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geminorvm · 13 days ago

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an observation log: how the sea kisses the sun || Rafayel | Qi Yu

Summary:

an observation log is used to record important instances of peoples lives and their discoveries. this observation log tells the story of how a merman saved you from drowning, in more than one way.

Wordcount: 14.5k

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Merman!Rafayel / f!Reader

Tags/CW:

Minors and Ageless Blogs DNI!! inspired by 'the little mermaid', instance of drowning, thoughts about death but in a comical way, Rafayel cannot talk for a big part of this, teasing, yearning, lots of touches, dressing him up (does this count as dollification?? idk), implication of reader's status and upbringing and hints of misogyny, sharing a pair of earrings, breast sucking, cunnillingus, vaginal fingering, handjob, tail riding, double monster dick, piv, pussy job, implied cock warming, love, too

Note:

happy mermay!! and happy birthday to me!! i love him a lot, do u understand and thank u sm @voidcat for beta readingg, kissing u

The ocean has a way of leading you towards your goal, no matter how much you may resist. My dear, I shall not resist the temptation of your promised warmth, as I have longed to meet you face to face, instead of gingerly peeking my head out of the water. Even if it means risking everything that I am.

—

The water surrounds you, encasing every cell of your being without mercy. Struggle is futile, as the currents only drag you deeper and deeper, disregarding every attempt of yours to escape. The sea simply continues to press down on you with its mighty weight, as if you were nothing but a particle of sand twirling in its grasp. And all you could do is watch the bubbles appear before you, covering your vision with flickers of light, faint; your last lifeline disappearing like it’s nothing.

It turns out, life is as fragile as these bubbles leaving your body, needing nothing but a touch from a greater being to turn into nothing; and there’s nothing you could do. You could not cling onto them, could not keep them safe and sound from the very thing threatening your own life. So, all there’s left is to simply let go, to submit to the whims of the ocean and to the fate it has given you. Despite everything, you doubt there would be a better way to leave this earthly plane.

Still, your heart wavers, last embers still desperately hoping and burning with a will to live. But you have decided. You quit fighting against the darkness curling around your body, veiling your vision bit by bit. The last thing flickering in front of your eyes is the beautiful purple of the sinking sun – a sight you have forever cherished and loved, reached your hand towards as you traveled over the sea – before everything ceases to exist.

—

Everything is meant to be, or at least that’s what everyone says. In my opinion, life is like a whirlpool in the depths of the ocean, trying to pull you down, that’s what it means to submit to that so-called fate. I’d rather lose this certainty than lose control of everything I intend to make for myself.

—

A gasp. Water is bubbling in your throat, snapping at your insides with a certain viciousness. Your body immediately reacts, as it throws you into a coughing fit. And before you know it, you’re pressing your face against the sand to hack and spit and to get every last drop of the water out of you, leaving you feeling raw and shredded.

The taste of salt and copper coat your mouth, clinging to every crevice known to you, your tongue, teeth, lips. But the pain doesn’t matter, as you realize that your body has not sunk towards the depths of the ocean just yet.

You wipe your mouth with your sleeve and let yourself fall onto your back, the sand ready to welcome you in its grubby embrace. To shield yourself from the striking rays of the morning sun, you place an arm over your face. The warmth of the new day caresses your wet and sticky skin, the waves slowly lapping against your legs, tickling against your soles, and you realize that you must have lost your boots to the unyielding sea. The very same sea is moving akin to a docile cat, acting like nothing is wrong in the world, like you didn’t lose so much in the matter of hours and bad weather. And yet…

You’re alive. You have survived a devastation storm and the destruction of your ship. Even if you’re not quite certain how that might have happened. The last thing you remember is losing the last bit of breath and the water rushing into you as your body gets carried away by the currents of the sea, presumably towards the depths of the ocean as your final resting place. And no matter how much you ruminate about the possibilities, you don’t seem to have any recollection of what might have happened, much less what might have helped you in such a situation during all that chaos; everyone else also swept away by the mighty waves of the ocean, scattered and lost and in despair.

It also keeps eluding you, why despite everything, the yearning towards a ship and the open ocean persists, to cruise without a goal in mind, to watch the sunset after an exhausting but fulfilling day. You continue to seek the intimacy of the ocean, to connect with it, to be as close to it as humanly possible, even after its continued rejection, after it embraced you in such a manner.

With a sigh, you let your arm slump away and slowly begin to blink through squinted eyes to accustom yourself to the brightness of the day once again. Blue skies and sunshine, nothing like the darkened clouds you remember vividly, filled with anger and malice and destruction. Despite the fear it had struck within you, you couldn’t bring yourself to bear any resentment or any prolonged anxiety towards the open sea, even with everything that has happened between you. Not with the way it still can give you that freedom you desire, that freedom you hope and strive for.

Once your eyes have fully adjusted to the sun and you’re able to open them up normally, you bury your elbows into the soft sand to support you as you push yourself upright. Only to be immediately met with the face of another, barely a couple inches away from you, almost like they have been hovering while you have lost your consciousness. Your eyes meet another pair, and you can’t help but compare the pink hues to the soft clouds floating above the setting sun. The eyelashes haloing these eyes are long and due to the difference in color, they only serve to make the irises much more striking. Stunned by the sheer radiance of these eyes, your eyes continue to wander, and there you find them. Dripping wet strands of hair hanging over said eyes in small curls, sticking to their brows. And even if the water has given them a darker shade, the color is still evident. A beautiful hue of purple.

Upon seeing this specific color, something in your mind moves, akin to undoing a knot carefully and slowly to allow yourself to follow your own thoughts and to come to a proper conclusion. A conclusion which absolutely makes sense, but it might only do so to you, even if it seems to practically be water-proof. But even if there’s proper reason in your conclusion, the realization still leaves you bewildered, and you can’t help but stutter and gape.

“You– me– uh.. what– huh?”

A smile graces their face, plush lips revealing pearly teeth. This simple change makes them glow even more, practically blinding you in the process. Everything in your brain screeches to a halt as you truly realize the beauty sitting in front of you; your eyes shake and wander, doing their best to avoid direct eye contact, lest it completely knocks you and your remaining brain cells out.

Until your gaze slips and lands on bare skin, on a bare chest, to be more precise. This sight seems to slowly bring your head back, even if that means you have been staring for a prolonged amount of time. Once you notice what you have been doing, you feel the heat rushing into your head and making your stomach churn, your fingers tremble. Quickly you avert your eyes – even if it seems like there might be an after-image sticking to the back of your eyelids every time you close your eyes – and you hurry to raise your hands to cover the picture unfolding in front of you, even if you wouldn’t mind another look–

You shake your head to get rid of these unnecessary thoughts and to ground yourself back into what you’re supposed to be. “Sir, uh, could– could you maybe wear something? I don’t know what, but… but you simply cannot go around like this!”

Despite your request, there’s nothing but a pause, mere silence, after your words. Worried that he might have left already, moving on while you’re still sitting in the wet sand, you take a peek from between your fingers. Only to be hit with a glance of his gorgeous eyes once again, as he’s still looking at you, his head slightly cocked to the side. This pose gives you some leeway to follow the trail of a water droplet, sliding down his chin and throat, lower and lower, glistening against skin and scales towards his collarbones. And before you manage to see anything more than that, you abruptly look away, before your eyes stick themselves to his perky chest.

Only for everything to stop at once as you freeze. Did you see that right? There’s no way, maybe it’s just algae or seaweed… Probably just the salt and the sand and the burn in your eyes… right?

For a moment, you stare blankly into the sand in front of you, eyebrows pulled together, your brain just a whirl of nothingness. You can’t make any sense of what’s in front of you, unless it’s your own mind playing tricks on you.

Maybe another peek can’t hurt. He didn’t seem particularly affected by your less-than-stolen glances. You just need to make sure that what you have seen is simply a mistake, just your imagination running wild, nothing else. Because everyone probably tends to have these romantic images of fantastical and mythical creatures, especially in connection to being saved from mortal peril… right? There are no scales, there won’t be any scales, just a random man stranded with you after the storm, probably from another ship… A man… A human for sure…

Slowly, you lower your still raised hands and turn your head towards him until your eyes can properly focus beyond the blurry figure from the corner of your vision. And the moment everything is crystal clear, you feel yourself getting dizzy at the sight in front of you. Are you dead? Because you’re not asleep or dreaming, that’s for sure. The sand against your skin is itching too harshly for all of that to be a dream. So, that can only mean one thing: you died. This makes more sense. There’s no way you truly would have survived, and as nothing mythical is real, nothing could have saved you either. You drowned while hoping for someone to save you and it seems that that your subconscious delivered. In fact who is better suited to save someone from a storm and the harshness of the ocean than a merman.

Because how else are you supposed to explain the bare-chested man lounging in front of you, scales scattered across the sides of his neck over his collarbones to reach out over his shoulders, slowly spreading out in small patches. And the lower your gaze wanders – all while ignoring the very realistic looking human parts and how you haven’t ever seen anyone this delicate and yet with a certain firmness and strength in your surrounding life – the more these scales seem to condense and concentrate, all to tail into something much denser, something much bigger than any living being you have ever seen; a tail.

A beautiful tail encompassing the hues of the sea as it stretches infinitely closer towards the setting sun, with hints of the deep deep dark. If you dared to look any closer, you would notice the way the front seems to be lighter than the back, probably indicating something about his way of life, but you lack the knowledge to properly decipher it. So, instead, your eyes keep traveling over the sizable tail – watching the fins along the back fibrillate ever so slightly with barely contained awe – until they stop at the fluke. It’s slightly limp outside of the water, but you still recognize the sharpness of it all, nonetheless, and you can only imagine how beautiful it must look when it’s playfully spread out in the water.

A flutter from these ends brings you back to reality. At least what your mind thinks is real, the rational part in you is still conflicted about how to understand your current situation.

You turn back to face the merman once again, your lips pushed forward in confusion. All while you still adamantly refuse to look at anything but his face. But as it turns out, even just his face proves to be a challenge for you, as it gives you the feeling of gazing upon a statue carved out of the smoothest marble to ever exist. As if the artist chose to visualize what a flawless beauty might look like; definition, a sharp jawline and high cheekbones, but with enough softness remaining to make your fingers itch with the desire to touch and prod.

Not to mention those eyes. Every time you steal a glimpse, you feel their irresistible pull, awakening the need to lock eyes with him and watch the different ways the light strikes those irises. So, you’re unable to directly look him in the eyes due to their brilliance and the swirling colors, afraid it might all swallow you whole in your awe. Still, with every flutter of the dark eyelashes framing and defining the radiance of his eyes even more, it gets increasingly difficult to resist the temptation of looking him into the eyes. The very eyes which awaken a yearning entirely unknown to you, and you’d rather avoid confronting such feelings at this very moment.

So, you do your best to distract yourself from this being sitting in front of you, and try to face a more approachable problem you’re faced with.

“I’m dead, aren’t I? Because there’s no way any of this is real, right? Is this my punishment for ignoring my responsibilities? Death? Isn’t that a bit too much? What do you think, Sir Death-Angel-Merman?

You barely notice how you have begun to lean towards him to bring your point across, how much closer to him you’ve gotten, you think to feel his breath tickling your skin. But once you do, your brain catches up to your vision at the same time, psychologically lashing you with the direct sight of his beauty, and even from a close distance. Such a small distance, you can’t help but note the small moles on his face and the most faint freckles spread over his face. Yet, you would never claim such things are a blemish, rather, discovering such details only serves to enhance your wonder towards his overall charm, blinding you even more in the process.

Hurriedly, you turn your face away, just smooth enough to make it seem like you’re gazing with nonchalance towards the sea, all while feeling the heat simmering underneath your skin. You take a couple of slow and deep breaths to settle yourself and to stop your lungs and heart from shaking with this mix of anxiety and fervor. Despite the whole possibly being dead situation, you can’t deny that whatever all of this is, is totally worth it. You doubt you could have ever gazed upon such a beauty in your entire lifetime, certainly not with the way work has buried you completely. This merman is gorgeous, simple words cannot express how his presence easily stuns you with a simple look. If you were given the chance, you would immediately immortalize his beauty in every way possible, maybe not making art yourself, you’re not sure of your abilities, but you certainly would hire others to fill a hall dedicated to this specific specimen.

You shake your head. Your thoughts are definitely going overboard, there’s no way you would do that, when you’d rather keep all of that to yourself��

Still, the mere impossibility of it all, brings you back to your current situation.

A sigh. “I guess this is it, huh…”

Before you could further contemplate your situation and understand the possible implications of everything – and try and work out how this place works, because you will be damned if you didn’t take this chance to get yourself a tail similar to his, you want to freely swim in the ocean, among other things – and before you could even start squeezing more information of the merman, who continues to stay silent as he watches you go through the stages of grief, you hear distant shouts. Shouts calling out your name, or rather, your title.

The voices seem familiar and you immediately turn towards the way they come from, even if your body instinctively tells you to get up and hide before they catch you. But there’s no way they’re calling out for you, only to get you back to the work you have been neglecting, surely. So, even if your body is tense and refuses to calm down, ready to dash at the slightest hint of deceit or any sort of bait, you slowly stand up and wave your arms towards the small bodies moving frantically at the end of the beach.

And because you’re quite sure that these people aren’t dead, as they weren’t even close to any ship when the storm had descended upon you and the sea, you realize you might not be as dead as you thought yourself to be. And that the merman you have been sitting with is very much real.

You immediately stop your motions to turn back around. Only to be faced with the smoothness of wet sand, the smallest of indents left, the last possible trace, vanishing the instant the next wave meets the shore. For a brief moment, you allow yourself to watch the endless motions of the ocean, wondering if everything that has happened to you has actually happened, if it was actually real and you happened to meet a merman, a mythical creature of the deep sea, or if the whole situation is simply a figment from the crevices of your concussed brain mixed with the abnormal amount of salt running through your body.

Maybe you should read less of these impossible legends before going to bed, or before going to the sea to almost drown and faint and meet your death. No matter, you’re alive and you’re going back, nothing else matters.

Shaking your head, only causing a throbbing pain to ring through your skull, you begin your walk with a slight limp – you hadn’t realized how much every single part of you aches before you tried getting back on your feet. As you leave the ocean to your back, you decisively put the fault onto whatever dreams your soul and mind desire from the ocean. That’s all it was, wishful thinking. You make your way towards the people looking for you and leave that dream behind to get back to the reality of it all.

—

A dream is supposed to be something someone looks forward to, something one should work towards. Who wishes death and drowning upon themselves? What kind of life should a person have lived to desire a certain end more than the chance of being alive and back to where they belong?

—

You should have drowned.

That’s the only thing incessantly buzzing through your mind. Or at least made a run for it when they found you at the beach. If you had done so, you wouldn’t be back behind a desk and buried in piles of paperwork immediately after your too-short recovery period. Your body still aches and throbs, reminding you that a wave crashing into you is definitely stronger than getting run over with a carriage. You wish you could lie down in your bed for some time more.

But you have to push through and continue your work, as you understand its importance for the people due to your family governing and looking out for these endless stretches of lands to make sure that everything is safe and sound and happy at all times. There’s no time or space for you to fall back, to even break a little, because the moment you crumble, everything else will closely follow. And you’re so painfully aware of that, the words of a familiar warning constantly at the back of your head.

Yet, you also know that you’re not meant for this, your soul yearns for the open ocean, the saltiness on your skin, the wise sky, endless and welcoming.

But you won’t ever complain. You will finish what you must do with due diligence, always and forever.

That’s what you’re supposed to do, supposed to think. Despite all the responsibilities you’re shouldering, all your duties, it was way too easy to get away from everything. All it took was a window and the familiar motion of a jump for you to escape that stifling room. Without looking back, you manage to slip behind every obstacle guarding the place to make your way towards the beach.

Normally, you would set direction towards the harbor, maybe even sneak onto the ship you have acquired for yourself and simply enjoy the way it sways with the waves. But as your beloved ship is probably still floating in pieces spread over the big wide sea, you have to be satisfied with a simple walk along the shore.

You leave your boots at the edge of the beach, just far enough for them to be safe from the devouring waves, and you let your feet slowly sink into the sand, feeling it run and scratch against your skin. In a way, it grounds you, makes you feel like yourself again, unlike the formal wear they always make you wear. Even the simple pants you’re slowly rolling up would be considered a shame and a scandal in society, and worse if anyone saw your bare legs in the first place. But here, none of this matters, nobody but you and the sea are here to bear witness, and that’s how it’s supposed to be.

With slow steps, watching your feet leave imprints behind – only for them to disappear with the next caress of the waves, akin to hiding your own traces and history – you wander mindlessly along the shore, simply enjoying the touch of the cold water tickling your skin. Until you notice where you have walked to:

The small spot where you have found yourself after the wreck.

You haven’t noticed how close it was, how secluded it is, the journey back home nothing but a blur. So, for a moment, you just stay in the small space, hidden behind towerering boulders, similar to jagged cliffs. The time stretches and you feel your pulse drum in your chest, almost like it tries to reach out to something specific, like it tells you to allow yourself to get swallowed by this nothingness surrounding you, like it’s beckoning you to forget everything, even if but for a minute and to indulge yourself in the impossible.

All it takes is for you to feel the sand rustling between your toes to come back to reality, and you immediately kick up the wet sand, disturbing the small peace for a fraction of time before the sea starts fixing the disturbance bit by bit. How ridiculous, you imagine meeting something out of the world once and you immediately begin fantasizing about leaving everything behind as easily as the mirage had disappeared in the first place. How ridiculous of you to think that something like merfolk exist and that they just might whisk you away, rescue you from everything your life is made of. How ridiculous, as you’re the one who should know best.

You snort at your own train of thoughts. Maybe everyone has been right and you’re dreaming too much, wanting too much, desiring too much. Maybe the whole fiasco of drowning and sinking is actually a strongly worded hint from the world to stop obsessing over things that will never love you back, to stop escaping from everything you’re meant to be. Maybe in some way, this spot turned into your grave, even as fresh air enters your lungs instead of salty waters.

Suddenly, you feel the goosebumps cover your skin, and you don’t feel like staying anymore, the joy of the ocean’s presence abruptly sucked out of you. So, you swiftly turn around to go back and grab your boots.

Only for something cold to grab your ankle and to pull you into the water. Your scream is muffled by the water freely flowing into your mouth, all that’s left is some warped garble. Luckily, the water is pretty shallow and the sand soft, so the moment you sit up, a big part of your body – mostly fine apart from budding bruises – is still out of the water without putting in much effort. But in doing so, you end up staring into big eyes filled with the rose-tinted clouds of the sunset.

And all you can do is spit out the water collecting in your mouth. You can’t even scream or say anything, not that you were able to form a coherent sentence to begin with. You’re simply coughing and spitting, doing your best to not shamefully drown in shallow water. All while you feel the weak heat radiating from his body, his tail unmoving but still noticeably wedged between your legs as he leans over you.

You’re getting a weird sense of déja-vu.

The worst thing is, you’re wet, your clothes stick to your skin, your lungs are rattling with each breath you take, and you most likely look beat up from a little bit of water. A miserable contrast to the otherworldly beauty sitting in front of you, dripping wet, but in the most natural way. Which makes sense, as he is a merman, but you’re too hung up on your embarrassment about being easily caught off guard just like that.

And then, something in your brain clicks into place. “Wait! Woah, you’re real? Like, actually real? Not something I just imagined? Or… Am I going insane? Did I fall asleep over my paperwork?”

You press your fingers against your forehead to try and think of a way to verify the whole situation in front of you. But there’s no chance you’re just going to call someone over to take a look, they would think you insane – or at least more than the usual amount. And the risk of exposing and thus endangering him just to do that doesn’t seem right, because if he actually turns out to be real, then…

Before you could imagine the reaction of any normal human being, much less think of any other way of verification, you feel something warm, yet colder than your own skin, slowly drift over your cheek. Looking up, you see that the merman has tentatively stretched his hand out towards you and gingerly touched your skin with the tips of his fingers.

“Oh. Oh… I understand… This is the same level of weirdness for you, isn’t it?” You watch as he stops his movements, fingers slightly digging into the softness of your face, and slowly nods.

For some reason, seeing the beautiful merman hesitate and be unsure about the way he’s supposed to act makes everything more real than any pinch could ever make you feel, and that calms you down significantly. As it turns out, despite his looks and his mythical origin, he’s not perfect either, and he’s in the exact same situation as you, a sudden but curious strangeness in both of your lives.

This at least is something you share, but you can’t help but cock your head in wonder. Until now, he has not spoken a single word, and as he seems to understand you perfectly fine, it doesn’t appear to be a result of a language barrier. Rather, it appears there’s more to this whole thing than the eye can see. But you’re not going to immediately dive into this mystery and allow yourself to ruminate about it at some other time.

“I get that, I thought I was hallucinating when I first saw you, you know. And, I guess sorry for acting like that? Uhm, and for calling you Mr. Death-Angel-Merman Sir… Can I know your real name, though? I mean, you’re not a fae, so it should be alright, right?”

Almost like he’s following your lead, his own head sways to the side, strands of hair sliding gently with this move, allowing a cascade of water droplets to illuminate his face even more. His face, which is marked with a frown and a little pout, and you how to straighten your back to distract yourself from staring at those soft rosy lips, akin to the petals of a blooming rose.

You immediately jump onto whatever other thoughts are jumbling in your head so you can shove your sudden sense of poetry into a far away corner in the depths of your mind.

“You can’t talk, right? I’m assuming… No, let me not say anything, my mind is muddled with fairy tales. Ugh, I’m so curious about everything! I can’t believe you would do that to me,” you sigh dramatically, only to get water thrown into your face.

Spluttering and yet giggling you wipe your face off. “Fine, I’m sorry! I know you didn’t choose this, at least it’s implied from your actions, unless–”

Before you could even continue to pin some kind of baseless accusation onto him, there’s another barrage of water hitting your face, and laughter just takes over your entire body. For someone who cannot freely express themselves with their words, he has an amazing way of conveying everything, and you can’t help but lean into this teasing manner of talking.

“Okay, okay! I’m not saying anything!” you giggle and hold your hands in front of your face in a weak attempt at protection. “But we still need to find a name for me to call you. There’s no way I’m saying Mr. Merman all the time, it’s just such a mouthful!”

You rest your hands behind you in the sand and put your weight into them as you contemplate the possibility of finding a name befitting the reincarnation of the sun and the ocean lounging in front of you.

“Oh, what about fi–” You almost topple over with the force of the water this time, and another laugh bursts out of you at his expression: face scrunched together in a deeper frown and a slightly agape mouth; almost scandalized at the mere prospect of your suggestion.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it, it’s just there, you know?” He only humphs at your words, but his expression still softens ever so slightly.

And it seems like he has lost confidence in your naming abilities, even if you technically only tried one time, because he grabs your hand and turns your palm upward. Pushing your curled fingers outwards, he pressed his index carefully into the sensitive skin. One stroke after the other, his name materializes.

Of course he already has a name, that should have been the first thing you asked, but in your defense, how were you supposed to know, much less expect, that he can write in the language of the land? And with the method the letters are shaped, his literacy seems basic, meaning they’ve got a whole other language of their own. You wonder what kind of words and letters they’re using under the sea. But that thought shifts in importance, as you slowly begin to voice out his name.

“Rafayel…”

You murmur his name under your breath, the vowels smooth over your tongue, barely noticing the way he immediately pulls his hand away, only lingering warmth at the palm of your hand. For some reason, the knowledge of his name makes you feel much more connected, almost like some sort of bond has formed, and you can’t help but smile widely at him as you share your own name with him.

Something in him seems to light up, and he nods while his mouth is carefully moving around the syllables of your name. No voice, and yet it makes you shiver. You don’t remember the last time someone simply called you by your name and nothing else.

The rays of the sun deepen into a soft orange, infusing Rafayel in a soft glow akin to a halo, and as much as you’d love to simply continue observing the play of colors, you realize how much time you spent at this secluded spot. You have been away for too long and your absence has been surely noticed by now. It’s time for you to get back, even if at this moment, there’s nothing you want more than to stay and to watch the light envelop him and to watch his scales shimmer and reflect, to watch his eyes glimmer as he merely gazes into the horizon; where the sea kisses the sun.

So, you stay, you stay and allow yourself to enjoy a bit of light, a bit of warmth, before you bid your goodbyes to walk back into the darkness.

—

Writing everything down is meant to help you cope and sort through your own thoughts. But nothing will ever feel the same as voicing them out loud. My voice desires to be heard by you, desires to speak your name slowly and carefully. Curses– [the rest of the text is illegible due to it being struck through multiple times]

—

A lot of things you do don’t make sense to others. But often, that didn’t matter as long as every action made sense to you. That’s the way you have been living up until now.

Only this time, your own behaviour doesn’t make sense to you either. Still, you haven’t felt this alive, filled with giddiness, like when you were packing the bag you’re currently taking with you to the beach, to the small hidden meeting spot.

You hope to see Rafayel again. For some reason, the mere thought of him fills you with energy and warmth, something you have missed for a long time. But even with all your excitement, you tell yourself to expect his absence, as there’s simply no way for him to wait at the same spot for days. There’s the possibility of him going back home, and might not be back for some time (you refuse to even consider that he might never come back and allow yourself this tiniest bit of hope). So, you’re absolutely prepared to lug this bag around with you every time you decide to visit the beach until your plan finally works out.

Leaving your boots behind and pulling the hems of your clothes up, you cross the final stretch of sand. Only to find the shore empty. You figured that this might happen. You can’t expect anyone to wait at the same spot for who knows how long. Hell, you yourself never know when you’ll be able to squeeze some time between your work to visit the beach, nobody would just sit there without a definite timeline.

With a sigh, you let yourself sink into the soft sand. Even if you’re alone, you’re going to enjoy this bit of time nonetheless. Lately, you barely have time outside of your social life and obligations, and you’re going to milk this opportunity out with everything it has got.

The bag in your lap as you hug it to your body, you watch the rhythm of the ocean, the way the waves come and go, come and go, seemingly stuck in this rotation, yet in truth more free than anyone could ever be.

You don’t know how much time passed, but according to the evermoving position of the sun, not a lot, when the water breaks apart and a wet mop of hair appears. The color is too familiar to fail to realize that it’s Rafayel, and you immediately feel a smile break out on your face as you make your way towards him.

“You came! I was worried I might not see you today, I’m glad,” you tell him and lower yourself to take a place by his side.

At your words, he raises his hands and lets his fingers caress your cheek, and you can’t help but lean ever so slightly into his warm touch, like a moth to the flame. Only for him to grab your face with both hands and to press your cheeks together. Rafayel looks at you with a slight frown and a pout, as if to show his disappointment in your lack of trust in him, as if to tell you that he’s always going to come when you call him.

And despite your grumbling through your involuntarily puckered out lips, you feel like you can stop your worries and let go as long as he’s by your side.

After he finally releases you from his grip, you rub your cheek, trying to hide the grin curling around the edges of your mouth.

“Well, even if you’re here now, you did leave me waiting, sooo, I think you should close your eyes and not open them no matter what happens. As a punishment,” you decide with a resolute nod.

His expression deepens, his earlier disappointment morphing into something petulant as he gives you a long look. But he only sighs and shakes his head in a show of his mild exasperation, Rafayel still follows your instructions and firmly closes his eyes. Once he does that, his entire face slowly begins to relax and to soften.

For a moment you watch him, but your excitement takes over and you have to bite down on your lower lip to suppress a giggle. You begin to pull out what you have brought with you out of the bag.

A simple linen shirt, one most sailors own, and one you had in the depths of your own closet as well. It’s got wide sleeves with the cuffs carefully collecting everything into neat ends, making it easier to push his arms through them. While doing so, you can’t avoid touching Rafayel directly, and you notice how soft his skin feels and how despite that softness his body is lean and strong, muscles made by the extensive swimming all his life.

As you’re fixing the way the shirt drapes over him, you’re practically face to face with his upper body, and you have the best view to see his muscles twitch every time you accidentally brush your fingers against his bare skin. Your own heartbeat jumps and you feel yourself getting hot, especially faced with the suppleness and perkiness.

Before even your mind fully leaves you, you give up on finishing buttoning it up, because the buttons keep slipping from between your fingertips (due to the wetness of the water coating them, not because you keep getting distracted by every little move he makes; you’re the epitome of focus), and put some proper distance between you two.

Rummaging through the bag, you fish out some of the accessories hidden at the bottom. You’re glad you’ve brought some earrings made to hook into the earshell instead of through the handmade puncture, because the moment you gingerly swipe the wet curls out of the way, you notice the way his ears are fanning out like fins. There’s no way he has been pierced, even if his earlobes look human enough for it to be a possibility.

The ends of his earfins twitch in attention when you carefully take them between your fingertips to hook the earrings into his helix and earlobes. Making sure they’re steady enough to be on their own, before you pull out a finely chained necklace with a little ring-shaped amulet. It’s simple, yet exactly that simplicity is what pulls everything together. And once you have fixed it in place, you take a step back to admire what you have done.

The shirt had gotten wet in the meantime, and thus sticking to his skin and slightly see-through. It’s barely buttoned up, revealing just enough to make it appear effortless rather than careless. In this empty space, the amulet is taking a proper position as it falls between his pecs, not too low and not too high, thus giving the necessary flair. And the instant the sunlight catches onto the different earrings, their colors reflect beautifully on his skin, adding to the glow he already emits.

For a moment, you’re silent, deep in admiration towards his beauty, enhanced by such simple things. You wonder how Rafayel might look like in properly fitted clothes made of the finest of cloth and intricately woven jewelry, custom made just for him.

The last item out of the bad, a hand mirror, which you point towards him, you speak up. “Okay, you can open your eyes now.”

His eyelashes flutter and Rafayel takes his time to open his eyes, slowly adjusting to the difference in light. But contrary to your expectations, he doesn’t look straight ahead, but rather directly at you, missing the reflection in the mirror completely. The sudden intense gaze surprises you, and you feel the heat squirm its way under your skin and collect in your stomach, at the way he simply looks at you.

You clear your throat. “Uhm, don’t you want to see how you look like?” You raise the mirror to hold it in front of your face to escape his stare, even if it means sacrificing a glimpse of the first impression of his new look.

So, you can’t help but peek over the edge of the mirror to watch as he inspects every little modification you have made, before you find the courage to speak up again.

“I would have put some proper earrings in, but you don’t seem to have your earlobes pierced, so I used those… You– You can’t swim with them, because I reckon they’ll probably get lost with the current, I mean…”

Fingertips tap against the edge of the mirror, until he pushes it away to properly face you again. A cock of his head and a touch to the jewelry tell you everything.

“Of course you can keep the stuff, I brought it just for you after all. A poor merman should let himself be pampered by someone like me sometimes, don’t you think?”

The only answer you receive is a wave crashing into you, just small enough to only splash your face, and you giggle.

You had expected him to grumble or to harumph at your words, but what you did not expect is for him to let his fingers glide over your fingers, the back of your hand, before cupping it entirely to guide it to his face.

With a near silent sigh, Rafayel nuzzles into your warmer skin, eyes closing slowly. Your heartbeat rushes into your ears, and you fear he might be able to feel it, with the close proximity of his lips to your pulse point. Merely the thought of his lips against your wrist makes it jump and skip. Your heart gives out briefly, when his breath is fanning against your skin, and you can barely suppress the shiver striking you through your nerves.

And maybe he noticed your inner turmoil, despite your silent prayers that he did not, as he opens his eyes as slowly as he closed them, only to look up to you through his eyelashes. From this angle, his eyes seem to be even bigger, and the breath catches in your lungs when the sunlight hits them and they begin to glow and sparkle, akin to a morganite, a color of dreams and desires, and guiding a ship closer to the horizon and the endless pink sky for merely a fleeting touch.

Keeping this eye contact, keeping you in his trance, Rafayel begins to move your hand over his jaw, fingertips trailing featherlight over the column of his throat, his collarbones. All your senses only focus on him, only perceive his skin against your touch, and your evergrowing heartbeat, and the churning in your stomach.

He continues until he presses your hand against his chest, and you’re not sure if you’re disappointed or glad that the shirt is sitting between you (your fingertips still grazing his skin, making you so much aware of him). Once you have gotten a bit over the sudden skinship, you notice his heartbeat against your palm.

“Oh…”

His pulse is steadfast, but you realize its speed, beating faster than the usual heart rate, and you’re not sure you can simply contribute that to his anatomy or physiology.

Just with that, without any big words or actions, you understand what he means to convey to you. Happiness washes over you with this understanding, a small but sincere smile on your face. And there’s that feeling again, your mind calm like an unmoving lake, and the sensation of warmth radiating off another person.

You doubt anything could ever come close to simply being in this place by his side, a small bubble shielding you and keeping you safe and giving you space and peace.

—

I once refused to write anything down in any form, why do so when I can express my mind in other ways? But as my voice has left me, albeit temporarily, I need a way to sort through my thoughts. So, I suppose I had to resort to this. And as it supposedly should help to write everything down with a reader in mind, I shall do so, for I cannot make this more difficult for myself than it is already.

It’s been some time since I have saved you from that shipwreck, and you still come visit me as often as you can. Of course, I’m always nearby, the only thing keeping us apart is the shore itself, so you never have to wait longer than necessary, much less be afraid of being left behind. But I do wonder if you know how you look, how your demeanor changes when faced with the sea, when your eyes spot me in the waters. How bright you seem to shine, how brilliant like the sun above the horizon. When I look at you like that, the way your presence and smile brings warmth, I begin to understand why people have worshipped the sun, as I would worship you if you would only let me.

So, maybe you can understand the way I feel when I watch as the life gets sapped from you when it’s time for you to go back from where you came from. The way I feel when I watch as you lose your light and there’s nothing I can do to help you, my voice choking me, binding me, rather than offering you comfort. And every time there’s nothing I desire more than to whisk you away, to take you with me and free you from whatever shackles are dragging you to drown, relentless and cruel.

This desire only intensifies with time, with every minute spent in your presence. I can’t help but wonder what kind of environment you’re living outside of our bubble, what you’re eating, what your daily life looks like. And if you smile at other people the way you smile at me. I hope you do not.

But I also wonder how much happiness you experience, how much freedom. Seeing as you get excited over the most trivial things.

I won’t even ask if you remember, as I do, and surely you will, too. But I will never forget your expression as I’ve brought some shells and conches to the shore. Your face brightened up, like you’re seeing something for the very first time, and maybe you have. You picked each of them carefully, letting your fingertips trail over them to feel the texture, before holding them into the light to get a better look at the colors. It was absurd to me that you were excited by the smallest of things such as these, empty but colorful and abundant in the sea. But I can’t help but adore exactly that, the way you’re simply filled with life and joy.

And I want to show you so much more, show you the beauty outside of your own world, and be able to stay by your side and watch as you glow and thrive. To never watch you crumple into your own shell as your very own feet seem to take you away by force.

I wish to embrace you, to kiss every thought plaguing you away until I hear that laughter bubble out of you. I wish for you to take my hand and to allow me to show you what you’re missing. I simply wish for you to feel love, for your love.

I wish for you.

—

Being in a hurry is a normal thing in your day-to-day life. There’s always something to do, someone to talk to, someone to run to, or to run away from. Despite this constant habit of staying on the move at all times, you have never felt the time crunch as much as you do at this very moment.

You frankly don’t know how you managed to do this with the constant ticking of the clock looming over your head, but you were able to draw away for a moment to get to the beach without anyone’s notice, lest they carry you off for something you should care about.

Because of that, you’re still strung in your formal wear, and all you can do in this small instant is to kick your high heels away and to hike up your skirt, fixing the layers in a firm hold, to free your legs. You don’t care much about decency at the moment, or generally, especially if the only person to see you will be a bare merman. Highly doubtful Rafayel would even think of commenting on your show of skin

With long strides and hurried steps, you arrive at the usual spot, though you do not sit down as usual but rather just allow the sea to wash over your sore feet. At this very moment, all you want is to spend as much time as possible at this place, with him, before you’re forced to follow due obligations and return once again. In a way, Rafayel is the balm of your soul, the only being able to give you some peace of mind. Not that you would outright admit it to anyone, of course.

So, it makes sense, to feel this kind of desperation and longing to see him, before you lose your mind. And as luck chances upon you for the first time in forever, you didn’t have to worry about him taking his time, much less not appearing at all, as the next waves effortlessly carry him to the beach.

With a simple flick of his hand, he swoops his hair out of his face. Without any regard to the amount of times you might have witnessed him like that, there will always be something bewitching about him, freshly out of the water; the droplets heavy and flowing through every divot as he moves, the way Rafayel looks slightly flushed and the slick style of his hair.

It’s true, you have seen him in various ways and forms, and every time is a novel experience, something permanent in your mind, akin to a mesmerizing art piece you could not forget about.

There even was a time, where he fully dried out, the sun warming his skin while he spent time with you, until his hair changed forms and turned out to be incredibly fluffy and somewhat wavy, as it immediately started curling around his ears and neck. The slight variation in hair color still makes you wonder how Rafayel might look fully submerged, how the colors of the underwater reflect against his skin and sunken in his hair.

Technically, you have already seen him in that state before, but that doesn’t really count, you were barely conscious when it happened. Still, you cannot help but dream and fantasize, because you doubt you might ever get to see him in his full underwater glory.

Clutching the fabric tighter and trying your best to keep your clothes safe from the water, you crouch in front of him, a smile on your face as a greeting. His answer is a slight puff of air, one purposefully aimed at your face, and a smile of his own.

Your eyes blink reflexively and you chuckle, only to catch his gaze wander over your current look.

“Ah, I look different, don’t I? I didn’t have the time to change into the usual, and, uh, I really wanted to see you…” your voice loses volume towards the end of your sentence, and you feel your face heat up with the realization of what you have just uttered. Quickly, you avert your eyes to avoid any further complications if you happen to look into his eyes, or at his face in general.

“A-anyway, sorry that I wasn’t here for some time, I was busy… And, well…” you inhale sharply, looking for the right words. “I’m gonna be gone for some time, I have to travel somewhere, away from the sea…”

Even ruminating over these words hurt you, and saying them makes your heart ache and your eyes burn. You don’t want to go away, you don’t want to leave and not be able to see him for an even impossibly longer stretch of time. You’re not sure when you began to feel this way towards Rafayel specifically, but that doesn’t matter. Because you don’t have a choice in all of this.

A familiar hand touches your hand and guides you to face him again. His eyebrows are furrowed, his touch soft, and his eyes are looking intently at you, as if he’s trying to discern if you’re truly alright. And maybe you’re imagining things, a wishful thinking on your part, but to you, it seems like Rafayel catches onto your feelings. There’s a strange spark in his eyes, a darkening, something gone as fast as it appeared.

His thumb caresses your cheek and you lean into his palm, a sigh escaping from between your lips, relief flooding underneath your skin. And for a moment, he looks deep in thought, as he simply continues the slow motion carefully, his gaze still glued to your face.

Then, he tilts your head slightly up so you’re able to properly look him in the eyes. His face tells you to stay and wait here until he comes back. You nod, and once he’s sure you’ve understood his intentions, he dives back into the ocean. And then you wait, eyes following the movements of the waves and looking for the wet strands to peek out from between them.

It doesn’t take long for him to be by your side once again, as if he was never gone to begin with, as if he’s right back where he belongs.

After making himself comfortable, Rafayel stretches his hand out towards you, and without putting much thought into it, you put your hand into his, fingertips on soft skin, against the palm of the other.

You hear a small puff, and knowing that this noise is his voiceless laugh – how you truly want to hear Rafayel laugh properly, to hear his voice, even –, you furrow your eyebrows. Before you could begin to ask him what’s so funny, he turns your hand around in a way for your palm to face upwards.

Oh, for some reason you immediately assumed he wanted to hold your hand, even though it has never happened before (at least not outside of your occasional daydreams…). But you barely have the time to feel any embarrassment, because he puts his other hand over your own.

And then you feel it. Something small and cool against your skin, a stark difference to his touch. When he pulls his hand away, barely giving you the time to mourn the loss of warmth, a small sparkle is revealed. A single earring.

