#cries from the underworld

[nightly-sun]

A rare original post from me. I have been reading the works of Jung and his pupils for the past couple of months, and much of it has resonated with me. Since my early years, I have looked at my surroundings through an allegorical and oftentimes mystical lens, and now it's all starting to come together. But that isn't why I'm sharing this. As I was reading it, I recognized the passages I highlighted as the inspiration for the lyrics to Tribulation's song, "Cries from the Underworld".

[myreygn]

odysseus: i keep thinking of the infant from that night

polites: that's so sad alexa play open arms

[hibiscusangel15]

I never realized how formative Buffy the Vampire Slayer was for me as a child growing up until I started rewatching it recently lmao

[noxtivagus]

i love love ffxiv sm fr (to the edge)

[gremlingottoosilly]

Now, Fallout!AU for Raider!Konig and fem!Reader...

Konig as a raider. Your typical one - wall of meat, muscles, mean motherfucker who doesn't really care who to kill and who to fuck after. It might be from one of the less drug-addicted gangs, most of the shit never works on him anyway. Might be radiation, might be mild mutation - no one cares. He isn't a leader of the gang, never good at working with people and commanding them - but he is good at shooting people and taking their stuff. He is good at spotting and sniping, despite people around laughing at his huge form scrambling behind a stolen sniper riffle. This is how he spots you, actually. A vault dweller - this much is obvious. You can lead him to your stash, a can deep in the ground. Filled with people, vault-dwelling rats - the ones that are too fucking good for this place. Konig thinks he hates them - but honestly, half of the wasteland does. You do look good in that tight suit of yours. Bright blue on the dry yellow of the ground below. he wondered who designed the suits - if people knew that every dumb underground rat would be spotted from at least 3 kilometres away in that bright blue thing. Works for him, though. He flips off the guy who didn't want to spot for his position. His rank in the gang is high enough to just get a guy by his neck and force him on guard duty - all while he is getting ready to catch the little rat. It was a while since he saw someone so pretty - honestly, only Vault dwellers can be considered pretty at this point. Clean skin, moderately clean hair. He knows that if he gets to smell you, you'd have this awesome stench of cleanliness. Would be lovely to push his nose into your hair as he fucks you on his bunk. Might even clean his room a bit so the underworld princess won't be too disgusted at the perspective of being chained to his bunk. A prized property. Pretty helpless thing.

Konig drags you to the compound with ease. You're too startled at the sight of a giant hooded man approaching you with a very mean gun on his hip - not even in his hands, since he is confident he can snap your neck with just two fingers. You whine like a brain calf being split in two at some posh casino far in New Vegas - he brushes his hand over your ass, gripping it. Patting it. You do have a weapon - he disposes of it now, just getting it to his pocket. You freeze when he takes your pip-boy off, snapping it off your wrist with ease. You mouth a little plead with your lips. Konig laughs. You have a Vault location in here - it's funny how such a silly thing is going to be the doom of your people. The gang leader would probably be sad they didn't get to torture you for information, but Konig is making sure the whole gang will be satisfied hearing your moans and cries the whole night. Everyone knows that Konig is a beast - and that if they try to get the leftovers of a pretty Vault girl, they will be used as a target practice next. You do smell good. Konig takes note of breaking into some abandoned building and trying to fetch water and cleaning supplies so you could continue to smell nice. Wants to doll up his pretty Vault snatch - even finds some old, pre-war dresses. Plays house as long as gang allows it. Some of the younger members give you a pitied look, hearing your little sobs every time Konig forces you to move. Some of the older members know that the moans you're letting out aren't the ones of pain. Konig isn't the one to share and to talk, so he never even brags about his girl. Just has her attached to his hip, clinging to his armor since he is the only one who you know here. At least you know him, somehow. At least you know he likes his pretty Vault rat too much to let you get hurt. By anyone but him, that is.

[vagabond-umlaut]

hey, where is the pomegranate tree?

unstoppable force, aka kore, aka gojo, meets immovable object, aka hades, aka you— nothing can ever go wrong from this collision, trust me— n-o-t-h-i-n-g.

▸ gojo satoru x fem!reader; hades and persephone retelling [with a twist ;))]; 1.2k wc; stubbornly persuasive gojo; the reader is js so tired and annoyed [and tired]; enemies to lovers vibes[??]; talks of marriage and children; gojo thinks you are a fool, he is the real clown here

▸ pls don't glare at me if there is more than one inaccuracy here, haha. anyways, the header is from pinterest, the divider is by @benkeibear and the characters used ain't mine. pls don't plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

▸ update: this fic is now part of a series!!! wreaths of asphodel 😊😊

"you shall spend the rest of your days in tears."

you're foolish; woefully so, gojo thinks, carefully observing you from his place on the chaise lounge, smiling while you continue seething, "and there will be no one who can save you. neither a hero nor a god. neither demeter nor zeus. no. one."

"but why do you think i will need saving, my rose?" the endearment rolls off his tongue like honey, the taste sweetening at the way your pretty lips dip into a deeper frown, "you're not a monster, are you?"

"no!" the defensive reply comes in less than a beat. though the words following it sound a tad less bold; it seems as if you're trying to make yourself believe and not scare him.

"i'm someone far fiercer— hades. the goddess of the dead. the queen of the underworld— and the cause for your misery should you choose to vex me any further."

"aw, no," gojo cries, decidedly making a show by slapping a hand over his eyes and faking a sniffle, "why must the only woman i want as my wife see me as an annoyance?"

then lets his hand drop down to the cushion, willing his eyes to well over with pitiful moisture. "as the god of life, i've only ever given and given– be it grains or fruits or vegetables or flowers– without asking anything in return— yet the first and only time i ask..."

he doesn't bother finishing his sentence, choosing to sob to add to the tragic atmosphere— though that doesn't mean he doesn't note the war of emotions on your face:

pity, confusion, anger, again confusion— you're so easy to read, to steer. very foolish, really.

"you'll not like living here," you eventually break the silence hanging within the room. your voice is much softer now; the god wonders if you sing. if you do, the muses will certainly be put to shame... "your days will be spent in utter boredom and gloom and tears–"

"– and no one can come to my aid then: yes, thank you," he interrupts you, more than a little tired, "you've driven the points too well into my head– so much so that i'm surprised there isn't a gaping hole in there, oozing blood and my brains. but why must you think i'll need rescue, huh??"

if a smidge of force escapes into his words, gojo decides not to pay it any mind— though only until he notices the small flinch you give– his insides twist and torment, quite inexplicably, thereafter.

"okay, look," he says, getting up from his slouch to move near you, but stops on catching the warning glint in your eyes.

"first of all, i'm not some damsel in distress being whisked away in a chariot here– i came here by own volition. and i'm offering my mind, body, heart, soul– the special package that i am, in fewer words– to you, by my own volition. why shall i want anyone to rescue me then?"

"besides," he proceeds to add, allowing an easy smirk to form on his face, "you're just the cute little goddess of the dead– not at all scary like your brother used to be; though i guess you try to imitate him in your glares, don't you? sukuna was quite notori—"

"don't you dare utter my brother's name, foul olympian," a quiet growl slashes gojo's comment, sending it plummetting to the ground— and making him understand why you, the inconspicuous, sheltered sister of the vicious former holder of the name 'hades', was given the crown, in the aftermath of your brother's banishment– instead of the several more well-known candidates...

"i apologise," gojo offers in the very next instant, making it as genuine as he can, "i never meant to upset or offend you. i'm sorry if i did."

you just stare at him for a beat, gojo watches, before your shoulders lift then fall in a sigh. the fire burning in your aura abates by a pinch.

sighing once more, you finally break your silence, "It's okay, and um– suppose i too should apologise. you might be an olympian but you're not as foul as them, no. please forgive me for calling you so."

"no problem, my rose," the god is quick to accept your words with a wave of his hand and a beam, further widening when he notices the sliver of smile on your countenance, "but does this mean i appeal to your tastes? i mean, you called me 'not as foul as them', didn't you?? did you just accept my hand in marriage, then???"

"no, i didn't..." your subtle smile disappears swifter than it appeared. a half of gojo's floral crown, quite inexplicably, wilts on the table before. he watches your eyes fall to it, then snap up to meet his.

"do you love me?"

not yet, but he thinks he can. you might be an idiot but you certainly aren't an unlovable idiot— and one voice in his mind murmurs, those precious, innocent looks of yours aren't even the main reasons why...

the god shoots back a languid smile. "if you want to see me in love with you, so be it."

"that's neither 'yes' nor 'no'," you point out, frowning, before vaulting your second query of the evening, "if we get married, do you want to have children?"

it won't be very unfavourable, if you both do... with the vivid colour of your eyes, or the adorable shape of your nose, or the radiance of your skin, or the— "if you want, i shall be happy to assist," he ekes out with a meaningful wink, albeit he doubts how much of it reaches you.

you're very foolish, after all... and no– it's not because of the awkward way he says it– no! not in the slightest! he wasn't fumbling at all!

you wrap the shawl tighter around your shoulders but don't move any further away, gojo notes. the same way he does the slight tint in your cheeks when you roll your eyes with a scoff.

"you're unbelievable, kore. truly, terribly unbelievable." you press the pads of your thumbs over your forehead before releasing it, gaze an unprecedented mark of sharp when it settles on his face.

"is there nothing you want from our union, eh? i refuse to believe you wish to marry me without any demands, as if on a mere whim– but if it is so, i ought to warn you, kore: my answer is and will always be one firm 'no'."

your words mustn't ignite this odd restlessness in him. they certainly mustn't— still, gojo finds his chest tight and the air heavy as he grins back and says, "i only want to be your husband, your majesty... but if that is too much for you right now–"

the stretch on his lips simmers down to something smaller. yet truer.

"i want you to call me by my name. my real name. can you do that, my rose?"

you don't say anything in response for a long while. so long, in fact, it makes the god wonder if you are ever going to reply to his request.

perhaps not, he thinks quite a bit down-spirited when you suddenly turn on your heel and with a swish of your long shawl, stride out the rooms– o-oh.

you stop just as abruptly at the threshold. a complicated grin shining on your face as you twist to look at him over your shoulder then say:

"good night, gojo satoru. pray the ghosts prowling these halls don't eat you up ere dawn."

you're gone not even few feet away from the door, before gojo falls face-first into the bed, the entire room suddenly erupting into thousands of roses in all colors ever seen. [lolol, he is such a loser for you! xD]

▸ masterlist

[mochinomnoms]

Hello I saw your event and got interested! I was wondering if you could do #24 with Idia (romantic, fluff, and suggestive if possible) with fem!reader?

idia shroud x f!reader [tags] – romantic, fluff, suggestive [wc} – 3, 241 prompt 24: “I'm so happy that you confessed first.” “Why?” “If I had to dig out another hydrangea petal from my teeth, I was gonna lose it.” notes - the only way to write idia is kind pathetic like a wet cat. i love pathetic men a floral inconvenience

According to legend, a Japanese emperor gave blue hydrangeas to the girl he loved, to apologize for neglecting her and to show how much he really cared for her. Their petal shape resembles a beating heart. 

Idia thinks that he was cursed in a past life for doing something awful. Maybe he kidnapped someone’s kid and tried to kill them. Maybe he tried to overthrow the gods and take over himself, but failed miserably. Or maybe, worst of all: broke someone’s limited-edition, vintage Tokyo Mew Mew Ichigo figurine. 

He sure as the underworld that he did something, why else would he be puking up hanahaki flowers like some cringey Canon x Reader fanfic? 

“Big Bro! You really should go to the school infirmary, the petals and stems can cause irritation and damage to the trachea and nasopharynx if not treated properly!”

Ortho was currently hovering over him, fretting like a mother hen over her chick. How ironic, Idia thought as he picked at the petals still in his teeth, it was for the little brother to be caring for the elder. 

“Why do that when I can just have the school delivery bots bring me medicine. Then I won’t have to interact with anyone, I’d literally DIE if anyone saw me like this…”

Especially if the Prefect saw him. The image of her sweet face, and beaming smile…like a scene from a shoujo manga, flooded his mind. He could practically hear her voice, full of concern, asking, “Are you okay, Idia?”

Idia fell into a sneezing fit, petals flying from his mouth and nose as his sneezes continued, one after the other, until he was also thrown into a hoarse, wet-sounding cough. 

“Big Bro! That’s it, you’re going to the nurse!” Ortho, despite being quite small, grabbed Idia by the back of his striped pajama shirt, much like one grabs a wet cat by the scruff of its neck. 

“UUuuuuuuuuuughghuguguguhidonwannaaaaaaaaAAAAAHHHh!” Idia cried out in a whiney, high-pitched tone. 

His brother, perhaps taking pity on his brother, took the shortcut to the infirmary, cutting directly pass the buildings and fields as Idia’s arms and legs loosely flew like cooked spaghetti noodles. Flying through the window that Nurse Goethel often kept open for fresh air, Ortho plopped Idia into a spare bed, who collapsed like a ragdoll into the thin mattress. 

“I’ll go check you in with the Nurse, I’ll be right back, please make yourself comfortable Idia!”

Idia gave a muffled grumble as a response, shoving his face further into the hard surface of the bed with a sense of dread. He could hear Ortho speak with Goethel at her desk. 

Well, he thought, at least she won’t see me looking all gross and lovesick like some normie—

“Idia, oh my god, are you sick?” 

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—”

A shrill, ear-splitting shriek left his mouth as the flames of his hair blew up into a blazing hot pink. Idia bolted him, a sharp pain hitting the top of his head as he heard you yelp. As he rubbed the pained spot, Idia noticed that you too were rubbing your chin. Oh Sevens, he hit your chin with his big, stupid head. 

“Ooowwwww, damn Idia, you hit hard…” you hissed, though you gave him a sweet smile in reassurance. 

“It’s fine, I shouldn’t have scared you…though why are you covered in flowers?”

Idia froze, debating on whether or not he should open his mouth and potentially say something damning, or just stay quiet and hope you’d just get weirded out and leave. 

“Because he’s an idiot who didn’t come to immediately see me at the first petal cough!” 

The nurse came up to Idia with a disapproving glare, handing you a clipboard and pen before slipping on a clean pair of gloves. 

“Prefect, please check the boxes for every symptom I find. I believe I know what it is, but we need to check all our bases.” 

Idia peeked at you from the corner of his eye as you smiled at him, waving your fingers as the nurse whispered a spell to turn her magic pen into a makeshift flashlight. 

“Now, open up and say ‘ah’ so I can see what those flowers are doing to you.” 

Following her instructions, Idia tried his best to be a cooperative and willing patient, if just to get out of here faster. Unfortunately, your presence only seemed to make it harder to do so, as hydrangea flowers bloomed from the pores of his skin, focusing particularly around his hands and neck. 

The nurse, he’s sure, could also see the magic sparkles forming as a new bouquet formed through his throat and shot up his mouth. She tsked, leaning back to allow Idia to hack out the now decent sized hydrangea bouquet. They were a vibrant blue, much like his hair. 

“Ah, go, go on and let it out.” The nurse waved a hand at Ortho. “Dear, please fetch your brother a cup of the tea I have brewing at my desk. Prefect? Please note that the patient has no evidence of root growth in his throat.”

“Root growth!? Is my brother going to be okay?” Ortho worriedly rushed over, the tea spilling over the rim of the foam cup. “Is it a curse or disease? Is my brother growing a plant in his lungs!?”

“Ortho, you scanned me earlier this week, remember?” Idia hoarsely replied, taking the tea to gingerly sip at it. “Nothing in ‘em, or my stomach ‘cept ramen noods.”

“A WEEK?!” The three of you flinched at the shrill gasp of Goethel, who was glaring daggers at Idia. “Mr. Shroud, you’ve been sick with an unknown flora disease and you didn’t even bother to let the staff know? What if you were contagious!!”

Idia shrank into himself as he whispered, “It’s not like I leave my room…” 

“Bateria or the pollen could’ve gotten into the air vents and infected the rest of your dorm, ugh.” The nurse sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before addressing you. “Miss Y/N, if you mark down the lack of root growth, fever, and magical origin of the flowers, what do you get?”

He watched as you flipped through the clipboard, smile slightly faltering as you read one of the papers. You cleared your face briefly, before smiling politely back at the nurse and Idia.

“Based on everything, it seems that Idia most likely has the flower sickness, also known as the love sickness, petal fever, or, most commonly, hanahaki.”

Idia cringed at the cold, monotone sound of your voice. Now he’d done it. You knew, somehow you knew that he had the biggest, fattest, most twitterpated-full crush on you. No, crush was understated. He had dreams of you, the cringiest, domestic fantasy-based shit where he’d imagine you, waking up in bed with him back at the Island of Woe. You had given him a sleepy smile as you curled into side, naked. With a smile and a kiss to his lips, dream you turned over to hover over him, trailing small kisses and love bites down his body, further and further as you whispered to him, over and over, “I love you, Idia—”

A queasy, dizzying feeling fell over Idia as a particularly painful croup caused him to double over and vomit last night's dinner alongside blue, heart-shaped petals. 

“Idia!”

“Big Brother!”

“Shroud—Prefect, hold his hair back! Ortho, grab the trashcan, I’ll go get some cleaning supplies and new sheets.”

Nurse Goethel barked orders to the other two, who quickly jumped into action. Idia could feel a shiver as he felt your hands softly grasp his flaming hair, fingers grazing his cheek as you tucked his bangs behind his ears. He could barely make out your coos, no doubt comforting him. You must be disgusted seeing him like this, having to care for a sopping wet cat of a man. Ortho was holding the trash can, right on time for Idia to hurl some more flowers and stomach acid. 

