did he really-

Tim flinched when he heard a door open and snapped his eyes towards it. He felt his mouth go dry when he spotted his boyfriend coming out of what was the bathroom of the room and had just finished taking a shower from the sounds of left over dripping water and from the towel he was using to clean his hair.

Bernard stopped in his spot when he noticed Tim staring at him before he gave Tim a very uneasy chuckle, his eyes darting towards the sleeping body on the bed "H-Hey, good morning T. I see you... uhh seen our guest."

Tim felt ready to cry, to beg for forgiveness, but the only sound that came out was a strangled sound because of course he fucked up and ruined one of the best things that ever happened to him and-

But before he could spiral further into his anxiety and dread Bernard kept speaking.

"So ummm. Do you also remember meeting Danny at the bar, getting really tipsy, hanging out, having fun and then like going to a ghost bar with him so he could really drunk because he's like half ghost. And I mean like a legit ghost bar, like we saw Elvis and Marilyn Monroe there and they were like floating. Then we all got like super mega drunk and then... maybe kinda sorta got ghost married... because ghost marriage allows unlimited spouses cause you know, already dead doesn't matter and it's also almost permanent cause again the whole dead thing... Or did I hallucinate all that last night and we just brought in a random stranger to bed?" He asked his voice unsure as he looked between Tim and the stranger Danny in bed before lifting his hand up and showing Tim a glowing ring on it. "I'm pretty sure I didn't dream it up because I kinda woke up with this, and it refuses to come off."

Tim went silent for a moment, wide eyed as he stared back at Bernard before the pounding headache he had hit him harder than ever when the very memories of everything Bernard had said came flooding back to him. With a gasp Tim quickly looked st his own hand and sure enough on his finger was a matching glowing wedding band on it, his eyes snapped towards Danny... Danny Nightingale? Or was it Phantom? said his name was and spotted another matching one as well.

"B is going to kill us." Was the only thing Tim could muster up to say.

[kamaluhkhan]

COMPLICATED

LUST — part iv of we'll write sins like tragedies

pairing: luke castellan x nemesis! reader (afab) word count: 8.9k summary: the lives of demigods are never simple. why would your relationship with luke be any different? or: four moments of tension + one moment of release. featuring a trip to montauk with percy, grover, and annabeth warnings: a decent amount of reader backstory (mention of dad having cancer); multiple POVs (percy, grover, annabeth, luke, reader - obv nothing suggestive/smutty until luke and reader POV); luke + reader get into arguments and are v stressed so their relationship is a bit strained; reader has tattoos; reader is on birth control; rough smut (protected + unprotected p in v, oral f+m receiving, biting, scratching, slight choking, slight breeding kink, etc...); also slight dark + possessive luke! (18 + MDNI); major angst — we all know how this story ends ;( author's note: this was meant to be a blurb but...here we are! this is basically another chapter of my spill ur guts series lol. i've been gone for much longer than i planned to, but hope u enjoy possibly the angstiest, smuttiest thing i've written so far ♡

♪ "complicated" by avril lavigne

i. 

in the span of a few minutes, percy went from pure joy — being greeted with cheers from all the campers was great, sure, but truthfully the hug from annabeth alone sent him to elysium — to feeling like his heart dropped all the way to tartarus.

which is definitely not a place percy ever wants to visit again. he was happy to be back at camp with his friends, knowing that his quest was completed, his mom was safe in new york, and a war between the gods was prevented.

it should be over….but there’s something in the back of percy’s mind that’s telling him it isn’t. seeing a certain someone in the crowd earlier didn’t do anything to ease that feeling.

"can someone explain to me why clarisse is still here?" 

you raise an eyebrow at luke, and he shrugs in response.  it seems neither of you had decided who should break the news, and neither of you seem particularly excited to do so, even after dragging percy, along with annabeth and grover, into the empty hermes cabin for some privacy.

after another beat of silence, you take the lead.

“look, kid, i know you and clarisse got off to a rocky start —”

“she tried to drown me, and then basically kill me during capture the flag,” percy points out. he hears an ocean roaring at the memory, but that could have also been from his duel with clarisse’s dad, the god of war, more recently.

a duel that percy had won, for the record. luke trained him well.

“and i’m not defending that,” you clarify. “i’m just saying that we’ve known clarisse for much longer. she’s not perfect, maybe a bit aggressive sometimes — trust me, she and i have had some major disagreements, too — but i can’t see her doing something like this.”

“why would anyone at camp want to steal the bolt? to join kronos’ army against the gods?” annabeth wonders. to herself or to the group, percy isn’t sure, but he has a feeling that the wheels in her mind are turning.

“revenge, maybe?” grover suggests. 

almost instinctively, grover glances at you, and so does annabeth. percy wants to kick himself for doing the same. 

with you being the daughter of nemesis, he imagines that it's not the first time you’d been blamed for something just because of who you are. it’s a feeling percy knows all too well. and, for better or for worse, like percy, it seems like you’re not one to accept these things without a fight.

you straighten your shoulders, ready to snap back, but before you can, luke declares:

“it’s not her.”

he then knocks the toe of his shoe against your combat boot. you smile and return the gesture. the tension eases out of the room.

for a second, percy wonders if he’ll ever have someone like that: someone to defend like it’s second nature, to share that sort of secret language with, to smile at him like nothing else in the world matters. 

according to annabeth, the two of you weren’t technically dating — but percy is pretty sure that aphrodite is swooning over you. 

“see, grove? if camp half-blood’s golden boy can vouch for me, then i’m in the clear.” your tone is playful enough — no hard feelings — but the tips of grover’s ears still turn red. “i didn’t steal the bolt. sure, the gods and titans can tear each other apart for all i care — " 

annabeth stiffens at your bold statement, and grover starts to nervously chew on an empty diet coke can he had stashed in his pocket. luke watches you with the hint of a smile on his face, and percy —

well, percy can’t help but admire you even more. 

"— but it's everything else that i have an issue with.”

“everything else?”

you look at percy like the answer is obvious. 

“when have the gods ever fought their battles without us as collateral damage? doesn’t seem worth it to me, to betray my friends.” 

that itch in the back of percy’s brain gets harder to ignore.

“the oracle warned me, betrayed by a friend.” 

“prophecies don't always come true,” annabeth reminds him. “at least not in the way we expect them to.” 

“annie is right,” luke adds, nodding at his sister. “mine didn't. the oracle said i would die a hero.” 

you turn to luke then, your eyebrows furrowed. 

“what? you never told me that.” 

“it doesn’t matter,” luke insists. “my point is that i came back from my joke of a quest, alive and a definitely not a hero —”

“fuck what the oracle said.” you roll your eyes. “dead or alive, you are a hero, tiger.”

you move to place a hand on luke’s arm. to percy’s surprise, though, luke brushes you off.

“i’m not a hero. at least not the one my dad expects me to be.”

again, percy is taken aback by how luke snapped, at you of all people. you huff, and percy can tell that you’re a bit agitated now, too. 

“okay, but that doesn’t mean —”

“my point is.” luke turns to percy, effectively blocking your presence for the time being. “you completed your quest, fought a god, and stalled kronos’ plan. you’ve been through it — all three of you have — but now you’re back. let’s just enjoy the rest of our summer, yeah? whatever happened out there, whatever the oracle said, it’s in the past.”

percy wants to believe luke, he really does. one glance in your direction, and it seems like you do, too.

deep down, though, percy isn’t entirely convinced. there’s that dread in the pit of his stomach, that voice in the back of his head. something in him, warning that this isn’t quite over. the worst has yet to come.

he wonders if — or maybe just hopes — you feel the same.

—

ii.

if you of all people can’t get luke’s attention, grover is pretty sure that the world is ending.

“luke,” you try again, foregoing your usual nickname for him. your arms are crossed and you tap your foot against the floor. it makes grover slightly anxious, feeling your frustration threaten to boil over.

“i’m busy,” he grunts, and flips over another page, scribbling something on the other side. 

“grover wanted to talk to us about something.”

“i-it’s fine, we don’t have to —”

“no, it’s a good idea, grove,” you insist. you smile at grover then. he remembers that, despite the deadly glares you can deliver, like the one you were just giving luke, you have a gentle core. you just guard it behind sharp edges. 

“tell him that i’ll talk to him later.”

“or, you could tell him yourself,” you huff. grover waves awkwardly, even though luke doesn’t realize what’s happening. “he’s right next to me.”

luke looks up briefly, and then back down at the pages in front of him just as quick. he looks tired, exhausted even. 

“sorry, man. didn’t see you there. i gotta finish these reports.”

“no worries. i tend to be quiet on my hooves.”

in the moment of silence that follows, and with luke still not giving you the attention you’re asking for, you walk over to the desk where luke is working. what you see seems to make you even more annoyed than before.

“these reports are for september. why in the name of nemesis are you filling them out now?”

“i just want to be prepared.”

“prepared for what?”

luke hesitates. “just….the future.”

“oh!” you laugh, sharp and sarcastic. “i didn’t realize that the future required you to neglect your friends.”

“i’m trying to help my friends,” luke huffs. he taps his pen impatiently against the desk. “if you didn’t keep interrupting me —”

“oh my fucking gods — ”

grover watches the two of you argue. it had been easier to step in whenever something bubbled up between annabeth and percy, because they were just kids. but you and luke — you were adults. 

when grover met luke for the first time, he was already taking on way too much responsibility for a kid — keeping thalia and annabeth alive, protecting them from monsters, taking care of them. in a lot of ways, those responsibilities didn’t go away: as a senior counselor and resident older brother, a hero for the older campers to admire and the younger kids to aspire to be. camp half-blood’s golden boy, as you liked to call him. 

and, like you, luke is good at hiding. for him, its heavy burdens behind easy-going smiles. 

lately, though, those smiles seem to be strained, his shoulders slowly bending under the weight of it all. the other day, grover asked you if everything was okay with luke. you had looked back at him sadly, shrugged, and said you didn’t know.

that’s when grover decided that everyone just needs a break — an escape. he had been sensing that things weren’t quite right with the others, too. percy seems a little on edge, and so does annabeth.

then, of course, there was you and luke. finding out that the two of you had actually started dating was huge news for someone like grover who had painstakingly watched the two of you dance around your feelings for years. so, it was more than a little weird that you’d barely been speaking this past week. the rare occasion you did was tense at best, and explosive at worst. 

like now, when you pick up one of the reports luke was working on, and threaten to burn it. luke dares you to do so, even suggests, albeit sarcastically, that you use it as your next offering to the gods. 

“oh, a handwritten document from luke castellan himself? they would love that,” you snort. “admit it: you’re doing all of mr. d’s work just to suck up to some gods who don’t even give a shit about any of this. you’re practically olympus’ lapdog.”

luke, blushing a furious shade of red, gets up and yanks the paper from your hand.

“at least my parent is important enough to actually have a seat on olympus and an actual cabin for his kids to stay in.”

you look like you could just about throw luke into a fire, and vice versa. grover had never seen the two of you like this, but it made sense: each of you knowing just where, and how, to hurt the other.

and, he thinks it’s about time to step in before the damage is irreversible. so, grover starts slowly clapping. the clapping gets faster, and he manages to get through the first few lines of the consensus song before you stop him.

“alright, alright,” you sigh. you push past luke, steal his chair, and put your feet up on the desk. luke scowls at you, but you put your hands up in surrender and jut your chin out towards grover. “just listen to what grover has to say and then we’ll let you get back to your precious reports.”

grover tells luke his idea. luke actually agrees, and grover can’t help but feel a little bit of a victory. 

he’s a protector, after all. it’s his job to make sure you’re all alive and happy and thriving. and not burnt to a crisp over some petty argument.

—

iii. 

annabeth had missed home when she was away on their quest, but being back and seeing everyone being taught to worship the gods without question, to believe that the only things that matter are power and glory….well, after everything that happened, after percy, annabeth can’t just go back to doing the same. at least not entirely. 

all this to say, she was totally on board with grover’s idea: the five of you, renting a cabin in montauk to get away from camp for a bit.

unfortunately, the trip starts off less than ideally. you and luke bicker the entire way here — and not the playful jabs you usually throw at each other. 

annabeth remembers the first time she saw you together. it was during breakfast, their first morning at camp half-blood. annabeth had spent the night trying not to cry over thalia, and already missing luke even though he was only a few cabins away. she was still a kid, surrounded by strangers, told that she was safe now, but didn’t quite believe it yet. one look to luke at the hermes table, and annabeth could tell he felt the same way, too — not quite settled in this new place that was supposed to be home, and with these people who were supposed to be family.

she watched as the hermes table went to burn offerings to the gods. when they sat down again, luke looked even more unsettled than before.

but then, you leaned in and whispered something in luke’s ear, and he actually laughed, just a bit, which was a nice change of pace. luke was always the one making annabeth and thalia laugh when they were running from monsters, always the one trying to keep everything together with a smile or a joke.

as she devoured her breakfast, annabeth couldn’t help but keep glancing at the two of you. she heard warnings from her half-siblings, about your mother being the goddess of revenge, and you living up to that name. 

luke either didn't know, or didn't care about whatever reputation you had. sitting there, next to you, annabeth didn’t think she’d ever seen luke so, genuinely happy, so at ease.

all these years later, neither you nor luke seemed particularly happy. you’re obviously avoiding each other, and annabeth doesn’t understand why.

you and luke are a new puzzle that she can’t wait to solve. 

annabeth had finished constructing the most elaborate sandcastle in history, just for percy to accidentally splash it when he was trying to surf a wave; so she decides that playtime is over. it’s time to figure out what exactly is going on between you and luke.

luke is in the cabin doing gods know what. you're on the deck painting your nails, so annabeth decides to start gathering information from you, first. 