You gasp and grasp it carefully with your fingers to take a closer look. The small jewel is in the hue of the depths of the ocean, and of his eye color. The details of the metalwork are gorgeous, small and finespun parts are twisting around the jewel, akin to corals.

But it’s only part of a pair. With a question on the tip of your tongue, you glance between this piece of jewelry and him. Until you notice a shine from one of his earlobes. Rafayel is wearing the complementary pair.

At this, your heart skips a beat. Still, you try your best to not read too much into it, but you can’t help your escalating thoughts. This pair is somewhat proof of your connection, proof that everything is real and that there might even be something special between you.

“Thank you so much, it’s beautiful,” you whisper, holding it against the sun. You’re glad you’re not wearing anything on your ears today. “Could you maybe help me put it on?”

A nod. His fingertips graze over the fingers holding the earring, and you shiver at the way his skin feels against yours. They slip between your fingers to carefully take hold of the earring, then to wait for you to loosen your grasp. You almost fumble and the jewelry just about slips before you pull yourself together and hand it over properly.

You lower your hand, and while it happens, you make eye contact with Rafayel. But instead of getting startled as usual, you keep holding his gaze and turn your head to the side to give him better access to your ear.

He raises his hand and his fingertips begin tracing your earshell bit by bit – fascination radiating off his meticulous touch –, until he reaches your earlobe to grasp it carefully. His thumb caresses the soft and sensitive skin. Goosebumps track down your back, your body conscious of his every touch; barely registering the actual hooking in of the earring itself, but rather focusing on the way his fingers feel against your ear.

The very same fingers have dipped behind your ear, touching the soft skin there. Fingertips begin to trail down, nothing more than featherlight touch, yet so much more, as Rafayel lets them follow the shape of your jawline, slowly tracing the column of your neck.

You shiver and sigh, eyes fluttering, yet gaze still trained on him, unable to take them off of him. His eyes are focused on you and you alone, drinking in every detail he can get. There’s something almost ardent in the way Rafayel beholds your figure. Almost as if your existence in itself is a miracle bestowed upon him.

For a moment, his fingers splay over your throat, only to slowly travel back up to grasp your jaw and to turn your face fully towards him. Your eyes slip towards his lips – soft and wet and you want to know how he tastes like – before you raise them to make contact with his once again.

The very same eyes which are still running all over your face, admiring every detail, keen on unearthing every aspect that makes you you, and maybe staying a little longer than usual on your slightly agape mouth.

Instead of returning your look, he closes his eyes and leans slightly forward until your foreheads meet. With his breath on your face, you can smell the scent of the ocean and the sun on his skin; the essence of him and your happiness distilled.

Meanwhile, his hands have wandered until they’re holding your face, thumbs caressing your jawline and cheeks in circular motions. Your own hands are clasped around his wrists and forearm to hold him close, to feel his warmth under your own fingerprints. Nothing else matters but his touch and this moment.

With fluttering eyelashes, Rafayel opens his eyes up again, only to nudge you with his forehead. And as if to get his point across even better, he delicately lets his nose nuzzle against yours. You giggle and return the favor and rub the tip of your nose against his.

“Okay, okay. You know I’m always going to come back. You don’t have to do all that.”

A puff of air against your face, a grumble and a click of his tongue. And then his teeth are suddenly nibbling at the tip of your nose. You gasp and pull away. A smug grin is spread over his face, despite the flush dusting his ears and nape.

As you’ve broken apart and put some distance between your bodies, you realize how hot you have begun to feel, and you can’t help but immediately look away, lest Rafayel notices anything.

“Oh, look at the time, I have to go!” you stand up and leave with a wave.

The moment your back is towards him, you press your palms against your cheeks to cool down as you walk back to your discarded shoes. You can’t believe you ran away just like that, but it’s rather concerning how your heart seems to race and how malleable you become in his presence, unlike how you’re used to your own self.

Not that you hate how Rafayel makes you feel, but rather you want to slowly enjoy everything with him instead of worrying about the time and everything else. But you doubt that this could ever be possible…

—

Time is scarce, and yet, I’d wish to do nothing but spend every second of my life by your side…

—

It’s been far too long since you have felt the sand under your feet, between your toes. The wind is carrying the scent of the ocean with it, and you inhale it, almost as if simply being back here makes the tension in you melt away.

With slow steps, all while indulging yourself and taking care to enjoy every second of the walk towards the shore, you make your way to the very same spot you have been visiting, the very same spot you have been missing with an aching heart. Yet, despite the lulling hiss of the waves as they turn into foam, you continue to feel some turmoil squirming in your stomach, something left over from your travels, something akin to food poisoning, yet something you cannot just nurse yourself back to health from.

You try to shake away these lingering feelings with each stride before you plop onto the sand to wait for Rafayel to appear before you once again. And it seems like your efforts at concealing your worries haven’t paid off, because the moment he lays his eyes on you, his eyebrows immediately furrow and his hand is gently cupping your face, a silent question.

Seeing him care about you like that makes everything in you burst at the seams, your self-control simply gone with a mere gaze of his.

Tears begin to blur your vision and you press yourself closer to his touch, in need of his warmth and presence more than ever.

“Rafayel, I don’t want them… I don’t want them to do that to me… I don’t want to be… to be shackled any further than this… I can’t…” you croak, voice wavering and bordering on a sob, but you’re still desperately holding back, to try and keep yourself from completely breaking apart underneath his fingertips.

Listening to your every word, sentences fragmented and lacking coherence, and still perceiving you with such clarity, almost like staying under his gaze is laying your soul bare for him to see, his hands slowly take a hold of your hips to pull you closer to him. And as soon as your body is within proximity, his arms are circling around you to press you against him, firm and steady and warm, while his palms rub your back.

Even without uttering a single word, he still manages to give you exactly what you need, the comfort you have been seeking all along, and your tears relentlessly fall with sobs wracking your entire body. You’re clutching onto him; your last lifeline. His presence relaxes and calms you down, allowing you to flush everything out of your system before slowly gathering yourself back together, even if it means that exhaustion is taking the empty space anxiety has left behind.

Rafayel notices the way your breath doesn’t hitch anymore and is evening out, and puts some distance between you, so he can directly face you again. He raises his hand to gently wipe your tears away with his thumbs oh so carefully.

With a sigh, he kisses your forehead, and then each of your eyes, a cooling touch against your hot eyelids. And with each contact of his soft lips, your heart begins to race for an entirely different reason.

Your fingers grasp a strand of hair at the nape of his neck and start playing with it, your focus on the soft silkiness of it rather than the everbeating drum of your heart.

“I would stay forever by your side, if I could…” you murmur with a small sigh of your own.

At this, he begins to nuzzle his nose against your cheek, his breath hot against your face. And then a sharp pain. His teeth are digging into your cheek as he’s nibbling at your skin, and you’re suddenly so much more aware how sharp his teeth are, but even more conscious about the softness of his lips grazing your face.

With a gasp, you grab his chin and push Rafayel back ever so slightly away, leading to his head tilting due to your move. And now his breath is fanning over your lips and you can’t help but swipe your tongue over them.

His eyes follow this movement immediately, and before you know it, his thumb is pressing against your lower lip, pulling somewhat, before his eyes move back towards your eyes. The unspoken question makes your breath hitch in your lungs, almost like your heart has knocked all the air out of you, yet you nod without hesitation

Lips meet yours, as soft as you had imagined them to be, touch feather-light. While the hand positioned on your chin is carefully maneuvering around, his other hand is fulfilling miracles and pulling you infinitely closer; and all you can do is dig your fingers between the soft damp curls of his. This elicits a gasp out of Rafayel, before he responds with a bite to your lip.

You hiss, copper and salt coating your mouth. And then he pulls away the tiniest bit, eyes heavy-lidded and face and ears flushed. There are remnant traces of redness on his lips, and you feel your soul leaving you, as you watch his tongue flick out to clean them up. This felt like a final gutpunch, and you deflate against him, head falling knot his shoulder, and you feel like you’re going to combust at any moment, the heat rushing over your skin, pooling in your stomach.

Immediately, his hold on you tightens, and Rafayel leans his head against yours. A sigh.

“Finally…”

Hearing these words, you can’t help but startle and sit up again. “Wh– huh?”

There’s a small giggle, and it’s the most beautiful thing you have ever heard. Truly, no composition or instrument could dare to hold a candle against it.

“You said you want to stay by my side. Do you trust me?

His voice is rough, as lack of use over a longer period of times does that, and yet, the words slipping from between his lips and actually hearing them fills you with unspeakable euphoria, even with the tremble of his voice close to your ear causing you goosebumps.

“I do… I trust you…” And how could you not? You wouldn’t even be here in the first place if not for Rafayel himself.

Another touch, his lips meeting yours for but a fleeting moment. “Then, do what you must do, and return to me, yeah?”

—

Oh, my love, a kiss as sweet as the air I breathe. Soon I shall embrace you and take you with me to wherever the current might take us. It does not matter as long as I’m by your side.

—

As much as you wanted to work through the endless piles of papers and stains of ink and to make sure every single thing is in order and running smoothly as fast as possible, you don’t want anyone to entertain the notion that you might be able to work more than you already do. Especially as you’re not quite sure what Rafayel is planning, and you’d rather avoid any possible suspicion towards your escapades or your work ethics.

So, only after doing the necessary, you sneak out to the beach with nothing but the clothes on your back and the earring he has gifted you securely attached, your one and only treasure.

You arrive at the usual spot and find him to be already there and waiting. Immediately, you lock onto your usual place by your side to take it. But instead of letting you do that, Rafayel grabs your hand to tug you even closer, and his face nuzzles into your neck as soon as you’re within reach, thighs entangling with his tail. A hum against your skin elicits a shiver out of you, your body reacts to his voice, to his breath, to his very existence in itself.

Without any words, he slowly leads you a little deeper into the water, not far enough for you to resort to any swimming, but just enough for you to be submerged to your chest. The cold water envelops you, welcomes you in its embrace once again, and you take your time to grow accustomed to the temperature, to the sea’s temperament. The only source of warmth are Rafayel’s hands holding yours, and his big tail slowly moving around you.

The movement catches your eyes and you take your time to admire it, to admire the way the reflection of the sea turns each scale into a mesmerizing jewel, to admire the deep and rich colors, to admire its sheer size moving easily around you as if it’s nothing.

Once your body got used to the harsh love of the water, you dare to swim closer towards him. And he immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling your body flush against his own without hesitation. You feel his tail steadying underneath you, offering you rest and comfort. His head dips and catches your lips in a kiss. One gentle and soft, nothing but a drop and a touch; until the waves of your desires carry you both deeper without any resistance.

His teeth nip at your lower lip, pulling, without drawing any blood this time. You open your mouth all-too willingly and let his tongue touch yours, intertwine and dance, let his tongue explore your mouth bit by bit as you simply taste him on yours, salty and heavy with unspoken promises. You lose yourself in his touch, in the way his hand is resting at the nape of your neck, his fingers travel along the small of your back underneath your hiked up shirt. All thoughts revolve around nothing but him, everything else slowly devoured by his very existence and your desire.

While drowning in the sensation that is him, you barely notice how he had taken the lead, holding you safely in his arms as he allows the currency to slowly pull you deeper into the sea, deeper into its mighty embrace. Yet, even with the endlessness spreading across the horizon, not once have you felt unsafe.

You only notice how far the two of you have drifted off when he settles you on top of a jagged rock steadily protruding out of the water. The wind on your wet clothes makes you shiver and you hiss.

But you barely have the time to think, much less worry about your state, as Rafayel begins to press his lips over your chin and your jawline, trailing down your throat with small nips and kisses until he stops at your exposed collarbones.

Your shirt is still covering you, barely so, as it’s gotten almost see-through when the water penetrated the cloth so thoroughly. The wet fabric sticks against your skin and your pebbled nipples give some resistance as they press against it.

And apparently, seeing an opportunity, he lowers his mouth over your covered chest and kisses his way to the peak, only to take your nipple into his mouth. The wetness of everything combined with the warmth of his mouth makes you gasp. Soon, you feel the press of his tongue against this sensitive spot and you can’t help but grab his hair, your mind not sure if you want him to be even closer or not, while your body pushes you even closer towards him.

His hand begins to trace your side slowly, feeling every inch of you, memorizing the paths that make you you, following the swell of your chest until his fingertips stop at your other nipple. Slowly, they take their time drawing circles around it, prodding and pulling gently, before finally taking the bud between two fingers to pinch and twist.

You squirm and whimper under his touch, tension pooling in your body, following you with the need for more, as you’re unable to do anything but undergo his ministrations; fingers firmly between the strands of hair, nails scratching his shoulder in a desperate attempt to find something to ground yourself on. But there’s nothing but him, and he’s the one you desire oh-so much. Your legs wrap around him to press yourself even closer, to feel him more, to indulge in him even more.

But once you have done so, he nibbles at you one last time before his mouth leaves your chest. Only to make his way lower, carefully detaching your legs, leaving you empty and somehow aching.

And then, his hands are on your waistband and they slowly but surely pull everything you’re wearing down, allowing the clothes to get swallowed up by the waves together with your shoes.

This is where you would have complained under normal circumstances, said something about still needing them, about them being your most comfortable pair, but his lips kiss the top of your foot and every thought in your head freezes.

His hand glides over your calf as his lips trace your lower leg, until he kisses the inside of your thighs. His hands grab both of your legs and spread them open, revealing everything you are to his eyes. And all you can do is try to calm your breath and grab his hair, words heavy on your tongue, weighted down by the throbbing scattering everything rational and only leaving his touch behind.

“W-wait, what are you–”

His face nuzzles into your thigh, teeth digging and catching onto skin easily. “I’m doing what I need to breathe. Trust me, just let yourself drown in everything.”

Without waiting for you to register the implications of his words, Rafayel dips his head between your thighs, his tongue immediately lapping through your folds. A groan vibrates against you the moment he tastes you, and your body reacts with something he can only gratefully accept.

He seems to take his time as he enjoys the mix of you and the sea in his mouth. The tip of his tongue runs over your entrance, only for him to slowly lick his way up to your clit, where he flattens his tongue against your throbbing bud. Savoring the moment, he begins to suck and lock at you, taking you and everything you offer him in, groaning against you, making you clench around nothing.

You feel overwhelmed. You have never experienced such a thing before, and it feels indescribable. It feels like you’re slowly drowning in nothing but pleasure, like the sea is pulling you in and you’re allowing yourself to sink into unknown depths. And you let it take you, let yourself drown in everything he gives you, without inhibitions as you moan his name and buck your hips to get even closer to every touch of his, never leaving him out of your vision.

His hands are steadily holding you in place, only releasing one hand to let his fingertips glide over your skin closer towards your core. They run through your sticky folds and press ever so slightly against your entrance. And then, there’s the sensation of being filled bit by bit. You tense and feel one finger pressing against your insides, slowly pushing deeper and deeper into you, making sure that you take it well.

For a moment, there’s no movement as you adjust to the way he feels inside of you, and then your insides ache, a need for more bubbling up, your body moving on its own, grinding against his tongue as he continues to suck and lick and lap at a steady pace. At the same time, another finger joins the first, but instead of waiting, Rafayel pushes them into you, curled up so they can hit that sensitive spot in you just right.

There are stars exploding in front of your eyes and a knot tightening in your belly. You pull on his hair, drawing a mix of a whimper and a moan out of him while he continues to pull his fingers out of you, only to press them back in that specific angle, over and over again, slowly and carefully, making sure that you feel every drag and every touch.

Until his tongue flattens against your clit at the same time as his fingers glide over that perfect spot inside you, and everything crashes over your head like a massive wave over the shore. The tension in you snaps and all you can do is grab his hair and moan his name.

Even as you unravel, he continues to lick on your clit while he slowly pulls his fingers out of you. Almost like he wants no drop to evade his capture. And then he raises his head enough to look you in the eye. Your eyes fall onto his lips, and you feel the heat under your skin when you notice the shimmer on them, and it only gets worse when he brings his glistening fingers to his mouth and slowly drags his tongue over them. Meticulously, Rafayel gets everything he has gotten from you and lets it spread over his tongue. And once he’s done, he swipes his tongue over his lips, collecting whatever remains are still clinging to him. At this, you feel your insides tingle and throb.

As careful as he had put you on the rock, he helps you down again, his hands firm against your hips. Instead, he presses you against the rock, his body against yours, as he leans down, lips hovering over your exposed skin. Rafayel kisses his way up until he’s facing you, lips barely inches away from yours. Just as easily, he catches your lips in a kiss, sweet and gentle. But such a kiss does not satisfy you in the moment, body still hot and aching and oh-so empty, and you bite onto his lower lips before sucking on it.

Almost immediately, he reacts and his tongue is in your mouth, capturing yours in some kind of curious examination. You let yours trace his mouth cavity, every single tooth of his, feeling the snag due to their sharpness. You take him in fully, tasting him and the last bit of you clinging to him.

You feel the need to be even closer, so you wrap your legs around him. Only for your naked skin to feel the texture of his tail. Lead by some kind of instinct, by the pure lust and desire running through you, you rut your hips to press your clit against the slick scales. With each motion of your hip, you feel the big muscle move underneath you, nudging your clit in a way that sends sparks through your body, in a way that washes everything else away until all that remains is him.

“Rafayel… Please, let me touch you…” you whimper against his lips, desperate to make him feel as much as you do, to share this moment together in your desires.

A gasp, bordering on a moan. And then you feel something press against your heat. Thoughts drowning in your hazy lust, of your need for him, you carefully grab his length – bigger than you anticipated, yet slender in an unexplainable way, small scales scattered and you can barely feel them against your skin – and caress his pointed tip with your thumb while you begin to grind your stickiness against his base. The constant change between textures as you continue to roll your hips against him, makes everything in you clench and tense, feeling tender. You do your best to multitask as you flick your wrist to pump the rest of his length with a loose fist, with just enough pressure put on him to hear him moan under your touch.

And when you hear him moan out your name, something in you snaps and your hips stutter as everything collapses once again. You whimper his name, haphazardly taking his lips with yours while you press your hips against his tail, not ceasing your movements even as you’re starting to feel overwhelmed with your own body. You continue to ride your climax out, rubbing your clit against him, feeling the slickness of his scales in your folds, until it feels like you’re going to stay at this specific high, until it all feels too much and too intense. But you never reach that threshold, as he unravels underneath your touch and cums all over your hand and stomach.

The water begins to wash it away, but you quickly withdraw your hand to salvage just enough for a taste. While you pant, you take the rest of him in you, small licks to enjoy every single drop. All while looking up to him through your eyelashes. But this was enough. Just this gesture and Rafayel is twitching against you once again.

You feel something in you bloom, and you reach out to him to meet him in a kiss.

“Let me bare myself to you…”

A breath, fingers against skin.

“There’s nothing on this planet that will drive me away from you…”

A sigh, a kiss.

The longing and the desire grew deeper, and you’re not quite sure who began, but your hips are slowly rolling into each other, taking your time, enjoying the feeling of each other as you got worked up bit by bit.

You’re already thinking how he might feel, filling you slowly and carefully, carving his shape into you until nothing else could ever dare to compare. So, you raise your hips ever so slightly and let them hover over his tip, looking up to him with everything you need in your eyes.

He leans closer to you and captures your lips in yet another kiss. And that’s when you feel him pushing himself into you, his tip filling your entrance, spreading you, until he ruts into you, bit by bit until he’s filling you completely, splitting open you over his cock, leaving you breathless as you try to take all of him.

For a moment, you just stay like that, hips snug against his tail, as close to each other as humanly possible. And then you feel it, something else pressing against your front. With a quick glance, you discover the reason, another cock, one just like the one penetrating you, and it’s throbbing and writhing against your folds. You gasp and look up to him, only to see his cheeks dusted in a slight blush. At the sight of him almost droopy and at the way his eyes are studying your expression, trying to discover something you’re not quite sure of, you giggle.

With a smile, you kiss him, a kiss filled with everything which does not need to be said. Immediately, Rafayel takes all of you in as he presses your body against the rock once again- Barely restrained, he begins to roll his body against yours, almost fully pulling out before pushing into you again, over and over again. Until he finds a steady pace to fulfill all your desires.

His other length continues to slide between your folds, caressing your clit with each thrust and sending shocks through your body at the sensation. You feel every vein, every scale, the movements and his form, as your sexes rub together, sticky fluids mixing together. He’s carving you to his shape, making your body only ever desire him and never anyone else. Every touch of him against you makes you clench around him, makes you clutch at him with everything you’ve got. Moaning his name in wanton as he caresses every sensitive part of you, every spot that might bring you pleasure in any way.

Meanwhile, his mouth is wandering all over you to take his claim over every part of you he can possibly reach, teeth and lips and words marking your body and soul. His teeth dig into the soft flesh between your neck and shoulders, and you tense and feel yourself close to the edge with every snag of his body against yours.

“Ah, Rafayel, ngh, I-I’m close…” you moan out as you clutch his shoulders and dig your nails into his skin.

Immediately, he envelops you with his body and pulls you closer to share a heated and messy kiss, one filled with drool, moans and teeth, one where you begin and he ends and where you meet to connect forevermore.

A sharp thrust, and your teeth dig into his lips, drawing blood and coating your tongue with the coppery salty taste of his very existence as you continue to kiss him, to let him devour you, to give him and you everything that is you and him.

The taste marking even every last bit of you, makes your body feel even hotter, even tenser, until everything reaches a point and erupts and you cum. And with the way you clench around him, he follows you closely, filling you with his essence, giving you a part of him as he coats your insides and your skin with his warmth.

The tension draining out of you, you slump against him and enjoy the way he feels against you – arms steady and comfortable, body and presence a safe haven, skin on skin, colder than yours and yet warmer than anything you have experienced – and the tingle of the effects lingering as sparks underneath your skin. And you realize that it doesn’t matter if you dissolve into foam if it means to stay by his side for the rest of eternity.

—

Our destiny does not lay in the foam of the sea, as I will keep kissing you like the sea kisses the sun every day until the end of time and beyond.

#rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel lads #lads rafayel #lads rafayel x reader #rafayel smut #rafayel fluff #lads smut #supernova - rafayel #qi yu love and deepspace #qi yu #qi yu lads #qi yu x reader

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helenofsparta2 · 1 day ago

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“Seriously, list people outside of his main group of friends and family that he shows any kindness, empathy, and understanding towards.”

Okay. You asked for this.

So, I’m actually going to take this a step further.

Don’t worry. I am certainly going to list several instances where Percy has been kind, empathetic and understanding towards people outside of his close circle of friends and family, a list, that certainly also includes Luke, Ethan and especially Nico.

But I am also going to list instances, where he interacted with close friends or family members for three different reasons:

the way you treat your friends and family, says actually a lot about your character

I’m not quite sure who exactly you’re counting as his “Main group of friends and family”

Percy wasn’t always friends with the characters I would personal now include in this close circle, like Annabeth, Thalia, Clarisse or Zoe, for example. At the beginning their relationships were quite strained.

And, I’m not only going to list these moments, but I’m also going to cite them.

Before that though, I should probably explain my personal understanding of the words kindness and empathy.

Empathy: the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.

Kindness: The quality of being generous, helpful, and caring about other people. Examples of someone acting kind include giving someone your seat, offering to help carry bags, donating to charity, and showing gratitude. Other acts of kindness can involve saying kind words, giving compliments, volunteering, standing up for other people or simply being respectful. In the context of the Percy Jackson books, I would also include instances, where someone risks his own life, to protect someone else, or simply the desire to save someone else’s life.

You also said, he doesn’t actually “care about his kind as a whole”. I wasn’t quite sure if you meant humans, demigods, or beings related to the ocean, so I’ve decided to also include instances of Percy caring about all three of these groups at the end of this post.

This only goes until the end of the last Olympian, because, otherwise, this here would become way too long.

Grover:

All year long, I’d gotten in fights, keeping bullies away from him. I’d lost sleep worrying that he’d get beaten up next year without me. (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 2)

My head felt like it was splitting open. I was weak and scared and trembling with grief I’d just seen my mother vanish. I wanted to lie down and cry, but there was Grover, needing my help, so I managed to haul him up and stagger down into the valley, toward the lights of the farmhouse. I was crying, calling for my mother, but I held on to Grover-I wasn’t going to let him go. (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 4)

Grover was still sniffling. The poor kid-poor goat, satyr, whatever looked as if he expected to be hit. I said, “It wasn’t your fault.” (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 5)

“Grover won’t get in too much trouble, will he?” I asked Chiron. “I mean … he was a good protector. Really.” Chiron sighed. He shed his tweed jacket and draped it over his horses back like a saddle. “Grover has big dreams, Percy. Perhaps bigger than are reasonable. To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage by succeeding as a keeper, finding a new camper and bringing him safely to Half-Blood Hill.” “But he did that!” (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 6)

I wanted to protest. None of what happened was Grover’s fault. I also felt really, really guilty. If I hadn’t given Grover the slip at the bus station, he might not have gotten in trouble. (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 6)

The chances of you getting a quest… and even if you did, why would you want me along?” “Of course I’d want you along!” (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 8)

“I can’t talk about it,” Grover said, and his quivering lower lip suggested he’d start crying if I pressed him. (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 12)

She sacrificed herself to save us,” he said miserably, “Her death was my fault. The Council of Cloven Elders said so.” “Because you wouldn’t leave two other half-bloods behind?” I said. “That’s not fair.” (…) “It’s not luck that you found Thalia and me, Grover. You’ve got the biggest heart of any satyr ever. You’re a natural searcher. That’s why you’ll be the one who finds Pan.” (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 16)

Clarisse and Grover tried to charge him, but the monster swatted them aside like flies. My anger swelled… Nobody was going to swat down my friends like that! (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 15)

This year, with Chiron putting all the satyrs on emergency duty to find half-bloods, Grover hadn't been able to continue his search. It must've been driving him nuts. "I've let the trail go cold," he said. "I feel restless, like I'm missing something really important. He's out there somewhere. I can just feel it." I didn't know what to say. I wanted to encourage him, but I didn't know how. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 7)

"Percy, I'm so sorry!" Grover said, sitting next to me on the bunk. "I didn't know they'd—that you'd—Honest!" He started to sniffle, and I figured if I didn't cheer him up he'd either start bawling or chewing up my mattress. He tends to eat household objects whenever he gets upset. "It's okay," I lied. "Really. It's fine." (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 7)

He sniffled. "Do you think anybody else would be my best friend?" "Ah, Grover…" He wiped under his eyes with an oily cloth that left his face grimy, like he had on war paint. "I'm… I'm okay." But he wasn't okay. Ever since the encounter in New Mexico—whatever had happened when that wild wind blew through—he seemed really fragile, even more emotional than usual. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 14)

Then it dawned on me what he was saying, and my throat felt searing hot again. “Your deadline with the Council of Cloven Elders.” Grover put the TV remote in his mouth and crunched off the end of it. “I’m out of time,” he said with a mouthful of plastic. “As soon as I go back, they’ll take away my searcher’s license. I’ll never be allowed to go out again.” “We’ll talk to them,” I promised. “Make them give you more time.” Grover swallowed. “They’ll never go for it. The world is dying, Percy. What you did today— saving the ranch animals from Geryon—that was amazing. I—I wish I could be more like you.” “Hey,” I said. “Don’t say that. You’re just as much a hero—” “No I’m not. I keep trying, but…” He sighed. “Percy, I can’t go back to camp without finding Pan. I just can’t. You understand that, don’t you? I can’t face Juniper if I fail. I can’t even face myself.” His voice was so unhappy it hurt to hear. We’d been through a lot together, but I’d never heard him sound this down. “We’ll figure out something,” I said. “You haven’t failed. You’re the champion goat boy, all right? Juniper knows that. So do I.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 10)

Grover took a deep breath. “Percy, we’ll find each other again. We’ve still got the empathy link. I just…have to.” I didn’t blame him. This was his life’s goal. If he didn’t find Pan on this journey, the council would never give him another chance. “I hope you’re right,” I said. “I know I am.” I’d never heard him sound so confident about anything, except maybe that cheese enchiladas were better than chicken enchiladas. “Be careful,” I told him. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 11)

Grover stayed at my side. From time to time he would break down in tears. "So many nature spirits dead, Percy. So many." I put my arm around his shoulders and gave him a rag to blow his nose. "You did a great job, G-man. We will come back from this. We'll plant new trees. We'll clean up the parks. Your friends will be reincarnated into a better world." He sniffled dejectedly. "I . . . I suppose. But it was hard enough to rally them before. I'm still an outcast. I could barely get anyone to listen to me about Pan. Now will they ever listen to me again? I led them into a slaughter." "They will listen," I promised. "Because you care about them. You care about the Wild more than anyone." He tried for a smile. "Thanks, Percy. I hope . . . I hope you know I'm really proud to be your friend." I patted his arm. "Luke was right about one thing, G-man. You're the bravest satyr I ever met." (The Last Olympian, Chapter 20)

Sally

She turned toward the fire, and I knew from her expression that if I asked her any more questions she would start to cry. (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 3

I looked at my mother. “Mom, do you want Gabe gone? “Percy, it isn’t that simple. I-“ “Mom, just tell me. That jerk has been hitting you. Do you want him gone or not?” She hesitated, then nodded almost imperceptibly. “Yes, Percy. I do. And I’m trying to get up my courage to tell him. But you can’t do this for me. You can’t solve my problems.” (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 21)

"Percy, I… Paul and I—" "Mom, are you happy?" The question seemed to take her by surprise. She thought for a moment. "Yes. I really am, Percy. Being around him makes me happy." "Then it's cool. Seriously. Don't worry about me." The funny thing was, I meant it. Considering the quest I'd just had, maybe I should have been worried for my mom. I'd seen just how mean people could be to each other, like Hercules was to Zoe Nightshade, like Luke was to Thalia. I'd met Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, in person, and her powers had scared me worse than Ares. But seeing my mother laughing and smiling, after all the years she'd suffered with my nasty ex stepfather, Gabe Ugliano, I couldn't help feeling happy for her. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 20)

“Percy, I kind of feel bad giving you one more thing to think about,” Paul said. “But I wanted to ask you something.” “Yeah?” “Girl stuff.” I frowned. “What do you mean?” “Your mom,” Paul said. “I’m thinking about proposing to her.” I almost dropped my cup. “You mean…marrying her? You and her?” “Well, that was the general idea. Would that be okay with you?” “You’re asking my permission?” Paul scratched his beard. “I don’t know if it’s permission, so much, but she’s your mother. And I know you’re going through a lot. I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t talk to you about it first, man to man.” “Man to man,” I repeated. It sounded strange, saying that. I thought about Paul and my mom, how she smiled and laughed more whenever he was around, and how Paul had gone out of his way to get me into high school. I found myself saying, “I think that’s a great idea, Paul. Go for it.” He smiled really wide then. “Cheers, Percy. Let’s join the party.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 20)

Annabeth:

“At camp you train and train. And that’s all cool and everything, but the real world is where the monsters are. That’s where you learn whether you’re any good or not.” If I didn’t know better, I could’ve sworn I heard doubt in her voice. “You’re pretty good with that knife,” I said. “You think so?” “Anybody who can piggyback-ride a Fury is okay by me.” I couldn’t really see, but I thought she might’ve smiled. (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 11)

I wanted to make Annabeth feel better, but I didn’t know how. “My mom married a really awful guy,” I told her. “Grover said she did it to protect me, to hide me in the scent of a human family. Maybe that’s what your dad was thinking.” (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 13)

Tyson started bawling almost as bad as Annabeth. I tried to tell them that things would be okay, but I didn’t believe it. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 5)

I didn’t know what Luke was talking about, but Annabeth buried her head in her hands like she was about to cry. “Leave her alone,” I said. “And leave Tyson out this.” (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 9)

She threw herself down on the blankets and started going through her duffel bag. Her body language made it pretty clear she didn’t want to talk. “Um, Tyson?” I said. “Would you mind scouting around outside? Like, look for a wilderness convenience store or something?” (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 10)

Once he was gone, I sat down across from Annabeth. “Hey, I’m sorry about, you know, seeing Luke.” “It’s not your fault.” She unsheathed her knife and started cleaning the blade with a rag. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 10)

She started to sob-I mean horrible, heartbroken sobbing. She put her head on my shoulder and I held her. Fish gathered to look at us-a school of barracudas, some curious marlins. Scram! I told them. They swam off, but I could tell they went reluctantly. I swear I understood their intentions. They were about to start rumors flying around the sea about the son of Poseidon and some girl at the bottom of Siren Bay. “I’ll get us back to the ship,” I told her. “It’s okay. Just hang on.” Annabeth nodded to let me know she was better now, then she murmured something I couldn’t hear because of the wax in my ears. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 13)

She turned with a start. “Oh…hi. Didn’t hear you.” “You okay?” She frowned at the scroll in her hands. “Just trying to do some research. Daedalus’s Labyrinth is so huge. None of the stories agree about anything. The maps just lead from nowhere to nowhere.” I thought about what Quintus had said, how the maze tries to distract you. I wondered if Annabeth knew that already. “We’ll figure it out,” I promised. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 4)

“I’ve wanted to lead a quest since I was seven,” she said. “You’re going to do awesome.” She looked at me gratefully, but then stared down at all the books and scrolls she’d pulled from the shelves. “I’m worried, Percy. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to do this. Or Tyson or Grover.” “Hey, we’re your friends. We wouldn’t miss it.” “But…” She stopped herself. “What is it?” I asked. “The prophecy?” “I’m sure it’s fine,” she said in a small voice. “What was the last line?” Then she did something that really surprised me. She blinked back tears and put out her arms. I stepped forward and hugged her. Butterflies started turning my stomach into a mosh pit. “Hey, it’s…it’s okay.” I patted her back. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 4)

She was shivering. “Chiron might be right,” she muttered. “I’m breaking the rules. But I don’t know what else to do. I need you three. It just feels right.” “Then don’t worry about it,” I managed. “We’ve had plenty of problems before, and we solved them.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 4)

The color drained out of Annabeth’s face. “No…I don’t—” “Leave her alone,” I said. “Who are you, anyway?” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 6)

I picked up my bedroll and dragged it over to where Annabeth was sitting, keeping watch. I sat down next to her. “You should sleep,” she said. “Can’t. You doing all right?” “Sure. First day leading the quest. Just great.” “We’ll get there,” I said. “We’ll find the workshop before Luke does.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 8)

“I know, I know. It’s just…” She looked at me hesitantly. “Percy, I was kidding myself. All that planning and reading, I don’t have a clue where we’re going.” “You’re doing great. Besides, we never know what we’re doing. It always works out. Remember Circe’s island?” She snorted. “You made a cute guinea pig.” “And Waterland, how you got us thrown off that ride?” “I got us thrown off? That was totally your fault!” “See? It’ll be fine.” She smiled, which I was glad to see, but the smile faded quickly. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 8)

Tyson

Tyson was the only homeless kid at Meriwether College Prep. As near as my mom and I could figure, he’d been abandoned by his parents when he was very young, probably because he was so … different. He was six-foot three and built like the Abominable Snowman, but he cried a lot and was scared of just about everything, including his own reflection. His face was kind of misshapen and brutal-looking. I couldn’t tell you what color his eyes were, because I could never make myself look higher than his crooked teeth. His voice was deep, but he talked funny, like a much younger kid-I guess because he’d never gone to school before coming to Meriwether. He wore tattered jeans, grimy size-twenty sneakers, and a plaid flannel shirt with holes in it. He smelled like a New York City alleyway, because that’s where he lived, in a cardboard refrigerator box off 72nd Street. Meriwether Prep had adopted him as a community service project so all the students could feel good about themselves. Unfortunately, most of them couldn’t stand Tyson. Once they discovered he was a big softie, despite his massive strength and his scary looks, they made themselves feel good by picking on him. I was pretty much his only friend, which meant he was my only friend. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 2)

Tyson started sobbing. He sat down on the jungle gym so hard he bent the bar, and buried his head in his hands. “Take it back, Sloan!” I shouted. Sloan just sneered at me. “Why do you even bother, Jackson? You might have friends if you weren’t always sticking up for that freak.” I balled my fists. I hoped my face wasn’t as red as it felt. “He’s not a freak. He’s just…” I tried to think of the right thing to say, but Sloan wasn’t listening. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 2)

I had to promise to buy Tyson an extra peanut butter sandwich at lunch to get him to stop sobbing. “I … I am a freak?” he asked me. “No,” I promised, gritting my teeth. “Matt Sloan is the freak.” Tyson sniffled. “You are a good friend. Miss you next year if … if I can’t …” His voice trembled. I realized he didn’t know if he’d be invited back next year for the community service project. I wondered if the headmaster had even bothered talking to him about it. “Don’t worry, big guy,” I managed. “Everything’s going to be fine.” Tyson gave me such a grateful look I felt like a big liar. How could I promise a kid like him that anything would be fine? (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 2)

He picked up another ball and aimed it at Tyson. “Stop!” I yelled. “It’s me you want!” (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 2)

But I’d just been attacked by cannibal giants, Tyson had saved my life three or four times, and all Annabeth could do was glare at him like he was the problem. “He’s my friend,” I told her. “Is he homeless?” “What does that have to do with anything? He can hear you, you know. Why don’t you ask him?” She looked surprised. “He can talk?” “I talk,” Tyson admitted. “You are pretty.” “Ah! Gross!” Annabeth stepped away from him. I couldn’t believe she was being so rude. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 3)

I hesitated. “What about Tyson?” I imagined escorting my giant friend into Camp Half-Blood. If he freaked out on a regular playground with regular bullies, how would he act at a training camp for demigods? On the other hand, the cops would be looking for us. “We can’t just leave him,” I decided. “He’ll be in trouble, too.” (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 3)

As soon as the last campers had filed in, I led Tyson into the middle of the pavilion. Conversations faltered. Heads turned. “Who invited that?” somebody at the Apollo table murmured. I glared in their direction, but I couldn’t figure out who’d spoken. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 5)

I said, “Come on, Tyson.” “Oh, no,” Tantalus said. “The monster stays here. We must decide what to do with it.” “Him,” I snapped. “His name is Tyson.” The new activities director raised an eyebrow. “Tyson saved the camp,” I insisted. “He pounded those bronze bulls. Otherwise they would’ve burned down this whole place.” (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 5)

“Leave us,” Tantalus ordered, “while we decide this creature’s fate.” Tyson looked at me with fear in his one big eye, but I knew I couldn’t disobey a direct order from the camp directors. Not openly, anyway. “I’ll be right over here, big guy,” I promised. “Don’t worry. We’ll find you a good place to sleep tonight.” Tyson nodded. “I believe you. You are my friend.” Which made me feel a whole lot guiltier. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 5)

I mean … I’m sorry, Percy, I didn’t expect Poseidon to claim him. Cyclopes are the most deceitful, treacherous-“ “He is not! What have you got against Cyclopes, any-way? Annabeth’s ears turned pink. I got the feeling there was something she wasn’t telling me-something bad. “Just forget it,” she said. “Now, the axle for this chariot-“ “You’re treating him like he’s this horrible thing,” I said. “He saved my life.” (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 6)

As we were turning in for bed, Tyson said, “You are mad?” I realized I’d been scowling. “Nah. I’m not mad.” He lay down in his bunk and was quiet in the dark. His body was way too long for his bed. When he pulled up the covers, his feet stuck out the bottom. “I am a monster.” “Don’t say that.” “It is okay. I will be a good monster. Then you will not have to be mad.” I didn’t know what to say. I stared at the ceiling and felt like I was dying slowly, right along with Thalia’s tree. “It’s just… I never had a half-brother before.” I tried to keep my voice from cracking. “It’s really different for me. And I’m worried about the camp. And another friend of mine, Grover … he might be in trouble. I keep feeling like I should be doing something to help, but I don’t know what.” Tyson said nothing. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “It’s not your fault. I’m mad at Poseidon. I feel like he’s trying to embarrass me, like he’s trying to compare us or something, and I don’t understand why.” I heard a deep rumbling sound. Tyson was snoring. I sighed. “Good night, big guy. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 6)