“Oh, Idia…you poor thing.” You whispered into his ear, unintentionally causing his body to warm up and a chill go down his spine to settle in his abdomen. He was very aware that if he turned his head to look at you, he’d get a faceful of your chest like some harem isekai protag, the thought making him warm further and his tips pink again. 

“I didn’t realize you were feeling this bad, Idia…” Ortho murmured, guilt in his voice. “I should’ve brought you sooner…”

“N-no…” Idia gravelly replied, wiping his mouth clean. “It’s not your fault Ortho, don’t beat yourself over it.”

Ortho still looked guilty, but nodded in affirmation, glancing at briefly at the Prefect. His gaze flitted between the two, and Idia could briefly see Ortho’s eyes go blank, as they did when searching through his knowledge database.

“Miss Prefect!” Ortho chirped, voice now perky much to Idia’s concern. “May I ask for a spare infirmary shirt for my brother? He must be very uncomfortable in his soiled one!”

Idia was now firmly and acutely aware of your hands still on him, thumb rubbing soothingly into his temple. 

“Oh, of course Ortho.” You moved away, hands hovering for just a moment, as you replied, “They’re in the storage, I’ll be right back!”

Idia watched as you walked away into the infirmary storage. Ortho did as well, waiting until you were out of earshot to excitedly whisper, “Idia! I know it’ll be an easy fix!”

“Huh?” Idia rose an eyebrow at his brother, confusion setting in.

“It’s a love sickness, and you love the Prefect—Idia stop looking at me like that—so if you confess to them, the flowers will go away!”

Idia was still giving Ortho a horrified look, as he continued. 

“Based on the timing of your reactions in correlation with close proximity within the Prefect, along with your increased heart rate at their touch, speech, and glances, and the fact that the Prefect stated on December 15th at 11:18:53 pm that she likes hydrangeas, she is the cause of the sickness. Right?”

“Ortho!’ Idia hissed, grabbing at his brother to shut him up despite Ortho not technically having a mouth. 

“Quiet down, this isn’t some otome game where I can cheat and look online for the right responses. Did you see how she reacted earlier when she found out it was hanahaki, how disappointed she looked? There’s no way Y/N—I mean the Prefect, didn’t connect the dots. 

“But, Big Brother!” Ortho whined, “Based on her heart rate and increased body temperature—”

“No is no, Ortho! It’s not going to be such an easy fix, I’ll just get rejected!”

“Technically speaking—” Idia and Ortho both jumped at the nurse’s voice, who was coming back from storage with clean linens. The Prefect followed with a new shirt.

“—you don’t need your beloved to accept your feelings, just confess them. Though it’s quite rare that it’s not reciprocated.”

The nurse motioned for Idia to get up as the Prefect handed him the shirt. She began taking the sheets off as the nurse addressed the two brothers. 

“Mr. Shroud, if you are insisting on keeping this sickness intact for fear of rejection, then I will have to ask Professor Crewel for some more potent ingredients for your prescription. Little Shroud?”

“Oh, yes Nurse Goethel?” 

“I could use your assistance, please come with me, Miss Y/N will tend to your brother,” She had a smug tone and smirk as she said this, motioning for Ortho to follow. “Mr. Shroud, please have no worry, she makes an excellent student nurse!” 

Idia let out a defeated, low, whiney groan as he moped over behind one of the privacy screens. You remained quiet as you collected the dirty sheets. He could hear Goethel’s footsteps and Ortho’s fans fade away as they left further and further down the hall. Idia yanked his shirt off, slipping the clean one over his head, noting it was a tad bit too small. He grumbled in annoyance as he pulled the shirt down to cover his stomach. 

“Idia?”

“Eeep!” Idia yelped, your voice coming from right behind the screen. “Y-yes?”

“Are you done changing? I can take your shirt to the hamper.”

He hummed in response, peeking his hand from behind the screen with the shirt in hand. As you took the shirt and walked away, Idia slowly moved to look at you. Once he was sure your eyes were firmly ahead (and briefly taking a look at your ass), he launched himself back into bed, the smell of clean linen filling his nose. 

Idia sighed, a faux exhaustion settling into his bones as he sunk into the bed. He tensed as he felt you sit on the edge to this right. 

“Idia?” you hummed as he closed his eyes to focus on the darkness behind them, instead of you worried expression. 

He hummed in response. 

“Nurse Goethel said that the remedy is actually quick and easy, right?”

He hummed again.  

“You’ll just keep coughing hydrangeas until you do something, right?”

“...Yea.” Idia replied in a monotone voice. 

You sighed, a bit in frustration he thinks. “So?”

“...So?”

“Why don’t you?” You stretched out the last vowel with a questioning sound.

“Why don’t I?” Idia mimicked you. 

"Why don't you just confess?"

“Wha?” He yelped, looking at you like you’d grown heads like a hydra. “W-what do y-you mean, confess!? Are you crazy?”

You rolled your eyes and sighed, “It would help, wouldn’t it? And Nurse Goethel said it’s rare for it to not be reciprocated, so what do you have to lose?”

“First of all, what’s left of my dignity. Second, I’m not some ML in a romance manhwa. And, third!” Idia straightened up to look you in the eyes, a burst of confidence filling his veins in pure frustration and annoyance. “There’s no way that anyone would be interested in some loser like me, so what’s the point—”

“But I like you!”

Silence fell between you two as the realization of your words settled into both your minds. You, with a growing blush and look of embarrassment, and Idia gaping at you like a fish out of water.”

“Huh.”

“I said,” You murmured, twiddling with the ends of your hair. “That I like you. A lot. I think you’re really fun to be around, you’re even though you're shy and kinda geeky, you’re really passionate about the stuff you like. Idia.”

Your hand reached for his, hesitantly like you were afraid you’d burn him. As you laced your fingers together, Idia felt a lump form in his throat. He kept silent though, watching as you smiled shyly. 

“You’re sweet to your brother, and I notice, to me sometimes too. Did you think I wouldn’t notice you coming out to class more often so we could hang? I missed you this week…it was really lonely without you, even with all my friends.”

Still holding his hand, you leaned in closer to his face, looking at him earnestly. Was this real? Did he unlock a secret route with you without noticing? Why did you keep looking at his lips? OMG WAS THIS REAL—

“Idia,” You snapped him out of his thoughts as the distance between you two kept closing. “If the person you like doesn��t return your feelings, then they didn’t deserve you in the first place. I’ll be there to support you, even if you don’t like me the same way, I’ll always care for you as your friend—”

“But it is you.” Idia blurted out. Whether it was due to a mysterious burst of energy or just a slip of the tongue, he didn’t know. 

“W-what! Idia, you don’t have to try and make me feel—” you tried to stutter an excuse, cheeks pink like the fiery tips of his hair. 

“It’s you! I got this cause of you, cause I knew—I thought,” Idia started to ramble, getting up to grab you by the shoulders and shake. “I thought that you couldn’t like some weirdo like me. Are you telling me I could’ve snatched an SSR level kiss scene with you at any time??!!”

It was your turn to be shocked, a bewildered look in your eyes and Idia rapidly spoke, taking little breaths between sentences.

“Do you know what you do to me?? The thoughts, the dreams I have about you? I see you and get all hot and bothered and you’re telling me that I didn’t have to be some maidenless normie this entire time? I could’ve been lockin’ lips and getting my dick we—”

A sharp shriek leaving Idia’s mouth was muffled as you shoved your lips into his, effectively shutting up his rant. He whimpered as you swiped your tongue along his lips, deepening the kiss as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Idia, perhaps in the throes of passion, or not wanting to miss out on this once in a lifetime pull, reciprocated, albeit with a nervous hesitation. 

You seemed to approve, pressing your chest against his as your mouth moved against his, tongues dancing and moans being shared between half taken breaths. His hands hovered over you until you let go of his neck to guide his hands and place them over your hips. An arousing moan left your lips as your hands gently pushed his chest. 

Idia’s world slightly shifted as he fell back first into the bed, your hair creating a curtain as you separated from him. A line of shiny spit followed you, breaking as he gasped for breath while you leaned back down to press kisses against his neck, flowering the disappearing hydrangeas. 

He yelped as your teeth scraped a particularly sensitive spot, opening his mouth to blurt out, “I'm so happy that you confessed first.” 

You let out a breathless giggle, turning your head and resting your chin on his neck to look up at him with, he swears on the Star Rouge sequel, hearts in your eyes. “Why?” 

“If I had to dig out another hydrangea petal from my teeth, I was gonna lose it.” Idia chuckled, “I’m sorry you have to deal with such a coward like me.”

“Idia.” You firmly responded, “Don’t. I like you as you are. We’re both young, we have time to grow. I’ll grow with you, if you’ll have me?

Looking down at you, practically on top of him, Idia opened his mouth to tease your softness, and suddenly froze. The mortifying, though wonderful he had to admit, scene was dawning on him as his entire body heated up and turned red. 

“Uuuuuwwwwwahaaahahahahaha—you’reontopofmethere’sagirlontopofmeisthisanewlevelinyourouteIdidn’tprepareforthis—mmmfph!”

You effectively shut him up with another kiss to his lips, smiling as Idia was shocked into silence with a dopy, wobbly smile forming on his lips.

“Relax, Idia, I’ll take the lead on all the romance stuff until you get the hang of it. For now you can be my player two!”

Idia snorted, smirking at you as he teased, “That’s such a cringey thing to say~”

“You say things like that all the time!” 

The two of you shared a soft laugh, unaware of the audience of two at the door watching. Ortho recorded the memory for the wedding he was already planning in his head, while the nurse muttered to herself about wasting time gathering ingredients for a prescription potion she no longer needed. Despite this, she smiled, happy that her little words of encouragement to the Prefect earlier worked. 

[cafeacademia]

𝐃𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐲

𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝 𝐱 𝐒𝐡𝐲!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 || 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Jason comes back from his patrol and finds you desperate for him, only he's just as desperate to find himself after a hard night of being Red Hood and the best way for him to do that is with his favourite girl.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: Smut, oral (fem rec), rope bondage, suit kink - Jay wears his domino mask under his helmet, overstimulation, about 3 billion terms of endearment, some?? size kink if you squint, some roughness, dom/sub dynamic - Jason is a soft dom in this, Reader uses a vibrator at the beginning, sex at the end. I think that's everything but lmk if I missed anything!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: Approx 2.5k

𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: This is my first ever Jason fic!! I'm?? Very nervous? I hope this is good? Honestly I'm releasing this into the void and then running away. Please enjoy I had a lot of fun writing this 😌 thank you my lovely friend @that-sokovian-bastard for the encouragement and for reading all of the snippets I sent you.

He touched you with fingertips that had gripped the edges of death. His skin, marred, tortured, tattooed; brushed against yours. He touched you with the hands that had delivered the veil of death, and yet he was so gentle. His gaze, while intense, difficult to read, was soft on your eyes. Jason was a dichotomy. He breathed vigilantism, he bathed in the shadow of his brother, he made himself the fear of the vile. A man of justice defined by sin.

He never pretended to be perfect. At night he was the Red Hood. Protector, ally to the good, with his edge of sarcasm and pit of anger against the depravity that festered in the alleys and underworlds of Gotham. And the rest of the time, he was just Jason.

Just Jason, who loved you, who helped you with everything, who made you feel loved. Just Jason, who fucked you deep into the mattress, barely out of his Red Hood suit, helmet discarded, gloved hand pressed around your throat as he grunted your name to you like a prayer, a promise, a devotion.

He’d found you that night up late waiting for him, spread out on the bed, heat clinging to you as you cried and tried, tried so hard to reach your euphoria. He’d watched you for a moment, tears in your eyes as you edged yourself with your vibrator, but the only thing your toy was doing was making you sensitive, bringing a burning ache to your clit. You needed more, and more was delivered, his low husky voice gracing your ears.

“You poor little thing,” His voice deep, warning, an edge of sweetness. “Jay-.” So breathy, so desperate as you clung to the sheets, the grip of your delicate fingers around your vibrator so hard he could see how tense you were. “How long have you been like this for, baby? An hour? Two?” He asked, voice almost sympathetic as he leaned against the doorframe, helmet in his hands as he eyed you, domino mask still framing his gaze. “Since- since you… Left.” You could barely get the words out, gasping as your vibrator struggled to bring you even close to the edge. “My poor baby, you can’t let go without me, can you?” His voice was teasing, almost mean but the way he spoke down to you almost made you more desperate. He approached you, slowly stalking closer to the bed, placing his helmet on the nightstand. He saw the glistening tears in the corner of your eye, pout wobbling as you edged yourself torturously and all you wanted was to orgasm, but you couldn’t. “Are you crying, sweetheart? Let me take care of you.”

Jason, who forced you to stay still with the vibrator still on your clit as he tied you up. Jason, who had no patience and yet he was slow, meticulous with the knots that he decorated and adorned your skin with.

“You want this, baby? Want me to make you forget everything? You know what it means, don’t you?” He asked, voice deceptively soft. You nodded, but it wasn’t enough for him. Jason needed words, needed your spoken promise, breathy and soft on your lips. “Words, baby.” His words brushed against your sensitive clit, a whine escaping you as you ached, throbbed for his attention. “I know… what it means.” You nodded, voice barely above a whisper, confirmation that you knew he wouldn’t stop once he started. Your pleasure was his pleasure and he basked in it.

“Good girl.” He spoke the words in a grunt as he indulged himself in you, tortured you with his tongue, sucking your poor abused clit between his lips. The overstimulation was almost unbearable, but in the best way. His gloves pressed against your hips, holding you down, your legs tied to perfectly expose your soaking, desperate pussy to him. Precious whines, whispers of his name passed your lips as he bathed your clit in unrivalled attention. Jason loved the way you pulsed against his tongue, so overworked, so desperate that you could barely take the rugged strokes and flicks he gave you.

“Let me have it, baby.” His voice was harsh as he spoke, desperate for more. He needed to feel your release on his tongue again, again, again. Jason needed to hear his name on your lips, needed to watch you squirm as you took the pleasure. He brought you closer and closer, tongue stroking you with need. He felt you tense beneath him, your breath hitching as you reached the edge, the way your fingers gripped at nothing as your orgasm tipped over the edge. You cried out, gasping, moaning as he worked you through your high, bringing you back down with the gentle caress of his tongue.

“There you go, little one.” He spoke deep and soft as he used his thumb to gently soothe over your pulsing clit, the bud aching with pleasure, thrumming with intense overstimulation and it felt so good. You think he’s done, his chin and lips covered in your glistening release. He keeps his gaze on yours, eyes dark and heavy lidded as he brings his gloved hand up to his lips, teeth biting into the leather and pulling his hand out. Throwing his glove to the side, his fingers gently tease at your entrance and you let a soft gasp out as he gently pushes his fingers into you, tongue meeting with your overworked clit and he hums with satisfaction when he hears you let out a strangled moan at the intense feeling.

“You can take it, can’t you, sweetheart?” He asked gently, breath teasing your poor, swollen clit. “I can, I can take it Jay.” You nod. You’re a good girl, you can take it like a good girl, you know you can and you whine as you’re consumed by the pleasurable haze. It’s too much, but not enough all at the same time. It’s so sensitive, but so addictive, you can’t let him stop. You don’t want him to stop as he takes you between his lips again, fingers fucking deep into your cunt, calloused fingertips brushing your spot, stroking you closer and closer with each pass.

You had spent hours fighting for a release, but now the tension built and receded with each orgasm, with each stroke of his tongue on your clit. Jason worked you relentlessly, stopping to gently capture your sensitive bud between his lips and suck, hard. It almost hurt, it almost felt unbearable, but the beautiful noises it roused from deep within your chest only encouraged him as you fought against your bonds for purchase more than release. “That’s a good girl, taking everything I give you.” He groaned, pausing the torture only to continue, his eyes meeting yours, domino mask framing his eyes beautifully, hair messy from being freed from his helmet.

He traps you there, the rope biting deliciously into your skin as you jolt with every pass of his tongue, fingers fucking you relentlessly. Your senses are overwhelmed with Jason. His scent, his touch, his voice, he’s everywhere, he clouds your mind, the haze overtaking you, sending you into a blissful myriad of stars, only half aware, your attention only on the way he pulls you closer to another orgasm, coaxing you gently until you reach it, so so desperate.

Jason swipes over your soft bud, fingers pumping so hard you’re barely seeing straight and with a moan-turned-scream, you find another release. Your breath is hot, it’s ragged as he laps at you gently, letting out a satisfied hum, but it’s not enough. “One more.” Jason gently thumbs your poor abused clit, body trembling as the overstimulation washes through you again. “I can’t.” You gasp. But you can. “You’re doing so good, little one, take one more for me and then I’ll fuck you, I promise.” Jason speaks lowly, the lower octave sending a thrill down your spine. There was something so sinful about Jason looking up at you from between your thighs, lips glistening with your release, eyes dark behind his domino mask, his Red Hood suit still on him as he tormented you. It was his voice, the way he spoke to you in such a sweet way as he ruined you, words falling from his lips, warm and smooth like honey, like ambrosia.

“One more, baby?” He prompted. “One more.” You nodded obediently, lost completely in the euphoria he had blessed you with, voice shaky and closer to a moan than words. “That’s my girl.” Jason hummed, pleased that you, like usual, were his good girl and you did everything he asked you to.

He soothed his gloved thumb over your pretty, aching little bud as he fucked you with his bare fingers. Jason might have made you promise to have one more orgasm, but he never promised he’d give it to you as quickly as the previous ones. The leather of his glove rubbed excruciatingly slowly over your hypersensitive skin and Jason revelled in the gasps and the way you trembled and jolted with each slight touch. “You poor thing, neglected for hours and now look at you, you’re taking it so well.” He was rambling, he was high on your pleasure and you knew he’d be reluctant to let you orgasm so soon. He’d keep you right where he wanted you until he was ready to lead you, tumbling into your meridian high.