“hey." you finish painting your pinky a dark purple, and set the bottle down next to you. "having fun?”

annabeth nods once and sits next to you. she asks if you could paint her nails, and you pull out a bottle of silver polish you said you thought she might like. 

as you work, careful with each stroke of polish, annabeth surveys the tattoos on your skin. you’re wearing a bikini top, so there are some that she’s seeing for the first time. there's one of a knife on your sternum, and annabeth distinctly remembers seeing a similar one peeking from underneath the collar of luke’s shirt. she wonders when you got it, if you had to travel to a tattoo parlour in the city, how many other adventures you'd gone on without having to consult the oracle beforehand. 

maybe that’s a good place to start. 

“have you ever thought about leaving camp? like, long term?" 

"sometimes," you admit. "it would be nice to have some normal early-twenties experiences."

"would you go to school?"

you smile as you keep painting annabeth’s nails. “maybe. i might have seen legally blonde too many times, but i think about law school sometimes.” 

“what about luke?”

your smile fades at the question. “i...i don’t know." your once precise nail-painting falters, and you mumble a curse when a drop of silver lands on annabeth's skin. you swipe it away before continuing. "luke's one of those people i can't really see away from camp half-blood for too long; pretty sure it would burn down without him. there's a reason he feels responsible for everyone there...in a way i respect, obviously, but, it's not the same for me. nobody needs me."

"luke needs you."

you sigh, and annabeth wonders if you even realize how you shake your head slightly. she thinks you're about to disagree with her, but instead you ask: 

“what's this about, annie? are you thinking about your dad’s offer?”

and annabeth’s completely thrown off her line of inquiry. 

“how did you —”

“perce told me that you’ve been talking about staying with him for the year,” you explain. you gesture at annabeth to give you her other hand, and she complies. the silver polish on the hand you just finished glitters in the sun. 

“well, nothing’s confirmed.”

you look up at annabeth, one eyebrow raised. “it's okay, you know — if you just wanna….be a kid for a bit.”

annabeth is silent, prompting you to ask another question.

"what's holding you back?"

“well….at first, i thought it would be a definite no,” annabeth admits. “obviously, it didn’t work out last time. i don’t know if i want to risk it again — if i can trust him, you know? how do i know he actually cares —  that he’ll be there for me when i need him?”

“you don’t.” you pause for a second. “but i’m gonna tell you a story that i think might help.”

you're done painting her nails, so you put everything away. you sit cross-legged next to annabeth, looking out at the ocean.

“my dad never wanted me to go to camp. he wanted to raise me in the city, just like he’d grown up. he’d take me to rock concerts all the time. i was so young, he’d make me wear earmuffs and carry me on his shoulders so that i could still see the band.” you smile softly at the memory. “and then….my dad got sick, he couldn’t take care of me, and monsters started to show up, so he brought me to camp for safe keeping." 

"you've told me all this," annabeth remarks. 

you start fiddling with your camp necklace. annabeth isn't used to seeing you so unsure, so nervous; it throws her off even more. 

"what i haven't told you is that even when my dad got better, he….he didn’t give me a choice of where to stay.”

"oh," is all annabeth can say. 

“yeah, oh," you scoff, but there’s not really any malice behind it. you seem…sad. defeated, almost. your fingers move to play with the hem of your shorts, which causes the fresh nail polish to smudge. you don’t seem too concerned about that at the moment, though. "i told everyone that i chose to stay. the truth is that i stayed because my dad didn't want me anymore. he said that the universe gave him a second chance, so he wanted to live his life without having to worry about monster attacks or taking care of his teenage daughter."

annabeth wonders if luke knows the truth about this; though, considering how difficult it seems for you to admit, she doubts it. 

before, annabeth had a theory that you decided to stay at camp because of luke.

luke was away when you got the news that your dad was in remission. annabeth remembers how happy you were, how excited you were to be back in the city and living with your dad again. you started packing right away.

when luke came back from his failed quest, you had just gone into the city the day before, having promised to visit in the summer and stay in touch. someone – chris maybe, or beckendorf — must have called you, told you what happened, because you came back to camp right away, your bag still fully packed. you never left again. 

"that sucks."

“yeah.” you let out a hollow, breathy laugh. “and, i was angry at first. of course i was. but now, i don’t know. i think that maybe my dad does care about me. like, he still sends me mixtapes with old punk rock songs he thinks i’d like. he actually calls me on my birthday, and we have a 3 minute conversation about nothing important." 

"right…" annabeth furrows her brows. this conversation had definitely not gone as planned. "no offense, but what's —"

"i'm getting to the point," you tell her, bumping your shoulder against hers.  "i realized that sometimes people can only love us in a way that works for them — and it sucks. it really, really sucks. but then sometimes…. sometimes people do actually try. and, i don’t know, it seems like maybe your dad is willing to try.”

“so you think i should take him up on his offer.”

the sun starts to set. you get up, brush sand off your legs. 

“i think it's time for a swim. i also think that you’re smart enough to know what’s best for you, and who deserves a second chance. just know that whatever you decide — we’ll be there for you.”

you leave without another word, but with the return of your usual confident smile, off to the shore to take advantage of the last bits of daylight. 

"she's right, annabeth." luke appears a few seconds later, takes the spot next to annabeth you had just occupied.

annabeth hums.

"how much of that did you hear?" 

luke doesn't answer. he just stares at your form, disappearing in the distance and diving under the waves.

—

iv.

you clear your throat and luke turns around to see you freshly showered. you’re wearing a pair of shorts and one of the oversized band tees the two of you constantly exchange. you've lost track of whose is whose at this point.

luke resists the urge to shamelessly check out your legs, and turns his back towards you once again. that bikini top you were wearing earlier was bad enough. thankfully, the heat from the stove was enough to cover up his blushing cheeks at the sight of your exposed skin. 

“i thought we were ordering pizza,” you say, moving to peer over his shoulder, chin hovering just above. luke had the sense that you were avoiding physical contact, and as much as it drives him crazy, he knows that he’s the one who’d dug his own grave. pushing you away and whatnot. 

“didn’t know that you knew how to cook.”

“not much,” luke shrugs. he keeps stirring the vegetables — broccoli and carrots and baby corn. he’ll add the red peppers once the broccoli turns green so that they don’t become too soft. he’s pretty sure that’s how he remembers it going.

“i could have helped you.” you reach over and hand him the peppers right on time. you shift to lean your back against the counter next to the stove, arms crossed over your chest and eyes following luke. 

luke throws in the chicken he cooked earlier, and then the sauce he had also mixed. he waits a few seconds, lets the sound of everything sizzling fill the space between you. 

“it’s an easy recipe.” luke turns off the stove to punctuate his point. 

and it had to be. something quick he’d make with his mom after she had one of her episodes, before waking up and realizing that she had a son to feed. the sounds, the colors, the smells — it all, overwhelmingly, reminds him of a childhood he once had. one that was never as simple as the food he just made.

none of the bitterness in his throat is caused by his mom, of course. just his father who calls himself a god, and left them both alone to fend for themselves. 

you start getting out plates from the cupboards as you ask: “where are the kids?”

luke checks the pot on the stove to see if the rice is cooked. “told them to go rent something from the video store.” 

“they went alone?”

“they’ve literally been to hell and back,” he replies and sits down at the table. “i think they can handle a blockbuster.”

“i don’t care if they get attacked by monsters,” you state, setting down the last plate in front of him. “i know they can handle themselves. they just better choose a good movie.” 

luke doesn’t mean to snort, but he can’t help but remember all the arguments you’d gotten in with chris over your tastes in movies. 

 “don’t laugh, castellan. i’ve saved movie night on more than one occasion and i’ve never gotten so much as a thank you.” you roll your eyes, but luke notices the ghost of a smile.

it fades just as quickly as it appeared, and luke already misses the small moment of levity that’s passed. 

“what’s been going on with you, tiger?”

you hold his gaze, and luke knows that you’re hoping for a real answer, for the truth he can’t give you. 

“nothing,” he answers instinctively. 

“don’t give me that,” you sigh and turn away from him, returning to your position against the counter. 

“i said it’s nothing,” luke insists, a bit more assertively. “why can’t you just believe me?”

“because you’ve been distant, moody.” your tone is sharper now, too. “you’ve been avoiding me. you’ve barely been eating. the side of your bunk has been empty, which means you haven’t been sleeping, either. gods, i can’t even remember the last time you kissed me —”

“you’re really mad at me because we haven’t fucked?” 

it’s a low blow, and he delivers it as if he hadn’t missed seeing you underneath him. or on top, or beside. luke isn’t picky. 

“you’re impossible!” you groan, and cover your face with your hands. you take a deep breath  before returning to glare at luke. “do….do you not want to be together, anymore? because if that’s what’s happening, i’ll survive. we can go back to being friends.” you clench your jaw to make up for the tremble behind your question. always a tough face, even in the face of potential heartbreak.

of course, luke knows you’ll be fine without him. he’s the one who might have difficulty surviving when you part ways.

“that’s not —” luke sighs and runs a hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze. “that’s not it.”

“then what is it?”

“noth—”

“i will send you to elysium if you tell me it’s nothing one more time, because i know it’s not!” you’re shouting now. “i might not know what it is, but i know you well enough to tell that something is bothering you. so i’m asking you, one more time, what is going on?”

the thing is, luke can’t tell you — about what he’s done, about who he’s aligned himself with. he can’t lie to you, either, at least not to save his life.

so, he’s basically stuck in whatever the greek mythology version of limbo is. 

for now, he’s saved by percy, annabeth, and grover, who walk in with a stack of DVDs and armfuls of movie snacks. 

dinner is fine, especially with the kids providing a good enough buffer. luke even catches you smiling and laughing along with them a few times. you approve of their choice in movies, starting with mulan. it’s one of luke’s favorites, too, but he can’t help but let his attention wander. 

the two of you have known each other for a long time. luke has felt your anger. he’s felt your frustration. you’ve been on opposing sides of explosive arguments, of brutal sparring matches. 

but, despite everything, luke’s never been hated by you. it’s unavoidable, given what he’s done and the path he’s on; it's just not something he's particularly eager to feel.

working for kronos….luke won't pretend he regrets it. something had to be done, to take back the poisonous world the gods created. 

he did it for you, even if you won't understand.

he'd do anything for you.

so, for now, he’s willing to endure the daggers you stare at him from the other side of the couch. 

—

v. 

in another life, you might have taken advantage of the queen bed and private room. both hard to come by at camp half-blood, if you’re not willing to risk zeus’ wrath for the latter.

gods, it feels like forever since you and luke snuck into cabin one because couldn’t keep your hands off each other, curses and lighting strikes be damned. 

you almost wish lightning would strike — at least then the bed would be warm. 

“i can feel you being mad at me,” luke whispers. 

“sorry, thought you’d already be gone by now,” you respond, sarcasm dripping through your words. “off to see whoever else you’d rather sleep with.”

“so, you are mad because we haven’t fucked in a while.”

a stupid slip of the tongue. you can practically hear the smirk in his voice, and your entire body feels on fire for giving him any leverage on you. that was definitely not the warmth you were hoping for. 

“whatever,” you mumble, shuffling closer to the edge of the bed, your back still towards luke. 

for the record, you’re mad because of whatever distance luke was forcing between you, or whatever wall he was putting up, for a reason you don’t understand. you’d always known luke well, but lately you haven’t been able to read him. 

and, sure. maybe you are…. frustrated. the two of you hadn’t been intimate in a while, yes, and your fingers are nothing compared to luke’s, but more than that: you just miss actually feeling him close to you. in any sense. 

you’re not sure how much time passes, and there’s nothing but silence. then, you hear his voice again, gentler than before, no cocky attitude laced through. 

“you never told me about your dad.”

ugh. of course, luke had overheard your conversation with annabeth earlier. damn those sly hermes’ genes.

you stay silent to give off the illusion that you’d fallen asleep, but luke doesn't fall for it. 

“we’ve shared a bunk for years, karma. i can tell when you’re not sleeping.” 

you pause for a few more seconds, but you know that luke is persistent.

“it didn’t matter,” is all you offer before he asks again.

“it did,” luke insists. “why didn’t you tell me?”

“it’s not like we tell each other everything,” you scoff. “like, why didn’t you tell me about that prophecy? and why won’t you tell me whatever’s going on with you now?”

“that’s….that’s different.” 

“not really. i bet that it’s all for the same reason.”

“which is?”

 you debate telling luke the truth. 

it was no surprise that you had a certain reputation around camp: cunning, hot-tempered, brash. you were fine being the angry girl whose mother wasn’t enough of a god to warrant a cabin, but enough of a threat to be wary of. you didn’t want to be the one who was also dropped by her father, unwanted and too much of a burden. so, you swallowed the reality of the situation; pretended that nothing broke your heart, and that nothing ever would.

“i didn’t want you to look at me differently,” you admit. 

another pause, this time from the other side of the bed. 

“if it makes you feel better, i was glad that you stayed.”

you can’t help it; you let out a sardonic laugh.