Tyson didn’t answer. Instead he made a whimpering sound in the back of his throat. “Annabeth doesn’t like Cyclopes. You … don’t want me along?” “Oh, that’s not it,” I said halfheartedly. “Annabeth likes you. Really.” He had tears in the corners of his eye. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 7)

“Daddy always cared for m-me,” he sniffled. “Now … I think he was mean to have a Cyclops boy. I should not have been born.” “Don’t talk that way! Poseidon claimed you, didn’t he? So … he must care about you … a lot….” My voice trailed off as I thought about all those years Tyson had lived on the streets of New York in a cardboard refrigerator box. How could Tyson think that Poseidon had cared for him? What kind of dad let that happen to his kid, even if his kid was a monster? “Tyson … camp will be a good home for you. The others will get used to you. I promise.” (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 7)

Tyson can stay behind and tell them-“ “I want to go,” Tyson said. “No!” Annabeth’s voice sounded close to panic. “I mean … Percy, come on. You know that’s impossible.” I wondered again why she had such a grudge against Cyclopes. There was something she wasn’t telling me. She and Tyson both looked at me, waiting for an answer. Meanwhile, the cruise ship was getting farther and farther away. The thing was, part of me didn’t want Tyson along. I’d spent the last three days in close quarters with the guy, getting razzed by the other campers and embarrassed a million times a day, constantly reminded that I was related to him. I needed some space. Plus, I didn’t know how much help he’d be, or how I’d keep him safe. Sure, he was strong, but Tyson was a little kid in Cyclops terms, maybe seven or eight years old, mentally. I could see him freaking out and starting to cry while we were trying to sneak past a monster or something. He’d get us all killed. On the other hand, the sound of the harpies was getting closer…. “We can’t leave him,” I decided. “Tantalus will punish him for us being gone.” (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 8)

Get the other boat.” I threw Annabeth the thermos. “I’ll get Tyson.” “You can’t!” she said. “The heat will kill you!” I didn’t listen. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 11)

“I’m sorry I lost the shield,” I told him. “You worked so hard to repair it.” Tyson looked up. His eye was bloodshot from crying. “Do not worry, brother. You saved me. You wouldn’t have had to if Briares had helped.” “He was just scared,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll get over it.” “He is not strong,” Tyson said. “He is not important anymore.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 8)

Clarisse

Normally, rushing to Clarisse’s aid would not have been high on my “to do” list. She was one of the biggest bullies at camp. Still, she was in trouble. Her fellow warriors were scattering, running in panic as the bulls charged (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 4)

“What’s wrong?” Annabeth asked me. “Another dream?” I nodded, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to think about what I’d seen downstairs. It bothered me almost as much as the dream about Grover. Clarisse came up the stairs right after me. I tried not to look at her. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 11)

“I’ll rush him,” I whispered to Clarisse. “Our ship is around the back of the island. You and Grover-“ “No way,” they said at the same time. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 15)

Clarisse slumped down on the pavement. “How are we supposed to do that?” Her voice trembled. “We’re hundreds of miles away. No money. No ride. This is just like the Oracle said. It’s your fault, Jackson! If you hadn’t interfered-“ “Percy’s fault?!” Annabeth exploded. “Clarisse, how can you say that? You are the biggest-“ “Stop it!” I said. Clarisse put her head in hands. Annabeth stomped her foot in frustration. The thing was: I’d almost forgotten this quest was supposed to be Clarisse’s. For a scary moment, I saw things from her point of view. How would I feel if a bunch of other heroes had butted in and made me look bad? I thought about what I’d overheard in the boiler room of the CSS Birmingham-Ares yelling at Clarisse, warning her that she’d better not fail. Ares couldn’t care less about the camp, but if Clarisse made him look bad … (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 17)

Clarisse said, “You’d let me-“ “It’s your quest,” I said. “We only have enough money for one flight. Besides, I can’t travel by air. Zeus would blast me into a million pieces. That’s what the prophecy meant: you’d fail without friends, meaning you’d need our help, but you’d have to fly home alone. You have to get the Fleece back safely.” I could see her mind working-suspicious at first, wondering what trick I was playing, then finally deciding I meant what I said. She jumped in the cab. “You can count on me. I won’t fail.” “Not failing would be good.” (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 17)

I made the rounds, telling everybody about capture the flag. I woke up some Ares kid from his midday nap and he yelled at me to go away. When I asked him where Clarisse was he said, "Went on a quest for Chiron. Top secret!" "Is she okay?" (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 5)

And Clarisse’s tenderness—it had never even occurred to me that she might like someone; but the way she said Chris’s name…She’d known him before he changed sides. She’d known him a lot better than I realized. And now he was shivering in a dark basement, afraid to come out, and mumbling about someone named Mary. No wonder Clarisse didn’t want anything to do with the Labyrinth. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 4)

“Chris Rodriguez, our guest…” I remembered what I’d seen in the basement, Clarisse trying to talk to him while he babbled about the Labyrinth. “Is he dead?” “Not yet,” Chiron said grimly. “But he’s much worse. He’s in the infirmary now, too weak to move. I had to order Clarisse back to her regular schedule, because she was at his bedside constantly. He doesn’t respond to anything. He won’t take food or drink. None of my medicines help. s He has simply lost the will to live.” I shuddered. Despite all the run-ins I’d had with Clarisse, I felt horrible for her. She’d tried so hard to help him. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 13)

I heard about Chris,” I said. “I’m sorry.” Clarisse paced a circle around the arena. When she came to the nearest dummy, she attacked viciously, chopping its head off with a single blow and driving her sword through its guts. She pulled the sword out and kept walking. “Yeah, well. Sometimes things go wrong.” Her voice was shaky. “Heroes get hurt. They…they die, and the monsters just keep coming back.” She picked up a javelin and threw it across the arena. It nailed a dummy straight between the eyeholes of its helmet. She had called Chris a hero, like he had never gone over to the Titan’s side. It reminded me of the way Annabeth sometimes talked about Luke. I decided not to bring that up. “Chris was brave,” I said. “I hope he gets better.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 13)

He left me alone to think about that. And as I watched Clarisse and Chris singing a stupid campfire song together, holding hands in the darkness, where they thought nobody could see them, I had to smile. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 19)

I had no idea what she was doing on the Upper East Side in the middle of a school day, but she was obviously in trouble. She wouldn’t last much longer. I did the only thing I could. “Mrs. White,” I said. “Can I go to the restroom? I feel like I’m going to puke.” (The Demigod Files: The Stolen Chariot)

Clarisse sheathed her sword and brushed off her denim jacket. “Well… see you.” “Hold up,” I said. “You can’t just run off.” “Sure I can.” “What’s going on? What are you doing away from camp? Why were those birds after you?” Clarisse pushed me, or tried to. I was too accustomed to her tricks. I just side-stepped and let her stumble past me. “Come on,” I said. “You just about got killed at my school. That makes it my business.” “It does not!” “Let me help.” (The Demigod Files: The Stolen Chariot)

She looked like she was about to lose it. I didn’t blame her. I’d seen her dad, Ares, get mad before, and it was not a pretty sight. If Clarisse failed him, he would come down hard on her. Real hard. “I’ll help you,” I said. (The Demigod Files: The Stolen Chariot)

She scowled. “Why would you? I’m not your friend.” I couldn’t argue with that. Clarisse had been mean to me a million times, but still, I didn’t like the idea of her or anybody else getting beat up by Ares. (The Demigod Files: The Stolen Chariot)

Phobos’s eyes glowed bright red. Clarisse screamed. She swatted the air as if she were attacked by invisible bugs. “Please, no!” “What are you doing to her,” I demanded. Clarisse backed up not the street, swinging her sword wildly. “Stop it!” I told Phobos. I dug my sword a little deeper against his throat, but he simply vanished, reappearing back at the telephone pole. (The Demigod Files: The Stolen Chariot)

Finally, I kicked him backward against the water fountain. His sword skittered into the ladies room. I grabbed the strabs of his armor and pulled him up to face me. “You’re going to disappear now,” I told him. “You’re going to stay out of Clarisse’s way. And if I see you again, I’m going to give you a bigger scar in a much more painful place!” He gulped “There will be a next time, Jackson!” And he dissolved into yellow vapor. (The Demigod Files: The Stolen Chariot)

I wanted to charge in and fight deimos, but somehow I knew it wouldn’t help. Clarisse had to do it. This was her worst fear. She had to overcome it for herself. “Clarisse,” I said. She glanced over, and I tried to hold her eyes. “Stand up to him!” I said. “He’s all talk. Get up!” “I…I can’t.””Yes, you can. You’re a warrior. Get up!”She hesitated. Then she began to stand. (The Demigod Files: The Stolen Chariot)

Clarisse looked at me cautiously. She wiped the straw and sweat off her face. “You didn’t see that. You didn’t see any of that.” I grinned. “You did good.” (The Demigod Files: The Stolen Chariot)

She wrapped the reins around her hand. “About what you saw, Percy. “what I was afraid of, I mean-“ “I won’t tell anybody.” She looked at me uncomfortably. “Did Phobos scare you?” “Yeah, I saw the camp in flames. I saw my friends all pleading for my help, and I didn’t know what to do. For a second, I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed. I know how you felt.” She lowered her eyes. “I, uh… I guess I should say…” The words seemed to stick in her throat. I wasn’t sure Clarisse had ever said thank you in her life. “Don’t mention it,” I told her. I started to walk away, but she called out,” Percy?” “Yeah?” “When you, uh, had that vision about your friends…” “You were one of them,” I promised. “Just don’t tell anybody, okay? Or I’d have to kill you.” A faint smile flickered across her face. “See you later.” (The Demigod Files: The Stolen Chariot)

Nico:

Maybe I could defend myself if I could get my shield activated. All that it would take was a touch of my wrist-watch. But defending the di Angelo kids was another matter. I needed help, and there was only one way I could think to get it. I closed my eyes. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 2)

As anxious as I felt about Annabeth—all I wanted to do was search for her—I couldn't help feeling sorry for the di Angelos. I remembered what it was like for me when I first learned I was a demigod.

Nico laid out a bunch of figurines in the snow—little battle replicas of Greek gods and heroes. I recognized Zeus with a lightning bolt, Ares with a spear, Apollo with his sun chariot. "Big collection," I said. Nico grinned. "I've got almost all of them, plus their holographic cards! Well, except for a few really rare ones." "You've been playing this game a long time?" "Just this year. Before that…" He knit his eyebrows. "What?" I asked. "I forget. That's weird." He looked unsettled, but it didn't last long. "Hey, can I see that sword you were using?" I showed him Riptide, and explained how it turned from a pen into a sword just by uncapping it. "Cool! Does it ever run out of ink?" "Um, well, I don't actually write with it." "Are you really the son of Poseidon?" "Well, yeah." "Can you surf really well, then?" I looked at Grover, who was trying hard not to laugh. "Jeez, Nico," I said. "I've never really tried." (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 3)

"Bianca, this is crazy," I said. "What about your brother? Nico can't be a Hunter." (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 3)

Bianca sat off to one side, talking with Nico. I could tell from his gloomy face that she was explaining her decision to join the Hunt. I couldn't help thinking how selfish it was of her, abandoning her brother like that. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 4)

The Hunters piled into the van. They all crammed into the back so they'd be as far away as possible from Apollo and the rest of us highly infectious males, Bianca sat with them, leaving her little brother to hang in the front with us, which seemed cold to me, but Nico didn't seem to mind. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 4)

"And now you're thinking about following them on the quest," I guessed. "How did you know that?" "Because if it was my sister, I'd probably be thinking the same thing. But you can't." He looked defiant. "Because I'm too young?" "Because they won't let you. They'll catch you and send you back here. And… yeah, because you're too young. You remember the manticore? There will be lots more like that. More dangerous. Some of the heroes will die." He shoulders sagged. He shifted from foot to foot. "Maybe you're right.” (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 8)

The air was cool and dry, but the nice weather just seemed like an insult after losing Bianca. My hand closed around the little figurine that had cost her life. I still couldn't even tell what god it was supposed to be. Nico would know. Oh, gods… what was I going to tell Nico? I wanted to believe that Bianca was still alive somewhere. But I had a bad feeling that she was gone for good. "It should've been me," I said. "I should've gone into the giant." (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 14)

Nico screamed. "You brought these… these things?" "No! I mean, yes, they followed me, but no! Nico, run. They can't be destroyed." "I don't trust you!" The first skeleton charged. I knocked aside its blade, but the other three kept coming. I sliced one in half, but immediately it began to knit back together. I knocked another's head off but it just kept fighting. "Run, Nico!" I yelled. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 20)

Annabeth and Grover helped me search the woods for hours, but there was no sign of Nico di Angelo. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 20)

We have to tell Chiron," Annabeth said, out of breath. "No," I said. She and Grover both stared at me. "Um," Grover said nervously, "what do you mean… no? I was still trying to figure out why I'd said that, but the words spilled out of me. "We can't let anyone know. “ (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 20)

I don't think Nico understands who he is. But we can't go telling anyone. Not even Chiron. If the Olympians find out—""It might start them fighting among each other again," Annabeth said. "That's the last thing we need." Grover looked worried. "But you can't hide things from the gods. Not forever." "I don't need forever," I said. "Just two years. Until I'm sixteen." Annabeth paled. "But, Percy, this means the prophecy might not be about you. It might be about Nico.We have to—" "No," I said. "I choose the prophecy. It will be about me." "Why are you saying that?" she cried. "You want to be responsible for the whole world?" It was the last thing I wanted, but I didn't say that. I knew I had to step up and claim it. "I can't let Nico be in any more danger," I said. "I owe that much to his sister. I… let them both down. I'm not going to let that poor kid suffer any more." "The poor kid who hates you and wants to see you dead," Grover reminded me. "Maybe we can find him," I said. "We can convince him it's okay, hide him someplace safe." Annabeth shivered. "If Luke gets hold of him—" "Luke won't," I said. "I'll make sure he's got other things to worry about. Namely, me." (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 20)

“So the Nico boy is gone now?” “I—I guess. I tried to search for him this spring. So did Annabeth. But we didn’t have any luck. This is secret, Tyson. Okay? If anyone found out he was a son of Hades, he would be in danger. You can’t even tell Chiron.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 2)

Tyson and I took our plates to the bronze brazier and scraped a portion of our food into the flames. I hoped the gods liked raisin toast and Froot Loops. “Poseidon,” I said. Then I whispered, “Help me with Nico, and Luke, and Grover’s problem…” There was so much to worry about I could’ve stood there all morning, but I headed back to the table. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 3)

Now, six months later, I hadn’t even come close to finding him. It left a bitter taste in my mouth. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 3)

“Nico,” I said. “He was summoning the dead again.” Tyson whimpered. “Ghosts were here. I don’t like ghosts.” “We’ve got to find him.” I don’t know why, but standing at the edge of that pit gave me a sense of urgency. Nico was close, I could feel it. I couldn’t let him wander around down here, alone except for the dead. I started to run. “Percy!” Annabeth called. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 8)

I turned to Annabeth. “Didn’t Hera say something about a ranch? We need to check it out. Nico might be there.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 8)

“You could have him clean the stables,” Eurytion suggested innocently. “I’ll do it!” I said. “If I fail, you get all of us. Trade us all to Luke for gold.” “Assuming the horses don’t eat you,” Geryon observed. “Either way, you get my friends,” I said. “But if I succeed, you’ve got to let all of us go, including Nico.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 8)

“What about the Titans?” I asked. “Did you Iris-message them about Nico yet?” “Nope. Geryon was waiting until after the barbecue. They don’t know about him.” Nico as glaring at me. I wasn’t sure what to do about him. I doubted he would agree to come with us. On the other hand, I couldn’t just let him roam around on his own. “You could stay here until we’re done with our quest,” I told him. “It would be safe.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 9)

“Percy has been worried about you, Nico.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 10)

“Nico, you could come with us,” I blurted out. I guess I was thinking about my dream, and how much the young boy Perdix reminded me of Nico. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 10)

Annabeth looked queasy, as if she’d slept even worse than me. “Bad dreams? I asked at last. She shook her head. “An Iris-message from Eurytion.” “Eurytion! Is something wrong with Nico?” “He left the ranch last night, heading back into the maze.” “Nico was gone before he woke up. Orthus tracked his scent as far as the cattle guard. Eurytion said he’d been hearing Nico talk to himself the last few nights. Only now he thinks Nico was talking with the ghost again, Minos.” “He’s in danger,” I said.

“No indeed,” Kelli said. “But we already have what we want from you, and we have other agreements to honor. Minos required something else from us, in order to turn over this fine young demigod.” She ran a finger under Nico’s chin. “He’ll be quite useful. And all Minos asked in return was your head, old man.” Daedalus paled. “Treachery.” “Get used to it,” Kelli said. “Nico,” I said. “Are you okay?”

“Thanks for coming after us,” I told him at last. Nico’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t seem as angry as he used to—just suspicious, careful. “I owed you for the ranch, Percy. Plus…I wanted to see Daedalus for myself. Minos was right, in a way. Daedalus should die. Nobody should be able to avoid death that long. It’s not natural.” “That’s what you were after all along,” I said. “Trading Daedalus’s soul for your sister’s.” Nico walked for another fifty yards before answering. “It hasn’t been easy, you know. Having only the dead for company. Knowing that I’ll never be accepted by the living. Only the dead respect me, and they only do that out of fear.” “You could be accepted,” I said. “You could have friends at camp.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 16)

“Nico…you, uh, kind of gave yourself away.” “What do you mean?” “That wall of black stone? That was pretty impressive. If Kronos didn’t know who you were before, he does now—a child of the Underworld.” Nico frowned. “Big deal.” I let it drop. I figured he was just trying to hide how scared he was, and I couldn’t blame him. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 17)

Before she could say more, Tyson called, “Percy, come quick! It is Nico!” There was smoke curling off his black clothes. His fingers were clenched, and the grass all around his body had turned yellow and died. I rolled him over as gently as I could and put my against his chest. His heart was beating faintly. “Get some nectar!” I yelled. One of the Ares campers hobbled over and handed me a canteen. I trickled some of the magic drink into Nico’s mouth. He coughed and spluttered, but his eyelids fluttered open. “Nico, what happened?” I asked. “Can you talk?” He nodded weakly. “Never tried to summon so many before. I—I’ll be fine.” We helped him sit up and gave him some more nectar. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 18)

The only thing that bothered me was Nico, hanging in the shadows at the edge of the pavilion. He’d been offered a place at the Hermes table, and even at the head table with Chiron, but he had refused. After dinner, the campers headed toward the amphitheater, where Apollo’s cabin promised an awesome sing-along to pick up our spirits, but Nico turned and disappeared into the woods. I decided I’d better follow him. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 19)

“We missed you at dinner,” I said. “You could��ve sat with me.” “No.” “Nico, you can’t miss every meal. If you don’t want to stay with Hermes, maybe they can make an exception and put you in the Big House. They’ve got plenty of rooms.” “I’m not staying, Percy.” “But…you can’t just leave. It’s too dangerous out there for a lone half-blood. You need to train.”

“When will you go?” I asked. “Right away. I’ve got tons of questions. Like who was my mother? Who paid for Bianca and me to go to school? Who was that lawyer guy who got us out of the Lotus Hotel? I know nothing about my past. I need to find out.” “Makes sense,” I admitted. “But I hope we don’t have to be enemies.” He lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry I was a brat. I should’ve listened to you about Bianca.” “By the way…” I fished something out of my pocket. “Tyson found this while we were cleaning the cabin. Thought you might want it.” I held out a lead figurine of Hades—the little Mythomagic statue Nico had abandoned when he fled camp last winter. Nico hesitated. “I don’t play that game anymore. It’s for kids.” “It’s got four thousand attack power,” I coaxed. “Five thousand,” Nico corrected. “But only if your opponent attacks first.” I smiled. “Maybe it’s okay to still be a kid once in a while.” I tossed him the statue. Nico studied it in his palm for a few seconds, then slipped it into his pocket. “Thanks.” I put out my hand. He shook reluctantly. His hand was as cold as ice. “I’ve got a lot of things to investigate,” he said. “Some of them…Well, if I learn anything useful, I’ll let you know.” I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I nodded. “Keep in touch, Nico (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 19)

“Our family is safe,” Hera insisted. “Those others are better gone, my dear. I am proud of you.” I balled my fists. I couldn’t believe she was saying this. “You’re the one who paid Geryon to let us through the ranch, weren’t you?” Hera shrugged. Her dress shimmered in rainbow colors. “I wanted to speed you on your way.” “But you didn’t care about Nico. You were happy to see him turned over to the Titans.” “Oh, please.” Hera waved her hand dismissively. “The son of Hades said it himself. No one wants him around. He does not belong.” “Hephaestus was right,” I growled. “You only care about your perfect family, not real people.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 20)

Nico tapped at his silver ring. “But that’s not the real reason I’ve come. I’ve found out some things. I want to make you an offer.” “What?” “The way to beat Luke,” he said. “If I’m right, it’s the only way you’ll stand a chance.” I took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m listening.” Nico glanced inside my room. His eyebrows furrowed. “Is that…is that blue birthday cake?” He sounded hungry, maybe a little wistful. I wondered if the poor kid had ever had a birthday party, or if he’d ever even been invited to one. “Come inside for some cake and ice cream,” I said. “It sounds like we’ve got a lot to talk about.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 20)

I glanced at Thalia. She didn’t seem too enthusiastic about the whole track-a-thief-with-a-flower-thing. Then I looked at Nico. Unfortunately, I recognized the expression on his face. I knew what it was like wanting to make your dad proud, even if your dad was hard to love. In this case, really hard to love. Nico was going to do this, with or without us. And I couldn’t let him go alone. (The Demigod Files: The Sword of Hades)

“Are you sure you want to stay here?” I asked. “Persephone will make your life miserable.” “I have to,” he insisted. “I have to get close to my dad. He needs a better adviser.” I couldn’t argue with that. “Well, if you need anything-“ “I’ll call,” he promised. (The Demigod Files: The Sword of Hades)

The scene shifted. Now I was outside the pavilion, hiding in the shadows of a Greek column. A boy stood next to me, eavesdropping on the Titans. He had dark silky hair, pale skin, and dark clothes—my friend Nico di Angelo, the son of Hades. (The Last Olympian)

And Hades—" "Are you calling me a minor god?" Hades bellowed. "No, my lord," I said quickly. "But your children should not be left out. They should have a cabin at camp. Nico has proven that. (The Last Olympian)

Rachel:

“I am senior empousa,” she growled. “No hero has bested me in a thousand years.” “Yeah?” I said. “Then you’re overdue!” Kelli was a lot faster than Tammi. She dodged my first strike and rolled into the brass section, knocking over a row of trombones with a mighty crash. Rachel scrambled out of the way. I put myself between her and the empousa. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 1)

Rachel didn’t respond right away. She’d become quieter since the arena. Now, whenever Annabeth made a sarcastic comment, Rachel hardly bothered to answer. She’d burned the tip of a stick in the fire and was using it to draw ash figures on the floor, images of the monsters we’d seen. With a few strokes, she caught the likeness of a dracaena perfectly. “We’ll follow the path,” she said. “The brightness on the floor.” “The brightness that led us straight into a trap?” Annabeth asked. “Lay off her, Annabeth,” I said. “She’s doing the best she can.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 15)

“The workshop is that way. The heart of the maze. We’re very close now. I don’t know why the path led through that arena. I—I’m sorry about that. I thought you were going to die.” She sounded like she was close to crying. “Hey, I’m usually about to die,” I promised. “Don’t feel bad.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 15)

I hauled myself up and helped Rachel to her feet. “You did good back there,” I told her. She managed a weak smile. “Yeah, well. I didn’t want you to die.” She blushed. “I mean…just because, you know. You owe me too many favors. How am I going to collect if you die?” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 17)

“Thanks, Rachel,” I said. “We couldn’t have done it without you.” “I wouldn’t have missed it. I mean, except for almost dying, and Pan…” Her voice faltered. “He said something about your father,” I remembered. “What did he mean?” Rachel twisted the strap on her backpack. “My dad…My dad’s job. He’s kind of a famous businessman.” “You mean…you’re rich?” “Well, yeah.” “So that’s how you got the chauffeur to help us? You just said your dad’s name and—” “Yes,” Rachel cut me off. “Percy…my dad’s a land developer. He flies all over the world, looking for tracts of undeveloped land.” She took a shaky breath. “The wild. He—he buys it up. I hate it, but he plows it down and builds ugly subdivisions and shopping centers. And now that I’ve seen Pan…Pan’s death—” “Hey, you can’t blame yourself for that.” “You don’t know the worst of it. I—I don’t like to talk about my family. I didn’t want you to know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” “No,” I said. “It’s cool. Look, Rachel, you did awesome. You led us through the maze. You were so brave. That’s the only thing I’m going to judge you on. I don’t care what your dad does.” Rachel looked at me gratefully. “Well…if you ever feel like hanging out with a mortal again…you could call me or something.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 18)

Rachel flung her arms around him, and her father seemed surprised, like she'd never hugged him before. "I'll make it up to you, Dad!" He smiled, but his expression was chilly. He studied her like he wasn't seeing his daughter—just the young lady he wanted her to be, once Clarion Academy got through with her. "Yes, Rachel," he agreed. "You most certainly will." The scene faded. I mumbled in my sleep: "Rachel, no!" (The Last Olympian, Chapter 12)

Medusa:

It was a little unsettling, having someone stare at me when I couldn’t see her face, but I was feeling satisfied after the burger, and a little sleepy, and I figured the least I could do was try to make small talk with our hostess. “So, you sell gnomes,” I said, trying to sound interested. (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 11)

Animals in the Zoo transport:

“This is kindness?” Grover yelled. “Humane zoo transport?” He probably would’ve gone right back outside to beat up the truckers with his reed pipes, and I would’ve helped him, but just then the trucks engine roared to life, the trailer started shaking, and we were forced to sit down or fall down. (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 16)

I found a water jug and refilled their bowls, then used Anaklusmos to drag the mismatched food out of their cages. I gave the meat to the lion and the turnips to the zebra and the antelope. Grover calmed the antelope down, while Annabeth used her knife to cut the balloon off his horn. She wanted to cut the gum out of the zebra’s mane, too, but we decided that would be too risky with the truck bumping around. We told Grover to promise the animals we’d help them more in the morning, then we settled in for night. (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 16)

“Now would be a good time to leave,” Annabeth said. “The other animals first,” Grover said. I cut the locks with my sword. Grover raised his hands and spoke the same goat-blessing he’d used for the zebra. “Good luck,” I told the animals. The antelope and the lion burst out of their cages and went off together into the streets. (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 16)

“Will the animals be okay?” I asked Grover. “I mean, the desert and all-“ “Don’t worry,” he said. “I placed a satyr’s sanctuary on them.” (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 16)

Cerberus

I wasn’t sure about that. I thought maybe Annabeth and I had both had the right idea. Even here in the Underworld, everybody-even monsters needed a little attention once in a while. I thought about that as we waited for the ghouls to pass. I pretended not to see Annabeth wipe a tear from her cheek as she listened to the mournful keening of Cerberus in the distance, longing for his new friend. (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 18)

Polyphemus island:

“If we take it away, will the island die?” Annabeth shook her head. “It’ll fade. Go back to what it would be normally, whatever that is.” I felt a little guilty about ruining this paradise, but I reminded myself we had no choice. Camp Half-Blood was in trouble. And Tyson … Tyson would still be with us if it wasn’t for this quest. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 14)

Widget, the sheep:

I dropped off my ride, patted Widget on the head, and apologized. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 14)

Polyphemus:

He began to sob. I had won. All I had to do was stab-one quick strike. “Kill him!” Clarisse yelled. “What are you waiting for?” The Cyclops sounded so heartbroken, just like … like Tyson. “He’s a Cyclops!” Grover warned. “Don’t trust him!” I knew he was right. I knew Annabeth would’ve said the same thing. But Polyphemus sobbed … and for the first time it sank in that he was a son of Poseidon, too. Like Tyson. Like me. How could I just kill him in cold blood? “We only want the Fleece,” I told the monster. “Will you agree to let us take it?” “No!” Clarisse shouted. “Kill him!” (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 15)

Polyphemus yowled in pain. Tyson tackled him, pulling him down. I landed next to them-sword in hand, within striking distance of the monster’s heart. But I locked eyes with Tyson, and I knew I couldn’t do it. It just wasn’t right. “Let him go,” I told Tyson. “Run.” With one last mighty effort, Tyson pushed the cursing older Cyclops away, and we ran for the surf (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 16)

Athena cabin

Annabeth and I agreed that if we won, the prize of no chores for the rest of the month would be split between our two cabins. Since Athena had more campers, they would get most of the time off, which was fine by me.. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 19)

Chiron

I knew it had been difficult for Chiron to tell me. I didn’t want to push him with more questions. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 19)

Thalia:

I was too freaked out to make sense of it all. I leaped off Chiron’s back and ran toward the unconscious girl. Chiron said: “Percy, wait!” I knelt by her side. She had short black hair and freckles across her nose. She was built like a long-distance runner, lithe and strong, and she wore clothes that were somewhere between punk and Goth-a black T-shirt, black tattered jeans, and a leather jacket with buttons from a bunch of bands I’d never heard of. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 20)

Nobody else came close to the girl. I put my hand on her forehead. Her skin was cold, but my fingertips tingled as if they were burning. “She needs nectar and ambrosia,” I said. She was clearly a half-blood, whether she was a camper or not. I could sense that just from one touch. I didn’t understand why everyone was acting so scared. I took her by the shoulders and lifted her into sitting position, resting her head on my shoulder. “Come on!” I yelled to the others. “What’s wrong with you people? Let’s get her to the Big House.” No one moved, not even Chiron. They were all too stunned. Then the girl took a shaky breath. She coughed and opened her eyes. Her irises were startlingly blue-electric blue. The girl stared at me in bewilderment, shivering and wild-eyed. “Who-“ “I’m Percy,” I said. “You’re safe now.” “Strangest dream …” “It’s okay.” “Dying.” “No,” I assured her. “You’re okay. What’s your name? (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 20)

"Percy, everything is unfair," Thalia muttered. "Sometimes I wish…" She didn't finish, but her tone was so sad I felt sorry for her. With her ragged black hair and her black punk clothes, an old wool overcoat wrapped around her, she looked like some kind of huge raven, completely out of place in the white landscape. "We'll get Annabeth back," I promised. "I just don't know how yet." "First I found out that Luke is lost," she said. "Now Annabeth—" "Don't think like that." "You're right." She straightened up. "We'll find a way." (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 5)

"There's a path," Grover said. "We could get to the river." I tried to see what he was talking about, and finally noticed a tiny ledge winding down the cliff face. "That's a goat path," I said. "So?" he asked. "The rest of us aren't goats." "We can make it," Grover said. "I think." I thought about that. I'd done cliffs before, but I didn't like them. Then I looked over at Thalia and saw how pale she'd gotten. Her problem with heights… she'd never be able to do it. "No," I said. "I, uh, think we should go farther upstream." Grover said, "But—" "Come on," I said. "A walk won't hurt us." I glanced at Thalia. Her eyes said a quick Thank you. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 14)

Thalia pulled me aside as we were getting the oars. "Thanks for back there." "Don't mention it." "Can you really…" She nodded to the rapids. "You know." "I think so. Usually I'm good with water." "Would you take Zoe?" she asked. "I think, ah, maybe you can talk to her." "She's not going to like that." "Please? I don't know if I can stand being in the same boat with her. She's… she's starting to worry me." It was about the last thing I wanted to do, but I nodded. Thalia's shoulders relaxed. "I owe you one." "Two." "One and a half," Thalia said. She smiled, and for a second, I remembered that I actually liked her when she wasn't yelling at me. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 14)

Thalia kept her eyes closed the whole way. She muttered to herself a lot, like she was praying. "You did good back there," I told her. "Zeus listened." It was hard to tell what she was thinking with her eyes closed. "Maybe," she said. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 15)

"Excellent," he said. He glanced at the apparition in the mist and snorted. "Alone, without any real help. Wonderful." "You could ask for help," Mr. D murmured to me, as if this were an amusing thought. "You could say please." When wild boars fly, I thought. There was no way I was going to die begging a slob like Mr. D, just so he could laugh as we all got gunned down (…) Zoe readied her arrows. Grover lifted his pipes. Thalia raised her shield, and I noticed a tear running down her cheek. Suddenly it occurred to me: this had happened to her before. She had been cornered on Half-Blood Hill. She'd willingly given her life for her friends. But this time, she couldn't save us. How could I let that happen to her? "Please, Mr. D," I muttered. "Help." (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 15)

"Wait, Thalia. About what happened back on the pier… I mean, with the manticore and the sacrifice—" "I don't want to talk about it." "You wouldn't actually have… you know?" She hesitated. "I was just shocked. That's all." "Zeus didn't send that lighting bolt at the car. It was Kronos. He's trying to manipulate you, make you angry at your dad." She took a deep breath. "Percy, I know you're trying to make me feel better. Thanks. But come on. We need to go." (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 16)

Bianca

"As I was saying, I will take Phoebe. And I wish Bianca to go." Bianca looked stunned. "Me? But… I'm so new. I wouldn't be any good." "You will do fine," Zoe insisted. "There is no better way to prove thyself." Bianca closed her mouth. I felt kind of sorry for her. I remembered my first quest when I was twelve. I had felt totally unprepared. A little honored, maybe, but a lot resentful and plenty scared. I figured the same things were running around in Bianca's head right now. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 7)

"So… how do you like being a Hunter so far?" I asked. She pursed her lips. "You're not still mad at me for joining, are you?" "Nah. Long as, you know… you're happy." (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 12)

Nico didn't understand my decision," Bianca murmured. She looked at me like she wanted assurance it was okay. "He'll be all right," I said. "Camp Half-Blood takes in a lot of young kids. They did that for Annabeth." (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 12)

"So you've been raising Nico pretty much all your life?" I asked. "Just the two of you?" She nodded. "That's why I wanted to join the Hunters so bad. I mean, I know it's selfish, but I wanted my own life and friends. I love Nico—don't get me wrong—I just needed to find out what it would be like not to be a big sister twenty-four hours a day." I thought about last summer, the way I'd felt when I found out I had a Cyclops for a baby brother. I could relate to what Bianca was saying. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 12)

Bessie, the ophiotaurus

I uncapped Riptide, and the sword grew to full length in my hands, its bronze blade gleaming in the dark. The cow serpent freaked out and started struggling against the net, its eyes full of terror. "Whoa!" I said. "I'm not going to hurt you! Just let me cut the net." But the cow serpent thrashed around and got even more tangled. The boat started to tilt, stirring up the muck on the sea bottom and threatening to topple onto the cow serpent. The hippocampi whinnied in a panic and thrashed in the water, which didn't help. "Okay, okay!" I said. I put away the sword and started speaking as calmly as I could so the hippocampi and the cow serpent would stop panicking. I didn't know if it was possible to get stampeded underwater, but I didn't really want to find out. "It's cool. No sword. See? No sword. Calm thoughts. Sea grass. Mama cows. Vegetarianism." I doubted the cow serpent understood what I was saying, but it responded to the tone of my voice. The hippocampi were still skittish, but they stopped swirling around me quite so fast. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 8)

It took forever—I mean, it was worse than the time I'd had to untangle all my video game controller wires. The whole time, I kept talking to the cow fish, telling her everything was okay while she mooed and moaned. "It's okay, Bessie," I said. Don't ask me why I started calling her that. It just seemed like a good cow name. "Good cow. Nice cow." Finally, the net came off and the cow serpent zipped through the water and did a happy somersault. The hippocampi whinnied with joy. Thank you, lord! "Moooo!"The cow serpent nuzzled me and gave me the big brown eyes. "Yeah," I said. "That's okay. Nice cow. Well… stay out of trouble." (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 8)

“This is the beast we are looking for." "Bessie?" I looked down at the bull serpent. "But… he's too cute. He couldn't destroy the world." "That is how we were wrong," Zoe said. "We've been anticipating a huge dangerous monster, but the Ophiotaurus does not bring down the gods that way. He must be sacrificed." "MMMM," Bessie lowed. "I don't think he likes the S-word," Grover said. I patted Bessie on the head, trying to calm him down. He let me scratch his ear, but he was trembling. "How could anyone hurt him?" I said. "He's harmless." (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 15)

"We have to protect him," I told her. "If Luke gets hold of him—" "Luke wouldn't hesitate," Thalia muttered. "The power to overthrow Olympus. That's… that's huge." (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 15)

"Well," Zeus grumbled. "Perhaps. But the monster at least must be destroyed. We have agreement on that?" A lot of nodding heads. It took me a second to realize what they were saying. Then my heart turned to lead. "Bessie? You want to destroy Bessie?" "Mooooooo!" Bessie protested. My father frowned. "You have named the Ophiotaurus Bessie?" "Dad," I said, "he's just a sea creature. A really nice sea creature. You can't destroy him (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 19)

Now for the Ophiotaurus," Artemis said. "This boy is still dangerous," Dionysus warned. "The beast is a temptation to great power. Even if we spare the boy—" "No." I looked around at all the gods. "Please. Keep the Ophiotaurus safe. My dad can hide him under the sea somewhere, or keep him in an aquarium here in Olympus. But you have to protect him." "And why should we trust you?" rumbled Hephaestus. "I'm only fourteen," I said. "If this prophecy is about me, that's two more years."