Jason edged you slowly, languid movements seized you with pleasure and you thanked the heavy constraint of the ropes around you, holding you down, giving you purchase. The rope hugged you, enveloped your body, mimicked and extended the strength, protection and warmth Jason poured into the way he embraced you. You were trapped in your haze, bathed in ecstasy as you felt him circle your clit over and over, fucking into your slit, fingers hooked and stroking you closer and closer, back arching at the pleasure, breath ragged and uneven as you slipped further into your haze.

“Please, Jay.” The pleading had tumbled from your lips and you were barely aware that you’d even spoken the words in your daze. “Please what, baby?” He asked softly, voice teasingly sweet, almost mean as he coaxed you closer but not close enough. “Please, wanna cum.” You begged, breathy and barely discernible between your gasps and sweet, soft moans. “You asked so nicely, sweetheart. Been so good.” He spoke, gentle words contrasting his voice, rough and deep, tone rugged and steeped in lust. “Stay still and I’ll let you.”

With his words you obeyed, submitting to his promise and you sank into the embrace of your rope bindings as his tongue met your throbbing bud. He didn’t even need to give you long, quick flicks, the barest touch bringing you to the edge as he lightly soothed your aching clit with the tip of his tongue. You came with a gasp, the orgasm surging through you like flames, licking at your insides, flushing you hot with desire, relief, euphoria.

“There you go,” He hummed against you, gently helping you down from your high, craving more but knowing he had to keep his promise. Another night he would hold you here and satisfy the soft, pretty bud between your thighs for hours, but tonight he’d promised to fuck you and he would give you everything you asked for tenfold. “So pretty when you let go.”

“Relax for me, gonna give you everything you want, baby.” He was the perfect contrast, a man of duality. He could be possessive, rough and give it to you with aggressive thrusts and a grip that could bruise, but Jason could also be sweet and gentle and he could do both all at the same time. He knew you loved to be told what to do, you loved being his good girl and Jason loved that you were so willing to do everything he told you to do.

“Please, Jay.” You begged, voice soft, sweet, innocent and Jason groaned at the sound of you. “M’right here, my needy girl.” His voice raspy, dangerous even as he freed his cock from his suit. “Look at me, need you to look at me.” He told you and you obeyed easily, eyes meeting his as he slowly pushed into your soaked pussy. The gasp turned moan that left your lips was music to his ears and he grunted with relief as he allowed himself to sink into you until he filled you completely.

“Look at you, taking me so well.” His words came out in a grunt as he struggled not to lose composure. He held back his need to be rough, to let out the adrenaline of the night, but the way you moaned as he released the rope around you, pulling the cord from your skin, its roughness a contrast in of itself, soft in its caress as it brushed your skin, allowing you to finally touch him. You pulled him in, clawed at him, a silent plea for more and Jason couldn’t resist.

“Jay, please.” Your voice was soft, sweet and it was all he needed to convince himself to lean into his desires and give you what you wanted. His features, hardened and bold, were washed with pleasure and warmth as he took you. Reaching up as he thrust into you, rising breathy, pretty moans from you, you pulled his domino mask off him, looking into his eyes as he claimed you. “Wanted to see me?” He asked, voice gruff and heavy, backed with the sound of skin on skin. You nodded, a soft pout on your lips. “Needed to see you.”

His gaze connected with yours, warm and loving as you moved in tandem, his fingers dipping against the skin of your thighs, holding you perfectly. Jason Todd was many things, but your hidden facet of him, deep beneath everything else, he showed you his genuine kindness, his unfiltered love, vulnerability, his affection beyond the flirting and possessive touches.

Jason’s desperate movements became more controlled, more intentional and he made love to you, taking you as his, giving himself to you. After a night of patrolling, of playing as Gotham’s protector, a shadow bathed in red and black, Jason sank into you, clutching at the need to be himself with you, to be Jason, the man who’d stolen your heart with his lopsided grins and grumpy bad boy attitude. And as your highs peaked and your moans filled his ears with a blissful ring, he came closer to his high.

With each stroke, his demeanour softened as he left Red Hood behind and became Jason, your Jason. “Love you, baby, love you so much.” He was rambling as the pleasure took hold of him, as the pleasure of your orgasm sent him into a blissful haze, chasing his own release, he spoke with a voice imbued with his love for you.

As he found his release, your pretty moans complimenting his groans, you whispered to him the words that soothed him entirely. “I love you too, Jay.” And he was complete.

Jason was a contradiction, he had broken pieces, he had scars that had shaped him, and yet this man that scoured Gotham for its evil lay bare, perfectly faceted and scarred and wonderfully real. For you.

[spencerreidswhore187]

False Confidence

Don't take yourself so seriously / Look at you all dressed up for someone you never see.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer and Y/N hate each other, they just don't realise they have been anonymously messaging for months.

Word Count: 2.8k

T/W: Mentions of murder and death

A/N: For @sackofpissandshit . I came up for the premise of this as a plate of prawns fell onto my head at work. Enjoy! ◡̈

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SherlockHolmes1887: You were right. 

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face; you replied immediately, the half-drunk coffee in your hand forgotten. 

NapoleonOfCrime: Feel free to say that again.

He did.  

Briefly, you looked up from your phone to cross the road. You were on the way to work having just received a message from Hotch. It sounded urgent. 

NapoleonOfCrime: So what made you realise that, as per usual, I was right? 

You had spent the better part of the night trying to convince him that Sherlock Holmes was in love with Jim Moriarty. You had met him online several months ago, on an Arthur Conan Doyle forum and have been messaging ever since. 

He, except for the one and only Penelope Garcia, was your best friend. You told him everything. Except for who you are. 

Early on in talking you both had agreed not to exchange names, tell each other where you lived or what you did for a career. You knew what SherlockHolmes1887 favourite film was (Star Trek), that he liked wearing mismatched socks and his mum used to call him ‘Crash’ because he would crash into things when he was younger. You knew that, like you, he had four qualifications, liked Sherlock Holmes and had an unhealthy obsession with coffee. You just didn’t know his name. 

Your phone vibrated. 

SherlockHolmes1887: “The greatest schemer of all time, the organiser of every devilry, the controlling brain of the underworld, a brain which might have made or marred the destiny of nations—that's the man! But so aloof is he from general suspicion, so immune from criticism, so admirable in his management and self-effacement, that for those very words that you have uttered he could hale you to a court and emerge with your year's pension as a solatium for his wounded character. [...] Foulmouthed doctor and slandered professor—such would be your respective roles! That's genius, Watson.”

Your phone buzzed again. You silenced it as you walked into the BAU elevator. 

SherlockHolmes1887: I reread ‘The Valley of Fear’ last night. 

You were about to reply when a voice cried out. 

“Hold the door!” 

Instinctively, you stretched your arm out between the closing elevator doors. 

The person entered beside you. 

If you had known who had asked, you would have let the doors shut. 

Dr Spencer Reid leant on his cane, drumming his fingers against its metal top as the elevator moved upwards. He had recently been shot in the leg on a case. You would never tell him but when that gun fired, you thought you were going to be sick. Your heart ached. It made you hate him even more.

“Reid,” you said, staring forward. You refused to look at him.

“L/N,” He replied. 

That was the most words you’d exchanged in days. 

When the doors finally opened again, you both headed towards the round table, where the rest of the team was waiting. 

You and Spencer were the last to arrive. 

It’s not like him to be late, you thought.  

You took a seat between Emily Prentiss and Derek Morgan - you were sat as far away from Spencer as possible.

“Now that you are all here,” Hotch began, pulling you from your thoughts, “let’s begin.” 

Penelope connected her computer to the screen; there was a picture of a body. The flesh was rotten, decayed from what was evidently years hidden away. Your eyes are wide as you saw it: a long cut, rough and jagged, stretched from neck to naval. You recognised this signature. 

“The Brooklyn Butcher,” you said, interrupting the silence. 

Hotch nodded. 

It was a case that had occurred six years ago and ended up going cold. 

Spencer recalled, “Eleven women, all under the age of twenty-five, all with red hair, went missing and then their bodies always turned up three days later with a long knife wound across their torso.” 

“The only body,” you continued, “that was never discovered was Sharon Lewis’. The first to go missing. The wife of Mitch Lewis, the prime suspect during the investigation.” 

“Why wasn’t he arrested?” Derek asked. 

Spencer answered before you could, tucking a strand of his brown hair behind his ear. Why did you want to run your hands through his hair? 

“There was no evidence. The police’s only theory was his wife was his first kill and he killed all the other victims who resembled her in an attempt to relive the thrill of the kill.”

“He had an alibi for Sharon Lewis’ disappearance,” you added. 

“Correct - they also never found her body. They couldn’t prove their theory without her body.” 

“Well,” Hotch said, “they have now.” 

“Sharon Lewis, aged twenty-four, was the first victim in the Brooklyn Butcher killings. Cause of death, blunt force trauma to the head.” 

JJ leant back in her chair and pressed her pen to her lips, “So the cut was postmortem?”

“According to the coroners.” 

“But that was not the case for the rest of the victims?”

“No,” Hotch replied. 

“Our UNSUB gained confidence in his kills.” 

Lewis was likely his first-ever kill. You wanted to message Sherlock and ask him what he thought. He was intelligent beyond belief, you were sure he would add valuable insight to this case but you couldn’t tell him. Then he would know you worked for the Behavioural Analysis Unit. You couldn’t let him know that. He couldn’t know who you were. What would he think then? When he knew you were more comfortable around dead bodies than real people.

“How was the body discovered?” Spencer asked. 

Hotch had that dark look in his eyes, the one he got when an UNSUB scared him. You hadn’t seen that look in his eyes since Haley died. 

“The body was left on an empty police vehicle parked outside a station in Brooklyn. There was a note attached to it.”

Penelope clicked a button on her laptop and the slide changed to a screwed-up piece of paper nailed to the shoulder of the body. 

Hotch read it aloud, “You have three days before I kill another. Happy hunting, the Butcher.”

He stood up from his seat, “Selene Harker was reported missing twelve hours ago. We leave for New York now - wheels up in twenty. Penelope, you’re coming with us.” 

She smiled nervously, you gave her a discreet thumbs up. 

Everyone stood up from the round table and headed towards the door, you had grabbed the handle when Hotch stopped you.

“L/N, you need to stay here.”

You froze, confused. 

He continued, “Reid has not been cleared to fly by his doctors yet and I need you to go through the old Mitch Lewis interrogation clips, find out whether he told any lies. Stay in touch.” 

With that he left the room, leaving you there with Spencer before you had a second to protest. 

You weren’t really sure how you did it, it’s an ability you’ve had since you were a kid. It’s how you were flagged by the FBI. You could tell when people lied. Everyone has a tell and, like the lie-detecter you are, you knew how to spot it. 

When you and Reid had first met, three years ago, he had told you all the statistics about lies: “Did you know,” he had said, “10% of all lies can be defined as exaggerations, though 60% of all lies are considered to be deceptive.” 

You remembered how you had nodded, anxious as it was your first day. 

“Of all liars, 70% of them claim to be willing to do it again. Every week, Americans tell 11 lies. In a study of 11,366 lies told by 632 people over 91 days, 75% of them lied between 0 or 2 times per day.”

“You know a lot,” You had laughed. 

Reid seemed kind. You liked kind people; you dealt with a lot of horrible people growing up. 

“I have an eidetic memory and an IQ of 187.” 

That was the first time you and Spencer had ever spoken and it was the last time you ever spoke like friends. 

You spun on your heels to face Spencer. 

“You leave me alone and I’ll leave you be. Understood?” 

“Understood,” Spencer said, rolling his eyes. 

“God, you are so infuriating.”

“I hate you,” he retorted. 

You noticed the way his jaw tensed. 

You grinned, “Lie.” 

Spencer groaned and left the room. Through the window, you saw him take a seat at his desk. 

Laughing, you walked into Penelope’s office and pulled up the police footage. 

You were three hours into the Mitch Lewis footage and he had told three lies. 

The first was that he did not know what happened to the other victims. Although, this could mean he had read about the case online. 

The second was more interesting. Lewis said he was at the pub when his wife disappeared. Even though there was security camera footage to confirm this, he was lying, 

The third made your head spin. He said he didn’t kill her. True. He said he didn’t know where she was. Lie. 

You paused the interrogation and contacted Hotch to tell him what you had found. He replied telling you to take a break as they searched for Mitch Lewis. 

In an attempt to distract yourself, you reached for your phone and messaged Sherlock. 

NapoleonOfCrime: Hi.

He replied almost immediately. 

SherlockHolmes1887: Hey.

NapoleonOfCrime: So you read ‘The Valley of Fear’ in one night just to try and prove me wrong? 

SherlockHolmes1887: If that’s how you want to interpret it :) 

NapoleonOfCrime: And?

SherlockHolmes1887: And…they are very much in love. It’s almost blindingly obvious. 

NapoleonOfCrime: “It has been an intellectual treat for me to see the manner in which you have grappled with this case.” The definition of enemies to lovers.

SherlockHolmes1887: Enemies to lovers? 

You don’t think you ever smiled as much as when you did with him. 

NapoleonOfCrime: It’s better you don’t ask, or else I’ll be sending you links to Moriaty x Sherlock fan fiction.

SherlockHolmes1887: What are you doing right now?

Your fingers danced along the tiny keyboard on the phone screen.

NapoleonOfCrime: Work. You? 

SherlockHolmes1887: Work. 

NapoleonOfCrime: How is it? 

It made you nervous that he didn’t reply instantly. 

NapoleonOfCrime: Don’t worry, this isn’t me trying to figure out what you do or who you are. I like the mystery. 

SherlockHolmes1887: Horrible. But it’s not really work that’s the problem. There’s a girl. 

It hurt a little to know there was a girl, of course it did, but you didn’t mind. What you cared about was how he seemed distressed. 

NapoleonOfCrime: If you want to share, I’m a good listener. 

He typed for what seemed like an eternity. 

SherlockHolmes1887: We, her and I, have worked together for years. She’s smart and funny and beautiful. So beautiful. But she hates me. I messed up when we first met, I was so nervous around her that I just ignored her. Whenever she tried to speak to me, I would walk away or just act like she wasn’t there. And, now, I am finally more confident, she can’t even be near me without glaring in my direction at least once. 

You yearned for someone to talk about you that way. No one had ever told you that you were beautiful. You didn’t need someone to tell you because you didn’t believe it, it’s just that sometimes, on the inevitable bad days, you want to feel wanted. 

NapoleonOfCrime: I’m sure if you explain it to her, she will understand - you said she’s smart. I can see why you like her. 

SherlockHolmes1887: Yeah, I fell hard. 

I fell hard. 

You recalled what Hotch had said, “Cause of death, blunt force trauma to the head.” 

You recalled how the cut was messy and hesitant whilst the rest were neat. 

 You recalled how it was done postmortem whilst the rest were the cause of death. 

You ran out of Penelope’s office, straight to Dr Spencer Reid. 

“Spence,” you shouted.

You were both alone in the room. 

Spencer looked up from his phone. It was strange, to see him on a phone. You had always thought he was the type of person to hate technology. Instead, he seemed thoroughly invested in whatever was on his screen. 

“Who are you messaging?” You asked, acting causal.

“No one,” he said.

Lie.

“A girl?”

“No.” 

Lie.

Spencer’s face had gone bright red. It was cute; it made you smile. 

Why did it make you smile? 

You decided to change the topic before your face went red. 

“Do you have the coroner’s report?” You questioned. 

He dug through the many files covering his desk and held it up for you to see. 

Blunt force to the frontal lobe, that confirmed your suspicions. 

You stared into Spencer’s brown eyes.

“I know what happened to Sharon Lewis.” 

You explained how it must have happened. Sharon was reported missing by her friend at 19:37. She was supposed to be meeting her a 18:00. Mitch Lewis was at a bar from 17:30-20:01, this was confirmed by camera footage. This means that Lewis can’t have kidnapped his wife. Or, perhaps, she never went missing. She tripped getting ready to see her friend and fell down the staircase. She would have died upon impact.

Spencer nodded in agreement with your theory.

“When Lewis got home and saw his wife’s body sprawled out at the base of the stairs, he saw an opportunity…” 

“He dragged her downstairs to the basement, explaining the deep scratches on her back noted in the coroner’s report.” You said, “Lewis worked in construction, he had a table and tools down there, he said so in one of his interrogations. He placed her on that table and cut her. He butchered her. And then did the same to others to try and recreate the high of killing his wife.” 

“We need to call Hotch.” 

Four hours later and Mitch Lewis had confessed and was in police custody.

Derek and Emily had found Selene Harker chained to the very same table Lewis had carved his wife like a cold slab of meat. 

The team was on their way back from Quantico.

You found Spencer sitting on a bench outside the FBI building. Spinning the silver ring your grandmother gave you around your index finger, you sat down next to him. 

You both stared forward, at the road. 

You were glad that you weren’t the only one who was affected by cases like this. You were glad that you weren’t the only one overwhelmed by empathy. Your mother once told you that empathy without boundaries was self-destruction but you were just glad that after so much time in this field, you still felt something. 

Spencer eventually broke the silence. 

“It scares me, Y/N, how easy a life can end.” 

Spencer clutched his cane so tightly that his knuckles went white. 

Gently, you eased one of his hands off it and held it in yours. 

You could hear your blood rushing in your ears. It was deafening. 

“You know, when I was a kid, I was always tripping over things. I walked into doors, tables, you name it. My mum would call me ‘Crash.’”