“that’s not much of a comfort, since you haven’t seemed very thrilled with me lately.”

“that’s not….” luke falters. “i just mean that i don't know who i’d be if you left.”

in spite of the situation, the ongoing tension between you, you find yourself smiling. 

“always so dramatic,” you tease.

deep down, you know you’re not much better.

luke was part of the reason you might have stayed at camp, anyways. he was the reason why you didn’t fight harder to get back to your old life, and you always did like a good fight.

it was scary though, that one person had so much power over you and didn’t even know it. you tried to convince yourself that you stayed because luke had needed you, after his quest and everything. but, once you’d known how it felt to have luke in your life, you didn’t want to go back to a time you didn’t. 

truthfully, it still scares you.

“i don’t like fighting with you,” you admit softly, swallowing a lump in your throat. “especially when i don’t even know why we’re fighting in the first place.”

you wonder if you’d just thought that instead of saying it out loud because luke doesn’t respond, until you hear the sheets behind you shuffle, and feel luke position himself behind you.

"i'm sorry that we're fighting. it's my fault."

he settles a tentative hand on your exposed hip, where your shirt had ridden up. luke starts to trace circles onto your skin with his thumb, the way he sometimes does when he's nervous or having a bad dream.

"i’ve just been so….in my head. i don't want you to worry about what's going on with me, okay?

"luke —"

"i have to sort it out on my own.”

"you don’t, though,” you insist. “if you just tell me what’s going on, instead of pushing me away.”

another pause. you can feel him breathing down your neck, and in turn you inhale the spicy citrus of his body wash. it’s all so excruciatingly familiar as you wait for him to say something, anything. 

eventually, luke sighs, deeply, and confesses:

"it's just….we've known each other for so long, but this — us? so much of it is new. i don't want to fuck it up." 

"well, congratulations," you quip. "you're one step closer to getting there."

you meant it as a joke, something to lighten the mood, but you feel luke stiffen at your words, his grip on your hip becoming almost painfully tight as if he's worried you'll slip away.

"i'm kidding, tiger." you weave your fingers through his to loosen his hold on you, and reassure him even more that you're not going anywhere, any time soon. "for better or for worse: you’re mine, and i'm yours. no matter how much either of us might fuck it up."

luke shuffles closer, and you melt into him even more. 

"do you really mean that?"

his voice is soft, surprisingly timid. you crane your neck back to look at him; luke stares at you, his gaze heavy enough to take your breath away. 

“of course.” 

you're so close, and you hadn't been in so long. luke's leg is somehow lodged in between your thighs, and you bite back a whimper as he brushes against you. you feel him behind you, already half-hard, and you rub your ass against him slightly, causing a groan to vibrate through his body. 

neither of you have to do much to crash your lips together.

you can sense how luke’s been unraveling, from the kiss alone. his lips are chapped, rough against yours and already bleeding from the pressure; his stubble scrapes against your cheek, and you’re dizzy with anticipation, imagining how it will leave a stinging sensation on other areas of your skin when luke has his way with you later. 

for now, you focus on your mouth on his: teeth clacking together, your tongue laving over the cut on luke’s bottom lip and tasting copper. luke brings a hand up to your jaw, pushing you into his mouth even more. 

it’s like the first time you kissed. all consuming. messy. urgent — like you've already run out of time. 

eventually, you have to pull yourself away from his grasp, your neck straining at the uncomfortable angle. luke takes the opportunity to suck bruises onto your neck while he presses his thigh harder against your cunt. he slips his other hand further underneath your shirt, cupping your breast and pinching your nipple between his fingers.  instinctively, you start rutting against him. 

“f-fuck,” you groan, relishing in the muscles of his naked thigh underneath you, defined and strong. 

luke chuckles, and you feel his breath warm against your skin. 

“you missed me that much, hm?” he taunts, encouraging you to go faster, harder. “you’re gonna cum before i even have a chance to undress you. doesn’t seem fair to me.”

“who —” your breath catches when luke’s hand settles around your throat, pulling you impossibly closer to him. you feel the outline of his abs against your lower back, and his length, hard and waiting. it’s difficult to finish your thought, but you try your best. “who says i only have to cum once?”

“that sounds like a challenge,” luke decides. “what’s our record — three? think we can beat that tonight?”

you laugh, already out of breath. “i think we can do it.”

“good girl.”

your thighs clench at the nickname, and it's one down, a few more to go. 

you maneuver luke so that he lays flat on the bed, your legs on either side of his hips. your hands fumble with the edge of his shirt, and he lets you remove it without any more hassle.

it's a little ironic, really, how much you and luke hate the gods — because looking at him underneath you, you're sure that something divine must have created him, and you have to thank them for it. sharp jaw, deep scar, flushed cheeks; curls slightly askew, and skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat; that cocky smile — you'd worship luke castellan over any of the olympians. 

secretly, of course, you pretty much already do.

"like what you see?" luke smirks up at you, hands firmly on your ass.

you roll your eyes to save face. "come on, tiger, like you're not seconds away from tearing through your boxers." 

luke clicks his tongue, locks his calf around yours to switch your positions. you grunt as your back hits the mattress, but you very much appreciate the force and weight of luke above you. he practically rips off your shirt, then starts to nip and suck down your body. he kisses the fabric still covering your cunt, and you can feel his chuckle vibrate through your body when he encounters the wetness there. 

"i'm not the one who already ruined their underwear," luke teases as he finishes undressing you. he pauses at the sight of you, bottom half completely exposed. you're about to tell him to hurry the fuck up, but then luke spits onto your already soaked cunt and says: 

“i need to clean you up, baby.” he gives you another cheeky grin, teeth glowing like the cheshire cat, before diving in.

luke is skilled at everything he does, so of course he's quick to unravel you once more, this time with a persistent combination of tongue and teeth, lapping at your cunt like it's his last meal. 

as soon as you're done riding out your high, you yank luke by the leather cord around his neck to collide your lips with his again. 

you reach down to return the favor, snake your hand underneath the fabric of his underwear, and you're deeply satisfied to find him already sticky with his release.

“you already finished,” you tease, stroking his v-line. "and ruined your underwear without me even touching you." 

in the dim light of the moon, you can barely make out luke blushing. he hides his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder. 

“guess we’re both desperate, huh.” luke’s teeth graze your skin, his curls tickling your neck. “i need to be inside you, now, so how about you get on your hands and knees for me? i’ll get the condom.”

sometimes, luke tries to be gentle — but not this time. 

this time, he fucks you, hard and fast and deep. 

you love it, even if you might not be able to walk properly tomorrow.

with so much power behind each thrust, and the overwhelming pleasure, your arms threaten to give out, but luke catches you before you fall. he wraps a hand around your neck, bringing you flush against his chest as he continues to plunge his length into you. 

"listen to me," luke growls. he snakes a hand down to rub harsh circles on your clit. "the one thing the gods did right is make this perfect, tight little pussy of yours. you were fucking made for me, weren't you?" 

all you can do is whimper, closing your eyes at his filthy, sinful words. 

you aren't used to luke being so possessive, and certainly not in these past few weeks. it's making your head spin in the best way. you can feel your orgasm build in the pit of your abdomen.

"were you made for me?" luke asks again. he squeezes your neck slightly, and you gasp at the pressure. "answer me, or i'll stop." 

you don’t think it’s likely he’ll stop; you’re sure he’s just as lost in the sound of your cunt squelching and the feeling of you sucking him in. but, he does slow down, only a little bit, and it's enough for you to start whining.

"y-yes, luke."

"are you mine?"

you don't answer fast enough. luke stills his hips completely and you almost burst into tears.

you moan, trying to move against him in vain. luke keeps a firm grip on you, making it hard to cause any sort of friction between your bodies.

"i'm yours," you promise.

luke plants a firm kiss behind your ear. “that’s my girl,” he whispers darkly.

satisfied, luke resumes his pace. he moves the hand around your neck to your chin, angling you accordingly so he can crash his lips onto yours. 

it doesn't take long to feel the tension in your abdomen snap, wetness gushing out of you. exhausted, you collapse onto the mattress. luke slips out of you.

the next few seconds consist of you trying to bring yourself back down to reality after such a high. 

luke turns you around just to face him as he hovers over you. he lodges his hand behind your ear and taps your cheek to get your attention. your eyes flutter open.

“did you just —” 

the dampness between your legs, and on the sheets underneath you, is enough evidence: you just squirted.

"i….” you gulp, feeling yourself flush. “i’ve never done that before."

luke stares at your glistening cunt. you wonder if you should be embarrassed, but then he locks eyes with you. you've never seen them so dark, pupils almost fully blown, just a sliver of brown showing through.

"you’re so fucking hot."

your heart flutters. 

“you’re not too bad yourself, tiger, or i wouldn’t be in this mess.” you wink at him, still trying to catch your breath. your eyes wander lower. you note luke in the current state he’s in; you realize that the scales are nowhere near balanced. “that’s three for me, and only one for you. let me taste you.” 

he doesn't need to be told twice. you get on your knees once more, this time facing him as he kneels in front of you. luke rips off the condom, something to deal with later, and you take him in your mouth, cheeks hollowed and tears brimming your eyes feeling him fuck your throat. when he finishes, you swallow him whole, savoring every drop. he pulls you up for a kiss; you can still taste yourself on him, and it mixes with his new release, a combination that is more than a little intoxicating. 

“fuck,” luke mumbles as he pulls away. he swipes his thumb over the corner of your mouth where some of his cum dribbled out. “i know that was intense, but would you be up for another round? "

"yeah," you reply without a second thought, reaching up to thread your fingers through his curls to ground yourself. 

maybe you should thank artemis for the full moon tonight, giving you just the right amount of silver light to illuminate the sculpted curves and edges of luke's body. his skin is also littered with bruises and bites of your design, chaotic and beautiful. luke looks like a mess, just as you're sure you do. 

you want more. you need more.

"we gotta go for four, remember? but...maybe we, uh…"

"....slow it down this time?" luke finishes your thought. 

you nod, grateful that you and luke are on the same page. he scrambles off the bed to get another condom.

"shit. i don't have another one.”

"check my bag, too," you tell him. luke complies, but comes up short once more.  

you’re sitting up against the headboard now, and luke returns to kneel in front of you. 

"i can use my fingers,” luke offers. “or eat you out again —"

“or we could just do without a condom this time?” you suggest. luke raises an eyebrow at you, so you think through the possibilities out loud. "we both got tested before our first time together and haven’t been with anyone since.” you find yourself pausing for confirmation on that, and luke nods once. “i’m on birth control. obviously there’s still a risk that something happens, but maybe just this one time? you can just pull out whenever you’re ready….if you're okay with that."

luke waits, almost like he thinks you might change your mind, before finally answering:

“yeah, i’m okay with it if you are. i’ve always wanted to fuck you raw. i just didn’t think you’d be into it — and didn’t want you to feel pressured.”

you have to kiss him then. because how is it that the boy who just gave you three jaw clenching, toe curling, heart pounding orgasms be so sweet and considerate?

before you know it, you’re flat on your back, sheets slightly scratchy with stray sand. you don't care much because luke hovers above you; he presses his forehead to yours, curls falling in front of his face. 

"just so you know," luke starts, just as you feel him enter you once more. "i must have been made for you, too. i'm just as much yours as you are mine."

you smirk, bite your lip to keep from moaning so that you can keep up the arrogance, just a bit longer. 

"always so dramatic," you mock, as if your cunt isn’t squeezing around him at his sweet nothings. 

luke grins at you sheepishly, his cheeks flushed. 

"guess that means the gods did two things right," you joke, exhaling when you feel luke brush against that gummy spot deep within you. "maybe we've taken them for granted. maybe we should - " he hits that spot again, and your breath hitches. you dig your nails into his shoulders as he rocks back and forth. “maybe we should thank them.”

luke clicks his tongue, grips your hip firmly. "not a chance, sweetheart. the gods’ll get what they deserve."

you don’t care enough to ask luke what he means. you care more about him going faster. you’re about to tell him to do so, and to throw your legs over his shoulders, but he does it himself before you get the chance. you feel him slipping deeper within you, the force and passion behind each movement, his body molding to every curve and crevice of yours. 

made for each other.

you’re so sensitive that your orgasm approaches quickly. as he helps you ride it out, his thrusts get sloppier, and you know he’s almost reached his peak, too. 

“fuck,” he grunts. “i’m close.” luke starts to pull out, but then you lock your ankles behind his neck. 

“don’t,” you command. 

“a-are you sure?” he looks at you, wide-eyed.

“i just want to feel you this once.”

he nods and brings you in for one more bruising kiss. he finishes inside you, warm and wet. 

luke leaves once he catches his breath, and comes back with a damp towel to clean you up. he knows your body, recognizes how sensitive you are, and presses kisses on the inside of your thighs, where the same lips had made bruises before. 

even completely fucked out, your mind starts to unpack everything that’s wrong in your life. like how luke has always been a little too good at pretending, with everyone else at least, and something serious must be going on if he's trying to fool you, too.  

this luke with you now, the one who gently wipes his cum from between your legs after fucking you so relentlessly, is your luke. it feels like your luke is slipping right through your fingers, and you’re wracking your brain trying to figure out how this can stop before losing him completely.

wait….did luke say something about getting revenge on the gods? your mind is still a bit cloudy, but you could’ve sworn —

 “are you okay?” 

his question puts pause on your spiraling. he’s done cleaning you up, throws the towel on the floor and settles back on the bed, next to you. you’re close enough for the softest whisper, your limbs intertwined beneath tangled sheets.

you watch luke carefully as he waits for an answer and surveys your body, tracing his fingers over the marks he'd left underneath your jaw, across your shoulders, over your collarbones and down your stomach. 