Zoe:

The snake lady released the scarf and it fluttered down toward the General's hand. As soon as he gave it to the warriors, they would hunt Zoe and the others until they were extinct. I didn't have time to think. I ran and jumped with all my might, plowing into the warriors and snatching the scarf out of the air. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 9)

Take it," Zoe told me. I stared at her. "What, the lion's fur? Isn't that, like, an animal rights violation or something?" "It is a spoil of war," she told me. "It is rightly thine." "You killed it," I said. She shook her head, almost smiling. "I think thy ice-cream sandwich did that. Fair is fair, Percy Jackson. Take the fur." (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 10)

"The security guards are not our biggest worry," Zoe said. "Look." Through the glass walls of the museum, I could see a group of men walking across the lawn. Gray men in gray camouflage outfits. They were too far away for us to see their eyes, but I could feel their gaze aimed straight at me. "Go," I said. "They'll be hunting me. I'll distract them." (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 10)

"What happened to Bianca wasn't your fault," I told her. "It was my fault. I let her go." I figured this would give Zoe an excuse to start yelling at me. At least that might shake her out of feeling depressed. Instead, her shoulders slumped. "No, Percy. I pushed her into going on the quest. I was too anxious. She was a powerful half-blood. She had a kind heart, as well. I… I thought she would be the next lieutenant." "But you're the lieutenant." She gripped the strap of her quiver. She looked more tired than I'd ever seen her. "Nothing can last forever, Percy. Over two thousand years I have led the Hunt, and my wisdom has not improved. Now Artemis herself is in danger." "Look, you can't blame yourself for that." "If I had insisted on going with her—" "You think you could've fought something powerful enough to kidnap Artemis? There's nothing you could have done." Zoe didn't answer. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 14)

"Percy," Grover said. "Are you sure? That lion skin… that's really helpful. Hercules used it!" As soon as he said that, I realized something. I glanced at Zoe, who was watching me carefully. I realized I did know who Zoe's hero had been—the one who'd ruined her life, gotten her kicked out of her family, and never even mentioned how she'd helped him: Hercules, a hero I'd admired all my life. "If I'm going to survive," I said, "it won't be because I've got a lion-skin cloak. I'm not Hercules." I threw the coat into the bay. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 16)

Blackjack:

As we got closer to Washington, Blackjack started slowing down and dropping altitude. He was breathing heavily. "You okay?" I asked him. Fine, boss. I could… I could take on an army. "You don't sound so good." And suddenly I felt guilty, because I'd been running the pegasus for half a day, nonstop, trying to keep up with highway traffic. Even for a flying horse, that had to be rough. Don't worry about me, boss! I'm a tough one. I figured he was right, but I also figured Blackjack would run himself into the ground before he complained, and I didn't want that. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 9)

I looked at Blackjack. "I want you to go back to camp. Get some rest. Graze. I'll be fine." Blackjack cocked his head skeptically. You sure, boss? "You've done enough already," I said. "I'll be fine. And thanks a ton." A ton of hay, maybe, Blackjack mused. That sounds good. All . right, but be careful, boss. I got a feeling they didn't come here to meet anything friendly and handsome like me. I promised to be careful. Then Blackjack took off, circling twice around the monument before disappearing into the clouds. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 9)

Ordinary people & unnamed characters

Ares handed her a few gold drachmas. She looked nervously at the coins. “But, these aren’t…” Ares pulled out his huge knife and started cleaning his fingernails. “Problem, sweetheart?” The waitress swallowed, then left with the gold. “You can’t do that,” I told Ares. “You can’t just threaten people with a knife.” (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 15)

The clerk looked so lonely, I bought a rubber rat. Then we headed back outside and stood on the porch. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 12)

On the shore was a canoe rental operation that was closed for the season, but I left a stack of golden drachmas on the counter and a note saying IOU two canoes. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 14)

"Thalia's right," I said. "We need a car. But there's nobody to help us here. Unless we, uh, borrowed one." I didn't like that option. I mean, sure this was a life-or-death situation, but still, it was stealing, and it was bound to get us noticed. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 16)

Finally we found an unconscious courier leaning against a brick wall, still straddling his red Vespa. We dragged him off the scooter and laid him on the sidewalk. "Sorry, dude," I said. With any luck, I'd be able to bring his scooter back. If I didn't, it would hardly matter, because the city would be destroyed. I drove with Annabeth behind me holding on to my waist. We zigzagged down Broadway with our engine buzzing through the eerie calm. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 10)

I scrambled away, breathing heavily. The satyr who’d gotten trampled wasn’t moving. I rushed over to check on him, but then I heard Grover’s voice: “Percy!” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 18)

Chris rodriguez

Clarisse brought him back to her mom’s house so the mortals wouldn’t institutionalize him. She tried to nurse him back to health. Chiron came out and interviewed him, but it wasn’t much good. The only thing they got out of him: Luke’s men have been exploring the Labyrinth.” I shivered, though I wasn’t exactly sure why. Poor Chris…he hadn’t been a bad guy. What could’ve driven him mad? (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 3)

Naiad at the range

“Oh, save it, sea boy. You ocean-god types always think you’re soooo much more important than some little river, don’t you? well let me tell you, this naiad is not going to be pushed around just because your daddy is Poseidon. This is freshwater territory, mister. The last guy who asked me this favor—oh, he was way better-looking than you, by the way—he convinced me, and that was the worst mistake I’ve ever made! Do you have any idea what all that horse manure does to my ecosystem? Do I look like a sewage treatment plant to you? My fish will die. I’ll never get the much out of my plants. I’ll be sick for years. NO THANK YOU!” The way she talked reminded me of my mortal friend, Rachel Elizabeth Dare—kind of like she was punching me with words. I couldn’t blame the naiad. Now that I thought about it, I’d be pretty mad if somebody dumped four million pounds of manure in my home. But still…” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 9)

“My friends are in danger,” I told her. “Well, that’s too bad! But it’s not my problem. And you’re not going to ruin my river.” She looked like she was ready for a fight. Her fists were balled, but I thought I heard a little quiver in her voice. Suddenly I realized that despite her angry attitude, she was afraid of me. She probably thought I was going to fight her for control of the river, and she was worried she would lose. The thought made me sad. I felt like a bully, a son of Poseidon throwing his weight around. I sat down on a tree stump. “Okay, you win.” The naiad looked surprised. “Really?” “I’m not going to fight you. It’s your river.” She relaxed her shoulders. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 9)

Calypso:

Still,” I said hesitantly, “it’s not fair to punish you for what your father’s done. I knew another daughter of Atlas. Her name was Zoë. She was one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 12)

“There it is again,” I said. “What?” “You keep pulling away, like you’re trying not to enjoy yourself.” She kept her eyes on her glass of cider. “As I told you, Percy, I have been punished. Cursed, you might say.” “How? Tell me. I want to help.” “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.” “Tell me what the punishment is.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 12)

Then I patted my shirt pocket and felt a small lump. I hadn’t even realized it, but I was wearing the white cotton shirt Calypso had given me on Ogygia. I brought out a little piece of cloth, unwrapped it, and found the clipping of moon lace. It was a tiny sprig, shriveled up after two months, but I could still smell the faint scent of the enchanted garden. It made me sad. I remembered Calypso’s last request of me: Plant a garden in Manhattan for me, will you? I opened the window and stepped onto the fire escape. My mom kept a planter box out there. In the spring she usually filled it with flowers, but now it was all dirt, waiting for something new. It was a clear night. The moon was full over Eighty-second Street. I planted the dried sprig of moonlace carefully in the dirt and sprinkled a little nectar on it from my camp canteen. Nothing happened at first. Then, as I watched, a tiny silver plant sprang out of the soil—a baby moonlace, growing in the warm summer night. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 20)

Behind her at the kitchen window, silvery moon lace glowed in the flower box. I'd brought the magical plant back from Calypso's island last summer, and it bloomed like crazy under my mother's care. The scent always calmed me down, but it also made me sad because it reminded me of lost friends. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 6)

"And the minor gods," I said. "Nemesis, Hecate, Morpheus, Janus, Hebe —they all deserve a general amnesty and a place at Camp Half-Blood. Their children shouldn't be ignored. Calypso and the other peaceful Titan-kind should be pardoned too. (The Last Olympian)

Mrs. O’leary

Before dinner I stopped by the sword arena. Sure enough, Mrs. O’Leary was curled up in an enormous black furry mound in the middle of the stadium, chewing half-heartedly on the head of a warrior dummy. When she saw me, she barked and came bounding toward me. I thought I was dead meat. I just had time to say, “Whoa!” before she bowled me over and started licking my face. Now usually, being the son of Poseidon and all, I only get wet if I want to, but my powers apparently did not extend to dog saliva, because I got a pretty good bath. “Whoa, girl!” I yelled. “Can’t breathe. Lemme up!” Eventually I managed to get her off me. I scratched her ears and found her an extra-gigantic dog biscuit. “Where’s your master?” I asked. Her. “How could he just leave you, huh?” She whimpered like she wanted to know that, too. I was ready to believe Quintus was an enemy, but still I couldn’t understand why he’d leave Mrs. O’Leary behind. If there was one thing I was sure of, it was that he really cared for his megadog. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 13)

The next morning I made sure Mrs. O’Leary had enough dog biscuits. I asked Beckendorf to keep an eye on her, which he didn’t seem too happy about. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 13)

Then I realized something else: Mrs. O’Leary was gone. I didn’t know when she’d disappeared. I didn’t know of she’d gotten lost or been overrun by monsters or what. My heart turned to lead. She’d saved our lives, and I hadn’t even waited to make sure she was following us. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 15)

Then he turned toward me. “One last favor, Percy Jackson. I cannot leave Mrs. O’Leary alone. And she has no desire to return to the Underworld. Will you care for her?” I looked at the massive black hound, who whimpered pitifully, still licking Daedalus’s hair. I was thinking that my mom’s apartment wouldn’t allow dogs, especially dogs bigger than the apartment, but I said, “Yeah. Of course I will.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 18)

Silena

Only Silena Beauregard didn't pay any attention. She sat beside Clarisse and stared vacantly at the Ping-Pong net. Her eyes were red and puffy. A cup of hot chocolate sat untouched in front of her. It seemed unfair that she had to be here. I couldn't believe Clarisse and Michael standing over her, arguing about something as stupid as loot, when she'd just lost Beckendorf. "STOP IT!" I yelled. "What are you guys doing?" (The Last Olympian, Chapter 3)

Finally I got up the nerve to walk over. "Hey, Silena, I'm really sorry." She sniffled. Clarisse glared at me, but she always glares at everyone. Chris would barely look at me. He'd been one of Luke's men until Clarisse rescued him from the Labyrinth last summer, and I guess he still felt guilty about it. I cleared my throat. "Silena, you know Beckendorf carried your picture. He looked at it right before we went into battle. You meant a lot to him. You made the last year the best of his life." Silena sobbed. "Good work, Percy," Clarisse muttered. "No, it's all right," Silena said. "Thank . . . thank you, Percy. I should go." (The Last Olympian, Chapter 4)

Silena pressed a cool cloth to Annabeth's forehead. "This is all my fault." "No," Annabeth said weakly. "Silena, how is it your fault?" "I've never been any good at camp," she murmured. "Not like you or Percy. If I was a better fighter . . ." Her mouth trembled. Ever since Beckendorf died she'd been getting worse, and every time I looked at her, it made me angry about his death all over again. Her expression reminded me of glass—like she might break any minute. I swore to myself that if I ever found the spy who'd cost her boyfriend his life, I would give him to Mrs. O'Leary as a chew toy. "You're a great camper," I told Silena. "You're the best pegasus rider we have. And you get along with people. Believe me, anyone who can make friends with Clarisse has talent." (The Last Olympian, Chapter 12)

She stared at me like I'd just given her an idea. "That's it! We need the Ares cabin. I can talk to Clarisse. I know I can convince her to help us." "Whoa, Silena. Even if you could get off the island, Clarisse is pretty stubborn. Once she gets angry—" "Please," Silena said. "I can take a pegasus. I know I can make it back to camp. Let me try." I exchanged looks with Annabeth. She nodded slightly. I didn't like the idea. I didn't think Silena stood a chance of convincing Clarisse to fight. On the other hand, Silena was so distracted right now that she would just get herself hurt in battle. Maybe sending her back to camp would give her something else to focus on. "All right," I told her. "I can't think of anybody better to try." Silena threw her arms around me. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 12)

Connor and Travis Stoll met us by the elevators. "Is it true?" Connor asked. "About Silena?" I nodded. "She died a hero." Travis shifted uncomfortably. "Um, I also heard—" "That's it," I insisted. "End of story." (The Last Olympian, Chapter 17)

May Castellan

Suddenly Ms. Castellan collapsed. I lurched forward and caught her before she could hit the edge of the table. I managed to get her into a chair. "Ms. C?" I asked. She muttered something incomprehensible and shook her head. "Goodness. I . . . I dropped the cookies. How silly of me." She blinked, and her eyes were back to normal—or at least, what they had been before. The green glow was gone. "Are you okay?" I asked. "Well, of course, dear. I'm fine. Why do you ask?" (The Last Olympian, Chapter 6)

"But you can't leave!" Ms. Castellan got shakily to her feet, and I backed away. I felt silly being scared of a frail old woman, but the way her voice had changed, the way she'd grabbed Nico . . . "Hermes will be here soon," she promised. "He'll want to see his boy!" "Maybe next time," I said. "Thank you for—" I looked down at the burned cookies scattered on the floor. "Thanks for everything." She tried to stop us, to offer us Kool-Aid, but I had to get out of that house. On the front porch, she grabbed my wrist and I almost jumped out of my skin. "Luke, at least be safe. Promise me you'll be safe." "I will . . . Mom." That made her smile. She released my wrist, and as she closed the front door I could hear her talking to the candles: "You hear that? He will be safe. I told you he would be!" (The Last Olympian, Chapter 6)

"I can't just . . ." I could tell I'd have to push her harder if I wanted her to agree, but I didn't want to. I remembered poor Ms. Castellan in her kitchen, waiting for her son to come home. And I realized how lucky I was. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 6)

I wanted to yell at May Castellan to stop. I knew what was about to happen. I finally understood how her life had been destroyed. But I couldn’t move or speak. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 14)

They hadn't realized that by trying to take the job, May would be driven mad, plagued with fits in which her eyes would glow green and she would have shattered glimpses of her child's future. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 14)

“Friends”

(This is just generally, when Percy describes a group of people as his friends. This can be either specific people or the entirety of camp halfblood)

"Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to you?" Purple flames flickered in his eyes. "You're a hero, boy. I need no other reason." "I have to go on this quest! I've got to help my friends. That's something you wouldn't understand!" (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 9)

"Hey!" I yelled. I don't know what I was thinking, but I charged the beast. I just wanted to get it away from my friends. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 10)

I needed time to think. I had to save Bessie. I could dive into the sea, but how could I make a quick getaway with a five-hundred-pound cow serpent? And what about my friends? (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 15)

“You would be immortal on this island,” she said quietly. “You would never age or die. You could leave the fight to others, Percy Jackson. You could escape your prophecy.” I stared at her, stunned. “Just like that?” She nodded. “Just like that.” “But…my friends.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 12)

I could live with Calypso, with invisible servants tending to my every need. We could grow flowers in the garden and talk to songbirds and walk on the beach under perfect blue skies. No war. No prophecy. No more taking sides. “I can’t,” I told her. She looked down sadly. “I would never do anything to hurt you,” I said, “but my friends need me. I know how to help them now. I have to get back.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 12)

. A few dracaenae threw flaming javelins at me. I knocked them aside. A hellhound lunged, and I sidestepped. I could have stabbed it, but I hesitated. This is not Mrs. O'Leary, I reminded myself. This is an untamed monster. It will kill me and all my friends. It pounced again. This time I brought Riptide up in a deadly arc. The hellhound disintegrated into dust and fur. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 11)

"But what can we do?" Grover asked. "Frisk every demigod until we find a scythe charm?" They all looked at me, waiting for a decision. I couldn't afford to show how panicked I felt, even if things seemed hopeless. "We keep fighting," I said. "We can't obsess about this spy. If we're suspicious of each other, we'll just tear ourselves apart. You guys were awesome last night. I couldn't ask for a braver army. Let's set up a rotation for the watches. Rest up while you can. We've got a long night ahead of us." (The Last Olympian, Chapter 12)

Now I’ve got to tell you, I’ve met a lot of godlings and monsters I didn’t like, but Phobos took the prize. I don’t like bullies. I’d never been in the “A” crowd at school, so I’d spent most of my life standing up to punks who tried to frighten me and my friends. The way Phobos laughed at me and made Clarisse collapse just by looking at her… I wanted to teach this guy a lesson. I helped Clarisse up. Her face was still beaded with sweat. “Now are you ready for help?” I asked. (The Demigod Files: The Stolen Chariot)

Ethan:

I put the tip of my sword on his chest. “Get it over with,” Ethan groaned. I looked up at Antaeus. His red face was stony with displeasure, but he held up his hand and put it thumbs down. “Forget it.” I sheathed my sword. “Don’t be a fool,” Ethan groaned. “They’ll just kill us both.” I offered him my hand. Reluctantly, he took it. I helped him up (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 14)

I looked at Ethan. “When you see your chance, run.” Then I turned back to Antaeus. “Why don’t you fight me yourself? If you��ve got Dad’s favor, come down here and prove it!” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 14)

Ethan struggled to his feet. “I’m not going to argue with you. Thanks for the help, but I’m out of here.” “We’re going after Daedalus,” I said. “Come with us. Once we get through, you’d be welcome back at camp.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 15)

I grabbed his arm. “You’re just going to head off alone into the maze? That’s suicide.” He looked at me with barely controlled anger. His eye patch was frayed around the edges and the black cloth was faded, like he’d been wearing it a long, long time. “You shouldn’t have spared me, Jackson. Mercy has no place in this war.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 15)

Ethan ran, straight into the cave of Melinoe. Thalia took aim at his back, but I said, “No. Let him go.” She frowned but lowered her bow. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to spare Ethan. I guess we’d had enough fighting for a day, and in truth, I felt sorry for the kid. He would be in enough trouble when he reported back to Kronos. (The Demigod Files: The Sword of Hades)

"You said your mom is the goddess of balance," I reminded him. "The minor gods deserve better, Ethan, but total destruction isn't balance. Kronos doesn't build. He only destroys." Ethan looked at the sizzling throne of Hephaestus. Grover's music kept playing, and Ethan swayed to it, as if the song were filling him with nostalgia —a wish to see a beautiful day, to be anywhere but here. His good eye blinked. Then he charged . . . but not at me. While Kronos was still on his knees, Ethan brought down his sword on the Titan lord's neck. It should have killed him instantly, but the blade shattered. Ethan fell back, grasping his stomach. A shard of his own blade had ricocheted and pierced his armor. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 19)

. I could have power and eternal life. Who could refuse that? Then I looked at Annabeth again. I thought about my friends from camp: Charles Beckendorf, Michael Yew, Silena Beauregard, so many others who were now dead. I thought about Ethan Nakamura and Luke. And I knew what to do. "No," I said. (…) . "From now on, I want to you properly recognize the children of the gods," I said. "All the children . . . of all the gods." (The Last Olympian)

Even Ethan Nakamura was given a shroud—black silk with a logo of swords crossed under a set of scales. As his shroud went up in flames, I hoped Ethan knew he had made a difference in the end. He'd paid a lot more than an eye, but the minor gods would finally get the respect they deserved. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 22)

Daedalus:

Quintus seemed nice. So concerned. And Mrs. O’Leary liked him, which had to count for something. She dropped the slimy shield at my feet and barked excitedly. I felt ashamed that I could even think about mistrusting Quintus. But then again, I’d trusted Luke onceBattle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 4)

I thought about Grover and Tyson, still down there somewhere. And Daedalus…even though he’d done some terrible things and put everybody I cared about at risk, it seemed like a pretty horrible way to die. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 16)

Luke:

They were staring at Luke's broken form on the rocks. Despite how much I hated him, I couldn't stand to see it. I wanted to believe he was still alive, but that was impossible. The fall was fifty feet at least, and he wasn't moving. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 17)

The water revitalized me, breaking the time spell, and I lunged forward. I struck at Kronos, but I was still too slow. I made the mistake of looking at his face—Luke's face—a guy who was once my friend. As much as I hated him, it was hard to kill him. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 1)

Luke was so kind," Ms. Castellan murmured. "He left to protect me, you know. He said if he went away, the monsters wouldn't threaten me. But I told him the monsters are no threat! They sit outside on the sidewalk all day, and they never come in." She picked up the little stuffed Medusa from the windowsill. "Do they, Mrs. Medusa? No, no threat at all." She beamed at me. "I'm so glad you came home. I knew you weren't ashamed of me!" I shifted in my seat. I imagined being Luke sitting at this table, eight or nine years old, and just beginning to realize that my mother wasn't all there. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 6)

And Hermes . . . why had he abandoned Luke? Why hadn't he at least warned Luke, or tried to raise him better so he wouldn't turn evil? Maybe Prometheus was toying with my mind. But what if he's right? part of me wondered. How are the gods any better than the Titans? (The Last Olympian, Chapter 13)

Thalia frowned. "You can't be sure of that. Remember Prometheus was manipulating what you saw, Percy, showing you what happened in the worst possible light. Hermes did love Luke. I could tell just by looking at his face. And Hermes was there that night because he was checking up on May, taking care of her. He wasn't all bad." "It's still not right," I insisted. "Luke was just a little kid. Hermes never helped him, never stopped him from running away." (The Last Olympian, Chapter 14)

Another cough. He gripped my sleeve, and I could feel the heat of his skin like a fire. "Ethan. Me. All the unclaimed. Don't let it . . . Don't let it happen again." His eyes were angry, but pleading too. "I won't," I said. "I promise." Luke nodded, and his hand went slack. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 19)

I turned and faced the Olympians. "We need a shroud," I announced, my voice cracking. "A shroud for the son of Hermes." (The Last Olympian, Chapter 19)

Pollux:

I found Dionysus's son Pollux propped up against a tree. He had a broken arm, but otherwise he was okay. "I can still fight with the other hand," he said, gritting his teeth. "No," I said. "You've done enough. I want you to stay here and help with the wounded." "But—" "Promise me to stay safe," I said. "Okay? Personal favor." He frowned uncertainly. It wasn't like we were good friends or anything, but I wasn't going to tell him it was a request from his dad. That would just embarrass him. Finally he promised, and when he sat back down, I could tell he was kind of relieved. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 17)

The flying monster sow:

The massive pink pork monster landed with a thud, cracking the sidewalk. The lions stared at it, not believing their luck, and pounced. At the same time, a very beat-up Hermes statue leaped onto the pig's head and started banging it mercilessly with a caduceus. Those lions had some nasty claws. I drew Riptide, but there wasn't much for me to do. The pig disintegrated before my eyes. I almost felt sorry for it. I hoped it got to meet the boar of its dreams down in Tartarus. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 14)

Briares:

“What exactly do you mean, they faded?” I asked. “I thought monsters were immortal, like the gods.” “Percy,” Grover said weakly, “even immortality has limits. Sometimes…sometimes monsters get forgotten and they lose their will to stay immortal.” Looking at Grover’s face, I wondered if he was thinking of Pan. I remembered something Medusa had told us once: how her sisters, the other two gorgons, had passed on and left her alone. Then last year Apollo said something about the old god Helios disappearing and leaving him with the duties of the sun god. I’d never thought about it too much, but now, looking at Briares, I realized how terrible it would be to be so old—thousands and thousands of years old—and totally alone. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 8)

Animals at the range:

“Maybe you can change things,” I said. Eurytion narrowed his eyes. “How?” “Be nice to the animals. Take care of them. Stop selling them for food. And stop dealing with the Titans.” Eurytion thought about that. “That’d be all right.” “Get the animals on your side, and they’ll help you. Once Geryon gets back, maybe he’ll be working for you this time.” Eurytion grinned. “Now, that I could live with.” “You won’t try to stop us leaving?” “Shoot, no.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 9)

Beckendorf:

Beckendorf pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. I thought it was a map or something. Then I realized it was a photograph. He stared at it in the dim light—the smiling face of Silena Beauregard, daughter of Aphrodite. They'd started going out last summer, after years of the rest of us saying, "Duh, you guys like each other!" Even with all the dangerous missions, Beckendorf had been happier this summer than I'd ever seen him. "We'll make it back to camp," I promised. For a second I saw worry in his eyes. Then he put on his old confident smile. "You bet," he said. "Let's go blow Kronos back into a million pieces." (The Last Olympian, Chapter 1)

Now, moving on towards the "he doesn't actually care about his own kind comment":

Demigods:

I had brought this storm to Half-Blood Hill. Zeus was punishing the whole camp because of me. I was furious. (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 9)

I couldn’t stand the idea that something might be wrong at camp. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 2)

“Why?” I asked. “I want to do something! I can’t just let the borders fail. The whole camp will be-“ “Overrun by monsters,” Chiron said. “Yes, I fear so. But you must not let yourself be baited into hasty action! This could be a trap of the titan lord. Remember last summer! He almost took your life.” It was true, but still, I wanted to help so badly. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 5)

I looked at my friends. This wasn't good. I needed to find Artemis, and I needed to figure out what the doomsday creature was. I also needed to know if Annabeth was still alive, and how to rescue her. How could I ask that all in one question? A voice inside me was screaming Ask about Annabeth! That's what I cared about most. But then I imagined what Annabeth might say. She would never forgive me if I saved her and didn't save Olympus. Zoe would want me to ask about Artemis, but Chiron had told us the monster was even more important. I sighed. "All right, Nereus. Tell me where to find this terrible monster that could bring an end to the gods. The one Artemis was hunting." (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 15)

I ran toward the fortress, my pulse pounding in my ears. I didn’t want to get anywhere close to that horrible black mausoleum, but I knew what I had to do. I had to stop Kronos from rising. This might be my only chance. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 16)

A forest fire had started. Flames roared within ten feet of Juniper’s tree, and Juniper and Grover were going nuts trying to save it. Grover played a rain song on his pipes. Juniper desperately tried to beat out the flames with her green shawl, but it was only making things worse. I ran toward them, jumping past duels, weaving between the legs of giants. The nearest water was the creek, half a mile away…but I had to do something. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 18)

I raised my own sword, determined to face him, but then phobos’s eyes glowed brighter, and I made the mistake of looking into them. Suddenly I was in a different place. I was at Camp Half-blood, my favourite place in the world, and it was in flames. The woods were on fire. The cabins were smoking. The dining pavillion’s greek columns had crumbled, and the Big House was a smoldering ruin. My friends were on their knees pleading with me. Annabeth, Grover, all the other campers. Save us, Percy! They wailed. Make the choice! I stood paralyzed. This was the moment I had always dreaded,: the prophecy that was about to come about when I was sixteen. I would make a choice that would save or destroy Mount Olympus. Now the moment was here, and I had no idea what to do. The camp was burning. My friends looked at me, begging me to help. My heart pounded. I couldn’t move. What if I did the wrong thing? (The Demigod Files: The Stolen Chariot)

As I was running up the stairwell, a kid charged down. He looked like he'd just woken up from a nap. His armor was half on. He drew his sword and yelled, "Kronos!" but he sounded more scared than angry. He couldn't have been more than twelve—about the same age I was when I'd first arrived at Camp Half-Blood. That thought depressed me. This kid was getting brainwashed—trained to hate the gods and lash out because he'd been born half Olympian. Kronos was using him, and yet the kid thought I was his enemy. No way was I going to hurt him. I didn't need a weapon for this. I stepped inside his strike and grabbed his wrist, slamming it against the wall. His sword clattered out of his hand. Then I did something I hadn't planned on. It was probably stupid. It definitely jeopardized our mission, but I couldn't help it. "If you want to live," I told him, "get off this ship now. Tell the other demigods." Then I shoved him down the stairs and sent him tumbling to the next floor (The Last Olympian, Chapter

Tied around the base of each blade were lots of bead necklaces. I realized they were Camp Half-Blood beads—necklaces taken from defeated demigods. I was so mad, I imagined my eyes glowing just like the Minotaur's. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 11)

The Titan lord's men drew their swords and charged. The hooves of their skeletal horses thundered against the pavement. Our archers shot a volley, bringing down several of the enemy, but they just kept riding. "Retreat!" I told my friends. "I'll hold them.'" (The Last Olympian, Chapter 11)

I tried to wound his men, not kill. That slowed me down, but these weren't monsters. They were demigods who'd fallen under Kronos's spell. I couldn't see faces under l heir battle helmets, but some of them had probably been my friends. I slashed the legs off their horses and made the skeletal mounts disintegrate. After the first few demigods took a spill, the rest figured out they'd better dismount and fight me on foot. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 11)

"We have to land where they need us most," I muttered. That's everywhere, boss. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 15)

She was right. The next hour was a blur. I fought like I'd never fought before—wading into legions of dracaenae, taking out dozens of telkhines with every strike, destroying empousai and knocking out enemy demigods. No matter how many I defeated, more took their place. Annabeth and I raced from block to block, trying to shore up our defenses. Too many of our friends lay wounded in the streets. Too many were missing. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 15)

"I'll take the drakon." My voice came out as a timid squeak. Then I yelled louder: "I'LL TAKE THE DRAKON! Everyone else, hold the line against the army!" (The Last Olympian, Chapter 16)

As Grover planted the laurel sapling, Annabeth and I went around trying to cheer up the wounded. I passed a satyr with a broken leg, a demigod who was bandaged from head to toe, and a body covered in the golden burial shroud of Apollo's cabin. I didn't know who was underneath. I didn't want to find out. My heart felt like lead, but we tried to find positive things to say. "You'll be up and fighting Titans in no time!" I told one camper. "You look great," Annabeth told another camper. "Leneus turned into a shrub!" Grover told a groaning satyr. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 17)

Grover and I cared for the wounded, and once the sky bridge re-formed, we greeted our friends who had survived. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 20)

I could avoid all that. No aging, no death, no body in the grave. I could be a teenager forever, in top condition, powerful, and immortal, serving my father. I could have power and eternal life. Who could refuse that? Then I looked at Annabeth again. I thought about my friends from camp: Charles Beckendorf, Michael Yew, Silena Beauregard, so many others who were now dead. I thought about Ethan Nakamura and Luke. And I knew what to do. "No," I said.(The Last Olympian)

The other gods muttered assent. Thunder boomed, shaking the throne room. The deal was made. "From now on, I want to you properly recognize the children of the gods," I said. "All the children . . . of all the gods." The Olympians shifted uncomfortably. "Percy," my father said, "what exactly do you mean?" "Kronos couldn't have risen if it hadn't been for a lot of demigods who felt abandoned by their parents," I said. "They felt angry, resentful, and unloved, and they had a good reason." Zeus's royal nostrils flared. "You dare accuse—" "No more undetermined children," I said. "I want you to promise to claim your children—all your demigod children—by the time they turn thirteen. They won't be left out in the world on their own at the mercy of monsters. I want them claimed and brought to camp so they can be trained right, and survive." "Now, wait just a moment," Apollo said, but I was on a roll. "And the minor gods," I said. "Nemesis, Hecate, Morpheus, Janus, Hebe —they all deserve a general amnesty and a place at Camp Half-Blood. Their children shouldn't be ignored. Calypso and the other peaceful Titan-kind should be pardoned too. And Hades—" "Are you calling me a minor god?" Hades bellowed. "No, my lord," I said quickly. "But your children should not be left out. They should have a cabin at camp. Nico has proven that. No unclaimed demigods will be crammed into the Hermes cabin anymore, wondering who their parents are. They'll have their own cabins, for all the gods. (The Last Olympian)

Hermes stared at the fountain. "I'll give you a list of my children. There's a boy in Wisconsin. Two girls in Los Angeles. A few others. Will you see that they get to camp?" "I promise," I said. "And I won't forget." (The Last Olympian, Chapter 21)

Humans

“What? I can’t-“ “Look, do you want her turning more innocent people into statues?” She pointed to a pair of statue lovers, a man and a woman with their arms around each other, turned to stone by the monster. (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 11

I ended up next to the family and the park ranger, who were all screaming now, trying to pry open the emergency exit doors. I couldn’t let them get hurt. I uncapped my sword, ran to the other side of the deck, and yelled, “Hey, Chihuahua!” (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 13)

I glanced at the park ranger and the family. The little boy was hiding behind his father’s legs. I had to protect these people. I couldn’t just … die. I tried to think, but my whole body was on fire. My head felt dizzy. I had no sword. I was facing a massive, fire-breathing monster and its mother. And I was scared. (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 13)

If I died, would the monsters go away? Would they leave the humans alone? (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 13)

Why had Poseidon saved me? The more I thought about it, the more ashamed I felt. So I’d gotten lucky a few times before. Against a thing like the Chimera, I had never stood a chance. Those poor people in the Arch were probably toast. I couldn’t protect them. I was no hero. Maybe I should just stay down here with the catfish, join the bottom feeders. (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 14)

Survivors. I felt a surge of relief. Maybe the park ranger and that family made it out safely. I hoped Annabeth and Grover were okay. (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 14)

I desperately wanted to sacrifice myself and use the last pearl on her, but I knew what she would say. She would never allow it. I had to get the bolt back to Olympus and tell Zeus the truth. I had to stop the war. She would never forgive me if I saved her instead. I thought about the prophecy made at Half-Blood Hill, what seemed like a million years ago. You will fail to save what matters most in the end. “I’m sorry,” I told her. “I’ll be back. I’ll find a way.”

Raj and some of the other kids banged on it desperately but it wouldn’t budge. “Let them go!” I yelled at the giants. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 2)

“Corey!” I screamed. Tyson pulled him out from behind the exercise mat just as the ball exploded against it, blasting the mat to smoking shreds. “Run!” I told my teammates. “The other exit!” (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 2)

“Time to greet our visitors!” Kelli bared her fangs and ran for the doors. I charged after her with Riptide. I had to stop her from hurting the mortals. “Percy, don’t!” Rachel shouted. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 1)

Even the meat scraps between their teeth had been washed out. We won’t eat you! the horses wailed. Please, lord! no more salty baths! “On one condition,” I said. “You only eat the food your handlers give you from now on. Not people. Or I’ll be back with more seashells!” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 9

Hephaestus switched it off. “You caused quite an explosion.” I stared at the blank bronze screen. Half a million people evacuated? Injuries. Illness. What had I done? (,,,) “Not that powerful, eh? Could have fooled me. You’re the son of the Earthshaker, lad. You don’t know your own strength.” 79 79 That’s the last thing I wanted him to say. I hadn’t been in control of myself in that mountain. I’d released so much energy I’d almost vaporized myself, drained all the life out of me. Now I found out I’d nearly destroyed the Northwest U.S. and almost woken the most horrible monster ever imprisoned by the gods. Maybe I was too dangerous. Maybe it was safer for my friends to think I was dead. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 12)

Back on my first visit to the Princess Andromeda, my old enemy Luke had kept some dazed tourists on board for show, shrouded in Mist so they didn't realize they were on a monster-infested ship. Now I didn't see any sign of tourists. I hated to think what had happened to them, but I kind of doubted they'd been allowed to go home with their bingo winnings. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 1)

I lifted Hades's robe. I could still see the tormented faces shimmering in the fabric. I walked to the edge of the river. "Be free." I dropped the robe in the water and watched as it swirled away, dissolving in the current. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 8)

Our progress was slow. Every so often we'd come across pedestrians who'd fallen asleep right in front of a car, and we'd move them just to be safe. Once we stopped to extinguish a pretzel vendor's cart that had caught on fire. A few minutes later we had to rescue a baby carriage that was rolling aimlessly down the street. It turned out there was no baby in it—just somebody's sleeping poodle. Go figure. We parked it safely in a doorway and kept riding. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 10)

"Percy," Annabeth said, "let me come with you." "Too dangerous," I said. "Besides, I need you to help Michael coordinate the defensive line. I'll distract the monsters. You group up here. Move the sleeping mortals out of the way. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 11)

Far away, I could hear a car alarm echo through the streets. A plume of black smoke curled into the sky somewhere over Harlem. I wondered how many ovens had been left on when the Morpheus spell hit; how many people had fallen asleep in the middle of cooking dinner. Pretty soon there would be more fires. Everyone in New York was in danger—and all those lives depended on us. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 12)

All I'm saying . . . don't you fall into the same trap. Luke has given himself to Kronos now. We can't afford to be soft on him." I looked out at the fires in Harlem, wondering how many sleeping mortals were in danger right now because of Luke's bad choices. "You're right," I said. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 14)

The monster roared. Tourists screamed and scattered. I don’t know exactly what they saw. The Mist usually prevents Mortals from seeing monsters in their true form, but whatever they saw, they were terrified. “Leave them alone,” I yelled. (The Demigod Files: The Stolen Chariot)

Beings related to the ocean:

"Old sea spirits making trouble. Aigaios. Oceanus. Those guys." I sort of knew what he was talking about. He meant the immortals who ruled the oceans back in the days of the Titans. Before the Olympians took over. The fact that they were back now, with the Titan Lord Kronos and his allies gaining strength, was not good. "Is there anything I can do?" I asked. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 5)

Exactly. Listen, we got another little sea friend needs your help. "Again?" Yeah. I told the hippocampi I'd come get you. I groaned. Anytime I was anywhere near the beach, the hippocampi would ask me to help them with their problems. And they had a lot of problems. Beached whales, porpoises caught in fishing nets, mermaids with hangnails—they'd call me to come underwater and help. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 7)

A dark shape—some kind of animal—was wedged halfway under the boat and tangled in a fishing net, one of those big nets they use on trawlers to catch everything at once. I hated those things. It was bad enough they drowned porpoises and dolphins, but they also occasionally caught mythological animals. When the nets got tangled, some lazy fishermen would just cut them loose and let the trapped animals die. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 8)

The old gods of the sea, who’d ruled during Titan times, were starting to make war on our father. When Tyson had left, battles had been raging all over the Atlantic. Hearing that made me feel anxious, like I should be helping out, but Tyson assured me that Dad wanted us both at camp. (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 2)

Unfortunately, I have other problems of my own.” I remembered what Tyson had told me at the beginning of the summer. “The old sea gods?” “Indeed. The battle came first to me, Percy. In fact, I cannot stay long. Even now the ocean is at war with itself. It is all I can do to keep hurricanes and typhoons from destroying your surface world, the fighting is so intense.” “Let me come down there,” I said. “Let me help.” (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 20)

Finally we scrambled over the embankment to the shore, and I let out a loud whistle. I hated doing it. Even with the sand dollar I'd given the East River for a magic cleaning, the water here was pretty polluted. I didn't want to make any sea animals sick, but they came to my call. (The Last Olympian, Chapter 22)

if you want to answer to my post like an asshole, and explicitly say that you mean disrespect, please do me a favor and first actually read the books you're talking about.

And I'm not saying that Percy always acted 100% perfect. While I understand why he was angry at Ethan, considering that the guy tried to kill Percy and has stabbed Annabeth, his comment about Nemesis in The Last Olympian certainly was very petty and uncalled for, and, while Percy tried to avoid killing demigods, it's highly probable that he did kill some during the battle of manhattan (but then again, that's a weird criticism, considering that that's the case for every demigod, who fought in Manhattan.)

If you're actually curious on why I think Luke doesn't deserve Elysium, I kind of already talked about that topic here in this post:

Percy would never become like Luke, and I am so sick of this take

Don't get me wrong, Percy is angry at the gods, especially after everything that happened in Heroes of Olympus. He understands Luke's hatred, and he knows that the gods suck.

No debate there.

But one aspect that is criminally underappreciated about Percy in this fandom, is that he is a genuinely kind and empathetic person; it has been fundamentally ingrained in his character ever since the first book. I’d go as far as to say that he is one of the kindest characters in all of Rick’s works. And he is protective of his fellow demigods, and especially his friends.

Even if he were to turn against the gods, which he first of all wouldn't, because he knows the consequences of that decision, there is no possible scenario, where Percy Jackson would ever be okay with killing or using other demigods to archieve his goals, especially if they are younger than him.

No matter how much he goes through, no matter how far he is pushed, there is no possible reality where he’d ever set a poisonous scorpion on a twelve-year-old child or trick a fourteen year old girl into holding the sky, and that is the biggest difference between Percy Jackson and Luke Castellan.

That is why Percy is a hero, and Luke can suffer in the fields of punsihments for all I care.

#pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo fandom #luke castellan #ethan nakamura #percy jackson #percy jackson defense squad #please read the books

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leonstoenailunderhisbed · 9 months ago

Text

Cupid doesn’t gamble

Summary: Leon, a mafia boss whose empire dominates all casinos on the west coast, meets a young girl amidst a game of poker. What would happen if he threw all his chips and gambled his love for you?

Warning: Mafia!Boss!Leon x Female!Reader. Eventual smut (I know y’all want this so bad). Slow burn. Romantic. Leon is a gentleman. Characters are 21+ (makes sense for casinos). Researched topics. Mentions of violence. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: 6,620

A/N: So, I’d like to start off with saying that being in the Mafia is not okay. Al Capone was NOT a good guy. But, this is fiction. None of this is real so before I get myself canceled (pls don’t) trust that I did my research. I thought of Salvatore by LDR writing this lol.

[II] [III]

“The summer's wild and I've been waiting for you all this time I adore you, can't you see, you're meant for me. Summer's hot but I've been cold without you, I was so wrong not to doubt your Medellin, tangerine dreams,” - Salvatore, Lana Del Rey

Poker isn’t just a game of gambling and betting your money away. It’s intimate and personal, in order to win you must read your opponent. Strip each other bare until the other shows a sign of vulnerability, only then will you find a loophole and win.

But nobody seems to understand the arts of chips and card decks. To be given an awful hand and turning the game to your favor is powerful and uplifting. There is great danger with gambling but there are also great rewards.

Leon was a famous man, known for establishing the most successful casinos of, dare I say, the nation. He’s a businessman, driven by the need to make a statement of himself. To hold power over people’s head with a flick of the wrist. He’s ambitious, cunning, but also respectful.

Coming from nothing but rags and the slum, he swore to his parents that he will earn everything he ever wanted in life. To provide for his family, to become one of the richest and notorious men of America. And he did.

He easily became a member of the mafia after being taken under the care of a kind man. When his parents died and he was shunned away by society, he never expected a man from a dangerous world to take him as a child and teach him to become the man that he is today.

And now here he was, engaging himself in a long hour of poker with a rookie player. You’ve never been keen on gambling your savings away, you deterred yourself from gaining the addiction. But, you did like to play every once in a while, especially since the casino you were in was quite lavish, courtesy of the man who built the casino in the first place.