He laughed dryly whilst your world began to crumble around you. 

You dropped Spencer’s hand. 

“Sh-she called you what?” 

Spencer turned to look at you, confusion and worry were etched across his face, “Y/N? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” 

It’s not that you were upset, in fact, you felt almost the opposite of that. 

Your voice was steadier than you expected when you spoke.

“He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson.”

“Y/N?”

“He is the organiser of half that is evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great city.”

“It can’t be.” 

Spencer held his face in his hands. 

“Disappointed, Sherlock Holmes 1887?”

You said it mockingly but you were terrified of what Spencer would say. 

“No, Napoleon of Crime. Not even a little bit.”

True.

“You told me to explain how I felt to that girl so here goes. The first thing I noticed about you was your smile. I saw it from the other side of the room. And, Y/N, it was contagious. Just looking at you made me smile. You are so beautiful and so intelligent and I have wanted to tell you how desperately I liked you since the day we met.” 

He cradled your cheek with one hand. 

“And now I know that this whole time, as well as being the person I can see myself falling in love with, you are my best friend, my favourite, my person.” 

“I hate you, Spence,” you say just before you kiss him. 

Smiling against your lips, you hear him whisper, “Lie.” 

[mysticalblue09]

Imagine for a sec with me. One day, Annabeth dies while defending a bunch of mortal children from a monster and, for the sake of this what if story, Percy doesn’t lose his shit and attacks the gods. He realizes he’s gonna see her again one day so he continues on living. Fast forward about 5 years and Percy dies in a drunk car accident (I can see the irony) and he ends up in hades. He goes through judgment and gets sent to Elysium. He gets there and immediately starts to look for Annabeth. He sees all these familiar faces. Jason, Beckondorf, Silena, Zoe, Bianca, and so on but he doesn’t see his wise girl. He figures she must be in the Isle of the Bliss because of course Annabeth is and he walks over to Bianca to ask her if he can talk to her dad about just visiting the Isle to see Annabeth. Bianca looks him in the eyes and says she’s not here. Percy is like ya I know she’s not here that’s why I want to go and see if she’s on the Isle. Bianca shakes her head and says Percy, she’s not there either, she’s not here in the underworld. Percy just stares at her, confused and asks if there was a mix up and she’s actually in the fields of asphodel. Bianca starts to tear up as his friend starts to form a circle around him and says, I don’t know how, but Annabeth Chase’s soul never made it down here into the underworld. And that’s when it hits him, Annabeth died with her knife in her hands. He remembers Magnus telling him how people ended up in Valhalla. Percy falls to his knees and starts to wail uncontrollably as he realizes that he’ll never get to hold Annabeth, his Wise Girl, ever again.

Cut back to 5 years ago to when Annabeth first wakes up after death. She’s confused at first but quickly realizes where she is after someone tells her welcome to Hotel Valhalla. It doesn’t bother her at first, thinking that with Percy’s luck, he’ll die like she did so she waits. She waits in the lobby for decades until one day, Magnus sits beside her and gently tells her that it's been over a century and that Percy wasn’t coming. Magnus looks over at her and sees the silent tears streaming down her face. Deep down, she’s known for a while but didn’t want to believe it. Magnus holds her as she cries louder into his shoulders, all the while, Annabeth is wondering to herself how can the fates be so cruel?

[crownofgildedlilies]

wishin' you were kind enough to be cruel about it -> cool about it [2]

in which: a son of Jupiter can't remember the life he lost to time and circumstance. or the daughter of mercury he lost, too.

pairing: jason grace x daughter of mercury!roman!reader

warnings: you guessed it! more angst and cursing!

word count: 6.4k

a/n: did not mean for it to be this long but, im obsessed.... no like u don't understand. so much to be said! inbox/comment to be added to the taglist!

one [two] three four

At least you had the comfort of preparing for war to distract you.

Armor polished to perfection, swords sharpened, denarii in your pocket to pay for passage to the Underworld, should you meet your end facing an endless army of monsters that couldn't die.

Really, how Roman of you to seek the blissful nothingness at the start of battle.

You knew the exact number, down to the minute, of how long it had been since you had last seen Jason. But if someone were to ask you how many days Percy, Frank, and Hazel had been off on their quest, you would have stared at them blankly.

And even as you readied for war, your eyes had a glossy look to them, pinned on a fixed point just above the horizon.

"Don't let the legionnaires see you like this," Dakota had murmured in your ear as he adjusted the straps of your armor. You knew he had a point, but hated him for saying it, anyways.

What did it matter? The legionnaires had already seen you in hysterics in the camp center, tearing through the place in search of Jason. They wouldn't be surprised to see you were still not right, even with the promise of military glory.

But it didn’t change the fact that he had a point.

You were a centurion for a reason, and not just because the great Jason Grace followed you like a shadow. You needed to be strong and brave and ruthless, because that was what a Roman leader should be.

And the reason you became a centurion was apparent the moment you stepped onto the battlefield, New Rome at your back and your brothers-in-arms at your side.

See, the giants hadn't taken into account how much anger and fear you had bottled up inside you, uncorked with the first swing of your sword and spilling out over their armies.

Violence untethered, one of the now-retired centurions from the First Cohort had once described the way you fought. Brutal. Efficient. Roman.

And if you had been untethered before, when you still had Jason at your side—

The casualties on the Roman side were few.

You had taken a couple of big hits, but you welcomed the pain. The first actual bite of something other than heartache felt almost like a relief, like a promise that you were not trapped in a body that could only grieve.

The rest of camp may have been rejuvenated by Percy's retrieval of hundreds of Imperial Gold weapons, but all you could do was grit your teeth and limp back into the city.

The cries of 'Praetor!' that echoed after you, announcing Percy as Camp Jupiter's second leader, felt like they were twisting a knife in a wound long infected and left to rot.

Jason was praetor. Jason.

You liked Percy, you really did. He was funny—or at least, you would have thought so, if you weren't constantly looking for the next excuse to leave camp and search for Jason—and kind. He had Roman bravery, if not a little rebellious, which the Mercury in your blood seemed to enjoy.

Percy might have even been your friend, in another life. One when you had met him with your hand tucked in Jason’s, the son of Jupiter the levelheaded side to your double edged sword.

And at least you trusted Percy a whole lot more than Octavian.

"These... Greeks," Octavian hissed the word, lips curling in distaste. The day after the battle, still bruised and wounds leaking blood, you found yourself in the forum, dressed in a toga wrapped over your armor. You still couldn’t put too much weight on your ankle, and the shoulder on your shield arm was swollen. "You're an even bigger fool than I thought if you trust them."

You rolled your eyes, but bit down the dramatic gag. If Jason had been there, he would have been very pointedly ignoring you—because you had been guilty on more than one occasion of making more and more ridiculous faces in an attempt to make him laugh.

And after the third time you had gotten him to break his stony facade, Jason had implemented a 'no looking at you during meetings' rule, which he more or less succeeded in executing.

Or less, being the key words.

"Talking about fools," You murmured, and from beside you, Dakota jammed his elbow into your side so harshly, you almost yelped. In his defense, you hadn’t told him about the Cyclops that had probably broken your ribs, but you wished he hadn't hit you where you were so sore.

"Look, they're my friends up there." Percy gestured widely towards the open air roof as he spoke. You found yourself studying the skies, as if the flying Greek trireme Percy claimed would be arriving might suddenly appear out of thin air. "I trust them, and you voted me praetor. Doesn't that count for something?"

"It's something, alright." Octavian scoffed. You rolled your eyes again, almost growing dizzy with the movement.

A bad habit during meetings, Centurion, Jason had chastised you, once, with a smile so warm it didn't feel like a punishment. The two of you had just left the forum, still wrapped in your togas, your hand curled around his forearm as he led you through New Rome and towards a bakery you favored.

Wouldn't happen if you let me challenge Octavian to combat, Praetor, you had fired back, and in a moment of weakness, pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw before darting off ahead of him, giddy.

Soldiers, not lovers, you had to remind yourself. No matter how much you wanted, you couldn't force Jason to be anything he wasn't ready to be—or maybe what he just wasn't.

Octavian's watery stare landed on you, snapping you back to the moment like a rubber band pulled taut.

"I can hardly imagine you support this, Centurion? With Jason Grace gone—"

"Do not," You snapped, breath coming out in short, labored spurts. Violence untethered, indeed. "Neither I nor you get to decide who is praetor, and the spot was open—"

Your voice cracked. It tasted like a lie. The spot wasn't open. It belonged to Jason, just as your heart and tears and smiles did.

"—and Percy Jackson was raised to the rank after receiving glory in battle." You recited. You hoped it didn't sound like you had practiced in the bathroom mirror that morning, trying to make it seem like you believed it, even if you had. "I seem to recall a certain Apollo legacy cowering beneath my shield during the second Cyclops onslaught, don't you, Augur?"

And maybe it was a low blow, calling a Roman's battle bravery into question, but Jason had always been your bridge to your self-control.

"I—no—it—!" Octavian stammered, flustered, and Percy laughed. Dakota and several of the other centurions Octavian hadn't managed to blackmail or brainwash to follow him pressed their palms over their mouths to suppress their own chuckles, and even Reyna was struggling to bite back a grin. "You think you'll still hold rank as centurion, come the next election?"

He was threatening you, you realized, and you would have hauled off and socked him in the mouth, consequences be damned, if a shadow hadn't crossed over Octavian's head, darkening the whole of the forum.

Twisting your gaze up, heart hammering, you found a flying Greek trireme.

Percy was right.

And maybe he had been right about something else, too. Something you hadn’t dared to consider.

While Percy was dropped at Camp Jupiter, Jason might have been carted off to Camp Half-Blood.

Mercury swiftness blessed you once more as you took off, darting out of the forum before Reyna could finish saying dismissed.

There wasn’t much that could have stopped you, not even the bitter cold of crashing through the middle of a Lar.

You didn’t even bother pausing to shout an apology to Cassius, glowing purple and claiming to curse your bloodline for such an insult.

If you have been able to breathe, you would have told him your bloodline already felt a little cursed.

There was shouting, but you barely could hear it over the buzzing in your mind. You felt like you were going to vibrate out of your skin, eyes squinted, head tilted up, and fighting against the sun for even a glimpse of your missing half.

“Helmet on, fall in line,” Dakota tugged your arm, pulling you back to his side. You felt a little, a lot, frantic—felt desperate—but Reyna was already struggling to get everyone to fall in line, and she had given you so much leeway in the past months, that you stepped beside your fellow Fifth Cohort centurion.

“I left my—“ Left my helmet behind, you would have said, but Dakota shoved the metal piece into your hands. With buzzing fingertips, you placed on your helmet, adjusted the straps of your armor that were already perfectly done up.

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Seconds ticked by like hours, limbs swimming through thick air like you were in a dream. From your spot nestled between Dakota and Paulette from Fourth Cohort, tucked under the hull of the flying trireme, standing behind Percy and Reyna, you couldn't see any of the ship's occupants.

But then they dropped a rope ladder, and your heart stuttered in your chest. Nails bit into your palms, your own fingers the culprit, and you forced yourself to stretch out your hands in an attempt to keep the bleeding to a minimum.

Jason, please, Jason, I need you, oh, gods, please—

It was like a mantra, repeating on a loop in your head. Tears stung at your eyes, overwhelmed by just the sheer possibility that your golden haired love could be so, so close to returning to you.

The first body began to climb down the ladder. A girl, with yellow hair dragged into a ponytail. In front of you, somehow, you heard Percy inhale sharply and you realized it must have been Annabeth.

The only person he remembered from his past life, until he had drank the gorgon's blood and gotten his memories restored. Unease trickled through you. There wouldn't be such a quick fix for Jason.

A second girl descended the ladder after Annabeth, with choppy brown hair, baggy clothes, and a wicked dagger at her hip.

You started to doubt Percy's theory. Maybe Jason hadn't been taken by Juno or Hera or whichever deity you felt like blaming. Maybe he was stuck somewhere else, alone, and hurting, and you were—

A purple shirt appeared over the side of the ship, atop a set of broad shoulders you could have recognized blind.

Jason.

Your Jason.

Home, to you, at last.

A gasp shuddered through you as he started to climb down the rope ladder and into New Rome. You started to step forward, but Roman training froze you to your spot as Reyna pinned you with a look that screamed 'don't break rank, not in front of Octavian,' which would never be enough to keep you from reaching Jason.

But still, you stalled.

It didn't mean you stopped staring, your eyes tracing his form from head to toe, trying to see what changed about him, what was still the same.

The scar on his lip, the sky blue eyes, the golden rays of his hair. It was exactly as you remembered, except for the hair, which had grown out just slightly. You liked it better, but you would never tell him. You knew how much he liked to keep it short, in regulation.

Look at me, please, you begged him in your mind, because you were forbidden to say the words. Another boy scaled down the rope ladder, but you paid him no attention. Jason, Jason, Jason.

It was dizzying. In all the years you had loved him, never had it felt so much like a compactor was pressing in on your chest.

Their group approached, four rag-tag demigods, three Greeks and a Roman. It sounded like the set-up to one of the awful jokes you used to tell Jason when you were stationed on guard duty together, just to pass the time and see him shake his head with a smile.

Reyna stood tall before you, strong and powerful and part of you wanted to push her to the side and race into the arms of your lost soldier.

Why hadn't he looked at you yet?

This was it, the moment you had been dying for, for months. When Jason finally came back to you, his eyes locking with yours, rules and regulations tossed aside as he wrapped you in his arms so tight your toes left the ground and his mouth slotted over yours, a kiss nearly a decade in the making.

Fear and emotion clogged your throat, and you had trouble swallowing around it. Didn't he see you? He knew you always stood between Dakota and Paulette, just to the right of the second praetor—his rank, formerly, now given to Percy Jackson.

But, there—his blue eyes scanned the row of centurions lined behind Reyna and Percy, starting with the First Cohort and making his way to you. Oh, how you were going to scream and cry and hold him later, all as punishment for making you worry—

Jason's eyes passed over you, carrying on towards Dakota like you were nothing more than another face in the crowd.

Fear and routine and fear of your routine were the only things stopping you from tearing off your helmet and slamming it into his chest, demanding to know who the hell he thought he was, scaring you so thoroughly for months and then acting like he didn’t know you.

But then you remembered Percy, and how he hadn’t been able to remember anything.

That couldn’t be right, no, Jason loved you. And maybe it wasn’t in the way you loved him, but hadn’t Hadlee, the daughter of Venus, gone on and on the other night about different types of love? You knew with a certainty you had never felt before that Jason loved you, even if it was only in the sense of friends.

The way fellow soldiers would die and bleed and get torn to shreds for each other.

You had gotten upset when he asked what else was there for the two of you to be. Now, you would trade every scrap of pleasure and freedom for the chance to be only soldiers with Jason Grace for the rest of time.

You pressed your arm tight against your side, elbow pointed in and poking at the unhealed, unchecked injury from the Cyclops. At first, you had refused to go to the medics because they were still all cheering for Percy to take place at praetor.

Then the pain just became a good enough distraction from losing Jason, even if it didn't really work.

These thoughts and more swirled in your mind as Jason introduced himself and the Greeks he had arrived with. Annabeth, Piper, Leo, Coach Hedge. The names meant nothing to you, but still you memorized them, because they were important to Jason.

He and Annabeth took turns explaining the quest they were on. You only understood half of what they were talking about, because every time someone other than Jason even attempted to speak, their voice was drowned out by the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

Gaea is rising. Giants trying to wake the earth mother. Need to go to the Ancient Lands to stop them.

You gathered enough to know that whatever was happening was bad. They needed Jason, your Jason, and the fate of the world was more important than the heartbeat pulsing in the tips of your fingers.

Wasn't it?

Miles and miles away, maybe already in the Ancient Lands, you heard Reyna's voice cut through the static.

Let's discuss over a meal, she had said, your stare watching the relief wash over Jason's face. You were certain no one but yourself noticed the minute reaction on his behalf. At least, you had hoped. We reconvene in the city proper for a lunch. Centurions, dismissed.

There it was, that permission you had been waiting for.

Your helmet was torn from your head before Dakota even had time to slouch, shoulders dropping from the stiff way he held them while in formation.

It clattered to the ground beneath you, and you might have even stubbed your toe on it as you stepped forward, desperate for proof that you weren't imagining things. Your soldier was home, gods praise, he was home and within arms reach.

The rank of centurions behind you remained still, anticipating the long awaited and bitterly fought for reunion between two of New Rome's finest, the two soldiers that rarely ever separated, but spent six and a half months apart.

You surged forward. Jason stayed still. You understood what was happening, but you wanted to pretend for a moment longer.

"Hey, soldier," You breathed, voice tight and eyes burning. You clenched your hands into fists, then splayed your fingers wide, stretching, desperate to reach out and touch.

But you were on very uncertain ground. You had to wait for him to make the first move, even if it killed you.

"If the legion weren't here, I'd kick your ass for making me cry." You settled on saying, knowing that he would understand just how much you missed him.

Once, during a particularly violent round of training, Jason had caught the underside of your jaw with the blunt end of his lance. Nothing had broken, which considering Jason's strength, had been both a shock and a blessing, but you hadn't been able to control the tears that sprung to your eyes and raced down your cheeks in pain.

I did this to you, he had lamented, torn between anger at himself and grief for having hurt you. His aching in his words had been nearly enough to get you to resent yourself for feeling pain. I should have been more careful. Next time, I will.

His hands had been cradling your face, turning in it ever so gently to the side to inspect the bruise already forming on your jaw. His touch on your skin had felt like too much, but now you were realizing it had never been enough.