"i didn't hurt you, did i?"

“i’m okay,” you assure him. luke’s hand stops to gently rest on your cheek. your other worries are pushed to the side for the time being: for now, it's just you and luke. “do you think we could pick up a plan b pill tomorrow though, just in case? i love you, but i’m not ready to have your babies.”

luke widens his eyes like a minotaur in headlights. he drops his hand.

 “you’ve never said that before.”

“that i want to have your babies?” you jest, slightly amused at how panicked luke seems.

luke blushes and clears his throat. “well, that too. i meant the whole ‘i love you’ thing, though.” 

your amusement evaporates. you swear your heart stops beating momentarily.

“oh, shit.…” 

you’re not quite sure what to say; you’ve felt this way for a while, truthfully. 

of course you love luke. you can't remember exactly when you realized it, but you just….know.

because if what you felt for luke wasn’t love, then you were foolish to have secretly bought into what silena beauregard had been on about for years, and aphrodite herself might just be out of a job. 

“i know we’re kind of in a weird place, but, yeah, i mean it. you don’t have to say it back —”

luke leans forward to kiss you. gentler this time, but just as firm. “i love you."

"you do?" your heart resumes its beating. 

"of course i do. i have ever since my first morning at camp.”

“yeah right,” you chuckle in disbelief, feeling your cheeks heat up. “it’s not a competition, you know, over who loved who first.”

“karma, i’m serious,” he insists. “someone taught me to burn offerings, and with everything that happened with thalia, i obviously wasn't in the worshiping mood, but then you leaned over and whispered —"

"they like the smell of begging." 

luke grins at you, and you reach up to brush your thumb against the dimple in his cheek. 

"exactly. somehow, that was what i needed to hear. it was nice to know that i wasn't the only one who didn’t want to just accept things the way they were….” he loses his train of thought. luke grabs your hand in his. “i wish i had told you earlier. after all this, i don’t want to lose you.”

“you won’t —”

“whatever happens,” luke continues, somewhat ominously. “i love you, y/n.”

you hadn't heard luke use your real name in a while. you fall asleep, heart full with the memory of him weaving it together with those three magic words. 

the next morning, you wake up — you actually sleep in, for the first time in years — and decide that if you could stay here forever, you would. 

the morning sun stings your eyes through the sheer curtains. the sticky heat of summer sits heavy in the room, and stray grains of sand tickle your skin underneath the sheets. waves wash gently on the shore outside, and an ocean breeze mixes with the smell of burnt cinnamon. you can hear annabeth, grover, and percy crashing dishes and bickering and causing chaos in the kitchen as, you imagine, they scramble to surprise you with breakfast. 

luke is next to you, on his stomach. his curls are a mess, covering most of his face. 

evidence from last night: scratches from your nails prominent on his back, his neck decorated with purple bruises in the shape of your lips. you shift slightly and feel a dull ache between your legs, so you'd call it even.

outside, something clatters on the floor, and you hear percy swear.

luke's eyes flutter open, ever so slightly, and he starts to move. "we should get up before they burn down the place." 

you press your hand to luke's shoulder blade, barely, but in his half-asleep state, it's enough to keep him in bed. luke moves to his side, facing you. you bring your hand up to brush curls away from luke's eyes, even if they're still closed.

"they've literally been to hell and back," you recall his sarcastic words from last night. "i think they can handle pancakes." 

the corners of luke's mouth curl upwards. 

"you're such a smart ass," he mumbles.

you lean forward, plant a kiss underneath luke's chin. his stubble scratches against your lips. 

"don't pretend you don't love it, tiger."

luke breathes steadily. you think he might've fallen asleep once more until he presses his lips to your forehead, pulls you towards him, and quips:

"i love you."

your heart quickens as you echo his words. something churns in your stomach, too.

because this peace isn't something that feels permanent.

you're the children of gods, and there's always a catch. some inevitable plot twist where lovers end up separated, where heroes end up dead or cursed. 

it's nauseating — dangerous, even — that you want a happy ending, a desire buried in you deeply like a knife to the gut. it's cruel that the fates keep twisting, taunting you with what can never be.

no monsters; no gods or titans; no prophecies.

just this.

[inkskinned]

one of the things that's so frustrating is how often the arguments against us are actually happening to us. we said - you need to watch out, this will evolve into allowing fascism into legal statute. and we were told: you're a sensitive snowflake. you're annoying and stupid and have no concept of reality. nobody really believes that stuff.

but it's indoctrination for kids to even see queer people. it's grooming for kids to even be around queer people. it's disgusting to even put rainbows on kids clothes. it's inappropriate, shameful, still-an-argument. like any of this is new - we know already. for you, even seeing someone unashamed is the same thing as "forcing" it onto you. because god-forbid you confront any internal thought you have. because god-forbid you practice empathy. rage is better, i guess. it keeps you pretty.

this has always been the way of some people - a while ago, it would have been "sinful" for my white mom to marry my hispanic dad. once, in the year of our lord 2015, someone told me that "mutts" deserve a woodchipper. that one particular insult stayed with me - not because it was the first or last, but because there was something so unbelievably violent about it that i couldn't figure out how to hold it. the idea that someone is so assured of their bigotry and rage that they would paint this kind of a picture. even jokingly, even with the anonymity of the internet, it kind of centered things for me. a sense that, for some people, their rage burned so unimaginably large that it blocked even the basic fact of my humanity.

at one point, while i still had enough fire in me to get into long arguments, one of the bigots i was "debating" (being harassed by) said: to be honest, it's about the sex, not the love. between you, me, and the four walls of this blue hellsite, i actually didn't really care for "love is love" as the slogan of our community. it seemed so placid, so gentle, so ally-focused. where was the vitriol? where was the hours i spent agonizing over myself? where was the quiet moments of my life, filled with the sound of other people's hatred? this static that settles over everything; even for the action of holding her hand.

the world is unfair. i am an adult, and without the veneer and small-pond syndrome of my teenage years, the slogan has started sounding more desperate. the more places i went, the more people i met. love is love. love is defending him on a rooftop bar. the drink she throws at me goes down into my shoes while i stand there, wishing i had a better retort than what the fuck. love is both of us, keeping our heads down, the black SUV full of frat boys (?) pulled up next to us, howling, for five whole blocks, until we both gave up and had to stick our bare legs into the thicket by the side of the road, giving over into tick country rather than let it go on any longer. love is a lazy spring afternoon, my hand on her belly, the fan spinning overhead. did you hear the whole thing about target?

did you hear about being the target? that's a fun little parallel, isn't it. it almost feels like the game that-is-about-me is being played without-my-participation. someone wants to set fire to my life, and i have to wait for a response from a capitalist institution. i am watching a tiktok where a white woman under white lights complains about adult swimsuits, even though i think a lot of people would benefit from having swimming options that are not "instagram-inspired bikini" or "impossible to move in but otherwise pretty".

sometimes it just seems so fucking stupid. like, just to check, the rage you feel and the hatred - you could really just avoid all of that by minding your fucking business. sometimes (and this is true): it's not about you, and people don't need your permission. like, i don't understand any obsession with sports, but it seems to make other people happy. american football literally results in grievous bodily injury - and yet there are onesies for babies that say future quarterback. i personally don't love it, so i just don't buy that stuff. i walk by it, and don't let it bother me. there have been so, so, so many times that i was told - "so what if he's a little bit homophobic, if you don't like him, don't watch his movies." "so what if they fired her. don't buy their product." "so what if they wouldn't make a rainbow cake. just don't support them."

sometimes i feel the meaning of it scud against my body, an orca whale inside of me, threatening the boat. it is too large to see from my place; this shadow of a thing that dwarfs my petty other-concerns. i need to find a dress for an event, and florida is passing more anti-gay legislation. i need to text my friend back and confirm our plans, and someone is throwing beer bottles to the floor in a walmart because a different case had rainbows on them. it is a long fall, if i look down into it; this sense like the bottom doesn't exist. like i have only ever dipped my toes in.

sometimes i am unbelievably tired of talking about it. it feels like it has become too trite in my own poetry - queer writer complains about the state of the world! how original! - and then something else happens, and i am here again. i remember that it isn't a moment. i remember it isn't a scattered population of cartoon evil-doers, intent on world domination from behind handlebar mustaches. it is a concerted effort of real people with real power who really-do want to see my end. it is a lifetime of dodging the beercan as it sails out of the back of the van. it is a lifetime of not-kissing once we leave the apartment. it is a lifetime of watching someone protest our existence and then, very slowly, giving them the finger. it is a lifetime of holding my friends' hands and hearing the same agony in their life that i lived through. it is us, together, our faces turned upwards, the night sky so vast, milky way overhead like a lacework zipper.

it is a lifetime of staring down woodchippers.

[fictionalslvr]

SYNOPSIS: Leon is the most devoted young man you know, and what you always wanted, is to ruin him, turn him into a complete sinful mess.

PAIRING: Churchboy¡Leon x F!reader

WORD COUNT: 1.030k

WARNINGS: Religious themes! Suggestive and lewd. Corruption kink. Sub¡Leon. Delusional reader. Not p in v because it's all a reader's fantasy ect.

NOTES: Someone send help, I can't stop thinking about RE2 Leon.

AKRASIA:"(n.) Lack of self control."

Leon is a very devout young man. With his knees down on the cold floor, eyes turned to the ceiling and hands squeezed together, his soft voice carried a lot of prayers. It is possible to hear a faint breath escape from those pretty plump lips while he did that, showing how disposed he is to his religion. You had a very bad and twisted thought about him, how you would ruin him completely.

The soft prayers wouldn’t be the only thing slipping out from his lips, his baby azure eyes would be teary, carrying gentle tears that would slid down his cheek so gracefully, his eyes would be turned upwards as always, but this time, not to be face-to-face with his savior, and yes, to show him how sinful he would be in that moment. Those sick contemplations are rotten in your mind, in the most wrong place ever to be thinking about this, the damn church. Who would have thought that you, with that long white skirt, round big eyes that seemed so innocent, the pair of cute Mary Janes on your feet, along with adorable lacy socks, would be so perverted. Who would think that such a delightful girl as you, bashing your eyelashes to everyone, would be wanting to ruin an adorable boy as Leon.

Your thighs are squeezing against each other on the wood bench, you’re sure that you're a sinner dressed as the most faithful gorgeous girl in that place, surrounded by others sinners, after all, no one is fully innocent. Seeing Leon on your right side, he’s very focused on the priest's words, and you, poor you can’t stop your mind in fantasizing about that boy. His dirty blonde hair shines under the white ceiling chandelier, he has this adorable habit of biting his lips when focused, sometimes even poking his tongue slightly out of his lips, you just want him under you, crying and humming your name with that angelic voice of his. Your chest rose as your eyes are glued on his figure, he’s driving you crazy without even saying a word.

You’ve always wondered if Leon was still a virgin, judging by his devotions, you guessed he never even kissed anyone, and that only eats your mind alive. You wanted to be his first in everything, the one who achieved to make him sin with you, you wanted to see his face plastered with tears, his breathing hitching as the name of his God couldn’t save him from that guilty feeling rushing over his spine. Leon would feel bad for feeling so good, that guilty pleasure that drives him into a sobbing mess, whispering faintly “sorry, i-i’m so s-sorry!” in between whimpers. You would take good care of him, being slow and passionate to show there’s nothing wrong in that pleasure he’s feeling, but that wouldn’t help, he would be a melted butter into your hands, hiding his face on the crook of your neck as your naughty hands kept touching the tip of his rosy penis, that pleasure was too much, something new that he’s getting already attached to, they were right, it’s an addiction that erodes an human being. The vulnerability of his state, his nude figure, it’s all new, like he’s a newborn around the world, discovering what the world could offer him as good, but that had consequences.

He would always hear that “the good boys go to heaven”, so he followed that strictly. But hearing that escaping from your lips would play with his mind, that nickname was supposed to be a good thing, not to be used as filthy as you make it look like. And maybe this is what you wanted, to make him feel guilty, to doubt himself and his purpose, to make him a full sinner, dragging you into hell with him. Poor Leon, his mind is so religiously focused, that he’s scared he could go to hell after life, so he restrains himself in almost everything to be perfect in the religious eyes. That would only make your twisted mind want him even more.

You would give whatever it takes to see his round cheeks growing rosy in embarrassment, to watch his eyes shut tightly, scared to look into your eyes and see that lust flames on them, to hear his heartbeat increase as you only get closer to him, depositing a kiss on his cheek and that would make him rest his hands there, thinking about your actions and how he needs to reprimand you from your manners, but he simply can’t, because you cause him fright. No one would believe him if he said how the cute girl has been teasing him, showing a bit more of her cleavage by bending down in front of him to make his mind wander to all wrong sides. In your deepest fantasies, Leon would be addicted to the friction your hands caused him the last time, he would try to recreate that, head leaned down as he felt even guiltier than before, his own hands exploring his body that way for the first time.