You didn’t know anything about it, you didn’t even know that the man in front of you was the very own man who built his life step by step.

"You're good with your hands," he said in a rich and low tone as he stared at you from across the table.

“Thanks,” you muttered as you moved on forward with the game. You glanced at him, narrowing your eyes as you tried to guess what he was going to move with tonight.

A low, amused chuckle escaped his lips as he continued to watch you analyze him. He knew damn well you had no clue how to play, yet you were trying your best. It's what drew him to you.

He noticed you stealing glances his way as you thought of a plan. *Adorable.* He leaned back into his seat, eyeing you closely as he waited for you to make your next move.

"You're a bad bluffer," he pointed out with a smirk.

“And you’re a talker,” you quipped back with sass. You were silent for a moment before you decided to either go big or go home, “Raise,” you said to him.

Your eyes were glued to him, watching for his reaction. Was he going to fold or call? Either way, you believed you had a better hand than him.

"And you're cocky, too," he returned with a hint of humor in his voice. He raised an eyebrow slightly, surprised by your bold move. Even if you didn't know how to play, you had some guts.

He studies you for a moment, his eyes lingering on you before returning to his cards. After a moment of contemplating, he pushes a stack of chips forward, adding to the pot.

"Call. Let's see what you've got," he challenges you with a sly smile.

You turned your cards over, revealing a Diamond Queen and Clover King. You put them down and crossed your arms over your chest as you looked at him with a smirk.

The bet was a high number of money. Probably worth more than your limbs being sold in the black market. But you were here for a reason, to earn some quick money. The man in front of you looked quite wealthy, wealthy and rich men weren’t uncommon in this place but it still made you feel a bit inferior with everyone wanting to show off.

Leon leaned forward, inspecting your cards closely. The smirk on your face said it all. You thought you had a good hand, and he wouldn't deny that you had a decent one. But, it wasn't enough to beat him. He leaned back into his seat once more, his expression unchanging, as he revealed his own cards. A Spade Queen and a Diamond Ace. A straight flush. His eyes met yours, his smirk turning into a cocky grin.

"I'm afraid you've lost this round, darling," he said in a teasing tone.

Your smirk immediately fell as you saw his straight flush. Wow, you lost again. You didn’t even notice him calling you by a pet name. Did you owe this man money now? How did you not see it coming? That bastard was cocky and confident as hell! You should’ve known he had a good hand.

Leon chuckled once again. The look on your face was priceless—a mix of frustration and disbelief.

He loved it.

"Looks like I win again," he said teasingly, gathering up the chips on the table, "And don't worry, darling, you don't owe me anything. Just better luck next time."

He leaned back in his seat, his gaze still fixed on you as he smirked. He found your reaction absolutely adorable.

You furrowed your brows confused, you didn’t owe him anything? “Wait, are you serious?” You asked confusedly. He was different from other guys around here. Was he really willing to forget about your loss and even wished you better luck?

Who was this guy? There was something about him, though, that seemed dangerous and suspicious, “Why?”

Leon tilted his head to the side as he observed you, noticing the confusion on your face. You were clearly surprised by his words. It seems like you’re *not* used to men like him.

He chuckled softly at your question. "Why? Because I'm a gentleman," he responds with a smirk.

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze never leaving your face, "And I'm not in the business of taking money from pretty young girls like yourself. I'm not that heartless."

Your cheeks flared, did he just say you were pretty? You’ve never met a man so… straightforward. You cleared your throat and nibbled on your bottom lip, “Thank you,” you muttered quietly. Leon's gaze softened as he watched your cheeks flush and saw you bite your bottom lip. *Adorable.*

He’s a gentleman, he’s not *that* heartless? You didn’t understand him. He wore expensive clothes and his aura was confident.

“Is there anything else you’d like in return?” You asked as you looked at him, your arms on the table, “I’d feel guilty if you went back home empty handed.”

He leaned back in his seat, a smirk on his lips. "There is... one thing," he replied, his voice low and smooth.

He paused for a moment, his eyes locking with yours once more. "Your name," he said simply, his smile widening, "I'd like to know your name."

You stared at him for a few moments before you nodded slightly, “Okay,” you muttered. You extended your hand towards him, “My name is Y/n,” you said softly. He was truly a gentleman, wasn’t he? He doesn’t take money from girls and he was respectful. He’s one of a kind.

Leon looked at your hand for a moment before taking it gently in his own. His rough, calloused fingers wrapped around your small, soft hand. He loved the contrast between your skin and his. The way your slender fingers fit perfectly in his grasp.

"Y/n," he repeated quietly, as if he was testing the way the name felt on his tongue. He let out a soft chuckle before bringing your hand to his lips. He placed a gentle kiss on your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your cheeks flushed even more red when he kissed your knuckles. Did he come out of a book or something?! You’ve never met a man that screamed rich and respectful man. It was attractive. You were a bit speechless. Most guys met wouldn’t even be bothered to know your name and yet, here he was, treating you like a lady. Did he time travel or something?

You didn’t even try to move your hand away, it was like you got stuck in a trance. He was an enigma, who knew your poker opponent was so… you didn’t even know how to describe it. He chuckled softly at your reaction. He wasn't surprised, after all, most men don't have manners these days. Not men like him.

He slowly released your hand, though he couldn't bring himself to completely let go just yet. He continued to hold onto it, his thumb gently caressing your knuckles.

“Can I know your name too?” You asked a bit hesitantly, you wanted to know but you didn’t want to seem disrespectful. He felt so fancy, like a true gentleman. The kind of man you read in romance books where you could only dream of being treated with such care.

"Of course, darling," he replied in a low tone, his gaze still fixated on your face. He could tell that you were completely taken by him, though he couldn't blame you, most girls were. He could tell that you were captivated by his mannerisms and demeanor. It seemed like you appreciated his old-fashioned actions and chivalry, not that he was surprised. But something told him that you were different than the others. You weren't just after his wealth or status, he could see it in your eyes.

In the game of poker, it was easy to fall and lose. But for some reason, you like playing with him even if it means losing most of the rounds.

You didn’t even notice the two bodyguards approaching him from behind since you didn’t know what his occupation was like. You were strangers. The two bodyguards were ready to jump into action if you tried anything suspicious. But what could you do? You were completely harmless.

As his bodyguards approached from behind, Leon glanced over his shoulder at them. He held up a hand, silently signaling for them to hold off. The bodyguards stood a few feet away, far enough to not listen to your conversation but close enough to jump to him if he got into a dangerous situation. Leon's lips curled into an amused smile as he watched you realize the presence of his bodyguards. They were there to protect him, after all.

"My name is Leon," he finally replied, his voice just above a whisper. "Leon Kennedy."

“Leon,” you repeated, tasting the way it rolled off your tongue. It was a fancy name, suiting him very well.

“Nice to meet you, Mister Kennedy,” you said politely. Leon suppressed a chuckle as you repeated his name, the sound of it on your lips was like music to his ears. It was as if you were singing his name, rather than simply saying it.

He smirked when you called him 'Mister Kennedy,' finding your use of a formal title both amusing and endearing. "Please, call me Leon. 'Mister Kennedy' makes me feel old," he teased, his voice low and smooth.

You couldn’t help the small smile from reaching your lips, just minutes ago he beat you in a game of poker and yet, he didn’t make you feel bad for losing. You nodded at him, “Alright, I won’t.”

Then, one of the two bodyguards approached Leon, leaning down to his ear to whisper, “Sir, your presence is being requested on the tenth floor,” he whispered. Leon's expression, although unchanging, darkened at the bodyguard's words. He knew exactly what it meant for his presence to be "requested" on the tenth floor. But he didn't want to leave just yet. He was enjoying the time he had with you, he was enjoying your company and your sweet demeanor. If only he could stay a little bit longer.

He nodded at the bodyguard, silently signaling that he understood. He looked back at you, his expression softening once again.

"I have business to attend to," he said quietly, a hint of regret in his voice.

“Oh, right, yeah,” you muttered quickly under your breath as you stood up, fixing your outfit that you were wearing, “I shouldn’t take more of your time,” you said softly and politely, “It was nice meeting you, Leon. I hope to play with you in the future.”

Leon looked up at you as you stood up, his gaze following every movement. He could feel his heart skip a beat, he found you truly adorable. He felt a pang of disappointment when you mentioned not taking up more of his time. But he understood, he had responsibilities to take care of.

"The pleasure was all mine, darling," he said quietly, his voice slightly strained. He didn't want you to leave, but he had no choice.

“Sir,” one bodyguard spoke up from behind him, “Should we keep an eye on her?” He asked as the bodyguard’s gaze remained on your form, you were already standing by the bar drinking a damn fountain drink.

It was clear that the bodyguards were good at their job, they wanted to keep Leon safe since he was a mafia boss and enemies could be everywhere. Leon's gaze shifted from yours as he focused on his bodyguard's question. He could sense the slight tension in the air, the bodyguards were always cautious. But that was their job, to protect him at all costs.

He shook his head slightly, "No, that won't be necessary," he replied coldly, "She's harmless," he added, his eyes fixated on you once more.

“Yes sir,” the bodyguard said before the two bodyguards began to escort Leon to the elevator to get to the tenth floor. As Leon walked towards the elevator, escorted by his bodyguards, he couldn't help but glance back one last time, his eyes settling on your form at the bar.

He felt a twinge of something, was it concern? He wasn't sure. The thought of you being approached by someone else made him uneasy. But he had to remind himself that you weren't his responsibility.

He stepped into the elevator, his mind still occupied with thoughts of you.

"Watch her," he muttered to his bodyguards, "make sure no one goes near her."

The bodyguard nodded before stepping out of the elevator and went over to watch from a distance to not scare me off.

He was left with the other bodyguard and as they reached the tenth floor, the doors opened to reveal a very expensive suite, “Ah, Leon,” the voice of a man rang as he approached Leon.

The man was no other than a guy that went by an alias, “Kyle”, for safety reasons, “Glad you could make it,” he was dressed in nothing but a bathrobe, the belt tight around his waist to keep him from flashing anyone. Kyle was a character, that much was clear. Greeting Leon as if they were old friends.

"Cut the pleasantries," Leon replied coolly as he strode past Kyle, into the extravagant suite. Despite his cold exterior, his mind was still occupied by thoughts of you.

Kyle laughed and followed after Leon, “Always cutting to the chase, huh, amigo?” He said the Spanish word in a terrible accent, he didn’t even know Spanish.

Kyle was truly one of a kind but he was an ally to Leon’s mafia. Matter of fact, he provided Leon with the newest weapons from an Italian manufacturer. Illegal weapon trafficking.

“Got some new ladies you might want to see,” he said as he walked in front of Leon, guiding him to his room. As he entered his room, the sheets were messy and two naked women laid on the bed. With a flick of his wrist, the ladies stepped out of the room, giving Leon a wink.

As they entered the room, Leon couldn't help but roll his eyes at the sight of the naked women on the bed. Was this really necessary?

"I'm not interested," he said bluntly, his cold tone sending a clear message. Despite his outwardly tough demeanor, Leon disliked the lifestyle that Kyle embodied.

Kyle definitely had a typical lifestyle of a play boy, always finding girls to sleep with as he spends money on expensive champagne and clothes. But he was a good provider for the mafia. Kyle was needed; a necessary evil.

But Leon wasn’t a womanizer like that, especially with the way he treated you. Kyle chuckled and shook his head, “Oh, I think you will,” he muttered before I retrieved a box and opened it. Leon's expression changed. The sight of the new weapons in the box piqued his interest.

“Got these new ladies fresh from Rome,” he said, revealing new manufactured guns, “These are in beta testing but their purpose isn’t like regular guns—no. These babies hold up to thrice the ammunition and can fire double bullets at the same time.”

He could already see the potential these guns held. The extra ammunition and the ability to fire double bullets at once could give his men an advantage in a dangerous situation.

"Interesting," he said quietly, his eyes fixed on the guns. Despite his dislike for Kyle's lifestyle, Leon had to admit he knew how to source the best weapons.

"How did you get your hands on these?" he asked, his voice now lacking any hostility.

Kyle shrugged and leaned back, “I sent a blueprint last month over to my manufacturer in Italy. Said he’d give it a try. He experimented here and there right before he sent me these prototypes.”

“But I don’t recommend using them yet,” he said as he walked over to stand next to Leon, draping an arm around Leon’s shoulders as if they were best friends.

“Something about them probably not working and backfiring. Blah, blah, blah. You know the nerd stuff,” he said.

Leon's brow furrowed as he heard Kyle's words. Using untested weapons could be risky, especially if they had the potential for a devastating recoil. He pushed Kyle's arm off his shoulders, his expression turning cold again. He wasn't fond of being touched, especially by someone like Kyle.

"Then why show them to me if they might not work?" he asked with a hint of irritation in his voice. He preferred to focus on proven weapons, not experimental ones.

As his arm was pushed off his shoulders, Kyle wasn’t a bit ashamed, “Well, before we proceed with the testing, we needed your approval.”

Then, Kyle grew a bit serious, which only ever happened once a fortnight. He leaned closer to Leon to whisper in his ear, “I’ve heard that there’s been recent suspicious activity up north where the colony is. This is just a precaution because I don’t want anyone stealing my guns.”

Ever since Leon became the new mafia boss, which was years ago, many other bosses have tried to take him down. Even if it meant stealing his resources. Despite his disdain for Kyle, Leon couldn't ignore the serious look on his face. He knew that when Kyle spoke like this, he wasn't messing around.

"Suspicious activity, you say?" he replied, his voice low and calculating. He didn't appreciate being targeted, especially by other mafia bosses, "Any idea who might be behind it?"

He shrugged and shook his head, “No, there’s no idea who it might be but I’ve heard rumors that it’s someone who’s after your territory.”

Kyle sighed and stored the guns away once more, “In any case. Call me up if you change your plan, I’ll send word to Italy to keep producing and testing. Until then,” he said before he patted Leon on the shoulder and walked out of his room saying, “Alright, ladies, who’s ready for some sexy time on the jacuzzi?”

Leon watched as Kyle left the room, rolling his eyes at the man's behavior. Despite Kyle's eccentricities and playboy lifestyle, he couldn't deny that he was an asset to the mafia. As the sound of laughter and splashing water came from the jacuzzi, Leon turned his attention back to the matter at hand. The possibility of someone targeting his territory unsettled him.

With a deep sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, his thoughts once again drifting to you. He couldn't seem to get you off his mind.

“Do you want to go back to the main floor, Sir?” His bodyguard asked. Leon's eyes went to his bodyguard, and he nodded.

"Yes," he said simply. He had to go back to the main floor. He knew that his bodyguards had been instructed to keep an eye on you, and he was curious to see if you were still there.

As he stepped out of the room, he couldn't help but glance over at the bar. He could see you sitting there, sipping on a Dr. Pepper. Despite the presence of his bodyguard, he took a subtle step closer, watching you from a distance.

Now the three men were watching you, Leon with his two bodyguards behind him. They were no longer on the tenth floor and instead were on the main floor where you were.

“Who is she, boss?” One bodyguard asked. They had seen Leon play with you for a few rounds but they didn’t hear your conversation. Of how he forgave your debt and asked for your name, but they did see him kiss your hand. Leon's gaze never left you, his eyes watching your every move. He could feel the curiosity of his bodyguards, they had clearly noticed his interaction with you.

“Do you know her?” The other bodyguard asked. They still kept professional but their curiosity was high. They’ve never seen Leon talk to a woman before, he’d usually brush them off because he knew they were after his money.

"She's nobody," Leon replied, his voice cold and distant. Even though he had shown you a rare moment of humanity, he didn’t want his bodyguards to think he had a “soft spot”, especially towards a stranger.

"She's just a poker player, that's all," he added, dismissing their curiosity. But his eyes told a different story, he couldn't tear his gaze away from you.

“A terrible one,” one commented, “A Diamond queen and clover king against your straight flush… she’s got confidence.”

“Or maybe she didn’t know. Our boss holds a really good poker face,” the other replied. Which was true, Leon was a damn good poker player but you also didn’t play like a professional. You barely knew what you were doing.

You turned around to get your bag from the stool next to your standing form, seemingly finished with your drink and getting ready to pay for it.

Leon's eyes followed your every movement, his mind racing, "She was a challenge,” he said quietly, his voice betraying a hint of amusement. Despite your lack of skill, he had enjoyed playing with you, it had been surprisingly fun.

As he saw you turn to retrieve your bag, he felt a strange pang in his chest. He didn’t want you to leave yet. He took a step forward, his bodyguards following closely behind him.

You were too busy looking through your bag, pulling out your wallet and counting the bills you had to pay your tab. Would it even be considered a tab if you got non-alcoholic drinks? You didn’t notice Leon returning at all, his bodyguards didn’t say anything. They knew better than to prod at his life choices. If anything, they’d just keep a more careful eye on you to make sure nothing bad happened.

“Hold on—“ you said to the bartender as you counted your coins to give him the exact number of your total.

As you began counting your coins to pay the bartender, he couldn't help but step forward and reach into his pocket, "I'll cover it," he said, his voice firm and commanding. He felt strangely compelled to take care of you, even in this small gesture.

You straightened up at the sound of his voice, your heart jumped and beat quickly as you whipped your head to look at none other than Leon. Always a true gentleman.

“I—“ you said as yoi looked at him and the bartender before you looked back at his blue eyes, “No, it’s okay. I’ve got this,” you said quietly. He’d already forgiven your debt and now he wants to pay for your drinks?

Leon's expression remained stoic as he heard your protest. He didn't expect you to be so modest and determined to pay for your own drinks. But he found it endearing.

"It's not a problem," he replied, his voice firm. He could sense your guilt, but he didn’t want you to feel like a charity case. He genuinely wanted to take care of you, even if it was in small ways. He slid a few bills to the bartender, paying for your drinks and closing the tab before you could argue further.

Your cheeks blushed again as you looked away, you’ve never had anyone take care of you like he has, “You’re too kind,” you muttered in a flustered tone.

He was already breaking his own rules because the bodyguards seemed to have picked up on some details. It wasn’t common for them to see Leon be so… interested in a woman. Much less someone like you but they found it oddly endearing. Secretly cheering for their boss.

Leon was taller than you so you had to look up at him, “Did everything go well with your business?” You asked genuinely. Leon's expression softened slightly as he saw your flushed cheeks and your sincere question. He was unused to caring about someone’s well being, but he found himself wanting to share a bit with you.

"Yes, business went well," he confirmed, his voice remaining cool and collected. But there was a hint of tiredness in his eyes, the stresses of being a mafia boss often taking a toll on him.

He studied you for a moment, his gaze calculating but not unkind. "And how have you been?" he asked, surprising himself with his own question.

“Oh, you know,” you faintly shrugged your shoulders as you pointed towards the bar, “I stayed there the whole time. I don’t like wandering on my own. Lots of… creeps out here, y’know?”

But he wasn’t a creep. He was far from it. Leon was a gentleman, a man who knew how to treat women right.

Leon chuckled, a rare sound coming from him, at your straightforward answer. He found it refreshing how honest you were, unlike the fake smiles and flattery he usually received from people.

His eyes swept the casino floor, full of various people, men, and women. He knew you were right about the creeps that roamed around, especially with a pretty face like yours.

"You're right about the creeps," he agreed, his voice low and protective. "A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be out here alone."

Your cheeks blushed again when he said you were pretty, why was he so casual with the compliments?! But nevertheless, you couldn’t stop the smile forming on your lips, “Yeah… I was about to leave since it was getting late, actually,” you said as you quickly remembered what you were doing.

“I was going to get an Uber and go back home. I should probably practice my poker skills too,” you said with a small smile. Leon's gaze darkened slightly at the mention of you leaving. He didn't want this night to end, not when he'd enjoyed your company more than he thought he would.

He took a step closer, shortening the distance between you. "An Uber?" he repeated, his voice taking on a hint of disapproval. "With all the creepers out there?"

He paused, seeming to consider something before speaking again. "Let me give you a ride home," he offered, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your eyes widened a bit and your breath hitched when he stepped closer to you and offered you a ride home. You should’ve said no but for some reason, you felt safe in his presence. You slowly nodded your head, feeling like you shouldn’t reject his offer. He’s been kind to you and you wanted to be kind as well, “Only if it’s not a burden.”

“I’d hate to shift your plans for the night. I don’t want to be an inconvenience,” you said with a nervous laugh as you played with your hands.

Leon couldn't help but chuckle at your words and the nervousness in your laugh. You were clearly unused to being cared for like this, but it was almost endearing to see you flustered. He shook his head, his expression serious. "It's not a burden," he reassured you. "And you're not an inconvenience. I wouldn't offer unless I meant it."

He motioned for his bodyguards to follow as he put a hand gently on your lower back, beginning to guide you towards the exit. You gathered your things, which was just your purse, and let him guide you towards the exit. His bodyguards were shocked to say the least. They knew Leon didn’t like to be touched or touch other people but here he was, gently putting his hand on you to guide you out of the building. They were in for a fun ride.

As you made it out and stepped outside, you were met with wind. The wind blew over your form, goosebumps on your skin as you wrapped your arms over your chest to give yourself some heat. Leon noticed your body shiver, the cool night air obviously getting to you. He was so used to suppressing his own physical needs that he had briefly forgotten that you weren’t built for the harsher elements like he was.

"Here," he said gruffly. He removed his black jacket and gently placed it around your shoulders, his fingers lingering for a moment on the fabric.

The black suit jacket was big on you but it was so warm, it even smelled like his cologne and you felt your cheeks flare up. He smelled good, “Thank you,” you said as you looked up at him.

A black car pulled in front of you, it was fancy and the black was matte. No doubt, the latest car. Just how rich was he? One of the bodyguards moved towards the door and opened it for the two of you. Leon nodded in acknowledgement of your thanks, his eyes never leaving yours, "After you," he said, gesturing for you to get into the car first. His voice was gruff, but there was a warm undertone in it.

He waited, standing by the car door, until you climbed in, before he slid into the seat beside you, closing the door behind him. The bodyguards climbed into the front seat, the engine purring softly to life.

No one would’ve believed them if they said that Leon was warm and kind. They’ve seen the type of ruthless man he could be, he was a mafia boss! Hence why the bodyguards were shocked. They’ve never seen him act this way with anyone.

You sat next to Leon, your thighs pressed together and your form still wearing his black suit jacket, “Thank you,” you said before you climbed to sit next to him. You were new to the whole taken care of thing. Leon felt a pang of something unfamiliar in his chest when you thanked him again. It was as if you weren’t used to being treated like this, but he found himself wanting to give you more. He felt the strange urge to wrap you in his arms, to keep you close and away from the world.

He let out a low hum of acknowledgment. "You don’t need to keep thanking me," he said quietly, his voice low and rough.

You softy laughed at his words despite his low and rough voice, “Sorry, force of habit. I’m not used to people being so kind to me. Especially after playing Poker with me,” you replied with a small but genuine smile.

“Most guys would either just get mad at me for beating them or they would humiliate me further for beating me,” you said quietly, your hands laying on your lap as you looked down at them.

Then you glanced back at him, “But you’re different. I think… I like to have you as my opponent… if you’d let me,” but it was more than just Poker, right? It was about connecting, about seeing him again. His expression softened as you spoke again, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, "You like having me as your opponent, huh?" he said, his voice holding a hint of amusement.

He reached out, his hand gently resting on top of yours, his touch calloused but surprisingly gentle, "You don’t even know what you’re asking for."

Your breath hitched and you looked down at his hand on top of yours. Even though he’d held your hand and kissed it, you still got flustered.

But he was right. Essentially, you didn’t even know him. You met him today and lost a poker game. But something in you wanted to keep seeing him, you didn’t want to let such a kind man go.

“I can learn,” you whispered. This went beyond poker, even though you spoke about it, hidden words were conveyed. You didn’t know what you were asking for, not knowing he was in the mafia. Leon's smirk grew at your words, a hint of something more behind it. He could hear the double meaning in your words, and it sent a thrill through him. Here you were, this timid, pretty thing, wanting to get to know him better.

His fingers gently squeezed your hand as he spoke, his voice low. "You’re a fast learner, I bet," he said, his eyes never leaving yours.

But then his expression darkened slightly, the reality of his world intruding on the moment. He was a mafia boss, and you… you were innocent and pure.

You nodded, “I like learning things. Knowledge is power, is what George Orwell said once,” you muttered. Leon's smirk turned into a half-smile at your mention of George Orwell. This girl was full of surprises. It seemed to him that you were more than just a pretty face working as a pit boss.

His grip on your hand tightened slightly, as if reflexively trying to keep a grip on you. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this, he should let you go before you get swept into the dangerous world he lived in.

But something about you was making him greedy. The Mafia Boss never had to worry about letting go before, now, he didn’t want to.

You felt his hand tighten around yours and you didn’t want to let go yet. Once you reached your apartment, you looked at him and leaned towards his face to whisper, “Think it over,” you whispered, your brows furrowing a bit before you let go of his hand and got out of the car.

Leon's eyes widened slightly at your whisper, your unexpected boldness sending a jolt of surprise, and something else through him. You'd just told him to think things over, as if it was a date that you were asking him on. But before he could open his mouth to reply, you had already slipped out of the car, leaving him a bit taken aback.

He stayed sitting in his seat for a beat, his fingers clenching the leather, his eyes fixed on your figure. You were playing with fire, and you didn’t even realize it.

You were about to walk into your apartment when you realized you were still wearing his suit jacket. You quickly ran back towards the car and slipped it the jacket off, giving him an awkward smile, “I, uh…”

“Almost forgot this,” you muttered softly, the pink hue on your cheeks not leaving any time soon. Leon took the jacket in his hands, his gaze lingering on you as you handed it to him. He took in your flushed cheeks, your awkward smile, and it sent a pang through his chest.

He wanted to reach out, to touch your cheek, to do something to keep you from leaving. But instead, he simply folded the jacket over his arm, his fingers tracing the fabric.

"Keep it," he said, his voice rough. "It looks better on you."

Your eyes widened a bit and your lips parted into a small ‘Oh’ when he gave you the jacket once more. To which you slowly took, you didn’t want to be greedy but you loved the way it smelled.

“Thank you,” you whispered sincerely, “For tonight.”

The offer still stood. You were willing to throw yourself down into a fire if it meant getting to know him better. Isn’t that what Poker is about? To understand your opponent? But this wasn’t about Poker anymore.

Leon clenched his jaw as he watched your expression, your sincere thanks only making it harder for him to let you go. Your naivete was like a double-edged sword - it drew him in but also made him hesitant.

But he wasn’t some saint. No, far from it. He was a Mafia Boss, and he wasn’t used to denying himself.

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes locking with yours, his voice a rough, quiet murmur. “When can I see you again?”

You stared at him through the window, a bit surprised that he wanted to see you again. You were just some idiot poker player and yet… was he actually considering seeing you again?

You stood there in shock for a few seconds like an absolute idiot before you realized you hadn’t said anything. Your cheeks flushed and you quickly cleared your throat, “Uh—“

He paused, his eyes roaming over you, taking in your flushed cheeks, your uncertainty. It was a new sight for him, having a woman so clearly out of his world be so... vulnerable.

“You want to see me again?” You asked unsure. Leon’s lips quirked up into a small smirk at your reaction, your surprise and confusion only endearing you to him more. You were just so damn endearing. He leaned back in his seat, his eyes never leaving yours, his gaze sharp, “Yes, I want to see you again.”

“Well, I’m free this Saturday… if you want to—I dunno—go out…?”

“Saturday it is, then. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

This time, you couldn’t help the smile that reached your lips. Was he truly taking you out on a date? You nodded your head at him, your lips curling up into a genuine smile, “Alright…” you muttered quietly, “I’ll see you then. You know where I live anyway.”

He offered you a ride and now knows where you lived, but somehow, you felt comfortable with him knowing, “Goodnight, Leon.”

You walked backwards, looking at him for as long as possible before eventually turning around to get into your apartment. Leon watched as you retreated back into your apartment, his gaze following your every move. There was a strange flutter in his chest, something that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Something that he thought he had lost.

When you disappeared from sight, he let out a low, rough exhale, running his hand through his short hair. This was dangerous, getting close to you, but he couldn’t seem to find it in himself to care.

“Goodnight, doll,” he murmured, watching your door close behind you.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #re4 leon #re leon #leon #resident evil leon #re4r leon

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gloombound · 7 months ago

Text

The rain drizzles down in Yokohama, leaving a mist that clings to the dim glow of street lamps. You stand by the edge of the dock, staring out over the water, thoughts drifting aimlessly. The solitude, the bleakness of it all, suits you entirely.

Footsteps approach, soft but not hidden, without even looking, you know it’s him. There’s only one person who would casually appear beside you at a time like this.

“What a romantic place to die, don’t you think?” Dazai’s voice lilts, honey sweet with a hint of dark amusement. “You have an eye for these things.”

You don’t flinch, nor do you turn. “You call it romantic. I call it, simple…Quiet.”

His gaze lingers on you, most likely trying to read your expression, but you keep your features carefully neutral. It’s the best way to handle him, not giving him the reactions he wants—or expects.

“Oh, come on now, don’t tell me you’re already giving up on the beauty of it! I’d expect someone as mysterious as you to appreciate the finer points of self-destruction.”

You finally give him a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow. “You make it sound like art.”

Dazai grins as he leans against the railing beside you, a hand brushing your arm as if by accident. “Well, for some of us, it is. I happen to be very dedicated to my craft.”

There’s that smile, the one that’s both charming and dangerous, and you can’t quite decide if it’s infuriating or magnetic.

“Why are you here, Dazai?” you ask, voice low and almost challenging.

“Why, to save you, of course! Or maybe to jump together…Or maybe just to talk.” He shrugs, feigning a nonchalance you know hides something deeper. “It depends on you, really.”

You don’t respond, choosing to let the silence linger instead.

It’s a silence he fills easily.

“Say,” he murmurs, closer now, his voice dropping, “We’re not so different, you know?”

Your gaze sharpens. “I’d rather not be compared to you, if that’s what you mean.”

Dazai chuckles, undeterred, his eyes glinting with a strange intensity. “Ah, but that’s exactly why I like you. You take life’s misery so seriously.”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“Maybe,” he says, his voice softer than usual. “But sometimes, it’s the comedy in all this misery that keeps us going. You just haven’t learned how to laugh at it yet.”

The comment grates on you, but something about it also strikes a chord. And Dazai, the perceptive, irritating bastard that he is, seems to sense it.

“Why don’t we get a drink?” he offers, voice playful again. “One glass can’t fix everything, but it might help make life’s absurdities…bearable.”

You sigh, finally giving in, and mutter, “Fine, but just one.”

Dazai’s grin widens as if he’s just won something. He turns, guiding you away from the docks and into the lights of the city.

You’re not entirely sure how, but in the end, it’s Dazai’s peculiar charm, the twisted way he sees the world, that makes you stay by his side a little longer, if only to see just what strange beauty he finds in the darkness you both share.

#bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai x male reader #dazai x reader #male reader #x reader

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runnning-outof-time · 2 years ago

Note

The first of a few :)

Tommy- (3 word sentence prompt) “Happy or Sad?”

Thanks for sending this in Liz! I’m sorry it took me a bit to get to writing it. This is a COMPLETE flip from the fic I shared earlier haha. Also I have to say that the bit at the end was inspired by the lovely Bri @there-goes-thefighter ‘s latest Tommy fic ‘Your Shadow Side’…it’s a bit different here, but the idea was stuck in the back of my mind nonetheless. Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Part of my 3.5k Celebration - find other stories here!

Bedtime Stories

Tommy Shelby x Reader & Daughter

Warnings: none

Word Count: 797

Summary: Tommy gets asked a question that leaves him speechless while he’s telling his daughter a bedtime story.

“I want daddy to tell me a story tonight!” Isabella Shelby exclaimed, stamping her foot on the ground as she looked up at her mother. Her little hands were balled up into fists, and the glare on her face was one that could even rival her father’s. Wonder who she got it from?

(Y/N) sighed and looked away from her four year old daughter, at her wits end now. It had been a long day. Isabella woke up in a grumpy mood, so everything had been a fight with her. On top of that, Matthew, her two year old son, had just figured out how to get into things, so she’d been following him around the house to make sure he didn’t hurt himself or break anything.

“Dad’s busy with his work at the moment, darling,” she tried to reason with the child.

Isabella did not listen. “I’m going to go ask him,” she insisted, turning on her heel then so that she could make her way down the hall to the door of her father’s office.

(Y/N) stayed in the hallway, her arms crossed over her chest as she heard the muffled exchange between her husband and child. A look of surprise formed on her face when Isabella emerged triumphant from the office moments later with Tommy following behind her. She’s wrapped around his finger, (Y/N) thought to herself with soft laugh.

“Time for bed?” Tommy questioned as he approached (Y/N), chuckling at the fact that Isabella had walked right passed her without a word.

“It is,” (Y/N) responded with a nod, her eyes wide as she conveyed her exasperation to him. Tommy sent her a soft grin before he continued to follow his daughter to her room.

Once Isabella was settled, Tommy got into telling an elaborate story about a princess who had to go and save her darling dog from the grasps of an evil king — they’d just taken in Cyril and the little girl was obsessed with all things related to dogs. Isabella listened intently to the story, reacting to all of the twists and turns that it had. That was the thing she loved most about her dad’s bedtime stories: no one was the same. (Y/N) swore that he could have made a career in writing them…if he hadn’t went down other paths that is.

“We’re reaching the ending now, love,” Tommy warned his daughter as he took a moment’s pause. A pout formed on Isabella’s face; she didn’t want the story to be over yet. “I need to ask you about the ending…”

“What about it?” Isabella interrupted before he could get to the question, her eyebrows furrowing as she titled her head slightly.

“Happy or sad?” he asked, his brows raised as he waited for her answer.

“Happy,” the little girl answered without second thought. Tommy nodded and prepared to end the story. Isabella spoke again before he could get a word out, “who would ever choose sad?” she asked, her question one of the most genuine ones Tommy had ever heard.

“I…” he began to answer, but his words died in his throat as he really thought about the question she asked. He shook his head and ran his hand along his jaw, trying to think of a response that was worthy of such a question. “Someone who isn’t quite sure what happy is, I’d guess,” he finally responded, not sure if what he decided on was even good enough.

Isabella thought about it for a second, her pondering starkly present in her facial expression. “Well that isn’t us, right, daddy?” she then sweetly asked, her doe eyes finding his again.

In that moment, all the bad that Tommy Shelby had done was washed away. All the struggle and strife, the bad blood and the tunnels were the furthest thing from his mind. Now all that was present was the world that his darling daughter was imagining. One that only held good, one where everything ended happy. He was so thankful for her innocence, for the light that she brought into his life.

The slightest smile graced his lips as he shook his head ever so slightly. “No, love…that isn’t us,” he answered her as he sat a loving hand on her blanket covered knee. His smile grew with each second their eyes stayed connected, and he thanked whoever was mainf decisions in the sky for giving him this beautiful little girl.

“Are you gonna finish the story, dad?” Isabella asked, cutting through Tommy’s thoughts and bringing him back to reality.

Her expectant look made him laugh as he nodded his head. “Yeah, I’m gonna finish the story,” he answered her before going on with the happy ending she’d asked for.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @emotionalcadaver @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @areyenotfondofmelobster @everythingelseisextra @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby blurb #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders blurb #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #k’s 3.5k celebration

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crownofgildedlilies · 6 months ago

Text

snow

pairing: t. todoroki x reader summary: Touya can’t stand the cold, but he’s more stubborn than he’d ever admit. wc: 1.4k event masterlist

There were a few downsides to being a wanted villain.

First, and most obvious, was the constant paranoia of being found out and brought in for questioning. There was the pain of being ostracized from polite society—not that you ever belonged there, anyways. Daily tasks were nearly impossible to complete without committing some crime.

Maybe you never should have joined the League. You just wanted to go outside for a little bit.

“Don’t,”

“I wasn’t even doing anything,” You huffed, glaring across the dingy hideout you were left in with Dabi. Touya. He’d confided in you one night his true name, threatening to burn you to ash if you ever told anyone, and you’d kept your mouth shut about it. Especially when you’d traded one of your secrets to him that night, too.

I think if I could love, I’d be in love with you, you had told him. Surprisingly, the sentiment had been returned, and you’d entered some sort of relationship limbo with him. Not exactly dating, but far more than just friends.

“You were thinking something stupid.” He accused, and you narrowed your eyes at him, only to be met with a flat look. He was sprawled across the hideout’s dingy couch, checking something on his phone while you perched in the windowsill and overlooked the city outside.

“No, I wasn’t.” You defended, pouting as you turned your back to him. You swear, you weren’t. You were just studying the outside world, watching as the first snowfall of the season cascaded over the city. Snowflakes that weren’t quite sticking to the sidewalk fell gently through the air and you felt a longing in your bones to be out there, experiencing it. You’d been stuck inside after a job gone wrong for weeks, and you were itching for some time to enjoy the changing of the seasons.

You were a villain, not a monster, after all.

“I’m going for a walk.” You decided, pushing yourself off the windowsill with ease. You had barely touched the group before Touya was scoffing, dropping his phone onto the couch beside him.

“The hell you are.” He countered, causing you to roll your eyes. His tone didn’t give away much, but the fact that he responded at all was evidence enough that he had an opinion on the matter. Twice had joked once that Touya would only save you if pros ever raided—then disagreed with himself—but you had laughed him off and claimed that Dabi didn’t care about you either way.

And then an hour later, Touya stole you away to his room in the headquarters to show you just how little he cared about you.

“Yeah, I am.” You disagreed with a careless shrug, if only to agitate him with your nonchalance. Wandering towards the door, you felt his eyes trailing your figure the entire way. “Wanna come with me?”

“No.” His answer was quick, but you saw how he sat up on the couch to watch you dress in your coat and scarf. You made sure to grab one that had a hood to cover your hair—being a wanted villain, and all. “Why do you even want to go?”

“It’s snowing.” You said casually, as if it answered all his questions. He looked at you like you had three heads and he didn’t understand what was so appealing about the snow. Sighing, you turned with your hand on the doorknob to turn and face him. “It’s the first time it’s snowed all season and I want to enjoy it instead of being cooped up in here. I’m bored, Touya.”

He frowned, and if you squinted you could have convinced yourself it looked like a pout.

“You’ll get cold.”

“Hm,” You pretended to think about it, dramatically scrunching up your face and tapping a finger on your chin. “If only I knew someone with a naturally high body temperature that I asked to come with me and help keep me warm. Oh wait.”

“Shut up.” He grumbled, not moving from his spot on the couch. There was no real heat in his words, just an empty threat you knew he had no plans on backing up.

“So that’s a no?” You hummed, opening the door in preparation for your departure, whether or not he was coming with you.

“What do you think?” His voice was dry, edged with his usual rasp. You were a little annoyed by his dismissal, but you could tell by the way he was tapping his finger against the arm of the couch he wouldn’t be sitting still for long. “I don’t want to.”

“Fine. I’ll see you later.” You blew a dramatic kiss in his direction just to tease him, watching him roll his eyes and scowl before you shut the door in his face.

The start of your walk was peaceful, but it only took you about five minutes to notice it. You knew it was coming no matter what, but you kept your attention forward and tried to smother your smug grin. The snow continued to fall around you, sticking to the sleeve of your jacket and your eyelashes.

It was nice to be alone in the real world for a while, watching as the first snow of the season fell.

But after a while, you figured you’d put him out of his misery.

Ducking down an alleyway and away from prying eyes, you went far enough that no reasonable person would be able to see you. You stopped after a while and spun back around towards the entrance of the alleyway. Smirking, you dug your hands deep in your pockets and waited expectantly.

“You know, you can come out. I won’t say anything.” You called into the seemingly empty air. Biting the inside of your cheek, you waited patiently.

At first, it seemed like you were only talking to yourself, but you knew better. Seconds ticked by as snow continued to fall over you, though less fast now that you stood in the mostly protected alleyway. But finally, a head of dark hair poked out from one of the recesses you knew he’d been hiding in.