Next time, I'll be faster, you had promised hooking your leg around the back of his and shoving into his chest, sending him sprawling backwards and landing square on his ass in a move that never would have been possible if he hadn't been distracted by your tears at his hand.

You had barely cried then. What would he say, now, learning of the hysterics you had been reduced to?

“Er, do I know you?” Jason asked, stammering, flush coating pale cheeks you could have drawn from memory.

The simple question felt like being dunked in an ice bath, then held under while your lungs filled with water. It had to be some cruel joke, some wicked nightmare you would surely wake from any minute.

Know you? Did Jason Grace know you?

The question was almost unnecessary. Laughable, even. Seven months earlier, if someone had asked that question, you would have cracked a grin. Jason would have been by your side, naturally, and been offended by the insinuation that he didn't.

And then he would have proceeded to list off all of your favorite things, in alphabetical order, organized by category.

The idea was laughable. He knew you. He had to know you.

“Jase?” It was pathetic, really, that that was all you could muster. A breathy, pained whisper of the nickname you’d given him when he was being stubborn about taking care of himself and you poked out your bottom lip to try and convince him to rest.

Most times, it worked.

Now it just hurt.

“Sorry,” He shook his head, darting a glance to the curly haired Latino boy wincing at his side, your stomach dropping to somewhere around Pluto’s palace. “I don’t remember, well, anything, really.”

How foolish had you been? Percy had remembered Annabeth, sure, but Annabeth was his girlfriend. What were you to Jason?

Just another soldier, like he had claimed the day he went missing.

Just another soldier. Only ever soldiers.

And the worst part was he looked genuinely apologetic. You wished he could have scoffed and waved you off, like some prissy, no-good asshole that turned up his nose simply because he was the savior of the world and had earned so much battlefield glory he practically reeked of it.

But that wasn't like Jason. No, not only did the jerk have to be the strongest, most strategic soldier you had ever had the pleasure of fighting alongside, he was also one of the nicest.

Holding open doors, comforting the new, young, arrivals, braiding your hair for you to keep it out of your face that one time the stomach bug had torn its way through the Fifth Cohort. You had spent thirty-six straight hours bent over a toilet, and Jason had been there through all of it.

I don't remember, well, anything, really.

But you had never just been anything to Jason. Sometimes, he looked at you and you could almost convince yourself that you were his everything.

Dakota, of all people, a little hopped up on kool-aid, came to your rescue. Knotting his red-stained fist in the back of your toga, he tugged you back into the line of centurions, using his body to block Jason from your line of sight.

And you would have expressed your thanks, if you had been able to express anything beyond total heartache.

“No one would blame you if you snuck out,” Dakota lowered his voice, ducked his head close to your ear, and that snapped you out of your stupor.

“And leave my legion?” You glared sharply at him, glad for an excuse to funnel out some of your anger, though you felt a little bad that Dakota had been your punching bag the last six months. Really, you owed him. “I don’t think so. I’m fine. Just… shocked. I’m good.”

Dakota winced. Usually, you were ace at lying.

Who tied Octavian’s shoelaces together?

Not me, you’d dutifully shake your head.

Who broke curfew and snuck into the city to retrieve little Julia’s stuffed teddy from Octavian’s sacrifice pile?

I’d never, you’d claim, aghast.

Who’s head over fucking heels, dizzyingly in love with Jason Grace?

Not my type, you’d hold a hand over your heart, scouts honor.

But a simple I’m fine?

Even Frank Zhang couldn’t pretend to not know you were lying through your clenched teeth, and he pretended like he had never found you sobbing outside bunkhouse after curfew one night, a few days following his arrival at camp.

How had Jason forgotten you? It didn’t feel real, but everything felt like too much.

Maybe Dakota had a point. Maybe you needed to get out.

"Come," Reyna ordered, breaking the silent tension that had been building as Greeks and Romans alike stopped to gawk at your conversation with Dakota. "Let's eat."

You picked your helmet up out of the dirt, a dutiful little soldier with lungs full of glass shards.

You were supposed to be strong.

You were supposed to be strong, but you were just a kid.

Ten years old to be exact. Tears stung at your eyes, burned their way up your throat. You could have vomited. You might have already.

You're a thief and a monster, the other kids at school had claimed, words like bullets as they lobbed pencils and crumbled paper and anything they could get away with at you.

A thief, you would admit to being. You couldn't help it, fingers moving almost of their own accord, always finding the easiest target, the shiniest reward. It didn't matter that you always returned everything you took. No one wanted to be friends with the freak that managed to lift the teacher's wedding band off her finger in kindergarten.

A thief, you were.

But a monster? Monsters were the creatures that clawed at your window at night. Monsters were the odd shapes in the grass your mother never managed to see. You weren't a monster. You were ten.

"Hey, we're not supposed to be back here."

The voice of another child cut through your misery, and you sharpened your glare to pin the intruder to his spot. You recognized him, because he was the type of guy that had called you names in school. Tall—for a kid—and built like an athlete. Tan skin, blond hair, blue eyes.

You were pretty sure his name was Jake Greene, or something.

"You're back here," You reasoned, waving a hand littered with scabbed knuckles around for emphasis. Here being the stretch of unwatched grass behind the Mess Hall, a little place you had discovered on your second day and realized it was secluded enough that no one could see you cry.

Now, a week in, you discovered that it was secluded enough that no one could see you cry, but Jake Greene.

He looked around uncomfortably, like he was just then realizing that he, too, was breaking the rules. Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder, as if checking for witnesses, before trodding through the plush grass to sit beside you, legs stretched out in front of him while yours were pulled tight to your chest.

You checked the ground quickly, relieved to find you hadn't actually vomited.

"I'm Jason. Jason Grace." He introduced himself, as if your eyes weren't bloodshot and face blotchy and cheeks wet with tears.

Not Jake. Noted. Now that you thought about it, you didn't think there was a Jake at Camp Jupiter. Not one that you had met, yet, at least.

You nodded, hoping Jason, Jason Grace would get the hint that you wanted absolutely no fucking part of whatever nice guy routine he was putting on. Even if he was one of the few to approach you since you had arrived, bloody and starved, at the camp's borders, Lupa and her pack deciding you worthy.

This one is feisty, you could have sworn the alpha wolf had snarled a grin at the older centurion who found you. Young, but strong willed.

You didn't feel strong willed. You felt like you missed your own home.

You had to remind yourself that your own home hadn't wanted you and your new home was a Roman military camp.

"Your father is Mercury, right?" Jason tried again, this time earning a sharp glare.

It was easier to be angry than it was to be vulnerable, wasn't it? Wasn't that why you always bit the hand that fed you, got sent to the literal fucking wolves at ten years old?

Jason Grace didn't flinch at your hatred. Hatred? That wasn't the right word. You didn't hate anything or anyone but the schools and teachers that had convinced your mother that you were too difficult to deal with, that you needed to be sent away.

Can I come back for Christmas, Mom?, you had naively asked, not understanding why your mother was crying as you rolled to a stop outside a crumbling, wooden house in Sonoma.

A week later, you wondered if your mother was still crying. Or maybe she was enjoying the peace of no longer getting calls from schools or policemen about you.

You wished you could wipe your hands clean of yourself, like Mom had. Maybe you would understand why everyone in your life always seemed happier after they had gotten rid of you.

"It's not so bad here, I promise," He tried, again, and part of you had to congratulate him for not giving up. You would have. "I cried, a lot, when I first got here."

"You?" The exclamation fell past your lips before you could help it, and Jason's own twisted into a victorious grin. He had a scar, on the side of his lips, shining pearly white in the sun, set against his skin.

"Me," He confirmed. Sure, you had just met the guy, had been calling him the wrong name for a week, but he didn't seem like the type to cry. "I did come here when I was two, though."

You didn't know whether to gasp or swat his arm in retaliation, so you did both, finally uncurling from the ball of fear and hatred you had woven yourself into.

"You're really good in training," Jason complimented, taking your childlike assault in stride. You nodded, picking a few blades of grass out of the ground, right at the roots.

"I used to fight in school," You offered, if it was that simple. But punching your bullies was a whole lot different than locking sword and shield.

In the bunkhouse, the boy in the bed across from you was a son of Ceres, the goddess of the harvest. Your first night, in an effort to make you stop crying, rambled on and on about plants. How to properly care for different crops, what too little sunlight did to a flower, and how a tree could be dug up from the ground, roots and all, and planted somewhere else to live a perfectly normal, perfectly long life.

You stared at the blade of grass in your hand, feeling very much like the plant, your roots floating in the middle of nowhere by the hand of some unseen, unforgiving god.

But maybe you could plant your roots, too.

"If I don't make it here," You whispered, little kid voice hoarse. "Then that's it for me. I don't have anywhere else. I'll have to live on the streets. I've done it, once. Made it a whole week before Mom found me."

Part of you regretted the words as soon as they left your lips. What had Lupa shown you about weakness? It got you killed. It got you punished.

But Jason didn't sneer. He pursed his lips in a thin line, scar shining even brighter with the movement.

"I don't know my mom," He confessed, suddenly just as weak as you. Frowning, you tried to figure out why he was saying it. Big, strong—at least to ten year old you—Jason Grace should not have been any kind of weak.

Nodding, you didn’t have anything to say. But you felt the connection build, just two weak children, forgotten by their mothers.

“But I know you,” Jason offered, the admission warming something in your chest involuntarily. And you knew in that moment that maybe you were scared, but you weren’t alone.

At least Jason Grace knew you.

You grinned, then. A far cry from the glares and snarls everyone else you had come across had received. The ones that even he had been victim to, at the start of the conversation.

"Well, Jason Grace," You stuck out your hand, and he clasped your forearm like a good little Roman. "You're never getting rid of me, now."

The smile he gave you in return was a little lopsided, and when he dropped your arm and glanced over his shoulder, you remembered that your not-so secret hiding spot was off limits.

"Just don’t tell anyone we were back here, please.”

If you had thought your mood was bitter before the trireme arrived, it was nothing compared to the sulking, sorrowful mess you currently were.

For starters, you had somehow been shoved and duped into the seat beside Octavian and across from Jason. You didn't really want to see either of them, at all, at the moment.

Secondly, and you may have been reading far too much into things, but the second girl the Greeks arrived with, Piper, was sitting entirely too close to Jason. You wished that you had a good enough reason to not like her, but with your rotten luck, Piper McLean had been an absolute sweetheart despite your best efforts to act like a dickhead.

And it wasn't like Jason had ever actually been yours, ever.

Third. The plate the sprites dropped in front of you was filled with all of Jason's favorite foods. You weren't sure if it was your will or the sprites that made it happen, but you felt like tossing it all away.

Maybe you would dump it in Octavian's lap. It might make you feel better. It certainly was worth a try.

Finally, there was one aching thought echoing inside your mind relentlessly. The last conversation you ever had with your Jason had been an argument. You had walked away from him, a little petulant, entirely unnecessarily. And you had lost your soldier boy.

Because the Jason seated across from you at the Dining Hall in New Rome was not the same one that wrote out your to-do lists for you on neatly lined paper, offering to tag along with you while you checked them off.

He was just Jason, not yours.

And that hurt far more than you cared to admit.

“Centurion, you must be ecstatic,” Octavian crooned, his sickly smirk pinned on you. You felt a whole lot of things, but ecstatic wasn’t one of them.

“How so, Augur?” You huffed, even though you knew it only invited trouble. Across from you, Jason and Piper clearly had one ear on the conversation.

"Well, you have been inconsolable with our dear Jason Grace missing," Octavian said, as if he really cared about you. More heads started turning in your direction, and you found your fingertips inching to do something that would really get you in trouble. "You were a mess, honestly. Looking like—"

"That's enough," Jason interrupted, even though he didn't have any memories of you.

At least he was still the same horribly perfect sweetheart he had been before he left. His months with the Greeks—all of them watching you with mixed emotions—hadn't turned him sour.

"Oh, you should have seen her, Jason!" Octavian was going now, flourishing in the attention and you hated him, hated him so much your cheeks burned as bright a red as the kool-aid trapped perpetually in Dakota's hip flask. "Crying, every night. She even has—"

"I said, enough, Octavian,"

"—has a key to your bunkroom!" The augur finished, and if you had been able to think of anything beyond your embarrassment or frustration or fear that you were totally, irrevocably erased from Jason's mind, you would have remembered Octavian's threat, earlier, before the trireme arrived. He was just exacting his twisted form of justice.

Embarrass me in front of the Senate, and I will destroy you in front of Jason Grace, you could practically hear him sneer.

"Wait," The Greek named Leo narrowed his eyes at Jason before darting them to you, a grin on his lips that screamed trouble. "Did you two use to date?"

"I don't know," Was Jason's clipped, short reply, his cheeks dusting pink as he fixed his attention on your face. He studied you like he didn't understand you, which was ridiculous, because sometimes it felt like you and Jason shared a heart.

"No," You grunted, shoving your plate forwards, glare fixed on the stupid cherry tomatoes rolling atop the porcelain that you despised and Jason adored.

"We never could figure out if that was the truth," Octavian slanted a look to you, smirking. "But I guess we don't have to worry about that now, do we Centurion? Since he has no memory of you, of—"

Faster than what would have been possible, if your father had been anyone different, you lifted the knife set beside your plate and slammed the tip into the wooden table, between two of his fingers. He screamed, and the plates on the table rattled.

Weapons were forbidden inside the Pomerian Line, but dinner knives were only utensils.

The whole table fell silent. And maybe the whole Dining Hall, had, beyond Octavian's spluttering and cursing and calling for your trial before the Senate for attacking an Augur.

And maybe if Percy wasn't glaring at Octavian, and Reyna hadn't been the one to slip you Jason's key, he might have had a case against you.

"Praetors," Standing, you bowed your head to Reyna and Percy, and though every muscle in your body screamed to pay the same respects to Jason, you couldn’t get yourself together enough to meet his eye. How could he not know you? "I request to be dismissed."

"I will come find you later." Reyna nodded, intelligent eyes shimmering with understanding, and you never realized just how much it hurt to be pitied by her. "We’ve got much to discuss."

"Yeah. Uh, lots." Percy nodded, looking between you and Reyna like he couldn’t quite figure out what he was missing. But then his attention snagged on Jason, seated across the table, and you saw it all—the understanding, the pity, the sorrow—pass over his face. "Wait—"

Annabeth jammed her elbow into his side, and you met her eye briefly. She might have been the only one who understood even a fraction of what you were going through.

But at least Percy remembered her, and he had loved her freely, before.

“Later.” You confirmed through clenched teeth, turning swiftly to try and find a spot far enough from Jason Grace so that his lack of memories didn’t hurt.

You weren’t sure such a spot existed.

Your feet carried you deeper into the city, walking past store after store. You couldn't stomach going into much of them, every bakery and café and bookstore holding some memory of Jason. Far more memories than he held, of you.

You weren't sure how much time had passed before you heard the first explosion.

And Roman training kicked in, instantly, as you raced towards the forum, where the Greek trireme was firing on your city, the one you had only just saved from and army led by a giant.

Fall in! You shouted, organizing legionnaires, your mind and your instincts at war. And you knew Greeks and Romans were at war, too. Protect the city!

You barely were able to glimpse the dark haired boy, Leo, manning the ballistae attached to the side of the ship before it took off, rocketing through the skies, even with Roman firepower slamming into the hull.

And as the trireme disappeared into the distance, fear tore through you.

Because you knew Jason. You knew he was on that ship, with his new friends. You knew he was sailing off with them, bound to a quest that meant saving the world, if what they said was to be trusted.

And you knew what came next.

Jason Grace, loyal to the end.

You were going to have to kill him.

a/n: did not mean to give reader such a tragic backstory but I kinda love it... im so curious to know what ur fav part is, bc I cannot decide. ty for reading this much and plz let me know what you think!

tag, you're it: @aezuria @tayswiftlovebot @bonnie-tz @folklorefantasies14 @sunshine-of-ur-life @irwinchester@bellamysnatblida @saph-nic @auroraofthesun1 @helloimamistake

[tteokdoroki]

OCTOBER 8TH. HADES

“my sweet, deluded little minion. aren't we forgetting one teensy-weensy but ever-so-crucial tiny little detail? i own you.”

♱ — keigo takami + hate sex.

♱ — synopsis; as a naive little girl in love you make a deal that gets you stuck with the unrelenting god of the underworld, and no matter how sweet he may fuck you…you’ll spend all of eternity hating him if you have to.

♱ —length; 5.4K

♱ — warnings; please read for your own safety! mdni, smut 18+, heavy smut, mentions of death, restraints, marking, branding, creampies, thigh riding, impact play, nipple play, multiple orgasms, possesive sex, hate sex, unprotected sex, fem!reader, hades!hawks. not beta read !

♱ — notes; screee happy sinister saturday !! tonight i bring you hawks beloved besmooched as disney's hades!! i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did writing it. !! mwah !! - m.list ₊ kinktober m.list ₊ taglist 𓆩♡𓆪

pity. 

you should not have pity for the weak because you are weak, yourself. 

you’re weak because you’re too kind; you hate to see a dying soul twisting through those who end up in the land of the undead, shackled to their fate of never returning where the living are. you feel their desperation, hear it in the woeful cries of lost lives as they make their trip down a stream of decay— to be damned for almost all of eternity and like them, you’re desperate too. the underworld is a place to be hated, you think, tying you down to the stench of death and you’re so desperate to feel the sun on your skin once more…to taste the juice of a ripened fruit and feel the warm breeze against your skin while you brush through locks of silvering hair. 

you miss the air in your lungs, you miss breathing him in like he was oxygen.

touya, was there name of the man you missed most about the world up above— his lips often tasted of sour grapes, his skin was rough from scratches and scrapes too but soft whenever you held a his hand. you thought that he adored you— touya would worship you like the gods had put your portrait in the stars up above and you’d do the same…spending your free time counting the flecks in cerulean eyes while soft white hair flows in the warm wind. he was brave, you knew that, a warrior who was strong and had promised you his hand once he returned from the battles his father had called him upon. 

you were promised, you were happy and more in love than you thought possible— until the day touya tells you that he loves you with his dying breath, a sickness sweeping over topaz fem eyes, and you know he’d take your heart to the underworld too.