Leon is your little tragedy, the piece of drama in your life that keeps you coming to the church, even to not listen to any of the words about it. A divine violence, you like to think that Leon is the actual demon from teasing you just from being himself. Sadly, you didn’t do any of those things, your mind likes to fantasize that, so maybe one day, you can actually send Leon over the edge.

You only noticed that your sweet fantasy is over when a soft voice calls you out, a big pair of blue eyes towards you, which you knew greatly who it was.

“Miss? Are you okay? The preaching is over for a few minutes now.” A smirk appeared in your lips, for the first time, you couldn’t contain yourself, you had to do something.

Throwing your self control away, you gathered courage to lift your body and look around, there’s no one else in the church. Seeing Leon, his eyebrows are frowned in worry, you’re ready to ruin that face of his.

[steddieas-shegoes]

read my lips

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is staring at his lips when he talks'

rated m | 1,799 words | cw: suggestive language, implied sexual content | tags: mutual pining, getting together, first kiss, platonic stobin

👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄

"Steve? Earth to Steve." Robin waved her hand in front of his face, successfully pulling him out of the daydream he'd been in for who knows how long. "He walked away nearly two minutes ago. You gotta get your shit together, man."

Steve looked around, trying to find where Eddie went. He'd been talking to them both about a show his band was invited to perform in a few towns over in a couple weeks. Steve was listening to him go on about trying to buy a set of special edition picks at the record shop they'd be performing in when he got distracted by the way Eddie's lips kept smirking around his words.

The scarring along his cheek made his smile more crooked than it was before the bats, and Steve couldn't stop staring.

Not for the reasons strangers on the street would, not even in the way that Dustin or Wayne sometimes looked at him, like they were still upset at the way the world turned against Eddie.

No, this was entirely because every time Steve started to watch Eddie talk, he got distracted thinking about those lips on his. This time it was way less work appropriate.

He turned to Robin and groaned.

"God, this is bad."

"You don't say." Robin set a stack of tapes on the counter next to Steve. "All these still need to be checked in. Then you can go get distracted by thoughts of Eddie's lips on your neck or whatever."

"If only it had been my neck," Steve mumbled as Robin started humming loud enough to drown him out.

"Stevie, you work too hard," Eddie's voice said from right behind him only a minute later. "You should take a break."

"I just had my lunch 30 minutes ago. I can't take another break," Steve refused to make eye contact, refused to get captured by that sinful smile.

Eddie's hand landed on his shoulder. "Aren't you the one in charge right now?"

"You think I'm over Robin?"

"I think you think you're over Robin. And that should be enough. Just sneak away. She won't even notice. Look, she's yelling at a kid in the corner," Eddie poked him to get him to turn around and look. "Poor kid probably didn't think anyone who worked here cared if he snuck into the R section."

Steve finally turned around and let out a snort. "That's the third time that kid's tried to get back there in a week. He's just an idiot."

"Well...she's distracted. There's no other customers. Take a break!" Eddie was grinning at him and Steve was already under his spell.

"Fine, but only a few minutes. She'll be pissed if I leave her to do all the rewinding and shelving," Steve agreed because he had to.

Because Eddie was looking at him like he was up to something and he wanted Steve to be up to something with him. Because he'd do anything that made Eddie's crooked smile bigger, anything to hear him let out that giggle he tried to hide when he was being mischievous.

Eddie tugged on his arm and pulled him out from behind the counter, holding a finger to his lips to shush him when he started to tell him to stop.

He led him to the back office, which was usually locked if Keith wasn't in, but had been left unlocked the last two shifts because Robin was in charge of closing out the registers.

"I know for a fact you shouldn't be in here. I'm barely even allowed in here," Steve whispered.

"No one will know," Eddie said as he sat on the edge of the cluttered desk. "It's not like Family Video is stashing away government secrets."

"I said the same thing about Scoops Ahoy and then got tortured by Russians, so I'd watch what you say."

Eddie's smile dropped for a moment.

Steve had never gone into details and Robin had just shrugged it off when Eddie asked her about it. She said she was grateful she had Steve through it all and that was that.

"Do you suspect Russians might be hiding under Family Video?" Eddie eventually asked. "If so, I think we should head out. I'll get our coats."

Steve shook his head. "Nah. Think the Russians got the hell out of Hawkins after Starcourt."

"Good. Wouldn't wanna have to deal with Russian torture trauma on top of all the bats and being stuck in the Upside Down for days trauma," Eddie snorted. "So, what're you doin' after work today?"

"Uh." Steve admittedly didn't hear most of what Eddie said. He was too busy watching his lips form around words. "Hm?"

Eddie's smile fell. "I asked what you're doing after work. Are you okay? You seem kinda out of it today."

"Yep, I'm fine. Might just be getting a migraine or something." Steve looked down at the floor to try to concentrate. "I'm probably just gonna heat up some leftovers from movie night last night and shower and go to bed."

"You want company?" Eddie asked.

Steve felt his heart stop. "In the shower?"

He looked up at Eddie, that perfect smile growing on his face.

"I meant for dinner or just to hang out, but if you need help in the shower, I could probably arrange that," Eddie was teasing. He was kidding. He had to be. Right?

“I’m…I don’t-“

“Don’t hurt yourself, Stevie,” Eddie laughed. “Offer’s there if you want it.”

Steve was too busy staring at Eddie’s tongue licking his bottom lip, imagining that tongue licking along his bottom lip.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie whispered.

“Hm?”

“You know, I started wearing chapstick and waited for you to finally give in.” Eddie’s lip quirked up. “But you haven’t done anything except stare. You gonna do something?”

“Do what?” Steve was clueless as to what he was talking about.

“You gonna see if they taste as good as they look?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Kiss me, Harrington. You gonna do it or not?” Eddie sighed.

“I-“

“It’s alright. Been waiting for weeks now. You wanna?” Eddie didn’t move from the desk. “Not sure they’re gonna be as great as you seem to be picturing every time I talk, but hopefully they aren’t a complete disappointment.”

Steve kinda figured he should go ahead and kiss him before he started to get lost in his own world again.

He stepped up to Eddie, watching as his face shifted from amused to anticipatory. Steve’s hand rested on Eddie’s knee, mostly to help keep his balance.

He was feeling a little lightheaded with the recent development.

“You really want me to kiss you?” Steve asked as he leaned in, resting his forehead against Eddie’s.

“Yeah, I really do.”

Steve watched his lips the entire time, enamored with the way every part of his mouth enunciated every word. Everything felt important when Eddie said it.

He tasted and felt better than he looked, especially when his hands came up to cup the sides of Steve’s neck, fingers scratching at the roots of his long hair.

Steve whined into his mouth, sinking against him as Eddie took control and deepened the kiss.

“You’re both lucky I’m willing to pretend that I’m not seeing what I’m seeing and that I’m willing to close this door and leave you alone for ten minutes. Mostly because I was so tired of Steve losing every remaining brain cell anytime Eddie talked.” Robin’s voice filtered through the small office, causing Steve and Eddie to pull apart quickly, both wiping at their mouths. “Ten minutes. Not a second more. Pants stay on. Got it?”

“Got it,” Eddie agreed.

“And hands stay out of pants!” Robin said as she closed the door.

“Dammit,” Eddie sighed.

“Ten minutes is long enough to make out,” Steve tried to suggest, leaning in to kiss him again.

“Ten minutes is long enough for a lot of things. Tell me where you want my lips.”

It would be rude teasing from anyone else, but from Eddie, it just made Steve feel seen.

“Anywhere. Everywhere. Wherever you want them,” Steve gasped out, still feeling like he might be dreaming.

“So you’d be okay with them…here?” Eddie whispered against his neck, soft presses of his lips against his skin. “Or here?” Steve’s shirt was pulled to the side for Eddie to suck a bruise into the crook of his neck. “Or maybe here?” Eddie’s hand pressed against his half-hard cock on his jeans. “Oh, sweetheart. Had no idea you’d be so ready for me.”

“Yes, you did,” Steve argued.

“You’re right. But it’s still nice to see and feel. Maybe I could taste?” Eddie asked as his hand wandered along his waist line.

“N-now?” Steve stuttered out.

“I have-“ Eddie checked his watch. “About eight minutes. I could get you off.”

“With your mouth?”

“Well, yeah. We can’t make a mess, can we? This is your place of employment, Stevie. And it’s a bitch getting cum out of a carpet like this.”

“You know from experience?”

Eddie dropped to his knees. "I made an educated guess. So. Mouth. Yes or no?"

"Yes," Steve replied, unbuttoning his own pants. "Jesus, yes."

Eddie's mouth was even better than Steve's imagination gave him credit for. They only need three of the minutes they had for Steve to finish, and another two minutes of Steve's hand working Eddie over for him to finish, too.

"You could've said something sooner," Eddie said as he tried to fix his hair. "Or just kissed me one of those times you were trying to stare through my lips."

"I didn't think I was being that obvious before today," Steve said as he tucked his shirt back into his pants and slid his vest back on.

"Sweetheart, you've been obvious since day one. I've just been waiting for you to realize that you needed to make a move," Eddie crowded him against the desk, hands on his hips and a playful smile on his face.

Steve watched his lips the entire time.

"Like that," Eddie continued, raising a finger to trace along Steve's lips. "You watch them when you don't even realize you are."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize, Stevie. Love it," Eddie kissed the corner of his mouth before stepping back. "You better get back before Robin comes in here and glares at us until we catch on fire or something."

"You comin' over after I get off?"

"You just got off," Eddie joked. "But yes. As long as I can actually help you in the shower."

"Help me? Or distract me?"

"It can be both!" Eddie opened the door and held it for Steve to go through. "I'll take care of you."

Steve smiled to himself as he walked away. "I'm sure you will."

[romana-after-dark]

Room's on Fire Masterlist

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary:

Years after the world fell apart, various communities have established themselves, one of which is ran by four men who claim to be divine.

When they decide it's time to and heir to be born, they chose a virgin from their cult and make her their wife. Reader is offered a choice, of course. She doesn't have to marry them. But if she doesn't, the savior won't be born. She choses to become the Madonna. She is wed to all four of them, and moved into their home where her body is open to use whenever her husbands desire (free use au), in the hopes of getting her pregnant. It doesn't matter whose baby it ends up being, because they are all part God, so it doesn't matter... right?

Warnings for full fic, if anything is added or really emphcized it will be in additional warnings.

THIS IS A DARK FIC THOUGH SO BE WARY! I CAN'T PROTECT AGAINST EVERYTHING.

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence. Covert incest, massive mommy issues, sexual abuse all around, past grooming by parental figure. no CSA but the victim isn't much older. some Bates Motel type shit. I cannot properly warn you for everything, without just telling the story but consider this a major warning that there are dark dark themes. No one involved here is morally clean, and who you perceive as the good guy cannot be relied on. Don't come to my story and say im romanticizing these things until at least the story ends.

Unknown amount of chapters right now.

Chapter 1: Pilot: Delta finds their Madonna Chapter 2: The wedding Chapter 3: Aftermath of the wedding FishBen: Symptom of Being Human Chapter 4: Pope is not pleased. Chapter 5: Jonah lore, Madonna gets through to Frankie Chapter 6: Madonna gains Frankie's heart, Santi is jealous Iris: Rey and Iris find pockets of time Chapter 7: Fun with Ben: wining Pope back Chapter 8: big announcement to the community

Non canon Frankie Madonna Chapter 9: Madonna’s blissful ignorance to the world around her. Chapter 10: There's a lot Madonna doesn't know.

Chapter 11: Things start to crumble around Madonna

Chapter 12: It's all too much for Madonna

Chapter 13:

Chapter 14:

Chapter 15:

Chapter 16:

Chapter 17:

Chapter 18:

Chapter 19:

Chapter 20:

Bonus Content

not necessary for the series. Pieces in the main list are suggested as they add depth and sometimes small plot points.

"Can you peel my orange?" Jonah smut

Jonah Hanson character ai

ROF characters Star signs

Jonah x non-Madonna reader x Marcus flashback commission

Art

By @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

By @survivingandenduring

Lil comic by @my-secret-shame

As I said, a lot of themes and dynamics ended up accidentally similarly to Watch Your Step by the amazing @charnelhouse Some was because that fic is what developed my characterizations of the boys. Some was totally incidental, like Pope and readers relation to art. It's different though, a much different series, but I wanted to tell y'all that she s PUBLISHING WYS AS A NOVEL NOW, Its called Cardinal Sin's and I'll link it right here!

How to keep up with the story!

Comment on this masterlist that you want to be tagged and I'll tag you in updates

Follow @romana-updates and/turn on notifications

Follow the tag Rooms on fire

THANK YOU FOR YOU'RE SUPPORT!

Please remember to reblog, and I love comments/asks, anon or not, and would love to see engagement and theories!

[ineffablydaydreaming]

Okay. I need to ramble.

Crowley's entire existence revolves around the apple, it's an event that's in constant repetition. Let me explain:

To humanity, he only had to give them the apple once. With humanity, neither the two hesitated: Crowley says it out loud, he doesn't get what's wrong with knowing the difference between good and evil (even though personally I don't interpret that as being the only thing the apple is about), so he didn't hesitate in creating the original sin, because he either didn't think it was a big deal, or because he thought it was important that humans gained that Knowledge and formed their own opinions and thoughts on the universe rather than being eternally naive, or both. And the humans didn't hesitate to grasp that knowledge either, because... Well, we're humans, you and I. I think we can probably relate.