“Somebody had to make sure you didn’t run into trouble.” He explained with a growl, acting uninterested as he closed the distance between the two of you. You shrug one shoulder, stepping close enough to tug on the front of his coat to bring him even closer. His staples glinted in the sunlight as he kept his composure, so you decided you needed to tease him, just a little.

“I think trouble was following me this whole time.” You murmured, smirking. He rolled his eyes at your joke, but his reaction only made you more determined to rile him up.

“Shut up.”

“Warm me up?” Cooing, you batted your eyes at him. You distantly wondered how long you could keep up the teasing before he snapped and got you back. Part of you was waiting for the moment that he would—Touya was nothing if not dramatic.

“Let’s go back. It’s not my job to warm you up.” He took half a step back towards the entrance to the alleyway, and with your hands still knotted in the front of his jacket, you moved with him.

“Aw, you do care.” Though you were taunting him, you knew there was a certain amount of truth to your words. Obviously he cared about you, in his own crazy, Touya way. If he didn’t he wouldn’t have followed you out on your walk.

“You’re insane.” He frowned at you, but the words felt almost like a compliment, coming from him.

“Yeah, but so are you.” You shrugged, brushing a snowflake from his hair. He scowled at you, unamused, and you had half a mind to kiss him. Smirking, you continued your teasing. “That’s why we get along so well.”

“I’m leaving.” He turned and left, his jacket falling through your finger tips and robbing you of his excessive body heat.

“Wait for me,” You whined, hurrying to catch up to him with a roll of your eyes. You’d get him to break and fall for your taunting charm.

“No,”

“You know you’re going to, anyways.” Teasing, your words were sing-songy and cheerful, a complete opposite to Touya’s gruff demeanor. He didn’t turn around, but you did notice how he slowed his pace to allow you to catch up.

“Are you coming or not?”

heyyy yall....

lowkey feel like I could go further w this

like the possibility was there

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

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somanyratsinthewalls · 1 year ago

Note

congrats on the 700! i love your work 🫶🏼🫶🏼 can i suggest a blue rooster 👀 maybe drunk/nightclub ish themed tyyyy

THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING and man the Sanji girls SHOWED UP for this prompt game! And I am sooo not complaining... I love this man.

Pairing: Sanji x Fem!Reader

Prompt/Trope: Drunk/High Sex

WC: 2700 oops

Warnings: DRINKING AND INTOXICATION if this bothers you please don’t read! I know how consent works but these are two adults having a nice time it’s fine here I promise. Stay safe out there in real life, tho! unprotected sex, creampies, blowjob, spitting, dirty talk, once again they're a lil drunk but it's cool.

Let's Dance (+18)

———

“I’m not going with Usopp, he whines the whole time!” You shout.

“Yeah well I don’t want to go with you OR Robin! I don’t want to go to a stupid book store!” Usopp spits back at you.

“I don’t care who I go with as long as it isn’t the ugly shitty cook. I’d hate to have to save both of us if we get attacked.” Zoro says casually.

“No problems there, asshole. I’d like to not get lost for once.” Sanji quips back as he holds his cigarette between his teeth.

“You guys, stop fighting! Let’s all go together!” Chopper looked distraught.

“We’re wanted criminals, Chopper. I don’t think the whole lot of us together would allow us to keep a low profile.” Robin states as she pats Chopper’s head.

“I don’t care who goes with me, I just want to go to that barbecue place we passed sailing in!” Luffy grins and you could have sworn saliva was pooling in the corners of his mouth.

None of you could decide on who you wanted to be paired up with the explore the island, and unfortunately your crew had a method for solving these kinds of disputes... and everyone hated it.

“ALRIGHT I’M GETTING THE STRAWS!” Nami, frustrated, calls out as she heads to her room to grab the dreaded bag of straws.

Groans echoed across the deck of the Sunny.

Nami returned and every one lined up, waiting to pick from the bag. Pairs would be assigned by who drew the same length straws.

“If I get paired with moss head I’m drowning myself before we even dock.” Sanji, lined up next to you, rolls his eyes and takes a drag of his cigarette.

“And if I have to go with Franky to the boring-ass lumber yard I’m going to hang myself from the top sail.” You sigh.

All the straws had been distributed and you look down at the one in your hand.

You hear an excited gasp from directly to your left.

Sanji was holding his straw up to yours, they matched.

“UGGGGHHHHH!!!” You groan and huff. You even make a show of stomping your feet and pouting. “I’m stuck with the pervert?!”

“Ha ha!” Zoro points at you across the circle and laughs.

“Shut up, moss balls!” You scowl.

“Y/n mon amour! How wonderful we get to spend the evening together!” Sanji’s eyes sparkled as he smiled down at you. You roll your eyes dramatically.

This was going to be a long night.

— — —

You had your arms crossed in annoyances as Sanji followed at your heels obediently while you walked through the town. The sun had gone down and it seemed like this village had quite the active nightlife.

“I know you aren’t keen on being paired up with me, my sweet, but I promise we can do anything you want, any shop, any restaurant, it’s on me!” Sanji gushed at you.

You see a seedy looking club with bright neon signs up ahead. You stop walking.

“Anything I want, huh?” You say without turning around.

“Of course, darling!”

“Let’s get drunk.” You smile a bit and cross the street towards the club.

“O-oh? Um… I mean, yes! Whatever you desire!” Sanji jogs after you.

Sanji ducks past you as you approach the club so he could hold the door open for you. You’re immediately met with thumping music and the smell of cigarettes and alcohol.

“See, you can smoke inside!” You say as you pass Sanji to enter the establishment.

“T-that’s nice… OH-“

Once the two of you entered and your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, you realize that the cocktail waitresses were scantily dressed in mini skirts and bras. You sense that Sanji wasn’t by your side anymore. He was frozen in place. You storm up to him in a huff.

“If you ruin my night of partying because you need a fucking blood transfusion, I’ll make sure you never see another boob again! Not one!” You seethe up at him, poking a stern finger into his chest.

“Right! Okay! I’ll be fine, I promise!” Sanji straightens his tie after snapping out of his breast-induced stupor.

“Now shut up and buy me a drink.” You grab Sanji’s hand and pull him towards two seats at the bar.

Sanji pulls out the barstool for you and allows you to hop up whilst still holding his hand. You pull your hand back once comfortably seated and you feel a bit of a reluctant pull before Sanji releases you from his grasp. You shoot him a “don’t even think about it” kind of glare… one he had received from you many times before.

Sanji clears his throat before beckoning over the barkeep.

“A glass of cabernet, and a-?” Sanji looks at you and cocks a curly brow in question.

“Gin martini. Filthy.” You smile wickedly.

A few moments go by waiting for your drinks so you scope out the place. The club was so dark you had a hard time examining your surroundings. There was a dance floor, heavily packed with gyrating, sweaty people in a mess of hands and limbs. There were also booths scattered around the floor and almost each one was filled with a couple making out or at least engaged in some heavy petting.

“Wow this place is certainly something.” You whistle and turn your stool around to face the bar again. “I think those people at your 8 clock are actually humping.” You shake your head.

Sanji whips his head back to look and immediately turns back to the bar, eyes wide.

“God, I feel like I’m interrupting something.” Sanji’s cheeks blush pink.

The barkeep arrives with your drinks and Sanji pays him, with a hefty tip of course.

Sanji picks up his glass of wine and holds it out to you.

“Cheers to a lovely evening, with an even lovelier lady.”

You find yourself rolling your eyes again. You clink your martini against his drink.

You take several swigs of your drink and set it back down on the bar top. Sanji notices that it’s already over halfway finished.

“You’re not going to be a cheap date, are you?” You gives you a playful smirk.

“Not a chance.” You grin up at him before turning to flag down the bartender again.

— — —

“Okay okay okay, but like, if you HAD to cook a person.. what part are you cooking and how?” You say with a giggle with your umpteenth martini close to your lips.

“That’s absolutely vile, y/n! I would never do such a thing!” Sanji looks at you with wide eyes, a tipsy smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

“Okay but you HAVE to.” You press further.

There was a long pause.

“Well human flesh is the most similar to pork… so I guess I’d slow roast the rump with seasonal vegetables and red wine.” He eventually remarks.

You make eye contact and both immediately burst out laughing.

“Wow it’s incredible to know that the first thing you’d do after I die is eat my ass!” You laugh loudly.

“Sweetheart I’d eat your ass right now at this bar!” Sanji says with a grin.

You choke on your drink and push his shoulder playfully, calling him a pervert in the process. You finish your martini and set the empty glass back down on the bar top. You lift your pointer and middle fingers towards Sanji’s face and snip them together like scissors.

“You are drunk.” Sanji says as he passes you his cigarette.

“Na uh.” You tease as you take a long drag of the cigarette.

“You only ever ask me for a smoke when you’re drunk.” He smirks at you before taking the cigarette back from your slender, delicate fingers.

“How about asking you for a dance then?” You say as you hop down from your bar stool. You grab Sanji’s tie and gentle pull him along as you walk backwards towards the dance floor. Sanji snuffs out his cigarette and follows you with his mouth slightly agape. You lead him through the crowd of sweaty bodies and once you found enough space you pulled him close to you and put your hands around his neck. One of your hands threaded up through his blonde locks as he wrapped his hands around your waist.

The bass-heavy club music was thumping through your ears and the alcohol was flowing through your bloodstream. You couldn’t help but notice how nice it felt to be held by such strong hands as you gyrated your hips against Sanji’s slender ones.

Sanji leans his head down and presses his forehead against yours, you smile drunkenly.

“You look so fucking hot right now…” Sanji says at a volume just loud enough for you to hear him over the thrum of the music.

With your inhibitions completely gone, you kissed him.

You felt Sanji freeze briefly as you pressed your lips against his before he continued his movements against you. The grip on your hips tightens and pulls you even closer against his crotch as he presses his tongue into your mouth.

You gladly accept the intrusion and return the kiss with similar fervor. You make out on the dance floor for what seems like ages before you finally pull back.

“Y/n..” Sanji gazes at you, pupils blown wide from lust and intoxication.

“Come on.” You grab Sanji’s hand and pull him towards a darkened hallway that you could only assume housed the club’s restrooms. You burst through one of the restroom doors, thankfully finding it empty. Sanji locks the door behind you and immediately he attacks your lips again, hands gripping the sides of your face tightly. He kisses you hungrily, like he’ll never taste you again and he needs to get as much of you as he can.

“Slow down, baby boy, I’m not going anywhere…” You purr as you pull back to press Sanji’s back against the locked bathroom door. You drop to your knees. If you had been sober, there would be no way you'd let your bare lets touch the floor of a public bathroom, but here you were anyway.

“M-my love I-I-“ Sanji stutters.

“Just shut up…” You whisper as you nuzzle your nose into Sanji’s clothed erection straining against his suit pants. You unbuckle his belt and pull down his trousers and boxers in one go. It was a bit clumsy but you eventually got to what you were after… Sanji’s thick cock sprang from his waist band and nearly knocked you in the face with how hard he was.

You waste no time and grip Sanji by the base and engulf the head of his cock in your warm, eager mouth.

“Fuck!” Sanji exclaims and threads both his hands into your hair. You were thankful the club’s music was so loud, because you could already tell that this man didn’t know how to be discrete.

You bob your head back and forth down his shaft a few times before loosening your throat and taking him all the way down to the base. You gag and nestle your nose in his neatly trimmed, honey blond hair. You pull back off his cock and spit the remaining saliva back onto his member before catching your breath.

“You’re fucking perfect, y/n..” Sanji says lovingly as he strokes your reddened cheek with his soft thumb. You smile stupidly up at him and shove his cock back into your mouth. “Oh my god, just like that baby… so good…” Sanji continues to coo down at you as you service him with your lips and tongue. You were glad he was a bit drunk or else he would have no doubt shot his load down your throat by now, and you wanted it elsewhere.

You pull off his cock with a lewd pop and a string of saliva still connected it to your lips.

“Fuck me.” You smirk up at him.

“As you wish, love.” Sanji picks you up off the floor and sets you gently yet hurriedly on the sink counter. Sanji pulls your dress down your torso and your breasts spill out. He immediately dips his head to capture one of your tits in his plush lips. You whine at the feeling of his tongue against your sensitive nipple. Sanji notices you bucking your hips in need and pulls off of you to hike your dress above your hips, exposing your wet panties. He spreads your legs with his strong hands as you were seated on the counter. He roughly grips your panties and rips them into pieces so he could have immediate access.

“So beautiful, mon amour…” Sanji whispers to you breathlessly as he slides his cock head up and down through your wetness, not taking his eyes off your glistening sex.

“Please, need you…” You whimper as you wiggle your hips, trying to entice him to finally enter you.

Sanji answers your plea by stuffing you slowly making you loll your head back and moan. His girth stretched you so perfectly, his curve hitting you in your favorite spot.

“Shit…” Sanji is almost speechless as your cunt sucks him in so deeply.

“Fuck me hard, Sanji… please…” You white knuckle grip the edge of the bathroom counter, trying to stay balanced in your inebriated state.

Sanji responds by pulling out and plowing his hips into yours rapidly creating a lewd wet slapping sound that reverberated around the tile walls of the bathroom.

“Fuck! Yes! Like that!” You cry out, your sweet spot being hammered with every thrust. Sanji gripped your hip with one hand and brought one hand to your chin, sticking his thumb in your mouth. You immediately wrap your lips around his digit and suck.

“Sweet little slut… so pretty…” Sanji cooed at you as your pussy greedily accepted his cock over and over and over again.

You moan around Sanji’s thumb and drool drips from your lips.

“My dirty girl… going to cum?” Sanji asks you, teasingly.

You nod furiously.

“Give it to me, my love…”

You oblige and let the tightening band in your lower half snap, gushing your release all over Sanji’s abdomen and thighs. You moan loudly and your eyes roll in the back of your head.

“W-where should I-“

“Inside! Please!” You yelp through overstimulation.

“Shit-“ Sanji grunts and pants as he humps you through his orgasm, spurting hot cum to coat your insides. He rests his forehead against yours for a moment, trying to catch his breath before pulling out. A true gentlemen, he fixes your dress by pulling the skirt back down and pushing your breasts back in gently before pulling up his own trousers.

He picks your shaking form up gently from the counter and sets you down on the tile floor.

“W-we should probably get back…” You say softly.

“You’re right, come, love.” Sanji grabs your hand and walks you out of the bathroom and out of the club entirely.

Sanji doesn’t release your hand the whole walk back to the ship and you don’t try to pull it away. Several times on the trip back you look at each other and break into fits of giggles. No words needed to be said. Eventually, you make it back to the Sunny and cross the gangplank, hoping to slip to your bedroom unnoticed by any of your crew members.

“Geez, you guys look like shit. You get into a fight?” You turn after taking only just two steps onto the ship. Zoro was sitting up against the mast on night watch. You groan.

“Don’t you need to go be stupid somewhere else, moss head?” Sanji angrily retorts.

“And what the fuck happened to your dress, y/n? You piss yourself or something? You really are a lightweight.”

You look down and notice the stain on your dress and the wetness on the inside of your legs.

“Um! Maybe I should shower! Goodnight Zoro! Care to join me, Sanji It was a long night after all…” You rush towards the ship’s bathroom.

Sanji was hot at your heels, his green haired rival quickly forgotten.

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #one piece anime #one piece fanart #one piece live action #one piece netflix #one piece fandom #one piece smut #sanji #sanji x reader #one piece sanji #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji

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tommiieimagiines · 5 months ago

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AHHHH HIIII i have a req >< its an akito shinonome xFem!reader so the're both at weekend garage yknow doing their own thing and akito is talking to some npc guy an then the guy asks if the reader is his gf and akito being the lovesick loser he is/j says yeah then he says "yeah ik what you see in her shes fine" then akito is like like that one shocked face emoji (i cant find it lmao) have a nice dayyy !!

𖦹 hii! it’s been so long since i’ve uploaded, happy new year! i could sit here and tell a whole sob story about why i didn’t upload, but i’ll save it! thank you all for the support!it really means a lot, and makes me feel appreciated!^_^

♪ kind of ooc, VERY poorly written this is a draft all the way from summer, i just wanted you guys to have something. they hate each other for some reason idk why but it felt fitting… i make akito have a sweet insert a lot so i guess thought i’d make her feisty

“They’re mine, yeah?”

Akito Shinonome is a total jerk! He’s sending you mixed signals, and it’s driving you nuts!

You can only stand so many chirped out “Don’t worry ‘bout it, babe!”s before you start to get the wrong idea. I mean, who does this guy think he is, talking to you like that? He’s your friend - at least you think he is - so the fact he’s treating you like some pretty thing is getting on your nerves.

Little did you know, HE’S feeling the same way.

I mean seriously, are you blind? He’s genuinely curious. He wants to strangle you every time you tilt your head like a stupid dog, and go ‘huh?’! You have to be dumb, right? That, or you’re not interested in him. But, if the latter is the case, you need to grow a pair and tell him, so he can throw himself into practice for a couple of days and probably also get into a fight with Toya over something that wasn’t even that important- God, he’s rambling. He never rambles. You make him act all weird, he hates it. You suck.

You two have been keeping up the whole ‘I wanna kick your teeth in, and then make out’ thing for a while, without either of you knowing. It would be funny if it wasn’t so Goddamn infuriating. Endless rehearsals of Akito having his ‘man-period’ (as An has so affectionately dubbed it) have gotten old for everyone. How many times can he make everyone run through “Echo” before the novelty is taken out of the song?

At any rate, this can’t last forever. Something’s gotta give eventually.

And it did.

It did when Akito was (basically) tied down and (basically) forced to stare at you while you (..actually) talked to Kohane. It wasn’t his fault, okay? The sun was hitting your face just right, and you kept doing this endearing thing with your hair when it got in your face- it was like you taped his eyes open! Maybe if you’d stop being so charming while doing absolutely nothing, he wouldn’t have to look like a creep! It didn’t go unnoticed by you either.

Akito kept staring at you, and it kept throwing you off balance. You didn’t know why, only having asked Kohane a small number of a billion times. ‘Kohane, am I talking too loud?’ before quitting and just letting him look. You must’ve done something to piss him off, what a jerk! You’re so sick of him being so immature! He should just man up and tell you when he’s pissed, not give you a dirty look- well, the more you look at it, it isn’t all that dirty. Why is he making that weird lopsided face? It looks dumb. You decide to stare at him back.

Akito jumps, quickly shifting his eyes away from you. How embarrassing! God, he must look like such a loser. He tries to act casual as you turn your head back Kohane, finally letting out a breath when you bring your attention back.

He has never been more thankful for anything in his life. Truly. He was feeling blessed until he felt a nudge on his shoulder.

Now, he wasn’t excited to mess someone up in front of you, but he wasn’t about to look like some pussy either. Thankfully, there was no need, the sleaze seems chill, but damn, this guy sure looks like a toolbag.

“‘Sup, man?” He says, and Akito winces. This guy's voice is like nails on a chalkboard. Does he think he has swagger? How dare this guy interrupt his borderline creepy stalker time? He puts on an annoyed smile, deciding he has to be a little polite.

“‘Sup? Need somethin’?” God, he hopes not. He’s no good at directions, and he’s worse at being polite to bastards with ugly haircuts.

“Ah, was just wondering, that one yours?” The guy gestures to you two, nudging him again. Are you fucking kidding me right now? For his sake, Akito assumes this guy is talking about Kohane - which he still wasn’t enthusiastic about throwing to him - and shrugs. He felt a little dirty telling the name of his friend to this slimeball, but if it gets him off your back he’ll have to live with it. And he can just beat the daylights out of him if he tries anything funny anyway.

“The blonde girl with pigtails? Her name is Kohane, and no, I’m not with her, but she doesn’t-“ He’s quickly interrupted.

“No, no, the other one. Y’know the hot one talkin’ to her?”

Akito’s eye twitches. How dare this guy talk about you like that. His blood boils over, and he quickly grows defensive. Yes, you know what, you are his, and he’s not about to let this slimeball think any different. He can’t believe that anyone would dare think of you like that. “The hot one”? Ha, don’t make him laugh. You are hot, sure, but you’re also a total brat. Does that weirdo know your favorite drink from this café? For fucks sake, he didn’t even know your name. You’re not a thing, but you ARE his. He pushes the man - yes, man, he’s sure this guy is grown - away, masking himself in half-playfulness.

“Yeah, back off dude. They’re mine, yeah?” He’s loud - louder than he’d like - when he scolds him. He obviously comes off as hostile because everybody (including you. confused and probably disgusted you.) turned to look at him. Ugh, how embarrassing!

You and Kohane exchange confused glances, making him fall further into the pit of guilt. Maybe he went a little far, I mean you aren’t his, so maybe you’d be interested in him- Nah, he acts like a slimeball, and looks like one, despite all Akitos flaws, he’s miles better than this freak, but he probably embarrassed you. The guy backs away in defense, holding his hands up.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry, was just wonderin’ I know what you see in them.” The guy pulls back, obviously not about to take whatever shit Akito was so willing to put on him. Smart move, because his nice streak was running out. The guy scampers away, muttering out his apologies. Oh great, now he really looks like a psycho. He’s gonna have to change his name and switch schools-

He sees you turn to him and laugh, God, he’s so fucked.

Now you, mildly amused, somewhat heartbroken, and really pissed off you, had seen this little outburst, and the “they’re mine”, and immediately assumed he was talking about Kohane. Obviously. You two aren’t together, you thought you’d at least remember that.

Your first train of thought as his self-proclaimed ‘semi-best-friend’, was how dare he not tell you about this?! And how dare he just lead you on like that when he had a girlfriend? What a jerk! You didn’t even have feelings for him anyway. You’re better than that! You exhale, trying to calm your heart. It’s not the time for this. It’s ‘semi-best-friend-who-hates-him’ time, so you prance over to him with a shit-eating grin.

“Damn, someone’s protective of their girlfriend! I’m heartbroken that you didn’t tell me, y’know. I thought we were besties!” You knock into his shoulder, giving a convincing eyebrow wiggle.

What the fuck? No, like, seriously what the fuck? Akitos mind jumps around in his skull, not finding a single thing to say. Do you think- Really? Him and Kohane? He lets out a laugh, rubbing his eyes in exasperation. You’re so dumb sometimes, really dumb. Cute though. Smart too. Pretty, funny, dense-

“Nah, no I’m- I’m not with her.” His voice finally comes out, and you’re hit with a wave of confusion. Not with her? If that’s the case, what was his outburst even about?

“Then why the crash out, huh? Do you like her?” You tease, stretching out the ‘like’. Your hands go back to his shoulders, jumping up and down. If you were to be honest with yourself, you’d find that you’re guiltily happy at the fact they’re not dating. You’d never admit that though. Not to this punk.

His breath gets caught in his throat, his pulse quickening at the closeness. You’re such a dunce, are you blind? Do you not know how he feels? As said, he hasn’t really been subtle about it.

“I- uh-” He looks to the side, struggling to find anything to say. Whatever happened to stone-cold Akito? Is he just going to sit there foolishly? He's embarrassed, to say the least. How is he even supposed to rectify this? Hey, I’m totally into you, sorry for embarrassing you in front of our friend?! “I’m-”

“You do like her!” You screech, still shaking him up. You don't feel great about it, sure, but it's still fun to tease him. He's still your best friend, so-

“No, stupid I- God, that’s not it! You're so dumb, I was talking about you-“

You freeze, and so does he. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. He decides it was.

“What?!” You sputter, stepping back. Did you hear him correctly? There's no way… right? You know that he had been flirty, sure, but this? A real confession? It seems completely out of character for the rough-and-tough boy, and it really did come from nowhere. Unfortunately, your confusion only serves to piss him off. Where do you get the nerve to act shocked?

“Whatdya mean ‘what?’?!” He crosses his arms, obviously growing irritated by your ignorance. He stares down at you, wiping his palms on his pants in suspense. “Do you not get it?-”

“I just thought you were…” you trail off, fidgeting with your hemline, “so you're not with Kohane?” Your voice is reluctant as you ask, wanting to confirm it; confirm he likes you.

“No, I’m not with Kohane!-“ He defends, running a hand through his hair.

“And… you like me?” You point to yourself.

“Yes, that's what I said-”

“Oh.”

“”Oh?!” What is “oh?!”?” His voice comes out embarrassingly high-pitched, and it furthers the awkward moment.

“Oh. It’s just… oh.”

You both look the other way, trying your best to peek at each other's faces while remaining indiscreet. He wasn’t about to look at you while you embarrassed him. You’re so annoying.

Silence is something you two don't do very well when you're together, but it develops… in time.

You break it, you always were charitable.

“I kinda like you too y’know,” you confess, “even if you're kind’ve a jackass and you have bad hair.”

“I- okay.” He doesn’t dare to look at you, much to your annoyance.

“”Okay”? You got mad at me for an “Oh” but you give me an “okay”?!”

“Whatever, weirdo.”

“You suck, Shinonome.”

Kohane sees you guys holding hands when you three walk home that night… but she decides to keep her mouth shut.

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sankta-wraith · 6 months ago

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I’m about halfway through season three, and I’d just like to take a moment and look at how losing Rose has changed the Doctor.

First the obvious things: he’s more serious. During his time with Rose, he was mostly cheerful, funny, and generally quite positive. There were a few darker moments, but for the most part he had a pretty sunny personality, especially when he was with Rose. In season three, while he still tries to maintain his happy personality, he occasionally slips into melancholy and his cheerfulness often feels like a bit of a facade. This isn’t to say that there aren’t moments when he’s genuinely happy, but they seem to be far less frequent than the durst two seasons. He smiles less. He doesn’t have as many quips. He’s barely laughed at all. But that’s to be expected. He just lost someone he loved; it makes sense for him to be more withdrawn and sad.

The thing that struck me the most was how reckless he’s become. He’s always been a bit reckless, but he’s also tried to avoid things that will most likely kill him. He might be constantly getting himself into very dangerous situations, but he (almost) always thinks of some way to not die. (I think it’s because he knows that if he dies the Time Lords die with him, but that’s a different post.) In season three, he’s practically suicidal. So far, he’s allowed himself to come dangerously close to death at least five times, some seemingly without expecting to survive.

First was in episode one, when he let the Plasmavore drink his blood so she wouldn’t register as human on the scanner. He had no companion at the time, so he couldn’t have expected anyone to come for him. Even if someone had found him, they would have needed to do a blood transfusion, and since he’s not human it’s unlikely that human blood would save him. (I’m actually not sure how he survived that. Martha gave him CPR, but that didn’t fix the blood loss issue.) Even knowing all of that, he still allowed the Plasmavore to drain his blood without hesitation. He technically could have regenerated, but that didn’t seem to be part of his plan. I’m still not quite sure how regeneration works, but I’m pretty sure he has to be conscious for it to happen, and he was definitely unconscious when Martha found him.

The second time was when the Carrionite did he voodoo doll thing. This is admittedly a weaker example, since he does have two hearts, but I’m not entirely convince that he knew he’s be able to restart his other heart. He can clearly survive with just one heart (at least for a little bit,) but it significantly weakened him and it’s unclear how long he would have survived it. Had he been unable to get both hearts working, he probably would have died later when his remaining heart gave out under the strain, or been finished off later by the Carrionites and unable to defend himself. And yet he seems remarkably unconcerned, even when he realizes what she going to do. This isn’t to say that he wasn’t worried, but maybe not as worried as he should have been.

Third is when he willingly offers himself up to the Daleks, fully expecting them to kill him. This is one of the best examples, because he is 100% convinced that they are going to kill him. He’s so convinced that it actually comes as a shock when they decide not to kill him on the spot. Sacrificing himself makes sense in this situation, but it was a bit shocking how fast he agreed. I had expected to frantically try to come up with a plan, or at least to try fighting, before he decided to sacrifice himself. I certainly hadn’t expected him to straight up tell them to kill him.

Fourth was when he put himself in the direct path of a lightning strike/gamma ray burst on the off chance that some of his DNA would get transferred. Again this is an excellent example because not only did he put himself in its path, he actually held onto a lightning rod and wouldn’t let go for the duration of the gamma ray burst. There’s also the small fact that said lightning rod was on the top of the Empire State Building, and if the lighting and radiation hadn’t killed him a fall probably could’ve. That is literally the definition of suicidal.

The fifth and (so far) final time was when he, once again, sacrificed himself to the Daleks and demanded they kill him. Yes he knew that the Dalek-humans had some Time Lord DNA in them, but he still couldn’t be sure it would be enough. If you still don’t believe that he’s suicidal, I think seeing him stand in a room full of people with lasers/guns and telling them all to kill him should convince you. If even that doesn’t work, then you should consider the fact that the last three all happen in the same episode.

Let it never be said that losing Rose didn’t affect the Doctor.

#doctor who #rose tyler #martha jones #dr who #the tenth doctor #tenrose #timepetals #doctorrose #dr who season three #10th doctor #the doctor #doctor who s3 #daleks in manhattan

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defectivevillain · 1 year ago

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a heavenly, hellish housemate

pairing: Adam/Reader

The reader’s race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.***

summary: “If you’re my guardian angel, then why are you so…?” you break off. “Devilishly handsome?” the angel winks. “I was going to say ‘sleazy,’” you frown. “Okay, that’s not the right way to say ‘Wow, thank you so much for saving my life. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Adam, you’re so sexy and badass,'” he scoffs.

After Adam acts up yet again, Sera decides to assign him guardian angel duty. Adam is pissed, but he goes along with it and starts to look out for you: the human he’s tasked with protecting. He has no intention of ever actually meeting you, but when he saves you from death, he finds himself stuck on Earth with you.

warnings: near-death experiences, emotional manipulation, suggestive humor

author's notes: ***The reader is referred to as “dude,” and “bitch” (you can thank adam for that, lmao) but i typically use those terms with the intent of them being gender-neutral… The reader also uses cologne (but, again, smelling nice isn’t gender-specific, i don’t think…)

This fic won’t be canon compliant. Also, some of the story itself is going to be underdeveloped—in the sense that I still want this to be a “oneshot,” not a multi-chapter fic. Some big-scale things like how Adam gets to Earth and how he will return to Heaven are overlooked.

anyways, onto the fun stuff:

It’s been a long day, you think to yourself as you walk down the sidewalk. Work wasn’t particularly eventful today, but you’re still rather exhausted. You’re contemplating what you’ll fix for dinner when you see a car approaching out of the corner of your eye. You blink and your heart races as you realize it’s veering off the road and heading right towards you. It’s going far too fast and suddenly you’re frozen, trapped as the car speeds towards the sidewalk and heads straight for you in painful slow-motion. At the last possible moment, you’re shoved to the side with unnatural momentum. You fall to the ground and the car crashes into the wall—right about where you had been walking mere moments ago. You stare at it in disbelief.

You have scrapes on your knees and you get the feeling you’ll have bruises on your elbows and arms, but otherwise, you’re unharmed. It’s a miracle—there’s no other way to explain it. By all means, you should have died in that car crash. You weren’t able to move in time… until that weird sensation, as if someone unseen had just shoved you out of the way.

“Don’t get paid enough for this shit,” someone nearby mutters. You’re about to get up when a large shadow overtakes your vision. You look up to find a figure cloaked in white staring down at you; after a second look, you realize that he’s wearing a mask over his face. He’s looking down at you with a strange combination of interest and scrutiny.

“…Hello?” you choke out, once you manage to accept just what you’re seeing. This guy—whoever he is—is ridiculously tall and looks entirely unfamiliar. In fact, he doesn’t look human at all—he has a bright halo over his head and wings extending from his shoulders.

He stares at you in disbelief when he notices that you’re looking back at him. “You can see me?” he asks, clearly surprised. “What the fuck?!”

“Are you my guardian angel or something?” you ask, unable to hide your suspicion. You never thought guardian angels were even real; and, even if you were to think about it, you would expect a “guardian angel” to be clothed in blinding white. This guy has grey horns, golden wings, and a positively dangerous smirk. He does have that white halo, though…

“Ugh, fucking fine,” the guy scoffs, clearly annoyed. You’re not quite sure how he’s sick of this conversation already, when it hasn’t been more than a few moments. “Yes, I am. You’re welcome, baby.”

“Okay,” you remark, still a little unconvinced. Admittedly, the pet-name throws you for a loop—especially when you realize the guy is rather attractive, with shaggy, dusky brown hair and gleaming golden eyes. Averting your eyes, you take a look around you, only to find that everyone seems too preoccupied with the car crash to notice you talking to this strange “angel”—if that’s really what he is. Or, even more frightening… you may be the only one able to see him. You try to collect your thoughts and one question immediately comes to mind. “If you’re my guardian angel, then why are you so…?” You trail off.

“Devilishly handsome?” he winks.

“I was going to say ‘sleazy,’” you frown.

The guy crosses his arms over his chest. “Okay, that’s not the right way to say ‘wow, Adam, thank you so much. I don’t know what I’d do without you, you’re so sexy and badass.’”

You stare at him in disbelief for a few moments, before deciding to push yourself to your feet. Even when you’re standing in front of him, the height difference between you both is stark. You squint at him for a second. “Are you sure you’re an angel?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. The guy seems a little too profane to be from Heaven. But, who knows?

“Damn right,” the guy asserts confidently, blowing your assumptions right out of the water. “I’m the angel. Adam’s the name, pulling bitches is the game.”

While you want to focus on that horrid last part of his statement, your attention is captured by his name: Adam. Is he the first human—that Adam? “You’re the Adam?” you question. “Like, Adam and Eve?”

The smug grin on the angel’s face promptly vanishes. “Ugh, this was going so well,” Adam groans raspily. “Don’t fucking mention my ex-wife, dude. She’s a real piece of work.”

“If you say so,” you acquiesce. This entire conversation is giving you whiplash. You wonder just how you got yourself into this situation. And while you’re grateful that this guy saved you, you hadn’t expected to be stuck in an interaction with him. You really just want to go home—this day has been a nightmare, and you want nothing more than to jump into bed and sleep.

“I do say so,” he preens. Wow, this guy’s ego is extremely inflated. You’re not sure you’ve ever met someone so cocky and arrogant before.

“Well… Thanks for saving my life, I guess?” you remark uneasily, taking a casual half-step backwards and hoping he doesn’t notice. You’ve been patiently waiting for the conversation to end, but somehow it’s still going—and you’re nearly at the point of just walking away and ignoring him.

“You’re fucking welcome, shrimp,” Adam responds. You ignore the dig. The guy is unnaturally tall—far surpassing the height of even the tallest humans. He must be eight or nine feet tall, at least.

“Well, I have to get home, so…” You give an awkward wave and turn to walk away. You don’t make it for more than a few steps before you notice a presence behind you. Adam is following you, you realize with dread. “Um, what are you doing?” you ask.

“Following you, dipshit,” he scoffs, as if the question is stupid. “This has never happened before. I don’t know how to get back up to Heaven yet.”

“Great,” you groan, resolving yourself to a chaotic day.

Why am I doing this again? you ask yourself as you stare at the angel walking around your apartment. You don’t realize that you utter that question aloud until you hear Adam speak. “Because you’re nice and hot and smart and totally my type?”

“Nice try,” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest and resolutely pretending that his remark doesn’t make your heart race. He’s the type of person to flirt with anyone—hell, anything—that has a pulse. “Flattery won’t get you very far.”

“It’s true, though,” Adam insists confidently, “And you can take my word for it, ‘cause there are some real nasty bastards up in Heaven.” You watch as he continues to inspect your apartment, opening your cabinets and drawers and ultimately having zero respect for your privacy. You’re suddenly immensely grateful that you don’t have much to hide—your apartment is pretty ordinary-looking.

“So… when do you go back?” you not-so-subtly ask, as he continues looking around without permission.

“Trying to kick me out?” he grins, seeing through your rather pathetic attempt to hide your irritation. Adam shuts the drawer he was searching through and shrugs. “Not sure. I’ve never been to the human realm before; this shit blows.” He punctuates the statement with a heavy eye-roll.

“That’s not helpful,” you frown concernedly. It may be no big deal for him—he has all the time in the world to return to Heaven, considering he’s already in the afterlife. But you have a life, a job, and things to do. You don’t have the time or energy (or patience) to stumble through reorganizing your entire life just to fit an angel in it.

“I don’t fucking know!” he practically screeches, a sudden switch into extreme defensiveness. Adam must notice you watching him, because he turns around and meets your gaze. “For once. Maybe even the first time. But I know everything else, so don’t get used to it.” He’s quick to add. You’re starting to worry that your eyes will get stuck in the back of your head—from how much you’ve been rolling your eyes at his inane comments.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a pain in the ass?” you mutter darkly.

“Without lubrication, yeah.” You don’t bother dignifying that comment with a response. You instead shake your head relentingly and tell him you have a pullout bed on the couch, to which he complains incessantly before you offer sleeping on the street as an alternative.

Still processing everything that happened, you tell Adam you need to be alone and lock yourself in your room. Just a few hours ago, you were living your life as normal. Your guardian angel saved your life, but now he’s living here with you. You don’t remember signing up for any of this. You rub a hand over your face and try to fight off the exhaustion that has been setting in since you left work.

Eventually, it’s late enough for you to go to bed—and you fall asleep hoping that you’ll wake tomorrow morning to an empty apartment, blissfully free of a certain angel.

But the universe is not so merciful, and you see Adam sleeping on the couch when you walk out of your room and towards the kitchen. You try to move quietly—so as to not disturb him—but he must be a light sleeper, because suddenly he’s up on his feet and chastising you for being too loud. You head to work already feeling tired, which doesn’t bode well for the rest of your day.

The longer Adam stays at your apartment, the more you learn about him. For example, you learn that Adam is an incessant flirt (although that was clear from the first few moments you met). You also learn that he enjoys scaring the absolute shit out of you. Sometimes, you’ll get home from work and find yourself in an empty apartment. You’ll forget that you’re housing a goliath of a “guardian angel,” until said angel seeps out of the shadows and screams at you, cackling maniacally as you regain your breath.

Adam isn’t a great roommate, either—he’s messy, doesn’t have very many boundaries, and has no qualms about invading your personal space. He has a ton of annoying habits. Even so, you suppose it’s not the worst situation you could find yourself in. Plus, as much as you hate to admit it, it’s kind of nice to have company when you get home from a particularly long day at work. You can vent to him about some dumbass you work with and he won’t hesitate to insult them with you.

Although… Adam doesn’t pay you. He doesn’t have any human money. You’re not even sure if Heaven has currency, and you keep forgetting to ask. All you know is that he’s living here for free—practically mooching off of you. And, for the first few weeks, it really does feel like he’s taking advantage of your kindness—as he eats all of your groceries, never cleans up after himself, constantly plays your Nintendo Switch without asking you for permission… The list goes on.

After more than three weeks of that rather grating behavior, you sit him down at the table in the dining room and try to establish some ground rules. If he is going to continue staying with you, he has to: (1) clean up after himself, which includes everything from washing the clothes you bought for him at the thrift store to doing his dishes; (2) write what he wants on the grocery list, so you won’t come home to an empty fridge and pantry; (3) use his own separate account for your Switch, which you so graciously made for him; and (4) limit how many times he scares you to a few times per week.

You think these demands are perfectly reasonable, but judging from the way he stares at you for a moment before laughing in your face, Adam has never respected someone else’s rules. You don’t break eye contact with him, despite wanting nothing more than to look away from his increasingly intimidating gaze. Eventually, Adam must sense that you’re not budging on these points, because he mutters something about bossy landlords—to which you snarkily remind him that landlords have paying tenants, and that he is living under your roof for free. He shuts up after that.

After that conversation, things get better. Slowly but surely, Adam begins to adjust his behavior to be moderately less annoying. You get the feeling that being annoying is one of his core personality traits, but at the very least you’ve prevented that from affecting your lifestyle. Unsurprisingly, the angel doesn’t follow all of the rules perfectly. Ironically, it seems that Rule No. 4—limiting how often he scares the life out of you—is the most difficult one for him to follow. The fucker is constantly appearing behind you and ripping the breath from your chest. But, you respect that Adam is trying, and the two of you gradually learn to live with one another.