“you still thinkin’ about him, doll?” 

the warmth of your day dreams slip away as the chill of his voice fills the stone cold lair. you dare to let your fingertips drift through the river of souls below the wall you lean against. “‘m not in the mood, hades.” the god of the underworld, keigo takami is a nuisance if you’d ever known one. a pain in your ass full of feathered flames— bright blue in all of their glory, they’re colder than most would expect, unbecoming of the colour that sprout’s from the king of the undead’s back. 

“hawks. keigo, baby. c’mon little bird…” his voice is tight with humour, surprisingly playful for someone doomed to be surrounded by lifelessness for all of eternity. all of the underworld is dreary and damp, worn arching mountains made of old bones, skulls and teeth— rocks as sharp as swords that end lives with the sickly green stream of whining dead mortals. you can’t breathe down here…there’s no space for you to escape nor breathe around him and you hate it. “oh sugarplum…don’t play sourpuss! we’re all friends here!” the blonde god that burns cold flames picks your dainty fingers from the acidic pool of death. 

he grinds your gears, and you have nowhere else to go. the thought of being stuck with a man who rules over ruined lives— infuriating you to no end. “i am not—“ you seethe, shoulders raised like a hissing cat or something akin to the three headed dog that guards this place. “your friend. far from it, hades.” the look on your face is far from impressed, discourteous with your lips turned into a nasty sneer and a sweltering spark to your usually pretty docile eyes. 

it’s such a shame, how ill behaved you are after everything the man has done for you. “it’s hawks, honey.” the man reminds you, and in a flash he’s on you in all the ways you despise. his slimey grip of death squeezes your cheeks, dragging you up to his mighty height with your face in the palm of his burning hand. hades…hawks, he’s mean when he’s unhappy— the flames that form the wings of a fallen angel flicker a brilliant red and the temperature of them skyrockets. “‘n this is no way to act after all i’ve done for you cupcake.” despite the fury that radiates from the god…he coos gently. 

“if i remember correctly… i’m the one who saved your little prick of a boyfriend… aren’t I?” even through all of the robes keigo wears, you can still feel the molten heat of his skin against yours as he pulls you in close— though you dangle from his hold, you’re practically chest to chest. you scramble to get away, but the god only digs his thumb further into your cheek. “we had a deal. your soul for his life.” with his free hand, he creates an apparition, tufts of smoke dancing to form people…one showing touya who bends at the knee to take the other’s hand— this one being you. 

at first, the two characters seem happy, and an emotion akin to fondness settles in your bones— but not before touya’s little smoke figure trails away from yours to follow another woman “s’not my fault he left you. don’t take it out on me, doll,” hawks drawls, snapping his fingers to make the apparition disappear, your heart rattled in its place after reliving the scene and you force your gaze away with a grunt directed at the god. “now, since you’re being oh so disrespectful, we’ll add…give or take, another five years to your sentence with me instead of taking away seven. how’s that sound?” 

“fuck you, hades.” turning your head, you spit directly between the god’s eyes, fuelled by your own hurtful rage.

your elevated, living pulse does nothing but serve to piss off the king of the underworld more— his blonde set of locks nearly exploding off of the top his head as he combusts into red hot flames once more. “still so bitter over a man who can’t love you like i do, huh?” keigo says your name, low and raspy, and you can’t remember the last time he’d uttered those syllables. it frightens you, after all you are a mortal in the grip of a man who takes lives for a living, but you’d never let him know that. “that’s almost pathetic.”

that hurts to hear, like a knife twisting in your fragile human gut… and so, kicking your feet, still high above the ground and suspended in the large god’s grip— you throw yourself about and claw at his temperate hand cupping your face harshly. “you do not love me, you wouldn’t know what that meant even if it kicked you in the face!” you yell, biting down on keigo’s hands in a futile attempt. “you’re just obsessed with me and would much rather me be a soulless corpse to keep you better company!” 

“you better watch your tone with me, little bird—“

“you’re vile. you’re disgusting— a fool if you think i could ever see the bright side of being stuck here with you,” you ramble in response, and foolishly so. “i hate you hades, i hate you. did you know that? i want to repeat it for you. i hate yo—“ 

your words are never finished, for a resounding strike echoes throughout the cave like atmosphere on the underworld and you already feel the invisible bruising form under your skin, falling to the floor to cup your wound.

no matter how many times you had tested the god of death, he had never hit you like this before.

and you’ve never looked into his golden irises , never seen them so clearly or seen his pupils like black slits— leaving the amber colour to take over, reminding you of the surface sun. hawks looks almost predatory, hungry red flames for wings willing to swallow and burn everything in their path, including you. 

“repeat yourself. what did you say?” keigo commands easily.

you gulp. “t-that i…”

“that you, what?” your name again, and you tremble. 

“that i hate you,” you breathe. “i hate you.” 

he seems to snap at this. 

hawks smiles, teeth as sharp as razors set on display. “another five years into your sentence, pretty.” with a snap of his talon clawed fingers, the god has fragments of grey smog binding your wrist together, slipping over your nose and mouth to shut you the hell up. “‘m disappointed, yanno. i do care so much for you, i’m so attentive… but this has happened far too long to go unnoticed, little bird.” 

the world around you rushes with air as you’re hauls into the god’s thick arms, you kick and scream muffled through the smoke in your mouth— watching as keigo conjures up a throne made of thorns, pain and bones, taking a comfortable seat into it despite the lost loved ones it might be made up of. “here we go again, darling.” the blonde sighs, not caring if you batter his back on the way down to taking his seat— dragging you into position to sit over the swell of his right thigh. “s’always the same old shit with you. so naughty.” keigo peers up at you through eyes like a bird of prey…watching, knowing the exact effect he has on you. 

hyper aware of how much control he has over you, right down to your soul. 

you squirm away and keigo let’s go of the smoke, letting you tilt your head back but still rooted in the god’s lap. “i hate you.” breathing deep, you try to ignore your body flushing with heat and the urge to buck down against keigo’s surprisingly muscular thigh. 

“behave yourself. sit still,” hades coos, his touch cascades up your body, slipping under your bodice and sending warmth down each of the neurons like a flickering flame until he reaches the swell of your breasts— thumbing over your pebbled nipples in an attempt to pull a whine from between your resistant lips. it’s so cute to watch you try and fail, pretend like your hips aren’t aching to slide back and forth, drag your clit back and forth…back and forth over the man like a desperate bitch in heat, like you don’t want to put your hands in the brightness of his fire and watch yourself burn with lust. you’re no good at acting, pretending you wouldn’t slut yourself out for him, the one who owns you for all of eternity. 

with a click of his fingers, all the power in the world between them pulls up the skirts of your robes, like wisps of a web until the fabric sits at your hips. “h-hate you… s’much,” you repeat though the venom to your voice is lost, shaky and falling into a pathetic moan instead as the god traces the fat at your hips, searing fingers sliding down to your fleshy ass before peeling you away from his thigh— amused at the stickiness that ties you to him. “f-fuck.” 

“yeah sweetheart? you hate me this much?” the amusement is evident in his voice too, a slender digit sliding out from the curve of your ass to touch at your oozing wetness. “oh…i don’t know, doesn’t seem like you don’t like me. you can’t spend forever hatin’ me either; not when i get you like this.” the finger spreads apart your swelling folds, and hawks shifts until his knee is able to bump your clit. “lover boy ever make ya this wet?” you despise the way the god talks down on you, as if you’re just a slave to his cock and thighs and whatever he can give you…dopamine and lust hormones flooding your cute little mortal brain and making you pliant for him. 

the beginnings of your arousal seeps warmly through the robes laying wrinkled against the fiery blonde’s thigh, sweet folds leaving a stain that betrays you in every way possible. touya could never… not like this, you’re soaked and you’ve barely been touched. only just, by feather light grazes against the supple fat at your waist. it’s the taunting pillowy cushion to hawks’ words too, they’re what’s gotten you so worked up— not too mean or too harsh, just enough to make you feel like you’re beneath him. 

with your nails digging to hades’ arm, you cry out his name at a volume barely above a whisper— bottom lip wobbling and face crumbling just like your resolve because it hurts so good not to use him to get off, the shame only adding fuel to the fire in your lower belly. “s-shut up,” you struggle to get out, to mean what you say as your needy hole clenches against the blistering skin of a god. “you don’t make me feel shit…y-you could never be h-him—oh,” keigo flexes his thigh beneath your unloyal pussy, tongue darting out to wet his lips in hunger as your words taper off into a sinful little sigh at your pretty eyes roll back into your skull. “oh…oh fuck you.” 

“watch your mouth.” hades all but snarls, a cruel smirk beginning its horizon on his slightly chapped lips now that you’re finally playing his game, your hips falling into their own rhythm over his thigh—speeding up in their straddled dance over him. again, his hands explore all what your body has to offer and this time you let him, throwing your head back when hawks rips the fabric of your skirt to get a better view of your naked rosy cunt and how beads of glistening arousal pearl between perfect pussy lips. “don’t need to be your shitty little human to make you feel good, sweetheart. i know i’m better than him,” he makes a sick point of reminding you so, leaning back into his throne with a hazy look settling into the embers of his golden eyes, those of which are trained on the way your folds encapsulate his thigh as you get yourself off on him. “i’m your god, you’ll only ever feel the pinnacle of pleasure with me.”

you loath that this much is true, of all the times hawks has punished you for resenting him— talking back and being ungrateful, you’ve never cum as hard with anyone else as much as you have with him. when his flaming hands swallow your thighs, burn their hand prints into them until you can smell the scent of singeing flesh tangled with death, decay and your saccharine pussy you feel like you’re dying. you must be, with the waves of euphoria you’re drowning in, your lungs ache from the near screams of delight that rattle around in your throat with every grind against hawks— especially when he begins to bounce his thighs against your cunt that blossoms for him like a flower from the lands up above.

“you’re awful…” you say, teary eyed despite humping at keigo’s twitching thigh faster and faster with ragged breaths— giving him a front row seat to you losing your mind, to your slit drooling so delicately against him despite how roughly your body moves. his clawed hand reaches the back of your bodice, tearing it into two as if it were nothing and letting the fabric fall away from your bouncing chest.

his mouth is on your breasts within an instant, the heated pink tongue of the god rolling over your darkened areolas and rock hard nipples, standing on end from the cool death chilled air, before the sharpened edge of his teeth sink into your soft mounds. “only just now realising that, honey? when i’m literally the king of death?” hawks let’s go of you with a slick pop, his cheeks flushed red and lips in a state to match— cock and thigh twitching at the little simper you let out from the painful sting of his teeth biting at your skin. your state is no better than his, brows creased adorably in the centre of your forehead, mouth open in a raw ‘o’ shape and your eyes screwed shut while your skin shines with perspiration. a diamond in the rough. 

“fuck, you look so fucking good,” the god of the underworld curses, glowing yellow eyes torn between watching your face contort in lechery and your mound, gliding smoothly over his paled yet golden skin— leaving a trail of slick in her wake. “oh fucking hell,” he beefs, from deep within his chest licentiously, the words caught in his throat when you start to bounce up and down in the god’s lap by your own accord. “that’s right, ride it. ride my thigh like you fucking hate me.” he leers, goading you into lifting your hips and slamming your clit back down on his shaky thigh, eyes a dark and molten gold rolling back at the sight. 

you don’t have the energy to curse him out again, whimpering and mewling like a fallen angel as you reach out to grab keigo’s shoulder in order to steady yourself. your body is wracked with the shakes and trembles even as your nails dig into his shoulder blades, one hand on his hip, using him as leverage to ride him, throwing yourself down on him as the lewd pap of your sticky pussy fills the sex and death tainted air. hawks’ mouth is back on you, biting and marking your neck, licking a nasty trail from your collarbones and back to the swell of your breasts to suckle on them— only serving to make your cunt fish every time it’s lifted from his thigh, ruining his dark robes with slick and making his wings burn brighter like the ball of lust growing between you.

hawks plants his feet firmly on the floor, his hands smoothing over your ass so he can roughly pull your cheeks apart, slamming you back down on his quivering leg every time it juts up to meet your pretty, syrupy cunt. you squeak, the hood of your clit pulled back, blood rushing right too it carrying sex crazed hormones that make your whole body tingle. “oh, just look at your fucking pussy. so, wet. so nasty.” he laughs like the sight of you staining his leg, humping it like a bitch is ludicrous. “you sure you hate me?” you do, gods you fucking do but you can barely talk with the delight pain that sparks at your ass cheeks as keigo marks them with burns again. branding you with the hades name— making you property of the underworld. 

“how can you hate me when you belong to me?” he bleats sweet and soft despite how rough hades is with you, scattering your pretty body with scalding burn marks. “when i make you feel so good that you can’t even remember your own pathetic little mortal name?” he says it then, when he’s growling and smacking a blazing hand down against your bruising ass, making you cry out and howl and drag your nails down his skin. keigo did you a favour, saving your weak and loving soul above all else after your lover had cast you aside— he protected you, nurtured you and all you could do was look at him like he ruined the world for you. so in turn, every time you would act up like this, keigo would fuck you until you were literally an inch from losing your life, reminding you that you bound to him for all of eternity, no matter what you did. 

“you’re mine. remember?” he coos to you when your head starts to loll and you’re hiccuping so hard you can’t even think to breathe right. “my little queen of the underworld.” 

slumping forward, you don’t slow the roll of your hips, the gentle glide of your slippery cunt along hades’ blazing thigh and instead you shake your head, weakly, miserably to the point where he just finds your denial cute. “‘m not…i-i,” you gargle, words incoherent against the molten core of keigo’s chest. “i fucking hate you—uhuh, yeah…i do.” you moan.

like most humans, you’re fucking pitiful but your voice adorned with lust is enticing to a god who hears nothing but deathly wails all day. “keep tellin’ yourself that; baby but look at how you fall apart on my lap. uhuh…yeah?” keigo flashes you his pearly whites through his condescending smirk and tone, using you so bristfully that every time he pushes you back and forth over his thigh you go as far back as to grind your puffy clit against his knee. “that felt good, huh? yeah i know…you’re all mine.” 

you fucking hate him, and that voice of his and how he plays you for a fucking fool. 

you hate how his possession over you makes you needy, makes you melt and how you eagerly nod your head, sore and bruised by flames all over as you push it into keigo’s neck— the knot in your tummy nice and tight, so good that it hurts. “‘m close… don’t stop. please, o-oh fuck!” you cry, coated in your own essence as it splatters every time you slam your pretty pussy down on hawks, clenching around nothing, your sweet words soothing the ache in his rigid dick. “j-just like that. f-fuck! keigo!” 

the way you drawl out the syllables of his name makes a primal urge stir in the god— he circles your hips on him, let’s his calloused finger tips burn their mark against your hips and your thighs and your ass, knowing that the torment gets you off, makes your creamy cunt wetter. “you gonna cum for me? make a mess in my lap? paint your god with your pretty juices?” he teases, short for breath leaning up with a fond smile until your lips are just barely apart. he wonders how you’ll look when you cum this time; if your sweaty swollen lips with hungrily accept his, if you’ll cry with your eyes closed or look him in his own— your sparkling bambi eyes swirling with hatred and dread like they always do. “c’mon…come on. give it to me, sweetheart, lemme feel you come undone.” 

hot fingers, the ones that branded you push into your clit— pinching it as hades writes his signature against your throbbing pussy, moaning with you when you jolt. “yeah, you like that?” he growls, voice hoarse and your body betrays you once more, head nodding into his neck. “mhm, you’re gonna cum like this for me aren’t you? you’re gonna fucking cum for the god you hate. that’s it…oh gods, that’s fuckin’ it, doll.” 

“i-i’m! oh gods, keigo—!” you squeal as the knot of lust within you unravels all at once, your core gushing with release as hades makes you dive head first into a blinding orgasm. you violently shake and your thighs lock around his hand that works you through your high and releases the pressure in your pussy, sweet streams of clear arousal soaking his lap and dripping down your thighs. hawks can’t bring himself to stop, doesn’t know where to look as he draws tighter circles on your little nub, drawing out your orgasm for his own amusement, addicted to how your skin shines with your release. “s-stop! please… s’too much!” you squeak.

the world spins harder on its axis and you barely have time to register hawks flipping your positions, folding you with your back to the throne and legs thrown over the bend of his burly arms. he can’t wait any fucking longer, feeling as if his cock might explode without being inside of you, watching you cum like that having sent him into a throbbing frenzy. you haven’t even calmed down yet, still limp from your orgasm when keigo pushes his length through your seeping, glistening folds, red cockhead catching on the hood of your clit in desperation, poking at your fluttering hole, ready to fuck into you while he lets his dick slap along the length of you. 