So as soon as he climbed that wall of Eden he was done, but just with humanity. When he re-encountered Aziraphale, the apple event started to repeat itself again. Over and over, throughout their entire 6000 years of being together, Crowley tried giving Aziraphale the apple, but differently from humanity, Aziraphale hesitated every single time and only took small pieces.

Over and over, Crowley voices his thoughts on God's plan and God Herself. "You can't kill children! [...] But that's something one'd expect my side to do..." He also voices his thoughts on Heaven and Hell's way of working, especially the way they treat humans. "Our administrations don't care how things are done, they just want them done." "That only works if you start everyone off equal. You can't start someone off like that and expect them to do as well as someone born in a castle."

All of this is Crowley offering Aziraphale the apple. The apple is knowledge, it's the knowledge that you aren't the good guys. you are flawed. you are corrupt. they are brainwashing you. you're just a tool for them to meet their own goals. they don't care about you nor humanity, just keeping the status quo.

He's tempting him, constantly, with the knowledge, for him to finally realize the truth, and sometimes it works. The Beginning, The Deluge, A Companion to Owls, The Ressurectionist and Armageddon were all attempts Crowley made for Aziraphale to finally eat the apple. In The Beginning and in The Deluge it doesn't do much. You can see the doubt in his eyes and his voice, how he doesn't approve of what God wants to do but can't say it nor do anything about it.

In A Companion to Owls, it's the first time he lies without lying by omission, instead directly lying to Gabriel. He looks at Crowley before he does it. He looks at Crowley, because they share empathy for humanity, for Job's children they refused to let die.

He looks at Crowley, and Crowley offers him a slice of the apple. And he bit it.

In The Ressurectionist, it's not about Aziraphale going against his staff, it's him questioning the morals he was taught by Heaven. It isn't much in comparison... But you can see he regrets what he did and chooses to help Elspeth. The one who rebels is Crowley, who prevents her from dying and going to Hell, and it's implied he's tortured because of it (next flashback is him asking for Holy Water).

In this case, Crowley simply led him to the apple. Humanity offered it. He took another bite.

In Armageddon, Crowley offers him the apple, saying that they can't just let the world end while watching it. Aziraphale hesitates, then bites it, agreeing to help raise Warlock. They realize they got the wrong boy and Crowley wants to give up, but Aziraphale doesn't give up, instead continues his search. Crowley offers him the apple, saying they need to kill the antichrist somehow, saying he won't do it because of his own morals while Aziraphale says he won't do it because of Heaven's reputation: he refuses to bite it. But only this time. After their two breakups, he's hopeful, he thinks he can fix things, he talks to Metatron. His hope vanishes.

He bites the apple, at last. It's why he doesn't hesitate trying to shoot Adam while he's in Tracy's body. It's why he tries to defend Adam saying Heaven and Hell might be going against the Ineffable Plan. It's why he tells Crowley to do something when Satan is coming. It's why he and Crowley swap bodies in order to survive. He eats the apple, he has the knowledge, and he doesn't give it up.

He and Crowley always do what they think is right. I doubt I need to explain Season 2 in this post, do I? Entire season is Aziraphale evading Heaven and trying to find a solution to Gabriel's situation on his own. He bit the apple on the first episode before Crowley even showed up.

But then, why did Aziraphale give Adam and Eve the flaming sword if he didn't talk to Crowley beforehand? Wasn't that his own idea?

Well. Before the Beginning, I truly feel like that conversation about how the nebula will have to be shut down in 6000 years didn't just plant the seed of doubt on Crowley, it also did on Aziraphale. His was much tinier, quieter, he was still loyal to Heaven... Until he no longer could be. Until he saw an unarmed Adam and a pregnant Eve leaving the Garden to the outside world where everything was cold and deadly and out to get them. The seed of doubt tied its roots on Aziraphale's sympathy and kindness, for Crowley but, especially, for humanity. He's their guardian, after all. He couldn't just stand and watch.

Because, back then, in space, he had bit a tiny piece of the apple when Crowley, unintentionally, offered it to him. "You can't create an entire universe, run it for a couple thousand years, then stop!" He tasted it, even if just for a fraction, but then handed it away. "It's not up to us to make decisions for the Almighty." But the taste, the seed of doubt, was still there, lingering. So he gives away the flaming sword.

Their sympathy for humanity (and for each other; "I wouldn't want you to get in trouble!") is a trait they mutually share, and because they've both tasted the apple, they're willing to break their respective rules in order to stand for what they think is right. And we can see that Aziraphale's sympathy doesn't extend only to humans, he feels it for Gabriel when he says something terrible would happen if he didn't come to the bookshop.

But Crowley wasn't the first person in the universe to offer someone the apple, you see.

This is the ironic part.

You see, Crowley offered the apple to Aziraphale, then to humanity, then tried, for thousands of years, to make Aziraphale eat the rest of it. But do you know who made Crowley eat the apple himself? Do you know who made Crowley receive the knowledge? Do you know who made Crowley differentiate fair from unfair, good from evil, bad from good? Do you know who made Crowley decide to disagree, to form his own thoughts, to express his unsatisfaction with God's plan?

Aziraphale.

Aziraphale started it -- he stated a fact, a knowledge, that Crowley disagreed with and thought was unfair and a bad idea. Crowley's Fall began right then and there with him voicing his concerns and losing his faith.

Aziraphale stated where the apple was and Crowley willingly picked it up and ate it, and now, Crowley is in a constant loop of offering the apple to Aziraphale himself.

Crowley fell because he bit the apple before it was even called an apple. Aziraphale offered it to him without even knowing and now he's doomed to eat it too.

"I'm just a demon who goes along with Hell's plans as far as he can."

[...]

"You're just an angel who goes along with Heaven's plans as far as he can."

"But that sounds..." "Lonely? Yeah."

[...]

"We're on our side."

[snailmail444]

After reading the Masturbationen headcanons for the Bachelors… Can we get masturbation headcanons for the bachelorettes? 🫶🏻

Bachelorette Masturbation Headcannons

18+ 🌱 NSFW 🌱 MDNI

This took soooo long. So so long. But it’s HERE! I’ll probably be double posting today since the poll said post as I finish and I actually have two asks done hehe. Hope y’all are ready for a double feature! NSFW under the cut!

Penny-

🧡 It’s all or nothing for penny. Either her mom is out and she’s got all the time in the world, or her mom is home and she can’t hide a damn thing.

🧡 Luckily Pam has a solid routine every night, so Penny has been able to find time for herself when the mood strikes.

🧡 It’s not a usual occurrence for Penny. She’s got a lot of deep-seated repression that makes it tough for her to follow through on any sexual urges. She’s still undoing the small-town-youth dynamic that it’s dirty and shameful for women to pleasure themselves.

🧡 Sometimes though she’ll be reading fanfic (because let’s be so real you know she does), and she can’t ignore the ache in her center anymore.

🧡 Bites down on her lip and edges her bottoms off anxiously, still a little worried someone might jump out of the shadows and damn her in the name of Yoba for sinning.

🧡 Settles in pretty fast though, and lets herself get lost in the story. Pretends she’s the character being ravaged, typically in a highly romantic setting.

🧡 Penny seems like a total pillow humper to me. Gets all flushed and red and tries to muffle her moans as she grinds against the fabric.

🧡 Really sensitive so she doesn’t need much more than that. Maybe a free hand to play with her breast, but honestly not even that.

🧡 One and Done. The guilt sets in and she feels embarrassed all over once she finishes, so she throws everything in to wash and showers off the evidence ASAP.

Maru-

💜 Doesn’t have a ton of personal space/boundaries during the day. She has to wait until nighttime to even think of letting off some steam (thanks, Demetrius)

💜 Once she’s certain her parents are asleep—thank god Sebastian doesn’t ever leave his room, the night owl—Maru climbs down into the privacy of her workshop and allows herself to unwind.

💜 Maru is a woman in STEM. A gadget queen, if You will.

💜 She only has a couple of toys, but they’re high-end splurges. Quality over quantity.

💜 Could make her own if she really wanted to, but she’s got more robotics projects on her plate than she can finish. The last thing she wants is to have to wait to finish making her sex toy before having fun with it.

💜 Her favorite is just a plain blue toy that looks unassuming, but it feels like it’s thrusting inside her, and she can just lay back and enjoy it.

💜 Girls arms and wrists are tired after a day of engineering, so it’s a lifesaver to not have to do that work herself. All she wants is to feel fucked full and nothing else.

💜 Maru’s mind is always going, which is good and bad when she’s trying to get off. On the one hand, it makes for some vivid fantasies. On the other, sometimes she doesn’t want to have to think at all.

💜 Her fantasies are often of whirlwind, desperate romances. Stolen away in the nearest closet, shoved up against a tree, spread out on top of her workbench. She dreams of reckless, passionate, I need you this minute sex. It gets her so wet she’s soaking.

💜 On the days when she wants her brain to go quiet, she’ll make sure to keep going until she’s cum three or four times. Until her ears are ringing and her body is completely exhausted. Kind of a stamina queen, to be honest.

💜 She sleeps like a baby on those nights.

Emily-

💙 Lowkey I think Emily would be a licensed sex therapist.

💙 She’s very well educated in the importance of sexual health. For her it’s a spiritual practice of keeping herself balanced.

💙 Haley’s home like all the time which sucks, but she gets an okay amount of privacy regardless because their rooms are on opposite sides of the house.

💙 Lights incense that has properties good for sexual energy or something I dunno.

💙 Has a (body safe!) crystal wand that she fucks herself with.

💙 Loves how cool it feels at first and the fact that it warms to match her body temperature.

💙 Little miss active imagination doesn’t need porn or anything, she just gets right the hell off on her fantasies.

💙 As for what she fantasizes about? Girl goes wild thinking about having three or four partners. Ideally it’s three or four people all focused on pleasing her, every sensation hands and mouths and skin on skin—she gets really hot thinking about it.

💙 Her nipples are really sensitive so she makes sure to stimulate them a lot, pretending she has someone to focus on each one individually.

💙 Enjoys being present with her body and engages her senses. Really wants to sit with all the sensations and draw them out.

💙 Doesn’t cum every time, but that’s not the point for her. Unless she’s specifically trying to cum, it’s an added bonus. Something nice, but not necessary. It’s all about the journey for Emily.

Leah-

💚 Leah has it MADE in terms of getting off.

💚 Queen of living alone in the woods.

💚 Full privacy. Loud noise never carries from the solid insulation and the dampening of the trees. She can’t full out scream without being heard, but almost.

💚 Has a collection of dildos she’s made herself out of scrap wood. She started making them as a joke, but then she was like actually…this could be great for me.

💚 Don’t worry, she’s taken great care in making sure they’re body safe. Made with love and all that.

💚 Her favorites are the ones that she’s left knots on. A smooth fuck is nice, but she loves the added sensation from the bumps.

💚 Her internet isn’t great, but she’s lucky to have a collection of artsy porn films. Again, something that started as more of a fascination, but to be honest it’s super hot.

💚 One in particular is her favorite, with a long shot of eating pussy. It’s supposed to be a love story, the way it’s framed, but more than anything it’s just hot. Reminds her of some of the best oral she’s ever gotten.

💚 Takes her a long time to get off, but she’s learned not to rush it. She’ll finish when she finishes, and it’s always worth it.

💚 Needs a nice, long, relaxing shower afterwards, and unwinds with a cup of herbal tea.

Haley-

🩷 Emily is gone a lot working at the bar until late, so she doesn’t have to worry about finding time.

🩷 Definitely has a collection of toys for whatever mood she’s in.

🩷 Quality AND Quantity babe Haley will not deny herself pleasure.

🩷 Absolutely will treat herself too. A nice glass of wine and some mood lighting. Big fan of setting the vibe (pun intended).

🩷 Soft BDSM girlie. Adores any porn where the sub ends up a whiny desperate mess

🩷 It’s an ego trip. She absolutely wants to think that whoever she’s with would be reduced to absolute pathetic begging for her.

🩷 She finishes faster than she would like sometimes, so she’s mastered the art of edging.

🩷 She’s not gonna put all that effort in for nothing. If she’s set taking her time to enjoy herself she’s going to be TAKING her TIME.

🩷 Finds it really hot to be able to watch herself so sometimes she’ll set up in front of her floor-length mirror. Not as good as it is with a partner, but it’s got a similar draw.

🩷 Really quiet when she cums, her cheeks flushed and a gasp stuck in her chest while her body seizes with pleasure.

🩷 Might go a couple more times depending on how hot and bothered she is.

Abigail-

🖤 Abby has the least privacy out of the bachelorettes.

🖤 Her situation isn’t horrible (read: better than Sam’s), but she’s always got low-grade anxiety that she’s going to be caught and absolutely mortified.

🖤 Never home alone either, but Stardew girls make do. Waits up until midnight or later and makes sure to be radio silent just in case her dad is roaming around.

🖤 Once she gets into it though…she gets into it.

🖤 Little miss visual aid over here be Watching porn. She almost can’t get off without it. She CAN but she doesn’t want to. Which is so real of her.

🖤 LOVES videos of people getting themselves off. Solo masturbation videos are so hot to her because it feels like a steamy mutual session when she touches herself.