But things come to an unfortunate boiling point one evening as you’re getting ready to go out for dinner. You’ve attempted to tame your hair into something slightly more styled than normal and you’ve used your rather pricey cologne [a miniscule amount of it, admittedly]. You have your keys, your pepper spray in case your date goes awry, and your phone. You’re inspecting your closet in an attempt to decide on an outfit when you hear Adam enter the room.

You turn around to face him, realizing that he looks skeptical as his gaze inspects your form. “Where the hell are you going?” he asks, evidently noticing that you’re preparing to leave. You suppose it is rather unusual for you to be leaving home in the evening like this—typically, once you leave work, you stay home for the rest of the night.

“I’m going on a date,” you respond, picking out a shirt and pants and folding them over your arm.

“A date?” Adam scoffs. “Your ugly ass? Please.”

You don’t bother acknowledging that remark, instead moving to the bathroom. You change and brush your teeth, before walking back out to your room. You’ll just pretend that your giant angelic roommate—the one who still doesn’t pay rent, by the way—isn’t here. Unfortunately, you don’t get very far, because Adam continues speaking the moment you exit the bathroom.

“Hey, there isn’t—” Adam begins, turning around to face you. Whatever he means to say fades to obscurity as he stares at you. For a painful moment, the two of you are trapped in a tense silence. Just as it grows to be unbearable, Adam scoffs. “This is for him? Fucking Tom?” Wait… How does he know your date’s name? You squint at him suspiciously, before realizing that he’s holding your phone and evidently looking through your messages.

“Hey, give me that—” you say with wide eyes, reaching for your phone.

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’” Adam recites, scrolling through the messages from the guy you’re going on a date with. There’s a cruel amusement gleaming in his eyes. “There’s no fucking way,” he cackles.

You stare at him in shocked silence, forced to listen as he rips apart this guy you haven’t even met yet. “Are you done yet?” you eventually ask, when it seems like he’s losing steam. “I have to go, give me that—” you hiss, annoyed and frustrated. His grip is inhumanly tight as he clutches your phone; you have no idea how he hasn’t broken it yet.

“No way, sweetheart,” he grins, a malicious and cruel smile. “This is the most fun I’ve had in years,” he says, continuing to scroll through your conversation, “Besides, why are you meeting with this guy if you don’t even know him in the first place?”

That’s the whole point of the date: to get to know Tom. You try to take a deep breath and remain calm. “You’re my ‘guardian angel,’ not my mother,” you feel the need to say, when his eye contact is growing a bit too intense and prolonged.

“Wow, strange, that doesn’t sound like gratitude,” Adam frowns, tapping a finger against his chin.

You grit your teeth. Unless you’re able to sneak around this nine-foot fucking demon looming in the doorway—because really, he’s not acting like much of an angel right now—you’re going to miss your date. You try to make a grab for your phone one more time, but Adam’s grip remains steady. There’s no way you’re getting it back, judging from both his immensely strong grasp and the determined smirk on his face.

Defeat sets in, followed by prickling embarrassment and fury. “You know what?” you say, your voice cracking in your frustration. “Fine. Fine. You win. Okay?” You leave your room and head out to the living room, desperate for some privacy. Adam either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, because he follows behind you. You feel tears falling down your face before you can stop them. You feel so helpless. This guy swooped into your life and fucked everything up, just for his own amusement.

“Are you crying because of that loser?” Adam asks, surprise coloring his voice.

“I’m crying because of you!” you seethe, glaring at him. You wipe your eyes with the back of your sleeve. “You ruined my night. And I genuinely wanted to get to know Tom, but you’ve fucked that up too!” This is like an emotionally manipulative relationship, you think to yourself, but without the relationship. So really, it’s just emotionally manipulative. You don’t give Adam a chance to defend himself, instead pushing past him and going back into your room, slamming the door shut behind you.

You flop onto your bed and curl onto your side, unable to stop the tears sliding down your cheeks. You know it’s a somewhat insignificant thing to be upset about, but you can’t help it. The way Adam just completely decimated your plans, with all the confidence of someone who has never once been questioned, someone who has always been looked up to and venerated and-

You huff and push yourself back up to a sitting position, grabbing the nearby tissue box and blowing your nose. You’re still furious with Adam, of course, but you’d rather just not acknowledge him right now. Even the mere thought of him now is enough to send new tears slipping down your cheeks.

You lie awake a bit longer than usual that night, feeling unspeakably restless. Frustrated, you stare up at the ceiling and try to think about something other than the horrible evening you just had. Eventually, you drift off into sleep—albeit with dry eyes and anger still prickling at your core.

Against all odds, you manage to have a relatively restful sleep, and you wake to the smell of pancakes wafting through your apartment. That immediately concerns you, and you get out of bed with fear drumming in your chest. Did you leave the stove on? Is something burning? You stumble out to the kitchen, only to find Adam standing with his back to you, looking down at a griddle that you don’t remember purchasing.

“Adam?” you ask, blinking traces of sleep from your eyes. Adam stiffens and turns around, an uncharacteristically weak smile flickering on his face before it’s replaced with his trademark wide grin.

“Hey,” he remarks, turning around to flip a few pancakes. When Adam turns back around to look at you, you realize that the apron he’s wearing says Kiss the Cook. You feel a disbelieving laugh crawl out of your throat before you can stop it.

“Where’d you get that apron?” you ask, knowing damn well you don’t own an apron like that.

“Don’t worry about it,” he grins, which naturally just worries you more. You take a deep breath and go back to your room to change. When you return to the kitchen, there’s a stack of pancakes on the counter—evidently for you. You grab a few pancakes, a plate, and utensils, before settling at the table and beginning to eat. You keep yourself occupied throughout the meal with Youtube videos, but you’re still unable to avoid the tension settling in the air.

When you finish eating, you do your dishes before thanking Adam for the meal. Before you can retreat back to the solitude of your room, Adam takes a deep breath as if preparing himself to speak.

“So…” he starts, “yhis is hard for me to say………” His voice is almost entirely devoid of emotion. Before you can think about that any longer, he continues speaking. Is he about to apologize? Somehow, you doubt it. “I’m not sorry for what I did.” And there it is. You’re not surprised; you’re just disappointed. You immediately move to leave and his eyes widen. “Wait. No, that’s— Hey, I’m trying to apologize here!”

“Apologizing typically starts with ‘I’m sorry,’” you say, glaring at him.

“Fine,” Adam says with an eye-roll, “I didn’t want you going on that date. Okay?”

“Why?” you ask. You deserve to know the rationality behind his actions—if there even was any. The angel’s eyes are gleaming (with what emotion, you’re not quite sure).

“I’m your guardian angel,” Adam reminds you, “I’m supposed to protect you from harm.” That’s a load of bullshit. You turn around again, fully intent on barricading yourself in your room and never coming out. “Hey, hey, hey—!” he sputters. Adam takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Damn it! Fine. I didn’t want you to go on that date because you’re out of his league.”

That statement only confuses you further. Tom was an attractive guy, and he seemed nice. Why would you be out of his league? “Then who’s in my league?” you sputter, feeling extremely lost. “You?” you scoff.

“Yes!” he exclaims with so much vehemence that it startles you. “I mean, no! Fuck, why is this so difficult? Okay. Listen… I rescheduled your date with Tom. You’re gonna meet with him today, and wear that sexy ass outfit you had on yesterday.”

“Really?” you ask, still skeptical. You want to believe the angel, but you can’t help but think of his actions last night—the unflappable determination on his face as he wrecked your plans for the night. Adam got some sort of thrill out of ruining your night, and that still concerns you.

“Really,” the angel assures you, tossing you your phone. You completely forgot he had it. You remember trying to wrench it out of his grip; when you stormed off to your room, he must’ve still had it. “Check your messages.” You obey and open the text conversation.

Yesterday, 2:45 p.m. Tom: Looking forward to it. Yesterday, 4:42 p.m. You: Hey, I hate to do this, but do you mind if we reschedule for tomorrow? My roommate got sick and I need to look after him. Tom: Sure thing. Same time? You: Sounds good.

“Oh,” you remark aloud, lost for words.

“So go on your date and have fun,” Adam continues. “With— with Tom.” The latter statement is spoken with a decent amount of venom, and Adam averts his eyes with a surprisingly irritated expression on his face. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, you busy yourself with preparing for the date, equal parts anticipation and something frighteningly similar to appreciation warring in your chest. You shouldn’t be holding any sort of appreciation for Adam’s actions—he was just righting his own mistake. Even so… You sigh and push aside any thoughts of Adam, instead busying yourself with preparing. When you’re finally ready, you walk out of your room and head for the side table—where your pepper spray, phone, and keys still remain from the night before.

You glance around the space, finding Adam sitting in front of the television and playing video games. “I’m heading out,” you decide to tell him.

“Have fun,” the angel says, not bothering to look away from his game. You take a deep breath and leave your apartment, locking your door behind you. Your date is waiting outside, supposedly.

The night passes by frighteningly fast; two hours later, you’re unlocking your front door, shutting it behind you, and trudging into your apartment with severely dampened spirits. You’re unsurprised to find Adam still playing games on your Nintendo Switch. His back is turned and you feel your throat burning. “Hey,” he says, focused on the game. “How’d it go?”

“You called it,” you murmur frustratedly. “You were right. I should’ve listened.” Your eyes are burning now too. Your voice sounds foreign to your ears.

It evidently takes Adam a moment to process what you just said, but you immediately notice the moment he comprehends it. The room falls eerily silent and you watch the television screen for a moment. (Meanwhile, Adam is staring ahead in complete shock, surprised as to how someone could have fumbled the bag so badly.) Adam then turns around, his game entirely abandoned. “What did that bastard do?” he hisses. “God damn it, I’m going to murder him. He’s going straight to Hell!”

“It’s— I don’t know,” you choke out, placing your hands on the back of the couch. Tears are falling down your face now, despite your best attempts to keep them in. “Maybe it’s my fault,” you murmur.

“Abso-fuckin-lutely not,” Adam declares with an unreasonable amount of confidence. “You’re the closest fuckin’ thing to perfection; there’s no way in Heaven or Hell that it was your fault.” You want to believe him, but you don’t. You can’t—not after how badly the night went.

You’re still reeling, so you decide to sit down next to Adam on the couch. For a long moment, the two of you stare ahead silently as the Animal Crossing: New Horizons music plays in the background. Eventually, Adam continues playing and you watch as he controls a purple-skinned avatar with golden eyes, black wings, and a white halo.

Sharing the silence with Adam is nice, but you soon find it more and more difficult to stay awake through it. You’re growing tired—your exhaustion from earlier catching up to you—and your eyelids are starting to sting from fatigue. You’re leaning back against the couch cushions, dangerously close to leaning on Adam’s shoulder. Your limbs feel as heavy as bricks and within moments, you’re surrendering to the urge to succumb to the darkness and the magnetic sensation pulling you to rest your head on the angel’s shoulder.

The next morning you wake up in your bed, despite having no recollection of walking back to your room. That particular mystery quickly fades to the back of your mind once you arrive at work, however. The day seems to drag, but finally, after a seemingly infinite amount of time, you finish your work and can go home to relax.

“Hey,” you say as you enter your apartment after work, surprised to find the living room empty. Typically, you’d see Adam watching television at this time. “Adam?” you ask. There’s no response. You shrug off your jacket and hang it on your coat rack, before walking through the living room and into the dining room.

To your surprise, you find your table candlelit, with boxes of takeout from your favorite restaurant scattered around its surface. “Hey, you’re back,” Adam says. Despite the fact that he probably didn’t mean to scare you, the sudden reveal of his presence is enough to send your heart racing—if only for a brief moment. You still can’t quite believe what you’re seeing; noticing your confusion, Adam continues—sounding almost apprehensive. “I thought… you deserve a nice dinner, since your date didn’t go well,” he breaks off for a moment, a truly murderous expression on his face. Adam shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts, before motioning to the takeout boxes and looking at you expectantly. “Did I get your order right?” You squint at the boxes and nod; he grins. “Hell yeah! Am I the fucking best or what?”

You smile and shake your head in disbelief. You move to sit down, but Adam tugs you back. “Hey, hey, not so fast,” he admonishes you, before placing a hand on the chair and pulling it out for you. You roll your eyes fondly and sit down at the proffered seat. Moments later, Adam takes a seat across from you. The two of you quickly dig into your food and you fall into idle conversation about your day.

When you’re both finished eating, Adam clears his throat purposefully. “So,” he starts, “I know I was kind of a dick, but you should go on an actual date with me.” He sounds forceful, but you’re pretty sure he’s just uncertain.

“Sure,” you agree rather easily. Despite all you’ve been through—all the missteps Adam has made, especially when you were trying to date other people—you like the thought of being in a relationship with him. Adam is frighteningly easy to be around, and underneath that prickly, jerkish exterior is a person who genuinely cares about you. At least, that’s what you hope.

“Oh hell yeah!” He fist-pumps, making you chuckle. “You’re about to get wined and dined, bitch. Get ready for a four-course meal—I’ll be the perfect fucking gentleman. Chivalry and all that shit.”

“You do realize chivalry has been dead for, like, centuries,” you say before you can stop yourself.

Adam groans dramatically. “You know what I fucking mean,” he chastises you. And, surprisingly, you think you actually do know what he means. He wasn’t referring to chivalry in the antiquated sense, but more in the sense that every person deserves to be treated nicely. That’s a surprisingly decent perspective, coming from him of all people. “I’m going to be so fucking nice, you’re going to be falling at my feet.” You both know that is definitely not going to happen. You don’t let Adam always have his way—you don’t let him step all over you. And, maybe, that’s one of the reasons he likes you. Maybe, just maybe, he needs someone who is just as independent and stubborn as he is.

You find yourself looking forward to learning more about this mysterious guardian angel of yours.

endnotes: oh my god, they were roommates.

y'all, i can't believe i wrote 5k words for this bastard.

thanks for reading! <3

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awkwardgtace · 2 months ago

Text

Not Quite A Breakfast Date

Eepy!! we did it folks. The 31 days have happened. Just took like.... til april of 2025. We got more Felix and Maxxie. This time in mafia AU!!

Maxxie was taken by some mafia goons to be a living candy. When they plan to give him to a guest that's expected to kill him he runs away. Surrounded by giants should be a dream, but they'd all actually eat him. If only he could find a safe place (and maybe a hot giant to save him)

Not Quite A Breakfast Date

I barely remembered my life before I started my ‘career’. At least if you could call giants paying to taste you a career. It was easy, fun, and there was minimal danger. Giants eating people was a thing of the past. History long forgotten. Until… (pause for a dramatic sigh) until a mafia goon tasted me and decided it would be fun to keep me around.

Every night I listened to the screams of humans less lucky than me. I couldn’t remember the last time I actually slept. Not with those screams. Begging for freedom, begging to live. At least I was safe… until I wasn’t. A benefit to my sleepless nights. I caught wind of the plan.

Some important visitor was coming. One that I would entertain, it had happened before. The one who took me hated the idea, said he didn’t want me killed by someone else. I took it as my cue (exit stage everywhere) to run. They thought I was well behaved because I didn’t beg and plead like the others. A bigger benefit than I thought.

If only the damned place wasn’t so big. I could barely move without running into another giant. If I could trust they wouldn’t try to eat me I might like it here. Let’s be honest, you don’t end up in my line of work without a thing for giants. Positive or negative doesn’t matter, you have a thing and I had a thing.

The constant running for my life was not a part of that thing. In fact I hated it. I’d love to rest for five minutes (preferably with a hot giant). It wasn’t going to happen. Not while I had to keep moving. Which I did. Every time I thought I could relax there was a bang followed by voices saying I had to be close. Too much risk to stay still.

It was starting to weigh on me. It wasn’t easy to live without sleep… or food… or water. Ok I might be in danger. It was fine though. There were vents and if I got to one I could hide and be safe. Although it could broadcast my scent too. It was worth the risk.

Heavy, thudding steps came from nearby. I was screwed (in the bad, explicitly not fun way). Someone shouted and I bolted. The vent was close enough. So close. The steps came faster. Voices, one I recognized as the one who brought me here. Wind at my back just as I dove into the vent. Which didn’t have a floor.

The fall lasted an eternity. I managed to make peace with my death (sort of. I actually wanted very much to live). Luck was on my side as I landed on something soft and warm. I knew I should move. It was time to run. I couldn’t though. The warmth seeped into the aches I’d ignored. It couldn’t hurt to rest for a bit. The giants probably thought I died. I’d hear if any came close. It was safe…

My dreams conjured up a kind giant. One that held me close. Promised that he’d save me from this place and get me back to a normal life. Warm, gentle hands held me softly. I’d do anything to live in this dream. Well, as long as I had some kind of freedom. This was a dream though, he’d understand. So yes, I’d do anything to live in this dream.

The peace was destroyed by a sound I’d grown to know well. It would bring about screams and death. I could picture the others searching for any escape while I sat there. Apparently the only one who knew running would make you the first choice was me. The sound came again. Louder, hungrier and too real for me to pretend it was a dream. The worst part… (dun, dun, dun) it was beneath me.

My eyes snapped open just as a hand smothered me. My stomach dropped as the giant moved with me along for the ride. My position was held firm, I wanted to scream. The pressure grew on my back, the stomach growled as if in response. Fingers eventually pressed into the body and surrounded me.

“I need something to eat,” the giant yawned. The hand with me flew through the air. I hoped they’d bite and make it quick. The fingers released me, but I landed on a soft cloth surface instead of inside a mouth. “Wait here.”

The surface I was on creaked before rising. I risked looking up, just in time to see the giant leaving. He was fast… In the sudden quiet I chastised myself. I never should have fallen asleep somewhere I didn’t recognize. Not when giants that would eat me were all over the place. I should have recognized the feeling of where I was with how often I was manhandled or shoved in pockets.

Those thoughts were for later. Lectures were for later. I could do all of that and even ground myself once I was safe. The giant would be coming back and I had to get away before he did. I slept so now I could do it. That confidence fell as I took in my surroundings. The only thing close to me was the giant bed I’d been left on. A blanket was flat on the floor. Pillow thrown lazily to the other side of the room (weird imo. Who would throw their pillow away?). Not even a table within jumping distance.

“I’m dead…” the whisper slipped out as I fell to my knees.

The giant chose that moment to return with a large, to him, plate. Now, with a full view of the man, I saw I was going to die by someone hot. Somehow that did in fact make it worse. He was bigger than any giant I’d ever seen too. Which if the stories I’d heard from the humans before they’d been killed were true, meant one thing. This was a member of the Kamia mafia family, and they were some of the worst to humans.

It wasn’t the head. The others said he had white hair, this one had short black hair. Beige skin and a stocky build. I couldn’t remember which of the sons looked like that. The man got closer and I wracked my brain for any other discerning details. Then I saw his eyes. Golden… that meant the next in line and my death was more than assured. The other one would play with me and I’d have a chance to run. Not this one. I was well and truly fucked (still not in the good, fun way).

As the next in line stopped and stood over me, I tensed. He’d sit on the bed, I’d be thrown, he’d grab me, and I’d be barely a bite to him. The heavy thunk as he kneeled knocked me off my feet. His other knee followed the first to the ground. One final thunk as he sat before me.

The dish was placed next to me. Only then did I realize I’d stopped looking at him. From where it was placed I saw the slice of fruit he took and popped into his mouth. My size at least.

“I wasn’t sure what you eat,” he said. Voice deceptively soft. I heard the emotion beneath it. The hidden excitement. “There’s plenty, take all you want.”

As much as I wanted to refuse, my own stomach growled. Reluctantly, I looked at all the food he’d brought with him. The amount made my heart race. A bunch of pieces of fruit covered a fourth of it, eggs and bacon another, a bowl of oatmeal for the next, the last a bagel covered in…something red. I repeated over and over that the red was jam. The giant’s stomach growled again and I worried this wouldn’t be enough to keep me outside of there.

My only option was the bagel. (Ok not really, but I had to know what was on it.) Each of my steps were careful, precise even. I wouldn’t get the food all over me and make me more appealing. I had more than one customer who enjoyed that and I wasn’t interested in it when I’d follow it down. I could feel the golden eyes following each step. Predator and prey.

As I got closer I saw the bagel was cut oddly. A small sliver sliced out of it, but left standing against it. Before I reached it, the hand of the giant soared overhead and lifted the larger part. I slipped into the eggs as I tried to back away. With most of the bagel gone I saw a few dishes about waste high for me. All filled with spreads. One of which was the same red I'd been curious about.

“Sorry, I realized I didn’t pull it away to show the piece I’d cut for you, or the spreads,” he muttered. Again an attempt to feign disinterest. This time disappointment broke through. The smell around me made my stomach growl and I knew it was time to give in. I couldn’t actually remember the last time I’d eaten warm food.

If this giant wanted to kill me, fine. I would at least die full and moderately content that I could pretend I had a breakfast date with a hot giant for my last meal. The first bite reminded me how hungry I was. I started shoveling eggs into my mouth, desperate to get all I could before he killed me. I watched as he grabbed a piece of bacon bigger than me and popped it into his mouth.

“There’s plenty, you don’t have to rush,” he said between bites.

A part of me wanted to scream. Another part said this is kind of what I’d wanted in my dream. The smart part of me kept me quiet and continued to, slowly, eat. Of course all the parts of me thought of why he was letting me eat. Maybe he wanted a bigger snack or he wanted to keep me. Both awful, but both gave me a chance to live just a little longer.

I tried to force all the thoughts away as we ate. Especially as space on the dish cleared up. Each bite was at least my size if not bigger. By the time the giant stopped half the plate was cleared. I kept going for a little longer. A vain attempt to bore the giant into leaving. Before long my body lost the fight. The smell of the food in my hands made my stomach churn. I had to push myself away from it all.

“Are you done?” he asked. Pretending would get me nowhere, so I nodded.

In an instant the fingers were around me again. I hadn’t even heard him shift. The air blew by me as I was moved. There wasn’t time to close my eyes before the fingers loosened. Again no mouth to greet me, just the bed. A damp cloth in front of me.

“Get cleaned up,” he said, fighting back a yawn. It felt like an order and I decided to treat it like one. I grabbed the cloth, but I did it slowly. I controlled the speed.

Regret filled me as the giant stood. The dish was lifted up and away. I watched him move. A strange, cruel reality for me. I’d be trying to flirt if he wasn’t about to eat me. I mean warm hands, good looking, catering to me? As long as he let me have all the freedom I wanted he’d check all the boxes. Maybe he could if he continued not eating me. Too bad this was reality.

I wiped my arms slowly. Maybe he’d fall asleep and I could run. Though he was fast, I'd have to get away before he woke up. How would I outrun him? Maybe I could outmaneuver him, but I’d need him to be predictable for that to happen.Then there was the whole bigger than other giants thing… I started to pick up the pace in washing off the meal. Not because he’d told me to clean up, but because I was scared he’d kill me if I was too slow. Very different reasoning.

Apparently that increase was just in time. As I wiped the last of the meal from my face the giant returned. I did my best to stand tall as he neared. His steps had gotten heavier. They knocked me down and it didn’t look like he noticed. I’d always loved this part of being around giants, not so much right now. Not when I wanted to run away.

For a moment, as he towered over me, I wondered if he’d forgotten about me. If that was better or worse. The hands descended on me again. Well, only one actually. It wrapped around me like a cage. The giant sat on the bed making it creak and dip. Which then made me fall. The fingers kept me where I’d been sitting.

The fingers were gone. I crawled towards the damp cloth again. When I looked up his eyes were on me. I swore there was a hint of embarrassment in them. Not that I cared, I still had to get away.

“If you’re done we can go back to sleep…” he mumbled. That disinterest was gone, only embarrassment dripped from the words. “I uh… usually sleep without a shirt on. Are you… still ok with that?”

My eyes widened. With all the fear I missed the fact he was shirtless. I chose to blame the lack of everything required for a healthy mind. It did make the request (order? demand?) make more sense. Who would want someone sleeping on them when slightly coated in food?

(I have to say I am not a fool nor am I an idiot. A shirt would make it much easier to run. Especially if I got him to wear a baggier one. However, as I’ve made clear, I have a thing for giants. I am also fully aware that I am more likely to die than escape. With all of that noted we can continue) I nodded to sleep on the hot giant’s stomach before I died. The soft smile was definitely a nice touch.

To say I was filled with regret as fingers surrounded me would be an understatement. They lifted me into the air. Before I could blink I was pressed against him again. Soft, warm, comforting. Not what I should think when held against a man who would kill me. Hard when this was straight out of my dreams. He could act like the dread pirate Roberts and keep saying he'd kill me. That might be kind of hot too. (let’s be real it straight up would be)

The massive body moved. I could hear all the workings within it as he held me. Whooshing air, pumping heart, a gurgle from his stomach. All things that would easily lull me to sleep.

The hand was gone as soon as his body went flat. I tried to squirm in a way that appeared to be getting comfortable. I only stopped when I had a good view of his face. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. Now, I had to wait.

Waiting proved hard. The sounds of his body. The gentle rise and fall as he breathed. The periodic peek of a golden eye to check on me. Each thing inexplicably made me feel safe. Eventually I lost my battle. Sleep took hold.

The dream was the same as earlier. This time the featureless giant was replaced with the Kamia holding me in reality. Gentle, kind, warm. Not what someone who’d eat me should be. Yet this wasn’t all that different from my experience. The man had been like that this whole time. It made it almost hard to tell that I was in a dream.

It was obvious once I opened my eyes that reality remained cruel. (Hot and deadly was the worst combination ever). The giant had his own eyes closed high above me. His body had a slow rise and fall. A sign of sleep. Now was the chance to run. I climbed to my feet. Managed a few steps before a hand surrounded me.

“What are you doing?” the giant asked. I spun around to face him. Eyes bright, fully awake. He’d never fallen asleep. Never was tired. It was a play. A trick at my expense. “You shouldn’t go off on your own. You know what’s going to happen out there. Anyone else would take the first chance to keep you for themself. Didn’t you…”

The giant trailed off as tears fell from me. I hadn’t expected to cry. Didn’t cry when they brought me here. Didn’t cry the times a mafia goon’s tasting session almost went too far. Didn’t cry as I watched dozens of other humans die for a giant’s snack. This was apparently my breaking point. Now I would die. (Look I’d had two nice dreams, been running for days, and honestly didn’t know what else to do anymore. Plus he was hot and I would much rather die to someone I am not attracted to).

The hands wrapped around me. Gently nudged me into the palms. As they did, loud knocking came from somewhere else. The hands pulled me close as the giant moved. I wiped at my eyes to try and stop the tears. Glad there was enough space for me to do that. It felt kind of nice to be held like this. The sound of a door made it a lot less nice.

“What?” the giant’s voice was harsh. The disinterest from earlier long gone, he sounded angry.

“Uh, Mr. Kamia, sir. We had a pest that we think might have escaped into this room. If you wouldn’t mind… letting… us…” The other giants trailed off. The fist I was in grew tighter. It made me realize I was shaking. Honestly, I would rather die to this Kamia guy than them. At least this guy let me feel like a person for a bit. (Ok I lied, I would kind of like to die with dignity even if my killer is hot).

“Letting you what?” The giant that held me started to growl.

“Uh… nevermind Mr. Kamia, Felix sir. Please excuse us for disturbing you.”

The door slammed. Heavy steps vibrated up the giant; named Felix if the others were right. The creak of the bed was barely audible over the growl in his chest. I wanted to feel safe again. Go back to the dream. Eventually the hand moved. The fist opened and I was left looking at golden eyes.

“You didn’t come to me by choice, did you?” he whispered. I shook my head. “I should have known better than to expect that… I thought some of the humans had told you, that you…”

Felix sounded almost despondent. A pain in his words. I didn’t like it. His whole demeanor changed. Less sure of himself. Somehow he felt smaller.

“I’m sorry, I should have realized sooner, explained sooner. You’re safe with me. I’m Felix. In my family, we don’t hurt humans. They’ve come in without knocking before so I wanted you close.”

A protector, someone to pamper me. That’s what I wanted during the first dream. The second I wanted this man. Felix Kamia. Now…now I saw a new side. Meek, nervous. His hands twitched and I could feel the need to put me down. To get away so I could have my space. To give me control of the situation. That was something new. Reminded me of the reality that I truly wanted.

I had to run down my check list.

Hot. Check.

Giant. Double check.

Happy to cater to me. Triple check.

Willing to give me my freedom. Quadruple check.

Someone that could use some unbridled affection (new addition to my list). Quintuple check.

(Now wait. I can hear you already. “Maxxie..” No wait, serious mode full name. “Maxwell. You’ve been convinced this man would kill you. He says sorry and looks sad so you’re just gonna believe him? Are you foolish?” I am not a fool. Of course I won’t believe him just cause he said sorry. I’m not crazy. Come on… >.>)

“I believe you,” I said. (he’s hot, I have no regrets!) Those golden eyes went wide. I saw a hint of film on them. Felix was close to tears. I bet he’s a secret crybaby. He didn’t believe me. I could see it. A smile full of self loathing disrupted his handsome face. I would fix it. “Honestly, I kept trying to remind myself you were gonna kill me, but it was hard to believe. Hot, giant, warm, gentle. Only one of those things equals dangerous in my book. One I like too.”

“H-hot?” The squeak Felix made was unbelievably cute. I wound up laughing a little. Especially as a blush dusted those cheeks. At this point I wanted to go back to sleep. Maybe even closer to his face. Steal a kiss or two or ten. Have I mentioned I have a thing for giants.

“Surprised to hear it from a human? Well I’ll say it again. You’re pretty damned hot.”

“You don’t have to try to flatter me, I won’t hurt you.”

“Good because I prefer doing things I don’t have to. Do… you think we could get some more sleep? Didn’t get to enjoy it while I thought you might kill me. It’s kinda been a while since I got some good sleep too.”

The hand started to move. Lower me down away from him. I grabbed a finger. There was no way I would give up this spot. Either I sleep on him or in his hand.

“Did I move too fast?” he whispered.

“Now you ask, what about earlier?” I laughed, but he looked away. Too soon to laugh about, got it. “I happen to like getting whirled around by hot giants. Especially ones that aren’t about to eat me. Now why don’t we go back to sleep. Maybe I could move up a little though? Near your face or on your chest?”

“Aren’t you scared? Are you trying to hide it?”

“Nope. Hiding it would be earlier when I was silent. Not scared at all.”

Another set of knocks called my bluff. I curled into the fingers. Felix, not scary. Those others, terrifying. Tears landed on the skin beneath me. Another hand clamped over me. The growl started again.

“What!” Felix barked.

“Mr. Kamia, I’m sorry to disturb you, but we must check your room. I’m afraid a human has gotten away from us and might have entered. I apologize for the disturbance.”

I thought I would be safe. Until I was lifted up from where he’d started to lower me. A blink and you miss it look at his eyes before he slid me between his lips. The regret and pain was clear. He hated this. For the first time a giant didn’t even take pleasure from tasting me. Shoved right under his tongue instead. (Ok look, this is weird, but it made him even hotter. I knew I tasted good to most giants and he wasn’t even taking the chance to enjoy it.)

Footsteps heavier than he’d done before followed. I felt shockingly calm. Even as the sound of a door opened. Even as the voices of the giants that brought me here spoke. Even as Felix spoke around me. I trusted the giant that had me at his mercy.

“I can smell it. It has to be here!”

Felix’s hand blocked the light that filtered through his lips. Something slipped in. I watched as his teeth crushed it, a red liquid filled his mouth. Felt like blood, looked like it too. Tasted like fruit punch.

“How much longer do you plan to disturb me?” Felix sneered. The growl made my entire body vibrate.

“Not much-”

The others went quiet. I could picture the way their faces fell. The bloody teeth making them think I died. This would guarantee I was free. Promise I could leave, maybe go back to a normal city. Live a normal life, at least if I didn’t go for my old job again. Don’t think I’d be that foolish… then again I was immediately trusting a mafia giant because he said he was sorry. Maybe I was foolish. Either way Felix was hot and I was ok with it, especially if I don’t get killed in the process. Even more so if I get a hot, scary, giant boyfriend. (I would accept a fling too, but idk this one was special compared to all the other giants I’d met before).

“S-sir, did you happen to find a human in your room this morning?”

“Don’t remember. Something woke me up, it disappeared around the time I finished breakfast,” Felix sounded disinterested. I could hear the nerves. He was worried they’d find me.

“I-I see. We’ll leave you be then. Please if you see it would you…”

Silence sat between them all. I started to shake again. That made Felix’s growl renew.

“N-nevermind. Mr. Kamia sir. Thank you f-for your time.”

I waited as the others left. The door closed. Immediately the teeth hiding me separated and I was dropped onto a palm. I still felt safe. The eyes staring at me were worried, scared.

“Ok, a shower then we go back to sleep. Unless you wanted to take a taste without them watching,” I said with a seductive smirk.

(I can already hear you. “You thought he'd eat you and now you're offering?!?!” He's hot, clearly protecting me, and I know how some giants get after a tasting session.)

Felix grimaced. For the first time since I decided to believe him I felt a bit of regret towards my actions. Obviously he might not be into me. Here I am throwing myself at him. This time I might be a fool. Unfortunately I am horrible at finding the right words.

“I'm-”

“I don't like how humans taste,” Felix whispered. He looked away. Might I say he looked bashful.

Now after the line of work I'd been in you may think this is a deal breaker. Sometimes it is. I mean what's life without a giant purring just because of your taste, right? Felix though…

That bashful look. The way he couldn't look at me. Not only was it adorable, but it had to mean he was into me. So now another addition to my list.

Doesn't want to taste me. (Felix rule only!) Sextuple check.

“Guess that leaves me with a shower. Any chance you have something I can wear? Unless you want me barely dressed, I might agree to that.” Another subtle blush.

“I… could make something while you get cleaned up,” Felix whispered.

Good enough with his hands to make me tailored clothes. (another Felix specific addition). Septuple check.

“Ok, I don’t think you could get more perfect. That’s it I did die and the giant of my dreams finally showed up. The only possible explanation.”

That one got a laugh. Kind of like when we were eating. It sounded kinder now. All that time afraid when I could have enjoyed a breakfast date and flirted. Time to make up for it in spades.

Soft eyes, a warm smile, followed by steps that didn’t quite reach me anymore. He could be cautious. A whole new avenue of possibilities for us. I might be getting ahead of myself, but I was going to stay ahead. Like I’ve said before I have a thing for giants. I also happen to have a thing for guys who act tough, but are big softies underneath.

At the very least I’d repay him for saving my life. Can’t protect him from giants, but I can protect him from himself. That would be enough.

(I'm lying. I saw the way he looked at me when I took off my shirt. I totally have a shot!)

#gt #g/t #giant/tiny #giant tiny #g/t writing #gt writing #gianttiny #gt community #g/t community #gt july #gt july 2024 #gtjuly2024 #gt july eepy #oc: maxxie (Maxwell)#oc: felix #kamiafamilymafiaau

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everybodysaynoooooo · 25 days ago

Text

Save Me - Kim Taehyung ff [Chap II]

Synopsis: Two crowns are crumbling. One heir who won’t yield. And a bodyguard who stays just a little too close. In a world where masks fall faster than heads, he’ll have to decide who’s worth trusting —before everything falls apart. He wanted peace. He found war —and a bodyguard with more secrets than commands.

k.taehyung x f.oc

Words count : 9,3k

Genre : Kingdom AU, enemies to lovers, bodyguard x royalty, fluff, angst, smut

Chap content : Strong language, mild tension, Taehyung is kind of a dick, explicit violence (battle scene + side character's death at the end), no sexual content in this chapter but it might come later so minors dni !

Author Note : Chapter two's finally there ! Hope you'll like it (don't hesitate to tell me if so it makes my day :) Also I just wanted to say since I'm kinda slow writer, I'll try to update every two weeks at least, but I'll post sooner if I can !

Gentle reminder that all rights are reserved, so please do not copy, translate or repost my stories. Also I do not own BTS or their actions, the stories are fictionnal and does not depict real-life events or involve any actual member of BTS.

<-Previous - Masterlist - Next ->

When you live in the Kingdom of Irinian, even without being from there, you inevitably end up hearing about the royal family. Even I, a foreigner, had barely set foot on Irinian soil before people were already talking my ears off.

About how beautiful the Queen is. How angelic and adorable her children are. Every one of them a model for the people —each, without exception, a little perfect being.

How the two eldest princes make the maidens swoon all across the land.

How Princess Taeyeon is so radiant that no one can look away.

Then I got promoted, and the whispers changed.

People started telling me how some of the royal children treated their servants. I heard about Princess Taeyeon's frequent tantrums. About the arrogance of the two eldest princes. All the things the people would never dare to speak aloud.

When I was assigned this task, they kindly warned me about the Crown Prince’s temper. I gathered, vaguely, that he wasn’t too thrilled about being sent off to this northern estate.

What I didn’t gather, however, was that the moment we arrived —in the dead of night— he’d make me fight his strongest man in a duel to the death.

Charming fellow, to be sure.

Okay, maybe I went a little overboard. Maybe I shouldn't have been quite so insolent. Maybe.

But say what you want —His Highness is grumbling about being stuck in a magnificent castle just because he can’t be in the capital, blah blah blah— I've just spent five days on horseback without stopping, and I’d also very much like to go to bed. I can already feel the muscle aches I’ll wake up with tomorrow, so the only thing that truly matters to me right now is a soft bed and a blanket.

But no. On top of everything, I have to fight a duel because His Majesty is in a foul mood.

I knew I should never have agreed to guard the Irinian royal family. I only said yes because they promised I’d be looking after Princess Taeyeon —and I’m good with children. But a contemptuous twenty-five-year-old man who already acts like a king? No thanks. I’ll let Yoongi handle that one.

If only he didn’t already have his hands full with his own exuberant prince.

“So, Miss Min? What do you say?”

Prince Taehyung is watching me with that damned crooked smile I’d love to slap off his face —truly infuriating

I hold back from rolling my eyes, because that might well cost me my head. He looks so pleased with himself, it’s almost cute.

Instead, I nod.

“I don’t believe I’ve been ordered not to fight one of your men, Your Highness,” I reply in that polite tone he seems to loathe.

Bingo. That little smile disappears at once, replaced by a grimace and a dark glare. This close protection job is going to be a riot, I can tell.

Beside me, Yoongi stares at me wide-eyed. I don’t even have to look at him to know what he’s thinking: “Are you completely insane?!”

And maybe I am.

Accepting a duel when I’ve just dismounted after five days of travel, exhausted to the bone, might not be my brightest idea.

But the way the Prince implied I didn’t stand a chance —that irked me. I can’t stand not being taken seriously. And if I’m going to be insulted, I might as well treat it as a challenge.

Before I know it, the Prince is barking orders. We’re moved to the rear courtyard, hastily transformed into an arena by a few servants.

Improvised barricades form a large square, in the center of which the Prince’s knight and I now stand. A few torches are lit, casting a dim glow into the night —not enough to see every detail, but enough to fight, I guess.

Looking far too pleased with himself, the Prince leans casually against the barricade, a wolfish smile on his lips. He taps his golden rings against the wood as if to say, “You’re going to die, and I can’t wait.”

I answer with a glare. He chuckles.

If only it were him in the arena —I’d wipe that smile right off.

Yoongi hops over the barrier in one smooth motion and approaches me with my weapons in hand. I refocus instantly, already running through my options.

A sword, and the three daggers I usually hide in my boots and belt.

I grimace. I left my pistols packed with the rest of my things. With one of those, I could end this charade in two seconds —one bullet, between the eyes, done. But clearly, I’ll have to improvise.

“I didn’t find your pistols,” Yoongi mutters, like he’s read my mind.

We’re both trained fighters, but he knows as well as I do that marksmanship is where I truly shine. Too bad.

“This will do,” I say, offering a faint smile as I test the weight of the daggers. “Not sure His Highness would’ve allowed it anyway. Looks like he wants a show.”