“j-just because you’ve made me cum…doesn’t mean i like you, nor trust you.” you pant in denial, trying and failing to open your pretty eyes to the underworld. “it doesn’t mean anything.” 

but keigo, he’s too far gone to care at this point. he could care less if you hate him, if you adore him, worship him or fear him. the only thing on his mind right now is sinking his yearning, pulsating shaft into your slick, slit while you’re still coming down from heaven and back to him in the world below. “don’t give a fuck,” he says, a hankering feeling to fuck you now clouding his mind. “i don’t need your trust little bird, i already know your body fucking loves me.” 

he won’t last long and neither will you, you’re already only just hanging on by a thread. “i-i don’t,” you slur, spit on the pad of tongue feeling heavy, you still haven’t recovered from your orgasm, squeezing down on every inch that keigo pushes into you— even though you’re wet beyond belief, your pink little hole can’t help but resist him, as if your body is finally denying him after everything he put you through on his thigh. “n-no…no no!” you cry out, a mess of dry lips and crystal tears, lifting your ass from the seat of the throne to try and coax hawks back into you. “please…need it, y-your cock…p-please!”

“see look, you’re being so nice now… is that all it takes? play with your precious pussy a little bit and you stop pretending to hate me?” keigo laughs huskily, dragging a thumb over his seedy tip as his fat length sits on your tummy— before shoving the soiled digit against your clit, pressing it into your pleasure nub so loosen you up a bit to take him. “this pussy doesn’t hate me, does she? oh no…she belongs to me.” 

you shudder at his words despite the heat of his flames, and you’re not even given a second to respond or prepare before his ribbed and red hot cock is shoved into your unused hole, his practised hands lifting you higher from the throne to accommodate for all of his size. “oh…oh god, k-keigo,” you coo like a little angel, your gaze losing its focus while the king of death folds you in half against his royal seat, the forked and purpling veins decorating his shaft pressing up against new pulse points, pinging them with ecstasy the further he presses into you. 

hawks bends over your shaky frame, golden and carved abs pressed against the backs of your thighs, the god smothering you with his body once he reaches the hilt, your knees digging blissfully into your shoulders, his cock already nestled against your g-spot from the pure size of him and you feel so full, like keigo is everywhere around you, a pleasant pain thrumming as your squishy insides stretch over his cold. he’s in your guts, your senses, your heart though it’s blackened with hatred for him. 

you’re dizzy and your eyes droop, mind void of thought and you don’t have the effort to hate him anymore— not when he makes you feel like this. “nuh-uh, wake up sweetheart, want you to look at me as i fuck ya, kay?” keigo whispers to you sweetly, his blazen hand smacking down on your face, pulling the dirtiest moan you’ve ever heard from between your lips. “that’s it, wake up f’me. listen to this cunt call my name,” he laments tapping your cheek once more and grins at the branded hand print before golden eyes lock themselves  away— taking away your sunshine from up above. you listen intently, the lewd squelch of your insides bouncing of stacks of bones and towers of skeletons, at a volume much higher than the cries of the undead. “my messy messy girl, so messy you might as well admit that you’re in love with me.” 

while that couldn’t have been further from the truth, you submit to the god who makes you a slave to his cock— slowly withdrawing from your snug walls, pulling out of your sticky selfish cunt. “ain’t it damned shame that lover boy took you for granted?” he growls with a voice tinged with possession. “such a shame that you’re sentenced to slutting yourself out on this cock for the rest of your days…oh fuck, you’re tight.” hips surging forwards, hawks sets a steady pace to rocking his dick into you, blunt cockhead pushing and pulling against sensitive spots that makes you see the stars in the night sky again. and maybe you do consider yourself lucky, without touya fucking you over, you wouldn’t be prisoner to the best dick you’ve ever had. 

you hate him, but hades is so, so good—teeth and tongue latching back onto your bouncing breasts as the heat from his flames spreads through you like a wildfire in a forest and the only thing capable putting it out is his precum sloshing in creamy, loose white against your gummy, syrupy walls. “m-my fucking god!” you manage through stuttered breathes, keening into the swipes of keigo’s tongue across your breasts that he’s burned, as if his saliva will soothe you. he ploughs into you at a god speed pace, skin slapping on skin as his balls slam into the curve of your ass and harmonise with your high pitched wails. 

“that’s right, baby.” he sounds so elated, moaning happily around your swollen nipples, moving to pant happily into your ear, pressing further and further into you until keigo is hardly pulling away from bullying your g-spot, your juices splashing about the places, running down the length of your slit and your ass to pool underneath you on the marble throne. “i’m yours and you’re fuckin’ mine, for the rest of forever…don’t, ah shit, care what you say. hate me all y’fuckin’ want.” 

hawks fucks you like he hates your guts, looking over you, throwing your legs over his shoulder and using his weight to canter into your abused cunt, rocking his throne with a dull thump to each of thrusts. he frees you from the grip that leaves burn marks across your body, to briefly run his hand through sweaty blonde locks, both of you are slick with perspiration, breathing ragged and you’re definitely too fucked out to even see at this point. the sun is keigo; despite the dreary underworld you live in, and the tears blur your vision too much for you to tell this isn’t the land of the living. 

“‘m g’na cum,” you tell hades eagerly, feeling like you’re alive the more he fills you up— sexes slotted together like a match made in heaven when you really feel like he’s your own personal hell. “gonna cum so fucking hard.” the pleasure is suffocating, deathly, but you don’t care, crying from every hole possible, locking down on keigo’s ravaging dick when he slaps your entrance to keep you awake— you jolt, sore from every joint and whine out pathetically. 

“can feel you cummin’ on me again, better give it all t’me little bird— want your fuckin’ mind, your body, your soul.” he sinks his teeth into the junction at your neck one last time, adding another delightfully painful mark to the rest that litter your body. he does it all to numb your pain of touya leaving you, fills you up with love which you mistake for hate because how can a merciless god who takes lives for fun be capable of loving you. it’s not long before your body does as he says, following keigo’s lead, tumbling down the highway to hell as the bright light of his flames flashes before your very eyes, your release staining his abdomen where it’s smooshed up against your clit.

“oh shit, fuck that’s it,” he’s right behind you too, abs rippling while the mighty god of death trembles above you and pours thick white from his angry red tip straight into your bruised womb, lewd clapping noises filling the air as he rocks into you through the last of your highs. keigo makes a pretty mess of you; creaming your insides as his last mark of possession over you. “my pretty little bird, mine eternally.” 

he hopes you’ll forget touya, that you’ll forgive him just this once— stop hating him for once. 

but with your foreheads pressed together, bodies limp and uncomfortable against the throne hawks— hades, has conjured up you quickly come to your senses with closed eyes and lost breath. 

“i hate you, hades.” you grunt, shame burning at you now instead of him, instead of lust. “get off me.” 

[blueberryarchive]

The One Were Jungkook;

more slasher!jk

𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙨; slasher, 80s, psychological horror

𝙩𝙬; non-con, somnophilia, horror, violence, blood

(thank you to @hoseokshobagi for helping me with this big mess, I love u, shut up)

NY, 1985

The little ol' Brew House wasn't like the bar you went to with Jimin. It was so small that you could feel the sweat running down your back, the ghost of a hand or a glance behind you with every step. There was a sour smell of old, dried beer on the rustic green furniture and freshly disinfected vomit in the corner where Jungkook motioned for you to sit.

"Sit down, don't move."

You climbed onto the cracked brown leather stool, your bare thighs sticking to it like Velcro. A band was playing Iron Man on the other side and it was so uncoordinated that it matched the people sitting there: middle-aged men in blue-collar jobs, women in black leather skirts and foreign students with little money, underworld poets and their upper class girlfriends living the fantasy of muses sitting one their boyfriend's thighs while they discussed Bob Dylan and Williams Burroughs. A green and brown amalgam of sweaty skin drinking warm beer and watered down whiskey.

You couldn't help but compare both places.

Sweaty Joe's was a bar just two corners from the university, it was bathed in colored lights and posters as old as the owners of the place themselves. Red leather sofas were distributed in the corners and those, for years, have belonged to the Maroon Knights players.

This is where you met Jimin, it was your first week and you and Bobby Joe decided to have a beer, you two were new, smiled candidly at each gentleman who offered you another drink. You had never done that in the small town where you came from.

Jimin was celebrating his first winter tournament, his crimson cheekbones and his elegant smile conquered your heart, he let you sleep in his room in the trailer where he lived with his four brothers. His hands never took yours without first asking you, never looked away. You fell asleep so quickly in that bed while the little snores of the quaterback kept you stable, safe.

At dawn, you couldn't even see his face, you spent a week avoiding the hallways where he frequented until you did what your mother did to apologize to people: you baked some cookies. Unfortunately, he was on a diet but he still accepted them, his younger brother would eat them all with pleasure, you offered him a kiss and he let himself go.

That afternoon you lost your virginity behind his secong-hand orange Pontiac, white cotton panties crumpled and drooled between your teeth as Jimin held your calves. You cried so much that he forgot to moan, but your boyfriend wiped away each tear with his wet tongue and his thumbs until his cum fell thickly onto your skirt and his uniform.

The second time was different. What you don't know is that you cooking for him lit a spark, a simple breeze in a dry forest and you were the summer sun. You were going to be his wife, he promised you, with drooping eyelids and your pelvis on top of a pillow, his hands guiding your ass until they collided with his waist.

“I'm going to make you mine, I'm going to buy you a house and a huge ring. Fuck—you’re going to have to stop me at some point because I’m going to get you pregnant every time you smile at me, love. Doesn't Ms. Park have a ring to it?" He growled grabbing your hair to pull you closer to his sweaty chest.

“What is that pretty head of yours thinking about, huh?” Jungkook snapped his fingers at you, placing a long mug of beer in front of you. The second cigarette of the afternoon dangled between his fingers as he waited for you to take a drink, his eyes darting from your chest to your hair. “I saw you look at the ring on your finger.”

“My boyfriend gave it to me a month ago.” You said fixing the thin silver ring, a promise desperate to be fulfilled.

“How very” The boy laughed, choking on the smoke, you held the beer and took a long drink.

You realized that men when they exist in a cloud of promises and anonymity are more fuckable, because now seeing the metalhead in front of you, you just wanted to hit him.

“I don't understand why you keep yapping when you're not here to hear me speak.”

“I didn't want us to move on to fucking so quickly, but if you can't wait, then we'll make a little something in the alley.” Seeing your face blush he laughed again. “I'm kidding, doll. Don’t be so rigid.”

With a whistle, Jeon effortlessly caught the eye of a man nearby. His muscles were noticeably defined, and he sported a pair of square glasses that added a touch of charm. Dressed in a casual plaid shirt, his hair styled like a military man. Spotting Jeon, his face lit up with recognition, and he quickly closed the distance between you.

“Kim, I thought you weren't coming to the meeting.” Out of the corner of your eye you caught a glimpse of the man's slight tensing as his friend spoke, but without skipping a beat, his hand gently landed on his friend's shoulder.

"What do you mean?"

"You literally said-"

"No, I didn't. Gosh, give me a break."

Hoseok looked in your direction with a hint of distrust, the creases on his face sharpening with each step you took. You walked closer, his eyes traced your body from head to toe, his initial skepticism fading away the moment he reached your side. Your little shorts and Wham! t-shirt hugged your curves tightly, clinging to your tits like a sculpture of marble.

"What's this?" Hoseok pointed at you and moved his fingers up and down.

"Come, I want to introduce you to my friend. We met in…" Jungkook's smile widened as he tilted his hand. “Well, it doesn't matter. What does matter is that you have to make a place for her in the club, wouldn't you gladly have one of the sweetest pieces of meat of the whole faculty on the team, eh?”

Jungkook looked in your direction again, he knew that the way he spoke caused tremendous disgust in you and he enjoyed it. “This is Hoseok, the president of the archery club. Greet him before he hates you for some reason.”

"Shut up." Hoseok's voice cut through the air as he extended his arm to shake yours, his calloused hand brushing against your skin. His sharp eyes studied your hands intently, examining every detail. "You got weird fingers."

"Is that how you give compliments to pretty girls?"

Hoseok let out a sigh, nonchalantly plucking the cigarette from Jungkook's mouth. With a subtle gesture, he motioned for his friend to approach while bringing the cigarette to his own lips.

“If you want to fuck one of the cheerleaders, find another way, I'm not going to put her in the club, dude.” His failed attempt at whispering, which was clearly intentional, didn't escape your ears.

“Do you think I have to fuck one of you to be part of your Disney Heroe theatre team?”

Hoseok's eyebrow arched, while leaning back against the bar stool. With a confident yet subtle sway, he adjusted his posture, his pelvis shifting ever so slightly, but still managing to catch your eye. A mischievous grin formed on one side of his lips, knowing full well of the effect he had on you. “And why the hell are you looking for me if you don't need me, Barbie?"

"I'm here to let you know that I'll be waiting for you in the green area on Monday at 3, expecting you to hand me a bow and arrow," You declared, a sweet smile playing on your lips like a precious jewel shimmering beneath a cloak of innocence as you deftly snatched the cigarette from between his parted lips. "And I hope you show up with a smile that could outshine the sun and a more decent cologne."

Hoseok scoffed with raised eyebrows, clearly unimpressed by your little rebel talk as you took a drag from his stolen cigarette.

"You do realize you'll be the only woman in the group, right? The guys ain't going to like you, they tend to be very…"

"Terrified of women," Jeon chimed in, leaning against your shoulder.

"They'll probably do a jerk-off circle if they see me in a skirt." You quipped, a sly smile playing on your lips.

"Exclusive," Hoseok added.

The three of you looked at the cubicle where the a few memebers sat, all upper class kids who couldn't get into anything in their lives without Mommy opening the door for them first.

“Whatever, you're not even that hot, they'll live.”

You smiled, turning around on your stool to continue drinking your beer. “See you on Monday, four eyes.”

“Bye, Hobi-Bobby.” Jungkook rested his arm on the bar, his eyes positioned on your profile.

“Do you want to fuck now? I love women who know how to silence men, i'm already hard.”

"Why are you so fucking disgusting?"

"You're the one sitting next to me, you can go now." And he waited. You stayed there, speechless and waiting, too.

"Kim?"

"Who?"

“The dickhead called you Kim.”

“I don't know who that is, sweetheart.”

“Mm.” You nodded. You weren't too sure now. “Are you sure you're the one I talked to that night?”

"I promise you." Jungkook dragged his stool closer to your ear, the smell of nicotine and shaving cream was pleasant, manly. "Are those sugar tits as sweet as that voice of yours?"

“What time did I call you?” You ignored his nutty breath.

“Are you questioning me now?”

"Yeah."

His jaw tensed, biting the inside of his cheeks.

“I'm going to give you some advice, doll. If you want things to go well today, don't question me.”

You felt a rush cover your back, the beer felt colder on your fingers and you were more aware of his proximity. You were in his territory, you didn't know anyone there, you were screwed.

“Can you answer me just one thing and that's it?”

Jungkook moved closer and nodded, his pupils stabbing at your lips waiting for you to say something out of line so he would have an excuse to destroy you with.

“Why do people think you are weird?”

His sigh collided with your neck, a smile woven little by little; you could see stars in his eyes when he moved back. The raw desire to show you why.

He leaned close to your ear and whispered slowly, the urge to laugh drowned out by his words. Both his hands hiding his lips like a child. You swallowed as you finished listening, a long drink to finish the remaining beer.

He pulled out a new cigarette before your eyes met his again.

“So, in your room or mine?” He mumbled before lightning the tip.

“I'm- I think I'm going home.”

"Isn't your home in the middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania, you silly little bun'?"

The man in front of you pouted, nodding with a dejected face when he saw you stand up, the large mug of beer hitting your trembling anatomy. You wanted to vomit, to shed your own skin to pieces, to vanish, to crawl along the road back home like a mass of nerves and to sleep in your bed until you forgot what this psychopath had just hummed in your ear in the middle of the crowd.

But what did you expect? Wasn't this what you were looking for?

That's why curiosity ends up being the cruelest animal feeling. It takes you to the cheese on top of the trap, it makes you look at the sun and go blind, it makes you run through the grass until you fall at the bottom of nowhere. Voices like Jungkook's end up taking you to a seedy bar, at the mercy of God if he is even allowed in these parts.

“Come on, I'll take the bike down for you, then.”

You grabbed your backpack and walked in front of Jeon, stares like needles digging into your shorts.

Outside, his arms stretched out to take the bicycle, as light as a feather.

“I would've take you to college but-”

“I think this is where our journey ends, Jungkook.” Your voice was firm, elegant. You knew when to say goodbye.

He remained silent, one last smile as a gift. "If you say so." His hands opened dramatically to show you the road.

You raised your leg until you sat down and accelerated down the street, the sun hiding on the horizon. You didn't know if it was the wind hitting your cheeks and eyes, but you felt the cold stream go down to your neck. You wanted the road to get shorter in front of you and suddenly you were crying like a lost child, the sharp exhale stinging your lungs, you took all the alleys you recognized and the ones you didn't and you looked around at the desolate sides of New York.

Hiding from the sun your skin grew cold and the sobs turned to murmurs praying that you would return alive to the arms of Steph or Bobby Joe.

But oh, how angelic you looked with the halo of Jungkook's car headlights on your back. A honk chilled your blood until you couldn't do anything but grip the handlebars until your knuckles turned white.

“I changed my mind, I'll take you.” His breathing was jagged, he was sweating deeply, swallowing hard to hide the psychosis.

“It won't be long now and my boyfriend is waiting for me.”

“Don't worry, just load the bike and I'll drop you off at his house.”

'No' was not an answer and you knew that, no one ever said no to him. And if they did no woman managed to keep her tongue to say it.

"Roger that. Thank you, Jungkook, you are a gentleman.”

“Of course, get off the bike now.” He muttered as he snatched the iron from your hands and threw it behind his vehicle.

The trip was lethargic, the music faltered in the car with each curve until you reached a neighborhood of white houses and yellowish lights, the crickets chirped in the safe silence of a suburb. You thought about getting out when the car stopped and screaming until your lungs vomited.