🖤 Totally ends up imagining past experiences or current crushes taking up the same as the person in the video. Pleasuring themselves while she watches and watching her get off too…she’s practically gone.

🖤 Sometimes she likes to watch really hardcore, desperate railing if she’s feeling particularly needy or submissive. Every now and again she just wants to be told she’s hot, get spanked, and fucked within an inch of her life. Girl me too the fuck—

🖤 Gets off pretty fast and once just because of the anxiety thing. If she had more peace of mind it would be a marathon for her because with the adventure training she’s got stamina for days.

🖤 Still sleeps way better after and ends up having some very, very pleasant dreams with all of that imagination fuel.

[angelstate]

InfatuatedBoyfriend!Konig x Wandering!Reader.

InfatuatedBoyfriend!Konig who holds you dearly in his heart, has never loved anything or anyone as much as he loves you. You are the epitome of his existence, the sole reason he wakes up every day and doesn’t dread the passing of time, the getting older, the living a fulfilling life outside of the battlefield, away from violence and death.

and he doesn’t think you know the extent his love goes for you, he doesn’t think you are aware of just how deeply he feels for you to the point sometimes the pressure in his heart from all the love he has for you makes him feel like his chest it’s about to burst. 

you love him, he knows you do. And it feels like being loved by a God, like the creator of his purpose in life is continuously reinforcing he is living correctly, how he is meant to live, and it’s as gratifying as it is scary because there is so much to life and all he sees is you. and he knows he would die a happy man only having met you, but he fears your gaze won’t meet enough places and be amazed by enough things to feel as fullied as he feels when looking at you.

you have an insatiable sense of wonder and he knows he (as big as he is) isn’t enough to satiate your senses, and your eyes will continue to fall onto everything that calls out to you to be discovered, it’s never other people, but is things, places, is everything, is nothing. 

InfatuatedBoyfriend!Konig sometimes can't help but overthink, finding himself imagining that maybe one day, without even meaning to, you will meet someone else, someone more fitting, someone as outgoing as you are, someone who doesn’t have social anxiety and feels electrifying fear every time he has to enter crowded places.

He fears that “inevitable” day as much as he feared the dark when he was a kid. Irrationally hard yet so ground-shaking it torns to shreds every piece of bravery he built when the lights were on, When you are in his arms. 

And then, you come back to him, you always do. Like a catholic person always finds a way into their church, like Virgin Mary memorized her way into his son’s tomb for years after his death. you love him and you come back every day out of devotion for him. He can’t help but ask why you do, Why do you come back to him? why not let your eyes wander and find someone who has the same excitement to discover the world as you do, he truly doesn't understand yet sighs in relief at your continuous presence.

“Love you, kö” he hears you whisper next to him, the room dark yet the light in your eyes still visible, even in the darkness you find a way to shine and observe what doesn’t want to be seen, are you the most beautiful human being to ever exist. “I love you too” he mutters, voice shaky, because he loves you so much that the word “love” falls short, it isn’t quantifying enough to summarize his feelings for you, he feels sorry there isn’t a word fitting to tell you how he feels.

“Sleep well, kö” Your voice slowly fades, quieter and slower but you managed to wish him a good night's rest, aren’t you just so lovely, so caring even when falling into unconsciousness, even in your fading awakeness having him in mind “Schlaf gut” (sleep well) he whispers, not wanting to disturb you.

InfatuatedBoyfriend!Konig doesn’t sleep much when he’s with you, too busy breathing in your smell, the warmth of your arm wrapped around his waist and the heaviness of your head on his chest keeping his heartbeat erratic with love. it borderlines as an obsession about your presence and existence around him.

He perceives you in ways that make him feel at ease, you are what he lacks. you are everything he could’ve been if life had been kinder, and he is everything that you could’ve become if life hadn’t been kind. It’s a difference so parallel he feels like he shouldn’t be capable of touching you.

It feels sinful for someone like him, with hands stained with people’s blood to touch someone like you, with hands pristine from the violence you have never committed. He holds the pureness in which you live like one of the most prized parts of you he guards.

InfatuatedBoyfriend!Konig knows he isn’t a holy man, and has never stepped into a church after killing someone for the first time, not wanting to bring his sins into a place too holy to forgive him, he knows he doesn’t deserve forgiveness for what he’s done.

Yet, he still dreams of marrying you, of you in a white dress, walking towards the altar where he awaits for you, ready to vow his life and soul to you, even till death do the two of you apart. Because if the afterlife exists, he knows he’ll love you then and in whatever comes next.

[proximasc0rner]

Hatchetverse theory/headcanon: the lords in black are monsters of our own creation.

So. In a previous post, I mentioned that the LiB might have ages in that they're born of some kind of evil, with Wiggly being the oldest "sin" for lack of a better word. And I think I like that idea the more I think about it! So, just for fun, I'm making a list of them from oldest to youngest:

Wiggly - Wrath. I- I think this one is kinda self explanatory I mean his name is LITERALLY Wiggog Y'Wrath what else do you want from me here- but in all seriousness, I think it fits. The oldest evils humans have known have existed because of wrath. The desire to hurt others due to a sense of justice or entitlement, or even just because one was having a bad day and needed to take it out on someone. Tale as old as time.

Nibbly - Nibbly. Where to start with you. I don't want to go with the basic-ass "gluttony" thing, sooooo... I think with Nibbly, it's more abstract than that. Humans don't just hunger for food-- they hunger for power. Power over themselves, power over some others, or, god forbid, power over entire groups and nations. Hunger for the prize. Hunger for fulfillment. I think we see this demonstrated really nicely in Honey Queen! But yeah, I think this abstract "hunger" is also something primal, like wrath. I wouldn't be surprised if Nibbly and Wiggly came into existence at the same time, but Wiggly just kinda took over.

Tinky - Sadism. YES I AM ONCE AGAIN GOING FOR THE EASY CHOICE SUE ME. Anyhoo, I personally think that Tinky came into existence with the first real atrocity. Not murder over an argument. Not an act of desperation. Just an act of cruelty for cruelty's sake. Sometimes I wonder why I like him so much. WHATEVER I BELIEVE IN BASTARD OF TIME AND SPACE SUPREMACY.

Blinky - This one was tough, but I think I got a semi-satisfying answer (for me anyway): I think Blinky represents the evil that is being a bystander. Like, someone commits a great evil and destroys someone's life in front of a crowd, and all the people just... watch it happen. They don't step in or intervene. They simply allow this evil individual to keep being evil, thereby becoming accomplices in that way. Again, wouldn't be surprised if Tinky and Blinky were twins, because I think atrocities and bystanders unfortunately go hand in hand.

Pokey - Exhibitionism! No wonder he's the youngest-- while vanity and desperately trying to gain the approval of others has been a thing for a very long time, I think that once better forms of communication and presenting yourself to the world (cough cough the internet cough cough) is when things really would've taken off. Everyone wants their voice to be the loudest. Everyone wants to be a star. So everyone puts on a show for everyone else as they desperately try to claw their way to the top.

But yeah. That's my idea of it. The lords in black are a threat, and we've got nobody but ourselves to blame.

[pennyserenade]

PEDRO PASCAL MASTERLIST.

( spotify playlist ) 

one shots:

woman taken by the wind ( e )

desire is a delicious thing.

foreigner’s god ( e )

screaming the name of a foreigner’s god, the purest expression of grief - hozier

( spotify playlist )

one shots:

take me where your heart is  ( e )

even in a big world, there’s not much else to do but be fascinated with one another.

flesh & blood ( e )

javier peña has never been the best at deciding what’s good for anyone but sometimes, just sometimes, he can figure it out for himself

i remember you well ( e )

there are memories that haunt and there are memories that merely linger; what they were that one summer is the latter to Javier.

life could be a dream ( e )

to outrun being human is not sensible. its their constant state of being and something that they are reminded with frequency. so, they’ve stopped trying at that. instead, javier and this woman have decided to embrace the pain of being human together. its a wicked game, sure, but no worse than realizing separately that they are one lonely drop in a big ocean.

series: 

scenes from a marriage ( finished ) ( e )

javier peña is a dea agent naively navigating his way through life in colombia. as if life is not complicated or risky enough while he partakes in the search for the infamous pablo escobar, javier has decidedly fallen in love. these are the scenes from his marriage, full of trials and tribulations, set in colombia, circa 1979–1993. anthology series, but definitely better if read in order.

fade into you ( on-going ) ( e )

like all great things in laredo, they began as whispers. javier has been back from colombia for a couple months and he is beginning to readjust back into a life he had fled. life is an endless cycle of restless nights, nameless hands to shake, and the unshakeable feeling that he is an outsider in his own hometown. mariella and her family have been in laredo since a little after javier left it, running from their own pasts and making it home. her life is an endless cycle of working, feeling too known, and the unshakeable feeling that she is never going to be a person that belongs anywhere. now that their stays in the town are overlapping, javier and this woman find themselves gravitating towards each other. being cut from much of the same cloth, she and javi are made to tackle long overdue life lessons through one another. whether they learn from them or not is something everyone in laredo is curious to find out 

drabbles:

time of the season ask ( m )

( spotify playlist )

one shots:

ungodly hour ( m )

‘til the cows come home ( e )

jack daniels is the sort of man lucky enough to happen upon beautiful women’s windows, and she is the sort of woman unfortunate to want men who do that. it’s been working beautifully ever since he did.

series:

his girl friday ( on-going ) ( e )

when agent jack daniels discovers that his partner alicia fitzgerald (better known as pinkie to jack, because of her preference for pink champagne) is to be married, he decides he must do his very best to save her from the life of the mundane. 

( spotify playlist )

series:

goodbye, baby ( on-going ) ( e )

for as long as she could remember, ada perez has wanted desperately to be a writer of worth. she’s sworn time & time again that nothing can or will stand between her & that million dollar article she knows she’s got in her. when she sided with dave york, who was notorious amongst the elite of new york’s ugly underbelly, she really began to believe herself. he introduced her to a world of lies, deceit, and doing anything to stay at the top. he let her rub elbows with the prominent people he’d know for years, letting her see him promise them dirty deeds in exchange for protection & status. then he let her write articles about the very same class of people, outlining their various sins, just because they didn’t deliver the way he thought they should have just once. she learned quick that the name dave york was synonymous with god in this world of theirs, & she clung to him. now, many loyal years later, ada is being pushed to understand what it means to truly sacrifice for your maker. will she be confronted by the fact that in her still beats the heart she denies she’s got, or will she be rewarded manna from heaven for her good behavior? 

( spotify playlist )

series:

losing dogs ( on-going ) ( e )

frankie morales knows he isn’t the most perfect man, but he’s found someone who cares for him despite it. a friend. a lover. this is a collection of one shots about the same couple, but they can all be read separately.

( spotify playlist )

one shots:

it’s never over ( m )

dieter asks you to go to the opening night of his play and you do. for this he rewards you handsomely.

only backwards ( e )

it has been 6 months since you last heard from dieter bravo. this time he comes back to you with a black eye and he asks for too much. it is just like always.

you can(t) always get what you want ( e )

your relationship with dieter (albeit the very loose definition of the term) has finally landed you in the tabloids. he attempts to make it up to you 

three’s company ( e ) 

the world is slowly descending into madness all around you, so you decide to give in and go with dieter to his latest poor decision: a franchise movie filming in england. one night while there, you both sweep another into this odd half-hearted, life-long tryst you've got.

the hollywood hedonist method ( e )\

dieter's movie is bad and he looks to you for a quick fix to a long problem.

[lookbluesoup]

So while I get that Gridanians live under these.... essentially toddler-gods who can afflict the entire territory with horrible plague, who will severely punish well-intentioned children that were manipulated by adults instead of the adult, and can't communicate their desires clearly, which leads the community to adopt a lot of hostility to change, paranoia, hate and even violence toward outsiders, etc...

Unless there's more explanation for this I haven't found? I know I'm not 100% up to speed on everything Gridania, especially pre-ARR....

Keepers of the Moon were living in the Black Shroud outside of Gridanian authority, for generations, presumably not being laserbeamed out of existence. There would have been a lot going on outside of the Seedseer's effective reach, and there aren't Moonkeeper Padjal to make up the gap there, only Hyur get to be Padjal.

Miqo'te are described as traditionally being far more in tune with nature and eschewing things like major city developments and whatnot. They're predators, yes, but predators have a place and function in the natural balance of the world.

"Beast Tribes" are a made up word from Ul'dah to protect trade monopolies in Thanalan, and Miqo'te could easily have ended up on the wrong side of that label if the rich elites had wanted them barred from the city. Historically, they're a lot more "feral" than a lot of the other spoken races.

I mention all this because it's unlikely the Elementals divide people into Beast Tribes and Human Races. Sylph's aren't being deleted by the Elementals, either, despite certainly having no inclination to live like the Gridanians do and being fairly mischievous.

My point being... I wonder if maybe the Gridanians kind of brought the Greenwrath on themselves. A lot of the time. The same way that some IRL religious institutions preach hate in the name of a deity and stir paranoia and fear of eternal condemnation. They create sins where there didn't need to be... Justifying division and destruction and isolation out of fear (and thus a need for control), and actually creating their own problems.

Elementals might not care about a lot of the stuff Gridania does, its clear a few times when something bad happens to someone, even just getting sick, panic strikes that the Elementals are behind it and people act irrationally out of fear, like the IRL Salem Witch Trials.