Yoongi turns to observe the Prince, still watching with that infuriating smile.

“You’re completely crazy,” he mumbles, now sizing up the knight -Saer, If I remember well.

“What, you don’t trust me to win?” I tease.

“Of course I do,” he grumbles, wrinkling his nose. “I’m just saying you really didn’t need to piss him off like that.”

“He started it,” I retort with a raised brow, daring him to argue.

He doesn’t. Just shoots another glance at the Prince. I smile —he agrees with me, obviously.

I hesitate, hand hovering over the sword.

Yes, I can fence. And I’m not bad at it. But let’s be honest —when it comes to swords, reach is everything.

And this man is twice my height and like three times my weight. I’ll never get close without taking a hit first.

I’ll have to play this differently.

Gently, I push the sword away and instead grab one of the daggers, blade pointing down. The other two stay hidden —one in my boot, one at my belt.

Yoongi doesn’t ask questions. He just takes the sword back with his usual calm expression.

“I’m not wishing you luck,” he says as he walks away.

“That would be insulting,” I shoot back with a smile, which he mirrors with the look in his eyes. The scar over his right eye gleams brighter than ever.

Yoongi’s barely out of the “arena” when the Prince claps his hands.

“Well, now that everyone’s ready…”

I instinctively fall into position: back straight, feet shoulder-width apart, dagger gripped firm but flexible.

The knight does the same —straightens to his full, towering height (easily over two meters), and tightens his hold on his sword.

Right now, in the torchlight, he’s genuinely terrifying. His hand must be the size of my entire torso.

But I’ve faced worse.

“Duel to the death,” the Prince announces. “Anything goes, as long as it’s entertaining. I decide when it ends. No backing out. Questions?”

The knight glances at me as if asking whether I have any. I raise a hand.

“You said ‘anything goes’?” I ask when the Prince nods toward me.

He chuckles.

“Getting cold feet already, Min?”

“I just want to make sure His Highness won’t mind if I damage his man.” I reply, tight-lipped.

He flinches. Behind him, Yoongi lets out the faintest smile —subtle enough that I’m the only one who notices.

“No risk of that,” the Prince scoffs, returning to his usual smug expression. Then he snaps his fingers. “Saer, whenever you like. Get rid of that eyesore so we can go to bed.”

I raise an eyebrow, unimpressed -did he really just call me “that eyesore”?— but I don’t even have time to reply.

The knight charges.

I barely dodge in time —his blade stops where my neck was a quarter of a second ago.

I see. Someone’s eager for sleep.

I take a few quick steps back, raising my dagger before me, tip aimed at him.

He sizes me up, eyes shadowed beneath thick brows in the dim light.

“Let’s see what the special guard is made of,” the Prince hums behind us.

Saer and I size each other up.

One second.

Two seconds.

Then he strikes.

With a flick of my arm, I deflect his blow —the sound of his sword clashing against my dagger rings out loud across the arena, and even louder in my ears.

And just like that, I’m no longer in the mood for banter. One simple strike —frontal, no less— and stopping it already took more strength than usual. Worse: my arm is trembling.

With a sharp motion, I push his blade away and force my breathing to stay slow, steady.

This man is strong. Much stronger than me. I bet a single well-aimed hit to the head would be enough to knock me out. Not that I’m planning to let that happen.

I won’t last long if all I do is block. Sooner or later —sooner, most likely— he’ll figure out he’s got the upper hand when it comes to brute strength, and he’ll start swinging with real intent. And I won’t stand a chance.

So I need another approach.

And when strength fails, agility will have to do.

I let him attack once. Twice. Each time I parry with my dagger, just barely.

At the third strike, I fake an opening to the right —and when he shifts, fast, to aim there, I duck, push off with my legs, and dart forward— so fast he barely has time to react before the pommel of my dagger slams into his ribs.

He grunts, breath catching in surprise, and it gives me just enough time to step back —though not quite far enough.

As I retreat, he grabs the wrist holding my dagger. His grip is so tight I’m forced to let go, and with his other hand, he returns the favor: a punch to the jaw, delivered with the pommel of his sword.

I hit the ground hard, dazed by the sheer force of the blow. One more like that and he’ll shatter my skull.

I cannot afford to take another.

I get back up —not letting myself wince, not letting myself hesitate. I can’t look weak.

But instead of charging while I’m stunned, the knight waits. Sword still in hand, but unmoving. Watching me. Almost like he pities me.

And that’s when I hear it: the Prince, humming a little tune. Mocking.

Oh. I get it now.

Saer is putting on a show for his Prince.

Well. Let’s give them one, then.

In one smooth motion, I shift my legs into position, ready to spring back up —and just as Saer takes a step forward, I spin, grip tightening around my second dagger, and fling it hard.

His thick eyebrows shoot up as the blade sinks deep into his side.

Staggering, stunned, he clutches the wound by reflex —and that’s all I need.

I charge. A punch to the jaw. One to the stomach. A strike to the thigh, followed by a sweep to the ankle.

He crashes backward with a growl of pain —but not without dragging me with him. Reflexively, he grabs my sleeve, and before I can brace for impact, his arm is around my neck. He’s choking me.

I shut my eyes, hold in as much air as I can while hitting his arm with the flat of my hand, but it’s useless —his arm is the size of my thigh.

Just as I start to fade, I manage, somehow, to elbow him hard in the ribs —his grip loosens, and I don’t waste a second. A kick to the shin makes him howl.

I scramble away, breath ragged —but he’s faster this time, already charging with his sword. I can’t dodge.

Blood spurts from my wrist as his blade slices a clean, thin line through it. The skin blooms red instantly.

Another mocking tune from the Prince.

Instinctively, I cradle my wrist against my chest, but I stay upright. Fists clenched. Ready to hit him if he comes any closer —though I’m well aware my tiny fists are no match for his sword.

I have to face it: accepting a duel with a giant like him, right after a long journey and without so much as a warm-up, was probably the stupidest idea I’ve ever had.

Now my wrist is bleeding, and I’m about to embarrass myself in front of the Prince —and worse, in front of Yoongi. Who, of course, won’t let me live it down.

Saer advances, sure of his victory now that I’m disarmed. Instinctively, I back away, until I’m only a few steps from the arena’s edge.

And then —just as I’m starting to think I really put myself in deep troubles— I catch a glimpse of Yoongi on the other side of the ring.

Both of his black eyes fixed on me. His left eyebrow quirks in a silent question.

Something clicks in my mind.

Time to wake up, Harin.

Saer draws closer. I let him. One step. Two.

Then, just as he moves in range, I spin and leap toward the barrier.

Not to escape. To use it.

I push off it, vaulting high —right over Saer’s head.

He stares up, stunned, as I pull my second dagger from beneath my belt mid-flight and send it spinning into his other side.

His eyes widen, this time with pain, as I grab his head while soaring above him —and pull him down with me.

His skull and body slam into the ground with a deafening crash. Or maybe it just feels that loud because my ears are still ringing.

I land smoothly, knees bent, rolling to soften the fall —but as I rise, he grabs my ankle and yanks me down onto my stomach.

You’ve got to be kidding me. Is this guy unkillable?!

He tries to pin my arms. I roll onto my back to stop him. He tries to strike me; I knee him. Hard. Right where it hurts.

That finally stops him —but only for a second. Then he comes back, even angrier —and proving it with a punch to the stomach that knocks the breath out of me. It’s okay, though, I deserve it for being so stupid tonight.

I can barely react before he grabs a handful of loose hair from my undone bun and holds me still by it. I wince —a small gasp of pain slips out, shamefully— and in one last desperate move, I reach for the dagger hidden in my boot and slash his calf.

This time he screams. Loud.

But he still doesn’t let go.

Desperation takes over. I grip the dagger tight and stab his thigh. Again. And again. Until finally, he releases my hair.

I’m up in an instant.

He tries to follow —and I kick him square in the face.

He groans, struggles to move… But I can already hear him getting back up as I bolt across the arena, legs burning, eyes locked on the only weapon still in reach: his sword, abandoned on the ground.

He starts running too —but too late.

By the time he reaches me, I’ve already got the sword in hand.

I spin, using the momentum to drive a kick straight into his chest. Right on the sternum.

He gasps, the wind knocked from his lungs, and collapses once more.

And then —I turn slightly, feet apart, arm extended, blade ready…

“THAT’S ENOUGH!”

The shout cuts through the arena like a blade.

Stillness falls.

Saer stares at me. I stare right back.

His Adam’s apple presses against the sword’s tip as he swallows, hands raised slightly, in surrender.

I glance at the blood already beading from the fine cut the blade has left on the side of his throat.

The look in his eyes isn’t the unreadable calm from earlier. Now he’s clearly startled. Frightened, even.

And —maybe I’m imagining it— but there’s a glint of admiration, too.

Then comes the sound of clapping.

I turn my head towards the sound —only to find Yoongi, lips curled in a subtle smile, applauding with measured approval.

The Prince, however, looks like he’s considering strangling me in my sleep.

“Your verdict, Your Highness?”

The Prince raises an eyebrow, jaw clenched tighter than ever. For a second, he seems almost more shocked that Yoongi would dare provoke him —when he’d always been the more respectful of the two of us.

The Prince presses his tongue against his cheek, pouring all his fury into the glare he sends me.

Then finally, he speaks.

“It seems the young lady is more capable than expected.”

He snaps his fingers.

Turns his back on us.

“Clean up this mess. I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

They say night brings wisdom.

All night ever brought me was time to stew in my own anger —and when that got too boring, sleep.

By morning, I was in a slightly better mood.

Yes, the decor in this castle is appallingly cheerful, but I’ll admit the welcome was decent —and the mattress was... passable. Though not nearly as comfortable as the one I have in the Capital.

But the key word here is slightly.

Maybe if the very moment I stepped out of my room, a servant hadn't rushed up to inform me my lieutenants were waiting in the war room to discuss the border situation, I’d have stayed in a decent mood.

Maybe if a second servant hadn’t chosen that exact moment to tell me I had an appointment the next day with Lord Ebonwick, I wouldn’t have started grinding my teeth before even having breakfast.

But most of all —maybe, just maybe, I could’ve kept a shred of peace of mind if I hadn’t learned immediately afterward that Miss Min’s quarters had been set up right next to mine, “in accordance with her new duties,” or some other absolute nonsense.

New duties, my ass.

Saer has always been my bodyguard, and that is not about to change. I don’t care if some random woman fresh out of nowhere managed to beat him in a duel by sheer dumb luck —it doesn’t change the fact that Saer is and will remain my bodyguard.

“What if we increased the guard detail, Your Highness? Perhaps it’s a question of numbers— ”

“The problem is not the number, Lieutenant. The problem is your men are dumber than headless hens.”

What did I say earlier? That I was in a better mood?

Yeah, let’s forget that.

“Your Highness...” Saer begins gently —but shuts his mouth quickly enough when I shoot him a look that could curdle milk.

I already know what he’s going to say. And, as usual, listening to him would probably be the wise thing to do —and that’s exactly what’s pissing me off.

Last night, after the duel, he joined me during dinner. First, to apologize for losing —which earned him a few sharp remarks on my part— and then to share his opinion about the woman. Min Harin.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard Saer speak about someone else’s combat skills with that kind of admiration —especially not an enemy who had just knocked him flat.

It’s rare enough to see women fight —they’re not allowed in the Royal Armies, though you do find them among mercenaries or in more specialized units, like the Special Guard.

But it’s even rarer to see one defeat a man like Saer.

Actually —it’s rare for anyone to defeat a man like Saer.

And yet when he described the fight, there was a flicker in his eyes. A flicker he tried to hide, but I saw it. Admiration.

And I get it —even if I’d rather die than admit it out loud.

I’ve been hearing stories about the Special Guard since I was old enough to understand words —hell, I wanted to join them once.

I used to spend days pestering every soldier I met, asking them to tell me everything they knew: what the Guard looked like, how they fought, what they wore…

None of it comes close to the reality.

What I saw last night —I’d never seen anything like it.

Saer described it better than I could: she didn’t move, she slid.

That’s how he put it. One moment she was in front of him, the next she was beside him, already striking, and he hadn’t even seen her move.

Every step was calculated. Every strike amplified by perfect footwork.

At first, she acted timid. I naïvely thought she was afraid, that she’d go down faster than expected—

And then she turned it up a notch, and I thought I was dreaming.

Her companion —Mr. Cat-Eyes— didn’t seem particularly shocked.

Every time I glanced over at him, he was watching the duel with this satisfied, sharp-eyed look.

The only moment his expression slipped was when she jumped.

As if she’d made a mistake —something so typical that it actually annoyed him.

And that’s what annoyed me.

Because from my perspective, she didn’t jump. She flew.

My ego would very much like to believe I could still beat her in a duel.

Throwing knives, vaulting over people —fine. But I was trained to be the best fighter in the Kingdom.

No woman, no matter how well-trained, is going to beat me.

But the annoying, rational part of my brain —because apparently, I do have one— keeps reminding me:

If she beat Saer, then all you’ve got, Taehyung, are hopes and delusions.

And I hate that. I hate that.

So yes. Maybe she belongs here. Maybe.

But as my personal bodyguard?

Over my dead body.

“Your Highness...” starts another voice —and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to growl.

When I open them again, I’m met with Saer’s gaze.

He’s silent, but there’s a pleading look behind it, just enough to push my irritation over the edge.

Last night, that idiot of an old man actually suggested I take her as my bodyguard.

He, who’s practically my bodyguard himself, told me I should replace him.

With the person who defeated him. In a duel.

I’m going to punch someone.

But the worst part?

The absolute worst was when he hinted that, since he’d be handling things at the border, he’d feel better knowing I was in Miss Min’s capable hands.

That I should maybe trust her.

Stupid Saer.

And stupid Father —he’ll pay for this circus, I swear it.

With a long sigh, I let my eyes drop to the border map spread across the ebony table.

And damn it, they’re right —the issue is the number of men.

If I send Saer’s regiment, we’ll have the numbers, and my best men will be there if things go wrong.

Which means I’m stuck here with the Special Guard...

“Figure it out,” I mutter. “Find a solution and inform me of the final decision.”

They all nod. Even Saer, who’s studying me like he wants to say something.

I can tell just by the way his eyebrows are slightly raised —he has something on his mind.

Not that I care. I’ve got bigger problems.

Like the one currently waiting outside, leaning casually against the wall. Hazel eyes locking on me the second I step out.

Peace? Never heard of it. Not in this castle.

“Your Highness,” Min says, clasping her hands behind her back and giving me a slight nod.

My eyes skim over her outfit —black again, simpler than yesterday. Just pants and a shirt, though I’d bet anything there’s a knife hidden somewhere.

Her hair’s simpler too —a bun still, but with loose strands framing her face.

I want to throw up.She’s already settling in.

“I told you to get lost,” I grumble, walking past her without another glance.

She waits a beat, then falls into step behind me. Five paces, just like etiquette dictates.

“I heard you, Your Highness.”

That falsely polite tone again. Almost makes me laugh —almost.

A bitter laugh, though. This woman really knows how to test my patience.

Instead, I stop, turn to face her, and plaster on a wolfish smile.

“Min?” I say, tongue pressing into my cheek to keep from snapping.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Just a bit of advice, if you care about that pretty face of yours. Stay far away from anywhere you’re not wanted. Which includes me.”

“You’re taking good care of my idiot, hmm?” I hum as I affectionately scratch behind the ears of Holly, Yoongi’s curly-haired mare.

“You do realize I’m right here, don’t you?” he grumbles, tightening the straps of a saddlebag.

“Oops.”

He grimaces at my smug little smile and rolls his eyes.

Yeah, he’s gonna miss me. No doubt about it.

“You gonna be alright?” I ask, a bit more seriously.

A few hours ago, they finally settled on the surveillance plan for the border, and picked the troops that’ll be deployed. Since Yoongi and his men were planning to head back to Hestidia to continue their search anyway, they decided to kill two birds with one stone and accompany the prince’s men to the frontier before splitting off.

Personally, I still think Prince Jimin would’ve been better off hiding here in Irinian —security’s tighter, and it’s a friendly kingdom— but Yoongi remains skeptical. Or rather, as he puts it, he ‘prefers to keep all options open and check out the more forgotten corners of Hestidia.’

Still, if I were Jimin, I’d have come straight here.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” he counters, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “Your Prince seems to adore you…”

“Oh, please.” I sigh. “Haven’t seen him since he found out his men were headed to the border, but I’d bet anything he’s currently trying to figure out how to get rid of me.”

Honestly, I’m still surprised the Prince allowed it. Just this morning, he looked dead set on keeping me as far from him as possible —and now he’s sending his captain off somewhere?

Saer came to tell me himself —supposedly so I could pass the message to Yoongi, but I’d put money on it being a not-so-subtle way of handing me the Prince. Like, here, take the problem off my hands.

“I’m almost disappointed I have to leave,” Yoongi snorts. “I would’ve loved to see where this petty drama of yours was going. My bet? He accuses you of spying for his daddy.”

“No worries. If that happens, I’ll send you a pigeon carrying my severed head.” I grumble, and Holly nudges me gently with her nose, like she’s offering moral support. Yoongi bursts out laughing.

He’s about to say something when one of his men comes jogging over.

“The Prince’s men are ready to depart, Lieutenant. We can head out.”

“Tell them to go ahead, we’ll catch up,” Yoongi replies, squinting at the sky, which is getting darker by the minute. “They need to leave before nightfall.”

The man nods and hurries off. Yoongi turns to me, lips tight in that way I know well —his face when he’s sad but trying not to let it show. Holly shakes herself out like she’s read the mood too.

“So I guess this is where we part ways?” I say, keeping my voice light, forced or not. It’s enough to make him smile, at least.

Before I can move, he pulls me into a hug and holds me tight.

“Don’t die on me, ‘Rin,” he murmurs into my hair.

“Not planning to,” I hug back, closing my eyes and soaking in his scent —the scent of home.

Shit. I’m gonna miss him.

“And you better not have a new scar the next time I see you, got it?” I mutter, pulling back just enough to glare at him.

He just smiles, of course. Why am I not surprised he’s proud of that stupid, ugly scar?

“Yes, ma’am.” He taps two fingers to his temple in a mock salute.

“Now go, soldier Min.”

He chuckles, watching as I give Holly one last scratch behind the ears. Then he swings into the saddle, and I follow them with my eyes as he and his men ride out of the castle courtyard, slipping into the forest the way Special Guard always does —like shadows dissolving into the trees.

I watch them until they’re completely out of sight.

There’s a bitter taste in my mouth. Like something’s off.

I trust Yoong —more than anyone— and I know how good he is at tracking.

So why do I have this unshakable feeling that they won’t find Prince Jimin in Hestidia?

Yoongi’s been gone for almost two hours now. Night’s fallen —much earlier here than it does in the capital, or even down south at Princess Taeyeon’s estate— and the palace staff is bustling from room to room, laser-focused, as they always are at this hour, getting dinner ready for the Prince.

Even the violinists sound off their game tonight. They’re playing with less energy, unsettled.

Apparently the Prince is especially cranky in the evenings —yeah, I’ve noticed, thanks— and now everyone’s walking on eggshells, terrified of provoking his wrath.

And the famous Prince himself, where is he while all this is happening?

Well… to be honest, I’ve been wondering the same thing.

When Yoongi and his men left, I figured maybe I should check in on him. Not necessarily to talk —those always end so well— but just to make it clear that Saer really is gone and I’m taking over from here.

Okay. Maybe to annoy him a little.

But when I tried to find him, he was just nowhere.

I checked every room in the palace. His study, his quarters, all four grand salons, and the three game rooms. I even went out to the back courtyard. Nothing.

So, with that special kind of desperation-fueled courage, I made my way to the stables. I’d overheard a servant saying he was particularly fond of his mare the other day —maybe he went to see her?

Imagine my surprise when I found the stall empty.

I just stand there, arms hanging at my sides, not even sure how to react. I haven’t even managed a single coherent thought before someone clears their throat behind me, and I spin around instantly.

My eyes land on a young man, can’t be older than me, with the most ridiculously red hair I’ve ever seen.

“Uh-I… Sorry to bother you, I just…” he stammers, hands lifted slightly like he’s showing he’s unarmed, save for the reins slung over his shoulder. “If you’re looking for the Prince’s mare, he already rode out with her a while ago…”

I gape at him, mouth half open.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“I’m sorry—what?” I snap, sharper than I intended, and he visibly pales.

“I-I swear!” he blurts, hands shooting higher. “He even asked me personally to saddle her up. I mean, I usually do anyway, but still…—”

He keeps babbling, and I rub at my eyes, biting down on my tongue to keep from cursing out loud.

I swear, I’m going to kill that idiot of a Prince.

A sigh escapes me —long, exasperated.

“...Is there a problem, ma’am?” the boy asks cautiously.

“Not at all,” I reply with a cheery tone so fake it should win awards. I even slap on a pleasant smile that seems to put him at ease. “Would you mind saddling my horse, please?”

"Another one," I mutter, slamming the glass down on the wooden counter a little too sharply, drawing the barkeep’s attention.

He eyes me, taking his sweet time polishing the glass already in his hand.

"That’d be your fourth, sir. I’d say it might be wiser to—"

"If it’s your coin you’re worried about, innkeeper, don’t be," I cut in, a smile stretched tight across my face. "I can more than afford your piss-poor excuse for wine. Another."

His features harden at that, and his cloth scrapes a little more roughly across the glass. But he glances at my clothes —clearly worth more than his entire tavern— and eventually grabs the bottle to pour me another, grumbling under his breath the whole time.

I barely take in the wine’s deep crimson before throwing back a generous gulp, letting it burn across my tongue. The taste is awful. Bitter, cheap. If I wanted quality, I’d have stayed at the palace. But it does the job —by the time I’ve swallowed, it hits me like a slap to the face. Like getting doused in ice water while you sleep.

It stings, but it wakes you up. Which is exactly what I need right now.

Everything’s moved so fast that —for the first time in my life, I think— I’ve felt out of my depth.

My father shipping me off to rot in Ebonwick, stripping me of nearly my entire personal guard, and to top it all off, assigning a spy to keep tabs on me, dressed up as a bodyguard under the pretense of protection…

I may have been careless these past few months. I knew Father was reactive —I just didn’t realize how much.

Clearly, we both saw the collapse of Hestidia as an opportunity.

I’m just a little insulted that he acted on it first.

Slowly —deliberately— I take another sip.

The bitterness scorches down my throat.

Everything was ready. The plan, the forces, the weapons. Every scenario was accounted for, every outcome considered. It was flawless.

Then the Council had to go and wake up —those idiots who only lift a finger twice a year, usually just in time to collect taxes— and the whole thing unraveled.

Jimin’s going to be furious.

But not as much as me.

I’m cornered. So much so that I don’t think Father even realizes just how well he’s played his hand.

If I’d had Saer and my trusted men at my side, I could’ve adapted. Closed the gap this sudden change created. But no. He had to assign me the royal guard —and a bodyguard who clings like a leech.

Now my inner circle is halfway across the kingdom, and I’m left with nothing but the leech keeping tabs on my every move.

Well —not every move. Main Exhibit: this absolutely vile wine.

We’ll have to start from scratch. Maybe even wait for another window of opportunity —but what better chance could we possibly get? The people are in crisis, the royal family’s paralyzed with fear… Even in the Irinian royal palace, which hasn’t seen a single threat or attack, the high ranks are jittery.

It was the perfect moment. And Father ruined it.

"You hear the news, barkeep? They say they’re sending soldiers to reinforce the border."

The gruff, gravelly voice to my left makes me wince. Some pudgy old man just dropped onto the stool beside me, spreading his elbows across the counter and invading a little too far into my personal space. Worse still, I can tell exactly where his spit landed —big, visible droplets splattered right there on the wood.

I bury my nose in my glass, clearly uninterested —but I seem to be the only one.

Because the moment the man speaks, the whole tavern leans in.

“Mmh, so they say,” the barkeep mutters, sounding none too pleased about the topic shift.

“I’d be curious to see them,” some toothless woman calls out, beaming. “Never seen one of the King’s soldiers up close. Wonder what they look like.”

The Prince’s soldiers —they’re the Prince’s soldiers, not the King’s.

I swirl the wine in my glass, now slightly less indifferent.

"You think it’s got to do with all that mess on the other side? Old Paul —the farmer— said he saw some men on horseback, dressed all in black, riding across his field..."

Mentally, I arch a brow. Cat-eyes must’ve taken a shortcut.

"I haven’t even kept up with that whole mess..."

"Well I heard from the guy who buys my cabbages —you know the one, across the border?" Everyone nods enthusiastically. "Well he said the next village over launched a full-blown revolt. Kicked out their Lord."

Gasps all around. Even the barkeep looks rattled.

And me? My eyes stay glued to the bottom of my glass —but my ears are sharper than ever.

One of Hestidia’s minor Lords has been overthrown? That’s… far quicker than expected.

None of us —neither Jimin, nor myself, nor anyone on the Council— had anticipated a revolt of that scale for at least several more months.

This information —handed to me by a bunch of lowborn drunkards, no less, to the shame of our own informants— changes everything. It speeds things up in a deeply concerning way. If we don’t act soon, these uprisings will spread like wildfire —before we’ve had a chance to prepare.

Because if one village had the courage to do this, it means others already have. Quietly. Successfully.

And it only makes me question how little we truly know about what’s happening in Hestidia.

Did Father hide it from me?

Or was he just as clueless?

"I’ll tell you what I think," the pudgy man from before chimes in again, loud and self-important. "I think those soldiers are nothing but damn hypocrites."

I freeze.

“They come out of nowhere, just when things start getting interesting across the border, and then suddenly they’re locking down the roads so tight Lars can’t even go sell his cabbages! If you ask me, they’re hiding something from us.”

“But… the King’s soldiers are there to protect us…”

“Protect us, my ass. They just don’t want us to see what’s happening over there —‘cause they’re scared we might get ideas.”

My fingers tighten around the stem of my glass.

“He’s right! Last winter, when that sickness wiped out half the region, it took them months to send help!”

“And when the vineyards went to hell and we had nothing left to sell, we had to go beg in the Capital —just to be treated like dogs!”

“They ignore us when we suffer, but when it’s time to take our sons for their worthless army, they’re right there! And it’s not like we’ve ever seen that army, have we?”

My jaw clenches —I don’t even notice it until my teeth start to grind.

“They don’t give a damn about us! We could die like rats, and as long as we pay our taxes, they couldn’t care less!”

That’s it. They’ve said enough.

The dull thud of my glass slamming onto the wooden counter cuts through the air like a blade, turning every head in the tavern toward me. I make no attempt to look composed, no effort to feign the gracious smile expected of a prince.

If they'd recognized me, none of them would’ve dared speak in the first place.

No —I let them see exactly what their gossip has stirred in me.

I’ll admit I don’t hold much esteem for my father.

I’ll admit I sometimes find him weak, too lenient, too passive.

And I don’t doubt for a second that closing the border is, at least in part, a way to prevent Hestidian rebellion from spilling into Irinian minds.

But I’ll be damned before I let anyone say my father doesn’t care for his people.

Especially when that’s nearly the only thing he does care about —and the only thing he’s always done right.

I won’t sit back and watch as everything he’s built —everything he’s given them— gets pissed on like slop thrown at pigs fattened for the slaughter.

“If you want to cross the border and die in Hestidia, be my guest. No one’s stopping you.”

The whole room stares. It doesn’t stop my voice from ringing out sharper, clearer, and far more dignified than any of theirs. Colder, too.

Silence falls. Thick. Heavy.

Broken only by the ticking of some old clock hung above the barkeep’s head. Then, slowly, the fat man turns toward me.

“And just who do you think you are, boy?” he growls, his voice like phlegm curdled in tar. There’s a hint too much menace in it for my liking.

I don’t answer. Don’t even look at him —I’d rather gouge out my own eyes than rest them on that mess of grime and lard he calls a face.

“Go on, be ungrateful,” I say, voice like ice over glass. “Keep whining about misfortunes no king on earth could control. Wallow in self-pity, if that’s all you know how to do. But know this —while you curse a neglect that exists only in your thick skulls, it’s the King’s eldest son who’s been sent in person to help you. And this” I gesture around the room “this is how you repay him. By dragging his name through the dirt.”

The man lets out a wet, wheezing laugh.

“The eldest son? The Prince?” he spits. “Don’t make me laugh. That spoiled brat can probably barely lift his silver spoon to feed himself. He came here? That’s a good one. Never seen him leave his golden palace.”

He scans the room and receives the eager nods of his fellow pigs —emboldened by the scent of shit they’ve all been wallowing in.

Fueled by their cheers, he leans over and shoves my shoulder, trying to force my eyes toward his.

“The Prince is nothing but a coward. Hides behind his title while we break our backs in the fields! Let him come here —we’ll show him what real life looks like. He’ll run back to his daddy’s skirts in tears.”

This time, I don’t look away.

I meet his gaze, steady, as he spews his filth. Insulting a man he doesn’t even realize is in front of him.

Insulting the Crown, directly.

Once upon a time —under other kings— people lost their heads for far less.

I don’t know if I’m furious, or just stunned.

No one has ever dared speak to me like this.

And I can’t quite tell if I find it thrilling… or insufferably irritating.

“Kneel, peasant,” I say through clenched teeth. The command sounds like a threat, even to me.

He chuckles. Tightens his grip on my shoulder in a mock-friendly pat.

“Well then,” he sneers, “you tell your coward of a prince this from me: Go fuck yourself.”

And that’s when I smile —slow and sharp.

Because his gall almost makes me laugh, even as it makes my skin crawl.

But it’s not the insult to my title that stings.

No, it’s that word.

I’ve been called many things in my life. Arrogant. Cruel. Condescending.

I’ve been accused of scheming, of injustice, of manipulation —often fairly.

I’ve accepted all of it —because a lot of it is true.

But I’ll never let anyone call me a coward.

Slowly, I lift a hand and place it against the side of his face —mirroring his false friendliness, still smiling like a wolf.

“Tell him yourself,” I say.

And the next moment, my other hand grabs the glass and smashes it into his face.

He crashes backward, blood pouring, screaming.

Not dead —unfortunately— but definitely regretting his life choices.

Chaos erupts. People are yelling, running —some to help him, some for the exit, some straight at me.

With a disdainful sniff, I rise from my stool and brush off my shoulder where his greasy paw had dared to rest. I’ll need to wash this shirt when I get back.

The barkeep stands frozen, eyes wide like he’s seen a ghost. Without glancing at the man on the floor, I untie the small pouch at my belt and toss a gold coin onto the counter. It lands with a bright clink.

The barkeep’s eyes nearly fall out of his skull. That coin alone could probably buy the whole tavern.

A crowd forms around the man on the ground, now mercifully silent —thank the gods, my ears were about to start bleeding. One woman stands up, tears brimming in her eyes, and points a trembling finger at me.

“He killed my Joseph!” she cries.

Immediately, the place erupts again —louder this time. I can pick out the insults, the outraged shrieks.

I snort. Oh, please. Killed him? Sure, I knocked some teeth loose —maybe more than a few— but dead? Hardly.

I may be many things, but even I have limits.

I don’t kill my subjects.

I punish. I beat. I sentence.

But I’ve never killed one of my people, and I never will.

I guess I have some of my father in me after all.

Not that anyone here knows that.

Because the next thing I hear is some genius yelling, “Do the same to him!” and suddenly, the whole tavern is lunging for me —and what was indignation turns into a full-blown riot.

But honestly? I choose to always see what life brings me as an opportunity.

It’s been days since I’ve wanted to hit something.

Looks like today’s the day.

The first ones reach me faster than I would’ve expected, given they’re half-drunk, bone-weary peasants. But apparently the sudden commotion sobered them up —just not enough to be even remotely threatening.

Three of them jump me —three against one, how charming, the sense of fair play— and try to grab my arms while one aims a punch at my face.

Have I mentioned I’m pretty decent in a fight? Not that it matters here. Even drunk —which, I’d like to point out, I am not— I could’ve handled a bunch of sickly barflies trying to subdue me. I barely have to shake them off before two let go —one even topples backward without me touching him. When the third lunges with his fist raised, all I have to do is step aside and let his own momentum trip him up.

I look down at the trio trying to scramble back up, one brow arched. Funny, I’d been told I’d be in for a rough time. So far, this is just... disappointing.

More drunkards from the tavern follow, taking their shot, and I quickly resign myself to putting off my ‘unwinding session’ —there’s no way I’m hitting any of them.

I’m well aware the peasants in my kingdom don’t exactly live the healthiest lives —quite the opposite, really— but I hadn’t realized alcohol turned them into barely-functioning vegetables. Most of the time, I just need to wait for them to charge and sidestep. They go down on their own.

I don’t regret hitting that man earlier —he damn well deserved it— but I’ve got no desire to lay a hand on the others still trying to reach me. First, because that would mean actual contact with their skin —no thank you— but mostly because I’m afraid I’d seriously hurt them. Which would annoy me, sure, but would definitely land me in trouble.

So I do the one thing I’ve always mocked my father for: I stay passive.

I don’t strike, don’t even try. I just dodge and let them crash into beams, walls, or each other.

…At least, until one of them manages to reach me and slaps me. Just a light tap, really, barely audible. But it’s enough to snap me back to life, just like the wine earlier.

The slap I return across his face is probably ten times harder —but fair’s fair, I say.

They, in turn, snap out of it at the crack of that hit and all charge at me —and when I say all, I mean everyone. Even the old lady without a single tooth.

They grab at my arms, my legs, one gets an arm around my neck while someone else tugs on my hair —my hair, for fuck’s sake!— and one particularly brave idiot latches onto my waist like a leech.

It feels like I’ve gone back in time, like I’m wrestling my little brothers again —back when their idea of “fighting” was to hang off me until I stopped moving and then punch me wherever they could reach.

With a groan of exasperation, I twist, using the momentum to swing the three clinging to my arm directly into the massive wooden beam next to us. They take the hit square in the ribs, hard enough that I don’t feel a thing.

Now free, I grab the first head I can reach —somewhere near my stomach, gods— and hurl it away from me. The peasant screams, lets go, and rolls until he slams into a wall.

At this point, the ones clinging to my legs aren’t even trying to hurt me anymore —they’re just wrapping their arms around my calves like their lives depend on it. I’m forced to smash my right leg against my left in a thoroughly unchivalrous move to shake them loose. They crash into each other with satisfying grunts.

When I finally manage to shake them all off, a sigh escapes me —long and weary.

I dare anyone to say I’m not close to my people now.

Except I barely get a breath in —just long enough to start processing how borderline humiliating that was (thank the gods no one from the Capital saw it, I’d be the kingdom’s laughingstock)- when the tavern door slams open with a thunderous crash. A dozen peasants barge in, this time armed with pitchforks.

“There! That’s him!” yells a short man —one I recognise as one who escaped earlier— as he points directly at me. He’s addressing a taller man, a little older than me, the only one here actually wearing armor —leather, but still.

“In the name of the King, I’m placing you under arrest!” the man declares. His face hardens —and before I can even think oh no or notice the crossbow in his hands, he raises it, aims, and fires.

Straight at me.

There aren’t many things that scare me —and certainly not drunk peasants— but having a bolt fly toward your face at top speed would unnerve anyone.

Especially when it’s moving so fast you barely have time to flinch.

I think about dodging, about doing something, but even I know it’s too late. Fired like that, point-blank, with nothing between it and me, there’s no way he’ll miss.

And as my eyes lock onto the bolt and I nearly close them, breathing in sharply—

…—The bolt stops. Just inches from my face.

“I believe that was my line,” says a calm, restrained, unmistakably female voice that I know well enough to snap my eyes back open.

And I am stunned.

There, standing directly in front of me, is Min —looking more furious than I’ve ever seen her— her long, elegant fingers curled tight around the bolt that nearly split my skull in two.

And as the projectile trembles slightly in her grip, the heavy silence in the room gives us all time to process what just happened.

She caught the bolt. With her bare hand.

“What the…” mutters the crossbowman, stunned. He lowers his weapon slightly —just enough for Min to seize her opening.

He doesn’t even get the chance to say anything else before she pulls a pistol from her belt and shoots him. Clean, between the eyes.

Right where the bolt would’ve hit me.

The tavern is so quiet we can hear the exact moment his body hits the floor.

We also hear the soft crunch as Min slowly turns toward me, her eyes —usually hazel— now pitch-black with fury, and breaks the bolt between her fingers, never looking away.

The sound makes me flinch. It’s humiliating.

With a gesture that seems calm —but that, to me, radiates rage— she tosses both halves of the bolt to the ground and gives me a mock-respectful nod.

I’m not sure whether it’s the shame or the rage that burns the hottest in my veins right now.

What I do know is that I’ve never wanted to hit something so badly. If I could punch her porcelain-perfect face, I would. Happily. But I don’t hit women. So anything else will have to do.

And somehow, my beloved subjects seem to pick up on that right away.

“KILL THEM!”

What follows is too fast for me to remember clearly.

Min and I are swarmed. The newcomers —armed with pitchforks and makeshift spears— are more coordinated than the drunks from before. They know how to wield their weapons, how to throw punches, and dodging them all is a challenge. And I hate that just as I start thinking I’m doing pretty well, I catch sight of Min behind me.

She reaches out and grabs the hair of a man sneaking up behind me, then yanks him forward so hard his head crashes into another attacker coming for her.

If someone had told me I’d live to see a woman take down two men at once and cover my back in the process, I wouldn’t have believed it.

Seeing it in real time makes it so much worse.

I’ve always liked to think I’m a decent fighter. Ducking blows, landing punches, using the space and stray chairs to my advantage without taking more than one or two hits —it’s child’s play. Especially against peasants, weapons or not.

But watching Min for just one second makes it crystal clear she’s in a different league.

She moves like air —every strike, every dodge, is so fluid it looks like she's dancing.

Me? I grumble, simmer in my anger, and lash out at whatever’s closest. She? She watches. Analyzes. And then she dances.

When she spins and kicks a man straight in the gut —she dances.

When she drops backward to avoid a pitchfork and pulls it forward to disarm her attacker —she dances.

When she uses the bar counter to leap onto a man’s shoulders and slam him into three of his buddies —she dances.

And when she spots the biggest brute of them all heading straight for me —clearly deciding I need something to vent my rage on? She dances, eyes gleaming like she’s having the time of her life.

The giant takes my first punch to the jaw. Chokes on the second, a hard blow to the gut. Whimpers as I hit him again, square in the face. And finally collapses when I land a furious kick that sends him crashing backward.

The floor shakes under his weight.

Silence falls again, broken only by the sound of my ragged breathing.

But I’m not out of breath because I’m tired —no, this is the kind of panting rage leaves behind.

Gods, that felt good. I might feel guilty tomorrow for causing a scene —well, probably not— but either way, I can’t deny it: that was satisfying.

Right now, I almost feel… relaxed.

I need a bath. I need to scrub off the filth these peasants rubbed on me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the innkeeper peeking out from behind the bar. When Min sees him, she pulls a pouch from somewhere and tosses him another gold coin. He doesn’t need to be told twice : he grabs it and vanishes without a second of hesitation.

Min turns to me, silent, her eyes still burning with that same fury —though a bit dimmer now.

Is she expecting me to thank her for saving my life? I sincerely hope not. The move may have been impressive —I didn’t even know that was physically possible— but I’d rather die than thank her.

I could be thankful she came just in time —because heck, I hate to admit it, but I don’t have a single clue what would’ve happened to me if it wasn’t for her suddenly spawning— but I don’t really feel like it.

So instead, I glare at her.

“You just killed one of my subjects,” I say flatly, accusatory.

She bows her head slightly to slip the pistol back into her belt —and I swear I see her roll her eyes.

“I killed a man who attempted to murder the future King.”

My eyebrow lifts, surprised. Why, of all people, am I surprised she’s the one calling me that?

Her gaze locks back onto mine, voice perfectly steady as she speaks her next words:

“And I’d do it again if I had to. But next time, Your Highness? Just do me a favor —if you want a drink, ask me.”

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