But of course, when you arrived the garage door was open, the car slid across the smooth concrete without a sound.

“Do you mind if I look for a few things before I take you home?” His voice sounded so carefree that you almost believed you were going back to your dorm room. You shook your head as he went down to close the garage door, the darkness consuming your hope.

Your heart began to beat blood so fast that your hands began to try to open your door, Jungkook tilted his head at the noise until he saw your reflection in the side mirror.

"Why you do that? God, you’re so stupid.” Jungkook took your hair in his hands and without much effort dragged you out of the vehicle and onto the garage floor. His hand covered your mouth, his calloused and sweaty fingers undoing the button on your Levi's until they stuck to your ankles.

“It's only once, you have to reward me for the beer you had, you know?” His voice burned in your ear along with the beating of your heart, a light hum of your soul trying to get away from your dirty body.

“Mm-” You groaned as you felt the fabric of his jeans mold between your ass. Moving was in vain, fighting a mere fantasy.

“Just a quickie and then I'll drop you off, don't be so rigid.”

Your body was puppeteered to the living room with dim lights, curved and modern furniture that someone paid great attention to match with the upholstery and the carpet that decorated the floor.

And your body was thrown to the edge of the pink couch, the metal underneath the cloth digging into your stomach, your ass in the air as you felt cold hands remove your underwear. Why weren't you moving? Why did you let this happen to you? What was your mom doing right now? You thought of her chubby body moving around her room while organizing her dresses, folding the flowery pieces and tucking in it away in her closet. Peacefully humming gospel songs.

Warm spit fell onto your pussy and you closed your eyes, the last tear creating a shadow on the corrugated carpet as Jungkook slid his cock around the entrance to wet the entire area. The phone rang five, six, ten times next to you. Beep.

Hello, you are calling the sweet home of Bee, Dr. Kim and Taehyung. We are on vacation in Florida, but when we arrive we will take your message. Bye bye!

Who were the animated voices humming on the phone and why was Jungkook's voice there? You looked at the stranger loosening his grip on the sudden crackling laughter coming from the small speaker on the phone.

"Fuck." The now stranger mumbled, holding your neck with his forearm.

"You got the wrong kid, callgirl." And your eyes opened like a full moon, you looked at the closed windows of the room. “Taehyung, you have ten to hide.”

"Shit." Taehyung whimpered behind you pushing your body to the ground, instinctively you grabbed his leg causing his body to fall to the ground next to yours.

If you were going to die today, you wouldn't do it alone.

"Five, six…"

“What the fuck are you doing, you fucking whore?! I will die if he finds me.” His reddened face dragged trying to take your sudden weight and strength off of him. It was useless. Black Sabbath began to play above the house, reverberating, like thousands of wasps between the walls. “I'm sorry, I won't do it again, please. Let me go."

Taehyung's head reached the kitchen when a worn military boot stopped his movements. The muddy sole of the boot collided with Taehyung's head, making it bounce again and again and again against the wood of the kitchen. It was a hollow, wet sound, more forceful with each blow.

You leaned your body back until you collided with the sofa, your nails anchored in the carpet.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, ple-” Taehyung tried to speak until the boot took the last hit and his jaw hung from his mouth like a toy. His eyes looked back with mercy. Run, he shouted to you with his bleeding eyes, run until you die but run. A broomstick passed through his mouth until his body bounced once more. And then...

So still.

Drool was falling from the corners from having your mouth open for so long. Why didn't you run? Is it that the boot you were looking for so long? Was the cruelty of being curious true?

An excessively tall figure passed through the kitchen frame, avoiding Taehyung's lifeless body. Black was the first thing you saw: the dirty jeans, the leather jacket tied around his waist, the Motley Crue tank top pressing against his chest and shoulders. Sweat dripped from his mullet to his tattoos.

His face, soft and covered in red. His oval nose and thin lips, eyes like a dead deer. Metal surrounding the room like the choir of fallen angels.

It was him, it was Jungkook.

“Poor little thing.” He licked his lips as he held your chin so you were looking at him. “Look at you, so afraid of that fucking-” he growled under his breath, getting down to your level.

"Please don't kill me." You cried, the air was thick, like sulfur around him.

“I didn't promise you that in the call, baby. Did you forget already?"

His hands were delicate under your armpits until he lifted you up and took your body to the furniture sitting you on top of his wide thighs. Your body looking at the turned off television, the curved reflection showed the difference in size. You were a doll on top of that beast.

“Put your foot up.” He ordered as he grabbed your knee to help you put on your Levi's with the softness of a creature in feather hands. "Stop crying."

“I can't, I'm too scared, I want to go home.”

"Pity." Jungkook sighed, taking your underwear from his jeans, wet with some chemical. His tattooed fingers took the flimsy cotton to your nose. Bitter at first and then it burned in your lungs. “Don't try to fight it, it'll be worse for you, baby. Atta girl, just let go, inhale.” His voice was serious, unharmed, like an anesthetic just like the clorophorm. There was no harm in closing your eyes if you were in the great hands of a beast, a mammoth.

"I like you girls manageable, stupid." Was the last thing you heard, a smile grazing your neck.

Your body rose without permission, abrupt. The pain was immeasurable.

“Jimin, she's up!” You heard a small voice in the corner of a familiar room, the sheets rough and thick.

The silhouette of Jimin's younger brother ran to the kitchen. The other two brothers approached the door, their blond heads peeking out. Jimin pushed them until he reached you.

“Hyung-”

“Shut the door, JP. I’m sick of you, just eat your fucking breakfast and get out of the house.” Jimin shouted, looking at his brothers out of the corner of his eye.

The slow footsteps receded and Jimin turned his attention to you.

“Love, no, don't cry. I'm here.”

His name fell from your lips desperately as you squeezed his face, consuming every detail so your body knew it was real and wouldn't squirm like a worm.

“Breathe with me, come on.”

You closed your eyes hugging your boyfriend's neck.

“Come on, I've prepared a hot bath for you in the twins' room.” You shook your head frantically without breaking away. “It's just to get the mud off your body, then we'll go back to bed.”

"Mud?"

“Minjun found you outside this morning, do you know where you were last night, who did this to you?”

You grabbed the sheets and uncovered your body, bruises covering your legs and stomach. The dried mud covering the sheets of Jimin's bed. A scream choked in your throat.

“Its okay, I can change the sheets. Don’t worry about that. Let's go champ, up.” Jimin patted your injured thigh so you would chain your legs around his abdomen. With a grunt, Jimin lifted you up and carried you to a makeshift tub of hot water.

The little beds were together on one side of the small room, a metal tub emanating sweet steam covering the walls of the room in a thin web of drops.

“Raise your arms.” Jimin kissed your neck gently, the nausea returning little by little but you just let your body melt in the arms of the only person who mattered. His eyes shone with the concern of a father, he undressed you as quickly as possible so that the bruises didn't have time to hurt. Reaching your shorts, he knelt in front of you and stared at your tired face.

“I shouldn't have gone to the bar last night.” He wavered his speech for a second as he slowly lowered the zipper.

“Shh.” Your hand fell into his messy hair, he was still wearing his pajamas, what time did Jungkook throw you in front of Jimin's trailer?

The silence became strange, different. You didn't understand Jimin's sudden furrowed eyebrows when he took off your Levi's.

“Minnie?”

“Motherf-” Jimin stood up and hit the wall hard. His body turned around until he was looking at the jeans on the floor again. “That's it, I'm calling Yoongi.”

"What? Yoongi, what for? Minnie, don't leave, please."

"Don't move!"

Your boyfriend disappeared from the room before you asked him what was happening. You sighed with a heavy heart as you walked in pain to the mirror on the wall: a wide, slimy stain extended from front to back of your panties, hickies covered your stomach. The pants fell to the floor and you went to the mirror on the wall.

Your trembling finger curved until you felt the hole between your legs, the whitish and salty cum thread stretched from your entrance to your shocked face.

You don't remember Taehyung penetrating you. Was Jungkook such an animal that he came inside while you were passed out? How could he?

Tears gathered in your eyes as you laughed silently, the pain was unbearable around your waist and legs, pussy still numb and you could only remember the patterns on the carpet.

Cruel curiosity.

[once-upon-an-animation]

There are many things that frustrate me with the writing of Annabeth in the PJO TV Show, but I think one thing that I haven’t seen people talk much about is the mini-arc of Percy needing to help Annabeth with her sense of fun/humanity.

Just so we’re clear, I absolutely hate this arc.

Prior to the show’s premiere, I believe there was a quote from Rick discussing new-ish things that we’d see in the show, and one of those things was Percy helping Annabeth “tap into her humanity”. I can’t find the exact quote, but it should be on the series update Twitter account if you search it.

When I first read this quote, I wasn’t exactly sure what it meant, but I thought maybe we’d get an expansion of the theme of forgiveness that we got in the original books, or maybe we’d get an arc about Annabeth’s pride and how that gets in the way of her relationships with others. Or maybe they’d try and break down the ways in which Annabeth helps to uphold the gods’ ways of doing things, and align her more with the mortal point of view (which they essentially did, but not the overall point).

What I certainly wasn’t expecting was for them to strip Annabeth of most, if not, all of her smaller/softer traits, and give her this unusually stoic and stiff personality, where she suddenly has no familiarity with casual aspects of the mortal world (movies, Disney world, common idioms), and needs Percy to introduce these concepts to her in an effort to “unlock” her humanity.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Words cannot emphasize enough how much I despise this arc. Not only is it entirely nonsensical for Annabeth not to be familiar with these things (she was with her dad at least until the age of 7 and she goes to a camp full of other children who are regularly in contact with the mortal world; do you seriously expect me to believe that at no point in her 12 years of life, she never saw a single film, heard of Disneyworld, or heard common idioms and slang terms from her camp-mates? Seriously???)

But ALSO!

Book!Annabeth had PLENTY of humanity to go around! Even with her pride and initial coldness towards Percy, she plays hackeysack with him and Grover on the first day of their quest! She has a cute silly crush/admiration/infatuation on Luke. She nerds out big time over the St. Louis Arch! She’s the first to steal clothing from Waterland! She screams and cries when she encounters the mechanical spiders! She has an expression of sadness when she shares her backstory about Thalia and Luke! She gets lost in her little construction game at the Lotus, so much so that Percy has to use her phobia to pull her out of the trance! She grabs Percy’s hand when they first enter the Underworld because she’s scared! She tears up when it’s time to leave Cerberus!

And you stripped her of all these things, because you’re so desperate to overemphasize the Percabeth romance, and you felt that it was absolutely necessary to have Percy educate Annabeth on “unlocking humanity”??? Why!!!!

Not only did Book!Percy help Annabeth discuss things about bad parents and approaching forgiveness, but Book!Percy already had something important to offer Annabeth: loyalty, trustworthiness, and reliability. You didn’t need to take away her already-present traits and wits to convince us that Percy was the type of person she needed in her life, because we can already see what he offers her in the books. So why oh why did you feel the need to give us the silly “tap into your humanity” arc? Why did you turn her personality into something that it wasn’t? Why did you take away her depth just so her character could better serve Percabeth?

I don’t even necessarily agree with the criticism that this version of Annabeth feels like it prioritizes Percabeth more, but I can see why people made that complaint. Y’all took away so much of what made this character endearing, because you felt like it was a much bigger priority to have Percy help her unlock humanity than to let her be human prior to meeting him and outside of him. Not only does her personality get shafted, but her relationships with other people get shafted too! Her interactions with Luke are affection-less, she sent Grover off on his own in the Lotus so she could go off with Percy, and I don’t even think that she and Chiron interacted once this season; I don’t even think she mentioned the part about her calling him to come pick her up after she attempted living at home again!

But don’t worry; we’ll get plenty of scenes doubling down and tripling down on how Percy is the center of her world now! Yay!

[chubbyheadquarters]

May I have a Request of LMK Wukong and Macaque x Reincarnation Reader but separately. If not it's okay.

Genre: Romantic Pronouns: Gender-Neutral TW/CW: Mention of Death Character(s): Sun Wukong-Monkey King, Macaque-Liu Er Mihou

I've already done something like this, but I'll mix it up a bit. 🤙

☀️Sun Wukong☀️

He wanted you to eat an immortal peach, but you were scared to live forever. Scared of one day getting bored and never finding anything to do. Secretly scared that he would leave you. So he respected your wishes. Even on your death bed, he stayed by your side, promising to find you again.

He waited for so long, hoping to find you, but never could. He couldn't help the feeling of fear that crawled into his heart. Fear that he may never find you again. That he'd be alone forever. Still, he had hope. He made you that promise, and he's not gonna break it.

When Mk was named successor, he was hoping that the trips to the city would help in his quest to find you, with Mk promising to help out, even if he wasn't told much. Though, it didn't take much longer, with you finding Mk, recognizing the staff and asking him to take you to Flower Fruit Mountain. He's a bit confused, but does so.

When you arrive, you realize that nothing on Flower Fruit Mountain has changed, and it brings tears to your eyes. The little monkeys are immediately bombarding you in hugs and cries, leaving Mk even more confused.

Wukong comes to see what the ruckus is about and immediately freezes upon seeing you. With tears in your eyes, you embrace him, and though it takes him a sec to realize it's really you, he's spinning you around, laughing with joy and refusing to let you go. After all this time, he's finally been reunited with you!

The others are happy, with Mk being the most curios, following Tang. There aren't many tales with you in it, and you're happy to tell them what the book doesn't. Seeing you get along with the others has him happy. It reminds him of old times.

And one day, he's eating a peach, ready to take the last bite, when you take it away and eat it yourself. He's freaking out, about to tell you what you just ATE-"Babe, I know what it is. I'm eating it because I WANT to". He's crying for the first time in a real long time, and you're by his side to comfort him. Knowing that this time, he won't have to say goodbye, it makes him happy.

🌙Macaque🌙

Macaque always thought that fate was cruel, giving him a shitty hand time and time again. And this time was no different, with you being taken away from him, all because of some disease spreading through your village. You promised to find each other, him promising to spoil you, to keep you safe, to always stay by your side. And you promising to give him your everything, to be with him for eternity, to love him and him alone.

When you passed, he waited and collected all sorts of things to give to you when you'd meet again. Traveling in hopes to find you again, along with gaining stories to tell. He wants your days in the future to be filled with wonder and gifts, so many that you won't know what to do with all of them.

Even after his death, he searches for you in the Underworld, and when he doesn't find you, he takes any chance of gaining life, only to go back and see that everything's changed. Time moved forward, and you could be anywhere. He searches high and low, traveling once more to find you. At one point, he's so tired, even BEGGING fate to let you both meet again.

And when he does, a wave of emotions hit him. Though he snaps out of it when seeing you all alone and on the verge of tears. His heart breaks, and he's rushing to you side. He knows he should play it safe as not to scare you off- You may not even know who the hell he is-but he's been so lonely without you.

And you have no idea how thankful he is when you scream his name with joy. It takes a bit to calm you down, but you go on about how you've been all around the world trying to find him, and tonight had you down because this was the last place you had to check. And you were scared since there didn't seem to be a single trace of him anywhere.

Your words have him in tears, with him telling you how he's been looking for you too. That he never stopped and now that you're together, he'd do his damned best to keep you safe, no matter what. You're elated by his words, just happy to be by his side.

The gang, mainly Mk, are glad that you've come into Macaque's life. Since doing so, he's become much more calm and relaxed, and even began to open up a bit more to the others. If you get along with Mk and Bai He, then that's even better. Also, welcome your new adopted daughter Bai He-

[lvckyyz]

Hey! This is a different person who liked the headcanons of the gods being parents. I was wondering if you could (maybe, idk lol) make a part three having Hermes, Eris (goddess of discord), and Iris (goddess of rainbow)?

💖

godly parent III

the gods relationship with their children (part one, part two)

hermes who doesn’t mind if the unclaimed demigods call him “father”

hermes who sneaks in the camp to give ideas of new pranks to his children

hermes who has a normal cellphone to make it easier for his kids to talk to him

hermes who gets called out by his snakes for not remembering his kids birthdays

hermes who wishes he wasn’t so busy so he could take better care of cabin 11

hermes who almost cried when he received a "happy father's day" card from cabin 11

hermes who learned from his mistakes and is trying to be more caring with his kids

hermes who sometimes brings little souvenirs from all around the world to his kids

eris who gifted her cabin with a tree of golden apples so her kids could create trouble in the camp

eris who visits her kids almost every day without caring if she’s going to get in trouble

eris who sits together with her children in the mess hall during her visits and laughs loudly whenever they make someone mad at them

eris who turned chiron into a squirrel when he tried to tell her that she shouldn’t go against zeus rules

eris who almost begged mr. d to help her in when she was prohibited to go to camp half blood

eris who hosts tea parties in the underworld to keep in touch with her kids that already died

eris who confronted zeus when he told her that her kids would be punished if she kept seeing them often

eris who allows her children to prank the gods when they visit the olympus

iris who always picks up when her kids try to call her

iris who pretends to not hate hermes because she doesn’t want her kids doing anything wrong just to defend her

iris who was too afraid to disobey zeus but still make rainbows on her kids’ rooms so she could feel closer to them

iris who once spent the day in camp half blood and let her kids teach her how to make friendships bracelets, which she still wears all the time

iris who thinks her kids are ashamed of her because she’s scared of going against the rules

iris who tells her kids all the gossip from the olympus

iris who always end up forgetting she’s a goddess when she’s around her kids

iris who hates that she can’t do more to protect cabin 14

⤷ author’s note:

thanks for your request!! you don’t know how long it took me to remember that eris is the one from the war of troy😭 and i didn’t know she had a cabin, but it was so fun to write about her!

⤷ part four