If you look at places like Haukke Manor... a country living in balance with nature does not need massive monuments to vanity like that. And there's apparently a whole quarter devoted to mansions for nobility in Gridania (which the npc says we're not allowed to visit.) Why do you have that. Why do you think that promotes peace with the natural world.

There's Wood Wailers who talk about wanting to kill Moonkeepers on sight, just in case they're "poachers." That's sort of like killing wolves because they're predators. Outside of some genuine bad apples, though, a lot of what seems to drive actual Moonkeeper poachers AND Duskwight Elezen to banditry is a straight up need to survive. Gridania's essential demand that they have dictatorial rights over management of the forest leads them to disrupt these group's lives, sometimes with exceptional cruelty.

I know that "central authority" is kind of... not super really a thing for Gridania, power is pretty divided up and a lot of it seems to run on an honor system. But that seems to have led to a lot of Process Loss and enabled a lot of prejudice and abuse to run rampant. Especially now that the Elementals are weaker than pre-Calamity.

I guess basically I wonder if the reason Sylphs and traditional Moonkeeper clans managed to survive out there was because, unlike Gridania, they don't have social systems built from the ground up on fear and condemnation. They're not constantly LOOKING for reasons to think the Elementals hate them and someone to blame for it.

They just live "natural" lives, that aren't inherently dangerous to the overall balance of the forest ecosystem, and they don't have an entire religious/government body dedicated to trying to interpret vague impressions from the Elementals (this is a HORRIBLE system of government and EXTREMELY susceptible to personal prejudices/bias), so these non-Gridanians run into conflict with the Elementals far less often.

i.e. Moonkeeper kills a rabbit, uses the meat, skin, and bones, is behaving like a hunter, Elementals don't care. VERSUS Gridanian kills a rabbit, uses it the same way, but then a villager gets sick and their friends panic and they turn into a mob and punish the Gridanian, Elementals didn't care but now they're a little pissy bc you're disrupting the forest with your insanity.

Basically... Gridania is the real affront to the Elementals, their very infrastructure and their culture of micromanaging the forest and constantly looking for scapegoats, kind of flies in the face of actually living in balance with nature. The Elementals aren't omnipotent or a unified group, and seem to struggle to understand human minds anyway, so they're trying to work with this city-state and have established some kind of partnership, but Gridania is really its own worst enemy.

[drmaddict]

Her Wolf

Summary: (Y/n) and Jason are a couple in secret. Everything is perfect. But (Y/n)s brother Eddie had to find out sometime.

Word count: 1.678

How the two had come together was easy to answer.

Jason and (Y/n) had bumped into each other absolutely drunk at a party. Before (Y/n) knew it, she was in an empty bedroom with Jason over her and she was having the best night of her life. Jason was no saint by God. He had taken her like a wild animal and she had surrendered to it all too willingly.

In fact, it should have stayed that way. Jason Carver and (y/n) Munson. It wasn't going to work out anyway.

It's just that it didn't stay that way.

(Y/n) held back, though she couldn't get that night out of her mind. Secretly, she watched him. Tried to sense the beast that was hidden deep within this golden boy.

She didn't see it again until it pulled her into a cubbyhole. He was the wolf and she was Little Red Riding Hood.

Their meetings happend more often.

And if it had remained that way. If they met only because of Sex and lust, both would have understood it.

But at some point, the nature of the relationship changed. At some point, they went out to have coffee in a larger city. At some point, the wolf pulled his Little Red Riding Hood into the closet just to kiss her, suck in her scent, and be wished good luck for the game.

At some point, they slipped notes to each other. At some point, she was in his arms in the back seat of his Jeep, enjoying the warmth of togetherness.

It remained a secret. They both wanted it. What they had was untainted by the outside world. It was supposed to stay that way. But unfortunately, everything had an end at some point.

(Y/n) was lying on the sofa in the trailer. Wayne was at work and Eddie would be busy enough with Hellfire for a long time.

Jason, her wolf, was lying over her. He wasn't kissing her neck. He was biting it. She wasn't holding onto his back. She was scratching him open.

Pleasurable and hard, they gave themselves over to lust. Bathed in sin. Let themselves be devoured and devoured each other.

Jason's skillful didacticism was long gone. He moaned. He grunted. He growled.

She came. Tightened around him, draining even the last of his humanity.

Hard and rough, he bit the crook of her neck. Growled possessively and poured himself inside her.

Breathing heavily, they lay there. Slowly he withdrew his teeth and carefully kissed the bruised area. The imprint was deep. A whimper escaped him. Immediately he felt gentle fingers running through his hair. He pulled her protectively against him. Neither of them said anything.

She let him hold her. He let himself be caressed.

Jason firmly believed that he was wrong. That he shouldn't feel this way. Beating someone in a fight was one thing, but taking a woman so.... To take her so animalistically. He was no better than an animal, no matter how hard he tried to pull himself together in the rest of his life. No matter how perfect he tried to be. In the end, he was just an animal. But (Y/n) accept the animal. Her wolf, she called it. She took him as he was. Full of flaws. His little angel.

It was one of those days when it was hard for him to form words after the act. (Y/n) put him back together again. Gently and sweetly.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly.

Jason nodded, still shaken. "Yes." he whispered back. His voice was hoarse and still a little too low. "I'm sorry." He gently stroked the bite marks. He looked up into her smiling face. She shook her head. "I like it."

He grinned with tired eyes. "Freak." He said it with affection, not hate.

She nudged him in the shoulder with an equal grin. "Says the right guy."

"We should shower," she suggested, but he immediately wrapped his arms tighter around her.

"Not yet." He buried his face against the crook of her neck and took a deep breath. "How long do we have?"

"I don't know. These games can last hours."

And normaly (Y/n) would have been right about that. Except in normal circumstances, Dustin didn't fell over because of an allergic shock.

Jason was just scraping back together the last of his humanity, listening to (Y/n)s hum when a dull bang sounded. Jason turned around in surprise. (Y/n) immediately frantically pulled the small wool blanket over them.

Standing in front of them was a dim-witted Eddie Munson. His metal box lay forgotten beside him.

No one said anything until Eddie snapped out of his stupor. "You son of a-"

He had not been able to taken a step toward them, when (Y/n) stood up, the blanket wrapped around her.

"Take it easy." she determined.

"He - You... What?"

She turned him by the shoulder and pushed him toward the front door. "I'll get dressed now, and you practice how to speek."

With that, she slammed the front door and turned to Jason. He was still staring at her in shock.

"Jason?" she asked, when she realized he was lying there stiff as a board. He was shaking slightly.

"Jason. It's all right. He's not going to do anything."

Jason shook his head. He buried his face in his hands. "He'll tell everyone," he said, upset.

She stroked his silky strands. "Would it be so bad?"

He took a deep breath. "They'll be all over you. The rumors will get worse and worse, and eventually you'll leave me."

"Jason. Jason look at me." The blue eyes looked up at her sadly. "I'm not leaving because of any rumors or high school jokes." She took his face in her hands. "But your reputation might-"

He shook his head. "It's not real anyway." He stroked her neck. "Look at what I always do to you."

She sighed. "Let's get dressed and then I'll beat him into keeping his mouth shut." She kissed him on the forehead. Jason nodded and fished his gym pants off the floor.

(Y/n) came back in a shirt and shorts and yanked open the door. Immediately Eddie came into the room. "I'm against this! This stops right now!" he shouted and ran into the trailer like a startled chicken.

"Self-determination is not happening here?" asked (Y/n) sarcastically.

"No! You're my little sister!"

She slapped her hand to her forehead. "Eddie!" she ripened, annoyed.

"If you're just playing with her to-"

"Get a grip, Freak." Jason immediately spat.

"I've got better things to do, than pick girls based solely on how much it bothers you."

Eddie looked at him venomously. "If you hurt her, and I swear by all the gods I've ever heard of, you'll spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair."

Jason looked at him, unimpressed. They both crossed their arms in front of their chests.

"WE decide when this comes out! Got that Freak?!"

Eddie stretched out his hand to Jason. Jason gripped it exaggeratedly tight.

"Good."

"Good."

Eddie turned to her. "There's no fucking in the trailer and - What the hell did you do to her neck? What are you? An octopus?"

Jason turned away from him, annoyed, and reached for his shirt. The fresh, still slightly bloody scratches beamed at Eddie.

He looked back and forth between the two of them with gigantic eyes.

"I'm going to go bleach the images out of my brain," he said monotonously, and walked into his room.

They both looked after him. (Y/n) rolling her eyes. Jason amused. Annoying the freak like that was fun, too.

"That went pretty well, didn't it?" shrugged (Y/n).

Jason looked at her intently. "Is that my shirt?"

"No."

"I've been looking for that for weeks!"

"You're welcome to wear it."

"How generous."

Eddie, as usual, gathered his sheep to go to school. The first was Gareth. He dropped into his seat, exhausted. He whimpered out.

"What's wrong Gareth?" asked Eddie cheerfully as he drove on.

Gareth just gave him a telling look. "What's wrong Gareth?" he mimicked him. He grunted something into his non-existent beard.

(Y/n) smirked. Eddie still thought she knew nothing about the two. After Jason left the night before, Eddie had taken off and did not come back until after midnight. She did not want to know what he had done to Gareth.

"Have you guys ever noticed that Jason's really been leaving us alone lately," Gareth muttered.

Eddie clung tighter to his steering wheel. "No. Why?"

Gareth shrugged. "I'm just saying. Last time he smacked me was probably three months ago or so."

He mused. "Right. At Bowers' party."

Eddie looked stubbornly down the street. She smirked a little to herself. He'd even left them alone when they were just having sex.

Gareth shrugged. "Probably just finally getting laid."

Eddie made a full stop, sending Gareth flying forward. Eddie catched him with one arm.

"DUDE!"

Eddie looked at (Y/n) nervously. She rolled her eyes. "Just Gareth.", she said firmly.

"She's fucking Carver!" shouted Eddie at Gareth, as if he were a kid telling Mom that the little sister had just stolen his toy.

Gareth turned to her in surprise.

"You guys were the ones in the bedroom at the party? Right? We had to turn the music up to drown your sounds out."

"That's the point you were holding on to now?" asked Eddie, upset.

"You didn't hear that. They were like two wild animals!"

"Lalalalalala!" sang Eddie loudly, and took off again.

Gareth turned back to (Y/n). "Thank you for your service to the community." She nodded, waving it of.

"I won't say anything, if you don't." She held out her hand to him. He took it.

"You don't sound any better.", she muttered. "Just so you know." Eddie looked at her, startled.

"Eyes on the road!" yelled Gareth, grabbing the steering wheel that Eddie had let go in shock.

[notmorbid]

happiness falls.

dialogue prompts from happiness falls by angie kim.

there's a fine line, if any, between optimism and willful idiocy.

why would you assume things can't go wrong just because they haven't yet?

hanging up an iphone isn't nearly as satisfying as slamming down a landline.

hope is dangerous.

intuition trumps intellect every time.

it isn't like i was keeping it a secret.

i'm working on seeming less bossy.

you are too old for this juvenile bullshit.

bring a first aid kit, just in case.

i never read the articles, only the cartoons.

i know what you're thinking. i'm thinking it, too.

i won't tell you not to worry, but take care of yourself.

sometimes it's the tiniest difference that can make the most difference.

are you a spy?

my life just isn't that interesting.

no shutting me out and trying to do everything yourself.

i have no idea what you're thinking, but i'm thinking i need coffee asap.

'greetings'? who in hell says 'greetings'?

i'll never scare you like that again.

don't force me to ask.

i wanted to just fucking die.

i feel badly about how we left things.

i thought we were open with each other.

shame is the most powerful and long-lasting emotion we have.

the best defense is a good offense.

stop talking. don't make it worse.

it's easy to be generous when you've taken so much.

i can't fall apart. someone has to get shit done.

i care more about authenticity and honesty than tact.

i didn't realize you still did that.

sometimes, in moments of great stress, we revert to childhood behaviors.

i love your sarcasm when it isn't pointed at me.

thinking and planning are luxuries we can't afford.

'no withholding anything from anyone'. that's my new mantra.

you have to save the highest penalty sin for last. build up slowly.

slow down. start from the beginning. what happened?

i don't care if i never find out what happened.

have you ever noticed how different things sound out loud instead of inside your head?

you can be honest without being cruel.

what are you hiding? i can see it behind you. what is it?

when you can't talk, people assume you can't understand.

i am a different person in english.

can you blame me?

sometimes semantics matter. words matter.

i'd rather give you the benefit of the doubt.

i would be horrible at your job.

you know a lot more than anyone's given you credit for.

a fucking break is what i want.

it did not feel 'rare', living through it.

everyone thought they were next.

there are some things you can't say out loud.

i'm glad we tried.

anger feels so much better than grief.

i don't like remembering it.

it's okay if the answer is no.

god, we're a mess.

this isn't a movie. this is real life.

if this was a 'choose your own adventure' book, what would you hope for?

when did you wake up?

there's no harm in hoping.

how long will i feel this way?

the first try is always the hardest, right?

the world should have to accommodate you, for once.

you can squeeze my hand when it hurts too much.

stop playing games and say what you mean.

you've been doubted long enough.

you doubted me, didn't you? just a little.

i don't want to forget. i want to remember.

i still have good days and bad.